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		<updated>2026-04-04T00:32:33Z</updated>
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	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Too_Much_Adventure&amp;diff=84971</id>
		<title>Logs:Too Much Adventure</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Too_Much_Adventure&amp;diff=84971"/>
				<updated>2016-02-12T01:02:26Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Breirande, Ka'ge&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Breirande almost misses his ride back to Fort following an [[Logs:People_and_Places|agreement]], and gets a bit more than he bargained for in his 'final' adventure.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Somewhere near Southern Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=Fort Area, Fort Weyr, Southern Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=26&lt;br /&gt;
|month=13&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=39&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2016.02.10&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;You'll be killing something that's already dead if you wait any longer... Sympathy, honor, revenge; take your pick.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon Ka'ge laughing.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=Of *course* 'Rand didn't show up at the appointed place, at the appointed time. Effing punk-ass kid ran out on his 'promise' to Ka'ge and the bronze who chose him. One of the girls from the lower caverns swore up and down that the young man was planning to return (if Ka'ge bothers to take her even slightly seriously, anyway). It doesn't change the fact that the youth isn't *here*...and is, instead - about 4 miles away - treed and terrified by a particularly large and aggressive southern wildcat.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The shadow that blots out the Southern sun is draconic by nature and gets no brighter as it spirals down to the landing field below. Alighting easily on the cobblestone, he barely bothers to fold his vast wingspan. The cloak of them hanging loosely about him, either meant as preparedness to take off again or to intimidate- both of which could be equally true. The equally dark-clad rider 'tween his neck ridges surveys the passersby in fairly clear annoyance. He'd expended this much energy in getting this kid on the Sands; one trip inside to ask after him was almost a necessity. The tale is easy enough to garner, but it doesn't improve his mood as he leaps from the paw to the straps of his bronze and takes to the skies once more. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Four miles is not a far circle from the sky, but a jungle is also no place for a large dragon to land. The shadow-masked dragon tips and soars low, grazing the tips of the trees with his silver-scarred underbelly. A frightening roar is emitted from the bronze, savage, predatory, as he comes so-close to the tree Rand has climbed up into, and passes by with as equal speed as he'd come in with. The pair would keep going, too, and disappear farther beyond the trees.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Okay, *that* kind of roar cannot come from a wildcat, even this big bastard that's currenly, if unsteadily, trying to climb the bole of the tree that Breirande is currently 25 feet up in. Already scared near-shitless, that draconic roar almost makes the teen piss himself...until his mind - exposed to various other dragon roars over the last couple of months - puts two and two together. Oh THANK SWEET FARANTH! His cry upward is frantic, and reaching the heights of what the average, adult human male voice is capable of in pitch and volume. Screamed for all he's worth, &amp;quot;HELP! HEEEELP! BIG CAT! HEEEELP!&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's an unfortunate few minutes that pass by with no further aid to come to the candidate-to-be (or lunch-to-be if the feline has its way). The clearing must not have been too far away, at least, when the draconic shadow is abruptly above again, circling now, and riderless. There's no more roaring, no more intimidating, beyond the very low altitude at which he systematically passes- Just silence beyond the slightly red-orange change of the facets of his eyes. And then, from two or so trees over, there's some noise. Minimal, to be sure, but cracking of smaller branches, the harsh rub of boots on bark, all those effects that lead one to figure someone is scaling the tree at a fairly decent clip. Ka'ge settles on a branch perhaps ten feet lower on his tree, a &amp;quot;Psst!&amp;quot; sharply called up to the other. Whether it's to cut off the screaming or simply get his attention, either works. The bronzerider, conveniently, has a strung bow looped over a shoulder which he unburdens from himself with little flourish. &amp;quot;I'm not terribly good at this.&amp;quot; He says, loud enough to be heard, but sounding quite blase about it despite the clear-cut danger beneath them. &amp;quot;Will probably miss.&amp;quot; He adds, studying the feline at his distance.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That feline down below - still trying to work its way further up the tree - is a skinny one, to be sure. Perhaps that's what drives it to only flatten its ears and yowl in a mix of frustration, fear, and hungry outrage to Zymadiath's roar...then continue to crawl its way up towards this super-easy meal that can't seem to fight back. Another five feet up from where 'Rand is currently stationed, the limbs of the tree become too thin to safely support his frame, but the teen is more-than-thinking about attempting them, anyway, when that dragon disappears for a couple of minutes. Oh. My. Freaking. Faranth. He wasn't heard! Caught between suppositions, Breirande almost misses the bronze passing overhead, since he's currently staring bug-eyed at the mortal hazard down below, while one sweaty hand grips convulsively at the hilt of his knife at hip. It's only when those nearer branches in that other tree start snapping that the laborer finds his huge gaze lurching over *there*, the teen's brain already making him think there's yet another wild cat ready to leap for him. Just as he waveringly draws his knife, Ka'ge voice barely pierces his fear, makes 'Rand almost whimper in relief. Almost. At this point, all he can manage is to nod briskly to the other man, and swallow convulsively, those wide eyes jerking between big cat and bronzerider. That knife in his hand is held in a shaking grasp, though brandished correctly. At least someone taught him the very basics correctly.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge exhales, drawing the bow up with an arrow notched, balanced on his knuckle. The moment drags on as he aims, but the release is exactly as the bronzerider had predicted- off by a foot to the right and wizzing through the air harmlessly with a sharply pitched whistle. Zymadiath passes by at the same time, his shadow heavy over the trio below him. The rumbling of a growl is notable, if fear hasn't entirely defeaned the laborer's ears. There's some sort of experience admitted, though, in the way the next arrow is already in place when the expected first-miss is still airborne. &amp;quot;If it gets any closer, you put that right in its eye.&amp;quot; He says lowly, as if telling a story. The hooded rider, balanced on a foot and one knee on the thickly rounded and oddly angled branch, releases a second that would strike true to the chest or forelimb should the cat not stray from its current path.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That cat is spitting and hissing its anger as that first arrow whizzes by it, the big cat crouching lower, trying to dig its blunted talons into the wood, and baring its teeth up at the place Ka'ge occupies. &amp;quot;F-fuck...FUCK...&amp;quot; is all Breirande manages to gasp out between rapid breaths, the knife in his hand waveringly shifted to off hand for a moment so he can swipe his sweaty palm clean upon a pant leg. There's another nod, sans glance, for the bronzerider's steady words, the teen's throat bobbing wildly as the feline makes to move again. And, even as kitteh-kat decides things have grown too convoluted and dangerous for it to pursue even this frail game any longer - stalks about to give up the chase - that second arrow of Ka'ge's strikes the cat true in the chest. A hellaciously awful set of sounds follows, the beast yowling and hissing, growling and moaning, and finally falling down into the heavy foliage below. While the undergrowth rustles and sighs with movement below them, 'Rand groans in abbreviated relief, gasps up and over to his rescuer, &amp;quot;*Fuck!* You got it!&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's again that Ka'ge has another arrow already leveled on the feline, perhaps just in case. But when the last arrow grounds the beast, he lowers his aim, relenting his balanced crouch to swing his booted feet over the side of the branch to sit. Whatever his expression may be- continued apathy or goading, it's hidden beneath his self-made shadow. His gloved hand now freed of drawing the string back, gestures from Breirande towards the flailing, yowling animal as his other slings the weapon back over his shoulders. &amp;quot;So finish it. You look like you can handle that thing,&amp;quot; the knife, he implies, &amp;quot;Well enough. Get yourself a story to take back to your tavern girls.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yeah...mHm. For a very long set of moments, Breirande just stares over and down at Ka'ge like he's out of his effing mind for suggesting that...and then - with the return of 'higher' mental faculties - comes the re-engaging of his teen sense of overwhelming pride. He's been caught looking and sounding weak by a proven tough guy...someone who's now calling him to step up to the plate and try to hit a single (after Ka'ge homer). Embarrassed, stung, yet still touched with ample echos of rightful fear... 'Rand very carefully, slowly descends his chosen tree, all the while watching and listening to the thrashing and coughing of the wild feline down below. It's sounds are growing softer, efforts to escape weaker. He's not *completely* insane, though...taking his time, and tiptoing around from what he judges to be the back of the beast.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's eventually noise behind Breirande as he starts to close the distance between himself and the wounded feline, the light scraping of hide on bark and the soft rustle of disturbed underbrush as Ka'ge relinquishes his perch for the jungle ground below. Soft moss and fern-like plants make movements even quieter, but the bronzerider makes it no secret that he's a couple yards behind the other. Maybe it's another 'just in case' motive, maybe it's something else, but he's otherwise silent back beyond Rand's shadow. Waiting, watching.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You can bet your behind that Breirande's keeping track of where Ka'ge is...though the wounded feline takes the lion's share of the teen's attention. Between them, 'Rand finally reaches what's now *his* quarry, the big cat now mostly still as it bleeds out more of its life onto the jungle floor. No longer quite the active threat it formerly was, the big beast's half-starved state becomes even more obvious, it's mixed tawny and spotted coat dull from lack of nourishment. It's state barely degrades the presence the thing has, however, its pink tongue out and panting through two inch long fangs that it bares at the approaching humans. Stopping about 8 feet short of the feline, 'Rand simply stares at it, his knife in fist readied for a blow... and continues staring.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;You'll be killing something that's already dead if you wait any longer.&amp;quot; Ka'ge's urging is as much true as it is meant to be instigating. &amp;quot;Sympathy, honor, revenge; take your pick.&amp;quot; The bronzerider stopped at some point, allowing Rand's distance from him to increase once in view of the starving, bleeding feline. The sound of a leather pouch being unbuckled can be heard, the slip of metal from a sheath, and the ever-so-soft creak of glove shifting and partially tightening around a knife's grip. Better than a bow at this range, anyway.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's many things that manage to slip out from under his precarious emotional control... things that distort Breirande's features when Ka'ge speaks that way. Anger, fierce pride, pity, nausea, fear...the mishmash is a scene in itself. It's finally the bit cat's slow shuddering that finally decides his actions, the dying feline all but paralyzed now and presenting no likely ability to harm its former quarry. Stepping in from the back, that slightly trembling knife is gripped more firmly as 'Rand squats down, and finally shoves the long blade up from below into the cat's throat...ultimately finding its home in its brain. A feeble twitch later and its over, the young man suddenly gasping and pulling his bloody knife...and hand free. Jerking to his feet, stumbling a couple of steps backwards on rubbery legs, all he does is stare blankly at the corpse...and turn two shades of grey and green.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Hmh.&amp;quot; Could be amusement as Ka'ge steps beside him as soon as he takes those wobbly steps backwards. It could also be approval, but there's little but a crooked grin on his face as he moves past Rand to squat beside the other's kill. The rider's hand that holds his own knife pulls back the hood to fall in wrinkles behind his neck and over his shoulders, gloved fingers scratching roughly through his black hair as if it wasn't messy ''enough'', with the blade's angle just-so it doesn't slice his own hide. &amp;quot;Been awhile since I've seen one of these.&amp;quot; Calm, a conversational sort of tone that seems intended to be by some manner comforting in light of his grey-green-hued 'companion'. &amp;quot;Impressive situation you got yourself into. So desperate to not go back to the Weyr that you thought you'd make yourself someone's dinner?&amp;quot; Gloved fingers curl around the cat's jaw, his blade angled to free those impressive canines from their deep-set roots.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge's approval and/or amusement means not much to Breriande, right now, the teen dragging the back of one of his sweat-stained forearms across his mouth as he watches the bronzerider approach the body of the big cat, squat down. Finally breathed out is a strained sounding, &amp;quot;Never...*never* seen one, before.&amp;quot; His light baritone is still touched with the vestiges of fear and awe...and something even more strained. The rest of the bronzer's words only touch a fragment of his reeling brain, make 'Rand mutter a little weakly, &amp;quot;Thought about it...&amp;quot; Swallow, cough, spit. Maybe even attempted it, but he'll not admit to such. &amp;quot;On my way... when it ran after me.&amp;quot; Which way he was going might be up for debate, however. When Ka'ge starts for the feline's big teeth, 'Rand finally has to avert his gaze to the side. Hawking and spitting the bile from his mouth again, he finally mumbles, &amp;quot;Where's Zymadiath?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;On your way from where?&amp;quot; Ka'ge's curiosity seems earnest enough, though there's clearly distraction in his tone with the effort it takes to cut and wrench the fangs out of the sockets. He gets them all though, efficient of motion and yet not in much hurry at the same time. When he rises, it's to display the four teeth in an open palm towards Brierande, with stilled patience to await the passing of the nausea. &amp;quot;Your trophy. To remind yourself you're damn lucky you've got the teeth and not the scars.&amp;quot; Blue-green gaze falls back to the cat, a displeased flicker fading his lopsided grin. &amp;quot;Shame to waste the rest.&amp;quot; Is more to himself than Rand. The question is answered with a vague shrug, exaggerated by the rustling of his clothing, &amp;quot;He's in the clearing to the east waiting for us.&amp;quot; And then, more interested, &amp;quot;Raring to go back already?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Huh?&amp;quot; is inquired rather thickly, 'Rand's mind somewhere else at that point. He's searching for some kind of answer, only comes up with, &amp;quot;I don't fucking know...walking around. Just taking it all in.&amp;quot; He seems a little addled, still. Fear can do that. Blink. Those offered teeth make him shudder just a little, though his hand extends...slowly. A bit thinly, &amp;quot;You keep two. Your shot...it was first.&amp;quot; The teen can't look at 'the rest,' right now. His eyes averting again, &amp;quot;Will Zymadiath eat it?&amp;quot; Funny; he's not been bothered by scenes of dragons chasing down and eating Fort's tended flocks. A hollow little nod for the dragon's current location peters out finally, transitions into a slightly stung glare back at the rider. &amp;quot;Are you always such a dick to people?&amp;quot; Frown. &amp;quot;*Said* I'd accept your terms.&amp;quot; Mutter. &amp;quot;Still want my drink.&amp;quot; Or twenty.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The remaining two fangs are pocketed without arguement, his bloodied knife cleaned on the tawny fur of the beast and then sheathed. Too-practiced fingers secure it into place with its clip at his lower back. &amp;quot;Probably, but the hide and bones are worth more than dragon fodder.&amp;quot; The curious disappointment in that statement lingers, but he does relinquish whatever ideas he'd had to face east and begin walking, leaving the invitation to follow unspoken. &amp;quot;Aye.&amp;quot; A simple confirmatory answer to the next question in line. &amp;quot;But I keep deals. You can get as drunk as you want, as long as you keep it down. You vomit on Zymadiath and he might just drop you off Between.&amp;quot; This, a much lighter joke and much less likely to be true given the humored curl to the last of his words.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Marks... Word of money to be made has the somewhat queasy teen suddenly looking to try and buck up more. &amp;quot;We could...drag it back out to the clearing. If he's willing to carry it.&amp;quot; 'Rand still can't quite look directly at the big cat's corpse. Those fangs are quickly pocketed, however, a faint snort offered up at Ka'ge agreement of his own personality. &amp;quot;Got any real friends?&amp;quot; is inquired with a hint of his usual sass, the soon-to-be candidate following his 'saviour' of sorts, whatever Ka'ge decides. Yes, drink! Breirande looks relieved by that generous offer, nods a few times. &amp;quot;I'll try one of those froo-froo frozen drinks...but it's whiskey afterwards.&amp;quot; He sounds a bit more grim than enchanted with the idea. Headshake. &amp;quot;Only time I puked was my first time...totally binged.&amp;quot; Never going to happen *again*. Ugh.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge pauses, turning to partially face Rand at the 'offer', taking it for what it's worth. &amp;quot;By all means.&amp;quot; A gesture indicates the carcass, if the other would be willing to grab a limb and drag alongside him, he would follow suit. There's a slight pause in response to the sass, though not at the sass itself- he appears to take the question literally enough, and answers eventually with a resolved &amp;quot;No.&amp;quot; as he hefts a clawed paw or moves on- depending on what Brierande decides he's willing to do. &amp;quot;Never found any use for the word. Implies too many things.&amp;quot; The rider doesn't look at Rand again until they come to the clearing, 'less anything else interrupts them. It's a small clearing, one just wide enough for the bronze to mostly spread his oversized and strikingly dark wings. Zymadiath would lower to settle on the ground at the sight of them, a forelimb extended, a wrinkle over his muzzle that doesn't- yet- display his own fangs against the dark mask of his face.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Okay, he'll attempt this. Still a little green around the gills, 'Rand approaches the carcass with only small hesitation, slowly hefts up his own huge pawed forelimb, and drags with Ka'ge...though he still really doesn't *look* at their burden. There's a low grunt between drags to the other's 'no,' the teen continuing to grunt out more with, &amp;quot;I'd bet.&amp;quot; Drag. &amp;quot;Like what?&amp;quot; Seeing how the bronzerider looks all about them, quiets, Breirande does so, too, goggling around until they're in the clear...his wariness and owl-eyed look returning for the duration. Fear; it does a body good in small doses. And then thank Faranth; there's Zymadiath! Surely a dragon trumps all big cats, and 'Rand's all for greeting the bronze quite happily...until that muzzle-wrinkle is noticed as they close. Jerking his grey-blues back over to Ka'ge, the younger man inquires, &amp;quot;Uh...how pissed-off is he?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The dragging is a slow process since, even between two healthy bodies, it's a hefty weight. The effort, the work completed as they clear the trees, Ka'ge drops the limb and only turns back to wrench the arrow out from between the feline's ribs with a grotesquely moist sound and drop it back into the quiver he'd brought. &amp;quot;Liabilities, responsibilities. All those long-term obligations that you're don't seem so fond of yourself. You get plenty of ties just being a rider, wanted or not.&amp;quot; There's a dismissive pause before he adds, &amp;quot;I just don't like the word.&amp;quot; A beat, a return of a hint of his grin, &amp;quot;Surely a roamer doesn't make so many friends himself.&amp;quot; The inquiry catches Ka'ge off-guard, as if he hadn't noticed. There's a glance up the shadow-wrought bronze, and a private exchange that awards a draconic snort, a loss of the wrinkled muzzle and a turn of those faceted eyes away. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt;  Nightmarish figments of darkness dance, blackness writhes, steady in their constructing and deconstructing of figments not-really-there. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; You put him at risk.&amp;gt;&amp;gt; The low, rough mind voice of the bronze disapproves, &amp;lt;&amp;lt;You may not care if he loses an eye as a lesson, but then all this effort would have been wasted.&amp;gt;&amp;gt; (To Ka'ge from Zymadiath)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's a breathy chuckle from the rider who vaults up the straps to the neck's hooked, spined ridges. &amp;quot;Not nearly equivalent to your feline friend. He says you aren't useful if you're mauled. Or dead. I guess he likes you. Kind of.&amp;quot; The grin broadens darkly before he adds with an extended hand to help him up, &amp;quot;Let's go. Not enough rum for all this adventure.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That moist sound makes 'Rand turn grey-green again, the teen stepping away from their former burden to get some air while Ka'ge does...whatever. Listening quietly to his rider home, the worker finally mumbles a sludgy-sounding, &amp;quot;Got lots of acquaintences.&amp;quot; Shrug. As the bronzerider said, 'friends' don't usually come with roaming. Getting his stomach back in hand, the teen turns about to watch the other man scramble up his dragon's straps, 'Rand finally moving towards the bronze, and giving Zymadiath a respectful nod before he offers his hand up to Ka'ge. Refraining yet again about talking about those pokey-bits of ridges they're seated between, the 'kid' manages a thin smirk for the bronze's unspoken words of his choice, offers Zymadiath a faint bit of a bow in return as he settles behind Ka'ge. &amp;quot;Why don't I feel all that reassured?&amp;quot; is noted with another return to sass, the teen nodding hearty agreement with the man before him. &amp;quot;Rum the first round...&amp;quot; he reminds Ka'ge. Then the heavy stuff. Beat. &amp;quot;Thanks. Again.&amp;quot; For saving his ass, this time.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs, Search Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Too_Much_Adventure&amp;diff=84970</id>
		<title>Logs:Too Much Adventure</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Too_Much_Adventure&amp;diff=84970"/>
				<updated>2016-02-11T08:44:21Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Breirande, Ka'ge&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Breirande almost misses his ride back to Fort following an [[Logs:People_and_Places|agreement]], and gets a bit more than he bargained for in his 'final' adventure.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Somewhere near Southern Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=Fort Area, Fort Weyr, Southern Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=26&lt;br /&gt;
|month=1&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=39&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2016.02.10&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;You'll be killing something that's already dead if you wait any longer... Sympathy, honor, revenge; take your pick.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon Ka'ge laughing.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=Of *course* 'Rand didn't show up at the appointed place, at the appointed time. Effing punk-ass kid ran out on his 'promise' to Ka'ge and the bronze who chose him. One of the girls from the lower caverns swore up and down that the young man was planning to return (if Ka'ge bothers to take her even slightly seriously, anyway). It doesn't change the fact that the youth isn't *here*...and is, instead - about 4 miles away - treed and terrified by a particularly large and aggressive southern wildcat.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The shadow that blots out the Southern sun is draconic by nature and gets no brighter as it spirals down to the landing field below. Alighting easily on the cobblestone, he barely bothers to fold his vast wingspan. The cloak of them hanging loosely about him, either meant as preparedness to take off again or to intimidate- both of which could be equally true. The equally dark-clad rider 'tween his neck ridges surveys the passersby in fairly clear annoyance. He'd expended this much energy in getting this kid on the Sands; one trip inside to ask after him was almost a necessity. The tale is easy enough to garner, but it doesn't improve his mood as he leaps from the paw to the straps of his bronze and takes to the skies once more. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Four miles is not a far circle from the sky, but a jungle is also no place for a large dragon to land. The shadow-masked dragon tips and soars low, grazing the tips of the trees with his silver-scarred underbelly. A frightening roar is emitted from the bronze, savage, predatory, as he comes so-close to the tree Rand has climbed up into, and passes by with as equal speed as he'd come in with. The pair would keep going, too, and disappear farther beyond the trees.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Okay, *that* kind of roar cannot come from a wildcat, even this big bastard that's currenly, if unsteadily, trying to climb the bole of the tree that Breirande is currently 25 feet up in. Already scared near-shitless, that draconic roar almost makes the teen piss himself...until his mind - exposed to various other dragon roars over the last couple of months - puts two and two together. Oh THANK SWEET FARANTH! His cry upward is frantic, and reaching the heights of what the average, adult human male voice is capable of in pitch and volume. Screamed for all he's worth, &amp;quot;HELP! HEEEELP! BIG CAT! HEEEELP!&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's an unfortunate few minutes that pass by with no further aid to come to the candidate-to-be (or lunch-to-be if the feline has its way). The clearing must not have been too far away, at least, when the draconic shadow is abruptly above again, circling now, and riderless. There's no more roaring, no more intimidating, beyond the very low altitude at which he systematically passes- Just silence beyond the slightly red-orange change of the facets of his eyes. And then, from two or so trees over, there's some noise. Minimal, to be sure, but cracking of smaller branches, the harsh rub of boots on bark, all those effects that lead one to figure someone is scaling the tree at a fairly decent clip. Ka'ge settles on a branch perhaps ten feet lower on his tree, a &amp;quot;Psst!&amp;quot; sharply called up to the other. Whether it's to cut off the screaming or simply get his attention, either works. The bronzerider, conveniently, has a strung bow looped over a shoulder which he unburdens from himself with little flourish. &amp;quot;I'm not terribly good at this.&amp;quot; He says, loud enough to be heard, but sounding quite blase about it despite the clear-cut danger beneath them. &amp;quot;Will probably miss.&amp;quot; He adds, studying the feline at his distance.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That feline down below - still trying to work its way further up the tree - is a skinny one, to be sure. Perhaps that's what drives it to only flatten its ears and yowl in a mix of frustration, fear, and hungry outrage to Zymadiath's roar...then continue to crawl its way up towards this super-easy meal that can't seem to fight back. Another five feet up from where 'Rand is currently stationed, the limbs of the tree become too thin to safely support his frame, but the teen is more-than-thinking about attempting them, anyway, when that dragon disappears for a couple of minutes. Oh. My. Freaking. Faranth. He wasn't heard! Caught between suppositions, Breirande almost misses the bronze passing overhead, since he's currently staring bug-eyed at the mortal hazard down below, while one sweaty hand grips convulsively at the hilt of his knife at hip. It's only when those nearer branches in that other tree start snapping that the laborer finds his huge gaze lurching over *there*, the teen's brain already making him think there's yet another wild cat ready to leap for him. Just as he waveringly draws his knife, Ka'ge voice barely pierces his fear, makes 'Rand almost whimper in relief. Almost. At this point, all he can manage is to nod briskly to the other man, and swallow convulsively, those wide eyes jerking between big cat and bronzerider. That knife in his hand is held in a shaking grasp, though brandished correctly. At least someone taught him the very basics correctly.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge exhales, drawing the bow up with an arrow notched, balanced on his knuckle. The moment drags on as he aims, but the release is exactly as the bronzerider had predicted- off by a foot to the right and wizzing through the air harmlessly with a sharply pitched whistle. Zymadiath passes by at the same time, his shadow heavy over the trio below him. The rumbling of a growl is notable, if fear hasn't entirely defeaned the laborer's ears. There's some sort of experience admitted, though, in the way the next arrow is already in place when the expected first-miss is still airborne. &amp;quot;If it gets any closer, you put that right in its eye.&amp;quot; He says lowly, as if telling a story. The hooded rider, balanced on a foot and one knee on the thickly rounded and oddly angled branch, releases a second that would strike true to the chest or forelimb should the cat not stray from its current path.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That cat is spitting and hissing its anger as that first arrow whizzes by it, the big cat crouching lower, trying to dig its blunted talons into the wood, and baring its teeth up at the place Ka'ge occupies. &amp;quot;F-fuck...FUCK...&amp;quot; is all Breirande manages to gasp out between rapid breaths, the knife in his hand waveringly shifted to off hand for a moment so he can swipe his sweaty palm clean upon a pant leg. There's another nod, sans glance, for the bronzerider's steady words, the teen's throat bobbing wildly as the feline makes to move again. And, even as kitteh-kat decides things have grown too convoluted and dangerous for it to pursue even this frail game any longer - stalks about to give up the chase - that second arrow of Ka'ge's strikes the cat true in the chest. A hellaciously awful set of sounds follows, the beast yowling and hissing, growling and moaning, and finally falling down into the heavy foliage below. While the undergrowth rustles and sighs with movement below them, 'Rand groans in abbreviated relief, gasps up and over to his rescuer, &amp;quot;*Fuck!* You got it!&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's again that Ka'ge has another arrow already leveled on the feline, perhaps just in case. But when the last arrow grounds the beast, he lowers his aim, relenting his balanced crouch to swing his booted feet over the side of the branch to sit. Whatever his expression may be- continued apathy or goading, it's hidden beneath his self-made shadow. His gloved hand now freed of drawing the string back, gestures from Breirande towards the flailing, yowling animal as his other slings the weapon back over his shoulders. &amp;quot;So finish it. You look like you can handle that thing,&amp;quot; the knife, he implies, &amp;quot;Well enough. Get yourself a story to take back to your tavern girls.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yeah...mHm. For a very long set of moments, Breirande just stares over and down at Ka'ge like he's out of his effing mind for suggesting that...and then - with the return of 'higher' mental faculties - comes the re-engaging of his teen sense of overwhelming pride. He's been caught looking and sounding weak by a proven tough guy...someone who's now calling him to step up to the plate and try to hit a single (after Ka'ge homer). Embarrassed, stung, yet still touched with ample echos of rightful fear... 'Rand very carefully, slowly descends his chosen tree, all the while watching and listening to the thrashing and coughing of the wild feline down below. It's sounds are growing softer, efforts to escape weaker. He's not *completely* insane, though...taking his time, and tiptoing around from what he judges to be the back of the beast.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's eventually noise behind Breirande as he starts to close the distance between himself and the wounded feline, the light scraping of hide on bark and the soft rustle of disturbed underbrush as Ka'ge relinquishes his perch for the jungle ground below. Soft moss and fern-like plants make movements even quieter, but the bronzerider makes it no secret that he's a couple yards behind the other. Maybe it's another 'just in case' motive, maybe it's something else, but he's otherwise silent back beyond Rand's shadow. Waiting, watching.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You can bet your behind that Breirande's keeping track of where Ka'ge is...though the wounded feline takes the lion's share of the teen's attention. Between them, 'Rand finally reaches what's now *his* quarry, the big cat now mostly still as it bleeds out more of its life onto the jungle floor. No longer quite the active threat it formerly was, the big beast's half-starved state becomes even more obvious, it's mixed tawny and spotted coat dull from lack of nourishment. It's state barely degrades the presence the thing has, however, its pink tongue out and panting through two inch long fangs that it bares at the approaching humans. Stopping about 8 feet short of the feline, 'Rand simply stares at it, his knife in fist readied for a blow... and continues staring.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;You'll be killing something that's already dead if you wait any longer.&amp;quot; Ka'ge's urging is as much true as it is meant to be instigating. &amp;quot;Sympathy, honor, revenge; take your pick.&amp;quot; The bronzerider stopped at some point, allowing Rand's distance from him to increase once in view of the starving, bleeding feline. The sound of a leather pouch being unbuckled can be heard, the slip of metal from a sheath, and the ever-so-soft creak of glove shifting and partially tightening around a knife's grip. Better than a bow at this range, anyway.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's many things that manage to slip out from under his precarious emotional control... things that distort Breirande's features when Ka'ge speaks that way. Anger, fierce pride, pity, nausea, fear...the mishmash is a scene in itself. It's finally the bit cat's slow shuddering that finally decides his actions, the dying feline all but paralyzed now and presenting no likely ability to harm its former quarry. Stepping in from the back, that slightly trembling knife is gripped more firmly as 'Rand squats down, and finally shoves the long blade up from below into the cat's throat...ultimately finding its home in its brain. A feeble twitch later and its over, the young man suddenly gasping and pulling his bloody knife...and hand free. Jerking to his feet, stumbling a couple of steps backwards on rubbery legs, all he does is stare blankly at the corpse...and turn two shades of grey and green.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Hmh.&amp;quot; Could be amusement as Ka'ge steps beside him as soon as he takes those wobbly steps backwards. It could also be approval, but there's little but a crooked grin on his face as he moves past Rand to squat beside the other's kill. The rider's hand that holds his own knife pulls back the hood to fall in wrinkles behind his neck and over his shoulders, gloved fingers scratching roughly through his black hair as if it wasn't messy ''enough'', with the blade's angle just-so it doesn't slice his own hide. &amp;quot;Been awhile since I've seen one of these.&amp;quot; Calm, a conversational sort of tone that seems intended to be by some manner comforting in light of his grey-green-hued 'companion'. &amp;quot;Impressive situation you got yourself into. So desperate to not go back to the Weyr that you thought you'd make yourself someone's dinner?&amp;quot; Gloved fingers curl around the cat's jaw, his blade angled to free those impressive canines from their deep-set roots.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge's approval and/or amusement means not much to Breriande, right now, the teen dragging the back of one of his sweat-stained forearms across his mouth as he watches the bronzerider approach the body of the big cat, squat down. Finally breathed out is a strained sounding, &amp;quot;Never...*never* seen one, before.&amp;quot; His light baritone is still touched with the vestiges of fear and awe...and something even more strained. The rest of the bronzer's words only touch a fragment of his reeling brain, make 'Rand mutter a little weakly, &amp;quot;Thought about it...&amp;quot; Swallow, cough, spit. Maybe even attempted it, but he'll not admit to such. &amp;quot;On my way... when it ran after me.&amp;quot; Which way he was going might be up for debate, however. When Ka'ge starts for the feline's big teeth, 'Rand finally has to avert his gaze to the side. Hawking and spitting the bile from his mouth again, he finally mumbles, &amp;quot;Where's Zymadiath?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;On your way from where?&amp;quot; Ka'ge's curiosity seems earnest enough, though there's clearly distraction in his tone with the effort it takes to cut and wrench the fangs out of the sockets. He gets them all though, efficient of motion and yet not in much hurry at the same time. When he rises, it's to display the four teeth in an open palm towards Brierande, with stilled patience to await the passing of the nausea. &amp;quot;Your trophy. To remind yourself you're damn lucky you've got the teeth and not the scars.&amp;quot; Blue-green gaze falls back to the cat, a displeased flicker fading his lopsided grin. &amp;quot;Shame to waste the rest.&amp;quot; Is more to himself than Rand. The question is answered with a vague shrug, exaggerated by the rustling of his clothing, &amp;quot;He's in the clearing to the east waiting for us.&amp;quot; And then, more interested, &amp;quot;Raring to go back already?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Huh?&amp;quot; is inquired rather thickly, 'Rand's mind somewhere else at that point. He's searching for some kind of answer, only comes up with, &amp;quot;I don't fucking know...walking around. Just taking it all in.&amp;quot; He seems a little addled, still. Fear can do that. Blink. Those offered teeth make him shudder just a little, though his hand extends...slowly. A bit thinly, &amp;quot;You keep two. Your shot...it was first.&amp;quot; The teen can't look at 'the rest,' right now. His eyes averting again, &amp;quot;Will Zymadiath eat it?&amp;quot; Funny; he's not been bothered by scenes of dragons chasing down and eating Fort's tended flocks. A hollow little nod for the dragon's current location peters out finally, transitions into a slightly stung glare back at the rider. &amp;quot;Are you always such a dick to people?&amp;quot; Frown. &amp;quot;*Said* I'd accept your terms.&amp;quot; Mutter. &amp;quot;Still want my drink.&amp;quot; Or twenty.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The remaining two fangs are pocketed without arguement, his bloodied knife cleaned on the tawny fur of the beast and then sheathed. Too-practiced fingers secure it into place with its clip at his lower back. &amp;quot;Probably, but the hide and bones are worth more than dragon fodder.&amp;quot; The curious disappointment in that statement lingers, but he does relinquish whatever ideas he'd had to face east and begin walking, leaving the invitation to follow unspoken. &amp;quot;Aye.&amp;quot; A simple confirmatory answer to the next question in line. &amp;quot;But I keep deals. You can get as drunk as you want, as long as you keep it down. You vomit on Zymadiath and he might just drop you off Between.&amp;quot; This, a much lighter joke and much less likely to be true given the humored curl to the last of his words.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Marks... Word of money to be made has the somewhat queasy teen suddenly looking to try and buck up more. &amp;quot;We could...drag it back out to the clearing. If he's willing to carry it.&amp;quot; 'Rand still can't quite look directly at the big cat's corpse. Those fangs are quickly pocketed, however, a faint snort offered up at Ka'ge agreement of his own personality. &amp;quot;Got any real friends?&amp;quot; is inquired with a hint of his usual sass, the soon-to-be candidate following his 'saviour' of sorts, whatever Ka'ge decides. Yes, drink! Breirande looks relieved by that generous offer, nods a few times. &amp;quot;I'll try one of those froo-froo frozen drinks...but it's whiskey afterwards.&amp;quot; He sounds a bit more grim than enchanted with the idea. Headshake. &amp;quot;Only time I puked was my first time...totally binged.&amp;quot; Never going to happen *again*. Ugh.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge pauses, turning to partially face Rand at the 'offer', taking it for what it's worth. &amp;quot;By all means.&amp;quot; A gesture indicates the carcass, if the other would be willing to grab a limb and drag alongside him, he would follow suit. There's a slight pause in response to the sass, though not at the sass itself- he appears to take the question literally enough, and answers eventually with a resolved &amp;quot;No.&amp;quot; as he hefts a clawed paw or moves on- depending on what Brierande decides he's willing to do. &amp;quot;Never found any use for the word. Implies too many things.&amp;quot; The rider doesn't look at Rand again until they come to the clearing, 'less anything else interrupts them. It's a small clearing, one just wide enough for the bronze to mostly spread his oversized and strikingly dark wings. Zymadiath would lower to settle on the ground at the sight of them, a forelimb extended, a wrinkle over his muzzle that doesn't- yet- display his own fangs against the dark mask of his face.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Okay, he'll attempt this. Still a little green around the gills, 'Rand approaches the carcass with only small hesitation, slowly hefts up his own huge pawed forelimb, and drags with Ka'ge...though he still really doesn't *look* at their burden. There's a low grunt between drags to the other's 'no,' the teen continuing to grunt out more with, &amp;quot;I'd bet.&amp;quot; Drag. &amp;quot;Like what?&amp;quot; Seeing how the bronzerider looks all about them, quiets, Breirande does so, too, goggling around until they're in the clear...his wariness and owl-eyed look returning for the duration. Fear; it does a body good in small doses. And then thank Faranth; there's Zymadiath! Surely a dragon trumps all big cats, and 'Rand's all for greeting the bronze quite happily...until that muzzle-wrinkle is noticed as they close. Jerking his grey-blues back over to Ka'ge, the younger man inquires, &amp;quot;Uh...how pissed-off is he?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The dragging is a slow process since, even between two healthy bodies, it's a hefty weight. The effort, the work completed as they clear the trees, Ka'ge drops the limb and only turns back to wrench the arrow out from between the feline's ribs with a grotesquely moist sound and drop it back into the quiver he'd brought. &amp;quot;Liabilities, responsibilities. All those long-term obligations that you're don't seem so fond of yourself. You get plenty of ties just being a rider, wanted or not.&amp;quot; There's a dismissive pause before he adds, &amp;quot;I just don't like the word.&amp;quot; A beat, a return of a hint of his grin, &amp;quot;Surely a roamer doesn't make so many friends himself.&amp;quot; The inquiry catches Ka'ge off-guard, as if he hadn't noticed. There's a glance up the shadow-wrought bronze, and a private exchange that awards a draconic snort, a loss of the wrinkled muzzle and a turn of those faceted eyes away. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt;  Nightmarish figments of darkness dance, blackness writhes, steady in their constructing and deconstructing of figments not-really-there. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; You put him at risk.&amp;gt;&amp;gt; The low, rough mind voice of the bronze disapproves, &amp;lt;&amp;lt;You may not care if he loses an eye as a lesson, but then all this effort would have been wasted.&amp;gt;&amp;gt; (To Ka'ge from Zymadiath)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's a breathy chuckle from the rider who vaults up the straps to the neck's hooked, spined ridges. &amp;quot;Not nearly equivalent to your feline friend. He says you aren't useful if you're mauled. Or dead. I guess he likes you. Kind of.&amp;quot; The grin broadens darkly before he adds with an extended hand to help him up, &amp;quot;Let's go. Not enough rum for all this adventure.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That moist sound makes 'Rand turn grey-green again, the teen stepping away from their former burden to get some air while Ka'ge does...whatever. Listening quietly to his rider home, the worker finally mumbles a sludgy-sounding, &amp;quot;Got lots of acquaintences.&amp;quot; Shrug. As the bronzerider said, 'friends' don't usually come with roaming. Getting his stomach back in hand, the teen turns about to watch the other man scramble up his dragon's straps, 'Rand finally moving towards the bronze, and giving Zymadiath a respectful nod before he offers his hand up to Ka'ge. Refraining yet again about talking about those pokey-bits of ridges they're seated between, the 'kid' manages a thin smirk for the bronze's unspoken words of his choice, offers Zymadiath a faint bit of a bow in return as he settles behind Ka'ge. &amp;quot;Why don't I feel all that reassured?&amp;quot; is noted with another return to sass, the teen nodding hearty agreement with the man before him. &amp;quot;Rum the first round...&amp;quot; he reminds Ka'ge. Then the heavy stuff. Beat. &amp;quot;Thanks. Again.&amp;quot; For saving his ass, this time.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs, Search Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Too_Much_Adventure&amp;diff=84969</id>
		<title>Logs:Too Much Adventure</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Too_Much_Adventure&amp;diff=84969"/>
				<updated>2016-02-11T08:30:33Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Breirande, Ka'ge&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Breirande almost misses his ride back to Fort following an [[Logs:People_and_Places|agreement]], and gets a bit more than he bargained for in his 'final' adventure.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Somewhere near Southern Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=Fort Area, Fort Weyr, Southern Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=26&lt;br /&gt;
|month=1&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=39&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2016.02.10&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;You'll be killing something that's already dead if you wait any longer... Sympathy, honor, revenge; take your pick.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon Ka'ge laughing.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=Of *course* 'Rand didn't show up at the appointed place, at the appointed time. Effing punk-ass kid ran out on his 'promise' to Ka'ge and the bronze who chose him. One of the girls from the lower caverns swore up and down that the young man was planning to return (if Ka'ge bothers to take her even slightly seriously, anyway). It doesn't change the fact that the youth isn't *here*...and is, instead - about 4 miles away - treed and terrified by a particularly large and aggressive southern wildcat.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The shadow that blots out the Southern sun is draconic by nature and gets no brighter as it spirals down to the landing field below. Alighting easily on the cobblestone, he barely bothers to fold his vast wingspan. The cloak of them hanging loosely about him, either meant as preparedness to take off again or to intimidate- both of which could be equally true. The equally dark-clad rider 'tween his neck ridges surveys the passersby in fairly clear annoyance. He'd expended this much energy in getting this kid on the Sands; one trip inside to ask after him was almost a necessity. The tale is easy enough to garner, but it doesn't improve his mood as he leaps from the paw to the straps of his bronze and takes to the skies once more. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Four miles is not a far circle from the sky, but a jungle is also no place for a large dragon to land. The shadow-masked dragon tips and soars low, grazing the tips of the trees with his silver-scarred underbelly. A frightening roar is emitted from the bronze, savage, predatory, as he comes so-close to the tree Rand has climbed up into, and passes by with as equal speed as he'd come in with. The pair would keep going, too, and disappear farther beyond the trees.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Okay, *that* kind of roar cannot come from a wildcat, even this big bastard that's currenly, if unsteadily, trying to climb the bole of the tree that Breirande is currently 25 feet up in. Already scared near-shitless, that draconic roar almost makes the teen piss himself...until his mind - exposed to various other dragon roars over the last couple of months - puts two and two together. Oh THANK SWEET FARANTH! His cry upward is frantic, and reaching the heights of what the average, adult human male voice is capable of in pitch and volume. Screamed for all he's worth, &amp;quot;HELP! HEEEELP! BIG CAT! HEEEELP!&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's an unfortunate few minutes that pass by with no further aid to come to the candidate-to-be (or lunch-to-be if the feline has its way). The clearing must not have been too far away, at least, when the draconic shadow is abruptly above again, circling now, and riderless. There's no more roaring, no more intimidating, beyond the very low altitude at which he systematically passes- Just silence beyond the slightly red-orange change of the facets of his eyes. And then, from two or so trees over, there's some noise. Minimal, to be sure, but cracking of smaller branches, the harsh rub of boots on bark, all those effects that lead one to figure someone is scaling the tree at a fairly decent clip. Ka'ge settles on a branch perhaps ten feet lower on his tree, a &amp;quot;Psst!&amp;quot; sharply called up to the other. Whether it's to cut off the screaming or simply get his attention, either works. The bronzerider, conveniently, has a strung bow looped over a shoulder which he unburdens from himself with little flourish. &amp;quot;I'm not terribly good at this.&amp;quot; He says, loud enough to be heard, but sounding quite blase about it despite the clear-cut danger beneath them. &amp;quot;Will probably miss.&amp;quot; He adds, studying the feline at his distance.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That feline down below - still trying to work its way further up the tree - is a skinny one, to be sure. Perhaps that's what drives it to only flatten its ears and yowl in a mix of frustration, fear, and hungry outrage to Zymadiath's roar...then continue to crawl its way up towards this super-easy meal that can't seem to fight back. Another five feet up from where 'Rand is currently stationed, the limbs of the tree become too thin to safely support his frame, but the teen is more-than-thinking about attempting them, anyway, when that dragon disappears for a couple of minutes. Oh. My. Freaking. Faranth. He wasn't heard! Caught between suppositions, Breirande almost misses the bronze passing overhead, since he's currently staring bug-eyed at the mortal hazard down below, while one sweaty hand grips convulsively at the hilt of his knife at hip. It's only when those nearer branches in that other tree start snapping that the laborer finds his huge gaze lurching over *there*, the teen's brain already making him think there's yet another wild cat ready to leap for him. Just as he waveringly draws his knife, Ka'ge voice barely pierces his fear, makes 'Rand almost whimper in relief. Almost. At this point, all he can manage is to nod briskly to the other man, and swallow convulsively, those wide eyes jerking between big cat and bronzerider. That knife in his hand is held in a shaking grasp, though brandished correctly. At least someone taught him the very basics correctly.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge exhales, drawing the bow up with an arrow notched, balanced on his knuckle. The moment drags on as he aims, but the release is exactly as the bronzerider had predicted- off by a foot to the right and wizzing through the air harmlessly with a sharply pitched whistle. Zymadiath passes by at the same time, his shadow heavy over the trio below him. The rumbling of a growl is notable, if fear hasn't entirely defeaned the laborer's ears. There's some sort of experience admitted, though, in the way the next arrow is already in place when the expected first-miss is still airborne. &amp;quot;If it gets any closer, you put that right in its eye.&amp;quot; He says lowly, as if telling a story. The hooded rider, balanced on a foot and one knee on the thickly rounded and oddly angled branch, releases a second that would strike true to the chest or forelimb should the cat not stray from its current path.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That cat is spitting and hissing its anger as that first arrow whizzes by it, the big cat crouching lower, trying to dig its blunted talons into the wood, and baring its teeth up at the place Ka'ge occupies. &amp;quot;F-fuck...FUCK...&amp;quot; is all Breirande manages to gasp out between rapid breaths, the knife in his hand waveringly shifted to off hand for a moment so he can swipe his sweaty palm clean upon a pant leg. There's another nod, sans glance, for the bronzerider's steady words, the teen's throat bobbing wildly as the feline makes to move again. And, even as kitteh-kat decides things have grown too convoluted and dangerous for it to pursue even this frail game any longer - stalks about to give up the chase - that second arrow of Ka'ge's strikes the cat true in the chest. A hellaciously awful set of sounds follows, the beast yowling and hissing, growling and moaning, and finally falling down into the heavy foliage below. While the undergrowth rustles and sighs with movement below them, 'Rand groans in abbreviated relief, gasps up and over to his rescuer, &amp;quot;*Fuck!* You got it!&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's again that Ka'ge has another arrow already leveled on the feline, perhaps just in case. But when the last arrow grounds the beast, he lowers his aim, relenting his balanced crouch to swing his booted feet over the side of the branch to sit. Whatever his expression may be- continued apathy or goading, it's hidden beneath his self-made shadow. His gloved hand now freed of drawing the string back, gestures from Breirande towards the flailing, yowling animal as his other slings the weapon back over his shoulders. &amp;quot;So finish it. You look like you can handle that thing,&amp;quot; the knife, he implies, &amp;quot;Well enough. Get yourself a story to take back to your tavern girls.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yeah...mHm. For a very long set of moments, Breirande just stares over and down at Ka'ge like he's out of his effing mind for suggesting that...and then - with the return of 'higher' mental faculties - comes the re-engaging of his teen sense of overwhelming pride. He's been caught looking and sounding weak by a proven tough guy...someone who's now calling him to step up to the plate and try to hit a single (after Ka'ge homer). Embarrassed, stung, yet still touched with ample echos of rightful fear... 'Rand very carefully, slowly descends his chosen tree, all the while watching and listening to the thrashing and coughing of the wild feline down below. It's sounds are growing softer, efforts to escape weaker. He's not *completely* insane, though...taking his time, and tiptoing around from what he judges to be the back of the beast.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's eventually noise behind Breirande as he starts to close the distance between himself and the wounded feline, the light scraping of hide on bark and the soft rustle of disturbed underbrush as Ka'ge relinquishes his perch for the jungle ground below. Soft moss and fern-like plants make movements even quieter, but the bronzerider makes it no secret that he's a couple yards behind the other. Maybe it's another 'just in case' motive, maybe it's something else, but he's otherwise silent back beyond Rand's shadow. Waiting, watching.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You can bet your behind that Breirande's keeping track of where Ka'ge is...though the wounded feline takes the lion's share of the teen's attention. Between them, 'Rand finally reaches what's now *his* quarry, the big cat now mostly still as it bleeds out more of its life onto the jungle floor. No longer quite the active threat it formerly was, the big beast's half-starved state becomes even more obvious, it's mixed tawny and spotted coat dull from lack of nourishment. It's state barely degrades the presence the thing has, however, its pink tongue out and panting through two inch long fangs that it bares at the approaching humans. Stopping about 8 feet short of the feline, 'Rand simply stares at it, his knife in fist readied for a blow... and continues staring.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;You'll be killing something that's already dead if you wait any longer.&amp;quot; Ka'ge's urging is as much true as it is meant to be instigating. &amp;quot;Sympathy, honor, revenge; take your pick.&amp;quot; The bronzerider stopped at some point, allowing Rand's distance from him to increase once in view of the starving, bleeding feline. The sound of a leather pouch being unbuckled can be heard, the slip of metal from a sheath, and the ever-so-soft creak of glove shifting and partially tightening around a knife's grip. Better than a bow at this range, anyway.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's many things that manage to slip out from under his precarious emotional control... things that distort Breirande's features when Ka'ge speaks that way. Anger, fierce pride, pity, nausea, fear...the mishmash is a scene in itself. It's finally the bit cat's slow shuddering that finally decides his actions, the dying feline all but paralyzed now and presenting no likely ability to harm its former quarry. Stepping in from the back, that slightly trembling knife is gripped more firmly as 'Rand squats down, and finally shoves the long blade up from below into the cat's throat...ultimately finding its home in its brain. A feeble twitch later and its over, the young man suddenly gasping and pulling his bloody knife...and hand free. Jerking to his feet, stumbling a couple of steps backwards on rubbery legs, all he does is stare blankly at the corpse...and turn two shades of grey and green.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Hmh.&amp;quot; Could be amusement as Ka'ge steps beside him as soon as he takes those wobbly steps backwards. It could also be approval, but there's little but a crooked grin on his face as he moves past Rand to squat beside the other's kill. The rider's hand that holds his own knife pulls back the hood to fall in wrinkles behind his neck and over his shoulders, gloved fingers scratching roughly through his black hair as if it wasn't messy ''enough'', with the blade's angle just-so it doesn't slice his own hide. &amp;quot;Been awhile since I've seen one of these.&amp;quot; Calm, a conversational sort of tone that seems intended to be by some manner comforting in light of his grey-green-hued 'companion'. &amp;quot;Impressive situation you got yourself into. So desperate to not go back to the Weyr that you thought you'd make yourself someone's dinner?&amp;quot; Gloved fingers curl around the cat's jaw, his blade angled to free those impressive canines from their deep-set roots.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge's approval and/or amusement means not much to Breriande, right now, the teen dragging the back of one of his sweat-stained forearms across his mouth as he watches the bronzerider approach the body of the big cat, squat down. Finally breathed out is a strained sounding, &amp;quot;Never...*never* seen one, before.&amp;quot; His light baritone is still touched with the vestiges of fear and awe...and something even more strained. The rest of the bronzer's words only touch a fragment of his reeling brain, make 'Rand mutter a little weakly, &amp;quot;Thought about it...&amp;quot; Swallow, cough, spit. Maybe even attempted it, but he'll not admit to such. &amp;quot;On my way... when it ran after me.&amp;quot; Which way he was going might be up for debate, however. When Ka'ge starts for the feline's big teeth, 'Rand finally has to avert his gaze to the side. Hawking and spitting the bile from his mouth again, he finally mumbles, &amp;quot;Where's Zymadiath?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;On your way from where?&amp;quot; Ka'ge's curiosity seems earnest enough, though there's clearly distraction in his tone with the effort it takes to cut and wrench the fangs out of the sockets. He gets them all though, efficient of motion and yet not in much hurry at the same time. When he rises, it's to display the four teeth in an open palm towards Brierande, with stilled patience to await the passing of the nausea. &amp;quot;Your trophy. To remind yourself you're damn lucky you've got the teeth and not the scars.&amp;quot; Blue-green gaze falls back to the cat, a displeased flicker fading his lopsided grin. &amp;quot;Shame to waste the rest.&amp;quot; Is more to himself than Rand. The question is answered with a vague shrug, exaggerated by the rustling of his clothing, &amp;quot;He's in the clearing to the east waiting for us.&amp;quot; And then, more interested, &amp;quot;Raring to go back already?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Huh?&amp;quot; is inquired rather thickly, 'Rand's mind somewhere else at that point. He's searching for some kind of answer, only comes up with, &amp;quot;I don't fucking know...walking around. Just taking it all in.&amp;quot; He seems a little addled, still. Fear can do that. Blink. Those offered teeth make him shudder just a little, though his hand extends...slowly. A bit thinly, &amp;quot;You keep two. Your shot...it was first.&amp;quot; The teen can't look at 'the rest,' right now. His eyes averting again, &amp;quot;Will Zymadiath eat it?&amp;quot; Funny; he's not been bothered by scenes of dragons chasing down and eating Fort's tended flocks. A hollow little nod for the dragon's current location peters out finally, transitions into a slightly stung glare back at the rider. &amp;quot;Are you always such a dick to people?&amp;quot; Frown. &amp;quot;*Said* I'd accept your terms.&amp;quot; Mutter. &amp;quot;Still want my drink.&amp;quot; Or twenty.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The remaining two fangs are pocketed without arguement, his bloodied knife cleaned on the tawny fur of the beast and then sheathed. Too-practiced fingers secure it into place with its clip at his lower back. &amp;quot;Probably, but the hide and bones are worth more than dragon fodder.&amp;quot; The curious disappointment in that statement lingers, but he does relinquish whatever ideas he'd had to face east and begin walking, leaving the invitation to follow unspoken. &amp;quot;Aye.&amp;quot; A simple confirmatory answer to the next question in line. &amp;quot;But I keep deals. You can get as drunk as you want, as long as you keep it down. You vomit on Zymadiath and he might just drop you off Between.&amp;quot; This, a much lighter joke and much less likely to be true given the humored curl to the last of his words.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Marks... Word of money to be made has the somewhat queasy teen suddenly looking to try and buck up more. &amp;quot;We could...drag it back out to the clearing. If he's willing to carry it.&amp;quot; 'Rand still can't quite look directly at the big cat's corpse. Those fangs are quickly pocketed, however, a faint snort offered up at Ka'ge agreement of his own personality. &amp;quot;Got any real friends?&amp;quot; is inquired with a hint of his usual sass, the soon-to-be candidate following his 'saviour' of sorts, whatever Ka'ge decides. Yes, drink! Breirande looks relieved by that generous offer, nods a few times. &amp;quot;I'll try one of those froo-froo frozen drinks...but it's whiskey afterwards.&amp;quot; He sounds a bit more grim than enchanted with the idea. Headshake. &amp;quot;Only time I puked was my first time...totally binged.&amp;quot; Never going to happen *again*. Ugh.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge pauses, turning to partially face Rand at the 'offer', taking it for what it's worth. &amp;quot;By all means.&amp;quot; A gesture indicates the carcass, if the other would be willing to grab a limb and drag alongside him, he would follow suit. There's a slight pause in response to the sass, though not at the sass itself- he appears to take the question literally enough, and answers eventually with a resolved &amp;quot;No.&amp;quot; as he hefts a clawed paw or moves on- depending on what Brierande decides he's willing to do. &amp;quot;Never found any use for the word. Implies too many things.&amp;quot; The rider doesn't look at Rand again until they come to the clearing, 'less anything else interrupts them. It's a small clearing, one just wide enough for the bronze to mostly spread his oversized and strikingly dark wings. Zymadiath would lower to settle on the ground at the sight of them, a forelimb extended, a wrinkle over his muzzle that doesn't- yet- display his own fangs against the dark mask of his face.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Okay, he'll attempt this. Still a little green around the gills, 'Rand approaches the carcass with only small hesitation, slowly hefts up his own huge pawed forelimb, and drags with Ka'ge...though he still really doesn't *look* at their burden. There's a low grunt between drags to the other's 'no,' the teen continuing to grunt out more with, &amp;quot;I'd bet.&amp;quot; Drag. &amp;quot;Like what?&amp;quot; Seeing how the bronzerider looks all about them, quiets, Breirande does so, too, goggling around until they're in the clear...his wariness and owl-eyed look returning for the duration. Fear; it does a body good in small doses. And then thank Faranth; there's Zymadiath! Surely a dragon trumps all big cats, and 'Rand's all for greeting the bronze quite happily...until that muzzle-wrinkle is noticed as they close. Jerking his grey-blues back over to Ka'ge, the younger man inquires, &amp;quot;Uh...how pissed-off is he?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The dragging is a slow process since, even between two healthy bodies, it's a hefty weight. The effort, the work completed as they clear the trees, Ka'ge drops the limb and only turns back to wrench the arrow out from between the feline's ribs with a grotesquely moist sound and drop it back into the quiver he'd brought. &amp;quot;Liabilities, responsibilities. All those long-term obligations that you're don't seem so fond of yourself. You get plenty of ties just being a rider, wanted or not.&amp;quot; There's a dismissive pause before he adds, &amp;quot;I just don't like the word.&amp;quot; A beat, a return of a hint of his grin, &amp;quot;Surely a roamer doesn't make so many friends himself.&amp;quot; The inquiry catches Ka'ge off-guard, as if he hadn't noticed. There's a glance up the shadow-wrought bronze, and a private exchange that awards a draconic snort, a loss of the wrinkled muzzle and a turn of those faceted eyes away. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt;  Nightmarish figments of darkness dance, blackness writhes, steady in their constructing and deconstructing of figments not-really-there. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; You put him at risk.&amp;gt;&amp;gt; The low, rough mind voice of the bronze disapproves, &amp;lt;&amp;lt;You may not care if he loses an eye as a lesson, but then all this effort would have been wasted.&amp;gt;&amp;gt; (To Ka'ge from Zymadiath)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's a breathy chuckle from the rider who vaults up the straps to the neck's hooked, spined ridges. &amp;quot;Not nearly equivalent to your feline friend. He says you aren't useful if you're mauled. Or dead. I guess he likes you. Kind of.&amp;quot; The grin broadens darkly before he adds with an extended hand to help him up, &amp;quot;Let's go. Not enough rum for all this adventure.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That moist sound makes 'Rand turn grey-green again, the teen stepping away from their former burden to get some air while Ka'ge does...whatever. Listening quietly to his rider home, the worker finally mumbles a sludgy-sounding, &amp;quot;Got lots of acquaintences.&amp;quot; Shrug. As the bronzerider said, 'friends' don't usually come with roaming. Getting his stomach back in hand, the teen turns about to watch the other man scramble up his dragon's straps, 'Rand finally moving towards the bronze, and giving Zymadiath a respectful nod before he offers his hand up to Ka'ge. Refraining yet again about talking about those pokey-bits of ridges they're seated between, the 'kid' manages a thin smirk for the bronze's unspoken words of his choice, offers Zymadiath a faint bit of a bow in return as he settles behind Ka'ge. &amp;quot;Why don't I feel all that reassured?&amp;quot; is noted with another return to sass, the teen nodding hearty agreement with the man before him. &amp;quot;Rum the first round...&amp;quot; he reminds Ka'ge. Then the heavy stuff. Beat. &amp;quot;Thanks. Again.&amp;quot; For saving his ass, this time.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Search Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Too_Much_Adventure&amp;diff=84968</id>
		<title>Logs:Too Much Adventure</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Too_Much_Adventure&amp;diff=84968"/>
				<updated>2016-02-11T08:16:31Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: Created page with &amp;quot;{{Log |who=Brierande, Ka'ge |what=Brierande almost misses his ride back to Fort following an agreement, and gets a bit more than he bargained for in...&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Brierande, Ka'ge&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Brierande almost misses his ride back to Fort following an [[Logs:People_and_Places|agreement]], and gets a bit more than he bargained for in his 'final' adventure.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Somewhere near Southern Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=Fort Area, Fort Weyr, Southern Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=26&lt;br /&gt;
|month=1&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=39&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2016.02.10&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;You'll be killing something that's already dead if you wait any longer... Sympathy, honor, revenge; take your pick.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon Ka'ge laughing.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=Of *course* 'Rand didn't show up at the appointed place, at the appointed time. Effing punk-ass kid ran out on his 'promise' to Ka'ge and the bronze who chose him. One of the girls from the lower caverns swore up and down that the young man was planning to return (if Ka'ge bothers to take her even slightly seriously, anyway). It doesn't change the fact that the youth isn't *here*...and is, instead - about 4 miles away - treed and terrified by a particularly large and aggressive southern wildcat.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The shadow that blots out the Southern sun is draconic by nature and gets no brighter as it spirals down to the landing field below. Alighting easily on the cobblestone, he barely bothers to fold his vast wingspan. The cloak of them hanging loosely about him, either meant as preparedness to take off again or to intimidate- both of which could be equally true. The equally dark-clad rider 'tween his neck ridges surveys the passersby in fairly clear annoyance. He'd expended this much energy in getting this kid on the Sands; one trip inside to ask after him was almost a necessity. The tale is easy enough to garner, but it doesn't improve his mood as he leaps from the paw to the straps of his bronze and takes to the skies once more. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Four miles is not a far circle from the sky, but a jungle is also no place for a large dragon to land. The shadow-masked dragon tips and soars low, grazing the tips of the trees with his silver-scarred underbelly. A frightening roar is emitted from the bronze, savage, predatory, as he comes so-close to the tree Rand has climbed up into, and passes by with as equal speed as he'd come in with. The pair would keep going, too, and disappear farther beyond the trees.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Okay, *that* kind of roar cannot come from a wildcat, even this big bastard that's currenly, if unsteadily, trying to climb the bole of the tree that Breirande is currently 25 feet up in. Already scared near-shitless, that draconic roar almost makes the teen piss himself...until his mind - exposed to various other dragon roars over the last couple of months - puts two and two together. Oh THANK SWEET FARANTH! His cry upward is frantic, and reaching the heights of what the average, adult human male voice is capable of in pitch and volume. Screamed for all he's worth, &amp;quot;HELP! HEEEELP! BIG CAT! HEEEELP!&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's an unfortunate few minutes that pass by with no further aid to come to the candidate-to-be (or lunch-to-be if the feline has its way). The clearing must not have been too far away, at least, when the draconic shadow is abruptly above again, circling now, and riderless. There's no more roaring, no more intimidating, beyond the very low altitude at which he systematically passes- Just silence beyond the slightly red-orange change of the facets of his eyes. And then, from two or so trees over, there's some noise. Minimal, to be sure, but cracking of smaller branches, the harsh rub of boots on bark, all those effects that lead one to figure someone is scaling the tree at a fairly decent clip. Ka'ge settles on a branch perhaps ten feet lower on his tree, a &amp;quot;Psst!&amp;quot; sharply called up to the other. Whether it's to cut off the screaming or simply get his attention, either works. The bronzerider, conveniently, has a strung bow looped over a shoulder which he unburdens from himself with little flourish. &amp;quot;I'm not terribly good at this.&amp;quot; He says, loud enough to be heard, but sounding quite blase about it despite the clear-cut danger beneath them. &amp;quot;Will probably miss.&amp;quot; He adds, studying the feline at his distance.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That feline down below - still trying to work its way further up the tree - is a skinny one, to be sure. Perhaps that's what drives it to only flatten its ears and yowl in a mix of frustration, fear, and hungry outrage to Zymadiath's roar...then continue to crawl its way up towards this super-easy meal that can't seem to fight back. Another five feet up from where 'Rand is currently stationed, the limbs of the tree become too thin to safely support his frame, but the teen is more-than-thinking about attempting them, anyway, when that dragon disappears for a couple of minutes. Oh. My. Freaking. Faranth. He wasn't heard! Caught between suppositions, Breirande almost misses the bronze passing overhead, since he's currently staring bug-eyed at the mortal hazard down below, while one sweaty hand grips convulsively at the hilt of his knife at hip. It's only when those nearer branches in that other tree start snapping that the laborer finds his huge gaze lurching over *there*, the teen's brain already making him think there's yet another wild cat ready to leap for him. Just as he waveringly draws his knife, Ka'ge voice barely pierces his fear, makes 'Rand almost whimper in relief. Almost. At this point, all he can manage is to nod briskly to the other man, and swallow convulsively, those wide eyes jerking between big cat and bronzerider. That knife in his hand is held in a shaking grasp, though brandished correctly. At least someone taught him the very basics correctly.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge exhales, drawing the bow up with an arrow notched, balanced on his knuckle. The moment drags on as he aims, but the release is exactly as the bronzerider had predicted- off by a foot to the right and wizzing through the air harmlessly with a sharply pitched whistle. Zymadiath passes by at the same time, his shadow heavy over the trio below him. The rumbling of a growl is notable, if fear hasn't entirely defeaned the laborer's ears. There's some sort of experience admitted, though, in the way the next arrow is already in place when the expected first-miss is still airborne. &amp;quot;If it gets any closer, you put that right in its eye.&amp;quot; He says lowly, as if telling a story. The hooded rider, balanced on a foot and one knee on the thickly rounded and oddly angled branch, releases a second that would strike true to the chest or forelimb should the cat not stray from its current path.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That cat is spitting and hissing its anger as that first arrow whizzes by it, the big cat crouching lower, trying to dig its blunted talons into the wood, and baring its teeth up at the place Ka'ge occupies. &amp;quot;F-fuck...FUCK...&amp;quot; is all Breirande manages to gasp out between rapid breaths, the knife in his hand waveringly shifted to off hand for a moment so he can swipe his sweaty palm clean upon a pant leg. There's another nod, sans glance, for the bronzerider's steady words, the teen's throat bobbing wildly as the feline makes to move again. And, even as kitteh-kat decides things have grown too convoluted and dangerous for it to pursue even this frail game any longer - stalks about to give up the chase - that second arrow of Ka'ge's strikes the cat true in the chest. A hellaciously awful set of sounds follows, the beast yowling and hissing, growling and moaning, and finally falling down into the heavy foliage below. While the undergrowth rustles and sighs with movement below them, 'Rand groans in abbreviated relief, gasps up and over to his rescuer, &amp;quot;*Fuck!* You got it!&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's again that Ka'ge has another arrow already leveled on the feline, perhaps just in case. But when the last arrow grounds the beast, he lowers his aim, relenting his balanced crouch to swing his booted feet over the side of the branch to sit. Whatever his expression may be- continued apathy or goading, it's hidden beneath his self-made shadow. His gloved hand now freed of drawing the string back, gestures from Breirande towards the flailing, yowling animal as his other slings the weapon back over his shoulders. &amp;quot;So finish it. You look like you can handle that thing,&amp;quot; the knife, he implies, &amp;quot;Well enough. Get yourself a story to take back to your tavern girls.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yeah...mHm. For a very long set of moments, Breirande just stares over and down at Ka'ge like he's out of his effing mind for suggesting that...and then - with the return of 'higher' mental faculties - comes the re-engaging of his teen sense of overwhelming pride. He's been caught looking and sounding weak by a proven tough guy...someone who's now calling him to step up to the plate and try to hit a single (after Ka'ge homer). Embarrassed, stung, yet still touched with ample echos of rightful fear... 'Rand very carefully, slowly descends his chosen tree, all the while watching and listening to the thrashing and coughing of the wild feline down below. It's sounds are growing softer, efforts to escape weaker. He's not *completely* insane, though...taking his time, and tiptoing around from what he judges to be the back of the beast.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's eventually noise behind Breirande as he starts to close the distance between himself and the wounded feline, the light scraping of hide on bark and the soft rustle of disturbed underbrush as Ka'ge relinquishes his perch for the jungle ground below. Soft moss and fern-like plants make movements even quieter, but the bronzerider makes it no secret that he's a couple yards behind the other. Maybe it's another 'just in case' motive, maybe it's something else, but he's otherwise silent back beyond Rand's shadow. Waiting, watching.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You can bet your behind that Breirande's keeping track of where Ka'ge is...though the wounded feline takes the lion's share of the teen's attention. Between them, 'Rand finally reaches what's now *his* quarry, the big cat now mostly still as it bleeds out more of its life onto the jungle floor. No longer quite the active threat it formerly was, the big beast's half-starved state becomes even more obvious, it's mixed tawny and spotted coat dull from lack of nourishment. It's state barely degrades the presence the thing has, however, its pink tongue out and panting through two inch long fangs that it bares at the approaching humans. Stopping about 8 feet short of the feline, 'Rand simply stares at it, his knife in fist readied for a blow... and continues staring.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;You'll be killing something that's already dead if you wait any longer.&amp;quot; Ka'ge's urging is as much true as it is meant to be instigating. &amp;quot;Sympathy, honor, revenge; take your pick.&amp;quot; The bronzerider stopped at some point, allowing Rand's distance from him to increase once in view of the starving, bleeding feline. The sound of a leather pouch being unbuckled can be heard, the slip of metal from a sheath, and the ever-so-soft creak of glove shifting and partially tightening around a knife's grip. Better than a bow at this range, anyway.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's many things that manage to slip out from under his precarious emotional control... things that distort Breirande's features when Ka'ge speaks that way. Anger, fierce pride, pity, nausea, fear...the mishmash is a scene in itself. It's finally the bit cat's slow shuddering that finally decides his actions, the dying feline all but paralyzed now and presenting no likely ability to harm its former quarry. Stepping in from the back, that slightly trembling knife is gripped more firmly as 'Rand squats down, and finally shoves the long blade up from below into the cat's throat...ultimately finding its home in its brain. A feeble twitch later and its over, the young man suddenly gasping and pulling his bloody knife...and hand free. Jerking to his feet, stumbling a couple of steps backwards on rubbery legs, all he does is stare blankly at the corpse...and turn two shades of grey and green.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Hmh.&amp;quot; Could be amusement as Ka'ge steps beside him as soon as he takes those wobbly steps backwards. It could also be approval, but there's little but a crooked grin on his face as he moves past Rand to squat beside the other's kill. The rider's hand that holds his own knife pulls back the hood to fall in wrinkles behind his neck and over his shoulders, gloved fingers scratching roughly through his black hair as if it wasn't messy ''enough'', with the blade's angle just-so it doesn't slice his own hide. &amp;quot;Been awhile since I've seen one of these.&amp;quot; Calm, a conversational sort of tone that seems intended to be by some manner comforting in light of his grey-green-hued 'companion'. &amp;quot;Impressive situation you got yourself into. So desperate to not go back to the Weyr that you thought you'd make yourself someone's dinner?&amp;quot; Gloved fingers curl around the cat's jaw, his blade angled to free those impressive canines from their deep-set roots.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge's approval and/or amusement means not much to Breriande, right now, the teen dragging the back of one of his sweat-stained forearms across his mouth as he watches the bronzerider approach the body of the big cat, squat down. Finally breathed out is a strained sounding, &amp;quot;Never...*never* seen one, before.&amp;quot; His light baritone is still touched with the vestiges of fear and awe...and something even more strained. The rest of the bronzer's words only touch a fragment of his reeling brain, make 'Rand mutter a little weakly, &amp;quot;Thought about it...&amp;quot; Swallow, cough, spit. Maybe even attempted it, but he'll not admit to such. &amp;quot;On my way... when it ran after me.&amp;quot; Which way he was going might be up for debate, however. When Ka'ge starts for the feline's big teeth, 'Rand finally has to avert his gaze to the side. Hawking and spitting the bile from his mouth again, he finally mumbles, &amp;quot;Where's Zymadiath?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;On your way from where?&amp;quot; Ka'ge's curiosity seems earnest enough, though there's clearly distraction in his tone with the effort it takes to cut and wrench the fangs out of the sockets. He gets them all though, efficient of motion and yet not in much hurry at the same time. When he rises, it's to display the four teeth in an open palm towards Brierande, with stilled patience to await the passing of the nausea. &amp;quot;Your trophy. To remind yourself you're damn lucky you've got the teeth and not the scars.&amp;quot; Blue-green gaze falls back to the cat, a displeased flicker fading his lopsided grin. &amp;quot;Shame to waste the rest.&amp;quot; Is more to himself than Rand. The question is answered with a vague shrug, exaggerated by the rustling of his clothing, &amp;quot;He's in the clearing to the east waiting for us.&amp;quot; And then, more interested, &amp;quot;Raring to go back already?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Huh?&amp;quot; is inquired rather thickly, 'Rand's mind somewhere else at that point. He's searching for some kind of answer, only comes up with, &amp;quot;I don't fucking know...walking around. Just taking it all in.&amp;quot; He seems a little addled, still. Fear can do that. Blink. Those offered teeth make him shudder just a little, though his hand extends...slowly. A bit thinly, &amp;quot;You keep two. Your shot...it was first.&amp;quot; The teen can't look at 'the rest,' right now. His eyes averting again, &amp;quot;Will Zymadiath eat it?&amp;quot; Funny; he's not been bothered by scenes of dragons chasing down and eating Fort's tended flocks. A hollow little nod for the dragon's current location peters out finally, transitions into a slightly stung glare back at the rider. &amp;quot;Are you always such a dick to people?&amp;quot; Frown. &amp;quot;*Said* I'd accept your terms.&amp;quot; Mutter. &amp;quot;Still want my drink.&amp;quot; Or twenty.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The remaining two fangs are pocketed without arguement, his bloodied knife cleaned on the tawny fur of the beast and then sheathed. Too-practiced fingers secure it into place with its clip at his lower back. &amp;quot;Probably, but the hide and bones are worth more than dragon fodder.&amp;quot; The curious disappointment in that statement lingers, but he does relinquish whatever ideas he'd had to face east and begin walking, leaving the invitation to follow unspoken. &amp;quot;Aye.&amp;quot; A simple confirmatory answer to the next question in line. &amp;quot;But I keep deals. You can get as drunk as you want, as long as you keep it down. You vomit on Zymadiath and he might just drop you off Between.&amp;quot; This, a much lighter joke and much less likely to be true given the humored curl to the last of his words.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Marks... Word of money to be made has the somewhat queasy teen suddenly looking to try and buck up more. &amp;quot;We could...drag it back out to the clearing. If he's willing to carry it.&amp;quot; 'Rand still can't quite look directly at the big cat's corpse. Those fangs are quickly pocketed, however, a faint snort offered up at Ka'ge agreement of his own personality. &amp;quot;Got any real friends?&amp;quot; is inquired with a hint of his usual sass, the soon-to-be candidate following his 'saviour' of sorts, whatever Ka'ge decides. Yes, drink! Breirande looks relieved by that generous offer, nods a few times. &amp;quot;I'll try one of those froo-froo frozen drinks...but it's whiskey afterwards.&amp;quot; He sounds a bit more grim than enchanted with the idea. Headshake. &amp;quot;Only time I puked was my first time...totally binged.&amp;quot; Never going to happen *again*. Ugh.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge pauses, turning to partially face Rand at the 'offer', taking it for what it's worth. &amp;quot;By all means.&amp;quot; A gesture indicates the carcass, if the other would be willing to grab a limb and drag alongside him, he would follow suit. There's a slight pause in response to the sass, though not at the sass itself- he appears to take the question literally enough, and answers eventually with a resolved &amp;quot;No.&amp;quot; as he hefts a clawed paw or moves on- depending on what Brierande decides he's willing to do. &amp;quot;Never found any use for the word. Implies too many things.&amp;quot; The rider doesn't look at Rand again until they come to the clearing, 'less anything else interrupts them. It's a small clearing, one just wide enough for the bronze to mostly spread his oversized and strikingly dark wings. Zymadiath would lower to settle on the ground at the sight of them, a forelimb extended, a wrinkle over his muzzle that doesn't- yet- display his own fangs against the dark mask of his face.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Okay, he'll attempt this. Still a little green around the gills, 'Rand approaches the carcass with only small hesitation, slowly hefts up his own huge pawed forelimb, and drags with Ka'ge...though he still really doesn't *look* at their burden. There's a low grunt between drags to the other's 'no,' the teen continuing to grunt out more with, &amp;quot;I'd bet.&amp;quot; Drag. &amp;quot;Like what?&amp;quot; Seeing how the bronzerider looks all about them, quiets, Breirande does so, too, goggling around until they're in the clear...his wariness and owl-eyed look returning for the duration. Fear; it does a body good in small doses. And then thank Faranth; there's Zymadiath! Surely a dragon trumps all big cats, and 'Rand's all for greeting the bronze quite happily...until that muzzle-wrinkle is noticed as they close. Jerking his grey-blues back over to Ka'ge, the younger man inquires, &amp;quot;Uh...how pissed-off is he?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The dragging is a slow process since, even between two healthy bodies, it's a hefty weight. The effort, the work completed as they clear the trees, Ka'ge drops the limb and only turns back to wrench the arrow out from between the feline's ribs with a grotesquely moist sound and drop it back into the quiver he'd brought. &amp;quot;Liabilities, responsibilities. All those long-term obligations that you're don't seem so fond of yourself. You get plenty of ties just being a rider, wanted or not.&amp;quot; There's a dismissive pause before he adds, &amp;quot;I just don't like the word.&amp;quot; A beat, a return of a hint of his grin, &amp;quot;Surely a roamer doesn't make so many friends himself.&amp;quot; The inquiry catches Ka'ge off-guard, as if he hadn't noticed. There's a glance up the shadow-wrought bronze, and a private exchange that awards a draconic snort, a loss of the wrinkled muzzle and a turn of those faceted eyes away. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt;  Nightmarish figments of darkness dance, blackness writhes, steady in their constructing and deconstructing of figments not-really-there. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; You put him at risk.&amp;gt;&amp;gt; The low, rough mind voice of the bronze disapproves, &amp;lt;&amp;lt;You may not care if he loses an eye as a lesson, but then all this effort would have been wasted.&amp;gt;&amp;gt; (To Ka'ge from Zymadiath)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's a breathy chuckle from the rider who vaults up the straps to the neck's hooked, spined ridges. &amp;quot;Not nearly equivalent to your feline friend. He says you aren't useful if you're mauled. Or dead. I guess he likes you. Kind of.&amp;quot; The grin broadens darkly before he adds with an extended hand to help him up, &amp;quot;Let's go. Not enough rum for all this adventure.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That moist sound makes 'Rand turn grey-green again, the teen stepping away from their former burden to get some air while Ka'ge does...whatever. Listening quietly to his rider home, the worker finally mumbles a sludgy-sounding, &amp;quot;Got lots of acquaintences.&amp;quot; Shrug. As the bronzerider said, 'friends' don't usually come with roaming. Getting his stomach back in hand, the teen turns about to watch the other man scramble up his dragon's straps, 'Rand finally moving towards the bronze, and giving Zymadiath a respectful nod before he offers his hand up to Ka'ge. Refraining yet again about talking about those pokey-bits of ridges they're seated between, the 'kid' manages a thin smirk for the bronze's unspoken words of his choice, offers Zymadiath a faint bit of a bow in return as he settles behind Ka'ge. &amp;quot;Why don't I feel all that reassured?&amp;quot; is noted with another return to sass, the teen nodding hearty agreement with the man before him. &amp;quot;Rum the first round...&amp;quot; he reminds Ka'ge. Then the heavy stuff. Beat. &amp;quot;Thanks. Again.&amp;quot; For saving his ass, this time.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Search Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:People_and_Places&amp;diff=84964</id>
		<title>Logs:People and Places</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:People_and_Places&amp;diff=84964"/>
				<updated>2016-02-09T22:24:34Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Brierande, Ka'ge,&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Brierande is offered a candidate's knot by Ka'ge, he has a request or two of his own to make in exchange.&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=Fort Area, Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=17&lt;br /&gt;
|month=13&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=39&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2016.02.08&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;You afraid of change, what might be? You're already doing all the damn work, with the sharding wrong knot.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|weather=Steady snowfall, winter day&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=Dahlia, Kh'tyr&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon Ka'ge really.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|desc=&amp;gt;---&amp;lt; Tunnel, Fort Weyr &amp;gt;----------------------------------------------------&amp;lt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
  Connecting the Inner Caverns to the outside world is a single tunnel that &lt;br /&gt;
  dives down through the very heart and depths of the Weyr and exits near   &lt;br /&gt;
  the base of the mountain where the road down to the Fort Hold valley      &lt;br /&gt;
  starts. Fairly straight and dimly lit, the tunnel is large enough to      &lt;br /&gt;
  accommodate tithe wagons and small group of people walking abreast. A     &lt;br /&gt;
  kidney-shaped unloading area opens out immediately below the Stores with  &lt;br /&gt;
  plenty of space to unload wagons and carry supplies up into those storage &lt;br /&gt;
  caverns. The end of the Tunnel is barred by a heavy stone gate and guarded&lt;br /&gt;
  by a watchrider.                                                          &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
 -----------------------------&amp;lt; Active Players &amp;gt;-----------------------------&lt;br /&gt;
  Breirand     M  17    6'  athletic, dark blonde hair, blue-grey eyes   26s &lt;br /&gt;
  Ka'ge        M  18    6'  toned, black hair, blue-green eyes            0s&lt;br /&gt;
|log=His grunt work of earlier in the day having run out, in the afternoon Brierande found himself briskly ordered by some overseer or another to be yet another body added to latrine-cleaning duty to speed up the effort even more. And so, brave soul that he is, the tall teen is now found...'lost within the tunnels deep inside the Fortian complex. At this point, he's simply leaning against one rocky wall, picking away at and slowly eating a bun he nabbed from the Kitchens earlier...and looking a mixture of bored, relieved, and vaguely concerned.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Lost?&amp;quot; Comes a voice from 'round a corner nearby that leads to some small, currently vacant cavern. The owner of said voice becomes visible in a most casual of manners, appearing and leaning a shoulder on the entranceway. Hood crumbled about his shoulders, gloved hands shoved into pockets, and a taint of a grin make up the most notable features of Ka'ge as his blue-green eyes study Brierande for an uneasily long moment, before turning down one of the tunnels where a distant voice may or may not be heard, and passes. The bronzerider, content in his spot on the wall, apparently doesn't look like he'll be readily moving on.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Him? Lost? Psh! Looking only a tad guilty, more wary and proud, 'Rand takes another bite of his dwindling roll , chews and swallows while giving a small shake of his head in the negative. At least it's Ka'ge, and not Mirinda or Dahlia. Muttered as casually as he can, &amp;quot;This place is a maze, though. Be easy to do so.&amp;quot; Get lost. On a side note, &amp;quot;Never did get your name, last time.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;So, hiding.&amp;quot; For surely if it's not one, then it's the other. Ka'ge shrugs one shoulder at the next, a bit of dismissiveness and perhaps amusement about the motion. &amp;quot;Not a mistake.&amp;quot; It's not an offer, as he moves on. &amp;quot;So what are you hiding from? Can't possibly be work.&amp;quot; Is lightly sarcastic, &amp;quot;-Unless, what was it? Weyrbrats chasing you? Or you just tired of Weyr labor?&amp;quot; The latter seems a touch more searching.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As if! Pfft! Again, Breirande looks slightly outraged at Ka'ge 'hiding' indictment, and gives the bronzerider a quick, slightly tart &amp;quot;On my way to another job through here. Got a little turned around after *having* to turn around and go back to ask a few more questions. Just getting back on track. Still, it was time to take a break.&amp;quot; For food, apparently. &amp;quot;Chasing me?&amp;quot; Scoff. &amp;quot;I c'n hold my own.&amp;quot; After another nip of bun, the teen offers a slightly sly, &amp;quot;Got a bad rep, or something?&amp;quot; Oh yes; he noticed the man not offering his name.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Really.&amp;quot; Ka'ge's grin has broadened, lopsidedly, and his hands are pulled from pockets to fold across his chest. &amp;quot;You're so ''motivated''. Inspiring.&amp;quot; If the first few things weren't instigating, his tone with these surely is helping- or not helping, depending on view. &amp;quot;Those little beasts are more savage than you give 'em credit for. Had glue in my hair for a good seven-&amp;quot; He runs fingers through his black hair for effect, messing it more than it normally is already. &amp;quot;Bad rep? Wouldn't be hard to ask after me. Can't quite hide once you've Impressed. Not here, anyway.&amp;quot; He straightens, but clearly not with intent to leave the other teen alone. &amp;quot;Did you take anything from our last enjoyable chat?&amp;quot; This, said flatter. &amp;quot;Follow any other riders around?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's a small scowl for Ka'ge's less-than-beaming words of 'Rand, but he refuses to let the older male bait him anymore than that....for the moment, anyway. Tucking into another nip of bun, the teen smirks, shakes his head for word of the Weyrbrats, finally adds on a light baritone, &amp;quot;Last Weyrbrat that crossed me got a black eye for it.&amp;quot; He won't mention that *he* was also the recipient of such, of course. A small lift of one heavier brow for the other's words of himself is followed by a laconic, &amp;quot;You're a rider.&amp;quot; Impression tends to make one such. &amp;quot;Maybe I will.&amp;quot; Asking about Ka'ge. Shrug. &amp;quot;Been askin' some people, here an' there about how it was for riders before and after they Impressed.&amp;quot; Eggs on the Sands, and all. &amp;quot;Seems like half of 'em found it to be a mixed experience, in some way or another.&amp;quot; Grey-blue eyes lock to the bronzer's own green-blues, assessing him for intent. &amp;quot;Your...assistant weyrlingmaster...whats-his-name.&amp;quot; Nose-wrinkle. &amp;quot;Guy admitted outright his own brown is as big of an asshole as *he* is.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Ah, but you should see the way you can goad those nannies. When you tell the little ones about where babies come from, the look on their faces-&amp;quot; Ka'ge's breathy chuckle briefly rocks his shoulders, the reference clearly coming from experience. His eyes narrow lightly, his intrigued and amused expression unchanging. &amp;quot;Kh'tyr.&amp;quot; He offers that name for the assistant weyrlingmaster, something almost annoyed yet personal about how he says it. &amp;quot;The dragons are their own selves. Whatever you get, you're stuck with. And yet.. you wouldn't want to be stuck with anything else.&amp;quot; Reflective, that, as he steps forwards to cross half the tunnel, decreasing the space. &amp;quot;You say you can handle yourself. Given little ones blackeyes for their trouble and all that.&amp;quot; He rolls his eyes, as if pretending to not believe it to start. &amp;quot;You afraid of change, what might be? You're already doing all the damn work, with the sharding wrong knot.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Okay. Now *that's* something worth laughing over, and Breirande snorks his humor at Ka'ge's admission about teasing the nannies, his mouth showing even, mostly-white teeth through his low chortle. &amp;quot;Yeah...&amp;quot; is soon enough agreed of the weyrlingmaster. &amp;quot;Exactly. He sounded almost...resigned.&amp;quot; Beat. &amp;quot;Who the fu...shards would wanna' be *resigned* to living with someone in your head that you don't even like?&amp;quot; A look silently inquires of the bronzerider 'Is it the same for you?' A kid? &amp;quot;Whoa, man. NOT a little. My age.&amp;quot; So...another twerp of a teen got a black eye. &amp;quot;I don't smack around little brats, or women.&amp;quot; Because he's *so* white knight. And then, there's that scowl again as Ka'ge calls him out like that, the younger man finally allowing, &amp;quot;Having a little fear is a healthy thing. Protects you from the truly dangerous crap.&amp;quot; Shrug. As for work, there's a more reticent admission, laced with a bit of teen anghst, &amp;quot;*Everyplace* *always* gets boring, after awhile.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge takes his time to respond, that arrogant grin continuing to line his face and lightly narrow his gaze. At the implied inquiry, there's a slighest tilt of his head, his gaze blanking for one breath, two, and then refocusing on the other teen.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; It's the deepest realms upon which the darkness lies with his Own, as if drowning in pitch and ink sapped of all color, weighted upon the soul itself. The gravelly, harsh low mindvoice from within is removed, barely interested- and yet, enough so that he must say something. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Him. Ask him. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Is all the night would give. (From Zymadiath to Ka'ge)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Zymadiath is far from kind. The.. mm.. feel of his mind is terribly unpleasant and there's hardly a day that goes by that he doesn't call me stupid.&amp;quot; All that sounds wonderful, yes? &amp;quot;But there isn't another on Pern that I can talk to like I can to him. They Impress who they're meant to. Kh'tyr is just as much an ass as Mograith.&amp;quot; Well, almost. &amp;quot;The two are as meant for each other as any.&amp;quot; A beat, another half-hearted chuckle to the women-and-children comment. &amp;quot;Honorable.&amp;quot; And there's a flicker of something ''else'', as Ka'ge touches a hand to his own chest for a moment. &amp;quot;You're right. Standing on hot sands in a mass of bodies while incoordinated infants with talons flail around is anything but nice and safe. And it'll lock y'down to this place for a good turn, but everything changes. For better, for worse. You only gotta be willing to try. Or, what, you going to keep flitting around Pern until some girl locks you down in a little Hold somewhere and the best you got is a runner to escape on?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Arrogance is greeted with smug sureity, 'Rand looking as full of his own teenage version of what the bronzerider is currently expressing as he can be. And then the other male is getting 'that look' on his face, in his eyes, the look Breirande's finally learned to associate with somebody talking with their lifemate...and the teen stares in guarded curiosity. Once the word of his own dragon is offered, 'Rand's looking satisfied, somehow, and certain. Another, smaller snort is given for the assurance of Kh'tyr being an asshole, a definitive nod echoing it, chased by a dark little twist of lips for that 'honorable.' Word of what Impression can do, does to people, however, gets a different reaction from the teen: a look laced with mistrust. Finally he responds tightly, &amp;quot;Better independent that strapped down to *any* woman or any *dragon*. &amp;quot; Frown. &amp;quot;The way you put it - shells, the way others put it - it's not really worth it, ultimately.&amp;quot; He's finally pushing off the ricky wall, starting to pace a little...rather like a caged animal. &amp;quot;There's lots of other places, people on Pern I can still go to.&amp;quot; Lots of fresh places, faces...and always, somewhere to roam.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;People and places I could see in a seven that would take you months if not turns to get even close to.&amp;quot; Ka'ge rolls his shoulders, shifting only to follow him as he paces with his eyes. &amp;quot;Unless you ''relied'' on riders to take you.&amp;quot; He huffs what might be the start of a laugh that's cut short. &amp;quot;Independent, that's cute. You're still the worker under whatever political roof you stay under for the night, leaving at sunrise just to be under the rules of another by sundown. Ain't much for freedom.&amp;quot; Then, quite abruptly, he's less interested, his stare cut off from the pacing resident to look again down the tunnel as if expecting someone. &amp;quot;There's many eggs, there's not a lot of bodies to Stand for 'em. You're a resident of age. Stand.&amp;quot; It's an offer, this time, in full. &amp;quot;Maybe you'll get lucky and not Impress. You'll have fulfilled whatever-&amp;quot; He motions vaguely with a gloved hand, &amp;quot;expectation this place has for you, and move on, with that experience in your pocket. A hatchling would rather go Between than Impress the wrong person. You got nothing to worry about.&amp;quot; This, too, sounds to be from experience.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;My mother always told me that part of the experience is how you get there in the first place,&amp;quot; Breirande replies with the same arrogant, sure humor that Ka'ge formerly used. &amp;quot;I can sail, walk, ride runners, scoot on my ass, and maybe even take a quick dragon hop wherever.&amp;quot; As the bronzerider 'works' on him, the teen becomes only more cocky, more wound up, his smirk of near legendary proportions, at times. &amp;quot;Freedom's what *I* make of it.&amp;quot; Beat. &amp;quot;You're as limited by your dragon as by yourself. And worse than any harpy of a woman or oaf of a boss, *you* can never, *ever* get away from your dragon.&amp;quot; Stand? Is Ka'ge out of his mind?! Snort! &amp;quot;And maybe I won't, and get saddled with some utter tool of a dragon yammering on in my head until I throw myself off a cliff to shut it up.&amp;quot; How does he manage to sound so dark and bitter for a 17 turn old? Maybe it's the whole teen thing...and maybe not. And, rather suddenly, from between opposing points, 'Rand finds a temporary center point, whirls around to stare at the other man and inquire of him with mixed bite and curiosity, &amp;quot;What - beyond the very dubious 'honor' of having some dragon pull me down and rope and brand me - could you offer to sweeten this little offer of yours?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;All of which costs ya.&amp;quot; Ka'ge gives to Rand's 'list'. &amp;quot;And as lovely as you sweep floors, I doubt your pocket of marks is so heavy as to give you all but walking and scooting right along on your ass as your best consistent options. I personally vote for the latter.&amp;quot; Acting unimpressed with his dramatic and dark flare, the bronzerider refolds his arms and waits for the ranting to slow. When the teen whirls to face him again, the other dressed in all darks is unmoved, statuesque as he had been when Brierande had started his thought-filled pacing. The question gets a raise of brow, as if it's both unexpected and curious. &amp;quot;Never crossed my mind I would need a bribe.&amp;quot; Amusement trickles in with it, &amp;quot;You don't like women- so surely the ability to please Dahlia wouldn't motivate you. The assurance of a roof over your head doesn't drive you. The possibility of adventure doesn't inspire you. So you tell me. What does one with such an ''untameable'' spirit want in exchange for stepping up to his responsibility as a resident?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yes, there's the lack of marks to get him anywhere more quickly than walking, and Ka'ge's brandishment of such in his face inspires a dark scowl from 'Rand. Fuck you. &amp;quot;I've walked lengths before. Wouldn't be different this time.&amp;quot; Shrug. He doesn't what? At word of women, there's a sudden peal of laughter, which Breirande quiets quickly, so as not to draw potential attention from others who might be around the corner. &amp;quot;Oh, you have me wrong again, rider.&amp;quot; Smirk. &amp;quot;I enjoy women very much. It's just the thought of being shackled to one until I'm in my grave that makes me shudder.&amp;quot; Shrug. &amp;quot;Dahlia...seems like a decent enough sort.&amp;quot; For *now*, anyway. &amp;quot;Why would I want to please *her*?&amp;quot; Adventure, however... &amp;quot;I like finding new, different things. I could, for instance, travel South, and, if I wanted to present myself to their Weyrs' next clutches, and go through the same as I would up here...except I'd be in totally uncharted territory.&amp;quot; Unspoken in his laden tone: How would you lure me away from doing such? As for responsibility, there's a glower, then a smirk. &amp;quot;You sound like my mother. I discharge my responsibility as a resident daily, by doing the work assigned to me.&amp;quot; Well, except for cleaning toilets. However, he does finally respond with a quick, &amp;quot;Show me the South...Southern, Ierne, Monaco, all of it. I want to...to do things I've never done before up here. See those huge wild felines. Lay in the sand on a sunny beach with a woman or two on each arm.&amp;quot; And, if the small grin speaks right, in his pants, as well. &amp;quot;Drink those chilly, special drinks they have down there. See tropical sunsets, sunrises. See some wild firelizard fair...shit like *that*.&amp;quot; Already, his eyes are distancing themselves, those holy grails in the distance sudden and potentially nearer. Oh, and, &amp;quot;AND...no duties in the nursery or the latrines.&amp;quot; And don't forget, &amp;quot;I'll drag my ass out there on those hot Sands only *after* you fulfill your end of the deal. Which is a week's worth of Southern delight, consecutively or a day at a time, before those eggs pop.&amp;quot; The look grey-blues offer Ka'ge: are you truly *up* to it?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Because she's a weyrwoman.&amp;quot; Ka'ge's tone gets a little sharp, but only by degrees, a dangerous sort of glint almost, ''almost'' being given away in the look he gives the teen. &amp;quot;You treat Lords and Ladies with the same disregard, or did they teach you some sort of manners in any of your wandering pitstops? I'm all for callous behavior, but there are.... minimum standards.&amp;quot; A slow, uninspired shake of his head follows at the rest of Rand's shared thoughts, but he grants no words. The requests, do detailed, again get a raise of brow that slowly becomes furrowed. &amp;quot;I have no say on the chores you get assigned to. That's something you take up with the headwoman or her assistants or whatever.&amp;quot; That, dismissed easily enough, leaves only the much larger request. &amp;quot;You haven't gotten it through your thick head.&amp;quot; He continues to taunt, but the intermittent pauses grant that he's at least considering, &amp;quot;Zymadiath is not a fan of taxiing. I can give you two days. Call it going out on sweeps with me, as I'm apparently supposed to do. The rest- the firelizards, the women. You can win yourself that by Standing and trying to Impress your own damn dragon.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's that smirk again, perhaps maddening in its subtle intensity. *He* finally got Ka'ge. One point! Perhaps that was the reason for the cruder behavior. And when the bronzer lays out what he (and Zymadiath) will and won't do, there's an almost smooth, &amp;quot;Three days, since I'll have to deal with brats and stink. And I still want at least one souther type, chilly drink when we're done with your sweeps.&amp;quot; A headcock is followed by his slightly grinned, &amp;quot;I'll even help you wash Zymadiath.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I don't have time to babysit you.&amp;quot; Is as condescending as the word implies, &amp;quot;Drop off in the morning, picked up the following morning and move to the next place. If you get lost or whatever since you seem to be so good at that and don't meet me on the landing field, that's where you'll stay. The fourth morning, you pick up your knot.&amp;quot; There's finally the return of a faint grin on the bronzerider's face, crookedly. &amp;quot;I'm sure Zymadiath will be ever so pleased with that.&amp;quot; Oddly, the response to the help with bathing sounds more challenging than thankful. &amp;quot;And the cost of your.. drink, included. Happy?&amp;quot; Nobody told him Searching was this involved.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Aww... No best buddies time?&amp;quot; He's a sassy little bastard, allright. Smirk. &amp;quot;Sounds fine. Just gotta find me a sound knife and gear, clothes, first.&amp;quot; 'Rand's been on his own just enough in the past to know to have the proper accoutraments for adventures. For word of picking up his knot on the fourth day, there's a twist of lips, then a blunt, &amp;quot;I'm on pre-assigned work detail the next handful of days or so. Can't miss out...they're using me a little for my specialty.&amp;quot; The general laborer has a specialty? Shrug. &amp;quot;Gonna be a problem? I could try and talk with the stonemasons...&amp;quot; He doesn't sound certain, though. That odd response to Ka'ge's dragon being 'pleased' with the offer brings wariness back to the teens features, has him noting a little tentatively, &amp;quot;I meant once or twice, not every time he wants one.&amp;quot; Frown. &amp;quot;He's not...like...aggressive?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;It's not a problem until the eggs are hardened, then I'll take you nowhere.&amp;quot; Ka'ge responds to the timeline. &amp;quot;But if you take too long and my duties change, y'might get slighted on your days.&amp;quot; This is not challenging, but a statement of fact- of things that are beyond ability to haggle. &amp;quot;Think hard on where you want to go. Three places.&amp;quot; And he holds up three gloved fingers. At the other's last question, his grin turns into a darker smirk. &amp;quot;He has his moments. He's tame unless you cross his self-determined lines. You'll be spending plenty of time with him, either way.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nodding thoughtfully, 'Rand's quickly answering, &amp;quot;Noted. They said there's 3 to 5 days of solid work where they definitely want me around to check angles and depths. Just depends on how the re-digging and shoring up goes.&amp;quot; He'll do his damndest to make certain the rock work goes well and on schedule, if not faster. Already, the teen is starting to grin like the sun slicing the eastern horizon. SOUTH. He's wanted to go there for a *long* time. Oh yeah, but there's Zymadiath, too, which is a more pressing, if 'only' potential hurdle. &amp;quot;Well, please *do* tell me how not to cross him before we meet directly. I don't think I like the idea of 10 tons of dragon squishing me flat under his paw.&amp;quot; And Breirande doesn't even know Zymadiath is a bronze. No matter, there's a small duck of head from the tall teen, and a faintly grinned, &amp;quot;Thanks, rider.&amp;quot; Beat. &amp;quot;I think.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;That's a question I'm still working on answering.&amp;quot; Ka'ge answers on not crossing his dragon, equally cryptic as amused. &amp;quot;He wants you to Stand as well, so he ensures to return you in one piece.&amp;quot; Despite the not exactly confidence-inspiring grin with that, the bronzerider tips his head slightly at the given gratitude. &amp;quot;Aye. When you're ready, ask for us. We'll hear it.&amp;quot; A beat, and he offers the answers to a handful of questions in his quite delayed introduction,&amp;quot;Ka'ge of bronze Zymadiath.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Breirande's look says it all: 'Oh; greeeaaat.' &amp;quot;Well, maybe just the few pointers you've gleaned, then.&amp;quot; Whatever's helpful to avoid squishing or roaring or whatever. Smirk. Blink. &amp;quot;He does? I mean, I thought they *always* picked people.&amp;quot; Traditional Search. No matter, &amp;quot;I will.&amp;quot; It's back to contained eagerness, the other man's offer of his name and rank earning him a flash of a smirk-grin, and a Cromese-accented, &amp;quot;Breirande, laborer and sometimes mason.&amp;quot; How's that for polite?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge's shrug is dismissive as he straightens. Gloved fingers draw under the rumple of hood at his shoulders and drape it over his head, the grin vanishing with the oncoming of the shadow that it casts. &amp;quot;Sometimes learning on the way is half the fun.&amp;quot; And then he's done bothering the laborer, an almost-salute touching his now covered forehead in a farewell as he turns to continue down the tunnel.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs, Search Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:People_and_Places&amp;diff=84963</id>
		<title>Logs:People and Places</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:People_and_Places&amp;diff=84963"/>
				<updated>2016-02-09T22:14:49Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Brierande, Ka'ge,&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Brierande is offered a candidate's knot by Ka'ge, he has a request or two of his own to make in exchange.&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=Fort Area, Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=17&lt;br /&gt;
|month=13&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=39&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2016.02.08&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;You afraid of change, what might be? You're already doing all the damn work, with the sharding wrong knot.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|weather=Steady snowfall, winter day&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=Dahlia, Kh'tyr&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon Ka'ge really.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|desc=&amp;gt;---&amp;lt; Tunnel, Fort Weyr &amp;gt;----------------------------------------------------&amp;lt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
  Connecting the Inner Caverns to the outside world is a single tunnel that &lt;br /&gt;
  dives down through the very heart and depths of the Weyr and exits near   &lt;br /&gt;
  the base of the mountain where the road down to the Fort Hold valley      &lt;br /&gt;
  starts. Fairly straight and dimly lit, the tunnel is large enough to      &lt;br /&gt;
  accommodate tithe wagons and small group of people walking abreast. A     &lt;br /&gt;
  kidney-shaped unloading area opens out immediately below the Stores with  &lt;br /&gt;
  plenty of space to unload wagons and carry supplies up into those storage &lt;br /&gt;
  caverns. The end of the Tunnel is barred by a heavy stone gate and guarded&lt;br /&gt;
  by a watchrider.                                                          &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
 -----------------------------&amp;lt; Active Players &amp;gt;-----------------------------&lt;br /&gt;
  Breirand     M  17    6'  athletic, dark blonde hair, blue-grey eyes   26s &lt;br /&gt;
  Ka'ge        M  18    6'  toned, black hair, blue-green eyes            0s&lt;br /&gt;
|log=His grunt work of earlier in the day having run out, in the afternoon Brierande found himself briskly ordered by some overseer or another to be yet another body added to latrine-cleaning duty to speed up the effort even more. And so, brave soul that he is, the tall teen is now found...'lost within the tunnels deep inside the Fortian complex. At this point, he's simply leaning against one rocky wall, picking away at and slowly eating a bun he nabbed from the Kitchens earlier...and looking a mixture of bored, relieved, and vaguely concerned.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Lost?&amp;quot; Comes a voice from 'round a corner nearby that leads to some small, currently vacant cavern. The owner of said voice becomes visible in a most casual of manners, appearing and leaning a shoulder on the entranceway. Hood crumbled about his shoulders, gloved hands shoved into pockets, and a taint of a grin make up the most notable features of Ka'ge as his blue-green eyes study Brierande for an uneasily long moment, before turning down one of the tunnels where a distant voice may or may not be heard, and passes. The bronzerider, apparently, doesn't look like he'll be readily moving on.&lt;br /&gt;
Him? Lost? Psh! Looking only a tad guilty, more wary and proud, 'Rand takes another bite of his dwindling roll , chews and swallows while giving a small shake of his head in the negative. At least it's Ka'ge, and not Mirinda or Dahlia. Muttered as casually as he can, &amp;quot;This place is a maze, though. Be easy to do so.&amp;quot; Get lost. On a side note, &amp;quot;Never did get your name, last time.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As if! Pfft! Again, Breirande looks slightly outraged at Ka'ge 'hiding' indictment, and gives the bronzerider a quick, slightly tart &amp;quot;On my way to another job through here. Got a little turned around after *having* to turn around and go back to ask a few more questions. Just getting back on track. Still, it was time to take a break.&amp;quot; For food, apparently. &amp;quot;Chasing me?&amp;quot; Scoff. &amp;quot;I c'n hold my own.&amp;quot; After another nip of bun, the teen offers a slightly sly, &amp;quot;Got a bad rep, or something?&amp;quot; Oh yes; he noticed the man not offering his name.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Really.&amp;quot; Ka'ge's grin has broadened, lopsidedly, and his hands are pulled from pockets to fold across his chest. &amp;quot;You're so ''motivated''. Inspiring.&amp;quot; If the first few things weren't instigating, his tone with these surely is helping- or not helping, depending on view. &amp;quot;Those little beasts are more savage than you give 'em credit for. Had glue in my hair for a good seven-&amp;quot; He runs fingers through his black hair for effect, messing it more than it normally is already. &amp;quot;Bad rep? Wouldn't be hard to ask after me. Can't quite hide once you've Impressed. Not here, anyway.&amp;quot; He straightens, but clearly not with intent to leave the other teen alone. &amp;quot;Did you take anything from our last enjoyable chat?&amp;quot; This, said flatter. &amp;quot;Follow any other riders around?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's a small scowl for Ka'ge's less-than-beaming words of 'Rand, but he refuses to let the older male bait him anymore than that....for the moment, anyway. Tucking into another nip of bun, the teen smirks, shakes his head for word of the Weyrbrats, finally adds on a light baritone, &amp;quot;Last Weyrbrat that crossed me got a black eye for it.&amp;quot; He won't mention that *he* was also the recipient of such, of course. A small lift of one heavier brow for the other's words of himself is followed by a laconic, &amp;quot;You're a rider.&amp;quot; Impression tends to make one such. &amp;quot;Maybe I will.&amp;quot; Asking about Ka'ge. Shrug. &amp;quot;Been askin' some people, here an' there about how it was for riders before and after they Impressed.&amp;quot; Eggs on the Sands, and all. &amp;quot;Seems like half of 'em found it to be a mixed experience, in some way or another.&amp;quot; Grey-blue eyes lock to the bronzer's own green-blues, assessing him for intent. &amp;quot;Your...assistant weyrlingmaster...whats-his-name.&amp;quot; Nose-wrinkle. &amp;quot;Guy admitted outright his own brown is as big of an asshole as *he* is.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Ah, but you should see the way you can goad those nannies. When you tell the little ones about where babies come from, the look on their faces-&amp;quot; Ka'ge's breathy chuckle briefly rocks his shoulders, the reference clearly coming from experience. His eyes narrow lightly, his intrigued and amused expression unchanging. &amp;quot;Kh'tyr.&amp;quot; He offers that name for the assistant weyrlingmaster, something almost annoyed yet personal about how he says it. &amp;quot;The dragons are their own selves. Whatever you get, you're stuck with. And yet.. you wouldn't want to be stuck with anything else.&amp;quot; Reflective, that, as he steps forwards to cross half the tunnel, decreasing the space. &amp;quot;You say you can handle yourself. Given little ones blackeyes for their trouble and all that.&amp;quot; He rolls his eyes, as if pretending to not believe it to start. &amp;quot;You afraid of change, what might be? You're already doing all the damn work, with the sharding wrong knot.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Okay. Now *that's* something worth laughing over, and Breirande snorks his humor at Ka'ge's admission about teasing the nannies, his mouth showing even, mostly-white teeth through his low chortle. &amp;quot;Yeah...&amp;quot; is soon enough agreed of the weyrlingmaster. &amp;quot;Exactly. He sounded almost...resigned.&amp;quot; Beat. &amp;quot;Who the fu...shards would wanna' be *resigned* to living with someone in your head that you don't even like?&amp;quot; A look silently inquires of the bronzerider 'Is it the same for you?' A kid? &amp;quot;Whoa, man. NOT a little. My age.&amp;quot; So...another twerp of a teen got a black eye. &amp;quot;I don't smack around little brats, or women.&amp;quot; Because he's *so* white knight. And then, there's that scowl again as Ka'ge calls him out like that, the younger man finally allowing, &amp;quot;Having a little fear is a healthy thing. Protects you from the truly dangerous crap.&amp;quot; Shrug. As for work, there's a more reticent admission, laced with a bit of teen anghst, &amp;quot;*Everyplace* *always* gets boring, after awhile.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge takes his time to respond, that arrogant grin continuing to line his face and lightly narrow his gaze. At the implied inquiry, there's a slighest tilt of his head, his gaze blanking for one breath, two, and then refocusing on the other teen. &amp;quot;Zymadiath is far from kind. The.. mm.. feel of his mind is terribly unpleasant and there's hardly a day that goes by that he doesn't call me stupid.&amp;quot; All that sounds wonderful, yes? &amp;quot;But there isn't another on Pern that I can talk to like I can to him. They Impress who they're meant to. Kh'tyr is just as much an ass as Mograith.&amp;quot; Well, almost. &amp;quot;The two are as meant for each other as any.&amp;quot; A beat, another half-hearted chuckle to the women-and-children comment. &amp;quot;Honorable.&amp;quot; And there's a flicker of something ''else'', a hand touched to his own chest for a moment. &amp;quot;You're right. Standing on hot sands in a mass of bodies while incoordinated infants with talons flail around is anything but nice and safe. And it'll lock y'down to this place for a good turn, but everything changes. For better, for worse. You only gotta be willing to try. Or, what, you going to keep flitting around Pern until some girl locks you down in a little Hold somewhere and the best you got is a runner to escape on?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Arrogance is greeted with smug sureity, 'Rand looking as full of his own teenage version of what the bronzerider is currently expressing as he can be. And then the other male is getting 'that look' on his face, in his eyes, the look Breirande's finally learned to associate with somebody talking with their lifemate...and the teen stares in guarded curiosity. Once the word of his own dragon is offered, 'Rand's looking satisfied, somehow, and certain. Another, smaller snort is given for the assurance of Kh'tyr being an asshole, a definitive nod echoing it, chased by a dark little twist of lips for that 'honorable.' Word of what Impression can do, does to people, however, gets a different reaction from the teen: a look laced with mistrust. Finally he responds tightly, &amp;quot;Better independent that strapped down to *any* woman or any *dragon*. &amp;quot; Frown. &amp;quot;The way you put it - shells, the way others put it - it's not really worth it, ultimately.&amp;quot; He's finally pushing off the ricky wall, starting to pace a little...rather like a caged animal. &amp;quot;There's lots of other places, people on Pern I can still go to.&amp;quot; Lots of fresh places, faces...and always, somewhere to roam.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;People and places I could see in a seven that would take you months if not turns to get even close to.&amp;quot; Ka'ge rolls his shoulders, shifting only to follow him as he paces with his eyes. &amp;quot;Unless you ''relied'' on riders to take you.&amp;quot; He huffs what might be the start of a laugh that's cut short. &amp;quot;Independent, that's cute. You're still the worker under whatever political roof you stay under for the night, leaving at sunrise just to be under the rules of another by sundown. Ain't much for freedom.&amp;quot; Then, quite abruptly, he's less interested, his stare cut off from the pacing resident to look again down the tunnel as if expecting someone. &amp;quot;There's many eggs, there's not a lot of bodies to Stand for 'em. You're a resident of age. Stand.&amp;quot; It's an offer, this time, in full. &amp;quot;Maybe you'll get lucky and not Impress. You'll have fulfilled whatever-&amp;quot; He motions vaguely with a gloved hand, &amp;quot;expectation this place has for you, and move on, with that experience in your pocket. A hatchling would rather go Between than Impress the wrong person. You got nothing to worry about.&amp;quot; This, too, sounds to be from experience.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;My mother always told me that part of the experience is how you get there in the first place,&amp;quot; Breirande replies with the same arrogant, sure humor that Ka'ge formerly used. &amp;quot;I can sail, walk, ride runners, scoot on my ass, and maybe even take a quick dragon hop wherever.&amp;quot; As the bronzerider 'works' on him, the teen becomes only more cocky, more wound up, his smirk of near legendary proportions, at times. &amp;quot;Freedom's what *I* make of it.&amp;quot; Beat. &amp;quot;You're as limited by your dragon as by yourself. And worse than any harpy of a woman or oaf of a boss, *you* can never, *ever* get away from your dragon.&amp;quot; Stand? Is Ka'ge out of his mind?! Snort! &amp;quot;And maybe I won't, and get saddled with some utter tool of a dragon yammering on in my head until I throw myself off a cliff to shut it up.&amp;quot; How does he manage to sound so dark and bitter for a 17 turn old? Maybe it's the whole teen thing...and maybe not. And, rather suddenly, from between opposing points, 'Rand finds a temporary center point, whirls around to stare at the other man and inquire of him with mixed bite and curiosity, &amp;quot;What - beyond the very dubious 'honor' of having some dragon pull me down and rope and brand me - could you offer to sweeten this little offer of yours?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;All of which costs ya.&amp;quot; Ka'ge gives to Rand's 'list'. &amp;quot;And as lovely as you sweep floors, I doubt your pocket of marks is so heavy as to give you all but walking and scooting right along on your ass as your best consistent options. I personally vote for the latter.&amp;quot; Acting unimpressed with his dramatic and dark flare, the bronzerider refolds his arms and waits for the ranting to slow. When the teen whirls to face him again, the other dressed in all darks is unmoved, statuesque as he had been when Brierande had started his thought-filled pacing. The question gets a raise of brow, as if it's both unexpected and curious. &amp;quot;Never crossed my mind I would need a bribe.&amp;quot; Amusement trickles in with it, &amp;quot;You don't like women- so surely the ability to please Dahlia wouldn't motivate you. The assurance of a roof over your head doesn't drive you. The possibility of adventure doesn't inspire you. So you tell me. What does one with such an ''untameable'' spirit want in exchange for stepping up to his responsibility as a resident?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yes, there's the lack of marks to get him anywhere more quickly than walking, and Ka'ge's brandishment of such in his face inspires a dark scowl from 'Rand. Fuck you. &amp;quot;I've walked lengths before. Wouldn't be different this time.&amp;quot; Shrug. He doesn't what? At word of women, there's a sudden peal of laughter, which Breirande quiets quickly, so as not to draw potential attention from others who might be around the corner. &amp;quot;Oh, you have me wrong again, rider.&amp;quot; Smirk. &amp;quot;I enjoy women very much. It's just the thought of being shackled to one until I'm in my grave that makes me shudder.&amp;quot; Shrug. &amp;quot;Dahlia...seems like a decent enough sort.&amp;quot; For *now*, anyway. &amp;quot;Why would I want to please *her*?&amp;quot; Adventure, however... &amp;quot;I like finding new, different things. I could, for instance, travel South, and, if I wanted to present myself to their Weyrs' next clutches, and go through the same as I would up here...except I'd be in totally uncharted territory.&amp;quot; Unspoken in his laden tone: How would you lure me away from doing such? As for responsibility, there's a glower, then a smirk. &amp;quot;You sound like my mother. I discharge my responsibility as a resident daily, by doing the work assigned to me.&amp;quot; Well, except for cleaning toilets. However, he does finally respond with a quick, &amp;quot;Show me the South...Southern, Ierne, Monaco, all of it. I want to...to do things I've never done before up here. See those huge wild felines. Lay in the sand on a sunny beach with a woman or two on each arm.&amp;quot; And, if the small grin speaks right, in his pants, as well. &amp;quot;Drink those chilly, special drinks they have down there. See tropical sunsets, sunrises. See some wild firelizard fair...shit like *that*.&amp;quot; Already, his eyes are distancing themselves, those holy grails in the distance sudden and potentially nearer. Oh, and, &amp;quot;AND...no duties in the nursery or the latrines.&amp;quot; And don't forget, &amp;quot;I'll drag my ass out there on those hot Sands only *after* you fulfill your end of the deal. Which is a week's worth of Southern delight, consecutively or a day at a time, before those eggs pop.&amp;quot; The look grey-blues offer Ka'ge: are you truly *up* to it?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Because she's a weyrwoman.&amp;quot; Ka'ge's tone gets a little sharp, but only by degrees, a dangerous sort of glint almost, ''almost'' being given away in the look he gives the teen. &amp;quot;You treat Lords and Ladies with the same disregard, or did they teach you some sort of manners in any of your wandering pitstops? I'm all for callous behavior, but there are.... minimum standards.&amp;quot; A slow, uninspired shake of his head follows at the rest of Rand's shared thoughts, but he grants no words. The requests, do detailed, again get a raise of brow that slowly becomes furrowed. &amp;quot;I have no say on the chores you get assigned to. That's something you take up with the headwoman or her assistants or whatever.&amp;quot; That, dismissed easily enough, leaves only the much larger request. &amp;quot;You haven't gotten it through your thick head.&amp;quot; He continues to taunt, but the intermittent pauses grant that he's at least considering, &amp;quot;Zymadiath is not a fan of taxiing. I can give you two days. Call it going out on sweeps with me, as I'm apparently supposed to do. The rest- the firelizards, the women. You can win yourself that by Standing and trying to Impress your own damn dragon.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's that smirk again, perhaps maddening in its subtle intensity. *He* finally got Ka'ge. One point! Perhaps that was the reason for the cruder behavior. And when the bronzer lays out what he (and Zymadiath) will and won't do, there's an almost smooth, &amp;quot;Three days, since I'll have to deal with brats and stink. And I still want at least one souther type, chilly drink when we're done with your sweeps.&amp;quot; A headcock is followed by his slightly grinned, &amp;quot;I'll even help you wash Zymadiath.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I don't have time to babysit you.&amp;quot; Is as condescending as the word implies, &amp;quot;Drop off in the morning, picked up the following morning and move to the next place. If you get lost or whatever since you seem to be so good at that and don't meet me on the landing field, that's where you'll stay. The fourth morning, you pick up your knot.&amp;quot; There's finally the return of a faint grin on the bronzerider's face, crookedly. &amp;quot;I'm sure Zymadiath will be ever so pleased with that.&amp;quot; Oddly, the response to the help with bathing sounds more challenging than thankful. &amp;quot;And the cost of your.. drink, included. Happy?&amp;quot; Nobody told him Searching was this involved.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Aww... No best buddies time?&amp;quot; He's a sassy little bastard, allright. Smirk. &amp;quot;Sounds fine. Just gotta find me a sound knife and gear, clothes, first.&amp;quot; 'Rand's been on his own just enough in the past to know to have the proper accoutraments for adventures. For word of picking up his knot on the fourth day, there's a twist of lips, then a blunt, &amp;quot;I'm on pre-assigned work detail the next handful of days or so. Can't miss out...they're using me a little for my specialty.&amp;quot; The general laborer has a specialty? Shrug. &amp;quot;Gonna be a problem? I could try and talk with the stonemasons...&amp;quot; He doesn't sound certain, though. That odd response to Ka'ge's dragon being 'pleased' with the offer brings wariness back to the teens features, has him noting a little tentatively, &amp;quot;I meant once or twice, not every time he wants one.&amp;quot; Frown. &amp;quot;He's not...like...aggressive?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;It's not a problem until the eggs are hardened, then I'll take you nowhere.&amp;quot; Ka'ge responds to the timeline. &amp;quot;But if you take too long and my duties change, y'might get slighted on your days.&amp;quot; This is not challenging, but a statement of fact- of things that are beyond ability to haggle. &amp;quot;Think hard on where you want to go. Three places.&amp;quot; And he holds up three gloved fingers. At the other's last question, his grin turns into a darker smirk. &amp;quot;He has his moments. He's tame unless you cross his self-determined lines. You'll be spending plenty of time with him, either way.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nodding thoughtfully, 'Rand's quickly answering, &amp;quot;Noted. They said there's 3 to 5 days of solid work where they definitely want me around to check angles and depths. Just depends on how the re-digging and shoring up goes.&amp;quot; He'll do his damndest to make certain the rock work goes well and on schedule, if not faster. Already, the teen is starting to grin like the sun slicing the eastern horizon. SOUTH. He's wanted to go there for a *long* time. Oh yeah, but there's Zymadiath, too, which is a more pressing, if 'only' potential hurdle. &amp;quot;Well, please *do* tell me how not to cross him before we meet directly. I don't think I like the idea of 10 tons of dragon squishing me flat under his paw.&amp;quot; And Breirande doesn't even know Zymadiath is a bronze. No matter, there's a small duck of head from the tall teen, and a faintly grinned, &amp;quot;Thanks, rider.&amp;quot; Beat. &amp;quot;I think.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;That's a question I'm still working on answering.&amp;quot; Ka'ge answers on not crossing his dragon, equally cryptic as amused. &amp;quot;He wants you to Stand as well, so he ensures to return you in one piece.&amp;quot; Despite the not exactly confidence-inspiring grin with that, the bronzerider tips his head slightly at the given gratitude. &amp;quot;Aye. When you're ready, ask for us. We'll hear it.&amp;quot; A beat, and he offers the answers to a handful of questions in his quite delayed introduction,&amp;quot;Ka'ge of bronze Zymadiath.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Breirande's look says it all: 'Oh; greeeaaat.' &amp;quot;Well, maybe just the few pointers you've gleaned, then.&amp;quot; Whatever's helpful to avoid squishing or roaring or whatever. Smirk. Blink. &amp;quot;He does? I mean, I thought they *always* picked people.&amp;quot; Traditional Search. No matter, &amp;quot;I will.&amp;quot; It's back to contained eagerness, the other man's offer of his name and rank earning him a flash of a smirk-grin, and a Cromese-accented, &amp;quot;Breirande, laborer and sometimes mason.&amp;quot; How's that for polite?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge's shrug is dismissive as he straightens. Gloved fingers draw under the rumple of hood at his shoulders and drape it over his head, the grin vanishing with the oncoming of the shadow that it casts. &amp;quot;Sometimes learning on the way is half the fun.&amp;quot; And then he's done bothering the laborer, an almost-salute touching his now covered forehead in a farewell as he turns to continue down the tunnel.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs, Search Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:People_and_Places&amp;diff=84962</id>
		<title>Logs:People and Places</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:People_and_Places&amp;diff=84962"/>
				<updated>2016-02-09T22:02:49Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: Created page with &amp;quot;{{Log |who=Brierande, Ka'ge, |what=Brierande is offered a candidate's knot by Ka'ge, he has a request or two of his own to make in exchange. |involves=Fort Area, Fort Weyr |da...&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Brierande, Ka'ge,&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Brierande is offered a candidate's knot by Ka'ge, he has a request or two of his own to make in exchange.&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=Fort Area, Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=17&lt;br /&gt;
|month=13&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=39&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2016.02.08&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;You afraid of change, what might be? You're already doing all the damn work, with the sharding wrong knot.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|weather=Steady snowfall, winter day&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=Dahlia, Kh'tyr&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon Ka'ge really.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|desc=&amp;gt;---&amp;lt; Tunnel, Fort Weyr &amp;gt;----------------------------------------------------&amp;lt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
  Connecting the Inner Caverns to the outside world is a single tunnel that &lt;br /&gt;
  dives down through the very heart and depths of the Weyr and exits near   &lt;br /&gt;
  the base of the mountain where the road down to the Fort Hold valley      &lt;br /&gt;
  starts. Fairly straight and dimly lit, the tunnel is large enough to      &lt;br /&gt;
  accommodate tithe wagons and small group of people walking abreast. A     &lt;br /&gt;
  kidney-shaped unloading area opens out immediately below the Stores with  &lt;br /&gt;
  plenty of space to unload wagons and carry supplies up into those storage &lt;br /&gt;
  caverns. The end of the Tunnel is barred by a heavy stone gate and guarded&lt;br /&gt;
  by a watchrider.                                                          &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
 -----------------------------&amp;lt; Active Players &amp;gt;-----------------------------&lt;br /&gt;
  Breirand     M  17    6'  athletic, dark blonde hair, blue-grey eyes   26s &lt;br /&gt;
  Ka'ge        M  18    6'  toned, black hair, blue-green eyes            0s&lt;br /&gt;
|log=His grunt work of earlier in the day having run out, in the afternoon Brierande found himself briskly ordered by some overseer or another to be yet another body added to latrine-cleaning duty to speed up the effort even more. And so, brave soul that he is, the tall teen is now found...'lost within the tunnels deep inside the Fortian complex. At this point, he's simply leaning against one rocky wall, picking away at and slowly eating a bun he nabbed from the Kitchens earlier...and looking a mixture of bored, relieved, and vaguely concerned.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Lost?&amp;quot; Comes a voice from 'round a corner nearby that leads to some small, currently vacant cavern. The owner of said voice becomes visible in a most casual of manners, appearing and leaning a shoulder on the entranceway. Hood crumbled about his shoulders, gloved hands shoved into pockets, and a taint of a grin make up the most notable features of Ka'ge as his blue-green eyes study Brierande for an uneasily long moment, before turning down one of the tunnels where a distant voice may or may not be heard, and passes. The bronzerider, apparently, doesn't look like he'll be readily moving on.&lt;br /&gt;
Him? Lost? Psh! Looking only a tad guilty, more wary and proud, 'Rand takes another bite of his dwindling roll , chews and swallows while giving a small shake of his head in the negative. At least it's Ka'ge, and not Mirinda or Dahlia. Muttered as casually as he can, &amp;quot;This place is a maze, though. Be easy to do so.&amp;quot; Get lost. On a side note, &amp;quot;Never did get your name, last time.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As if! Pfft! Again, Breirande looks slightly outraged at Ka'ge 'hiding' indictment, and gives the bronzerider a quick, slightly tart &amp;quot;On my way to another job through here. Got a little turned around after *having* to turn around and go back to ask a few more questions. Just getting back on track. Still, it was time to take a break.&amp;quot; For food, apparently. &amp;quot;Chasing me?&amp;quot; Scoff. &amp;quot;I c'n hold my own.&amp;quot; After another nip of bun, the teen offers a slightly sly, &amp;quot;Got a bad rep, or something?&amp;quot; Oh yes; he noticed the man not offering his name.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Really.&amp;quot; Ka'ge's grin has broadened, lopsidedly, and his hands are pulled from pockets to fold across his chest. &amp;quot;You're so ''motivated''. Inspiring.&amp;quot; If the first few things weren't instigating, his tone with these surely is helping- or not helping, depending on view. &amp;quot;Those little beasts are more savage than you give 'em credit for. Had glue in my hair for a good seven-&amp;quot; He runs fingers through his black hair for effect, messing it more than it normally is already. &amp;quot;Bad rep? Wouldn't be hard to ask after me. Can't quite hide once you've Impressed. Not here, anyway.&amp;quot; He straightens, but clearly not with intent to leave the other teen alone. &amp;quot;Did you take anything from our last enjoyable chat?&amp;quot; This, said flatter. &amp;quot;Follow any other riders around?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's a small scowl for Ka'ge's less-than-beaming words of 'Rand, but he refuses to let the older male bait him anymore than that....for the moment, anyway. Tucking into another nip of bun, the teen smirks, shakes his head for word of the Weyrbrats, finally adds on a light baritone, &amp;quot;Last Weyrbrat that crossed me got a black eye for it.&amp;quot; He won't mention that *he* was also the recipient of such, of course. A small lift of one heavier brow for the other's words of himself is followed by a laconic, &amp;quot;You're a rider.&amp;quot; Impression tends to make one such. &amp;quot;Maybe I will.&amp;quot; Asking about Ka'ge. Shrug. &amp;quot;Been askin' some people, here an' there about how it was for riders before and after they Impressed.&amp;quot; Eggs on the Sands, and all. &amp;quot;Seems like half of 'em found it to be a mixed experience, in some way or another.&amp;quot; Grey-blue eyes lock to the bronzer's own green-blues, assessing him for intent. &amp;quot;Your...assistant weyrlingmaster...whats-his-name.&amp;quot; Nose-wrinkle. &amp;quot;Guy admitted outright his own brown is as big of an asshole as *he* is.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Ah, but you should see the way you can goad those nannies. When you tell the little ones about where babies come from, the look on their faces-&amp;quot; Ka'ge's breathy chuckle briefly rocks his shoulders, the reference clearly coming from experience. His eyes narrow lightly, his intrigued and amused expression unchanging. &amp;quot;Kh'tyr.&amp;quot; He offers that name for the assistant weyrlingmaster, something almost annoyed yet personal about how he says it. &amp;quot;The dragons are their own selves. Whatever you get, you're stuck with. And yet.. you wouldn't want to be stuck with anything else.&amp;quot; Reflective, that, as he steps forwards to cross half the tunnel, decreasing the space. &amp;quot;You say you can handle yourself. Given little ones blackeyes for their trouble and all that.&amp;quot; He rolls his eyes, as if pretending to not believe it to start. &amp;quot;You afraid of change, what might be? You're already doing all the damn work, with the sharding wrong knot.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Okay. Now *that's* something worth laughing over, and Breirande snorks his humor at Ka'ge's admission about teasing the nannies, his mouth showing even, mostly-white teeth through his low chortle. &amp;quot;Yeah...&amp;quot; is soon enough agreed of the weyrlingmaster. &amp;quot;Exactly. He sounded almost...resigned.&amp;quot; Beat. &amp;quot;Who the fu...shards would wanna' be *resigned* to living with someone in your head that you don't even like?&amp;quot; A look silently inquires of the bronzerider 'Is it the same for you?' A kid? &amp;quot;Whoa, man. NOT a little. My age.&amp;quot; So...another twerp of a teen got a black eye. &amp;quot;I don't smack around little brats, or women.&amp;quot; Because he's *so* white knight. And then, there's that scowl again as Ka'ge calls him out like that, the younger man finally allowing, &amp;quot;Having a little fear is a healthy thing. Protects you from the truly dangerous crap.&amp;quot; Shrug. As for work, there's a more reticent admission, laced with a bit of teen anghst, &amp;quot;*Everyplace* *always* gets boring, after awhile.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge takes his time to respond, that arrogant grin continuing to line his face and lightly narrow his gaze. At the implied inquiry, there's a slighest tilt of his head, his gaze blanking for one breath, two, and then refocusing on the other teen. &amp;quot;Zymadiath is far from kind. The.. mm.. feel of his mind is terribly unpleasant and there's hardly a day that goes by that he doesn't call me stupid.&amp;quot; All that sounds wonderful, yes? &amp;quot;But there isn't another on Pern that I can talk to like I can to him. They Impress who they're meant to. Kh'tyr is just as much an ass as Mograith.&amp;quot; Well, almost. &amp;quot;The two are as meant for each other as any.&amp;quot; A beat, another half-hearted chuckle to the women-and-children comment. &amp;quot;Honorable.&amp;quot; And there's a flicker of something ''else'', a hand touched to his own chest for a moment. &amp;quot;You're right. Standing on hot sands in a mass of bodies while incoordinated infants with talons flail around is anything but nice and safe. And it'll lock y'down to this place for a good turn, but everything changes. For better, for worse. You only gotta be willing to try. Or, what, you going to keep flitting around Pern until some girl locks you down in a little Hold somewhere and the best you got is a runner to escape on?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Arrogance is greeted with smug sureity, 'Rand looking as full of his own teenage version of what the bronzerider is currently expressing as he can be. And then the other male is getting 'that look' on his face, in his eyes, the look Breirande's finally learned to associate with somebody talking with their lifemate...and the teen stares in guarded curiosity. Once the word of his own dragon is offered, 'Rand's looking satisfied, somehow, and certain. Another, smaller snort is given for the assurance of Kh'tyr being an asshole, a definitive nod echoing it, chased by a dark little twist of lips for that 'honorable.' Word of what Impression can do, does to people, however, gets a different reaction from the teen: a look laced with mistrust. Finally he responds tightly, &amp;quot;Better independent that strapped down to *any* woman or any *dragon*. &amp;quot; Frown. &amp;quot;The way you put it - shells, the way others put it - it's not really worth it, ultimately.&amp;quot; He's finally pushing off the ricky wall, starting to pace a little...rather like a caged animal. &amp;quot;There's lots of other places, people on Pern I can still go to.&amp;quot; Lots of fresh places, faces...and always, somewhere to roam.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;People and places I could see in a seven that would take you months if not turns to get even close to.&amp;quot; Ka'ge rolls his shoulders, shifting only to follow him as he paces with his eyes. &amp;quot;Unless you ''relied'' on riders to take you.&amp;quot; He huffs what might be the start of a laugh that's cut short. &amp;quot;Independent, that's cute. You're still the worker under whatever political roof you stay under for the night, leaving at sunrise just to be under the rules of another by sundown. Ain't much for freedom.&amp;quot; Then, quite abruptly, he's less interested, his stare cut off from the pacing resident to look again down the tunnel as if expecting someone. &amp;quot;There's many eggs, there's not a lot of bodies to Stand for 'em. You're a resident of age. Stand.&amp;quot; It's an offer, this time, in full. &amp;quot;Maybe you'll get lucky and not Impress. You'll have fulfilled whatever-&amp;quot; He motions vaguely with a gloved hand, &amp;quot;expectation this place has for you, and move on, with that experience in your pocket. A hatchling would rather go Between than Impress the wrong person. You got nothing to worry about.&amp;quot; This, too, sounds to be from experience.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;My mother always told me that part of the experience is how you get there in the first place,&amp;quot; Breirande replies with the same arrogant, sure humor that Ka'ge formerly used. &amp;quot;I can sail, walk, ride runners, scoot on my ass, and maybe even take a quick dragon hop wherever.&amp;quot; As the bronzerider 'works' on him, the teen becomes only more cocky, more wound up, his smirk of near legendary proportions, at times. &amp;quot;Freedom's what *I* make of it.&amp;quot; Beat. &amp;quot;You're as limited by your dragon as by yourself. And worse than any harpy of a woman or oaf of a boss, *you* can never, *ever* get away from your dragon.&amp;quot; Stand? Is Ka'ge out of his mind?! Snort! &amp;quot;And maybe I won't, and get saddled with some utter tool of a dragon yammering on in my head until I throw myself off a cliff to shut it up.&amp;quot; How does he manage to sound so dark and bitter for a 17 turn old? Maybe it's the whole teen thing...and maybe not. And, rather suddenly, from between opposing points, 'Rand finds a temporary center point, whirls around to stare at the other man and inquire of him with mixed bite and curiosity, &amp;quot;What - beyond the very dubious 'honor' of having some dragon pull me down and rope and brand me - could you offer to sweeten this little offer of yours?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;All of which costs ya.&amp;quot; Ka'ge gives to Rand's 'list'. &amp;quot;And as lovely as you sweep floors, I doubt your pocket of marks is so heavy as to give you all but walking and scooting right along on your ass as your best consistent options. I personally vote for the latter.&amp;quot; Acting unimpressed with his dramatic and dark flare, the bronzerider refolds his arms and waits for the ranting to slow. When the teen whirls to face him again, the other dressed in all darks is unmoved, statuesque as he had been when Brierande had started his thought-filled pacing. The question gets a raise of brow, as if it's both unexpected and curious. &amp;quot;Never crossed my mind I would need a bribe.&amp;quot; Amusement trickles in with it, &amp;quot;You don't like women- so surely the ability to please Dahlia wouldn't motivate you. The assurance of a roof over your head doesn't drive you. The possibility of adventure doesn't inspire you. So you tell me. What does one with such an ''untameable'' spirit want in exchange for stepping up to his responsibility as a resident?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yes, there's the lack of marks to get him anywhere more quickly than walking, and Ka'ge's brandishment of such in his face inspires a dark scowl from 'Rand. Fuck you. &amp;quot;I've walked lengths before. Wouldn't be different this time.&amp;quot; Shrug. He doesn't what? At word of women, there's a sudden peal of laughter, which Breirande quiets quickly, so as not to draw potential attention from others who might be around the corner. &amp;quot;Oh, you have me wrong again, rider.&amp;quot; Smirk. &amp;quot;I enjoy women very much. It's just the thought of being shackled to one until I'm in my grave that makes me shudder.&amp;quot; Shrug. &amp;quot;Dahlia...seems like a decent enough sort.&amp;quot; For *now*, anyway. &amp;quot;Why would I want to please *her*?&amp;quot; Adventure, however... &amp;quot;I like finding new, different things. I could, for instance, travel South, and, if I wanted to present myself to their Weyrs' next clutches, and go through the same as I would up here...except I'd be in totally uncharted territory.&amp;quot; Unspoken in his laden tone: How would you lure me away from doing such? As for responsibility, there's a glower, then a smirk. &amp;quot;You sound like my mother. I discharge my responsibility as a resident daily, by doing the work assigned to me.&amp;quot; Well, except for cleaning toilets. However, he does finally respond with a quick, &amp;quot;Show me the South...Southern, Ierne, Monaco, all of it. I want to...to do things I've never done before up here. See those huge wild felines. Lay in the sand on a sunny beach with a woman or two on each arm.&amp;quot; And, if the small grin speaks right, in his pants, as well. &amp;quot;Drink those chilly, special drinks they have down there. See tropical sunsets, sunrises. See some wild firelizard fair...shit like *that*.&amp;quot; Already, his eyes are distancing themselves, those holy grails in the distance sudden and potentially nearer. Oh, and, &amp;quot;AND...no duties in the nursery or the latrines.&amp;quot; And don't forget, &amp;quot;I'll drag my ass out there on those hot Sands only *after* you fulfill your end of the deal. Which is a week's worth of Southern delight, consecutively or a day at a time, before those eggs pop.&amp;quot; The look grey-blues offer Ka'ge: are you truly *up* to it?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Because she's a weyrwoman.&amp;quot; Ka'ge's tone gets a little sharp, but only by degrees, a dangerous sort of glint almost, ''almost'' being given away in the look he gives the teen. &amp;quot;You treat Lords and Ladies with the same disregard, or did they teach you some sort of manners in any of your wandering pitstops? I'm all for callous behavior, but there are.... minimum standards.&amp;quot; A slow, uninspired shake of his head follows at the rest of Rand's shared thoughts, but he grants no words. The requests, do detailed, again get a raise of brow that slowly becomes furrowed. &amp;quot;I have no say on the chores you get assigned to. That's something you take up with the headwoman or her assistants or whatever.&amp;quot; That, dismissed easily enough, leaves only the much larger request. &amp;quot;You haven't gotten it through your thick head.&amp;quot; He continues to taunt, but the intermittent pauses grant that he's at least considering, &amp;quot;Zymadiath is not a fan of taxiing. I can give you two days. Call it going out on sweeps with me, as I'm apparently supposed to do. The rest- the firelizards, the women. You can win yourself that by Standing and trying to Impress your own damn dragon.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's that smirk again, perhaps maddening in its subtle intensity. *He* finally got Ka'ge. One point! Perhaps that was the reason for the cruder behavior. And when the bronzer lays out what he (and Zymadiath) will and won't do, there's an almost smooth, &amp;quot;Three days, since I'll have to deal with brats and stink. And I still want at least one souther type, chilly drink when we're done with your sweeps.&amp;quot; A headcock is followed by his slightly grinned, &amp;quot;I'll even help you wash Zymadiath.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I don't have time to babysit you.&amp;quot; Is as condescending as the word implies, &amp;quot;Drop off in the morning, picked up the following morning and move to the next place. If you get lost or whatever since you seem to be so good at that and don't meet me on the landing field, that's where you'll stay. The fourth morning, you pick up your knot.&amp;quot; There's finally the return of a faint grin on the bronzerider's face, crookedly. &amp;quot;I'm sure Zymadiath will be ever so pleased with that.&amp;quot; Oddly, the response to the help with bathing sounds more challenging than thankful. &amp;quot;And the cost of your.. drink, included. Happy?&amp;quot; Nobody told him Searching was this involved.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Aww... No best buddies time?&amp;quot; He's a sassy little bastard, allright. Smirk. &amp;quot;Sounds fine. Just gotta find me a sound knife and gear, clothes, first.&amp;quot; 'Rand's been on his own just enough in the past to know to have the proper accoutraments for adventures. For word of picking up his knot on the fourth day, there's a twist of lips, then a blunt, &amp;quot;I'm on pre-assigned work detail the next handful of days or so. Can't miss out...they're using me a little for my specialty.&amp;quot; The general laborer has a specialty? Shrug. &amp;quot;Gonna be a problem? I could try and talk with the stonemasons...&amp;quot; He doesn't sound certain, though. That odd response to Ka'ge's dragon being 'pleased' with the offer brings wariness back to the teens features, has him noting a little tentatively, &amp;quot;I meant once or twice, not every time he wants one.&amp;quot; Frown. &amp;quot;He's not...like...aggressive?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;It's not a problem until the eggs are hardened, then I'll take you nowhere.&amp;quot; Ka'ge responds to the timeline. &amp;quot;But if you take too long and my duties change, y'might get slighted on your days.&amp;quot; This is not challenging, but a statement of fact- of things that are beyond ability to haggle. &amp;quot;Think hard on where you want to go. Three places.&amp;quot; And he holds up three gloved fingers. At the other's last question, his grin turns into a darker smirk. &amp;quot;He has his moments. He's tame unless you cross his self-determined lines. You'll be spending plenty of time with him, either way.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nodding thoughtfully, 'Rand's quickly answering, &amp;quot;Noted. They said there's 3 to 5 days of solid work where they definitely want me around to check angles and depths. Just depends on how the re-digging and shoring up goes.&amp;quot; He'll do his damndest to make certain the rock work goes well and on schedule, if not faster. Already, the teen is starting to grin like the sun slicing the eastern horizon. SOUTH. He's wanted to go there for a *long* time. Oh yeah, but there's Zymadiath, too, which is a more pressing, if 'only' potential hurdle. &amp;quot;Well, please *do* tell me how not to cross him before we meet directly. I don't think I like the idea of 10 tons of dragon squishing me flat under his paw.&amp;quot; And Breirande doesn't even know Zymadiath is a bronze. No matter, there's a small duck of head from the tall teen, and a faintly grinned, &amp;quot;Thanks, rider.&amp;quot; Beat. &amp;quot;I think.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;That's a question I'm still working on answering.&amp;quot; Ka'ge answers on not crossing his dragon, equally cryptic as amused. &amp;quot;He wants you to Stand as well, so he ensures to return you in one piece.&amp;quot; Despite the not exactly confidence-inspiring grin with that, the bronzerider tips his head slightly at the given gratitude. &amp;quot;Aye. When you're ready, ask for us. We'll hear it.&amp;quot; A beat, and he offers the answers to a handful of questions in his quite delayed introduction,&amp;quot;Ka'ge of bronze Zymadiath.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
Breirande's look says it all: 'Oh; greeeaaat.' &amp;quot;Well, maybe just the few pointers you've gleaned, then.&amp;quot; Whatever's helpful to avoid squishing or roaring or whatever. Smirk. Blink. &amp;quot;He does? I mean, I thought they *always* picked people.&amp;quot; Traditional Search. No matter, &amp;quot;I will.&amp;quot; It's back to contained eagerness, the other man's offer of his name and rank earning him a flash of a smirk-grin, and a Cromese-accented, &amp;quot;Breirande, laborer and sometimes mason.&amp;quot; How's that for polite?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge's shrug is dismissive as he straightens. Gloved fingers draw under the rumple of hood at his shoulders and drape it over his head, the grin vanishing with the oncoming of the shadow that it casts. &amp;quot;Sometimes learning on the way is half the fun.&amp;quot; And then he's done bothering the laborer, an almost-salute touching his now covered forehead in a farewell as he turns to continue down the tunnel.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs, Search Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=81721</id>
		<title>Ka'ge</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=81721"/>
				<updated>2016-01-18T00:34:30Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;div&gt;{{ProfileTabs&lt;br /&gt;
|picture=Kage.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|mother=Eligeya(NPC) - Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|father=Kaethun(NPC) - Seacrafter/Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|siblings=Eliun(NPC) - brother (deceased)&lt;br /&gt;
|body=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{Wysk}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Description==&lt;br /&gt;
A rugged scruff of stubble lines his squared and defined jaw, hinting at the man that this boy is quickly becoming, and making it difficult to age him just by looks. His skin claims a natural tan beneath beneath bruises, scratches and scars, hinting of tones used to warmer climates. Shadowed beneath short, often unkempt black hair are mischievous, piercing green-touched blue eyes. He has a hardness about his lazy stance that doesn't quite fit, one that doesn't quite immediately seem friendly by any means. Standing straight, he reaches about six foot or so of lithe, suspicious stature. Beneath the layers of clothing he wears, he's conditioned well. Limbs, chest, back speak nothing of fat, their contours dramatic and carved. Not particularly brawny, but clearly toned, ready. His physical athleticism is obvious, his direction not so much. &lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
A deeply obsidian flight jacket is of excellent quality, with ridges and stitching of experienced journeyman level but with no particular icons included. It bares a heavier hood, one that could easily cover most of his face- and very often, that's exactly what it does. Beneath, he's dressed in darker colored wher-hide garb with the grey-black dabbling an intentional element. Beneath his jacket, he wears a criss-crossing of hide in the likes of a harness with pockets and grooves. Beyond that, the rest is far more typical-a belt knife lies at his lower back, and a short dagger is strapped to his right thigh. &lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
Looped at his hip instead of his shoulder is a knot- the simpleness of a rider, the colors of Fort Weyr, and a central cord of darkened bronze.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= History =&lt;br /&gt;
==History==&lt;br /&gt;
It started as simply as intervening ships enroute from Gar to Boll, and later from Ista to Fort. His father, wholly skilled at the sea and its crafts, had a steady hand in the seaborne raids. After the event of the Scudder, he had reached out to the land based raids, joining the renegades and meeting the woman who would become Kael’s mother on the evening of being apprehended at a hand-off of supplies by Fort Weyr riders.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Kaelige was born not long after the exiles had made a make-shift home out of their Southern colony. Although a younger brother was born a few years following him, he shortly perished of an illness as an infant, and his mother became too frail to bear further children,. Kael, though perhaps lacking in general social skills, was raised with a non-harper but still strict discipline into the basics of reading and writing, and even heavier in the aspects of survival, hunting, and understanding of beasts and the sea. Fighting was a necessity, but he seemed weaker at direct confrontation. However, another renegade took him under his wing and the pursuit of spying and assassination was intensive and thorough. He could throw an average punch at best, but using subtlety to end a contest quickly, few could match him even at his young age. A prodigy perhaps, or maybe he just had something to prove. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Following his bonding to a dusky brown firelizard he called Chiv as part of a non-public agreement with his scheming father and having no law restricting his movements, he was sent back to the Fort area, puppet strings attached. Early in turn 37, he secured transport to Fort Weyr with Katriona and Yueth, though dismounted some distance away to avoid prying eyes and minds. He arrived to public attention as a vagabond- some sort of parentless trader-traveling looking for residency. With no talents offered to the lower cavern staff who asked in regards to placement but an affinity for being 'outside', he was given the position of stablehand.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Although kept well-shielded from the public eye since arriving at Fort, he continues to be molded by his master's 'acquaintance' - another well experienced in his particular area of expertise. Messages are passed via firelizard to those who hold his puppet strings, but never last long enough to be seen beyond his eye. He appears to the masses to be a hooded enigma with plenty of sarcastic wit to cover what isn't shadowed by his garb. And although he seemed more than reluctant to participate in anything of benefit to the Weyr, it' was notable that he was rather possessive of his rank of candidacy after being Searched by Lilah's Eliyaveith. During his candidacy, he had a hand in organizing and spying for the thefts from the stores meant for relief to the Hold post-landslide, which ultimately failed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In late turn 37, he Stood for Elaruth and Bijedth's clutch, for which he failed to Impress and was witness to a young green hatchling going Between instead of choosing a lifemate. He retained his knot, Standing for Eliyaveith's first clutch by Liesanth and Impressed to Zymadiath.  Another bronze hatchling had approached him first and fell, clawing a large gash in his chest. Zymadiath knocked the other away, who ended up Impressing to Y'tob, a boy Ka'ge had threatened but didn't take the life of, again risking his secrecy.  Both boy and dragonet were wounded and fell behind in their weyrling class in the first couple of months. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Weyrlinghood was a struggle, as it is for most. For Ka'ge, it included an escalation of the complicating relationship between him and the now-goldriding Dee who had been the mastermind behind the stores-raids. His lackadaisical attitude and punishments, not the least of which included self-created lies of too-early intimacy with Dee to protect their secret of the stores thefts, became a focus of assistant weyrlingmaster Kh'tyr's whose specialty in troubled students was likely the only reason Ka'ge eventually graduated on time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath and Ka'ge never proved to excel in teamwork, being tapped into Flint by X'vin due to its large amount of free-time and less stress on bonding. While this free-time as meant to be used to visit holds- and surely, that's what Ka'ge did- it wasn't always for wing business for which he went. He went back to the exiles' island, taking his master and some of his closest followers from it, to transplant them all into a small Holding some ways southwest of Fort Weyr itself.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Soon after the rescue of his master, a plague burned its way across the Northern Continent, its focal point in the Fort area. With Dee fallen ill and, despite his vigilance, wanting nothing more to do with his advances, Ka'ge found himself to be immune to the plague by a dangerous Russian-roulette-type of trial and error. And with this continually-tested immunity, used the plague as an opportunity. A valuable, crucial opportunity. As blooded family after blooded family fell, he watched for who would rise. It's unknown what ''direct'' touches he had in the heirs that then rose, but it's almost certain that some foul play took place.  When the death tolls ended, he slowly returned to a more constant presence at Fort Weyr, with intermittent and publicly known visits to Ruatha Hold in continued conference with a blooded heir who had lost the lordship to now-Lord Ruatha Baliol.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
N'rov rose to Weyrleader in this time, his bronze catching Southern-transplanted Mirinda's Zaisavyth, a flight Zymadiath had lost. Following such grand losses of riders and weyrfolk alike, wings began changing. Despite being less than two turns from weyrlinghood graduation and well-known to not be the best at teamwork, the Weyrleader approached him to tap him into his own new wing- Onyx.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=Zymadiath=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; It is not so black and white. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
''Then who is right?''&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Me. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Night's Observant Shadows Bronze Zymadiath==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He's a darkling bronze, grown into the dreadful weight of his wings, with the wolfish prowl to prove it. Those wings are mottled as smokily as the rest of him, but webbed darker still. Darkness shadows the dragon’s muzzle as well, like some long-smoldering mask, but it can't fully hide the eerie gleam of his eyes beneath their heavy brows nor the flare of large nostrils seemingly crafted for scenting prey. The only clearer points about him beyond the old silvery scarring which trails like an amoprhous rune along his belly, are his neckridges,  and even they are less pale than steeled sharp-- ticked at their points like spines-- and of course his avid hunter's claws.&lt;br /&gt;
''Zymadiath is 36 feet, 4 inches long with a wingspan of 63 feet, 8 inches, standing 24 feet, 4 inches tall at the shoulder.''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Temperament===&lt;br /&gt;
There will always be a dichotomy to your shadowed bronze, Ka’ge; there is what he presents to the world and then there is what he presents to you. To the world, he is another cocky bronze, at once careless and smug. There are only very few that will ever be able to see the layers that he hides below that mask, as he grows to trust them, though you will always see both sides by the nature of your very bond. Whether you manage to maintain the front he wishes you to - whether you can keep that arrogant, so-sure edge that he would have define you both for the outside world to see - will matter much to him as his early months go by, and your successes and failures have the potential to affect how swiftly or how slowly your bond grows beyond that claiming moment of Impression.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As he grows, your dragon may develop a more bitter edge, especially as the struggle to recover from your injuries and his own puts you further behind. As you catch up with the rest of your class, you will start to notice that those lessons that the weyrlingmasters’ teach may bore him, as much as he tries to hide it. Like you, he is more interested in things outside of his purview than within them; he would rather the two of you explore the Weyr and records on your own than to be taught by them, because he is sure that he knows better what you need to know than the weyrlingmasters do for your future and he is determined to learn it all, even if he lacks some of the natural affinity with learning that other weyrlings have. He will rarely openly challenge your teachers, but there may be moments when he subtly /pushes/ against those boundaries, to test what those instructing you know, and whether it is one answer for everyone, or different solutions for different souls. Are they competent? He’ll make those judgments soon enough.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There is much that he shares with his sister Taeliyth, and that begins with a drive to protect his brothers and sisters, at first, that may expand to the whole of the Weyr as he grows. Together, he and his golden sister may come to an understanding, sharing information and observations, but even she will never fully grasp all of plans and secrets that lay in Zymadiath’s relentlessly churning mind. There are things that he would not have even her see. The others, he may be warrier of, unsure of Caidelyth bright, relentless determination, and more than willing to clash with Uiysath when he feels she is wrong.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It will be a rush of relief for him when Zymadiath is able to take to the skies in flight, able to soar above the Weyr and look down on everything that he protects. He is inclined to spend hours upon hours circling above, though he prefers to do so alone rather than inviting any dragons to fly with him. In the air, he will be agile and swift, able to sense and catch drifts of air and currents that will carry him faster and further. While he is acrobatic in the air, he likely won’t prefer ‘tricks’ for the sake of tricks, reserving those for when they are necessary to obtain a certain goal (or gold, as it were). Showing off in such a manner wastes energy; energy that may be put to better use at another moment, and he will not grow tired of waiting for that moment, sure that there will be the need to act. So sure, in-fact, that, while it does not tire him, his watchfulness may tire /you/.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He may never do well in a wing, despite his quick mind and fierce abilities. Following orders and obeying others is not Zymadiath’s strong suit, especially not if he believes the orders that he follows to be wrong. He will not be afraid to offer his thoughts to his ‘superiors’, though he is also aware that making a fuss and acting in a manner beneath the two of you will get you nowhere, and quite the opposite of the reputation he hopes to build. And for the rest? Well, there is too much ambition in your dark bronze to mirror your own. He would rather ‘’lead’’ than follow, confident in his ability to guide a Wing and the Weyr in whatever is needed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath isn’t inclined to flirting or attraction, preferring to hold himself reserved from the female population. Only rarely will he likely give in to a green’s flight, waiting for his perfect moment and then choosing to chase. You may often find yourself the last to reach the flight weyr, or unable to reach it at all, so late will he leave his choice, and, if he loses, the painful jolt of realisation that he’s failed will be much worse than the surprise of his /chasing/. Yet, because of his ambition, he likely won’t hold himself back from gold flights, though he doesn’t seem to be driven by a desire to prove himself as his sire might be. He already knows his worth, and he knows that he is the one who should catch to produce the best possible dragons for the Weyr (or to lead the Weyr in the case of a senior flight). If he does catch a gold and sires a clutch, he will see to his duty honorably; he is likely to bring her meals as necessary and watch his eggs, but he won’t be attached to the dragon herself as much as his children and his self-imposed responsibility.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Despite his ambition and reserve, despite the depths of your dragon’s layers, Zymadiath is willing to share his life with yours, if you will allow him. He fiercely believes in your responsibility as a pair to protect and serve your Weyr, regardless of your past. If you believe it with him, you will be his one partner, an equal in what he must do. If you do not, he will love you regardless, even if he has to work against you, in your best interests, Ka’ge.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Public Impression Message===&lt;br /&gt;
The Forgotten Markings Egg gives away to the touch of the dragonet inside, turning to dust as the cracks expand quickly over the egg. It is a large bronze, who must have been cramped in that egg, that is revealed. He doesn’t wait for either his dam or his sire’s encouragement, starting with Kaelige as he moves to investigate the Candidates. Unfortunately, he gets too eager as he tries to rise up on his hindquarters to look the young man over; he trips, his claws catching against Kaelige’s chest as he does so. It is the Night’s Observant Shadows Bronze Hatchling that rushes forward, barreling into his bronze brother’s side to push him away from the Candidate. After, he turns back to examine the Candidate himself, choosing him despite the injury.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Private Impression Message===&lt;br /&gt;
This isn’t the feeling of Impression that you would expect as that bronze attempts to peer into your eyes; this feeling is just pain that radiates blindingly from your chest. There’s no healing balm to it, but there is the relief of further pressure in a sudden movement of a darker bronze. Then suddenly there is the feeling of darkness shaping itself against your mind and around your heart, melding with you. Those shadows are as part of you as anything now, and you do not need a name for them. They are your Zymadiath, the realization there even before he speaks into your very soul, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; We will make them pay, Ka’ge. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Mindvoice===&lt;br /&gt;
Darkness, shadows, night. Is it any surprise that these are the things that compromise Zymadiath’s mindvoice? They will shape themselves into strange depictions, faint shapes that could be interpreted as symbols if one were trying to read into another’s mind by what they see in them. Ever changing, there doesn’t seem to be any pattern depending on his mood, though they may break apart and reshape themselves faster if he is agitated and slower when he is calm. The actual ‘tone’ of his voice is low and gravelly, not exactly pleasant to listen to but holding a power to it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Picking a Path Egg===&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Gnarled shadows slither sickly across an egg that might otherwise be beautiful to behold. Where that darkness has taken root, or else dappled it in leafy swatches, the shell's smooth ash-silver has dulled to drab charcoal. Untainted sections are dotted by blossoms of white, but under the dreadful darkness there is only the corrupted promise of magnificence, purity and possibility gone to rot.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
''The shadows in the Picking a Path Egg continue to shift and grow as cracks spread, linked together by each point of blossomed white. Quickly, however, the egg gives way to rot, falling apart to reveal the first dragonet to break his shell: an auspicious bronze, covered in the same dark shadows as his egg, before he slips away from his shell as if trying to escape before anyone may notice him.''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Night's Observant Shadows Bronze Hatchling===&lt;br /&gt;
He's a darkling bronze, disjointed with youth but with the potential for so much more; despite long legs and a longer tail, he more creeps than truly walks, a low and insectoid scuttle. His wings are longest of all, a dreadful weight to grow into, with webbing that's mottled as smokily as the rest of him but a shade or two darker still. Darkness shadows his muzzle as well, like some long-smoldering mask, but it can't fully hide the gleam of his eyes beneath heavy brows nor the flare of large nostrils seemingly crafted for scenting prey.  The only clearer points about him, and even they are less pale than steeled sharp, are his neckridges-- ticked at their points like spines-- and of course his avid hunter's claws.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=== Name Meaning===&lt;br /&gt;
Inspired by the ultimate hero-slash-villain, in a way that I thought suited your inspirations and the epic scale of your dragon, Kael, from The Watchmen: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Inspiration===&lt;br /&gt;
Your dragon is inspired by many vigilante heroes who believe that their way is right, though Batman is the primary example of this. There are morally grey areas, but he will certainly protect those that need him. His description was crafted from exactly what you asked for, done beautifully by N’rov! Who also suggests that if you wish for him to be injured in the hatching as well as Ka’ge, that those scars leads to ‘old silvery scarring like an amorphous rune along his belly’. Zymadiath’s mindvoice pulls in elements of all nighttime vigilantes, but it especially holds hint of Rorschach with it’s reforming, suggestive darkness and Batman with his gravelly, low voice.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
''Egg Inspiration:'' The heart-trees in Naomi Novik's new book, Uprooted. The book is steered by luck, chance and fate throughout and the heart-trees are one of the most strikingly described aspects of the book, both lucky and unlucky in of themselves.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=Relationships/Companions=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===PC===&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Dahlia''' ''Dee'' - A light in the dark. You don't realize what lengths I would go to for you, should you only ask. 'Complicated' is only whatever's in your head.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Kh'tyr''' ''Mentor'' - What an asshole. But let's be real honest, I respect him.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''N'rov''' ''Clever'' - I'm not sure what he wants from of me, I'm not sure if I can trust him. What does he really know?&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lys''' ''Little shadow'' - You act like me, right down to not wanting to give me your name. That means you're trouble. Too bad you aren't in my territory. I guess I'll be visiting yours.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Olivya''' ''Sharp'' - I'm curious to watch you. You and your little friend from Southern.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===NPC===&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Y'tob''' ''Knows too much'' - Just stay out of my way.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Draozu''' ''Master'' - My father, my master, the voice in my head. You speak, I move. Much to Zymadiath's frustration, your word is my command.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Iashun''' ''The Ugly'' - You kept me keen before and during weyrlinghood, but you're just a nuisance now. Ears and eyes in the Weyr that's unnecessary. Mine are better than yours ever could be. Call me boy one more time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Deceased===&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'oan''' ''Liar'' -  Too bad you can't punch a dead man (again). I've never had someone's death haunt me so.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lilah''' ''Too Soon'' - Dead is dead. Though I guess nobody even really knows if you are dead. I don't despair your loss- I can't. But Zymadiath did what I couldn't.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
-----------------------------------------------------&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Crudely Crafted and Concealed Brown Firelizard Chiv===&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A boney little brown firelizard, seemingly lacking in muscular features and certainly no fat to speak of, is inconspicuous in presence though perhaps of generally normal length for his color. Sharpness defines him at every angle, like a tiny knife with wings. From fanged narrow muzzle to curved, hooked back-ridges to dark-silver pointed talons oversized for his dusky paws, the brown is a creature that looks less than inviting to the touch. Heavy dull browns coat him, dusty and dim, powdered darker at the lengths of raptor-long wings and whip-thin tail as if he'd been rolled in a mixture of soot and soil.&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
''Impressed T36, Exile Islands''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Long-Distance Draft-Cross Grulla Gelding Bane===&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Heavy bones collect relatively graceful but sturdy limbs beneath this massive runner, grown 18 hands easily at the withers. And a rather glorious beast this is, a cross of some stocky draft with the titch of fire of a warm-blood of slightly leaner girth, the proportions appear just right for smooth riding over long distances. Not the fastest, not the strongest, his build registers in some middling area. Heavy, large hooves are nigh-fully covered in the length of deep black feathers. Mane is slightly crimped, tail a'brush on the back of hocks, both too as black as night. The rest of the gelding cross claims a grulla coloration, that deep silvery-brown dun hue that's made all the more striking by the dark edges of his form. Broad back is a healthy one, head dramatic in its deep black contours often high-held in curiosity- and lending to a likely less than bomb-proof nature . &amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
''Foaled T34''&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
''A shared runner, usually housed in Fort Weyr stables''&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
[http://img13.deviantart.net/0822/i/2011/053/c/1/friesian_20_by_the_kurgan-d3a5b22.jpg Bane Image]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=RP Logs=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{NewLogs |name={{BASEPAGENAME}}}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=Icons=&lt;br /&gt;
{{Icons}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= Miscellaneous =&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Body Marks===&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://i23.photobucket.com/albums/b358/kairosewolf/riders/Pern/kageback_zps9k6ik3hj.png Tattoo]: Black ink covers most of the right side of his back and shoulder. Chain-like bands curl over his right shoulder and upper forearm, connected to one edge of a three-pointed star/triskele-like symbol. One point curls to the ink-free portion of his back, the third to a ornate dagger, the blade ending at his lower back.&lt;br /&gt;
* The largest of his scars is a three-talon-mark wound across his central chest, aquired at the Hatching of Zymadiath from a second bronze hatchling&lt;br /&gt;
* Numerous other scars are etched over his body, though most seem concentrated on his arms and torso. The most dramatic of which are old and well-healed, some to the point of fading. However, some are new with the pink-puffiness of sensitive new skin. Many of these seem thin, blade-like. Others, more bold and blunt.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=== Sound Tracks ===&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EaxNHs93oIA For Your Entertainment - Adam Lambert]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntowwrTDZSQ Gonna Go Far Kid - The Offspring]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdfSSkeXs-k Angel with a Shotgun - The Cab]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wi_Qlq5WlTQ Everybody Loves Me - One Republic]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9H01_vkhAIY Demons - Imagine Dragons]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2C7-Zy-r10&amp;amp;index=98&amp;amp;list=PLfbnV6tfC8_lwBhTpv8SDrhDq4RjNVqqi Skulls - Bastille]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCLgCeBJOWg On my own - Ashes Remain]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Other===&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://img02.deviantart.net/255d/i/2015/182/c/d/weyrling_ka_ge_of_bronze_zymadiath_by_rakuraiwolf-d8zgwdk.png Weyrling Art]&lt;br /&gt;
* Candidate Nicknames: Hood, Lord Hood, Attitude, Sparkly Dirt&lt;br /&gt;
*Personality Type ESTP - [http://www.16personalities.com/estp-personality &amp;quot;..the likeliest personality type to make a lifestyle of risky behavior&amp;quot;]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/jh/kaelige Johari]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/nohari?name=Kaelige Nohari]&lt;br /&gt;
* D&amp;amp;D Alignment - Neutral Evil Human Rogue&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
|position=Stablehand&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|Has rank=Candidate&lt;br /&gt;
|craft=&lt;br /&gt;
|birthplace=Exile Island&lt;br /&gt;
|pb=Colin O'Donoghue&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Character-Categories&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Exiles, Fort Area, Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Bronzeriders]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Quartz_Wing]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Fire_Over_Ice&amp;diff=81719</id>
		<title>Logs:Fire Over Ice</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Fire_Over_Ice&amp;diff=81719"/>
				<updated>2016-01-17T23:26:20Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Ka'ge, Ka'ge{{!}}Zymadiath&lt;br /&gt;
|what=An attempt at a brief reprieve lends to a long overdue moment.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=A road near Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=7&lt;br /&gt;
|month=11&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=39&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2016.01.17&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=Zymadiath had been a means to an end, and nothing more.&lt;br /&gt;
|weather=Partially overcast, autumn afternoon&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=Draozu, Iashun, Y'tob, Lilah, Paislie, Dahlia, N'rov, Kh'tyr&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Vignette&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon Ka'ge sorrow.jpg, Icon Ka'ge Zymadiath.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Stupid boy. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka’ge rode like a mad man down the wagon wheel-carven dirt roads as if chased by horrors. The giant gelding beneath him tears across open trails, less traveled than it should be in the tithe season. His ears are pinned back as he's spurred ever faster by both the rider who digs his heels into his sides, and the fear inspired by the massive dragon that skirts the tops of the trees above them. The runner’s breaths are rapid, rhythmic and heavy, its draft-bred hooves slamming into the dirt beneath them and splashing into puddles to send water high enough to dampen the face of his rider.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Above, Zymadiath soars with the languity of a shadow, blotting out the light that would have otherwise descended to bathe the ancient trader route. His efforts linger on the edge of boredom in comparison to the runner, for what beast of burden could ever outrun a dragon?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’Get out of my head.’’ “Yah!” Ka’ge yells through clipped teeth. But panicked runner can run no faster, and skids to a jostling, gut-wrenching halt to slam the boy over the front of the saddle and then backwards as he rears up to strike his hooves through the air. Tempered steps drive boy and runner in a confused, stubborn and dusty circle as bronzerider reins him harder.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But before Ka’ge can pull Bane back onto the roads, the snapping of thinner branches directly in his path lend to the arrival of Zymadiath. Practiced, folded wings allow him an only slightly harsh landing in the narrow space. But he has no intention of making it a gentle arrival; predatory, wolfish, his lips curl to bare too-white teeth against the dark mask of his face. A roar is not restrained, those wherries not already upset from their roosts, now erupting from trees nearby and filling the skies with their exodus.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Bane bucks again, this time more violently, throwing Ka’ge from his back and fleeing some numerous dragonlengths away. Well out of reach, with fear-laden whinnies and snorts of disapproval fading off into the distance with him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The wind stolen from his lungs from his eighteen or so hand high fall, Ka’ge gasps airlessly from the ground, eventually finding the ability to cough. It’s a struggle before he rolls onto an elbow, picking up a rock and throwing it at the bronze, a look of fury wrinkling his face.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The pebble- easily nothing more than that in the face of his giant night-touched paw, strikes a talon with all the weight of a feather, bouncing off and rolling some feet away. Zymadiath watches it with a tilt of his head, then levels that faceted eye on his rider. There’s a chortle of sorts, echoed in his mind with the trembling of the smokey edges of his night in the semblance of an unamused chuckle.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Stupid boy.&amp;gt;&amp;gt; The gravelly mindvoice repeats as dragon encroaches, so low, a harsh whisper spoken around a corner in the dark of an abandoned room, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; You cannot run from yourself as much as you cannot run from me. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’Why did you even bother?’’ Comes before he finds his voice, irritation granted in both avenues, “Go back. Go watch the Weyr. You know I’ll be back…” He groans, shifting, “You know I can’t leave.”&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Your bitterness fills you. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“You should talk.” But it was no less true. Ka’ge, in so many ways, burned. His chest felt a’flame, his breaths tight and not just from his close encounter with a hard ground.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; It is okay to care. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; It’s oddly gentle, this, from the bodiless mouths of nightmares, watched from the eyeless white sockets of figments not-really-there.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka’ge, silent, stares upwards at the partially cloudy sky. ‘’Too little too late.’’&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Get up. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Not a suggestion. Zymadiath’s blackened muzzle is shoved against his stomach, hot gusts of air from his flared nostrils pouring over him. As Ka’ge defensively puts his hands up around the bronze’s nose when it comes into contact with him, there’s a ‘’moment’’. Of realization. Of revelation. Of awe. After all this time, nearly two turns since Impression, he’d never once just stared at ‘’his’’ dragon. From the day he was shelled and they were both struck down, desires for revenge, justice, and the constant distraction of his ‘’purpose’’ clouded his vision. Zymadiath had been a means to an end, and nothing more.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka’ge curls his fingers around the contours of his muzzle and the bronze pulls back just enough to lift the boy to his feet. The rough leather of his gloves scratches over the hide and ridges ‘round Zymadiath’s nose in slow, intentional strokes of his thumb. They stand there, caught in their moment, the boy listening to the breaths of his dragon, funneled heatedly into his chest.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The touch, a catalyst, as shadows- both teen and dragon- fall deeper. There’s the memory of the bronze as a hatchling, so small and ichor-stained, laying on his blood-soaked chest while he seethed, giving birth to bitterness in the same breath as Ka’ge prided himself in achieving someone else’s goal.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There’s the memory of the young bronze’s shock and utter rage following the losses of Eliyaveith and Uiysath, which brought his rider like a shockwave to his knees, leaving Ka’ge frustrated, angry with the bronze himself. He wouldn’t fall to Zymadiath’s weaknesses, pushing him away, becoming even more distanced from the single soul that could understand him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then there’s the memory of Zymadiath’s desperation as Fort’s plagued skies sung in morbid keening that fell steadily in volume as voice after voice was forever lost Between. And Ka’ge looked only to the Holds and his Master, so wrapped up in his politics and the opportunities that laid in everyone else’s despair.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Burdens. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; The shadows collect around him, not quite so suffocating, but dense, encapsulating. They seek nothing, not even the guilt for which those memories should evoke. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Are by nature difficult to bare. She has made you feel. And it makes you stronger. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’Stronger? It’s less painful to train with Iashun than visit her.’’&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Yet, you see it. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka’ge looks up from the blackened bronze hide to the seemingly back-lit faceted orbs of the dragon’s eyes. But the gaze falters and he looks away. Sure, he saw it. From a husk of a boy who only followed orders to claim power, to one now who could see the potential for fire in place of ice. As much a weakness as a strength. A tightrope like the one he walked since birth. Zymadiath pulls his face back, drawing it upwards in that proud, eerie manner he claims. He spreads his wings back behind himself, an intimidating gesture, a demonstration of his strength and a reminder of the sheer ‘’smallness’’ of the rider before him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; You have always served things larger than yourself. Wanting to deal in the wastes no one else wishes to smell. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; More silence, words unneeded, Zymadiath means not just his Draozu. Mograith’s, Vhaeryth’s, the images within the darkness swirl, vague, hazy, brief. All the spying, the manipulation, even the bloodier… Would he not do the same for them?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Perhaps he would, with his dirty hands. The Weyr had always been part of the bigger picture, colored by acidic bitterness, a toxic filter born into him by his upbringing. He had risked ‘’everything’’ for Dahlia, his neck saved by luck alone. The same noose didn’t hang there as it once did. Yet still, the sinking feeling lingers in the pit of his stomach, and his hands fall to his sides. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
For the first time, he was not just looking at a bronze dragon, but seeing Zymadiath. Not just hearing him, but listening.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’But we are alone.’’ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; We will always be alone. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; For what else is there in the dark? What liars keep comfortable company? &amp;lt;&amp;lt; But you need not be lonely. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Fire_Over_Ice&amp;diff=81716</id>
		<title>Logs:Fire Over Ice</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Fire_Over_Ice&amp;diff=81716"/>
				<updated>2016-01-17T23:22:47Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: Created page with &amp;quot;{{Log |who=Ka'ge, Ka'ge{{!}}Zymadiath |what=An attempt at a brief reprieve lends to |where=A road near Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Weyr |day=7 |month=11 |turn=39 |IP=Interval |IP...&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Ka'ge, Ka'ge{{!}}Zymadiath&lt;br /&gt;
|what=An attempt at a brief reprieve lends to&lt;br /&gt;
|where=A road near Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=7&lt;br /&gt;
|month=11&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=39&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2016.01.17&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=Zymadiath had been a means to an end, and nothing more.&lt;br /&gt;
|weather=Partially overcast, autumn afternoon&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=Draozu, Iashun, Y'tob, Lilah, Paislie, Dahlia, N'rov, Kh'tyr&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Vignette&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon Ka'ge sorrow.jpg, Icon Ka'ge Zymadiath.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Stupid boy. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka’ge rode like a mad man down the wagon wheel-carven dirt roads as if chased by horrors. The giant gelding beneath him tears across open trails, less traveled than it should be in the tithe season. His ears are pinned back as he's spurred ever faster by both the rider who digs his heels into his sides, and the fear inspired by the massive dragon that skirts the tops of the trees above them. The runner’s breaths are rapid, rhythmic and heavy, its draft-bred hooves slamming into the dirt beneath them and splashing into puddles to send water high enough to dampen the face of his rider.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Above, Zymadiath soars with the languity of a shadow, blotting out the light that would have otherwise descended to bathe the ancient trader route. His efforts linger on the edge of boredom in comparison to the runner, for what beast of burden could ever outrun a dragon?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’Get out of my head.’’ “Yah!” Ka’ge yells through clipped teeth. But panicked runner can run no faster, and skids to a jostling, gut-wrenching halt to slam the boy over the front of the saddle and then backwards as he rears up to strike his hooves through the air. Tempered steps drive boy and runner in a confused, stubborn and dusty circle as bronzerider reins him harder.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But before Ka’ge can pull Bane back onto the roads, the snapping of thinner branches directly in his path lend to the arrival of Zymadiath. Practiced, folded wings allow him an only slightly harsh landing in the narrow space. But he has no intention of making it a gentle arrival; predatory, wolfish, his lips curl to bare too-white teeth against the dark mask of his face. A roar is not restrained, those wherries not already upset from their roosts, now erupting from trees nearby and filling the skies with their exodus.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Bane bucks again, this time more violently, throwing Ka’ge from his back and fleeing some numerous dragonlengths away. Well out of reach, with fear-laden whinnies and snorts of disapproval fading off into the distance with him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The wind stolen from his lungs from his eighteen or so hand high fall, Ka’ge gasps airlessly from the ground, eventually finding the ability to cough. It’s a struggle before he rolls onto an elbow, picking up a rock and throwing it at the bronze, a look of fury wrinkling his face.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The pebble- easily nothing more than that in the face of his giant night-touched paw, strikes a talon with all the weight of a feather, bouncing off and rolling some feet away. Zymadiath watches it with a tilt of his head, then levels that faceted eye on his rider. There’s a chortle of sorts, echoed in his mind with the trembling of the smokey edges of his night in the semblance of an unamused chuckle.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Stupid boy.&amp;gt;&amp;gt; The gravelly mindvoice repeats as dragon encroaches, so low, a harsh whisper spoken around a corner in the dark of an abandoned room, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; You cannot run from yourself as much as you cannot run from me. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’Why did you even bother?’’ Comes before he finds his voice, irritation granted in both avenues, “Go back. Go watch the Weyr. You know I’ll be back…” He groans, shifting, “You know I can’t leave.”&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Your bitterness fills you. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“You should talk.” But it was no less true. Ka’ge, in so many ways, burned. His chest felt a’flame, his breaths tight and not just from his close encounter with a hard ground.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; It is okay to care. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; It’s oddly gentle, this, from the bodiless mouths of nightmares, watched from the eyeless white sockets of figments not-really-there.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka’ge, silent, stares upwards at the partially cloudy sky. ‘’Too little too late.’’&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Get up. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Not a suggestion. Zymadiath’s blackened muzzle is shoved against his stomach, hot gusts of air from his flared nostrils pouring over him. As Ka’ge defensively puts his hands up around the bronze’s nose when it comes into contact with him, there’s a ‘’moment’’. Of realization. Of revelation. Of awe. After all this time, nearly two turns since Impression, he’d never once just stared at ‘’his’’ dragon. From the day he was shelled and they were both struck down, desires for revenge, justice, and the constant distraction of his ‘’purpose’’ clouded his vision. Zymadiath had been a means to an end, and nothing more.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka’ge curls his fingers around the contours of his muzzle and the bronze pulls back just enough to lift the boy to his feet. The rough leather of his gloves scratches over the hide and ridges ‘round Zymadiath’s nose in slow, intentional strokes of his thumb. They stand there, caught in their moment, the boy listening to the breaths of his dragon, funneled heatedly into his chest.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The touch, a catalyst, as shadows- both teen and dragon- fall deeper. There’s the memory of the bronze as a hatchling, so small and ichor-stained, laying on his blood-soaked chest while he seethed, giving birth to bitterness in the same breath as Ka’ge prided himself in achieving someone else’s goal.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There’s the memory of the young bronze’s shock and utter rage following the losses of Eliyaveith and Uiysath, which brought his rider like a shockwave to his knees, leaving Ka’ge frustrated, angry with the bronze himself. He wouldn’t fall to Zymadiath’s weaknesses, pushing him away, becoming even more distanced from the single soul that could understand him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then there’s the memory of Zymadiath’s desperation as Fort’s plagued skies sung in morbid keening that fell steadily in volume as voice after voice was forever lost Between. And Ka’ge looked only to the Holds and his Master, so wrapped up in his politics and the opportunities that laid in everyone else’s despair.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Burdens. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; The shadows collect around him, not quite so suffocating, but dense, encapsulating. They seek nothing, not even the guilt for which those memories should evoke. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Are by nature difficult to bare. She has made you feel. And it makes you stronger. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’Stronger? It’s less painful to train with Iashun than visit her.’’&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Yet, you see it. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka’ge looks up from the blackened bronze hide to the seemingly back-lit faceted orbs of the dragon’s eyes. But the gaze falters and he looks away. Sure, he saw it. From a husk of a boy who only followed orders to claim power, to one now who could see the potential for fire in place of ice. As much a weakness as a strength. A tightrope like the one he walked since birth. Zymadiath pulls his face back, drawing it upwards in that proud, eerie manner he claims. He spreads his wings back behind himself, an intimidating gesture, a demonstration of his strength and a reminder of the sheer ‘’smallness’’ of the rider before him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; You have always served things larger than yourself. Wanting to deal in the wastes no one else wishes to smell. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; More silence, words unneeded, Zymadiath means not just his Draozu. Mograith’s, Vhaeryth’s, the images within the darkness swirl, vague, hazy, brief. All the spying, the manipulation, even the bloodier… Would he not do the same for them?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Perhaps he would, with his dirty hands. The Weyr had always been part of the bigger picture, colored by acidic bitterness, a toxic filter born into him by his upbringing. He had risked ‘’everything’’ for Dahlia, his neck saved by luck alone. The same noose didn’t hang there as it once did. Yet still, the sinking feeling lingers in the pit of his stomach, and his hands fall to his sides. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
For the first time, he was not just looking at a bronze dragon, but seeing Zymadiath. Not just hearing him, but listening.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’But we are alone.’’ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; We will always be alone. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; For what else is there in the dark? What liars keep comfortable company? &amp;lt;&amp;lt; But you need not be lonely. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=81436</id>
		<title>Ka'ge</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=81436"/>
				<updated>2016-01-15T16:46:52Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{ProfileTabs&lt;br /&gt;
|picture=Kage.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|mother=Eligeya(NPC) - Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|father=Kaethun(NPC) - Seacrafter/Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|siblings=Eliun(NPC) - brother (deceased)&lt;br /&gt;
|body=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{Wysk}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Description==&lt;br /&gt;
A rugged scruff of stubble lines his squared and defined jaw, hinting at the man that this boy is quickly becoming, and making it difficult to age him just by looks. His skin claims a natural tan beneath beneath bruises, scratches and scars, hinting of tones used to warmer climates. Shadowed beneath short, often unkempt black hair are mischievous, piercing green-touched blue eyes. He has a hardness about his lazy stance that doesn't quite fit, one that doesn't quite immediately seem friendly by any means. Standing straight, he reaches about six foot or so of lithe, suspicious stature. Beneath the layers of clothing he wears, he's conditioned well. Limbs, chest, back speak nothing of fat, their contours dramatic and carved. Not particularly brawny, but clearly toned, ready. His physical athleticism is obvious, his direction not so much. &lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
A deeply obsidian flight jacket is of excellent quality, with ridges and stitching of experienced journeyman level but with no particular icons included. It bares a heavier hood, one that could easily cover most of his face- and very often, that's exactly what it does. Beneath, he's dressed in darker colored wher-hide garb with the grey-black dabbling an intentional element. Beneath his jacket, he wears a criss-crossing of hide in the likes of a harness with pockets and grooves. Beyond that, the rest is far more typical-a belt knife lies at his lower back, and a short dagger is strapped to his right thigh. &lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
Looped at his hip instead of his shoulder is a knot- the simpleness of a rider, the colors of Fort Weyr, and a central cord of darkened bronze.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= History =&lt;br /&gt;
==History==&lt;br /&gt;
It started as simply as intervening ships enroute from Gar to Boll, and later from Ista to Fort. His father, wholly skilled at the sea and its crafts, had a steady hand in the seaborne raids. After the event of the Scudder, he had reached out to the land based raids, joining the renegades and meeting the woman who would become Kael’s mother on the evening of being apprehended at a hand-off of supplies by Fort Weyr riders.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Kaelige was born not long after the exiles had made a make-shift home out of their Southern colony. Although a younger brother was born a few years following him, he shortly perished of an illness as an infant, and his mother became too frail to bear further children,. Kael, though perhaps lacking in general social skills, was raised with a non-harper but still strict discipline into the basics of reading and writing, and even heavier in the aspects of survival, hunting, and understanding of beasts and the sea. Fighting was a necessity, but he seemed weaker at direct confrontation. However, another renegade took him under his wing and the pursuit of spying and assassination was intensive and thorough. He could throw an average punch at best, but using subtlety to end a contest quickly, few could match him even at his young age. A prodigy perhaps, or maybe he just had something to prove. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Following his bonding to a dusky brown firelizard he called Chiv as part of a non-public agreement with his scheming father and having no law restricting his movements, he was sent back to the Fort area, puppet strings attached. Early in turn 37, he secured transport to Fort Weyr with Katriona and Yueth, though dismounted some distance away to avoid prying eyes and minds. He arrived to public attention as a vagabond- some sort of parentless trader-traveling looking for residency. With no talents offered to the lower cavern staff who asked in regards to placement but an affinity for being 'outside', he was given the position of stablehand.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Although kept well-shielded from the public eye since arriving at Fort, he continues to be molded by his master's 'acquaintance' - another well experienced in his particular area of expertise. Messages are passed via firelizard to those who hold his puppet strings, but never last long enough to be seen beyond his eye. He appears to the masses to be a hooded enigma with plenty of sarcastic wit to cover what isn't shadowed by his garb. And although he seemed more than reluctant to participate in anything of benefit to the Weyr, it' was notable that he was rather possessive of his rank of candidacy after being Searched by Lilah's Eliyaveith. During his candidacy, he had a hand in organizing and spying for the thefts from the stores meant for relief to the Hold post-landslide, which ultimately failed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In late turn 37, he Stood for Elaruth and Bijedth's clutch, for which he failed to Impress and was witness to a young green hatchling going Between instead of choosing a lifemate. He retained his knot, Standing for Eliyaveith's first clutch by Liesanth and Impressed to Zymadiath.  Another bronze hatchling had approached him first and fell, clawing a large gash in his chest. Zymadiath knocked the other away, who ended up Impressing to Y'tob, a boy Ka'ge had threatened but didn't take the life of, again risking his secrecy.  Both boy and dragonet were wounded and fell behind in their weyrling class in the first couple of months. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Weyrlinghood was a struggle, as it is for most. For Ka'ge, it included an escalation of the complicating relationship between him and the now-goldriding Dee who had been the mastermind behind the stores-raids. His lackadaisical attitude and punishments, not the least of which included self-created lies of too-early intimacy with Dee to protect their secret of the stores thefts, became a focus of assistant weyrlingmaster Kh'tyr's whose specialty in troubled students was likely the only reason Ka'ge eventually graduated on time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath and Ka'ge never proved to excel in teamwork, being tapped into Flint by X'vin due to its large amount of free-time and less stress on bonding. While this free-time as meant to be used to visit holds- and surely, that's what Ka'ge did- it wasn't always for wing business for which he went. He went back to the exiles' island, taking his master and some of his closest followers from it, to transplant them all into a small Holding some ways southwest of Fort Weyr itself.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Soon after the rescue of his master, a plague burned its way across the Northern Continent, its focal point in the Fort area. With Dee fallen ill and, despite his vigilance, wanting nothing more to do with his advances, Ka'ge found himself to be immune to the plague by a dangerous Russian-roulette-type of trial and error. And with this continually-tested immunity, used the plague as an opportunity. A valuable, crucial opportunity. As blooded family after blooded family fell, he watched for who would rise. It's unknown what ''direct'' touches he had in the heirs that then rose, but it's almost certain that some foul play took place.  When the death tolls ended, he slowly returned to a more constant presence at Fort Weyr, with intermittent and publicly known visits to Ruatha Hold in continued conference with a blooded heir who had lost the lordship to now-Lord Ruatha Baliol.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
N'rov rose to Weyrleader in this time, his bronze catching Southern-transplanted Mirinda's Zaisavyth, a flight Zymadiath had lost. Following such grand losses of riders and weyrfolk alike, wings began changing. Despite being less than two turns from weyrlinghood graduation and well-known to not be the best at teamwork, the Weyrleader approached him to tap him into his own new wing- Onyx.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=Zymadiath=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; It is not so black and white. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
''Then who is right?''&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Me. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Night's Observant Bronze Zymadiath==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He's a darkling bronze, grown into the dreadful weight of his wings, with the wolfish prowl to prove it. Those wings are mottled as smokily as the rest of him, but webbed darker still. Darkness shadows the dragon’s muzzle as well, like some long-smoldering mask, but it can't fully hide the eerie gleam of his eyes beneath their heavy brows nor the flare of large nostrils seemingly crafted for scenting prey. The only clearer points about him beyond the old silvery scarring which trails like an amoprhous rune along his belly, are his neckridges,  and even they are less pale than steeled sharp-- ticked at their points like spines-- and of course his avid hunter's claws.&lt;br /&gt;
''Zymadiath is 36 feet, 4 inches long with a wingspan of 63 feet, 8 inches, standing 24 feet, 4 inches tall at the shoulder.''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Temperament===&lt;br /&gt;
There will always be a dichotomy to your shadowed bronze, Ka’ge; there is what he presents to the world and then there is what he presents to you. To the world, he is another cocky bronze, at once careless and smug. There are only very few that will ever be able to see the layers that he hides below that mask, as he grows to trust them, though you will always see both sides by the nature of your very bond. Whether you manage to maintain the front he wishes you to - whether you can keep that arrogant, so-sure edge that he would have define you both for the outside world to see - will matter much to him as his early months go by, and your successes and failures have the potential to affect how swiftly or how slowly your bond grows beyond that claiming moment of Impression.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As he grows, your dragon may develop a more bitter edge, especially as the struggle to recover from your injuries and his own puts you further behind. As you catch up with the rest of your class, you will start to notice that those lessons that the weyrlingmasters’ teach may bore him, as much as he tries to hide it. Like you, he is more interested in things outside of his purview than within them; he would rather the two of you explore the Weyr and records on your own than to be taught by them, because he is sure that he knows better what you need to know than the weyrlingmasters do for your future and he is determined to learn it all, even if he lacks some of the natural affinity with learning that other weyrlings have. He will rarely openly challenge your teachers, but there may be moments when he subtly /pushes/ against those boundaries, to test what those instructing you know, and whether it is one answer for everyone, or different solutions for different souls. Are they competent? He’ll make those judgments soon enough.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There is much that he shares with his sister Taeliyth, and that begins with a drive to protect his brothers and sisters, at first, that may expand to the whole of the Weyr as he grows. Together, he and his golden sister may come to an understanding, sharing information and observations, but even she will never fully grasp all of plans and secrets that lay in Zymadiath’s relentlessly churning mind. There are things that he would not have even her see. The others, he may be warrier of, unsure of Caidelyth bright, relentless determination, and more than willing to clash with Uiysath when he feels she is wrong.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It will be a rush of relief for him when Zymadiath is able to take to the skies in flight, able to soar above the Weyr and look down on everything that he protects. He is inclined to spend hours upon hours circling above, though he prefers to do so alone rather than inviting any dragons to fly with him. In the air, he will be agile and swift, able to sense and catch drifts of air and currents that will carry him faster and further. While he is acrobatic in the air, he likely won’t prefer ‘tricks’ for the sake of tricks, reserving those for when they are necessary to obtain a certain goal (or gold, as it were). Showing off in such a manner wastes energy; energy that may be put to better use at another moment, and he will not grow tired of waiting for that moment, sure that there will be the need to act. So sure, in-fact, that, while it does not tire him, his watchfulness may tire /you/.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He may never do well in a wing, despite his quick mind and fierce abilities. Following orders and obeying others is not Zymadiath’s strong suit, especially not if he believes the orders that he follows to be wrong. He will not be afraid to offer his thoughts to his ‘superiors’, though he is also aware that making a fuss and acting in a manner beneath the two of you will get you nowhere, and quite the opposite of the reputation he hopes to build. And for the rest? Well, there is too much ambition in your dark bronze to mirror your own. He would rather ‘’lead’’ than follow, confident in his ability to guide a Wing and the Weyr in whatever is needed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath isn’t inclined to flirting or attraction, preferring to hold himself reserved from the female population. Only rarely will he likely give in to a green’s flight, waiting for his perfect moment and then choosing to chase. You may often find yourself the last to reach the flight weyr, or unable to reach it at all, so late will he leave his choice, and, if he loses, the painful jolt of realisation that he’s failed will be much worse than the surprise of his /chasing/. Yet, because of his ambition, he likely won’t hold himself back from gold flights, though he doesn’t seem to be driven by a desire to prove himself as his sire might be. He already knows his worth, and he knows that he is the one who should catch to produce the best possible dragons for the Weyr (or to lead the Weyr in the case of a senior flight). If he does catch a gold and sires a clutch, he will see to his duty honorably; he is likely to bring her meals as necessary and watch his eggs, but he won’t be attached to the dragon herself as much as his children and his self-imposed responsibility.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Despite his ambition and reserve, despite the depths of your dragon’s layers, Zymadiath is willing to share his life with yours, if you will allow him. He fiercely believes in your responsibility as a pair to protect and serve your Weyr, regardless of your past. If you believe it with him, you will be his one partner, an equal in what he must do. If you do not, he will love you regardless, even if he has to work against you, in your best interests, Ka’ge.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Public Impression Message===&lt;br /&gt;
The Forgotten Markings Egg gives away to the touch of the dragonet inside, turning to dust as the cracks expand quickly over the egg. It is a large bronze, who must have been cramped in that egg, that is revealed. He doesn’t wait for either his dam or his sire’s encouragement, starting with Kaelige as he moves to investigate the Candidates. Unfortunately, he gets too eager as he tries to rise up on his hindquarters to look the young man over; he trips, his claws catching against Kaelige’s chest as he does so. It is the Night’s Observant Shadows Bronze Hatchling that rushes forward, barreling into his bronze brother’s side to push him away from the Candidate. After, he turns back to examine the Candidate himself, choosing him despite the injury.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Private Impression Message===&lt;br /&gt;
This isn’t the feeling of Impression that you would expect as that bronze attempts to peer into your eyes; this feeling is just pain that radiates blindingly from your chest. There’s no healing balm to it, but there is the relief of further pressure in a sudden movement of a darker bronze. Then suddenly there is the feeling of darkness shaping itself against your mind and around your heart, melding with you. Those shadows are as part of you as anything now, and you do not need a name for them. They are your Zymadiath, the realization there even before he speaks into your very soul, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; We will make them pay, Ka’ge. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Mindvoice===&lt;br /&gt;
Darkness, shadows, night. Is it any surprise that these are the things that compromise Zymadiath’s mindvoice? They will shape themselves into strange depictions, faint shapes that could be interpreted as symbols if one were trying to read into another’s mind by what they see in them. Ever changing, there doesn’t seem to be any pattern depending on his mood, though they may break apart and reshape themselves faster if he is agitated and slower when he is calm. The actual ‘tone’ of his voice is low and gravelly, not exactly pleasant to listen to but holding a power to it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Picking a Path Egg===&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Gnarled shadows slither sickly across an egg that might otherwise be beautiful to behold. Where that darkness has taken root, or else dappled it in leafy swatches, the shell's smooth ash-silver has dulled to drab charcoal. Untainted sections are dotted by blossoms of white, but under the dreadful darkness there is only the corrupted promise of magnificence, purity and possibility gone to rot.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
''The shadows in the Picking a Path Egg continue to shift and grow as cracks spread, linked together by each point of blossomed white. Quickly, however, the egg gives way to rot, falling apart to reveal the first dragonet to break his shell: an auspicious bronze, covered in the same dark shadows as his egg, before he slips away from his shell as if trying to escape before anyone may notice him.''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Night's Observant Shadows Bronze Hatchling===&lt;br /&gt;
He's a darkling bronze, disjointed with youth but with the potential for so much more; despite long legs and a longer tail, he more creeps than truly walks, a low and insectoid scuttle. His wings are longest of all, a dreadful weight to grow into, with webbing that's mottled as smokily as the rest of him but a shade or two darker still. Darkness shadows his muzzle as well, like some long-smoldering mask, but it can't fully hide the gleam of his eyes beneath heavy brows nor the flare of large nostrils seemingly crafted for scenting prey.  The only clearer points about him, and even they are less pale than steeled sharp, are his neckridges-- ticked at their points like spines-- and of course his avid hunter's claws.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=== Name Meaning===&lt;br /&gt;
Inspired by the ultimate hero-slash-villain, in a way that I thought suited your inspirations and the epic scale of your dragon, Kael, from The Watchmen: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Inspiration===&lt;br /&gt;
Your dragon is inspired by many vigilante heroes who believe that their way is right, though Batman is the primary example of this. There are morally grey areas, but he will certainly protect those that need him. His description was crafted from exactly what you asked for, done beautifully by N’rov! Who also suggests that if you wish for him to be injured in the hatching as well as Ka’ge, that those scars leads to ‘old silvery scarring like an amorphous rune along his belly’. Zymadiath’s mindvoice pulls in elements of all nighttime vigilantes, but it especially holds hint of Rorschach with it’s reforming, suggestive darkness and Batman with his gravelly, low voice.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
''Egg Inspiration:'' The heart-trees in Naomi Novik's new book, Uprooted. The book is steered by luck, chance and fate throughout and the heart-trees are one of the most strikingly described aspects of the book, both lucky and unlucky in of themselves.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
[http://img02.deviantart.net/255d/i/2015/182/c/d/weyrling_ka_ge_of_bronze_zymadiath_by_rakuraiwolf-d8zgwdk.png Weyrling Art]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=Relationships/Companions=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===PC===&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Dahlia''' ''Dee'' - A light in the dark. You don't realize what lengths I would go to for you, should you only ask. 'Complicated' is only whatever's in your head.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Kh'tyr''' ''Mentor'' - What an asshole. But let's be real honest, I respect him.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''N'rov''' ''Clever'' - I'm not sure what he wants from of me, I'm not sure if I can trust him. What does he really know?&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lys''' ''Little shadow'' - You act like me, right down to not wanting to give me your name. That means you're trouble. Too bad you aren't in my territory. I guess I'll be visiting yours.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Olivya''' ''Sharp'' - I'm curious to watch you. You and your little friend from Southern.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===NPC===&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Y'tob''' ''Knows too much'' - Just stay out of my way.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Draozu''' ''Master'' - My father, my master, the voice in my head. You speak, I move. Much to Zymadiath's frustration, your word is my command.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Iashun''' ''The Ugly'' - You kept me keen before and during weyrlinghood, but you're just a nuisance now. Ears and eyes in the Weyr that's unnecessary. Mine are better than yours ever could be. Call me boy one more time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Deceased===&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'oan''' ''Liar'' -  Too bad you can't punch a dead man (again). I've never had someone's death haunt me so.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lilah''' ''Too Soon'' - Dead is dead. Though I guess nobody even really knows if you are dead. I don't despair your loss- I can't. But Zymadiath did what I couldn't.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
-----------------------------------------------------&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Crudely Crafted and Concealed Brown Firelizard Chiv===&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A boney little brown firelizard, seemingly lacking in muscular features and certainly no fat to speak of, is inconspicuous in presence though perhaps of generally normal length for his color. Sharpness defines him at every angle, like a tiny knife with wings. From fanged narrow muzzle to curved, hooked back-ridges to dark-silver pointed talons oversized for his dusky paws, the brown is a creature that looks less than inviting to the touch. Heavy dull browns coat him, dusty and dim, powdered darker at the lengths of raptor-long wings and whip-thin tail as if he'd been rolled in a mixture of soot and soil.&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
''Impressed T36, Exile Islands''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Long-Distance Draft-Cross Grulla Gelding Bane===&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Heavy bones collect relatively graceful but sturdy limbs beneath this massive runner, grown 18 hands easily at the withers. And a rather glorious beast this is, a cross of some stocky draft with the titch of fire of a warm-blood of slightly leaner girth, the proportions appear just right for smooth riding over long distances. Not the fastest, not the strongest, his build registers in some middling area. Heavy, large hooves are nigh-fully covered in the length of deep black feathers. Mane is slightly crimped, tail a'brush on the back of hocks, both too as black as night. The rest of the gelding cross claims a grulla coloration, that deep silvery-brown dun hue that's made all the more striking by the dark edges of his form. Broad back is a healthy one, head dramatic in its deep black contours often high-held in curiosity- and lending to a likely less than bomb-proof nature . &amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
''Foaled T34''&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
''A shared runner, usually housed in Fort Weyr stables''&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
[http://img13.deviantart.net/0822/i/2011/053/c/1/friesian_20_by_the_kurgan-d3a5b22.jpg Bane Image]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=RP Logs=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{NewLogs |name={{BASEPAGENAME}}}}&lt;br /&gt;
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{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
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=Icons=&lt;br /&gt;
{{Icons}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= Miscellaneous =&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=== Sound Tracks ===&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EaxNHs93oIA For Your Entertainment - Adam Lambert]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntowwrTDZSQ Gonna Go Far Kid - The Offspring]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdfSSkeXs-k Angel with a Shotgun - The Cab]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wi_Qlq5WlTQ Everybody Loves Me - One Republic]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9H01_vkhAIY Demons - Imagine Dragons]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2C7-Zy-r10&amp;amp;index=98&amp;amp;list=PLfbnV6tfC8_lwBhTpv8SDrhDq4RjNVqqi Skulls - Bastille]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCLgCeBJOWg On my own - Ashes Remain]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Body Marks===&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://i23.photobucket.com/albums/b358/kairosewolf/riders/Pern/kageback_zps9k6ik3hj.png Tattoo]: Black ink covers most of the right side of his back and shoulder. Chain-like bands curl over his right shoulder and upper forearm, connected to one edge of a three-pointed star/triskele-like symbol. One point curls to the ink-free portion of his back, the third to a ornate dagger, the blade ending at his lower back.&lt;br /&gt;
* The largest of his scars is a three-talon-mark wound across his central chest, aquired at the Hatching of Zymadiath from a second bronze hatchling&lt;br /&gt;
* Numerous other scars are etched over his body, though most seem concentrated on his arms and torso. The most dramatic of which are old and well-healed, some to the point of fading. However, some are new with the pink-puffiness of sensitive new skin. Many of these seem thin, blade-like. Others, more bold and blunt.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Other===&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Given Nicknames:''' Hood, Lord Hood, Attitude, Sparkly Dirt&lt;br /&gt;
*Personality Type ESTP - [http://www.16personalities.com/estp-personality &amp;quot;..the likeliest personality type to make a lifestyle of risky behavior&amp;quot;]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/jh/kaelige Johari]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/nohari?name=Kaelige Nohari]&lt;br /&gt;
* D&amp;amp;D Alignment - Neutral Evil Human Rogue&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
|position=Stablehand&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|Has rank=Candidate&lt;br /&gt;
|craft=&lt;br /&gt;
|birthplace=Exile Island&lt;br /&gt;
|pb=Colin O'Donoghue&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Character-Categories&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Exiles, Fort Area, Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Bronzeriders]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Quartz_Wing]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=81435</id>
		<title>Ka'ge</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=81435"/>
				<updated>2016-01-15T15:56:06Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{ProfileTabs&lt;br /&gt;
|picture=Kage.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|mother=Eligeya(NPC) - Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|father=Kaethun(NPC) - Seacrafter/Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|siblings=Eliun(NPC) - brother (deceased)&lt;br /&gt;
|body=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{Wysk}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Description==&lt;br /&gt;
A rugged scruff of stubble lines his squared and defined jaw, hinting at the man that this boy is quickly becoming, and making it difficult to age him just by looks. His skin claims a natural tan beneath beneath bruises, scratches and scars, hinting of tones used to warmer climates. Shadowed beneath short, often unkempt black hair are mischievous, piercing green-touched blue eyes. He has a hardness about his lazy stance that doesn't quite fit, one that doesn't quite immediately seem friendly by any means. Standing straight, he reaches about six foot or so of lithe, suspicious stature. Beneath the layers of clothing he wears, he's conditioned well. Limbs, chest, back speak nothing of fat, their contours dramatic and carved. Not particularly brawny, but clearly toned, ready. His physical athleticism is obvious, his direction not so much. &lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
A deeply obsidian flight jacket is of excellent quality, with ridges and stitching of experienced journeyman level but with no particular icons included. It bares a heavier hood, one that could easily cover most of his face- and very often, that's exactly what it does. Beneath, he's dressed in darker colored wher-hide garb with the grey-black dabbling an intentional element. Beneath his jacket, he wears a criss-crossing of hide in the likes of a harness with pockets and grooves. Beyond that, the rest is far more typical-a belt knife lies at his lower back, and a short dagger is strapped to his right thigh. &lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
Looped at his hip instead of his shoulder is a knot- the simpleness of a rider, the colors of Fort Weyr, and a central cord of darkened bronze.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= History =&lt;br /&gt;
==History==&lt;br /&gt;
It started as simply as intervening ships enroute from Gar to Boll, and later from Ista to Fort. His father, wholly skilled at the sea and its crafts, had a steady hand in the seaborne raids. After the event of the Scudder, he had reached out to the land based raids, joining the renegades and meeting the woman who would become Kael’s mother on the evening of being apprehended at a hand-off of supplies by Fort Weyr riders.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Kaelige was born not long after the exiles had made a make-shift home out of their Southern colony. Although a younger brother was born a few years following him, he shortly perished of an illness as an infant, and his mother became too frail to bear further children,. Kael, though perhaps lacking in general social skills, was raised with a non-harper but still strict discipline into the basics of reading and writing, and even heavier in the aspects of survival, hunting, and understanding of beasts and the sea. Fighting was a necessity, but he seemed weaker at direct confrontation. However, another renegade took him under his wing and the pursuit of spying and assassination was intensive and thorough. He could throw an average punch at best, but using subtlety to end a contest quickly, few could match him even at his young age. A prodigy perhaps, or maybe he just had something to prove. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Following his bonding to a dusky brown firelizard he called Chiv as part of a non-public agreement with his scheming father and having no law restricting his movements, he was sent back to the Fort area, puppet strings attached. Early in turn 37, he secured transport to Fort Weyr with Katriona and Yueth, though dismounted some distance away to avoid prying eyes and minds. He arrived to public attention as a vagabond- some sort of parentless trader-traveling looking for residency. With no talents offered to the lower cavern staff who asked in regards to placement but an affinity for being 'outside', he was given the position of stablehand.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Although kept well-shielded from the public eye since arriving at Fort, he continues to be molded by his master's 'acquaintance' - another well experienced in his particular area of expertise. Messages are passed via firelizard to those who hold his puppet strings, but never last long enough to be seen beyond his eye. He appears to the masses to be a hooded enigma with plenty of sarcastic wit to cover what isn't shadowed by his garb. And although he seemed more than reluctant to participate in anything of benefit to the Weyr, it' was notable that he was rather possessive of his rank of candidacy after being Searched by Lilah's Eliyaveith. During his candidacy, he had a hand in organizing and spying for the thefts from the stores meant for relief to the Hold post-landslide, which ultimately failed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In late turn 37, he Stood for Elaruth and Bijedth's clutch, for which he failed to Impress and was witness to a young green hatchling going Between instead of choosing a lifemate. He retained his knot, Standing for Eliyaveith's first clutch by Liesanth and Impressed to Zymadiath.  Another bronze hatchling had approached him first and fell, clawing a large gash in his chest. Zymadiath knocked the other away, who ended up Impressing to Y'tob, a boy Ka'ge had threatened but didn't take the life of, again risking his secrecy.  Both boy and dragonet were wounded and fell behind in their weyrling class in the first couple of months. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Weyrlinghood was a struggle, as it is for most. For Ka'ge, it included an escalation of the complicating relationship between him and the now-goldriding Dee who had been the mastermind behind the stores-raids. His lackadaisical attitude and punishments, not the least of which included self-created lies of too-early intimacy with Dee to protect their secret of the stores thefts, became a focus of assistant weyrlingmaster Kh'tyr's whose specialty in troubled students was likely the only reason Ka'ge eventually graduated on time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath and Ka'ge never proved to excel in teamwork, being tapped into Flint by X'vin due to its large amount of free-time and less stress on bonding. While this free-time as meant to be used to visit holds- and surely, that's what Ka'ge did- it wasn't always for wing business for which he went. He went back to the exiles' island, taking his master and some of his closest followers from it, to transplant them all into a small Holding some ways southwest of Fort Weyr itself.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Soon after the rescue of his master, a plague burned its way across the Northern Continent, its focal point in the Fort area. With Dee fallen ill and, despite his vigilance, wanting nothing more to do with his advances, Ka'ge found himself to be immune to the plague by a dangerous Russian-roulette-type of trial and error. And with this continually-tested immunity, used the plague as an opportunity. A valuable, crucial opportunity. As blooded family after blooded family fell, he watched for who would rise. It's unknown what ''direct'' touches he had in the heirs that then rose, but it's almost certain that some foul play took place.  When the death tolls ended, he slowly returned to a more constant presence at Fort Weyr, with intermittent and publicly known visits to Ruatha Hold in continued conference with a blooded heir who had lost the lordship to now-Lord Ruatha Baliol.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
N'rov rose to Weyrleader in this time, his bronze catching Southern-transplanted Mirinda's Zaisavyth, a flight Zymadiath had lost. Following such grand losses of riders and weyrfolk alike, wings began changing. Despite being less than two turns from weyrlinghood graduation and well-known to not be the best at teamwork, the Weyrleader approached him to tap him into his own new wing- Onyx.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=Zymadiath=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; It is not so black and white. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
''Then who is right?''&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Me. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Night's Observant Bronze Zymadiath==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He's a darkling bronze, grown into the dreadful weight of his wings, with the wolfish prowl to prove it. Those wings are mottled as smokily as the rest of him, but webbed darker still. Darkness shadows the dragon’s muzzle as well, like some long-smoldering mask, but it can't fully hide the eerie gleam of his eyes beneath their heavy brows nor the flare of large nostrils seemingly crafted for scenting prey. The only clearer points about him beyond the old silvery scarring which trails like an amoprhous rune along his belly, are his neckridges,  and even they are less pale than steeled sharp-- ticked at their points like spines-- and of course his avid hunter's claws.&lt;br /&gt;
''Zymadiath is 36 feet, 4 inches long with a wingspan of 63 feet, 8 inches, standing 24 feet, 4 inches tall at the shoulder.''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Temperament===&lt;br /&gt;
There will always be a dichotomy to your shadowed bronze, Ka’ge; there is what he presents to the world and then there is what he presents to you. To the world, he is another cocky bronze, at once careless and smug. There are only very few that will ever be able to see the layers that he hides below that mask, as he grows to trust them, though you will always see both sides by the nature of your very bond. Whether you manage to maintain the front he wishes you to - whether you can keep that arrogant, so-sure edge that he would have define you both for the outside world to see - will matter much to him as his early months go by, and your successes and failures have the potential to affect how swiftly or how slowly your bond grows beyond that claiming moment of Impression.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As he grows, your dragon may develop a more bitter edge, especially as the struggle to recover from your injuries and his own puts you further behind. As you catch up with the rest of your class, you will start to notice that those lessons that the weyrlingmasters’ teach may bore him, as much as he tries to hide it. Like you, he is more interested in things outside of his purview than within them; he would rather the two of you explore the Weyr and records on your own than to be taught by them, because he is sure that he knows better what you need to know than the weyrlingmasters do for your future and he is determined to learn it all, even if he lacks some of the natural affinity with learning that other weyrlings have. He will rarely openly challenge your teachers, but there may be moments when he subtly /pushes/ against those boundaries, to test what those instructing you know, and whether it is one answer for everyone, or different solutions for different souls. Are they competent? He’ll make those judgments soon enough.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There is much that he shares with his sister Taeliyth, and that begins with a drive to protect his brothers and sisters, at first, that may expand to the whole of the Weyr as he grows. Together, he and his golden sister may come to an understanding, sharing information and observations, but even she will never fully grasp all of plans and secrets that lay in Zymadiath’s relentlessly churning mind. There are things that he would not have even her see. The others, he may be warrier of, unsure of Caidelyth bright, relentless determination, and more than willing to clash with Uiysath when he feels she is wrong.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It will be a rush of relief for him when Zymadiath is able to take to the skies in flight, able to soar above the Weyr and look down on everything that he protects. He is inclined to spend hours upon hours circling above, though he prefers to do so alone rather than inviting any dragons to fly with him. In the air, he will be agile and swift, able to sense and catch drifts of air and currents that will carry him faster and further. While he is acrobatic in the air, he likely won’t prefer ‘tricks’ for the sake of tricks, reserving those for when they are necessary to obtain a certain goal (or gold, as it were). Showing off in such a manner wastes energy; energy that may be put to better use at another moment, and he will not grow tired of waiting for that moment, sure that there will be the need to act. So sure, in-fact, that, while it does not tire him, his watchfulness may tire /you/.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He may never do well in a wing, despite his quick mind and fierce abilities. Following orders and obeying others is not Zymadiath’s strong suit, especially not if he believes the orders that he follows to be wrong. He will not be afraid to offer his thoughts to his ‘superiors’, though he is also aware that making a fuss and acting in a manner beneath the two of you will get you nowhere, and quite the opposite of the reputation he hopes to build. And for the rest? Well, there is too much ambition in your dark bronze to mirror your own. He would rather ‘’lead’’ than follow, confident in his ability to guide a Wing and the Weyr in whatever is needed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath isn’t inclined to flirting or attraction, preferring to hold himself reserved from the female population. Only rarely will he likely give in to a green’s flight, waiting for his perfect moment and then choosing to chase. You may often find yourself the last to reach the flight weyr, or unable to reach it at all, so late will he leave his choice, and, if he loses, the painful jolt of realisation that he’s failed will be much worse than the surprise of his /chasing/. Yet, because of his ambition, he likely won’t hold himself back from gold flights, though he doesn’t seem to be driven by a desire to prove himself as his sire might be. He already knows his worth, and he knows that he is the one who should catch to produce the best possible dragons for the Weyr (or to lead the Weyr in the case of a senior flight). If he does catch a gold and sires a clutch, he will see to his duty honorably; he is likely to bring her meals as necessary and watch his eggs, but he won’t be attached to the dragon herself as much as his children and his self-imposed responsibility.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Despite his ambition and reserve, despite the depths of your dragon’s layers, Zymadiath is willing to share his life with yours, if you will allow him. He fiercely believes in your responsibility as a pair to protect and serve your Weyr, regardless of your past. If you believe it with him, you will be his one partner, an equal in what he must do. If you do not, he will love you regardless, even if he has to work against you, in your best interests, Ka’ge.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Public Impression Message===&lt;br /&gt;
The Forgotten Markings Egg gives away to the touch of the dragonet inside, turning to dust as the cracks expand quickly over the egg. It is a large bronze, who must have been cramped in that egg, that is revealed. He doesn’t wait for either his dam or his sire’s encouragement, starting with Kaelige as he moves to investigate the Candidates. Unfortunately, he gets too eager as he tries to rise up on his hindquarters to look the young man over; he trips, his claws catching against Kaelige’s chest as he does so. It is the Night’s Observant Shadows Bronze Hatchling that rushes forward, barreling into his bronze brother’s side to push him away from the Candidate. After, he turns back to examine the Candidate himself, choosing him despite the injury.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Private Impression Message===&lt;br /&gt;
This isn’t the feeling of Impression that you would expect as that bronze attempts to peer into your eyes; this feeling is just pain that radiates blindingly from your chest. There’s no healing balm to it, but there is the relief of further pressure in a sudden movement of a darker bronze. Then suddenly there is the feeling of darkness shaping itself against your mind and around your heart, melding with you. Those shadows are as part of you as anything now, and you do not need a name for them. They are your Zymadiath, the realization there even before he speaks into your very soul, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; We will make them pay, Ka’ge. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Mindvoice===&lt;br /&gt;
Darkness, shadows, night. Is it any surprise that these are the things that compromise Zymadiath’s mindvoice? They will shape themselves into strange depictions, faint shapes that could be interpreted as symbols if one were trying to read into another’s mind by what they see in them. Ever changing, there doesn’t seem to be any pattern depending on his mood, though they may break apart and reshape themselves faster if he is agitated and slower when he is calm. The actual ‘tone’ of his voice is low and gravelly, not exactly pleasant to listen to but holding a power to it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Picking a Path Egg===&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Gnarled shadows slither sickly across an egg that might otherwise be beautiful to behold. Where that darkness has taken root, or else dappled it in leafy swatches, the shell's smooth ash-silver has dulled to drab charcoal. Untainted sections are dotted by blossoms of white, but under the dreadful darkness there is only the corrupted promise of magnificence, purity and possibility gone to rot.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
''The shadows in the Picking a Path Egg continue to shift and grow as cracks spread, linked together by each point of blossomed white. Quickly, however, the egg gives way to rot, falling apart to reveal the first dragonet to break his shell: an auspicious bronze, covered in the same dark shadows as his egg, before he slips away from his shell as if trying to escape before anyone may notice him.''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Night's Observant Shadows Bronze Hatchling===&lt;br /&gt;
He's a darkling bronze, disjointed with youth but with the potential for so much more; despite long legs and a longer tail, he more creeps than truly walks, a low and insectoid scuttle. His wings are longest of all, a dreadful weight to grow into, with webbing that's mottled as smokily as the rest of him but a shade or two darker still. Darkness shadows his muzzle as well, like some long-smoldering mask, but it can't fully hide the gleam of his eyes beneath heavy brows nor the flare of large nostrils seemingly crafted for scenting prey.  The only clearer points about him, and even they are less pale than steeled sharp, are his neckridges-- ticked at their points like spines-- and of course his avid hunter's claws.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=== Name Meaning===&lt;br /&gt;
Inspired by the ultimate hero-slash-villain, in a way that I thought suited your inspirations and the epic scale of your dragon, Kael, from The Watchmen: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Inspiration===&lt;br /&gt;
Your dragon is inspired by many vigilante heroes who believe that their way is right, though Batman is the primary example of this. There are morally grey areas, but he will certainly protect those that need him. His description was crafted from exactly what you asked for, done beautifully by N’rov! Who also suggests that if you wish for him to be injured in the hatching as well as Ka’ge, that those scars leads to ‘old silvery scarring like an amorphous rune along his belly’. Zymadiath’s mindvoice pulls in elements of all nighttime vigilantes, but it especially holds hint of Rorschach with it’s reforming, suggestive darkness and Batman with his gravelly, low voice.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
''Egg Inspiration:'' The heart-trees in Naomi Novik's new book, Uprooted. The book is steered by luck, chance and fate throughout and the heart-trees are one of the most strikingly described aspects of the book, both lucky and unlucky in of themselves.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
[http://img02.deviantart.net/255d/i/2015/182/c/d/weyrling_ka_ge_of_bronze_zymadiath_by_rakuraiwolf-d8zgwdk.png Weyrling Art]&lt;br /&gt;
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=Relationships/Companions=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===PC===&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Dahlia''' ''Dee'' - A light in the dark. You don't realize what lengths I would go to for you, should you only ask. 'Complicated' is only whatever's in your head.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Kh'tyr''' ''Mentor'' - What an asshole. But let's be real honest, I respect him.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''N'rov''' ''Clever'' - I'm not sure what he wants from of me, I'm not sure if I can trust him. What does he really know?&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lys''' ''Little shadow'' - You act like me, right down to not wanting to give me your name. That means you're trouble. Too bad you aren't in my territory. I guess I'll be visiting yours.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Olivya''' ''Sharp'' - I'm curious to watch you. You and your little friend from Southern.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===NPC===&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Y'tob''' ''Knows too much'' - Just stay out of my way.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Draozu''' ''Master'' - My father, my master, the voice in my head. You speak, I move. Much to Zymadiath's frustration, your word is my command.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Iashun''' ''The Ugly'' - You kept me keen before and during weyrlinghood, but you're just a nuisance now. Ears and eyes in the Weyr that's unnecessary. Mine are better than yours ever could be. Call me boy one more time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Deceased===&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'oan''' ''Liar'' -  Too bad you can't punch a dead man (again). I've never had someone's death haunt me so.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lilah''' ''Too Soon'' - Dead is dead. Though I guess nobody even really knows if you are dead. I don't despair your loss- I can't. But Zymadiath did what I couldn't.&lt;br /&gt;
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-----------------------------------------------------&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;
===Crudely Crafted and Concealed Brown Firelizard Chiv===&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A boney little brown firelizard, seemingly lacking in muscular features and certainly no fat to speak of, is inconspicuous in presence though perhaps of generally normal length for his color. Sharpness defines him at every angle, like a tiny knife with wings. From fanged narrow muzzle to curved, hooked back-ridges to dark-silver pointed talons oversized for his dusky paws, the brown is a creature that looks less than inviting to the touch. Heavy dull browns coat him, dusty and dim, powdered darker at the lengths of raptor-long wings and whip-thin tail as if he'd been rolled in a mixture of soot and soil.&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
''Impressed T36, Exile Islands''&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;
===Long-Distance Draft-Cross Grulla Gelding Bane===&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Heavy bones collect relatively graceful but sturdy limbs beneath this massive runner, grown 18 hands easily at the withers. And a rather glorious beast this is, a cross of some stocky draft with the titch of fire of a warm-blood of slightly leaner girth, the proportions appear just right for smooth riding over long distances. Not the fastest, not the strongest, his build registers in some middling area. Heavy, large hooves are nigh-fully covered in the length of deep black feathers. Mane is slightly crimped, tail a'brush on the back of hocks, both too as black as night. The rest of the gelding cross claims a grulla coloration, that deep silvery-brown dun hue that's made all the more striking by the dark edges of his form. Broad back is a healthy one, head dramatic in its deep black contours often high-held in curiosity- and lending to a likely less than bomb-proof nature . &amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
''Foaled T34''&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
''A shared runner, usually housed in Fort Weyr stables''&amp;lt;br /&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
[http://img13.deviantart.net/0822/i/2011/053/c/1/friesian_20_by_the_kurgan-d3a5b22.jpg Bane Image]&lt;br /&gt;
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=RP Logs=&lt;br /&gt;
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{{NewLogs |name={{BASEPAGENAME}}}}&lt;br /&gt;
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{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
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=Icons=&lt;br /&gt;
{{Icons}}&lt;br /&gt;
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= Miscellaneous =&lt;br /&gt;
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== Sound Tracks ==&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EaxNHs93oIA For Your Entertainment - Adam Lambert]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntowwrTDZSQ Gonna Go Far Kid - The Offspring]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdfSSkeXs-k Angel with a Shotgun - The Cab]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wi_Qlq5WlTQ Everybody Loves Me - One Republic]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9H01_vkhAIY Demons - Imagine Dragons]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2C7-Zy-r10&amp;amp;index=98&amp;amp;list=PLfbnV6tfC8_lwBhTpv8SDrhDq4RjNVqqi Skulls - Bastille]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCLgCeBJOWg On my own - Ashes Remain]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Other==&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Given Nicknames:''' Hood, Lord Hood, Attitude, Sparkly Dirt&lt;br /&gt;
*Personality Type ESTP - [http://www.16personalities.com/estp-personality &amp;quot;..the likeliest personality type to make a lifestyle of risky behavior&amp;quot;]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/jh/kaelige Johari]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/nohari?name=Kaelige Nohari]&lt;br /&gt;
* D&amp;amp;D Alignment - Neutral Evil Human Rogue&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;
|position=Stablehand&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|Has rank=Candidate&lt;br /&gt;
|craft=&lt;br /&gt;
|birthplace=Exile Island&lt;br /&gt;
|pb=Colin O'Donoghue&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Character-Categories&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Exiles, Fort Area, Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
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[[Category:Bronzeriders]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Quartz_Wing]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=81434</id>
		<title>Ka'ge</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=81434"/>
				<updated>2016-01-15T15:49:12Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{ProfileTabs&lt;br /&gt;
|picture=Kage.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|mother=Eligeya(NPC) - Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|father=Kaethun(NPC) - Seacrafter/Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|siblings=Eliun(NPC) - brother (deceased)&lt;br /&gt;
|body=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{Wysk}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Description==&lt;br /&gt;
A rugged scruff of stubble lines his squared and defined jaw, hinting at the man that this boy is quickly becoming, and making it difficult to age him just by looks. His skin claims a natural tan beneath beneath bruises, scratches and scars, hinting of tones used to warmer climates. Shadowed beneath short, often unkempt black hair are mischievous, piercing green-touched blue eyes. He has a hardness about his lazy stance that doesn't quite fit, one that doesn't quite immediately seem friendly by any means. Standing straight, he reaches about six foot or so of lithe, suspicious stature. Beneath the layers of clothing he wears, he's conditioned well. Limbs, chest, back speak nothing of fat, their contours dramatic and carved. Not particularly brawny, but clearly toned, ready. His physical athleticism is obvious, his direction not so much. &lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
A deeply obsidian flight jacket is of excellent quality, with ridges and stitching of experienced journeyman level but with no particular icons included. It bares a heavier hood, one that could easily cover most of his face- and very often, that's exactly what it does. Beneath, he's dressed in darker colored wher-hide garb with the grey-black dabbling an intentional element. Beneath his jacket, he wears a criss-crossing of hide in the likes of a harness with pockets and grooves. Beyond that, the rest is far more typical-a belt knife lies at his lower back, and a short dagger is strapped to his right thigh. &lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
Looped at his hip instead of his shoulder is a knot- the simpleness of a rider, the colors of Fort Weyr, and a central cord of darkened bronze.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= History =&lt;br /&gt;
==History==&lt;br /&gt;
It started as simply as intervening ships enroute from Gar to Boll, and later from Ista to Fort. His father, wholly skilled at the sea and its crafts, had a steady hand in the seaborne raids. After the event of the Scudder, he had reached out to the land based raids, joining the renegades and meeting the woman who would become Kael’s mother on the evening of being apprehended at a hand-off of supplies by Fort Weyr riders.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Kaelige was born not long after the exiles had made a make-shift home out of their Southern colony. Although a younger brother was born a few years following him, he shortly perished of an illness as an infant, and his mother became too frail to bear further children,. Kael, though perhaps lacking in general social skills, was raised with a non-harper but still strict discipline into the basics of reading and writing, and even heavier in the aspects of survival, hunting, and understanding of beasts and the sea. Fighting was a necessity, but he seemed weaker at direct confrontation. However, another renegade took him under his wing and the pursuit of spying and assassination was intensive and thorough. He could throw an average punch at best, but using subtlety to end a contest quickly, few could match him even at his young age. A prodigy perhaps, or maybe he just had something to prove. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Following his bonding to a dusky brown firelizard he called Chiv as part of a non-public agreement with his scheming father and having no law restricting his movements, he was sent back to the Fort area, puppet strings attached. Early in turn 37, he secured transport to Fort Weyr with Katriona and Yueth, though dismounted some distance away to avoid prying eyes and minds. He arrived to public attention as a vagabond- some sort of parentless trader-traveling looking for residency. With no talents offered to the lower cavern staff who asked in regards to placement but an affinity for being 'outside', he was given the position of stablehand.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Although kept well-shielded from the public eye since arriving at Fort, he continues to be molded by his master's 'acquaintance' - another well experienced in his particular area of expertise. Messages are passed via firelizard to those who hold his puppet strings, but never last long enough to be seen beyond his eye. He appears to the masses to be a hooded enigma with plenty of sarcastic wit to cover what isn't shadowed by his garb. And although he seemed more than reluctant to participate in anything of benefit to the Weyr, it' was notable that he was rather possessive of his rank of candidacy after being Searched by Lilah's Eliyaveith. During his candidacy, he had a hand in organizing and spying for the thefts from the stores meant for relief to the Hold post-landslide, which ultimately failed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In late turn 37, he Stood for Elaruth and Bijedth's clutch, for which he failed to Impress and was witness to a young green hatchling going Between instead of choosing a lifemate. He retained his knot, Standing for Eliyaveith's first clutch by Liesanth and Impressed to Zymadiath.  Another bronze hatchling had approached him first and fell, clawing a large gash in his chest. Zymadiath knocked the other away, who ended up Impressing to Y'tob, a boy Ka'ge had threatened but didn't take the life of, again risking his secrecy.  Both boy and dragonet were wounded and fell behind in their weyrling class in the first couple of months. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Weyrlinghood was a struggle, as it is for most. For Ka'ge, it included an escalation of the complicating relationship between him and the now-goldriding Dee who had been the mastermind behind the stores-raids. His lackadaisical attitude and punishments, not the least of which included self-created lies of too-early intimacy with Dee to protect their secret of the stores thefts, became a focus of assistant weyrlingmaster Kh'tyr's whose specialty in troubled students was likely the only reason Ka'ge eventually graduated on time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath and Ka'ge never proved to excel in teamwork, being tapped into Flint by X'vin due to its large amount of free-time and less stress on bonding. While this free-time as meant to be used to visit holds- and surely, that's what Ka'ge did- it wasn't always for wing business for which he went. He went back to the exiles' island, taking his master and some of his closest followers from it, to transplant them all into a small Holding some ways southwest of Fort Weyr itself.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Soon after the rescue of his master, a plague burned its way across the Northern Continent, its focal point in the Fort area. With Dee fallen ill and, despite his vigilance, wanting nothing more to do with his advances, Ka'ge found himself to be immune to the plague by a dangerous Russian-roulette-type of trial and error. And with this continually-tested immunity, used the plague as an opportunity. A valuable, crucial opportunity. As blooded family after blooded family fell, he watched for who would rise. It's unknown what ''direct'' touches he had in the heirs that then rose, but it's almost certain that some foul play took place.  When the death tolls ended, he slowly returned to a more constant presence at Fort Weyr, with intermittent and publicly known visits to Ruatha Hold in continued conference with a blooded heir who had lost the lordship to now-Lord Ruatha Baliol.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
N'rov rose to Weyrleader in this time, his bronze catching Southern-transplanted Mirinda's Zaisavyth, a flight Zymadiath had lost. Following such grand losses of riders and weyrfolk alike, wings began changing. Despite being less than two turns from weyrlinghood graduation and well-known to not be the best at teamwork, the Weyrleader approached him to tap him into his own new wing- Onyx.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=Zymadiath=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; It is not so black and white. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
''Then who is right?''&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Me. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Night's Observant Bronze Zymadiath==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He's a darkling bronze, grown into the dreadful weight of his wings, with the wolfish prowl to prove it. Those wings are mottled as smokily as the rest of him, but webbed darker still. Darkness shadows the dragon’s muzzle as well, like some long-smoldering mask, but it can't fully hide the eerie gleam of his eyes beneath their heavy brows nor the flare of large nostrils seemingly crafted for scenting prey. The only clearer points about him beyond the old silvery scarring which trails like an amoprhous rune along his belly, are his neckridges,  and even they are less pale than steeled sharp-- ticked at their points like spines-- and of course his avid hunter's claws.&lt;br /&gt;
''Zymadiath is 36 feet, 4 inches long with a wingspan of 63 feet, 8 inches, standing 24 feet, 4 inches tall at the shoulder.''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Temperament===&lt;br /&gt;
There will always be a dichotomy to your shadowed bronze, Ka’ge; there is what he presents to the world and then there is what he presents to you. To the world, he is another cocky bronze, at once careless and smug. There are only very few that will ever be able to see the layers that he hides below that mask, as he grows to trust them, though you will always see both sides by the nature of your very bond. Whether you manage to maintain the front he wishes you to - whether you can keep that arrogant, so-sure edge that he would have define you both for the outside world to see - will matter much to him as his early months go by, and your successes and failures have the potential to affect how swiftly or how slowly your bond grows beyond that claiming moment of Impression.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As he grows, your dragon may develop a more bitter edge, especially as the struggle to recover from your injuries and his own puts you further behind. As you catch up with the rest of your class, you will start to notice that those lessons that the weyrlingmasters’ teach may bore him, as much as he tries to hide it. Like you, he is more interested in things outside of his purview than within them; he would rather the two of you explore the Weyr and records on your own than to be taught by them, because he is sure that he knows better what you need to know than the weyrlingmasters do for your future and he is determined to learn it all, even if he lacks some of the natural affinity with learning that other weyrlings have. He will rarely openly challenge your teachers, but there may be moments when he subtly /pushes/ against those boundaries, to test what those instructing you know, and whether it is one answer for everyone, or different solutions for different souls. Are they competent? He’ll make those judgments soon enough.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There is much that he shares with his sister Taeliyth, and that begins with a drive to protect his brothers and sisters, at first, that may expand to the whole of the Weyr as he grows. Together, he and his golden sister may come to an understanding, sharing information and observations, but even she will never fully grasp all of plans and secrets that lay in Zymadiath’s relentlessly churning mind. There are things that he would not have even her see. The others, he may be warrier of, unsure of Caidelyth bright, relentless determination, and more than willing to clash with Uiysath when he feels she is wrong.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It will be a rush of relief for him when Zymadiath is able to take to the skies in flight, able to soar above the Weyr and look down on everything that he protects. He is inclined to spend hours upon hours circling above, though he prefers to do so alone rather than inviting any dragons to fly with him. In the air, he will be agile and swift, able to sense and catch drifts of air and currents that will carry him faster and further. While he is acrobatic in the air, he likely won’t prefer ‘tricks’ for the sake of tricks, reserving those for when they are necessary to obtain a certain goal (or gold, as it were). Showing off in such a manner wastes energy; energy that may be put to better use at another moment, and he will not grow tired of waiting for that moment, sure that there will be the need to act. So sure, in-fact, that, while it does not tire him, his watchfulness may tire /you/.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He may never do well in a wing, despite his quick mind and fierce abilities. Following orders and obeying others is not Zymadiath’s strong suit, especially not if he believes the orders that he follows to be wrong. He will not be afraid to offer his thoughts to his ‘superiors’, though he is also aware that making a fuss and acting in a manner beneath the two of you will get you nowhere, and quite the opposite of the reputation he hopes to build. And for the rest? Well, there is too much ambition in your dark bronze to mirror your own. He would rather ‘’lead’’ than follow, confident in his ability to guide a Wing and the Weyr in whatever is needed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath isn’t inclined to flirting or attraction, preferring to hold himself reserved from the female population. Only rarely will he likely give in to a green’s flight, waiting for his perfect moment and then choosing to chase. You may often find yourself the last to reach the flight weyr, or unable to reach it at all, so late will he leave his choice, and, if he loses, the painful jolt of realisation that he’s failed will be much worse than the surprise of his /chasing/. Yet, because of his ambition, he likely won’t hold himself back from gold flights, though he doesn’t seem to be driven by a desire to prove himself as his sire might be. He already knows his worth, and he knows that he is the one who should catch to produce the best possible dragons for the Weyr (or to lead the Weyr in the case of a senior flight). If he does catch a gold and sires a clutch, he will see to his duty honorably; he is likely to bring her meals as necessary and watch his eggs, but he won’t be attached to the dragon herself as much as his children and his self-imposed responsibility.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Despite his ambition and reserve, despite the depths of your dragon’s layers, Zymadiath is willing to share his life with yours, if you will allow him. He fiercely believes in your responsibility as a pair to protect and serve your Weyr, regardless of your past. If you believe it with him, you will be his one partner, an equal in what he must do. If you do not, he will love you regardless, even if he has to work against you, in your best interests, Ka’ge.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Public Impression Message===&lt;br /&gt;
The Forgotten Markings Egg gives away to the touch of the dragonet inside, turning to dust as the cracks expand quickly over the egg. It is a large bronze, who must have been cramped in that egg, that is revealed. He doesn’t wait for either his dam or his sire’s encouragement, starting with Kaelige as he moves to investigate the Candidates. Unfortunately, he gets too eager as he tries to rise up on his hindquarters to look the young man over; he trips, his claws catching against Kaelige’s chest as he does so. It is the Night’s Observant Shadows Bronze Hatchling that rushes forward, barreling into his bronze brother’s side to push him away from the Candidate. After, he turns back to examine the Candidate himself, choosing him despite the injury.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Private Impression Message===&lt;br /&gt;
This isn’t the feeling of Impression that you would expect as that bronze attempts to peer into your eyes; this feeling is just pain that radiates blindingly from your chest. There’s no healing balm to it, but there is the relief of further pressure in a sudden movement of a darker bronze. Then suddenly there is the feeling of darkness shaping itself against your mind and around your heart, melding with you. Those shadows are as part of you as anything now, and you do not need a name for them. They are your Zymadiath, the realization there even before he speaks into your very soul, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; We will make them pay, Ka’ge. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Mindvoice===&lt;br /&gt;
Darkness, shadows, night. Is it any surprise that these are the things that compromise Zymadiath’s mindvoice? They will shape themselves into strange depictions, faint shapes that could be interpreted as symbols if one were trying to read into another’s mind by what they see in them. Ever changing, there doesn’t seem to be any pattern depending on his mood, though they may break apart and reshape themselves faster if he is agitated and slower when he is calm. The actual ‘tone’ of his voice is low and gravelly, not exactly pleasant to listen to but holding a power to it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Night's Observant Shadows Bronze Hatchling===&lt;br /&gt;
He's a darkling bronze, disjointed with youth but with the potential for so much more; despite long legs and a longer tail, he more creeps than truly walks, a low and insectoid scuttle. His wings are longest of all, a dreadful weight to grow into, with webbing that's mottled as smokily as the rest of him but a shade or two darker still. Darkness shadows his muzzle as well, like some long-smoldering mask, but it can't fully hide the gleam of his eyes beneath heavy brows nor the flare of large nostrils seemingly crafted for scenting prey.  The only clearer points about him, and even they are less pale than steeled sharp, are his neckridges-- ticked at their points like spines-- and of course his avid hunter's claws.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=== Name Meaning===&lt;br /&gt;
Inspired by the ultimate hero-slash-villain, in a way that I thought suited your inspirations and the epic scale of your dragon, Kael, from The Watchmen: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Inspiration===&lt;br /&gt;
Your dragon is inspired by many vigilante heroes who believe that their way is right, though Batman is the primary example of this. There are morally grey areas, but he will certainly protect those that need him. His description was crafted from exactly what you asked for, done beautifully by N’rov! Who also suggests that if you wish for him to be injured in the hatching as well as Ka’ge, that those scars leads to ‘old silvery scarring like an amorphous rune along his belly’. Zymadiath’s mindvoice pulls in elements of all nighttime vigilantes, but it especially holds hint of Rorschach with it’s reforming, suggestive darkness and Batman with his gravelly, low voice.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
''Egg Inspiration:'' The heart-trees in Naomi Novik's new book, Uprooted. The book is steered by luck, chance and fate throughout and the heart-trees are one of the most strikingly described aspects of the book, both lucky and unlucky in of themselves.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=Relationships/Companions=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===PC===&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Dahlia''' ''Dee'' - A light in the dark. You don't realize what lengths I would go to for you, should you only ask. 'Complicated' is only whatever's in your head.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Kh'tyr''' ''Mentor'' - What an asshole. But let's be real honest, I respect him.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''N'rov''' ''Clever'' - I'm not sure what he wants from of me, I'm not sure if I can trust him. What does he really know?&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lys''' ''Little shadow'' - You act like me, right down to not wanting to give me your name. That means you're trouble. Too bad you aren't in my territory. I guess I'll be visiting yours.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Olivya''' ''Sharp'' - I'm curious to watch you. You and your little friend from Southern.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===NPC===&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Y'tob''' ''Knows too much'' - Just stay out of my way.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Draozu''' ''Master'' - My father, my master, the voice in my head. You speak, I move. Much to Zymadiath's frustration, your word is my command.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Iashun''' ''The Ugly'' - You kept me keen before and during weyrlinghood, but you're just a nuisance now. Ears and eyes in the Weyr that's unnecessary. Mine are better than yours ever could be. Call me boy one more time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Deceased===&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'oan''' ''Liar'' -  Too bad you can't punch a dead man (again). I've never had someone's death haunt me so.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lilah''' ''Too Soon'' - Dead is dead. Though I guess nobody even really knows if you are dead. I don't despair your loss- I can't. But Zymadiath did what I couldn't.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
-----------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Crudely Crafted and Concealed Brown Firelizard Chiv===&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A boney little brown firelizard, seemingly lacking in muscular features and certainly no fat to speak of, is inconspicuous in presence though perhaps of generally normal length for his color. Sharpness defines him at every angle, like a tiny knife with wings. From fanged narrow muzzle to curved, hooked back-ridges to dark-silver pointed talons oversized for his dusky paws, the brown is a creature that looks less than inviting to the touch. Heavy dull browns coat him, dusty and dim, powdered darker at the lengths of raptor-long wings and whip-thin tail as if he'd been rolled in a mixture of soot and soil.&lt;br /&gt;
''Impressed T36, Exile Islands'''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
===Long-Distance Draft-Cross Grulla Gelding Bane===&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Heavy bones collect relatively graceful but sturdy limbs beneath this massive runner, grown 18 hands easily at the withers. And a rather glorious beast this is, a cross of some stocky draft with the titch of fire of a warm-blood of slightly leaner girth, the proportions appear just right for smooth riding over long distances. Not the fastest, not the strongest, his build registers in some middling area. Heavy, large hooves are nigh-fully covered in the length of deep black feathers. Mane is slightly crimped, tail a'brush on the back of hocks, both too as black as night. The rest of the gelding cross claims a grulla coloration, that deep silvery-brown dun hue that's made all the more striking by the dark edges of his form. Broad back is a healthy one, head dramatic in its deep black contours often high-held in curiosity- and lending to a likely less than bomb-proof nature . &lt;br /&gt;
''Foaled T34''&lt;br /&gt;
''A shared runner, usually housed in Fort Weyr stables''&lt;br /&gt;
[http://img13.deviantart.net/0822/i/2011/053/c/1/friesian_20_by_the_kurgan-d3a5b22.jpg Bane]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=RP Logs=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{NewLogs |name={{BASEPAGENAME}}}}&lt;br /&gt;
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{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
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=Icons=&lt;br /&gt;
{{Icons}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= Miscellaneous =&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Sound Tracks ==&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EaxNHs93oIA For Your Entertainment - Adam Lambert]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntowwrTDZSQ Gonna Go Far Kid - The Offspring]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdfSSkeXs-k Angel with a Shotgun - The Cab]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wi_Qlq5WlTQ Everybody Loves Me - One Republic]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9H01_vkhAIY Demons - Imagine Dragons]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2C7-Zy-r10&amp;amp;index=98&amp;amp;list=PLfbnV6tfC8_lwBhTpv8SDrhDq4RjNVqqi Skulls - Bastille]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCLgCeBJOWg On my own - Ashes Remain]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Other==&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Given Nicknames:''' Hood, Lord Hood, Attitude, Sparkly Dirt&lt;br /&gt;
*Personality Type ESTP - [http://www.16personalities.com/estp-personality &amp;quot;..the likeliest personality type to make a lifestyle of risky behavior&amp;quot;]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/jh/kaelige Johari]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/nohari?name=Kaelige Nohari]&lt;br /&gt;
* D&amp;amp;D Alignment - Neutral Evil Human Rogue&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
|position=Stablehand&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|Has rank=Candidate&lt;br /&gt;
|craft=&lt;br /&gt;
|birthplace=Exile Island&lt;br /&gt;
|pb=Colin O'Donoghue&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Character-Categories&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Exiles, Fort Area, Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Bronzeriders]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Quartz_Wing]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=81433</id>
		<title>Ka'ge</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=81433"/>
				<updated>2016-01-15T15:26:38Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{ProfileTabs&lt;br /&gt;
|picture=Kage.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|mother=Eligeya(NPC) - Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|father=Kaethun(NPC) - Seacrafter/Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|siblings=Eliun(NPC) - brother (deceased)&lt;br /&gt;
|body=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{Wysk}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Description==&lt;br /&gt;
A rugged scruff of stubble lines his squared and defined jaw, hinting at the man that this boy is quickly becoming, and making it difficult to age him just by looks. His skin claims a natural tan beneath beneath bruises, scratches and scars, hinting of tones used to warmer climates. Shadowed beneath short, often unkempt black hair are mischievous, piercing green-touched blue eyes. He has a hardness about his lazy stance that doesn't quite fit, one that doesn't quite immediately seem friendly by any means. Standing straight, he reaches about six foot or so of lithe, suspicious stature. Beneath the layers of clothing he wears, he's conditioned well. Limbs, chest, back speak nothing of fat, their contours dramatic and carved. Not particularly brawny, but clearly toned, ready. His physical athleticism is obvious, his direction not so much. &lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
A deeply obsidian flight jacket is of excellent quality, with ridges and stitching of experienced journeyman level but with no particular icons included. It bares a heavier hood, one that could easily cover most of his face- and very often, that's exactly what it does. Beneath, he's dressed in darker colored wher-hide garb with the grey-black dabbling an intentional element. Beneath his jacket, he wears a criss-crossing of hide in the likes of a harness with pockets and grooves. Beyond that, the rest is far more typical-a belt knife lies at his lower back, and a short dagger is strapped to his right thigh. &lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
Looped at his hip instead of his shoulder is a knot- the simpleness of a rider, the colors of Fort Weyr, and a central cord of darkened bronze.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= History =&lt;br /&gt;
==History==&lt;br /&gt;
It started as simply as intervening ships enroute from Gar to Boll, and later from Ista to Fort. His father, wholly skilled at the sea and its crafts, had a steady hand in the seaborne raids. After the event of the Scudder, he had reached out to the land based raids, joining the renegades and meeting the woman who would become Kael’s mother on the evening of being apprehended at a hand-off of supplies by Fort Weyr riders.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Kaelige was born not long after the exiles had made a make-shift home out of their Southern colony. Although a younger brother was born a few years following him, he shortly perished of an illness as an infant, and his mother became too frail to bear further children,. Kael, though perhaps lacking in general social skills, was raised with a non-harper but still strict discipline into the basics of reading and writing, and even heavier in the aspects of survival, hunting, and understanding of beasts and the sea. Fighting was a necessity, but he seemed weaker at direct confrontation. However, another renegade took him under his wing and the pursuit of spying and assassination was intensive and thorough. He could throw an average punch at best, but using subtlety to end a contest quickly, few could match him even at his young age. A prodigy perhaps, or maybe he just had something to prove. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Following his bonding to a dusky brown firelizard he called Chiv as part of a non-public agreement with his scheming father and having no law restricting his movements, he was sent back to the Fort area, puppet strings attached. Early in turn 37, he secured transport to Fort Weyr with Katriona and Yueth, though dismounted some distance away to avoid prying eyes and minds. He arrived to public attention as a vagabond- some sort of parentless trader-traveling looking for residency. With no talents offered to the lower cavern staff who asked in regards to placement but an affinity for being 'outside', he was given the position of stablehand.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Although kept well-shielded from the public eye since arriving at Fort, he continues to be molded by his master's 'acquaintance' - another well experienced in his particular area of expertise. Messages are passed via firelizard to those who hold his puppet strings, but never last long enough to be seen beyond his eye. He appears to the masses to be a hooded enigma with plenty of sarcastic wit to cover what isn't shadowed by his garb. And although he seemed more than reluctant to participate in anything of benefit to the Weyr, it' was notable that he was rather possessive of his rank of candidacy after being Searched by Lilah's Eliyaveith. During his candidacy, he had a hand in organizing and spying for the thefts from the stores meant for relief to the Hold post-landslide, which ultimately failed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In late turn 37, he Stood for Elaruth and Bijedth's clutch, for which he failed to Impress and was witness to a young green hatchling going Between instead of choosing a lifemate. He retained his knot, Standing for Eliyaveith's first clutch by Liesanth and Impressed to Zymadiath.  Another bronze hatchling had approached him first and fell, clawing a large gash in his chest. Zymadiath knocked the other away, who ended up Impressing to Y'tob, a boy Ka'ge had threatened but didn't take the life of, again risking his secrecy.  Both boy and dragonet were wounded and fell behind in their weyrling class in the first couple of months. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Weyrlinghood was a struggle, as it is for most. For Ka'ge, it included an escalation of the complicating relationship between him and the now-goldriding Dee who had been the mastermind behind the stores-raids. His lackadaisical attitude and punishments, not the least of which included self-created lies of too-early intimacy with Dee to protect their secret of the stores thefts, became a focus of assistant weyrlingmaster Kh'tyr's whose specialty in troubled students was likely the only reason Ka'ge eventually graduated on time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath and Ka'ge never proved to excel in teamwork, being tapped into Flint by X'vin due to its large amount of free-time and less stress on bonding. While this free-time as meant to be used to visit holds- and surely, that's what Ka'ge did- it wasn't always for wing business for which he went. He went back to the exiles' island, taking his master and some of his closest followers from it, to transplant them all into a small Holding some ways southwest of Fort Weyr itself.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Soon after the rescue of his master, a plague burned its way across the Northern Continent, its focal point in the Fort area. With Dee fallen ill and, despite his vigilance, wanting nothing more to do with his advances, Ka'ge found himself to be immune to the plague by a dangerous Russian-roulette-type of trial and error. And with this continually-tested immunity, used the plague as an opportunity. A valuable, crucial opportunity. As blooded family after blooded family fell, he watched for who would rise. It's unknown what ''direct'' touches he had in the heirs that then rose, but it's almost certain that some foul play took place.  When the death tolls ended, he slowly returned to a more constant presence at Fort Weyr, with intermittent and publicly known visits to Ruatha Hold in continued conference with a blooded heir who had lost the lordship to now-Lord Ruatha Baliol.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
N'rov rose to Weyrleader in this time, his bronze catching Southern-transplanted Mirinda's Zaisavyth, a flight Zymadiath had lost. Following such grand losses of riders and weyrfolk alike, wings began changing. Despite being less than two turns from weyrlinghood graduation and well-known to not be the best at teamwork, the Weyrleader approached him to tap him into his own new wing- Onyx.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=Zymadiath=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; We will make them pay. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;big&amp;gt;Night's Observant Bronze Zymadiath&amp;lt;/big&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He's a darkling bronze, grown into the dreadful weight of his wings, with the wolfish prowl to prove it. Those wings are mottled as smokily as the rest of him, but webbed darker still. Darkness shadows the dragon’s muzzle as well, like some long-smoldering mask, but it can't fully hide the eerie gleam of his eyes beneath their heavy brows nor the flare of large nostrils seemingly crafted for scenting prey. The only clearer points about him beyond the old silvery scarring which trails like an amoprhous rune along his belly, are his neckridges,  and even they are less pale than steeled sharp-- ticked at their points like spines-- and of course his avid hunter's claws.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Temperament== &lt;br /&gt;
There will always be a dichotomy to your shadowed bronze, Ka’ge; there is what he presents to the world and then there is what he presents to you. To the world, he is another cocky bronze, at once careless and smug. There are only very few that will ever be able to see the layers that he hides below that mask, as he grows to trust them, though you will always see both sides by the nature of your very bond. Whether you manage to maintain the front he wishes you to - whether you can keep that arrogant, so-sure edge that he would have define you both for the outside world to see - will matter much to him as his early months go by, and your successes and failures have the potential to affect how swiftly or how slowly your bond grows beyond that claiming moment of Impression.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As he grows, your dragon may develop a more bitter edge, especially as the struggle to recover from your injuries and his own puts you further behind. As you catch up with the rest of your class, you will start to notice that those lessons that the weyrlingmasters’ teach may bore him, as much as he tries to hide it. Like you, he is more interested in things outside of his purview than within them; he would rather the two of you explore the Weyr and records on your own than to be taught by them, because he is sure that he knows better what you need to know than the weyrlingmasters do for your future and he is determined to learn it all, even if he lacks some of the natural affinity with learning that other weyrlings have. He will rarely openly challenge your teachers, but there may be moments when he subtly /pushes/ against those boundaries, to test what those instructing you know, and whether it is one answer for everyone, or different solutions for different souls. Are they competent? He’ll make those judgments soon enough.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There is much that he shares with his sister Taeliyth, and that begins with a drive to protect his brothers and sisters, at first, that may expand to the whole of the Weyr as he grows. Together, he and his golden sister may come to an understanding, sharing information and observations, but even she will never fully grasp all of plans and secrets that lay in Zymadiath’s relentlessly churning mind. There are things that he would not have even her see. The others, he may be warrier of, unsure of Caidelyth bright, relentless determination, and more than willing to clash with Uiysath when he feels she is wrong.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It will be a rush of relief for him when Zymadiath is able to take to the skies in flight, able to soar above the Weyr and look down on everything that he protects. He is inclined to spend hours upon hours circling above, though he prefers to do so alone rather than inviting any dragons to fly with him. In the air, he will be agile and swift, able to sense and catch drifts of air and currents that will carry him faster and further. While he is acrobatic in the air, he likely won’t prefer ‘tricks’ for the sake of tricks, reserving those for when they are necessary to obtain a certain goal (or gold, as it were). Showing off in such a manner wastes energy; energy that may be put to better use at another moment, and he will not grow tired of waiting for that moment, sure that there will be the need to act. So sure, in-fact, that, while it does not tire him, his watchfulness may tire /you/.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He may never do well in a wing, despite his quick mind and fierce abilities. Following orders and obeying others is not Zymadiath’s strong suit, especially not if he believes the orders that he follows to be wrong. He will not be afraid to offer his thoughts to his ‘superiors’, though he is also aware that making a fuss and acting in a manner beneath the two of you will get you nowhere, and quite the opposite of the reputation he hopes to build. And for the rest? Well, there is too much ambition in your dark bronze to mirror your own. He would rather ‘’lead’’ than follow, confident in his ability to guide a Wing and the Weyr in whatever is needed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath isn’t inclined to flirting or attraction, preferring to hold himself reserved from the female population. Only rarely will he likely give in to a green’s flight, waiting for his perfect moment and then choosing to chase. You may often find yourself the last to reach the flight weyr, or unable to reach it at all, so late will he leave his choice, and, if he loses, the painful jolt of realisation that he’s failed will be much worse than the surprise of his /chasing/. Yet, because of his ambition, he likely won’t hold himself back from gold flights, though he doesn’t seem to be driven by a desire to prove himself as his sire might be. He already knows his worth, and he knows that he is the one who should catch to produce the best possible dragons for the Weyr (or to lead the Weyr in the case of a senior flight). If he does catch a gold and sires a clutch, he will see to his duty honorably; he is likely to bring her meals as necessary and watch his eggs, but he won’t be attached to the dragon herself as much as his children and his self-imposed responsibility.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Despite his ambition and reserve, despite the depths of your dragon’s layers, Zymadiath is willing to share his life with yours, if you will allow him. He fiercely believes in your responsibility as a pair to protect and serve your Weyr, regardless of your past. If you believe it with him, you will be his one partner, an equal in what he must do. If you do not, he will love you regardless, even if he has to work against you, in your best interests, Ka’ge.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Public Impression Message==&lt;br /&gt;
The Forgotten Markings Egg gives away to the touch of the dragonet inside, turning to dust as the cracks expand quickly over the egg. It is a large bronze, who must have been cramped in that egg, that is revealed. He doesn’t wait for either his dam or his sire’s encouragement, starting with Kaelige as he moves to investigate the Candidates. Unfortunately, he gets too eager as he tries to rise up on his hindquarters to look the young man over; he trips, his claws catching against Kaelige’s chest as he does so. It is the Night’s Observant Shadows Bronze Hatchling that rushes forward, barreling into his bronze brother’s side to push him away from the Candidate. After, he turns back to examine the Candidate himself, choosing him despite the injury.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Private Impression Message==&lt;br /&gt;
This isn’t the feeling of Impression that you would expect as that bronze attempts to peer into your eyes; this feeling is just pain that radiates blindingly from your chest. There’s no healing balm to it, but there is the relief of further pressure in a sudden movement of a darker bronze. Then suddenly there is the feeling of darkness shaping itself against your mind and around your heart, melding with you. Those shadows are as part of you as anything now, and you do not need a name for them. They are your Zymadiath, the realization there even before he speaks into your very soul, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; We will make them pay, Ka’ge. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Mindvoice== &lt;br /&gt;
Darkness, shadows, night. Is it any surprise that these are the things that compromise Zymadiath’s mindvoice? They will shape themselves into strange depictions, faint shapes that could be interpreted as symbols if one were trying to read into another’s mind by what they see in them. Ever changing, there doesn’t seem to be any pattern depending on his mood, though they may break apart and reshape themselves faster if he is agitated and slower when he is calm. The actual ‘tone’ of his voice is low and gravelly, not exactly pleasant to listen to but holding a power to it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Night's Observant Shadows Bronze Hatchling==&lt;br /&gt;
He's a darkling bronze, disjointed with youth but with the potential for so much more; despite long legs and a longer tail, he more creeps than truly walks, a low and insectoid scuttle. His wings are longest of all, a dreadful weight to grow into, with webbing that's mottled as smokily as the rest of him but a shade or two darker still. Darkness shadows his muzzle as well, like some long-smoldering mask, but it can't fully hide the gleam of his eyes beneath heavy brows nor the flare of large nostrils seemingly crafted for scenting prey.  The only clearer points about him, and even they are less pale than steeled sharp, are his neckridges-- ticked at their points like spines-- and of course his avid hunter's claws.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Name Meaning==&lt;br /&gt;
Inspired by the ultimate hero-slash-villain, in a way that I thought suited your inspirations and the epic scale of your dragon, Kael, from The Watchmen: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Inspiration==&lt;br /&gt;
Your dragon is inspired by many vigilante heroes who believe that their way is right, though Batman is the primary example of this. There are morally grey areas, but he will certainly protect those that need him. His description was crafted from exactly what you asked for, done beautifully by N’rov! Who also suggests that if you wish for him to be injured in the hatching as well as Ka’ge, that those scars leads to ‘old silvery scarring like an amorphous rune along his belly’. Zymadiath’s mindvoice pulls in elements of all nighttime vigilantes, but it especially holds hint of Rorschach with it’s reforming, suggestive darkness and Batman with his gravelly, low voice.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
''Egg Inspiration:'' The heart-trees in Naomi Novik's new book, Uprooted. The book is steered by luck, chance and fate throughout and the heart-trees are one of the most strikingly described aspects of the book, both lucky and unlucky in of themselves.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=Relationships/Companions=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''PC'''&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Dahlia''' ''Dee'' - A light in the dark. You don't realize what lengths I would go to for you, should you only ask.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Kh'tyr''' ''Mentor'' - What an asshole. But let's be real honest, I respect him.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''N'rov''' ''Clever'' - I'm not sure what he wants from of me, I'm not sure if I can trust him. What does he really know?&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lys''' ''Shadow'' - You act like me, right down to not wanting to give me your name. That means you're trouble. Too bad you aren't in my territory. I guess I'll be visiting yours.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Olivya''' ''Sharp'' - I'm curious to watch you. You and your little friend from Southern.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''NPC'''&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Y'tob''' ''Knows too much'' - Just stay out of my way.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Draozu''' ''Master'' - My father, my master, the voice in my head. You speak, I move. Much to Zymadiath's frustration, your word is my command.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Iashun''' ''The Ugly'' - You kept me keen before and during weyrlinghood, but you're just a nuisance now. Ears and eyes in the Weyr that's unnecessary. Mine are better than yours ever could be. Call me boy one more time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Deceased'''&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'oan''' ''Liar'' -  Too bad you can't punch a dead man (again). I've never had someone's death haunt me so.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lilah''' ''Too Soon'' - Dead is dead. Though I guess nobody even really knows if you are dead. I don't despair your loss- I can't. But Zymadiath did what I couldn't.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
-----------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Crudely Crafted and Concealed Brown Firelizard Chiv'''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A boney little brown firelizard, seemingly lacking in muscular features and certainly no fat to speak of, is inconspicuous in presence though perhaps of generally normal length for his color. Sharpness defines him at every angle, like a tiny knife with wings. From fanged narrow muzzle to curved, hooked back-ridges to dark-silver pointed talons oversized for his dusky paws, the brown is a creature that looks less than inviting to the touch. Heavy dull browns coat him, dusty and dim, powdered darker at the lengths of raptor-long wings and whip-thin tail as if he'd been rolled in a mixture of soot and soil.&lt;br /&gt;
''Impressed T36, Exile Islands'''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Long-Distance Draft-Cross Grulla Gelding Bane'''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Heavy bones collect relatively graceful but sturdy limbs beneath this massive runner, grown 18 hands easily at the withers. And a rather glorious beast this is, a cross of some stocky draft with the titch of fire of a warm-blood of slightly leaner girth, the proportions appear just right for smooth riding over long distances. Not the fastest, not the strongest, his build registers in some middling area. Heavy, large hooves are nigh-fully covered in the length of deep black feathers. Mane is slightly crimped, tail a'brush on the back of hocks, both too as black as night. The rest of the gelding cross claims a grulla coloration, that deep silvery-brown dun hue that's made all the more striking by the dark edges of his form. Broad back is a healthy one, head dramatic in its deep black contours often high-held in curiosity- and lending to a likely less than bomb-proof nature . &lt;br /&gt;
''Foaled T34''&lt;br /&gt;
''A shared runner, usually housed in Fort Weyr stables''&lt;br /&gt;
[http://img13.deviantart.net/0822/i/2011/053/c/1/friesian_20_by_the_kurgan-d3a5b22.jpg Bane]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=RP Logs=&lt;br /&gt;
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{{NewLogs |name={{BASEPAGENAME}}}}&lt;br /&gt;
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{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
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=Icons=&lt;br /&gt;
{{Icons}}&lt;br /&gt;
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= Miscellaneous =&lt;br /&gt;
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== Sound Tracks ==&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EaxNHs93oIA For Your Entertainment - Adam Lambert]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntowwrTDZSQ Gonna Go Far Kid - The Offspring]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdfSSkeXs-k Angel with a Shotgun - The Cab]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wi_Qlq5WlTQ Everybody Loves Me - One Republic]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9H01_vkhAIY Demons - Imagine Dragons]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2C7-Zy-r10&amp;amp;index=98&amp;amp;list=PLfbnV6tfC8_lwBhTpv8SDrhDq4RjNVqqi Skulls - Bastille]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCLgCeBJOWg On my own - Ashes Remain]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
==Other==&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Given Nicknames:''' Hood, Lord Hood, Attitude, Sparkly Dirt&lt;br /&gt;
*Personality Type ESTP - [http://www.16personalities.com/estp-personality &amp;quot;..the likeliest personality type to make a lifestyle of risky behavior&amp;quot;]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/jh/kaelige Johari]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/nohari?name=Kaelige Nohari]&lt;br /&gt;
* D&amp;amp;D Alignment - Neutral Evil Human Rogue&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
|position=Stablehand&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|Has rank=Candidate&lt;br /&gt;
|craft=&lt;br /&gt;
|birthplace=Exile Island&lt;br /&gt;
|pb=Colin O'Donoghue&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Character-Categories&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Exiles, Fort Area, Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
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[[Category:Bronzeriders]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Quartz_Wing]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=81432</id>
		<title>Ka'ge</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=81432"/>
				<updated>2016-01-15T14:56:54Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{ProfileTabs&lt;br /&gt;
|picture=Kage.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|mother=Eligeya(NPC) - Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|father=Kaethun(NPC) - Seacrafter/Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|siblings=Eliun(NPC) - brother (deceased)&lt;br /&gt;
|body=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= Description =&lt;br /&gt;
A rugged scruff of stubble lines his squared and defined jaw, hinting at the man that this boy is quickly becoming, and making it difficult to age him just by looks. His skin claims a natural tan beneath beneath bruises, scratches and scars, hinting of tones used to warmer climates. Shadowed beneath short, often unkempt black hair are mischievous, piercing green-touched blue eyes. He has a hardness about his lazy stance that doesn't quite fit, one that doesn't quite immediately seem friendly by any means. Standing straight, he reaches about six foot or so of lithe, suspicious stature. Beneath the layers of clothing he wears, he's conditioned well. Limbs, chest, back speak nothing of fat, their contours dramatic and carved. Not particularly brawny, but clearly toned, ready. His physical athleticism is obvious, his direction not so much. &lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
A deeply obsidian flight jacket is of excellent quality, with ridges and stitching of experienced journeyman level but with no particular icons included. It bares a heavier hood, one that could easily cover most of his face- and very often, that's exactly what it does. Beneath, he's dressed in darker colored wher-hide garb with the grey-black dabbling an intentional element. Beneath his jacket, he wears a criss-crossing of hide in the likes of a harness with pockets and grooves. Beyond that, the rest is far more typical-a belt knife lies at his lower back, and a short dagger is strapped to his right thigh. &lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
Looped at his hip instead of his shoulder is a knot- the simpleness of a rider, the colors of Fort Weyr, and a central cord of darkened bronze.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= History =&lt;br /&gt;
It started as simply as intervening ships enroute from Gar to Boll, and later from Ista to Fort. His father, wholly skilled at the sea and its crafts, had a steady hand in the seaborne raids. After the event of the Scudder, he had reached out to the land based raids, joining the renegades and meeting the woman who would become Kael’s mother on the evening of being apprehended at a hand-off of supplies by Fort Weyr riders.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Kaelige was born not long after the exiles had made a make-shift home out of their Southern colony. Although a younger brother was born a few years following him, he shortly perished of an illness as an infant, and his mother became too frail to bear further children,. Kael, though perhaps lacking in general social skills, was raised with a non-harper but still strict discipline into the basics of reading and writing, and even heavier in the aspects of survival, hunting, and understanding of beasts and the sea. Fighting was a necessity, but he seemed weaker at direct confrontation. However, another renegade took him under his wing and the pursuit of spying and assassination was intensive and thorough. He could throw an average punch at best, but using subtlety to end a contest quickly, few could match him even at his young age. A prodigy perhaps, or maybe he just had something to prove. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Following his bonding to a dusky brown firelizard he called Chiv as part of a non-public agreement with his scheming father and having no law restricting his movements, he was sent back to the Fort area, puppet strings attached. Early in turn 37, he secured transport to Fort Weyr with Katriona and Yueth, though dismounted some distance away to avoid prying eyes and minds. He arrived to public attention as a vagabond- some sort of parentless trader-traveling looking for residency. With no talents offered to the lower cavern staff who asked in regards to placement but an affinity for being 'outside', he was given the position of stablehand.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Although kept well-shielded from the public eye since arriving at Fort, he continues to be molded by his master's 'acquaintance' - another well experienced in his particular area of expertise. Messages are passed via firelizard to those who hold his puppet strings, but never last long enough to be seen beyond his eye. He appears to the masses to be a hooded enigma with plenty of sarcastic wit to cover what isn't shadowed by his garb. And although he seemed more than reluctant to participate in anything of benefit to the Weyr, it' was notable that he was rather possessive of his rank of candidacy after being Searched by Lilah's Eliyaveith. During his candidacy, he had a hand in organizing and spying for the thefts from the stores meant for relief to the Hold post-landslide, which ultimately failed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In late turn 37, he Stood for Elaruth and Bijedth's clutch, for which he failed to Impress and was witness to a young green hatchling going Between instead of choosing a lifemate. He retained his knot, Standing for Eliyaveith's first clutch by Liesanth and Impressed to Zymadiath.  Another bronze hatchling had approached him first and fell, clawing a large gash in his chest. Zymadiath knocked the other away, who ended up Impressing to Y'tob, a boy Ka'ge had threatened but didn't take the life of, again risking his secrecy.  Both boy and dragonet were wounded and fell behind in their weyrling class in the first couple of months. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Weyrlinghood was a struggle, as it is for most. For Ka'ge, it included an escalation of the complicating relationship between him and the now-goldriding Dee who had been the mastermind behind the stores-raids. His lackadaisical attitude and punishments, not the least of which included self-created lies of too-early intimacy with Dee to protect their secret of the stores thefts, became a focus of assistant weyrlingmaster Kh'tyr's whose specialty in troubled students was likely the only reason Ka'ge eventually graduated on time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath and Ka'ge never proved to excel in teamwork, being tapped into Flint by X'vin due to its large amount of free-time and less stress on bonding. While this free-time as meant to be used to visit holds- and surely, that's what Ka'ge did- it wasn't always for wing business for which he went. He went back to the exiles' island, taking his master and some of his closest followers from it, to transplant them all into a small Holding some ways southwest of Fort Weyr itself.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Soon after the rescue of his master, a plague burned its way across the Northern Continent, its focal point in the Fort area. With Dee fallen ill and, despite his vigilance, wanting nothing more to do with his advances, Ka'ge found himself to be immune to the plague by a dangerous Russian-roulette-type of trial and error. And with this continually-tested knowledge, used the plague as an opportunity. A valuable, crucial opportunity. As blooded family after blooded family fell, he watched for who would rise. It's unknown what ''direct'' touches he had in the heirs that then rose, or how much was his own choosing versus his master's whims, but it's almost certain that some foul play arose.  When the terrible death tolls ended, he slowly returned to a more constant presence at Fort Weyr, with intermittent, publicly known but less frequent visits to Ruatha Hold in conference with an heir that didn't win over Baliol for lordship.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
N'rov rose to Weyrleader in this time, his bronze catching Southern-transplanted Mirinda's Zaisavyth, a flight Zymadiath had lost. Following such grand losses of riders and weyrfolk alike, wings began changing. Eventually, the Weyrleader approached him to tap him into a new wing- Onyx. Change continues on.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=Relationships/Companions=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= Relationships =&lt;br /&gt;
'''PC'''&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Dahlia''' ''Dee'' - A light in the dark. You don't realize what lengths I would go to for you, should you only ask.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Kh'tyr''' ''Mentor'' - What an asshole. But let's be real honest, I respect him.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''N'rov''' ''Clever'' - I'm not sure what he wants from of me, I'm not sure if I can trust him. What does he really know?&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lys''' ''Shadow'' - You act like me, right down to not wanting to give me your name. That means you're trouble. Too bad you aren't in my territory. I guess I'll be visiting yours.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Olivya''' ''Sharp'' - I'm curious to watch you. You and your little friend from Southern.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''NPC'''&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Y'tob''' ''Knows too much'' - Just stay out of my way.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Draozu''' ''Master'' - My father, my master, the voice in my head. You speak, I move. Much to Zymadiath's frustration, your word is my command.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Iashun''' ''The Ugly'' - You kept me keen before and during weyrlinghood, but you're just a nuisance now. Ears and eyes in the Weyr that's unnecessary. Mine are better than yours ever could be. Call me boy one more time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Deceased'''&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'oan''' ''Liar'' -  Too bad you can't punch a dead man (again). I've never had someone's death haunt me so.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lilah''' ''Too Soon'' - Dead is dead. Though I guess nobody even really knows if you are dead. I don't despair your loss- I can't. But Zymadiath did what I couldn't.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
-----------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Crudely Crafted and Concealed Brown Chiv'''&lt;br /&gt;
A boney little brown firelizard, seemingly lacking in muscular features and certainly no fat to speak of, is inconspicuous in presence though perhaps of generally normal length for his color. Sharpness defines him at every angle, like a tiny knife with wings. From fanged narrow muzzle to curved, hooked back-ridges to dark-silver pointed talons oversized for his dusky paws, the brown is a creature that looks less than inviting to the touch. Heavy dull browns coat him, dusty and dim, powdered darker at the lengths of raptor-long wings and whip-thin tail as if he'd been rolled in a mixture of soot and soil.&lt;br /&gt;
''Impressed T36, Exile Islands'''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Long-Distance Draft-Cross Grulla Gelding Bane'''&lt;br /&gt;
Heavy bones collect relatively graceful but sturdy limbs beneath this massive runner, grown 18 hands easily at the withers. And a rather glorious beast this is, a cross of some stocky draft with the titch of fire of a warm-blood of slightly leaner girth, the proportions appear just right for smooth riding over long distances. Not the fastest, not the strongest, his build registers in some middling area. Heavy, large hooves are nigh-fully covered in the length of deep black feathers. Mane is slightly crimped, tail a'brush on the back of hocks, both too as black as night. The rest of the gelding cross claims a grulla coloration, that deep silvery-brown dun hue that's made all the more striking by the dark edges of his form. Broad back is a healthy one, head dramatic in its deep black contours often high-held in curiosity- and lending to a likely less than bomb-proof nature . &lt;br /&gt;
''Foaled T34''&lt;br /&gt;
''A shared runner, usually housed in Fort Weyr stables''&lt;br /&gt;
[http://img13.deviantart.net/0822/i/2011/053/c/1/friesian_20_by_the_kurgan-d3a5b22.jpg Bane]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Sound Tracks ==&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EaxNHs93oIA For Your Entertainment - Adam Lambert]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntowwrTDZSQ Gonna Go Far Kid - The Offspring]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdfSSkeXs-k Angel with a Shotgun - The Cab]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wi_Qlq5WlTQ Everybody Loves Me - One Republic]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9H01_vkhAIY Demons - Imagine Dragons]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2C7-Zy-r10&amp;amp;index=98&amp;amp;list=PLfbnV6tfC8_lwBhTpv8SDrhDq4RjNVqqi Skulls - Bastille]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCLgCeBJOWg On my own - Ashes Remain]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=RP Logs=&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{NewLogs |name={{BASEPAGENAME}}}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=Icons=&lt;br /&gt;
{{Icons}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= Miscellaneous =&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Given Nicknames:''' Hood, Lord Hood, Attitude, Sparkly Dirt&lt;br /&gt;
*Personality Type ESTP - [http://www.16personalities.com/estp-personality &amp;quot;..the likeliest personality type to make a lifestyle of risky behavior&amp;quot;]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/jh/kaelige Johari]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/nohari?name=Kaelige Nohari]&lt;br /&gt;
* D&amp;amp;D Alignment - Neutral Evil Human Rogue&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
|position=Stablehand&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|Has rank=Candidate&lt;br /&gt;
|craft=&lt;br /&gt;
|birthplace=Exile Island&lt;br /&gt;
|pb=Colin O'Donoghue&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Character-Categories&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Exiles, Fort Area, Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Bronzeriders]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Quartz_Wing]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=81431</id>
		<title>Ka'ge</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=81431"/>
				<updated>2016-01-15T14:11:11Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Profile&lt;br /&gt;
|picture=Kage.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|mother=NPC - Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|father=NPC - Seacrafter/Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|siblings=Infant bother (deceased)&lt;br /&gt;
|body={{wysk}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Description ==&lt;br /&gt;
A rugged scruff of stubble lines his squared and defined jaw, hinting at the man that this boy is quickly becoming, and making it difficult to age him just by looks. His skin claims a natural tan beneath beneath bruises, scratches and scars, hinting of tones used to warmer climates. Shadowed beneath short, often unkempt black hair are mischievous, piercing green-touched blue eyes. He has a hardness about his lazy stance that doesn't quite fit, one that doesn't quite immediately seem friendly by any means. Standing straight, he reaches about six foot or so of lithe, suspicious stature. Beneath the layers of clothing he wears, he's conditioned well. Limbs, chest, back speak nothing of fat, their contours dramatic and carved. Not particularly brawny, but clearly toned, ready. His physical athleticism is obvious, his direction not so much. &lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
A deeply obsidian flight jacket is of excellent quality, with ridges and stitching of experienced journeyman level but with no particular icons included. It bares a heavier hood, one that could easily cover most of his face- and very often, that's exactly what it does. Beneath, he's dressed in darker colored wher-hide garb with the grey-black dabbling an intentional element. Beneath his jacket, he wears a criss-crossing of hide in the likes of a harness with pockets and grooves. Beyond that, the rest is far more typical-a belt knife lies at his lower back, and a short dagger is strapped to his right thigh. &lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
Looped at his hip instead of his shoulder is a knot- the simpleness of a rider, the colors of Fort Weyr, and a central cord of darkened bronze.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{Family}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{FamilyEnd}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== History ==&lt;br /&gt;
It started as simply as intervening ships enroute from Gar to Boll, and later from Ista to Fort. His father, wholly skilled at the sea and its crafts, had a steady hand in the seaborne raids. After the event of the Scudder, he had reached out to the land based raids, joining the renegades and meeting the woman who would become Kael’s mother on the evening of being apprehended at a hand-off of supplies by Fort Weyr riders.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Kaelige was born not long after the exiles had made a make-shift home out of their Southern colony. Although a younger brother was born a few years following him, he shortly perished of an illness as an infant, and his mother became too frail to bear further children,. Kael, though perhaps lacking in general social skills, was raised with a non-harper but still strict discipline into the basics of reading and writing, and even heavier in the aspects of survival, hunting, and understanding of beasts and the sea. Fighting was a necessity, but he seemed weaker at direct confrontation. However, another renegade took him under his wing and the pursuit of spying and assassination was intensive and thorough. He could throw an average punch at best, but using subtlety to end a contest quickly, few could match him even at his young age. A prodigy perhaps, or maybe he just had something to prove. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Following his bonding to a dusky brown firelizard he called Chiv as part of a non-public agreement with his scheming father and having no law restricting his movements, he was sent back to the Fort area, puppet strings attached. Early in turn 37, he secured transport to Fort Weyr with Katriona and Yueth, though dismounted some distance away to avoid prying eyes and minds. He arrived to public attention as a vagabond- some sort of parentless trader-traveling looking for residency. With no talents offered to the lower cavern staff who asked in regards to placement but an affinity for being 'outside', he was given the position of stablehand.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Although kept well-shielded from the public eye since arriving at Fort, he continues to be molded by his master's 'acquaintance' - another well experienced in his particular area of expertise. Messages are passed via firelizard to those who hold his puppet strings, but never last long enough to be seen beyond his eye. He appears to the masses to be a hooded enigma with plenty of sarcastic wit to cover what isn't shadowed by his garb. And although he seemed more than reluctant to participate in anything of benefit to the Weyr, it' was notable that he was rather possessive of his rank of candidacy after being Searched by Lilah's Eliyaveith. During his candidacy, he had a hand in organizing and spying for the thefts from the stores meant for relief to the Hold post-landslide, which ultimately failed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In late turn 37, he Stood for Elaruth and Bijedth's clutch, for which he failed to Impress and was witness to a young green hatchling going Between instead of choosing a lifemate. He retained his knot, Standing for Eliyaveith's first clutch by Liesanth and Impressed to Zymadiath.  Another bronze hatchling had approached him first and fell, clawing a large gash in his chest. Zymadiath knocked the other away, who ended up Impressing to Y'tob, a boy Ka'ge had threatened but didn't take the life of, again risking his secrecy.  Both boy and dragonet were wounded and fell behind in their weyrling class in the first couple of months. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Weyrlinghood was a struggle, as it is for most. For Ka'ge, it included an escalation of the complicating relationship between him and the now-goldriding Dee who had been the mastermind behind the stores-raids. His lackadaisical attitude and punishments, not the least of which included self-created lies of too-early intimacy with Dee to protect their secret of the stores thefts, became a focus of assistant weyrlingmaster Kh'tyr's whose specialty in troubled students was likely the only reason Ka'ge eventually graduated on time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath and Ka'ge never proved to excel in teamwork, being tapped into Flint by X'vin due to its large amount of free-time and less stress on bonding. While this free-time as meant to be used to visit holds- and surely, that's what Ka'ge did- it wasn't always for wing business for which he went. He went back to the exiles' island, taking his master and some of his closest followers from it, to transplant them all into a small Holding some ways southwest of Fort Weyr itself.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Soon after the rescue of his master, a plague burned its way across the Northern Continent, its focal point in the Fort area. With Dee fallen ill and, despite his vigilance, wanting nothing more to do with his advances, Ka'ge found himself to be immune to the plague by a dangerous Russian-roulette-type of trial and error. And with this continually-tested knowledge, used the plague as an opportunity. A valuable, crucial opportunity. As blooded family after blooded family fell, he watched for who would rise. It's unknown what ''direct'' touches he had in the heirs that then rose, or how much was his own choosing versus his master's whims, but it's almost certain that some foul play arose.  When the terrible death tolls ended, he slowly returned to a more constant presence at Fort Weyr, with intermittent, publicly known but less frequent visits to Ruatha Hold in conference with an heir that didn't win over Baliol for lordship.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
N'rov rose to Weyrleader in this time, his bronze catching Southern-transplanted Mirinda's Zaisavyth, a flight Zymadiath had lost. Following such grand losses of riders and weyrfolk alike, wings began changing. Eventually, the Weyrleader approached him to tap him into a new wing- Onyx. Change continues on.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Crudely Crafted and Concealed Brown Chiv ==&lt;br /&gt;
A boney little brown firelizard, seemingly lacking in muscular features and certainly no fat to speak of, is inconspicuous in presence though perhaps of generally normal length for his color. Sharpness defines him at every angle, like a tiny knife with wings. From fanged narrow muzzle to curved, hooked back-ridges to dark-silver pointed talons oversized for his dusky paws, the brown is a creature that looks less than inviting to the touch. Heavy dull browns coat him, dusty and dim, powdered darker at the lengths of raptor-long wings and whip-thin tail as if he'd been rolled in a mixture of soot and soil.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Relationships ==&lt;br /&gt;
'''PC'''&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Dahlia''' ''Dee'' - A light in the dark. You don't realize what lengths I would go to for you, should you only ask.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Kh'tyr''' ''Mentor'' - What an asshole. But let's be real honest, I respect him.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''N'rov''' ''Clever'' - I'm not sure what he wants from of me, I'm not sure if I can trust him. What does he really know?&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lys''' ''Shadow'' - You act like me, right down to not wanting to give me your name. That means you're trouble. Too bad you aren't in my territory. I guess I'll be visiting yours.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Olivya''' ''Sharp'' - I'm curious to watch you. You and your little friend from Southern.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''NPC'''&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Y'tob''' ''Knows too much'' - Just stay out of my way.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Draozu''' ''Master'' - My father, my master, the voice in my head. You speak, I move. Much to Zymadiath's frustration, your word is my command.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Iashun''' ''The Ugly'' - You kept me keen before and during weyrlinghood, but you're just a nuisance now. Ears and eyes in the Weyr that's unnecessary. Mine are better than yours ever could be. Call me boy one more time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Deceased'''&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'oan''' ''Liar'' -  Too bad you can't punch a dead man (again). I've never had someone's death haunt me so.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lilah''' ''Too Soon'' - Dead is dead. Though I guess nobody even really knows if you are dead. I don't despair your loss- I can't. But Zymadiath did what I couldn't.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Sound Tracks ==&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EaxNHs93oIA For Your Entertainment - Adam Lambert]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntowwrTDZSQ Gonna Go Far Kid - The Offspring]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdfSSkeXs-k Angel with a Shotgun - The Cab]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wi_Qlq5WlTQ Everybody Loves Me - One Republic]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9H01_vkhAIY Demons - Imagine Dragons]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2C7-Zy-r10&amp;amp;index=98&amp;amp;list=PLfbnV6tfC8_lwBhTpv8SDrhDq4RjNVqqi Skulls - Bastille]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCLgCeBJOWg On my own - Ashes Remain]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== RP Logs ==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{NewLogs |name={{BASEPAGENAME}}}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{Icons}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Miscellaneous ==&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Given Nicknames:''' Hood, Lord Hood, Attitude, Sparkly Dirt&lt;br /&gt;
*Personality Type ESTP - [http://www.16personalities.com/estp-personality &amp;quot;..the likeliest personality type to make a lifestyle of risky behavior&amp;quot;]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/jh/kaelige Johari]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/nohari?name=Kaelige Nohari]&lt;br /&gt;
* D&amp;amp;D Alignment - Neutral Evil Human Rogue&lt;br /&gt;
|position=Stablehand&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|Has rank=Candidate&lt;br /&gt;
|craft=&lt;br /&gt;
|birthplace=Exile Island&lt;br /&gt;
|pb=Colin O'Donoghue&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Character-Categories&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Exiles, Fort Area, Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Bronzeriders]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Quartz_Wing]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=File:Kage.jpg&amp;diff=81430</id>
		<title>File:Kage.jpg</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=File:Kage.jpg&amp;diff=81430"/>
				<updated>2016-01-15T14:10:36Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=81348</id>
		<title>Ka'ge</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=81348"/>
				<updated>2016-01-10T10:49:53Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Profile&lt;br /&gt;
|picture=Kaelige.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|mother=NPC - Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|father=NPC - Seacrafter/Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|siblings=Infant bother (deceased)&lt;br /&gt;
|body={{wysk}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Description ==&lt;br /&gt;
A rugged scruff of stubble lines his squared and defined jaw, hinting at the man that this boy is quickly becoming, and making it difficult to age him just by looks. His skin claims a natural tan beneath beneath bruises, scratches and scars, hinting of tones used to warmer climates. Shadowed beneath short, often unkempt black hair are mischievous, piercing green-touched blue eyes. He has a hardness about his lazy stance that doesn't quite fit, one that doesn't quite immediately seem friendly by any means. Standing straight, he reaches about six foot or so of lithe, suspicious stature. Beneath the layers of clothing he wears, he's conditioned well. Limbs, chest, back speak nothing of fat, their contours dramatic and carved. Not particularly brawny, but clearly toned, ready. His physical athleticism is obvious, his direction not so much. &lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
A deeply obsidian flight jacket is of excellent quality, with ridges and stitching of experienced journeyman level but with no particular icons included. It bares a heavier hood, one that could easily cover most of his face- and very often, that's exactly what it does. Beneath, he's dressed in darker colored wher-hide garb with the grey-black dabbling an intentional element. Beneath his jacket, he wears a criss-crossing of hide in the likes of a harness with pockets and grooves. Beyond that, the rest is far more typical-a belt knife lies at his lower back, and a short dagger is strapped to his right thigh. &lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
Looped at his hip instead of his shoulder is a knot- the simpleness of a rider, the colors of Fort Weyr, and a central cord of darkened bronze.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{Family}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{FamilyEnd}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== History ==&lt;br /&gt;
It started as simply as intervening ships enroute from Gar to Boll, and later from Ista to Fort. His father, wholly skilled at the sea and its crafts, had a steady hand in the seaborne raids. After the event of the Scudder, he had reached out to the land based raids, joining the renegades and meeting the woman who would become Kael’s mother on the evening of being apprehended at a hand-off of supplies by Fort Weyr riders.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Kaelige was born not long after the exiles had made a make-shift home out of their Southern colony. Although a younger brother was born a few years following him, he shortly perished of an illness as an infant, and his mother became too frail to bear further children,. Kael, though perhaps lacking in general social skills, was raised with a non-harper but still strict discipline into the basics of reading and writing, and even heavier in the aspects of survival, hunting, and understanding of beasts and the sea. Fighting was a necessity, but he seemed weaker at direct confrontation. However, another renegade took him under his wing and the pursuit of spying and assassination was intensive and thorough. He could throw an average punch at best, but using subtlety to end a contest quickly, few could match him even at his young age. A prodigy perhaps, or maybe he just had something to prove. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Following his bonding to a dusky brown firelizard he called Chiv as part of a non-public agreement with his scheming father and having no law restricting his movements, he was sent back to the Fort area, puppet strings attached. Early in turn 37, he secured transport to Fort Weyr with Katriona and Yueth, though dismounted some distance away to avoid prying eyes and minds. He arrived to public attention as a vagabond- some sort of parentless trader-traveling looking for residency. With no talents offered to the lower cavern staff who asked in regards to placement but an affinity for being 'outside', he was given the position of stablehand.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Although kept well-shielded from the public eye since arriving at Fort, he continues to be molded by his master's 'acquaintance' - another well experienced in his particular area of expertise. Messages are passed via firelizard to those who hold his puppet strings, but never last long enough to be seen beyond his eye. He appears to the masses to be a hooded enigma with plenty of sarcastic wit to cover what isn't shadowed by his garb. And although he seemed more than reluctant to participate in anything of benefit to the Weyr, it' was notable that he was rather possessive of his rank of candidacy after being Searched by Lilah's Eliyaveith. During his candidacy, he had a hand in organizing and spying for the thefts from the stores meant for relief to the Hold post-landslide, which ultimately failed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In late turn 37, he Stood for Elaruth and Bijedth's clutch, for which he failed to Impress and was witness to a young green hatchling going Between instead of choosing a lifemate. He retained his knot, Standing for Eliyaveith's first clutch by Liesanth and Impressed to Zymadiath.  Another bronze hatchling had approached him first and fell, clawing a large gash in his chest. Zymadiath knocked the other away, who ended up Impressing to Y'tob, a boy Ka'ge had threatened but didn't take the life of, again risking his secrecy.  Both boy and dragonet were wounded and fell behind in their weyrling class in the first couple of months. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Weyrlinghood was a struggle, as it is for most. For Ka'ge, it included an escalation of the complicating relationship between him and the now-goldriding Dee who had been the mastermind behind the stores-raids. His lackadaisical attitude and punishments, not the least of which included self-created lies of too-early intimacy with Dee to protect their secret of the stores thefts, became a focus of assistant weyrlingmaster Kh'tyr's whose specialty in troubled students was likely the only reason Ka'ge eventually graduated on time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath and Ka'ge never proved to excel in teamwork, being tapped into Flint by X'vin due to its large amount of free-time and less stress on bonding. While this free-time as meant to be used to visit holds- and surely, that's what Ka'ge did- it wasn't always for wing business for which he went. He went back to the exiles' island, taking his master and some of his closest followers from it, to transplant them all into a small Holding some ways southwest of Fort Weyr itself.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Soon after the rescue of his master, a plague burned its way across the Northern Continent, its focal point in the Fort area. With Dee fallen ill and, despite his vigilance, wanting nothing more to do with his advances, Ka'ge found himself to be immune to the plague by a dangerous Russian-roulette-type of trial and error. And with this continually-tested knowledge, used the plague as an opportunity. A valuable, crucial opportunity. As blooded family after blooded family fell, he watched for who would rise. It's unknown what ''direct'' touches he had in the heirs that then rose, or how much was his own choosing versus his master's whims, but it's almost certain that some foul play arose.  When the terrible death tolls ended, he slowly returned to a more constant presence at Fort Weyr, with intermittent, publicly known but less frequent visits to Ruatha Hold in conference with an heir that didn't win over Baliol for lordship.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
N'rov rose to Weyrleader in this time, his bronze catching Southern-transplanted Mirinda's Zaisavyth, a flight Zymadiath had lost. Following such grand losses of riders and weyrfolk alike, wings began changing. Eventually, the Weyrleader approached him to tap him into a new wing- Onyx. Change continues on.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Crudely Crafted and Concealed Brown Chiv ==&lt;br /&gt;
A boney little brown firelizard, seemingly lacking in muscular features and certainly no fat to speak of, is inconspicuous in presence though perhaps of generally normal length for his color. Sharpness defines him at every angle, like a tiny knife with wings. From fanged narrow muzzle to curved, hooked back-ridges to dark-silver pointed talons oversized for his dusky paws, the brown is a creature that looks less than inviting to the touch. Heavy dull browns coat him, dusty and dim, powdered darker at the lengths of raptor-long wings and whip-thin tail as if he'd been rolled in a mixture of soot and soil.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Relationships ==&lt;br /&gt;
'''PC'''&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Dahlia''' ''Dee'' - A light in the dark. You don't realize what lengths I would go to for you, should you only ask.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Kh'tyr''' ''Mentor'' - What an asshole. But let's be real honest, I respect him.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''N'rov''' ''Clever'' - I'm not sure what he wants from of me, I'm not sure if I can trust him. What does he really know?&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lys''' ''Shadow'' - You act like me, right down to not wanting to give me your name. That means you're trouble. Too bad you aren't in my territory. I guess I'll be visiting yours.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Olivya''' ''Sharp'' - I'm curious to watch you. You and your little friend from Southern.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''NPC'''&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Y'tob''' ''Knows too much'' - Just stay out of my way.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Draozu''' ''Master'' - My father, my master, the voice in my head. You speak, I move. Much to Zymadiath's frustration, your word is my command.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Iashun''' ''The Ugly'' - You kept me keen before and during weyrlinghood, but you're just a nuisance now. Ears and eyes in the Weyr that's unnecessary. Mine are better than yours ever could be. Call me boy one more time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Deceased'''&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'oan''' ''Liar'' -  Too bad you can't punch a dead man (again). I've never had someone's death haunt me so.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lilah''' ''Too Soon'' - Dead is dead. Though I guess nobody even really knows if you are dead. I don't despair your loss- I can't. But Zymadiath did what I couldn't.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Sound Tracks ==&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EaxNHs93oIA For Your Entertainment - Adam Lambert]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntowwrTDZSQ Gonna Go Far Kid - The Offspring]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdfSSkeXs-k Angel with a Shotgun - The Cab]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wi_Qlq5WlTQ Everybody Loves Me - One Republic]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9H01_vkhAIY Demons - Imagine Dragons]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2C7-Zy-r10&amp;amp;index=98&amp;amp;list=PLfbnV6tfC8_lwBhTpv8SDrhDq4RjNVqqi Skulls - Bastille]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCLgCeBJOWg On my own - Ashes Remain]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== RP Logs ==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{NewLogs |name={{BASEPAGENAME}}}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{Icons}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Miscellaneous ==&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Given Nicknames:''' Hood, Lord Hood, Attitude, Sparkly Dirt&lt;br /&gt;
*Personality Type ESTP - [http://www.16personalities.com/estp-personality &amp;quot;..the likeliest personality type to make a lifestyle of risky behavior&amp;quot;]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/jh/kaelige Johari]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/nohari?name=Kaelige Nohari]&lt;br /&gt;
* D&amp;amp;D Alignment - Neutral Evil Human Rogue&lt;br /&gt;
|position=Stablehand&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|Has rank=Candidate&lt;br /&gt;
|craft=&lt;br /&gt;
|birthplace=Exile Island&lt;br /&gt;
|pb=Colin O'Donoghue&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Character-Categories&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Exiles, Fort Area, Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Bronzeriders]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Quartz_Wing]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Flexible_Change&amp;diff=81336</id>
		<title>Logs:Flexible Change</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Flexible_Change&amp;diff=81336"/>
				<updated>2016-01-09T06:39:04Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: Created page with &amp;quot;{{Log |who=N'rov, Ka'ge, |what=An unlikely bronzerider is recruited into N'rov's new wing. |where=Council Chambers, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Weyr |day=4 |month=10 |turn=39 |IP...&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=N'rov, Ka'ge,&lt;br /&gt;
|what=An unlikely bronzerider is recruited into N'rov's new wing.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Council Chambers, Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=4&lt;br /&gt;
|month=10&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=39&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2016.01.06&lt;br /&gt;
|weather=Clear auntumn evening&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=A'sran, W'leri&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon n'rov apple.png, Icon Ka'ge seriousthought.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|desc=&amp;gt;---&amp;lt; Council Room, Fort Weyr(#839RJs$) &amp;gt;------------------------------------&amp;lt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
  The Weyr's meeting space is a long, oval space with a large stone table   &lt;br /&gt;
  placed in the middle. There's seating enough for twelve around the table: &lt;br /&gt;
  plenty of room to welcome most of the Weyrleaders and a good portion of   &lt;br /&gt;
  the Lord Holders from the north, though additional seating might be needed&lt;br /&gt;
  if a Pern-wide meeting were to be held here.                              &lt;br /&gt;
                                                                            &lt;br /&gt;
  A sideboard stands ready to serve, regardless of the occasion and is kept &lt;br /&gt;
  well-stocked with carafes of wine, water and several fine liquors. Fresh  &lt;br /&gt;
  flowers, appropriate to the season are changed out regularly in the vase  &lt;br /&gt;
  atop the sideboard. Tapestries depicting Fort's illustrious history from  &lt;br /&gt;
  founding, to Moreta's role in the Plague to Lessa's arrival to bring the  &lt;br /&gt;
  Weyrs forward in time bedeck the walls, leavening the omnipresence of     &lt;br /&gt;
  cool, gray stone. Well-lit, the chamber boasts glows in niches around the &lt;br /&gt;
  room, as well as oil lamps hanging from the ceiling.                      &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
 -----------------------------&amp;lt; Active Players &amp;gt;-----------------------------&lt;br /&gt;
  Ka'ge        M  17    6'  toned, black hair, blue-green eyes            0s &lt;br /&gt;
  N'rov        M  33  6'1&amp;quot;  lean, dk. brown hair, gray eyes              18s&lt;br /&gt;
|log=This time, it's N'rov seeking Ka'ge out, not one of the latter's intermittent visits; this time, though, it's via Vhaeryth, who sends an inverted image of the council chamber. The oil lamps may not be lit, but the the glows in their niches cast darkness onto the long table and other furnishings who in turn shade in light. They're ''wanted''... both of them. When the junior bronzerider enters the council chamber, he'll find N'rov standing before that table; if he's quick, he'll catch him passing through the contents of a slightly more than palm-sized sack, ''assessing''.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath's shadows on the horizon become no more prominent at Vhaeryth's summons, but there's the feeling of a sway of the eb and flow of the figments- a sensation of confirmation. And whether he was nearby already or made his way to the council chambers with some speed following the invitation, Ka'ge is prompt in his appearance. Prompt, but quiet. When he reaches the doorway to the chambers, though, it's with slow, deliberate steps until he comes to a pause just within. &amp;quot;Weyrleader.&amp;quot; Is a heavy word the way he intones it, though not without a twitch at the edge of his lips that might eventually become a grin. Observant gaze flickers down to his hands, but don't linger long. &amp;quot;To what do I owe the honor?&amp;quot; Although there's certainly the lightly-restrained arrogant flare of the young man, his laid-back curiosity is as present and earnest as it had been when he'd sought him out times before.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The dark head lifts, though not with the jerk of one being caught out: lifts, and turns, part of one easy movement that is that weyrleader's smile and the rest of him turning, too; turning and then treading to meet the other man just within. N'rov's gray glance surveys Ka'ge, and then he says drily, &amp;quot;It's my Turnday.&amp;quot; That smile hooks deeper. &amp;quot;Let's go.&amp;quot; Not far: only just outside, where from beneath that overhang both men might see Zymadiath... if he's there to be seen.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's nothing but patience as N'rov turns and then approaches, the younger bronzerider's maybe-grin becoming more of one, if curled more to one side than the other as the weyrleader speaks. &amp;quot;Your turnday.&amp;quot; Ka'ge echoes, slower, as he follows him in turn- without complaint, without concern. &amp;quot;I'm always one for a drink, but surely you have more grand plans for such a day.&amp;quot; It's light hearted, though his baited curiosity taints it, his words more questions than conversation. The dark bronze circles above, his true shadow below on the bowl itself. Not too terrible an elevation, the slight tilt of his head regards them as they exit. But to his vigilance he returns, carried slightly upwards by a warmer thermal.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I won't have you dying on thirst,&amp;quot; N'rov says, &amp;quot;on my watch.&amp;quot; For all its lightness, it bears a peculiar ring, obscurely like a promise even as, all the while, he's looking up towards Zymadiath. His eyes have narrowed slightly, assesing, but not the same way as he'd gauged that small bag he'd held; it has the wide-pupiled vision of a man seeing a ''dragon''. That, and something more, before the look he gives Ka'ge is human again. &amp;quot;How are you taking to Flint, with W'leri gone?&amp;quot; Taken. Co-opted. ''Willingly''.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge doesn't follow his gaze after a brief observation to see what was of interest, instead watching N'rov's expression. His gloved hands find pockets, a soft hmh of a chuckle within his breath give at that. &amp;quot;It might just be a legitimate concern soon.&amp;quot; He plays on, blue-green eyes slipping aside briefly to watch a couple of riders pass them at some distance when the more directed question comes. The grin wavers but remains, a thoughtfulness bringing about a shrug and rustling of his flight jacket in the movement. &amp;quot;Flint has very.. relaxed time tables.” This, a good thing by the way he drawls, “I've spent more time out at the Holds than here. The ''bonding'',&amp;quot; The word seems to bring a renewed sense of ironic amusement, &amp;quot;Mostly the poker-nights, which many miss.&amp;quot; Himself included, he implies. &amp;quot;It was my first placement.&amp;quot; Seems to be the rest of the answer, unattached. &amp;quot;Most of that I assume you already know.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;It's more the change,&amp;quot; N'rov says, but unhurriedly so; even if he should know most of the rest, even ''all'' of the rest, it has its own value. A lift of a brow encourages Ka'ge to continue if he likes. In the end, though, &amp;quot;I think I've found you a 'good place,' of sorts. Here: have some of my Turnday present.&amp;quot; It's a badge he slips from the little bag: a wing badge, that is not Obsidian's despite the predominant black of its hue. But it's also a badge that he holds up rather than gives, as though it ''is'' an offer, an option, rather than the requirement he's capable of compelling. &amp;quot;My wing. If you choose.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge, usually ungiving of details, seems only mildly to hedge with time and words on the matter. Encouraged to continue, but not hurried. &amp;quot;Unconcerning.&amp;quot; Summarizes it all, simply. &amp;quot;Not enough to cause unrest- with me, or those I've spoken to.&amp;quot; In what infrequent extracurricular time he makes for the ones he's referring, &amp;quot;Do you plan to change it more?&amp;quot; The return of a question seems more comfortable than the search for words he'd been in, but it becomes less important when N'rov slips the badge from his bag. A brow lifts slightly, that curious sort of way, &amp;quot;I'm pretty sure someone once told me you're supposed to receive gifts on your Turnday, not give them. I might be a little rusty.&amp;quot; He runs a hand through his disheveled black hair, &amp;quot;Your wing-&amp;quot; Is noted, slower, &amp;quot;Not Hematite?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Hematite, with its silvery sheen picked out with dots of white. &amp;quot;No. 'Onyx,' by name.&amp;quot; N'rov bares his eyeteeth in a grin, after that brief but significant nod for that lack of unrest. &amp;quot;Have to keep the weyrlings on their toes, those who thought they knew all the wings already. I'm picking and choosing, you could say; so, yes, there are more changes coming.&amp;quot; The sun, that part of it that is not cut to shadow, catches the glossy threads as the wind does. &amp;quot;To the Weyr's favor, is my hope. Yours, Ka'ge, would be the first... gift... of my day.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;For what purpose?&amp;quot; Ka'ge, intrigued is still nonchalant, with a casual readiness, and willingness to listen. With gentle creases still at the edges of his eyes, amusement is not entirely gone, &amp;quot;Tradition based, less so?&amp;quot; He relieves a hand from a pocket to gesture lightly, vaguely, across the Weyr bowl, &amp;quot;You're recruiting, looking for something particular, I'm assuming, in specific riders. Who else has joined you?&amp;quot; That doesn't seem to be the question he wants to ask, but a better preliminary one as he pauses there.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;A certain flexibility,&amp;quot; and there's a slight smile for those words used in common; N'rov waves his fingers against each other so the badge catches the light once more, then drops his hand to his own pocket, thumb inside and badge outside: not ''withdrawn'', but for the moment set back. &amp;quot;Not to mention, vitality.&amp;quot; He names a handful and change: not enough for a wing the way they've known them. A'sran is partway down the list, A'sran who hasn't stopped doing Carnelian's duties, but as yet no other bronzerider and only one brownrider. &amp;quot;We'll be doing some drilling; some sweeps; some filling in where needed. Not to be confused with inserting our collective noses in anyone else's business,&amp;quot; is deadpan indeed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I was recruited to Flint because of Zymadiath's-&amp;quot; And his, goes unstated, &amp;quot;Less than graceful teamwork. Our drills are imperfect,&amp;quot; Those few that Flint did were less a priority than many other things, &amp;quot;And I have no...&amp;quot; He takes a strangely slow inhale, &amp;quot;formal craft training. I'm not sure how I would be of benefit to your wing.&amp;quot; If any of the names on that list bother him or spur some recognition- which some certainly should- he doesn't show it. Instead, Ka'ge's gaze steadily follows the badge. The last statement earns a flicker of his gaze back to N'rov's expression, eased by the following quiet breathy chuckle, &amp;quot;Hard to not overhear something when surrounded by some of the chattier wings.&amp;quot; Is innocent, surely.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Indeed,&amp;quot; N'rov says of that last, with the too-polite inclination of his head and the slighest of smirks. He's relaxed, the way he stands, relaxed and ready but unhurriedly so; his dragon's up on the Rim, watching over when he isn't shamelessly yawning. &amp;quot;I think you have the flexibility,&amp;quot; he surmises, &amp;quot;and I'm not worried about the perfection of the drills. Drills are more... to keep up the skills, so that if the comet should return,&amp;quot; when he speaks again, the involuntary chill of that evocation's left his voice, &amp;quot;we won't be so rusty as all that. Nor is it... formal craft training that I need. Nor ''want'', if that's all they want to get back to do.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Flexible.&amp;quot; Ka'ge's agreement is a cool one, with a dip of his own head that resembles a nod. &amp;quot;That I can be.&amp;quot; A beat. &amp;quot;That, I am.&amp;quot; Reservations fade by degrees at his description, the younger bronzerider quiet and thoughtful between his responses. &amp;quot;What you ''need'', a wing that can do it all? The vitality of a wing that's a substitute for the absences elsewhere- will it still be viable in time when there are less holes? Or are there plans beyond the present?&amp;quot; He doesn't seem to be asking particulars, not yet. But surely there's something worthwhile in Flint- maybe the time alone?- that he must be losing to present questions here, at such an opportunity.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Of course.&amp;quot; ''That's'' utterly assured, part-surprised, and just as relaxed as before. As is N'rov's, &amp;quot;I have in mind to find out what you think, as it happens. The wing won't remain this small, but in the meantime, we have options.&amp;quot; ''Interesting'' options, his tone implies. &amp;quot;But if you want to stay in Flint, I understand that. I'd have seconded a wing sooner if I'd left Hematite.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge’s gaze falls to his gloves, which he pulls at the hems each in turn. &amp;quot;An open ear?&amp;quot; Might be a little surprise, but toned as simply continued relaxed inquisitiveness. Especially at his last statement, there's little missing the returned, searching look he gives the weyrleader, &amp;quot;I've become a little fond of my outward visits, but all the changes here..&amp;quot; He pauses, his grin drawing broader, unevenly so, &amp;quot;I think change- more change- would benefit us. And I imagine we could be of benefit to such a wing. Besides,&amp;quot; This, a little eerie, but with the humor more prominent, &amp;quot;How could I possibly deny a man on his turnday?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
N'rov lets him look at him without objection, at once serious and amused in his own right; he can look all he likes, even if N'rov's slight smile widens as Ka'ge's grin does. &amp;quot;Keep in mind whose name you're riding in,&amp;quot; is his only caution. And for the last, &amp;quot;Not to call into question your capabilities,&amp;quot; of denying, &amp;quot;yet...&amp;quot; There's the badge, extended once more. ''Once'' more. All Ka'ge has to do is take it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;My track record is imperfect, but my capabilities-&amp;quot; Ka'ge's dismissive smirk leads to a short shake of his head, which is stopped when the badge is produced again. &amp;quot;We take great pains to ensure we don't look poorly on the name we keep.&amp;quot; Is worded very particularly, and when he ''does'' finally reach for that badge, it's with far less reservation. Taken, he smooths a gloved thumb over it, observing the details of it but more lost in his own head than its intricacies, &amp;quot;If you have the time, there's much more I would like to ask. But maybe after you've celebrated a little more appropriately. A drink?&amp;quot; It's an offer, maybe returning that earlier notion and favor.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
All that ''particularity'' leads to the lift of one brow, ever so slight but there, and the corresponding quirk of N'rov's mouth; &amp;quot;A drink,&amp;quot; he agrees easily, and he'll go with those questions... before they are, inevitably, interrupted. One down.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Wrong_Move_Romeo&amp;diff=79746</id>
		<title>Logs:Wrong Move Romeo</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Wrong_Move_Romeo&amp;diff=79746"/>
				<updated>2015-11-20T22:08:37Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Dahlia, Ka'ge&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Ka'ge tries to be comforting a few days after R'oan's death. Then things go sideways.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Dragon Infirmary, Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=19&lt;br /&gt;
|month=4&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=39&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.11.17&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;Get out.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=R'oan&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|ooc=Back-dated.&lt;br /&gt;
|icons=dahlia rar.jpg, Ka'ge sorrow.jpg, dahlia taeliyth idiots.jpg, Ka'ge Zymadiath vigilant.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|log=They never had to chase him out because he never stayed. Especially after the loss of R'oan, his visits seemed even more brief not all unlike the first few days of Dahlia falling ill. He'd look in every few hours if anyone took notice of the quietly lurking form of the bronzerider, but rarely make his way fully into the infirmary proper. But this time, this later hour of the next morning, he appears with a carven wooden bowl. Inscribed with a dragon, flecks of golden highlights on its rim and embellishments with a deep final stain bringing out the essence of the wood grain itself. Within the bowl are a number of fruits, mostly sweet ones and others bitter, with the scents that belong so much so to Southern itself. The fragrance is strong, lending to the thought that the contents of this gift basket are freshly- and likely personally- picked by an experienced hand. Ka'ge's delivering it himself, silent as he almost always is, coming up alongside Dee's beside to place it on the side table next to her. Here he hesitates, staring at the basket before he allows himself to release it and turn leave it without a word.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Kael?&amp;quot; Though softly asked, the single syllable question means he's caught. Dee's eyes blink blearily at him. What did she catch of him in her tired glance? The line of his chin or maybe just that distinctive hood.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Maybe he didn't expect her to be awake, maybe he'd just read her wrong from afar. Regardless, he stills briefly at being 'caught' before turning smoothly to her. It's as if he'd intended to stay that he draws a stool underneath him, sitting in it within the same motion. One of his gloved hands reaches to lay over hers, the expression beneath his self-made shadows too-serious but slightly cracked by the hint of an attempt at a grin. &amp;quot;Dee.&amp;quot; He confirms in a quiet, breathy voice. &amp;quot;I hope you have an appetite. There's some fruit here for when you're up to it.&amp;quot; He claims nothing for bringing it with that, but does glance back at it in indication of its location.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She sees his reach coming, for her hand, and manages not to flinch. Dee looks at the bronzerider's face for a long moment in silence before flicking her eyes toward the fruit. &amp;quot;'m not hungry,&amp;quot; she tells him. It shouldn't come as a surprise since the infirmary aides have been trying to ply her with the available items from the kitchens since they realized she wasn't eating. She must be eating ''something'', now and again, but not enough, certainly. She unconsciously turns her head a little to flick in the direction of the cot, already occupied by someone else, now set a little ways off from hers, and then looks back to the man who is here. &amp;quot;You're not supposed to be here. You'll get sick,&amp;quot; she doesn't have the strength to truly ''scold'' him but it's chiding, to be sure.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;It's from Southern.&amp;quot; Ka'ge says, &amp;quot;I visited this grove once that had the sweetest fruits I'd ever tasted. Seemed they're in full ripeness this time of turn, so I thought you might try one.&amp;quot; The words seem to ignore her statement of not being hungry, one of his hands reaching for the small light-pink fruit from the top of the bowl, the other for a knife stowed somewhere on him. The small blade is slipped along the edge, peeling and then slicing it into a bite-sized piece against his thumb before holding it to her. There's a shrug at her later words, &amp;quot;I'm not supposed to be a lot of places I go. You know that better than anyone.&amp;quot; To getting sick, he bares her no answer. He doesn't miss her glance to that cot, but he doesn't follow it, nor allude to its significance.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Her eyes narrow. &amp;quot;You're risking your life to bring me fruit from Southern?&amp;quot; Dee is frowning at him. She should think it's sweet. &amp;quot;You should go. I don't want you to get sick, Kae.&amp;quot; That much is a firm statement and even if it's a repeated sentiment, it bears repeating again since he didn't mind her the first time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I've been around enough of the dying to assume if I would join them, I'd have already done so.&amp;quot; Ka'ge replies with equivalent firmness to his voice, offering the grim reality of it but the lack of assurance that it's wholly true. The frown, the narrowing of her eyes, it does seem to evoke a reaction, a fluctuation of his expression and subtle change in posture, until he ultimately is drawn to ask, &amp;quot;Do you not want me here?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;If I thought it would actually teach you to take more care with yourself, I'd hit you.&amp;quot; If she even could right now. Dee hasn't moved much from the way she later when he made his approach. &amp;quot;Do you really want to be here?&amp;quot; is turned back on him, her expression pained, her eyes betraying the depth of her hurt and loss before she looks away.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge lowers his hands with the fruit pieces and blade, down into his lap . His gaze follows them, small movements of his arms and shoulders indicating the cleaning of his weapon and replacement of it from wherever it'd come. &amp;quot;Even if I tip-toed around here like many of those terrified of death, I still wouldn't have avoided you.&amp;quot; He says quietly and adds &amp;quot;I'm never where I don't want to be.&amp;quot; Noted cryptically but sternly, he looks back at her only after. &amp;quot;Does me being here make-&amp;quot; He tilts his head briefly beyond her cot though not specifically in the direction where R'oan had lain, &amp;quot;this more difficult for you?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's rapid blinking, of the sort that normally would herald tears, but that now hold no wetness. Dee shifts a little before managing to ask, &amp;quot;Since you're here, would you hand me my water? It should be--&amp;quot; on the little table beside the cot. Not everyone has that sort of luxury here, but Dee does. This might be a stalling tactic, if one can imagine she has tactics after everything. It's only once he reaches for the water &amp;lt;if he does&amp;gt; that she asks calmly, &amp;quot;So you're so careless my feelings that you would risk being another person I feel for that dies? So eager to give me another notch in my belt?&amp;quot; Hazel eyes are heavily accusing as they rest on him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge still maintains that odd coldness, that reservation that could very well be chalked up to just not being able to be ''close'' her and yet it could be much more. He watches her with that blank expression, turning away only when she asks for that water to reach for it and bring it to her. The roughness of his glove slides over her hand with intention to hold it if she doesn't take it away from him. &amp;quot;You blame yourself for something so radically out of your control?&amp;quot; He scolds in return, though has no weight to his voice to make it really such a thing. &amp;quot;Always the bleeding heart.&amp;quot; Though he seems to take less stock in that than usual, said more for nostalgia than blaming her for it. &amp;quot;Would you have stayed away if I was in that bed?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;''You're'' not a bleeding heart,&amp;quot; Dee counters, justifying the tacit admission that she would've visited if their places were reversed, with his own words. She looks away from him while she drinks. &amp;quot;If he hadn't known me, hadn't loved me, he might've lived.&amp;quot; That is reason enough for her to revile her involvement, to blame herself. &amp;quot;Hearts are for suckers,&amp;quot; she says after another moment, expression cold. She might actually ''mean that''.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Unfortunately that's come into question when I'm around you.&amp;quot; Ka'ge replies in a sarcastic mutter and roll of his eyes that are a little more apparent as he shifts his hood back an inch or so. But he fails to manage a grin, even the hint of one, shrugging instead at her self-blame. &amp;quot;Or he'd have had drunken sex with another person unknowing of their illness, or shared a swig of some flask with another rider. You don't know if he'd still be alive or not, with or without you. With half the Weyr affected, and much greater the surrounding area, ''you'' are not the source of infection and death.&amp;quot; With her revelation, he sets his jaw, looking down and away for a moment. &amp;quot;No.&amp;quot; He replies finally, perhaps not the reaction expected of him, &amp;quot;No they aren't. If you aren't fighting for something, you'll fail eventually.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Her expression is pained as he speaks, her eyes directed firmly elsewhere. His response to her revelation is unexpected enough to draw her eye, for certain, and Dee apparently can't resist asking, &amp;quot;And what is it you're fighting for, Kael?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge watches his hands, now rested limply in his lap, between his legs. &amp;quot;You reminded me of what's important.&amp;quot; He doesn't directly answer her question, true to his habits, &amp;quot;Don't let this change you.&amp;quot; Clearly this event would have an impact on anyone, so his meaning must run much deeper than no change at all. But Kael has a resolved ache about him, a sense of sadness that's been creeping into his reservations and moreso in the last few words that are lacking the normal steel walls.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I might die yet.&amp;quot; Dee tells him with a shrug. &amp;quot;I might not have control over what changes and what doesn't, and maybe it would be better for me ''to'' change.&amp;quot; Slowly, she shifts to try to sit up a little more, to pull the pillows behind her so that she can. &amp;quot;They voted to give the Weyr to someone else.&amp;quot; Not that she thinks he doesn't already know, but that she's letting him know that she knows.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;It may be difficult to keep the important parts.&amp;quot; Of her, he implies. &amp;quot;I used to-&amp;quot; Ka'ge stops, clasping his own hands together, squeezing his fingers tightly. &amp;quot;I'd prefer if you don't take the easy way out.&amp;quot; He decides to say instead as a direct reply to her consideration of change, though apparently fails to specify which way that is. &amp;quot;I know.&amp;quot; Of course. &amp;quot;And you blame them? The Weyr is ravaged with you basically still on death's bed.&amp;quot; His heavy brows shade his eyes as they narrow in more business-like seriousness. &amp;quot;As if you need to lead a Weyr while recovering, regardless of your ability.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Blame them? For making a bid for control of Fort while the Weyr is in crisis and I'm not yet lost to ''between''? I had hoped better of them. It's callous, conniving and--&amp;quot; Beneath the obvious disgust, there's some new deeply seeded feeling. Dee bites her tongue. &amp;quot;I can't talk about this here. I can't leave here. And you shouldn't be here,&amp;quot; she rounds back to the original point of contention. &amp;quot;Is it doing anything for you? Seeing me here? Like this.&amp;quot; Dirty, amid the stench of unpleasant death. &amp;quot;Zymadiath can find out from Taeliyth how I am.&amp;quot; She points out, her jaw setting in the way that suggests they're about to have a fight. (Unless she gets her way.)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Helpful.&amp;quot; Ka'ge finishes her sentiment with a word clearly not meant to be there. His face has become more stern listening to her feelings on the matter. He again fails to clarify that, but states it with a particular rigidity. &amp;quot;Actually it is.&amp;quot; He replies somewhat harshly, looking up to watch her expression, her eyes. &amp;quot;It doesn't matter to me what you look like. Clearly, since I prefer you as much in a dress as playing in the mud.&amp;quot; Or farming, as the more appropriate term may be. &amp;quot;As long as you're alive.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;''Helpful''?&amp;quot; Dee looks aghast. &amp;quot;Get out.&amp;quot; The rest? It doesn't seem to matter. There's a cold fury in Dahlia's face before she looks away from the bronzerider, expending the effort to turn away from him since she can't ''walk away''.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To Zymadiath, Taeliyth is suddenly ''here''. Roused from a restless doze, she's abruptly alert in the wake of the sudden surge of Dahlia's feelings. It's possible that it's taking her some moments to put together just what is happening, but already her focus is bent on the shadows of the bronze's mind: Ka'ge has ''something'' to do with it, the idiot.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge doesn't look like he's about to move despite her command. He sits there, unnaturally still besides his breaths that even seem too shallow, too quiet. Blue eyes darken at her reaction, but expression doesn't falter beyond that. &amp;quot;Did he mean so much to you that I-&amp;quot; He stops as his eyes glaze, his attention drawn in the classic draconic direction. When he refocuses, the bronzerider sighs with the clear edge of restrained frustration, &amp;quot;I didn't make that call, Dee. I'm only here for you.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To Taeliyth, Zymadiath is ''there'', as he had been. His shadows writhing, living, seething somethings of darkness that never leave their vigilance from somewhere on high. But the sensation from him within that darkness she touches is unconcerned, unimpressed by ''his'' as much as hers.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;If you're not with us, you're against us.&amp;quot; The world has no shades of grey ''just now''. Dahlia doesn't turn her head to look at him. &amp;quot;You can leave on your own or I can have Taeliyth get a healer to escort you out.&amp;quot; Then, abruptly, &amp;quot;''This'' is not about ''him''.&amp;quot; It's about ''them'', which makes it all the more unreasonable, illogical and painful. Her shoulders hunch.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To Zymadiath, Taeliyth's comprehension comes and there's the cracking of branches, which is at least shades better than the tearing up of roots (though the possibility that it could've gone ''that way'' is there in her mind as she considers the shadows). &amp;lt;&amp;lt; I won't have him distressing her. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; She's still not sure Dee will ''live'' and she's sure that Dee being upset isn't going to help her either get well ''or'' keep her heart safely intact. To wit, she adds bluntly, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; He's making it worse. She needs support and understanding, not ''this''. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Though Taeliyth may struggle to give her that and only that, she's ''trying''.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge exhales quietly, a sigh that slightly slumps his shoulders. His gaze slants away from her as he places a hand on the edge of her cot when he starts to rise. &amp;quot;I'll never be your enemy.&amp;quot; The words seem so simple, though they have a darkness to them that seems more of a warning than a comfort. His knuckles whiten as he squeezes the blankets of the cot in place of the hand he assumes she wouldn't let him have. And he releases that hold, turning to go with no further flourish.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To Taeliyth, Zymadiath's figments move almost in tandem with those branches, as if true shadows. They're giving, malleable, non-fighting of her demands, Dee's demands. Neither man nor dragon demonstrates resistance, though in Zymadiath's darkness, disappointment is not wholly hidden. In time with Ka'ge leaving Dee's side, the brief semblance of eyeless faces dip their heads and turn away before the bronze himself recedes from prominence.&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Angst_Logs]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:The_Plague_Logs]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Distributed_Anger&amp;diff=79454</id>
		<title>Logs:Distributed Anger</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Distributed_Anger&amp;diff=79454"/>
				<updated>2015-11-14T22:08:48Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: Created page with &amp;quot;{{Log |who=R'oan, Ka'ge |what=Ka'ge questions R'oan's intentions |where=The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Weyr |day=9 |month=4 |turn=39 |IP=Interval |IP2=10 |gameda...&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=R'oan, Ka'ge&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Ka'ge questions R'oan's intentions&lt;br /&gt;
|where=The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=9&lt;br /&gt;
|month=4&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=39&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.11.14&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=Isn't that what ''you'' are there for?&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=Dahlia,&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=icon r'oan.jpg, Icon Ka'ge threat.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|desc=&amp;gt;---&amp;lt; The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr(#533RJs$) &amp;gt;------------------------------&amp;lt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
  Despite its subterranean locale, the creamy wall paint, pale woods, and   &lt;br /&gt;
  frosted glass give the cavern a light, airy feel. Oil lamps reflect softly&lt;br /&gt;
  in the polished wood of high-backed booths, glimmering through the opaque &lt;br /&gt;
  glass dividers that help lend intimacy to the seating arrangements;       &lt;br /&gt;
  round-backed booths carved from stone, lined with deep, terra-cotta       &lt;br /&gt;
  colored padding and the addition of strategic, lyric shapes painted in a  &lt;br /&gt;
  subtle red shade. The sweeping, half-circle shaped bar with its top of    &lt;br /&gt;
  smooth stone, backed by cut-glass-fronted cabinetry flows gracefully into &lt;br /&gt;
  the soft lines and mellow colors that dominate the Glass Fountain.        &lt;br /&gt;
                                                                            &lt;br /&gt;
  All the atmosphere aside, the main attractions of the room are clearly the&lt;br /&gt;
  massive, multi-pronged chandelier that hangs from multiple chains from the&lt;br /&gt;
  ceiling and the re-worked leak - which no longer resembles a leak at all, &lt;br /&gt;
  having been channeled through glass to become a beautiful piece of art. A &lt;br /&gt;
  curving wave and a series of glass bubbles guide the water past a bank of &lt;br /&gt;
  glows, allowing the light to shine through the water and turn it into a   &lt;br /&gt;
  sparkling fountain. From its dark, dim, shabby history, the Glass Fountain&lt;br /&gt;
  has become an elegant place with lattice-stands to hold the menus with    &lt;br /&gt;
  their selection ranging from typical 'bar food' to high-end dishes and    &lt;br /&gt;
  fancy desserts.                                                           &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
 -----------------------------&amp;lt; Active Players &amp;gt;-----------------------------&lt;br /&gt;
  Ka'ge        M  17    6'  toned, black hair, blue-green eyes            0s &lt;br /&gt;
  R'oan        M  41   6'1  muscular, blonde hair, grey-green eyes        4s&lt;br /&gt;
 ----------------------------------&amp;lt; Exits &amp;gt;---------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;
|log=It is rather quiet in The Glass Fountain, as the sickness continues to spread through Fort Weyr. Many people have elected to avoid being in unnecessary crowds, self-quarantining themselves when possible while others have fallen sick or are at the besides of those that are. None of these apply to R'oan, who has claimed his usual stool at the bar, not that he really need to fight for an empty one. He has a glass of dark liquid in front of himself, making his way steadily through it as another tense night settles on Fort.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
From being seen rarely for months now, Ka'ge has become a much more ready presence in the Weyr since Dee fell ill, though it seemed to take him a full twentyfour hours to be informed of such since it was that long before he managed to appear in the infirmary. Tonight, following one of his very-brief visits to the junior weyrwoman, the young bronzerider finds himself wandering into the Glass Fountain instead of back into the bowl. Unhurried pace brings him here, attention towards the lines of bottles behind the counter. He stops once he's reached the bar, pausing with a gloved hand on one of the stools and the other raised to claim the attention of the bartender. He never looks at R'oan, never glances his way, but given he's only two stools away, it's unlikely he's unnoticed. &amp;quot;Rum.&amp;quot; He grumbles once asked, but fails to manage to take a seat there to wait for it, preferring apparently to stand.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
R'oan does look, his hooded grey eyes sliding sidelong to flick over Ka'ge and seem to dismiss him just as quickly, finding his glass more interesting, it seems. That he'll pick up, twisting it briefly before he tilts back all of the liquid. &amp;quot;Another one over here,&amp;quot; he tells the bartender, but unfortunately for him, Ka'ge is getting served first.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge curls his fingers around the glass, picking it up and then setting it down with the unintentional abruptness that almost threatens to lose a few drops. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then changes his mind instead to simply down the glass' contents as a shot. Gloved fingers shove the glass back towards the bartender's side of the bar in that request for a refill as he's coming back anyway to refill R'oan's. But then he's back to the short nerve of wanting to speak again, speaking more towards the bar than to the older man, with his free hand tugging down the peak of his hood. &amp;quot;Bored tonight? Nobody to visit?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Just another night,&amp;quot; R'oan answers dismissively, dry even as he lifts his refilled glass to gesture around the nearly empty bar. But he's looking back at the younger man, something subtly tense in the line of his shoulders even as the rest of him appears careless.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;No difference to you, then.&amp;quot; Ka'ge concludes quietly from under the lip of his hood, leaning on the side of the bar. His calm voice doesn't match the words he gives, but he's clearly come here with some intention, &amp;quot;Whether you fuck her or you don't. Whether she makes it or she doesn't.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
R'oan exhales what might be a laugh, his gaze sharp on the younger man even as he asks carelessly, &amp;quot;Isn't that what ''you'' are there for? To fuck her, to ''care''.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge reclaims the glass as the deep brown liquid sloshes back to the brim. Held in front of him, he hesitates after R'oan speaks only briefly before taking it back too. He grimaces, takes a breath. &amp;quot;Yeah, I care.&amp;quot; His tone is terse with that, as if it's an unfortunate thing, though his volume never rises even as he continues, &amp;quot;You couldn't just be one of her flings, could you. Had to fuck with her feelings too. What are you playing at if you don't give a shit?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Aren't I? She wanted you, didn't she,&amp;quot; R'oan counters, that laugh only tinging his words now with a dry edge as he casts a look over the young bronzerider. &amp;quot;Feelings or not-- She wants you. Just take your victory and leave me to whatever it is I am playing at.&amp;quot; That, apparently, is getting drunk for the moment since he lifts his own glass in a long sip.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Victory?&amp;quot; The bronzerider's brows raise and he chokes a brief, harsh laugh, &amp;quot;When you're invited regularly and I'm not? Sounds a little backwards, don't you think?&amp;quot; The humor is lost quickly enough, the glass set down, his fingers tapped on the bartop. And then, superficially calmer &amp;quot;And I guess it was by accident you were at the springs to catch her.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;What are you looking for me to say, bronzerider? Run back to her bedside, talk to ''her'',&amp;quot; R'oan dismisses, setting his glass down on the bartop after draining it and pushing to his feet.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge turns to face R'oan when he stands, finally studying the older man, the far more experienced rider with those darkened blue-green eyes of his, &amp;quot;She's a little... feverish.&amp;quot; He excuses her 'reasonings' with a slightly sickened half-grin. &amp;quot;Some sort of truth would be a good start.&amp;quot; Lacking apparently in good judgement, the young bronzerider sets himself in R'oan's potential path.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
R'oan's gaze slides sharply over Ka'ge as he steps into his path, a slow lift of his brow in a question, a challenge. ''Does he really want to do this?'' But the brownrider does answer with a dry, &amp;quot;Do you want the truth, then? I told her that I had nothing to offer her. That we had no future. It was always going to be some young bronzerider like you.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;The guy she can't have. Cliche.&amp;quot; Ka'ge's humored tone is ''looking'' for a fight. For all the outs R'oan's given him, he's yet to move, stirred up already by circumstances and history, &amp;quot;And runnershit.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Well, you know me,&amp;quot; R'oan drawls, but apparently he has had enough of this game, because he ''does'' move to brush past Ka'ge and towards the exit.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge reaches to grab his sleeve as R'oan moves past him, to stop the brownrider and turn him back to face him, &amp;quot;Not well enough, clearly.&amp;quot; The rumbled words would come in tandem with a cross punch towards the other man's face.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It seems as if R'oan may have ''let'' him have the shot. Or at least, he doesn't try to defend against it. His fingers lift to the lip that bursts open, touching the blood there, before he questions of the younger man, &amp;quot;Satisfied?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge releases R'oan's jacket with the abrupt effort of untensing those clenched fingers and the finality of a shove, angrier now than he had been before. The lines of his face give him an ugly sort of look, made worse by the darkening effects of his attire. &amp;quot;No.&amp;quot; He snaps, stepping backwards to create even more distance. &amp;quot;I'm not.&amp;quot; And with all that, he has nothing else to say. No witty conclusion. Just a red-face following a poor decision, he turns to just ''leave''.&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Exhaustion,_Anger_and_Apologies&amp;diff=79449</id>
		<title>Logs:Exhaustion, Anger and Apologies</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Exhaustion,_Anger_and_Apologies&amp;diff=79449"/>
				<updated>2015-11-14T19:41:45Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Dahlia, Ka'ge, Dahlia{{!}}Taeliyth, Ka'ge{{!}}Zymadiath&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Dahlia is exhausted. Ka'ge invites himself by. There's assumptions, anger and apologies.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Dee's Touch of Pink Weyr, Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=3&lt;br /&gt;
|month=4&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=39&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.11.11&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;Offering to get lost is the same thing as giving up on me. On this. Whatever this is.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=R'oan&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|ooc=Sex and feelz. Back-dated.&lt;br /&gt;
|icons=dahlia vexed.jpg, Ka'ge angry.jpg, dahlia taeliyth idiots.jpg, Ka'ge Zymadiath.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|log=The days have been exhausting. The preparations the Weyr makes draws on Dee's dwindling reserve of energy to ensure everything is moving smoothly. Organizing the two barracks into additional infirmary space has kept the goldrider late again tonight and her approach to her weyr is slow. There are some stumbles as Dee makes her way in, pausing to speak softly with Taeliyth, before moving past the curtain into the inner weyr, already shedding her clothes as she comes, her path obviously leading her toward the small bathing chamber.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Brown wings flutter, suddenly present from Between in the midst of Dee's bathing chamber almost right in front of her. The little brown ever-scrawny firelizard makes no effort to be quiet, not this time, chittering softly. Eyes are a'whirl in green-blues, shifted from hungrier tones, as Dee is spotted from above. But instead of staying a little while like he normally does, making his presence a sad-substitute for the one bonded to him, Chiv vanishes Between again before even bothering to perch somewhere, before taking any further survey of the room.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; It's not unfamiliar, but it has been less and less present about the Weyr- That Darkness. That night that watches from the edge of the mind, the ledges of the Weyr itself. It's never lack of boldness that brings those figments that eb and flow, crafting and uncrafting the potential-nightmares that lay within. But it comes about the same time as Chiv's abrupt presence and dismissal that the gritty, low confident mindvoice of the bronze reaches towards the young queen, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; He comes. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Is warning alone, likely granted for the sake of the fiasco of not-asking some long time ago. (To Taeliyth from Zymadiath)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And sure enough, Ka'ge is steps behind that comment, gloved hands stuffed in the pockets of an almost-black flight jacket that's much better than the one he'd adopted during weyrlinghood. One hand slips out to tug his hood farther down over his face as he pauses a step only for a brief moment to add a short bow to the gold. A straight face and less-haunched stance than he typically carries, he slows again once he's reached the curtain, parting it and waiting just past the fabric as it falls against his back.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The warning grants just enough time for Dahlia to snag a towel from inside the bathing chamber and pull it around herself, still fussing with the tuck of it when Ka'ge comes through the curtain. Taeliyth's mind is tired, sharing Dee's exhaustion, probably even lending her as much strength as she might for the human half of the pairing to fulfill her duties. Taeliyth isn't without her own, however, speaking with dragons and soothing those that worry. ''Soothing'' is not Taeliyth's strong suit and that makes it that much more tiring when she tries hard enough to be moderately successful. Dee's eyes cast across the still dark room to the figure in front of the curtain. &amp;quot;Hi,&amp;quot; is greeted before she leans around the doorway to the baths and uncovers at least the glow there, to illuminate her from behind.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The bronze who'd offered warning requires no further mental strain. The utter calmness of the night that lingers on the intimidating from the depths of the blackness that makes up his shared mind is simply present, simply ''there''. Ka'ge is perhaps all too similar as he stands in that spot inside the curtain for some time, watching her motions towards the glows as much as watching Dee herself. There's probably a longer pause as she covers herself in his presence, but his expression once the light falls on it gives away nothing of his feelings on the matter. &amp;quot;How are you feeling?&amp;quot; Is a strange phrase to come from ''him'' surely, and his tone as flat as his expression doesn't match what should be a thoughtful statement.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Are you being careful? &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Taeliyth has to ask, quietly, the tiredness making the branches and leaves of her inner wood droop. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Have you volunteered to render assistance to Boll and the Healers? &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Are they in danger of being infected? (To Zymadiath from Taeliyth)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Tired,&amp;quot; Dee answers honestly. There's an awkward moment where she looks across the space. &amp;quot;Dirty,&amp;quot; she adds. &amp;quot;Join me?&amp;quot; It all sounds so simple. She doesn't wait for an answer before turning, dropping the towel and moving toward the small pool.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; The shifting black figments stretch and condense over and over, fading and recreating as he's addressed, and ever after, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Careful? &amp;gt;&amp;gt; It's asked as if the word itself is foreign, and followed by, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; He does not wish to upset her. I do not wish to concern you. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Her question, however, is answered with an unsurprised and excuseless &amp;lt;&amp;lt; No. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; There's the sensation of the bronze circling in the dark sky above, a shadow amidst shadows but as if he's where he always has been. (To Taeliyth from Zymadiath)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge studies Dee for another span of time before he shifts to cross to her, slowly and deliberately at her request. &amp;quot;I'm uninvited.&amp;quot; He reminds quietly, &amp;quot;Do you have other scheduled visitors? I can.. come back later.&amp;quot; The hesitation is oddly placed, but softened maybe by the attempt of a crooked, faint grin. But ''he'' unlike his dragon does seem to be acting more carefully than not.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To Zymadiath, Taeliyth dismisses his sensitivity with a shiver of trees, as though the roots themselves were digging further into the very bedrock of the Weyr. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; It is my place to be concerned when there's a good reason to be, &amp;gt;&amp;gt; which is to say: &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Stop being ridiculous and tell me what I should know. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; She doesn't have time or energy to waste diciphering secret messages he doesn't want her to know anyway. There's an impatient snort from her wallow.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dee leans against the edge of the pool, one hand swirling the water while the other pours bath salts into it, the air smelling vaguely of lavender. She's probably grateful she can keep her back to him as she makes preparations for the bath. &amp;quot;If it was a problem, I wouldn't have extended the invitation.&amp;quot; After the arrival uninvited. It's quieter when she says, &amp;quot;Nothing that has been happening lately has been ''planned''.&amp;quot; The word 'planned' carries a slightly different meaning than 'scheduled'.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; The night seems unaffected by the shivering of trees, though the darkness recedes just a touch at the questioning such that only the eyeless sockets of his figments are still watching. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; There is enough to concern you indeed than what it is that we know. But it is nothing more than what you have been told, I believe. We have watched the spread, have listened to the confused reports of healers. We have no good news. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; (To Taeliyth from Zymadiath)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge sheds his clothing while standing at the edge of the bathing pools, setting them in relatively neat piles off to the side. His movements aren't excited, not flushed with anticipation nor hurried by the loss of time that's passed between the last time he's been able to be with her. But the way he watches her is no different. Before he steps into the water, he leans towards her to play his fingers through the back of her hair and kiss the top of her head. &amp;quot;Aye, but it's been quite.. regular. And I will leave you to it if you request. There is enough going on.&amp;quot; With the latter, his voice lowers, quieter. &amp;quot;But I needed to see you.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To Zymadiath, Taeliyth doesn't sounds pleased by this. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; If there is something, you will tell me, do you understand? &amp;gt;&amp;gt; She's not playing even a little bit right now. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; She needs him to stay safe. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's probably surprise, just because Ka'ge moves with such natural stealth, that Dee flinches when he first touches her, leaning hard against the edge of the pool. Oops. It's hurriedly that she's turning around, flushed and embarrassed, though who can say specifically why - there are so many reasons it could be. She reaches for him, lest he be offended enough by the flinch to try to move away. &amp;quot;No, I'm-- I don't--&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To Taeliyth, Zymadiath offers the faint sensation of a tilt of his head, the figments doing the same in turn before they've dissolved into some other shadowy something, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; I will offer what can be shared. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; He makes his hedging in and of itself transparent, but it's nothing he's sure she didn't already garner. The rest, he pulls from his rider, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; It is sharing much that we still leave. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; That said to perhaps test her response to such, but offers what he- or perhaps Ka'ge himself- wills, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Information is slim. Much is whispered behind closed doors. Bollian family progressively ill. Their likelihood of survival is rumored to be worsening. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge feels the flinch beneath his touch, and both the kiss and his hand stills where they are. They're withdrawn after that surprise, as the young man straightens with a slightly less determined look, more disappointed. Those blue-green eyes of his, so expressive when allowed to be, study her stiffness for only a second until he's turned to step into the bath. There's a sigh with that movement, dirt-covered bronzerider sinking into the water with gaze averted to the water. As she starts to speak again, and reach for him, it's not that he would move away, but he does offer a continuation of that faint grin of before, a deflated one. &amp;quot;Don't.&amp;quot; Said almost-gently, &amp;quot;It's alright. We can just talk if you wish. I haven't been paying as much attention to you.&amp;quot; On so many levels. &amp;quot;Besides wearing yourself thin for the Weyr, what has changed?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Many still leave, &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Taeliyth dismisses again, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; but I'm not stupid. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; There aren't many that leave ''like them''. She's not excited about it, but she's aware that information has to come from seomwhere, so ''some'' must take the risks to get it. The rest is taken in, digested, with a sense of familiarity, that even if she didn't know ''now'', she might've been told that before, at an earlier stage in the illnesses. (To Zymadiath from Taeliyth)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Rather than try to grasp when he's moving into the bath, Dee makes move to follow, climbing in behind him and then looking at him a moment before she makes move to settle in his lap. She might be forcing herself to do so, but her arms reach to curl around his neck once she's there. That 'don't' of his doesn't seem to have done much good. &amp;quot;We've both been busy,&amp;quot; she murmurs. It's no one's fault. Not ''really''. Quieter still is the confession, &amp;quot;R'oan-- wants to be with me, I think.&amp;quot; 'Be with me' must mean more than just ''in passing''.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; &amp;lt;&amp;lt; That is all we have of relevance besides assumptions and rumors that cause more panic than insight. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Speaks the rough, harsh mindvoice of the night, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; I wish not to share that which would not be of benefit. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; The bronze adds, perhaps enticed by the dismissiveness of the gold. The night, amidst this, has grown darker and darker still, as if the sharing requires slipping deeper into that which is Zymadiath. (To Taeliyth from Zymadiath)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge, maleable to her efforts, moves his arms until she's settled and then encircles them 'round her lower back. His face is relatively kind, though hardened beyond his normal. His blue-green eyes look into her own, looking for answers or feelings or both. One hand unhooks to brush back her hair, tucking it behind one of her ears as she speaks. He doesn't seem quite hurt by the lack of listening to him that she does. The brownrider's name brings about a heavy sigh from the young man, a slight gritting of his teeth that's quickly relaxed. &amp;quot;I've assumed.&amp;quot; He says shortly, but almost whispered, &amp;quot;Given frequency.&amp;quot; There's a heavier pause before he gives her the obvious follow-up, &amp;quot;And what do you want?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To Zymadiath, Taeliyth can't help rolling her eyes, mentally; physically, they're closed and stay so. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; If you think I'm the sort of fainting flower that would panic when the news is already beyond the worst I've ever gotten, you need to adjust your opinion, &amp;gt;&amp;gt; because if that's what it is, it's idiotic. She doesn't approve or appreciate idiocy. Still dismissive, yep.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
What he'll find in her hazel eyes and the way she looks to him and away is complicated feelings. Beyond the omnipresent exhaustion, there's confusion, guilt, indecision, worry, and concern. Then there's nothing to be seen because Dee is burying her face against Ka'ge's neck, breathing in the scent of him for some silent moments before pressing a kiss to his throat and straightening her head again. &amp;quot;I don't know. I feel things. Confusing things. For him. For you. And things that have nothing to do with either of you. And then frustrated because I wish I had better, clearer answers. I wish I had time and energy to even think about any of it at the end of the day. Everything between us-- he and I, you and I--&amp;quot; all those 'us'es, &amp;quot;is impulse and happenstance and I just feel like if the world would slow down, I could thing straight. But how am I supposed to think straight about silly things like loving people when I'm holding my breath waiting for people to die or get well, then then worrying for if ''my'' people will sicken, if that will happen here. Even if no one dies, it sounds ''horrible'' from the reports.&amp;quot; She doesn't need to say she has nightmares.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To Taeliyth, Zymadiath quiets following her assumptive answers of his choices, the darkness collected into that distant space, eyeless sockets vanishing as if wrapped away perhaps in a cloak of more blackness. The edges still writhe, still dance unphased by anything and everything. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge smells less like beach and faint traces of iron now that he's at least submerged himself almost all the way once. But it still clings to him- that evidence of places beyond the Weyr's walls. He closes his eyes when given this attention, the tense knotted ropes of his muscles relaxing- slightly. Perhaps they would more-so if the conversation wasn't such a rough one. &amp;quot;As much as I would like to come back to you, here.&amp;quot; He starts, his words slow as if picking them precariously, &amp;quot;Things have changed. If R'oan can..&amp;quot; There's a stiffness that reclaims him, a tightening of his chest and jaw once more, &amp;quot;Serve you better.&amp;quot; Clearly, a difficult thing to say, &amp;quot;I can be scarce. I'm busier than I anticipated after graduation. And you have priorities which are superior to this- though, I don't know about you, but it helps me.&amp;quot; The last is a weak attempt at inappropriate humor as his fingers gently massage the base of her neck.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To Zymadiath, Taeliyth can't even. She ignores the shadows, ignores the Weyr, however briefly, she just ''shuts down'', the thickets of her wood growing so thick as to be wholly impassable, even to the shadows.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge's explanation earns Dee's innocent confusion, communicated with wide eyes and fluttered lashes. &amp;quot;I do have priorities that are 'superior to this,'&amp;quot; Dee starts, slowly. &amp;quot;But duties don't change how I ''feel''. I just-- I don't have time to figure out how that is, exactly, now. I might not for months. Maybe ever. My stupid knot comes with ''so much'',&amp;quot; not that she's complaining, just articulating. She gives Ka'ge and apologetic look. &amp;quot;I'm sorry I'm not more the girl you need, Kael. We probably never should've begun anything to begin with. I mean, after the hatching, it was always going to be complicated. And it's never going to be enough. At least not for turns yet. Not til I figure out what I'm doing, not til I win the confidence of the Weyr.&amp;quot; It's a monumental undertaking, of that there can be little doubt.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;And yet I've told you time and time again that I would wait. I'm in no rush.&amp;quot; But Ka'ge says this with a fluctuating stability, disappointment more obvious as the massage becomes weaker until he relents, letting his hands fall back under the water. &amp;quot;You have a lifetime, Dee. You don't need everyone to love you by tomorrow or next turn. It's going to suck.&amp;quot; He shrugs slightly, sloshing the water before leaning back a little bit with her, &amp;quot;I don't envy you your knot. Never would. Does it make sense to wait twenty turns when the Weyr is happy and content under your orders before you can allow yourself anything? Fuck knows what's going to happen. We might not even be here in a month if this is as bad as it could be.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As he shifts, so does she. It's gradual, but Dee is withdrawing. She makes to claim her own small space in the snug pool. &amp;quot;And you've told me now that maybe you don't really have time for this. You've practically told me to be with R'oan, and made a bid for your continued small stake on my time. On my heart, maybe.&amp;quot; She bites her lower lip, looking at him. She might be vexed, only it lacks the fire that it would have if she weren't just so damned tired.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge's look of confusion is made in passing, &amp;quot;I asked what you wanted, that's all.&amp;quot; He notes carefully in an attempt to make sense of that list of conclusions. &amp;quot;I offered to get lost if it's R'oan you want. Offered to wait if time is what you need. You have all these excuses why it doesn't work. It has nothing to do with what I want.&amp;quot; Most of the words are said in very intimate volume, but steadied tones. And as she begins to withdraw, he wouldn't stop her, if only giving a small squeeze of 'please don't' with his hold across her lower back. But it's easily parted if she continues to do so.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Offering to get lost is the same thing as giving up on me. On this. Whatever this is.&amp;quot; Dee tells him, paused in her motion of moving away, but not returning.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Whatever this is.&amp;quot; Ka'ge's pain with that is clearer than he's ever let it be. Quiet disappointment edges towards anger as lines take over a furrowed brow and narrow those eyes of his. A flustered breath escapes him, &amp;quot;And you haven't?&amp;quot; Given up, he implies. &amp;quot;Blame me if you want.&amp;quot; He's moving with that to stand, to leave the pool already even though he's barely soaken, &amp;quot;''Whatever'' this is, this thing that you were too damn afraid to name because it meant commitment that you couldn't give.&amp;quot; He's already reaching for a towel, too, tones mid-growl, almost muttered, &amp;quot;Told you it would be safer for me to stay away from you a long time ago. Love does stupid things. Guess it's time to grow up.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I ''haven't'', I'm just-- I don't even know, Kael. I'm not who you need me to be.&amp;quot; Dee is quickly out of the bath behind him crouching to grab her own back up and wrap it around her. &amp;quot;I'm too sharding tired to even have this conversation,&amp;quot; explodes from her as she stalks from the room, still dripping.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;You say that as if ''you'' know what ''I'' need.&amp;quot; Ka'ge growls, dragging clothing over himself despite still-damp skin. The towel did little in the brief period he alotted to use it. &amp;quot;You're the only one of us who doesn't know, Dee. Enjoy your brownrider. Maybe he can help you figure it out.&amp;quot; There's words beyond that, likely of more flavorful, cursing value, but not loud enough to be heard as he ducks his head beneath his hood, all but his nose and mouth covered. His nearly silent steps make for 'stomping out' far less dramatic, but he's quickly moving to and out through the curtain.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I'm ''sorry''!&amp;quot; Dee shouts it, whirling back at the doorway to the bath, putting herself between Ka'ge and his desired exit. Her hands brace on either side of the doorway as she glares at the bronzerider. &amp;quot;I am so damned sorry that I didn't Impress a dragon who gets to get slotted into a wing where my time is my own and where I can spend time ''thinking about'' how I feel about people. I'm ''sorry'' that I'm eighteen and don't know what I want from life or love or ''anything''. I'm sorry, okay?!&amp;quot; She sounds more angry than sorry, really.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Excuses.&amp;quot; Ka'ge states not as loudly, be equally harsh as she impedes his exit, &amp;quot;You didn't know as a sharding candidate either. You're so fucking set on telling me you're not what I need, that you're a bad decision on my part.&amp;quot; He doesn't stop until he's within a couple inches of her, enough that she can see the ugly angry expression beneath the lip of his hood. His volume drops, but the lack-of-kindness does not, &amp;quot;Suddenly sweet little Dee is high and mighty Dahlia who has the world on her shoulders, and none of the rest of us have anything to worry about but who to have sex with next.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If Dahlia were a slapper, surely, the attempt would be made now. &amp;quot;No!&amp;quot; she overrides his last words with denial. &amp;quot;''No'', Dahlia just has to get the Weyr ready for disaster. ''That's all'',&amp;quot; you ass (she doesn't say, but the tone...) &amp;quot;And ''maybe'' Dee or Dahlia or ''whoever the fuck I am'' would have some idea ''what'' you have to worry about if you would ever fucking well ''tell me''.&amp;quot; And that's when the wind goes out of her. Instead of shouting, she's seeking to wrap her arms around him, seeking his lips with hers, perhaps just to preempt any more wounding words from either of them.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge's red-faced in his anger, scars of his visible skin more prominent, his eyes glinted with a dangerous sort of feel that lingers on the edge of explosion. Every muscle on him is coiled to spring, more likely to punch a wall than to go take a jog. But all that energy is translated into a sudden grab for her, an immediate answer of the start she'd given. He presses his lips to hers, the anger switched to pressing her backwards to put her back against the nearby wall as he hungrily, aggressively delves into that kiss.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's no protest in Dahlia now. Now she pulls him to her. Her movements are naturally less violently edged, but this is no less a release of these feelings for her. The whole affair is heated and without any mind paid for the the coldness of the stone as her towel drops away. It won't be a long tryst, if she has her way, hands groping for laces on his pants, her body urging him to ''get on with it''. Romantic, no?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Romance has little place here. One of Ka'ge's hands releases her long enough to help with the strings of his trousers, stepping on the edges of the end of them to quickly drop them to his ankles and off. He doesn't wear a belt, thus the effort is quite quick. He doesn't require too much urging, though that hand does slam into the wall beside her head as he continues to melt into that rough kiss. Eventually, he breaks in a gasp of breath, looking at her from beneath those heavy, shadowing brows of his. His other hand slips down behind her bottom, then her thigh. And, if she's willing, lift her up to set her hips into his, with her back still pressed against the wall.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dahlia is too far engrossed to care much how the peg makes it into the slot, so long as it does. So long as her hands can twist into his shirt, can keep him near, so long as her teeth can find his throat, and not to tear it out (as it happens). When it's over she's gasping for breath, the weight of her balanced between Ka'ge and the wall, her head pressed against his cheek. &amp;quot;Kael,&amp;quot; she manages between breaths, a little questioningly. Are they good now? Do they still have to shout at each other?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge is roughly impassioned, strong enough to keep her there with relative ease, fit enough despite his exhaustion to go for the length of time he needs to without a break, without difficult. He's not ''violent'' with her, though his stern expression remains such that he ''looks'' angry the entire time. When all is said and done, he's panting harshly, leaning forwards until he's pressed himself against her and his head on his hand that's at the wall. With their proximity, she can likely feel him shivering slightly, though from what- rage, exhaustion, pleasure?- it's unclear. He'd set her down to be able to stand on her own soon enough, but perhaps a feline's got his tongue until he&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dee turns her head, pressing a kiss just where his jaw and neck meet. &amp;quot;I'm sorry, too. Not for this,&amp;quot; ''this'', her hips shift just a little, enough to indicate her meaning, &amp;quot;but can we-- can we fight ''later'' when there isn't a sickness to worry about? When I've gotten more sleep? When I feel like I can think straight? Can we be 'okay' for now?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As the anger dissolves, worn away by the energy it took to do something far more pleasant than punching something (or someone), there's a lot of ''other'' 'somethings' there in his expression. &amp;quot;If there's one thing I know, Dee, it's that there isn't always a later. I will love you now, even if you can't do the same.&amp;quot; His voice is strained once he's caught his breath, and his hand encircles the back of her head, fingers laced into her hair. He tips his head up to press a long kiss to her forehead, a sensation of it being something he wants to remember, as if there may not be another. &amp;quot;Sleep.&amp;quot; He says as he steps back reluctantly, &amp;quot;Zymadiath will always be within reach.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She clings to him, embracing, for what is there that she can say? Slowly, slowly, Dee disentangles herself from him. She finds her own feet, her own balance a little slower in coming. She leans up to kiss him, if he'll have it, a lingering kiss, a soft kiss. Still, she says nothing. Perhaps the kiss will have to serve as farewell, for she can't seem to even say ''that''.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge seems to expect the silence, and although he accepts the kiss, it's with reserve. He turns his gaze from her once she's found her feet, stooping to pull his pants back on and lace them with efficient swiftness. He tugs his patchy grey tunic down over them, his flight jacket reshifted with a rolled shrug of his shoulders. It's without further fanfare that he turns from her, for he has no words for a goodbye either, and keeps his head down as he passes back into her main weyr, beyond her gold and out into the night that comforts even the worst of his days.&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Angst_Logs]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Returned&amp;diff=79448</id>
		<title>Logs:Returned</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Returned&amp;diff=79448"/>
				<updated>2015-11-14T19:15:49Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Ka'ge, Ka'ge{{!}}Zymadiath, Draozu&lt;br /&gt;
|what=An apprentice reclaims his master.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Somewhere off Southern's Coast&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=18&lt;br /&gt;
|month=3&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=39&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.11.13&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;Do you bring something of value?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Vignette&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon Ka'ge incharge.jpg, Icon Ka'ge Zymadiath vigilant.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=His memories labeled this place as ‘’home’’.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But the image is little more than a craggy lump of rock in the middle of the sea. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath appears from Between, a dark dragon coated further in the darkness of cloud-covered night. But the visualization of the area was off and the bronze catches an unexpected paw-full of rock and debris to reroute his momentum, violently backwinging in need to gain unanticipated elevation. Abrupt displays of agility, though not readily demonstrated, is here a talent of the bronze that saves the necks of them both.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The pair take to the sky again, letting the dust of their inadvertent near-collision settle. No movement is seen from above, no sudden light of a fire by a suspicious resident roused from slumber by the noise, no evidence of signals blazoned in alert.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But that doesn’t mean a thing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’Down.’’ Ka’ge’s hesitance is clear, even in that single word. Nothing more is needed, that one alone being necessary to articulate past his mental indecisiveness as they continue to circle the starless sky.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath lands on a cliff’s edge, where the small secluded island’s stone makes a sheer drop into the deep dark blue of the ocean below. Before his dragon even touches down, the bronzerider has unbuckled himself from the straps, swinging off to the rough, dusty ground the moment the dragon’s talons dig into its dry soils. Ka’ge smacks the bronze’s forelimb with an unimpressive thud- It’s dismissive; it’s an immediate ‘get out of here’ which is heralded by the dragon in an unquestioning, twisted spring off the cliff and upwards to take back to the skies. He spirals higher until he blinks out of the area, all in as much silence as the effort could possibly permit. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The boy once known as Kaelige climbs and slides his way across the too-familiar rocky terrain, cautiously slow, carefully patient to craft as little noise as possible, each movement as deliberate as the last. The foliage has changed some, a few extra plants, a few extra stretches of moss across the boulder faces. But it’d not been enough time, the turns too few, for anything more. He passes a small grove when the feeling of a ‘’presence’’ stalls his movements in their place.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The thin edge of the blade that can be felt just below his last rib isn’t surprising given his assumption of who had been more skilled than he in following him, and he slowly straightens without turning. “Master.” His voice, even whispered in his low tones, seems too loud for the night he’d been maneuvering in such dedicated silence.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“Do you bring something of value?” Draozu’s voice is a smooth, relaxed and deep baritone that carries the semblance of a feline’s prowess and a drop of honey to it that doesn’t quite match the weapon he demonstrates. That voice of his is a little muffled, a leaf held bitten between his teeth.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“Information.” He stands still, with the faint short-lived edge of a smirk drawn with, “And me.”&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“Information.” Contains a grunt of agreement, “But no life has value. Even yours, kid. Iashun’s not doing you any good if you let me on you like that.” But the man is amused, and the chiseled knife is withdrawn. Ka’ge turns around to face him, and the father-figure he represents. There’d be no embrace, though, no evidence of expression of affection. This was a man something of legend within his own circles, when he wasn’t confined to a lump of rock in the middle of an ocean. He ‘’felt’’ untouchable, and not once had Ka’ge himself earned even a clap on the shoulder.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The man, of his earlier forties, wears the same clothing as Ka’ge, the patchy dark grey tunic crowned with an oversized hood that hides his eyes, drawn as it is. Facing each other, it looks not unlike a mirror showing Ka’ge’s older self, if only with dirty blonde hair. The silent stand-off between the two breaks as Ka’ge drops his head fully in a bow of respect running deeper than anything else the boy believes in.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“I’ve come for you, sir. You and anyone who wishes to follow you.” The two watch each other with equally shadowed eyes once he straightens again with slow intention. “I believe I’ve come across a small holding that will suit you. Regardless, it’s better than this rock.”&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“I’ll decide that.” Draozu comments, chewing his leaf in thought. “Careless, as always. Did it slip your mind to send me a warning so I could have them collected already? Stay here, try not to make any more of a show.” And the older man turns, fading into the dark of the brush with a natural fluidity that Ka’ge has yet to fully master. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It’s only an hour, though the time crawls by. The soul-gripping darkness of Zymadiath snakes into a weightier presence, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; You could have left this behind. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; It’s a whisper, a shadow over his shoulder. A conscience with its own construct of morality. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Yet you seek to bring it back with you now from a place it could have been let to die. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; The shadows flare, engulf, attempt to drown the mind of the one they’ve bonded, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Is it worth it to kiss his dirty boots? &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’Mine are no cleaner.’’ Ka’ge’s thoughts are grim and unashamed, tainted with a hint of unaddressed affection for the man clouding whatever clearer judgement the bronze may offer, ‘’I need him.’’ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; No, you don't. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When the self-proclaimed master returns, a handful of others trail him up to the cliffside. The subsequent, dramatically-timed appearance of the bronze above them from Between brings about a mixture of emotion, various members of the group whispering everything from oohs-and-ahs, to bitter grumblings of distaste and distrust. He drops onto the cliffside with quiet flourish, his bared teeth and faintly red-flecked eyes morbidly brilliant against the nigh-black mask of his face, to both confirm and exaggerate those deeply imbedded fears. He’d not come to comfort.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It would be all before dawn that on the back of Zymadiath, these exiles would return to the mainland. Nestled in a mountainous valley some way southwest of Fort Weyr, Greyholt Hold would lend itself to becoming the soil for the seed to be planted. For those select few to dig new roots, both in a claim underground as much as over.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And for Draozu to begin again&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Returned&amp;diff=79447</id>
		<title>Logs:Returned</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Returned&amp;diff=79447"/>
				<updated>2015-11-14T19:14:30Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: Created page with &amp;quot;{{Log |who=Ka'ge, Ka'ge{{!}}Zymadiath, Draozu |what=An apprentice reclaims his master. |where=Somewhere off Southern's Coast |involves=Fort Weyr |day=18 |month=3 |turn=39 |IP=...&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Ka'ge, Ka'ge{{!}}Zymadiath, Draozu&lt;br /&gt;
|what=An apprentice reclaims his master.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Somewhere off Southern's Coast&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=18&lt;br /&gt;
|month=3&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=39&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.11.13&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;Do you bring something of value?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon Ka'ge incharge.jpg, Icon Ka'ge Zymadiath vigilant.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=His memories labeled this place as ‘’home’’.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But the image is little more than a craggy lump of rock in the middle of the sea. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath appears from Between, a dark dragon coated further in the darkness of cloud-covered night. But the visualization of the area was off and the bronze catches an unexpected paw-full of rock and debris to reroute his momentum, violently backwinging in need to gain unanticipated elevation. Abrupt displays of agility, though not readily demonstrated, is here a talent of the bronze that saves the necks of them both.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The pair take to the sky again, letting the dust of their inadvertent near-collision settle. No movement is seen from above, no sudden light of a fire by a suspicious resident roused from slumber by the noise, no evidence of signals blazoned in alert.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But that doesn’t mean a thing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’Down.’’ Ka’ge’s hesitance is clear, even in that single word. Nothing more is needed, that one alone being necessary to articulate past his mental indecisiveness as they continue to circle the starless sky.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Zymadiath lands on a cliff’s edge, where the small secluded island’s stone makes a sheer drop into the deep dark blue of the ocean below. Before his dragon even touches down, the bronzerider has unbuckled himself from the straps, swinging off to the rough, dusty ground the moment the dragon’s talons dig into its dry soils. Ka’ge smacks the bronze’s forelimb with an unimpressive thud- It’s dismissive; it’s an immediate ‘get out of here’ which is heralded by the dragon in an unquestioning, twisted spring off the cliff and upwards to take back to the skies. He spirals higher until he blinks out of the area, all in as much silence as the effort could possibly permit. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The boy once known as Kaelige climbs and slides his way across the too-familiar rocky terrain, cautiously slow, carefully patient to craft as little noise as possible, each movement as deliberate as the last. The foliage has changed some, a few extra plants, a few extra stretches of moss across the boulder faces. But it’d not been enough time, the turns too few, for anything more. He passes a small grove when the feeling of a ‘’presence’’ stalls his movements in their place.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The thin edge of the blade that can be felt just below his last rib isn’t surprising given his assumption of who had been more skilled than he in following him, and he slowly straightens without turning. “Master.” His voice, even whispered in his low tones, seems too loud for the night he’d been maneuvering in such dedicated silence.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“Do you bring something of value?” Draozu’s voice is a smooth, relaxed and deep baritone that carries the semblance of a feline’s prowess and a drop of honey to it that doesn’t quite match the weapon he demonstrates. That voice of his is a little muffled, a leaf held bitten between his teeth.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“Information.” He stands still, with the faint short-lived edge of a smirk drawn with, “And me.”&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“Information.” Contains a grunt of agreement, “But no life has value. Even yours, kid. Iashun’s not doing you any good if you let me on you like that.” But the man is amused, and the chiseled knife is withdrawn. Ka’ge turns around to face him, and the father-figure he represents. There’d be no embrace, though, no evidence of expression of affection. This was a man something of legend within his own circles, when he wasn’t confined to a lump of rock in the middle of an ocean. He ‘’felt’’ untouchable, and not once had Ka’ge himself earned even a clap on the shoulder.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The man, of his earlier forties, wears the same clothing as Ka’ge, the patchy dark grey tunic crowned with an oversized hood that hides his eyes, drawn as it is. Facing each other, it looks not unlike a mirror showing Ka’ge’s older self, if only with dirty blonde hair. The silent stand-off between the two breaks as Ka’ge drops his head fully in a bow of respect running deeper than anything else the boy believes in.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“I’ve come for you, sir. You and anyone who wishes to follow you.” The two watch each other with equally shadowed eyes once he straightens again with slow intention. “I believe I’ve come across a small holding that will suit you. Regardless, it’s better than this rock.”&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“I’ll decide that.” Draozu comments, chewing his leaf in thought. “Careless, as always. Did it slip your mind to send me a warning so I could have them collected already? Stay here, try not to make any more of a show.” And the older man turns, fading into the dark of the brush with a natural fluidity that Ka’ge has yet to fully master. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It’s only an hour, though the time crawls by. The soul-gripping darkness of Zymadiath snakes into a weightier presence, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; You could have left this behind. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; It’s a whisper, a shadow over his shoulder. A conscience with its own construct of morality. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Yet you seek to bring it back with you now from a place it could have been let to die. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; The shadows flare, engulf, attempt to drown the mind of the one they’ve bonded, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Is it worth it to kiss his dirty boots? &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’Mine are no cleaner.’’ Ka’ge’s thoughts are grim and unashamed, tainted with a hint of unaddressed affection for the man clouding whatever clearer judgement the bronze may offer, ‘’I need him.’’ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; No, you don't. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When the self-proclaimed master returns, a handful of others trail him up to the cliffside. The subsequent, dramatically-timed appearance of the bronze above them from Between brings about a mixture of emotion, various members of the group whispering everything from oohs-and-ahs, to bitter grumblings of distaste and distrust. He drops onto the cliffside with quiet flourish, his bared teeth and faintly red-flecked eyes morbidly brilliant against the nigh-black mask of his face, to both confirm and exaggerate those deeply imbedded fears. He’d not come to comfort.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It would be all before dawn that on the back of Zymadiath, these exiles would return to the mainland. Nestled in a mountainous valley some way southwest of Fort Weyr, Greyholt Hold would lend itself to becoming the soil for the seed to be planted. For those select few to dig new roots, both in a claim underground as much as over.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And for Draozu to begin again&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Training_Secrets&amp;diff=79443</id>
		<title>Logs:Training Secrets</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Training_Secrets&amp;diff=79443"/>
				<updated>2015-11-14T17:58:11Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: Created page with &amp;quot;{{Log |who=N'rov, Ka'ge |what=Two bronzeriders work out very early morning |where=Training Room, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Weyr |day=19 |month=3 |turn=39 |IP=Interval |IP2=10 |...&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=N'rov, Ka'ge&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Two bronzeriders work out very early morning&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Training Room, Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=19&lt;br /&gt;
|month=3&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=39&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.11.07&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=Nobody else likes the ass crack of dawn?&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon N'rov boa.png, Icon Ka'ge.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|desc=&amp;gt;---&amp;lt; Training Room, Fort Weyr &amp;gt;---------------------------------------------&amp;lt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
  Roughly rectangular in shape, this spacious room is often littered with   &lt;br /&gt;
  exercise equipment which people have failed to return to the large storage&lt;br /&gt;
  units in its north-east corner. Next to these wooden storage units, a     &lt;br /&gt;
  notice board is hung on the wall beneath a glowbasket, various notes and  &lt;br /&gt;
  reminders and messages pinned or stuck to it, some dating back months.    &lt;br /&gt;
  Tall wooden screens sit at various points throughout the room, some folded&lt;br /&gt;
  and stacked against the walls, available for those who would rather       &lt;br /&gt;
  exercise in some privacy. For this particular cavern, brightness is the   &lt;br /&gt;
  key word, for there look to be more glows than anything else, maintaining &lt;br /&gt;
  the high level of light and visibility needed for sports and activities   &lt;br /&gt;
  that require precision.&lt;br /&gt;
|log=Late night gives way to early morning, with Rukbat still not risen outside. This brings the hours where the Weyr is still blissfully quiet. Kitchenstaff has started to rouse, perhaps, the hearths that had been simmering all night being stoked with fuller flame to set pots a'brew with stews, teas and klah, and breads being set out to rise. But the tunnels lack the majority of the hustle and bustle that is sure to come within a few hours yet. Ka'ge is not one of the ones still in bed, and this is a common thing, already laced up in gloves and confronted with one of the punching bags as if he's been here awhile. The way sleep is absent from his face, chiseled in focus that is hard-pressed to be found there on the daily basis leaves to question if he's been to sleep at all, which is not surprising. He's absent of his typical baggy grey attire, instead in a black sleeveless tunic- the sleeve holes frayed as if what had been there was ripped off and was never really meant to be that way. Arms bare, muscular and damp with sweat, the scars on him are more obvious, the hints of ink peeking out from behind his right shoulder, too. Breaths come rapidly, in time with each strike on the bag, loud in the otherwise quiet of the space.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The door opens, not loudly nor secretively but just ''there''; N'rov enters, yawning, his jaw dark and his his hair long enough to curl. The wingsecond glances Ka'ge's way, but doesn't slow in getting off the flight jacket (short sleeves, no sweat, no ink) or taking a long, preliminary glug from his waterskin.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The blue-green eyes of the young bronzerider shift away from the bag to view the other, though not missing yet in the pattern he's taken on. But the reptitive 'thuks' do slow briefly, pick back up, and then end with a final-sounded squared cross. Ka'ge steps back, turning his back to N'rov to stoop over a pile of items- a towel, a collapsed waterskin that looks emptied of its contents. His black hair, probably odd to see considering he's always wearing a helmet or a hood, drips with sweat and is mopped first with his forearm. &amp;quot;Early riser or is it that late already?&amp;quot; Is an unamused question tossed his way, currently lacking in the salute but perhaps it's only because he's got his face and thusly his words shortly muffled by the towel.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Early enough.&amp;quot; N'rov spends a moment or two to look him over, hair and sweat and all, before dropping off his gear and heading to stretch out. &amp;quot;''Had'' enough?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge drops the towel that appears as though it's been used more than once already over the course of however long the young man has been here back into his pile. &amp;quot;It's always and never enough.&amp;quot; He notes with faint amusement and an edge of a uncomfortable grin, more for his own benefit than N'rov's. &amp;quot;Don't usually have company at my times.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Nobody else likes the ass crack of dawn?&amp;quot; comes with a dry, ''definitely'' amused chuckle. N'rov's got one heel kicked up, working on his hamstrings. &amp;quot;Understand it, though. When a man's out early,&amp;quot; when ''Ka'ge'' is out early? &amp;quot;might as well get at it.&amp;quot; His look at the younger bronzerider is sidelong only by virtue of their angle, straight out rather than surreptitious.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Fortunately, it's a select few.&amp;quot; Comes with a slightly more interested narrowing of his eyes as Ka'ge considers N'rov a little longer. &amp;quot;As nice as an audience is,&amp;quot; He starts, granting a sarcastic edge to his slow, deliberate words, &amp;quot;Sometimes you just don't want to show off everything you've got.&amp;quot; He puts no effort in making that sound to be the real reason for being up at such a rediculous hour. And after a pause of a thoughtful lift and then setting back down of the empty waterskin, &amp;quot;Couldn't sleep?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Is ''that'' it.&amp;quot; N'rov ducks his head for the next set of moves, but not fast enough to hide his grin... nor must it be intended to be. &amp;quot;Yeah, off to visit my family. My brother's latest is walking, and they want to show him off. I think I'm supposed to teach him a choice word or two while I'm there.&amp;quot; He works his muscles smoothly, the ease of habit and ''knowing'' what's going to get the job done right. &amp;quot;'Not wanting to show off' sounds a whole better than 'don't want to be seen in public.'&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge stands up straighter, rolling a shoulder and crossing an arm across his chest to stretch it and the associated back muscles. It buys a moment of time before he offers a sort of response, &amp;quot;Better pick a good one.&amp;quot; He says on the choice words, &amp;quot;Suppose that's worth getting up early for.&amp;quot; Seems to be a 'congratulations' in more roundabout words. He switches arms to stretch as he watches N'rov's patterns, a sort of 'hmph' of a curious laugh coming at his observation, &amp;quot;I show off in enough things, but a secret night life would be awfully... entertaining, wouldn't it.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Does he? questions the hooked lift of N'rov's brow, questioning the one who'd seemed so indifferent as a shadowing weyrling. &amp;quot;It could,&amp;quot; the bronzerider allows now, rolling the idea in that southern drawl. &amp;quot;Half has to be the point, the way I figure.&amp;quot; He slows for a drink, then starts to jog in place, taking it easy at first but quick to ramp it up.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge allows the questioning looking to go 'unseen', turning his shoulder to N'rov to square with the bag instead. Whether it be ''because of'' the conversation or he really wasn't done, well... The strikes he throws, individual and basic in pattern, are steadily rhythmic. It almost hides the smirk that's taken the place of his grin, partially covered by the roll of shoulder or guard that's kept there. &amp;quot;You have much experience in that, then? Or too many harper stories when you were little.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;No experience at all,&amp;quot; the wingsecond says, a happy and transparent untruth; jogging in one place is ''boring'', though, so N'rov sets to rounding the room, vaulting others' left-behind gear. &amp;quot;I can only ever admire the brilliance of others.&amp;quot; On the second pass, he starts picking things up now and again, the better to dump them in a pile by the storage units: part weight, part maneuverability, part ''getting them out of his way''.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge's brow raises but he doesn't depart from that same bag, going on with that band pattern he's chosen for repetition's sake alone. &amp;quot;I love stories.&amp;quot; He says too flately to be anything but sarcastic, but he's ''amused'' and therefore entertained enough by whatever the wingsecond is not-sharing. He'd wait for the older bronzerider's lap to circle back to him, not maintaining to increase an effort to speak over distance, &amp;quot;Friends in good places?&amp;quot; He urges that without pressure, &amp;quot;Head in the clouds?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Indeed. I've only gotten my nose broken the once, and that was a misunderstanding... or 'misunderstanding,'&amp;quot; one orthe other. N'rov's tone was light, his expression vaguely reminiscent (and there's visual proof that he hadn't the sense to insist the healers leave him crooked) but his gaze grows shuttered. But shortly after it's gone, and he doesn't seem to mind speaking over distance, keeping the same easy cadence through round after round. &amp;quot;What about you, are you in a good place?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;There's a lot of convenient 'misunderstandings'.&amp;quot; Ka'ge catches the bag as it swings back at him after a particularly harder set. &amp;quot;Did you deserve it?&amp;quot; Is the better question, but N'rov's question seems to erase the entertained look he'd picked up. It's replaced with a flat expression, and a lopsided shrug of teenager's or young-twenty-something's 'whatever'. &amp;quot;Good place- like the wing? The Weyr? Lot of people seem interested in that for some reason. I'm just wherever.&amp;quot; The latter descends into an almost muttering that may be harder to hear from the farther corners of the work out cavern.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Not that time,&amp;quot; N'rov remarks, moving toward a second bag; he works with its rope, reaffixing it lower, and his glance at Ka'ge is a brief one. &amp;quot;Wherever,&amp;quot; he agrees easily enough. &amp;quot;I didn't realize there was a line.&amp;quot; Of questioners.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Line enough. And what do you think? You've been around long enough.&amp;quot; Surely Ka'ge isn't calling him ''old''. &amp;quot;Do you think it matters?&amp;quot; This time, his pause on his bag seems more final. All the very ''boring'' paces he'd been putting himself through during the chat seemed to do little but be convenient. He uses his teeth to start unlacing his right glove.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He starts to unlace his glove; N'rov gives ''his'' bag a trial swing and, on its return, pivots to smack it not with a fist but a deliberate blow with his foot. If Ka'ge ''were'' calling him old, maybe he's too old to notice. He's keeping his balance with each successive strike: not hard enough to send the sack flinging wildly, but to control its path. &amp;quot;It doesn't have to, for a while. Your life's your life.&amp;quot; His grin is sudden. &amp;quot;They could at least buy you a drink.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge tucks one glove under an arm as he unlaces the other, his gaze lingering on N'rov for the length of time it takes to do so. &amp;quot;There are ''not'' enough drinks.&amp;quot; He agrees frankly, but then the very unamused expression flickers with the edge of grin, a chuckle under his breath as he drops his stare on the older bronzerider to look to his pile of things. &amp;quot;If all the paths lead in the same direction, doesn't matter which you pick.&amp;quot; It's a correction, this statement. An offer that he has some goal in mind.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Never,&amp;quot; is agreement in turn. N'rov's developed a rhythm with those blows, clearly ''enjoys'' it, now and again interspersing a hand-strike after all; the sweat he's raising is a good sweat. &amp;quot;If you don't care how fast you get there,&amp;quot; is his rueful supposition.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Or maybe it's just faster without attention, or&amp;quot; He gestures vaguely, &amp;quot;'Help'.&amp;quot; Ka'ge responds carefully but intentionally, listening to but not watching him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Could be,&amp;quot; N'rov surmises to the bag, the bag he's kicking and yet keeps swinging back for more. &amp;quot;Too many cooks, and all that.&amp;quot; Gray eyes glance Ka'ge's way, speculative; his words keep cadence here too, slower. &amp;quot;And there's something to be said for just ''doing''. Not having to explain.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ka'ge chuckles again, this time more full but still just as breathy, just as arrogantly compressed. &amp;quot;Exactly.&amp;quot; He lifts a hand to touch an ungloved finger to his nose- N'rov being right on it. He digs into a pocket to pull out ''other'' gloves, splotchy dark grey-black ones, which he dawns quickly enough as if bare hands are supposed to be a very temporary thing. The sounds of noises in the tunnels beyond are growing- time goes by, as it is, and the greater part of the Weyr is waking. &amp;quot;Good luck with the visit and all.&amp;quot; Is his intention of leaving, and leaving the conversation at just that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The older bronzerider doesn't burst into flames at that passing glimpse, but who knows what more prolonged exposure might have done; N'rov calls over, &amp;quot;Thanks. It'll be fine,&amp;quot; with the ease of a man who doesn't know what it means that that body's washed up onto his homeland's shore, who doesn't yet know what's coming. He's got a workout to complete.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Adjusting_and_Avoiding&amp;diff=77999</id>
		<title>Logs:Adjusting and Avoiding</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Adjusting_and_Avoiding&amp;diff=77999"/>
				<updated>2015-10-14T09:28:21Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: Created page with &amp;quot;{{Log |who=Edyis, Edyis{{!}}Akluseth, Keysi, Keysi{{!}}Neianth |what=Some things are said, some aren't, when two friends briefly touch on a difficult subject. |where=Dragon In...&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Edyis, Edyis{{!}}Akluseth, Keysi, Keysi{{!}}Neianth&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Some things are said, some aren't, when two friends briefly touch on a difficult subject.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Dragon Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=2&lt;br /&gt;
|month=1&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=39&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.10.14&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;Forever and not long enough.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|weather=Light snow&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=R'hin, Telavi, K'del, Irianke, M'kris, Bristia, Destina, Nita&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon edyis considering.jpg, Icon edyis akluseth.jpg, Icon Keysi.jpg, Icon Keysi Neianth.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=Neianth lays in one of the couches nearer the large pass between human and dragon infirmary. He's not injured, though he looks quite ''used'' to being here, likely a side-effect of frequent visits throughout (and beyond) weyrlinghood with all his self-derived challenges that aren't always ''quite'' met. Regardless, he's very still, faceted eyes that whirl slowly in passive blues partially lidded. Keysi stands inbetween the two infirmaries, leaning against the wall, chatting with someone just around the corner if anyone sees the brownrider from the dragon infirmary side. It's not a terribly energized conversation, whatever it is. The tones are neutral, business-like, and some phrases dropping quieter than other. The journeyman around the corner lifts an arm that can be seen, gesturing back behind the girl with words louder that can be heard from the man, &amp;quot;Bring 'em back when you're done.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Akluseth moves slower, tail swishing out widely behind him as he mantles his wings. Flicker is perched between his shoulders, chattering away at him happily, the two apparently having made up over the course of the last few days. Edyis trails behind, her hair knotted up messily. and looking generally rumpled. Dark eyes rest on Neianth first, and brows furrow.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When the Savannah rider turns, her hand lingering on the wall before pushing herself away from it to start walking back into the large room, the small blue firelizard can better be seen clung to the furred rim of her darkly hued, well-worn flight jacket's collar. Keysi's distracted in looking in the direction the journeyman had indicated, a desk a variety of patient records, a few books, a satchel meant for mobile first-responder undertakings. But she doesn't quite get there before Neianth, seemingly in the midst of his meditation, rumbles deeply. A greeting, but also an announcement of their clutchmate's arrivals. Pale eyes look beyond the brown as Keysi straightens to examine the other brownrider from afar. &amp;quot;Are you alright?&amp;quot; Likely in meaning of a more physical sense in this first question.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A deep rumble is offered in greeting to the smaller brown, while Edyis surveys the items on the counter as she makes her way over. &amp;quot;Fine, just need to get some redwort and numbweed for a few minor sore spots.&amp;quot; Edyis explains before looking at the kit again. &amp;quot;How's everyone doing?&amp;quot; Hers meant in the non physical sense. Even as the green takes off and lands on her shoulder. There's another question she starts to ask, but her mouth closes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi considers Ed for an extended few moments, studying her with that typical unreadable expression, before turning to complete the distance to the desk and begin looking over the records collected there. &amp;quot;Picking fights?&amp;quot; Could be almost counted as a tease, though it's hard to tell with her level tone. Her question is met with a likely expected tense quiet, an interval in which the tiny blue creature crawls upwards to be settled more fully on her shoulder to watch better Flicker, Akluseth and their person. But she sighs at the end of it, a shoulder lifting in an uneven, unenergetic shrug. &amp;quot;As to be expected. With everyone leaving soon.&amp;quot; She pauses, though the hesitation is played off as reading the heading of one of the scribblings she's come across, &amp;quot;Have you had a chance to talk to any of them?&amp;quot; Of Savannah, she means.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Poorly fitted straps.&amp;quot; Her attention drawn for a moment by the brown. &amp;quot;I checked in with Bristia, and the others. Nita hasn't decided if she's staying or going yet, last we talked.&amp;quot; There's a moment, where she pauses, those dark eyes unreadable, as her hand rests on Akluseth's throat. &amp;quot;I hate how it happened, but it's hard not to be a little bit happy for them. The way they were thrown out of Monaco, after all these turns of exile, they finally get to go ''home''.&amp;quot; She frowns, &amp;quot;Whatever they do to him, he deserves far, far worse.&amp;quot; An oddly flinty edge to the words. &amp;quot;Haven't had a chance to check in with Destina, but then I'm not sure she would have anything to say to me either.&amp;quot; Edyis sighs.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neianth shuffles his wings unnecessarily, the leathery sound rather loud in the- fortunately- not very well occupied cavern. Keysi manages not to glance at him, though the crease in her brow gives away that he said something. &amp;quot;Hope you made new ones? Or do you want help with it?&amp;quot; And beyond that, as if in the same realm of subjects, &amp;quot;Some had their families move here too. And given the current situation, not everyone wants to.&amp;quot; But with who, she's avoidingly vague. There's another short sigh, &amp;quot;Yes, he does.&amp;quot; The brownrider lets the pages go, closing the heavier hide cover of the bound record. When she turns back to Edyis, it's with the same level expression, but a more open posture, &amp;quot;How have you been coping?&amp;quot; Neianth unlids his eyes as Keysi changes her tune, angling his own gaze towards Akluseth, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Has she been? &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Coping, he means.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I remember, the day they left Monaco. About as clearly as I remember the day R'hin finally fetched me back to Reaches.&amp;quot; Edyis swallows a moment, then shakes her head. &amp;quot;Change is always hard, but Irianke and K'del aren't without compassion. I'm sure a case could be made for those who &amp;quot;want'' to stay, but it's also a chance at a new start too, to fix the things that were so broken there.&amp;quot; Riders go where they are sent. She exhales slowly at the question, a dark brow arching. &amp;quot;I'll survive it.&amp;quot; She answers. Waves lap gently at the smaller brown's thoughts. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; No, but... &amp;gt;&amp;gt; He seems hesitant, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; She is getting better, she is not alone. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neianth's ripples are slow, rhythmic, and continue even when projections of words do not follow. That open 'touch' of mind, sharing. Feelings, very muted like distant echoes, slip along the ridges of the tiny waves, of loss, of leaving, of confusion, of anger. So many things. Nothing specific. But open, to Akluseth. Keysi watches Ed as she speaks, intense gaze still such but maybe softed a degree. Almost two, even. &amp;quot;Harder that you knew him for so long. In the same note, good that you could have. I know we haven't spoken as much-&amp;quot; As they used to, her trailed off voice seems to say. And a pause follows as she sorts the offer she intends to give, &amp;quot;But you can talk, if you need it.&amp;quot; A beat, and she shrugs again. &amp;quot;Yeah, we've all been given the opportunity to choose,&amp;quot; is said on their 'leaderships' compassion.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Those tiny waves become larger ones, currents of emotion curling beneath, similarly vauge but undoubtedly ''shared''. &amp;quot;He changed his locks.&amp;quot; Might seem like an odd reply. &amp;quot;It's ok, you warned me as weyrlings remember?&amp;quot; She smiles then, a crooked thing. &amp;quot;I wouldn't know what to say,&amp;quot; Edyis admits with a pained expression. &amp;quot;You lost him too. You are loosing Savannah,&amp;quot; She stops, then swallowing. &amp;quot;Not that you've ever been much of a talker, but if you need someone to listen, I'm here Keys.&amp;quot; There's a pause. &amp;quot;Anyone decided yet?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi looks back over her shoulder towards the doorway between infirmaries, as if looking for anyone listening. As if it matters. When she turns her attention back, pale eyes watch the floor instead of Edyis, and she leans against the desk with her hip, folding her arms. She's steeled in this, but not enough time has passed. &amp;quot;You've heard a lot more from me than most have.&amp;quot; She starts, a brow raised slightly in a hint, a sprinkling of amusement. Not that anything about the subject matter or the cave-in she references vaguely are funny. &amp;quot;I'm losing a family.&amp;quot; She corrects carefully, &amp;quot;I'm staying. I already spoke to K'del. Telavi, unless she changes her mind, will be here. And with her hands full.&amp;quot; Of new weyrlings. &amp;quot;The rest,&amp;quot; A hand lifts from its fold to gesture 'I don't know' before tucking back against herself. &amp;quot;They still have time.&amp;quot; If not much left, to decide.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;True, but I chalk that up to looking totally harmless.&amp;quot; Edyis teases, something of her usual grin slipping back into her expression. It's at the words losing a family that Edyis stares at her with a shake of her head. &amp;quot;If you think a little thing like an ocean is going to stop them from being your family, you clearly haven't spent enough time with them yet.&amp;quot; Edyis notes fervently, though she's careful to keep her voice low enough not to carry further than the two of them. &amp;quot;It won't be the same, maybe, but I promise you they will still be there. Even if the wing gets disbanded the instant they land in Monaco. Those ties are for a lifetime.&amp;quot; Edyis is unyielding on this point it seems. &amp;quot;This is just a little push out of the nest, to test your wings.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi allows a ghost of a grin to turn the edge of her lips. &amp;quot;Harmless.&amp;quot; She echoes, glancing up at Ed in a curiously accusatory way. &amp;quot;Not quite.&amp;quot; But when she starts to talk about the separation, she's blanked to neutral again, letting her attention drift away. The once-healer doesn't respond for quite awhile, not quick to agree. Not quick to appear comforted. But not outright disagreeing either. &amp;quot;There's ... a lot that will go with them. Flying out to play games, have a round with them.. Sure.&amp;quot; She shakes her head, &amp;quot;And we will.&amp;quot; Is determinedly attached to that, &amp;quot;But there are different types of ties. Hard to explain.&amp;quot; The last piece seems a dismissal of the thought, and the subject is switched in consequence or need, or both. &amp;quot;They did plenty to test wings.&amp;quot; She gives Ed that much, at least, before going on, &amp;quot;Are you doing well with yours?&amp;quot; Snowdrift, she implies.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Grins, &amp;quot;I did say ''looks'', I'm getting a little rusty though I admit. I seem to recall you kicking my ass frequently enough.&amp;quot; And there's a nod when Keysi speaks again, in understanding. Of Snowdrift, there is a wash of neutrality, &amp;quot;Well any credibility I had with Mielline vanished the second day I didn't show up for drills, I'm fairly sure.&amp;quot; Edyis admits, a little ruefully. &amp;quot;Haven't really found our stride there though, nor the direction we even ''want'' to run in.&amp;quot; Edyis laughs a little, &amp;quot;You expect something to give you a sense of purpose and it just winds up leaving you feeling that much more adrift.&amp;quot; There's a pause, thoughtful. &amp;quot;Maybe the problem is not knowing where it is I wanted to go in the first place.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;And you didn't show up because-?&amp;quot; Keysi straightens, letting her folded arms fall back to her sides, and moves behind the desk to reach the containers behind it. A smaller, clean jar is separated, and she begins scooping a small amount of substance from first a red and then white-filled stock jar. She's listening, she is, but doesn't appear to find a quick response. &amp;quot;Snowdrift is a good place to experiment.&amp;quot; She offers, clicking the cover back on the numbweed jar. &amp;quot;It feels like a lot longer, but we are only half a turn out. As long as you feel adrift, you aren't stuck somewhere you shouldn't be.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That, Edyis doesn't answer, watching those jars instead curiously. &amp;quot;It feels like forever,&amp;quot; Edyis sighs almost wistfully. &amp;quot;You learned that word from Telavi, I ''know'' it.&amp;quot; Edyis glares playfully at the word stuck, but there's a more relaxed shrug to accompany it. &amp;quot;Just not sure what it is we want to do anymore. I don't know what ''I'' want to do anymore. No more plans left, no more outlines. Everything from this point on is just blank pages.&amp;quot; There's a shrug, &amp;quot;Experimentation never hurt anyone I suppose. Just seems a little daunting figuring out where to start.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Forever and not long enough.&amp;quot; Keysi agrees, slightly mumbled as she finishes what she's doing and turns back with the now-pink salve in hand. &amp;quot;I learned a lot of things from Telavi.&amp;quot; A beat, &amp;quot;Learning.&amp;quot; A shake of her head follows the apparent mistake of word, &amp;quot;Maybe one of these new kids will give you an idea. I haven't been around the Weyr enough to talk to any of them at length yet. Do you like any of the candidates in particular?&amp;quot; Her head tips to the side at Akluseth, &amp;quot;He pick any of them?&amp;quot; She lifts the jar slightly to bring attention to it, &amp;quot;Anything deep enough that's bad?&amp;quot; She seems to mean the chafed parts of Akluseth's hide, &amp;quot;Can't give you this without an evaluation anyway, but it'll save you time after he's looked at.&amp;quot; It's set down on the edge of the desk, left behind.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Edyis laughs. &amp;quot;He went and picked out a Journeyman starcrafter, she's... well you know how Telavi is bubbly? Multiply that by about twenty. And you know how I am about books? Mutliply that by about twenty and you'll have the level of passion for her craft.&amp;quot; There's a thoughtful tilt of her head, then as she thinks about the others, Faryn of course but I haven't really gotten much of an impression of the others yet.&amp;quot; There's something that might suggest guilt, &amp;quot;No, thank Faranth, but I need to be more mindful of his straps.&amp;quot; There's a look from the brown, a nudge at his rider's back that has her shaking her head. &amp;quot;You wanna do the evaluation, or can you?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Not working,&amp;quot; Keysi says that as if there's a 'yet' that might be implied, a very strange look on her face that has the fleeting edge of a grin. And the reason that matters for a friend? She waves a hand at the records book. &amp;quot;It's good to have passion. We'll see if she keeps it if she gets a second mind in her head.&amp;quot; Neianth stirs at that, tilting his head as he begins to rise. Wings partially furl, it being fortunate there's no dragons in the couches beside him as he spreads them a little excessively. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; There are always distractions. If it is worth it, they will not be enough to deter. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Comes the ripples, easy, serene for the moment with the reflective pool otherwise calm, if blank in its mirror.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I hope so, it's kinda refreshing all that enthusiasm.&amp;quot; Edyis grins, &amp;quot;Seriously, you'll see what I mean when you meet her, her name is Pia.&amp;quot; There's a deep sigh and a glance up at her brown. A hand goes up to brush against his neck. &amp;quot;Our ledge is always open to you two, you know. And I suppose if you need someone to kick around in the sparring ring there's always that too.&amp;quot; There's a pause, &amp;quot;I usually go for a run in the mornings, before drills, used to do it with ''him'' back before I impressed.&amp;quot; There's a glance over at her friend then, &amp;quot;Don't suppose you'd care to fill in as a running buddy?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Our mornings didn't start early.&amp;quot; Keysi allows a mildly pained expression, a hand lifting to rub at the back of her neck as she moves to join Neianth after his shared 'wisdom', the brown rising to move to finish off the distance. The two moving in that balance they've always had. &amp;quot;I guess I should work on that. I doubt R'vel will be open to morning meetings at lunch time.&amp;quot; An exaggeration, but the joke is made more obvious by it since her tone doesn't change. She lays a hand on her dragon's neck, the blue Shen sitting on her shoulder making combinations of low growling-hissing noises at the jostling. &amp;quot;Maybe not every morning.&amp;quot; She gives with a quiet clearing of her throat that could be the edge of a laugh, &amp;quot;But I'll take you up on that.&amp;quot; A beat, &amp;quot;We should get going. You take care, Ed. Have Akluseth give us a call if you need something.&amp;quot; This seems earnest as they begin to head back towards the snow, though somber in its undertone.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Wingless&amp;diff=77991</id>
		<title>Logs:Wingless</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Wingless&amp;diff=77991"/>
				<updated>2015-10-14T06:48:53Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Telavi, Telavi{{!}}Solith, Keysi, Keysi{{!}}Neianth&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Two Savannah riders reflect on loss, and the losses to come.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=View to a Kill Weyr, High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=23&lt;br /&gt;
|month=13&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=38&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.10.12&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=R'hin, Bristia, A'gon, D'kan, M'kris, Oriane&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon telavi shoulder.jpg, Icon telavi solith blankie.jpg, Icon Keysi Relief.jpg, Icon Keysi Neianth.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|desc=&amp;gt;---&amp;lt; View To A Kill Weyr, High Reaches Weyr &amp;gt;-------------------------------&amp;lt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
  It's a step up from the ledge and its heavy curtain into the elegant,     &lt;br /&gt;
  dark-flecked weyr. In the depths of the cavern, a short spiral staircase  &lt;br /&gt;
  rises even further, ending abruptly in an alcove that extends over the    &lt;br /&gt;
  dragon couch; bright, colorful scarves adorn its iron railing like so much&lt;br /&gt;
  festive fringe. To one side of the balcony but on the main level, past the&lt;br /&gt;
  hooks that keep straps and stray gear contained above a small press for   &lt;br /&gt;
  shoes, three more curved steps rise high enough to double as additional   &lt;br /&gt;
  seating before they reach the archway to the inner weyr. (+detail inner   &lt;br /&gt;
  weyr)                                                                     &lt;br /&gt;
  Despite the dark elegance of most of the furnishings, the bones of the    &lt;br /&gt;
  weyr are quirky, charming like the ledge-cluster outside: each room       &lt;br /&gt;
  slightly smaller than average, their heights staggered, growing stuffy in &lt;br /&gt;
  the summer while in winter remaining cozy and warm no matter how cold it  &lt;br /&gt;
  gets outside.&lt;br /&gt;
|log=Dragon&amp;gt; There's been no reflection in Neianth's reflective mind these intense days following. His rider's moods so powerfully influencing the dragon that is so like herself. But ripples do reach, for perhaps the first time, to a mind that hadn't first sought out his own. Ripple after ripple on a surface that is not so serene, carrying sensations of vague request. His mind's mirror a vacant blackness that reflects little at all, disturbed only by the rings that pulse gently to Solith's mind. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Mine wishes to visit yours. I wish to visit. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; (To Solith from Neianth)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It doesn't disturb ''her'', or at least, not negatively; &amp;lt;&amp;lt; You are welcome, &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Solith encourages from her little weyr, her littler ledge. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; We are home. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; And for the moment alone, though they have visited and been visited in these past days. It is even, unusually, ''quiet''. Outside, the air is clear and crisp as the icicles that adorn the several little ledges like so many playful teeth. Inside, Solith is curled up in her wallow, so he has the choice of half-wallow half-walkway or else outside in the air; there is glowlight enough to see by, and even more past the tapestry.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neianth's shadowy wings beat awkwardly, though with some familiarity, in angled landing on Solith's unique ledge. His agility makes it nothing so difficult as much as requiring just a bit more effort. His talons scrape stone before there's gratitude that laces a few more ripples that soon smooth out to nothing but a flat surface, simply a sensation of being 'there'. Keysi drops from the straps, her usually energized and agile swing a lethargic one. &amp;quot;Telavi?&amp;quot; She announces herself, as unnecessary as it may or may not be. Neianth follows as far as the half-walkway. Rider's stormy grey eyes look across the weyr, a quick survey to find Tela, Keysi's arms folded tightly in theory against the cold but likely not only that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Solith reflects them from eyes wholly unlidded, entirely opalescent, the light ''here'' not too bright. ''Here'' is good; ''being there'' is too. &amp;quot;Coming!&amp;quot; Tela calls, half-muffled until she emerges, hands above her head as she finishes doing up her hair. &amp;quot;If you want, we can stay with him,&amp;quot; Neianth, &amp;quot;or--&amp;quot; backlit, it took a moment. &amp;quot;Are you cold? You're cold. Come in.&amp;quot; At least she can do something about ''that'', if not the rest.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The small brown settles, tail and wings tucking against himself to make him look even smaller. Here ''is'' good. Keysi's stride is deliberately slow, her gaze focused on the greenrider, studying her expression as much as actions. &amp;quot;It's snowing.&amp;quot; She says instead of 'of course', though that's certainly ''little'' surprise given it's High Reaches. &amp;quot;Tela...&amp;quot; She tries to interrupt, but ends up following inside anyway. &amp;quot;Are you going out?&amp;quot; The question she chooses instead of the one she wants to ask is spoken uneasily.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
By the look of her, Telavi hasn't slept well, hasn't been ''sleeping'', unless she's been sleeping too much; hers isn't the easy exuberance of a hostess the way she'd welcomed Keysi before. Her gaze, greener in the yellow glowlight, flits to Solith who's still quite a bit smaller than he, to the dragons making themselves less uncomfortable. Past the tapestry, Keysi's met with literal warmth, the fireplace stoked higher than she can really afford to keep. A glass sits next to a bottle on the cedar chest, which might look as though she's moved on from drinking from the bottle except for how the glass is clean; Tela's moving to the armoire to collect a second, looking over her shoulder at Keysi now. &amp;quot;Out? No?&amp;quot; Her sweater is a soft coral-pink, as though she'd deny winter that way too. &amp;quot;What?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi spends too-long being quiet. There's no pretending or acting this time, there's just her, focused on a steadiness that's she's been terrible at keeping. &amp;quot;You've done your hair.&amp;quot; She explains after a while, moving closer to the well-fed hearth, &amp;quot;I thought-&amp;quot; She stops. It doesn't matter. &amp;quot;What are we going to do?&amp;quot; She skips whatever else, and the question she'd come for is simply there.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Glass clinks, a quiet unsteady tinkle, Tela's hand rising to touch her hair instead. &amp;quot;I just--&amp;quot; it doesn't matter, but it ''matters''-- &amp;quot;I had to get it out of my way.&amp;quot; It's her hair, how she copes. &amp;quot;I don't ''know''. Let's drink some more.&amp;quot; Cope that way, too. She takes the glass after all, closes the armoire's door so quietly nothing else shakes, takes it to the couches and the partly-worked embroidery she tosses off onto the bed instead. &amp;quot;What have you heard?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi doesn't argue about drinking. She has no reservations against it now, but she also doesn't press, only following Telavi in that same lethargic manner. These days have been ''exhausting'', and her level expression is not difficult at the moment to keep. &amp;quot;Only mumblings.&amp;quot; The brownrider closes the distance to the couches, standing over a spot to stare at the fire as she speaks, and then sinks into it, &amp;quot;About the possibility of them..&amp;quot; She can't give further description to 'them', &amp;quot;Going back.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;They did before,&amp;quot; so painful in Tela's soft voice. ''Before.'' She doesn't press the glass into Keysi's hand literally, only sets it by the others and keeps moving, ''keeps moving'' while the brownrider sinks and sinks. She's gathering an afghan now, one that she brings to the fire and holds partway before the hearth. &amp;quot;I was just barely not a weyrling then. They just ''went''.&amp;quot; Silence, silence, silence until, &amp;quot;Would you go?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi, delayed, reaches for the glass. Had she not seen it when it was in Tela's hand? She stares at the alcohol within it, stares as Tela speaks and then allows that silence to stretch. What words are there? &amp;quot;They, you. I belonged, Tela. I was happy. And they're going.&amp;quot; It may not be a ''set'' thing yet, but she feels it is. Without ''him'', why would they stay? &amp;quot;You just started teaching me. I thought I was doing okay. And now it doesn't matter.&amp;quot; It doesn't matter, because that's easier to say. &amp;quot;I-&amp;quot; All that rambling, and she never made it to the difficult question Telavi had actually asked. &amp;quot;I can't. Reaches is what we were doing all that for.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tela's looking so pained, the firelight can see it even if Keysi only has the subtleties of the tilt of her shoulders and the way they compress, the tightening of her neck. Sick to her stomach even. &amp;quot;They couldn't... if M'kris were still, he'd never let them, would he? Tainted with the same brush. They'd have to stay.&amp;quot; A little silence. &amp;quot;Oriane resigned, but would that really get rid of him? What if the Weyr Council ''kept'' him anyway?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi can't look at Telavi anymore. Her pain too evident. Fingers curl tighter around the glass, though before she tries to manage an answer, she downs what she's been given with a grimace after. Would it help? &amp;quot;Would they?&amp;quot; Have to stay, she asks, uncertain and not trying to hide it. &amp;quot;They're loyal to..&amp;quot; She doesn't say his name, not right now. &amp;quot;But they're still of Monaco. What if he'd demand his riders back if he's.. kept? Would ''they'' want to stay?&amp;quot; Tela had known them longer, even if the short time she had seemed like so much longer. &amp;quot;Would you go?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;He ''couldn't'', not when they were kicked out before,&amp;quot; but the undertones of uncertainty are there in Tela's voice, without any real attempt to hide them from her wingmate. &amp;quot;K'del wouldn't ''make'' them go,&amp;quot; she thinks. &amp;quot;If they could go back-- I, I won't. Not now.&amp;quot; Not ''now''. &amp;quot;It's pretty there, Keysi, but it's not like... if they leave, all their stories will too, all our pretend-people dying or leaving too, did you think of that? All those people.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi rotates her empty glass in her fingers. She's uneasy, the steadiness not faultering in her voice, but her inability to be ''still'' says more than enough. It becomes worse the more Telavi reveals of things she hadn't even considered, &amp;quot;...No.&amp;quot; It's all she can manage, all that comes in the face of longer and longer stretches of silence. &amp;quot;What would ''we'' do.&amp;quot; It's almost a beg, that repeat question. &amp;quot;if they leave us.&amp;quot; It's no longer leaving the Weyr, but leaving ''them.'' &amp;quot;Maybe we should stay with them.&amp;quot; With more difficulty, she finally looks up at the greenrider, &amp;quot;All those people protect so many secrets.. places.. things.&amp;quot; She spreads her hands, a hopeless gesture. &amp;quot;They can't ''be'' lost.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;''Maybe'', they would stay for them? But then if they're Monaco, should they be in ''our'' territory?&amp;quot; Telavi comes to Keysi then, with the afghan to wrap around her if she'll have it, fire-warmed and faintly fragrant with herbs and the ghosts of perfume. &amp;quot;''We'' could keep ''ours'' up,&amp;quot; she says. &amp;quot;We could help each other, regardless.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi falls into a serious, thought-filled quiet, leaning sideways to think. To consider. She's pulled back to the present at Telavi's approach, and she doesn't ward her or the offered warmth away. &amp;quot;Can we do it without a wing?&amp;quot; Is doubtful. &amp;quot;Can we do what we ''did'' with them?&amp;quot; The importance of it all. &amp;quot;Telavi,&amp;quot; The brownrider strays from the struggle to ask something harder, &amp;quot;Were you there? At the Gather?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Maybe not what we ''did'', ''exactly'', but something--&amp;quot; It might be a sign of Tela's sentiment that she sinks to the floor by Keysi's feet, only a quickly-borrowed couch cushion beneath her, when she ''hadn't even had the brownrider take off her boots''. Backlit, she looks up, a slow shake of her head the questioning answer.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi shifts off the couch, foregoing a cushion, thumping to the floor beside Telavi. &amp;quot;I'll join you.&amp;quot; Wherever that may be. Her steeled expression doesn't match the manner in which she draws the edge of the afgan to lay it over her wingmate too. Not ''touching'' quite, her reservation still in place. &amp;quot;I'm sorry.&amp;quot; For her loss, for their loss. For something. For everything? It seems awkward somehow, misplaced and heavy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tela's sideways glance holds a-- not smile, or an almost-smile, or the presentiment of one. &amp;quot;Watch out, I might lead you to weyrlings.&amp;quot; So she won't ''have'' to decide more, not yet. But then there's that awkwardness and Tela, sensitive, turns that much more toward her wingmate. &amp;quot;Why now?&amp;quot; wonderingly.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's a grimace to that. Had Keysi forgotten about that? She must've. There were a lot of eggs on the sands. Two clutches worth. &amp;quot;I guess that's... a means to having.. time.&amp;quot; To figure things out. She doesn't exactly spur much enthusiasm into it, however. The brownrider also too-often forgets Tela's observational skills, and she's quiet in consequence, lost in thought. She finds an answer eventually, &amp;quot;You knew him longer. All of them.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Telavi's already slipped past, enthusiasm or no; she ''certainly'' doesn't elaborate on having time to ''not get to sleep''. Grave green eyes consider Keysi in that lull, less focused on her wingmate's face and more drifting into the entirety until words bring her back. &amp;quot;There was a lot to know,&amp;quot; she says finally. &amp;quot;I think we knew different pieces.&amp;quot; Then, &amp;quot;They're not dead yet,&amp;quot; but not with finality.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Aye.&amp;quot; Keysi breathes her agreement, shifting her arms under the afghan to tuck it under her chin and rest her head. Her glass had been left behind when she joined the greenrider on the floor. “There were a lot of pieces. He seemed to be searching, I’m not sure even knew them all.” The word ‘dead’ to accentuate her point is too final, and cutting, even if it’s supposed to be somewhat reassuring. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tela bites her lip, quiet. Quiet even when she says, &amp;quot;Bristia...&amp;quot; only to have that too fade. &amp;quot;I want to ask things-- to remember-- stories, like when you met,&amp;quot; but hearing herself, her eyes press shut in a wince. &amp;quot;Not now. Sometime. Now I want to collar her and ''demand'' she tell us ''everything''.&amp;quot; To make it all make sense.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“Did they ever tell us everything?” Keysi answers, though her tone mildly drained, there’s the slightest of twitch to the edge of her lips as if it’s somehow in all the frustration it brings, a comforting memory. Because it was a normal. There’s agreement to that desire to tell stories, to ask things, but since there’s nothing beyond a nod, it’s even moreso an agreement of ‘not now’. Hushed, she continues, even if still stern by default. “If you ever want to talk, our weyr is open.” For whenever those stories come.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Telavi even laughs at that, somehow, hollow but there. It's muted in the hush. &amp;quot;Ours is too, you know,&amp;quot; she says to Keysi then. Her eyes have widened, she's intent, she'd ''press'' it on the brownrider if she could. &amp;quot;I don't mean it like... you know when people graduate, clutchmates, 'oh, we'll stay in touch!' and of course you know yours, and even some of ours have but some moved, or died, and poker isn't the same without D'kan, but-- this is different, we're different, Keysi. I know it wasn't as long for you but you ''are'' right. It matters. You matter, we matter.&amp;quot; Telavi stops her conjugating. &amp;quot;Remember. Okay? And,&amp;quot; a tiny ghost of a smile, &amp;quot;you don't have to want to ''talk'' to find me either.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“No more Bristia putting A’gon down in cards. And darts..” Keysi’s fallen into as close to wistful as the stern girl may likely get, the twitch of her lips a little more evident for the slight grin it could be. It falters to the more seriousness again when Telavi presses her point. “I don’t want to forget.” About anything, “I didn’t even get a good handle on my accents yet.” She lays her head back on the couch she’d abandoned. Too much left ‘’undone.’’ Her offer earns a soft grin though, as faint as Telavi’s ghost of one. Just sitting, just being, seems just fine.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;We can still work on those,&amp;quot; Tela can assure ''that'' much, and settle in to watch-- and not watch-- the fire. To sit, and be.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Wingless&amp;diff=77990</id>
		<title>Logs:Wingless</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Wingless&amp;diff=77990"/>
				<updated>2015-10-14T06:46:33Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: Created page with &amp;quot;{{Log |who=Telavi, Telavi{{!}}Solith, Keysi, Keysi{{!}}Neianth |what=Two Savannah riders reflect on loss, and the losses to come. |where=View to a Kill Weyr, High Reaches Weyr...&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Telavi, Telavi{{!}}Solith, Keysi, Keysi{{!}}Neianth&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Two Savannah riders reflect on loss, and the losses to come.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=View to a Kill Weyr, High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=23&lt;br /&gt;
|month=10&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=38&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.10.12&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=R'hin, Bristia, A'gon, D'kan, M'kris, Oriane&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon telavi shoulder.jpg, Icon telavi solith blankie.jpg, Icon Keysi Relief.jpg, Icon Keysi Neianth.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|desc=&amp;gt;---&amp;lt; View To A Kill Weyr, High Reaches Weyr &amp;gt;-------------------------------&amp;lt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
  It's a step up from the ledge and its heavy curtain into the elegant,     &lt;br /&gt;
  dark-flecked weyr. In the depths of the cavern, a short spiral staircase  &lt;br /&gt;
  rises even further, ending abruptly in an alcove that extends over the    &lt;br /&gt;
  dragon couch; bright, colorful scarves adorn its iron railing like so much&lt;br /&gt;
  festive fringe. To one side of the balcony but on the main level, past the&lt;br /&gt;
  hooks that keep straps and stray gear contained above a small press for   &lt;br /&gt;
  shoes, three more curved steps rise high enough to double as additional   &lt;br /&gt;
  seating before they reach the archway to the inner weyr. (+detail inner   &lt;br /&gt;
  weyr)                                                                     &lt;br /&gt;
  Despite the dark elegance of most of the furnishings, the bones of the    &lt;br /&gt;
  weyr are quirky, charming like the ledge-cluster outside: each room       &lt;br /&gt;
  slightly smaller than average, their heights staggered, growing stuffy in &lt;br /&gt;
  the summer while in winter remaining cozy and warm no matter how cold it  &lt;br /&gt;
  gets outside.&lt;br /&gt;
|log=Dragon&amp;gt; There's been no reflection in Neianth's reflective mind these intense days following. His rider's moods so powerfully influencing the dragon that is so like herself. But ripples do reach, for perhaps the first time, to a mind that hadn't first sought out his own. Ripple after ripple on a surface that is not so serene, carrying sensations of vague request. His mind's mirror a vacant blackness that reflects little at all, disturbed only by the rings that pulse gently to Solith's mind. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Mine wishes to visit yours. I wish to visit. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; (To Solith from Neianth)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It doesn't disturb ''her'', or at least, not negatively; &amp;lt;&amp;lt; You are welcome, &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Solith encourages from her little weyr, her littler ledge. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; We are home. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; And for the moment alone, though they have visited and been visited in these past days. It is even, unusually, ''quiet''. Outside, the air is clear and crisp as the icicles that adorn the several little ledges like so many playful teeth. Inside, Solith is curled up in her wallow, so he has the choice of half-wallow half-walkway or else outside in the air; there is glowlight enough to see by, and even more past the tapestry.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neianth's shadowy wings beat awkwardly, though with some familiarity, in angled landing on Solith's unique ledge. His agility makes it nothing so difficult as much as requiring just a bit more effort. His talons scrape stone before there's gratitude that laces a few more ripples that soon smooth out to nothing but a flat surface, simply a sensation of being 'there'. Keysi drops from the straps, her usually energized and agile swing a lethargic one. &amp;quot;Telavi?&amp;quot; She announces herself, as unnecessary as it may or may not be. Neianth follows as far as the half-walkway. Rider's stormy grey eyes look across the weyr, a quick survey to find Tela, Keysi's arms folded tightly in theory against the cold but likely not only that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Solith reflects them from eyes wholly unlidded, entirely opalescent, the light ''here'' not too bright. ''Here'' is good; ''being there'' is too. &amp;quot;Coming!&amp;quot; Tela calls, half-muffled until she emerges, hands above her head as she finishes doing up her hair. &amp;quot;If you want, we can stay with him,&amp;quot; Neianth, &amp;quot;or--&amp;quot; backlit, it took a moment. &amp;quot;Are you cold? You're cold. Come in.&amp;quot; At least she can do something about ''that'', if not the rest.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The small brown settles, tail and wings tucking against himself to make him look even smaller. Here ''is'' good. Keysi's stride is deliberately slow, her gaze focused on the greenrider, studying her expression as much as actions. &amp;quot;It's snowing.&amp;quot; She says instead of 'of course', though that's certainly ''little'' surprise given it's High Reaches. &amp;quot;Tela...&amp;quot; She tries to interrupt, but ends up following inside anyway. &amp;quot;Are you going out?&amp;quot; The question she chooses instead of the one she wants to ask is spoken uneasily.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
By the look of her, Telavi hasn't slept well, hasn't been ''sleeping'', unless she's been sleeping too much; hers isn't the easy exuberance of a hostess the way she'd welcomed Keysi before. Her gaze, greener in the yellow glowlight, flits to Solith who's still quite a bit smaller than he, to the dragons making themselves less uncomfortable. Past the tapestry, Keysi's met with literal warmth, the fireplace stoked higher than she can really afford to keep. A glass sits next to a bottle on the cedar chest, which might look as though she's moved on from drinking from the bottle except for how the glass is clean; Tela's moving to the armoire to collect a second, looking over her shoulder at Keysi now. &amp;quot;Out? No?&amp;quot; Her sweater is a soft coral-pink, as though she'd deny winter that way too. &amp;quot;What?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi spends too-long being quiet. There's no pretending or acting this time, there's just her, focused on a steadiness that's she's been terrible at keeping. &amp;quot;You've done your hair.&amp;quot; She explains after a while, moving closer to the well-fed hearth, &amp;quot;I thought-&amp;quot; She stops. It doesn't matter. &amp;quot;What are we going to do?&amp;quot; She skips whatever else, and the question she'd come for is simply there.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Glass clinks, a quiet unsteady tinkle, Tela's hand rising to touch her hair instead. &amp;quot;I just--&amp;quot; it doesn't matter, but it ''matters''-- &amp;quot;I had to get it out of my way.&amp;quot; It's her hair, how she copes. &amp;quot;I don't ''know''. Let's drink some more.&amp;quot; Cope that way, too. She takes the glass after all, closes the armoire's door so quietly nothing else shakes, takes it to the couches and the partly-worked embroidery she tosses off onto the bed instead. &amp;quot;What have you heard?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi doesn't argue about drinking. She has no reservations against it now, but she also doesn't press, only following Telavi in that same lethargic manner. These days have been ''exhausting'', and her level expression is not difficult at the moment to keep. &amp;quot;Only mumblings.&amp;quot; The brownrider closes the distance to the couches, standing over a spot to stare at the fire as she speaks, and then sinks into it, &amp;quot;About the possibility of them..&amp;quot; She can't give further description to 'them', &amp;quot;Going back.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;They did before,&amp;quot; so painful in Tela's soft voice. ''Before.'' She doesn't press the glass into Keysi's hand literally, only sets it by the others and keeps moving, ''keeps moving'' while the brownrider sinks and sinks. She's gathering an afghan now, one that she brings to the fire and holds partway before the hearth. &amp;quot;I was just barely not a weyrling then. They just ''went''.&amp;quot; Silence, silence, silence until, &amp;quot;Would you go?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi, delayed, reaches for the glass. Had she not seen it when it was in Tela's hand? She stares at the alcohol within it, stares as Tela speaks and then allows that silence to stretch. What words are there? &amp;quot;They, you. I belonged, Tela. I was happy. And they're going.&amp;quot; It may not be a ''set'' thing yet, but she feels it is. Without ''him'', why would they stay? &amp;quot;You just started teaching me. I thought I was doing okay. And now it doesn't matter.&amp;quot; It doesn't matter, because that's easier to say. &amp;quot;I-&amp;quot; All that rambling, and she never made it to the difficult question Telavi had actually asked. &amp;quot;I can't. Reaches is what we were doing all that for.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tela's looking so pained, the firelight can see it even if Keysi only has the subtleties of the tilt of her shoulders and the way they compress, the tightening of her neck. Sick to her stomach even. &amp;quot;They couldn't... if M'kris were still, he'd never let them, would he? Tainted with the same brush. They'd have to stay.&amp;quot; A little silence. &amp;quot;Oriane resigned, but would that really get rid of him? What if the Weyr Council ''kept'' him anyway?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi can't look at Telavi anymore. Her pain too evident. Fingers curl tighter around the glass, though before she tries to manage an answer, she downs what she's been given with a grimace after. Would it help? &amp;quot;Would they?&amp;quot; Have to stay, she asks, uncertain and not trying to hide it. &amp;quot;They're loyal to..&amp;quot; She doesn't say his name, not right now. &amp;quot;But they're still of Monaco. What if he'd demand his riders back if he's.. kept? Would ''they'' want to stay?&amp;quot; Tela had known them longer, even if the short time she had seemed like so much longer. &amp;quot;Would you go?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;He ''couldn't'', not when they were kicked out before,&amp;quot; but the undertones of uncertainty are there in Tela's voice, without any real attempt to hide them from her wingmate. &amp;quot;K'del wouldn't ''make'' them go,&amp;quot; she thinks. &amp;quot;If they could go back-- I, I won't. Not now.&amp;quot; Not ''now''. &amp;quot;It's pretty there, Keysi, but it's not like... if they leave, all their stories will too, all our pretend-people dying or leaving too, did you think of that? All those people.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi rotates her empty glass in her fingers. She's uneasy, the steadiness not faultering in her voice, but her inability to be ''still'' says more than enough. It becomes worse the more Telavi reveals of things she hadn't even considered, &amp;quot;...No.&amp;quot; It's all she can manage, all that comes in the face of longer and longer stretches of silence. &amp;quot;What would ''we'' do.&amp;quot; It's almost a beg, that repeat question. &amp;quot;if they leave us.&amp;quot; It's no longer leaving the Weyr, but leaving ''them.'' &amp;quot;Maybe we should stay with them.&amp;quot; With more difficulty, she finally looks up at the greenrider, &amp;quot;All those people protect so many secrets.. places.. things.&amp;quot; She spreads her hands, a hopeless gesture. &amp;quot;They can't ''be'' lost.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;''Maybe'', they would stay for them? But then if they're Monaco, should they be in ''our'' territory?&amp;quot; Telavi comes to Keysi then, with the afghan to wrap around her if she'll have it, fire-warmed and faintly fragrant with herbs and the ghosts of perfume. &amp;quot;''We'' could keep ''ours'' up,&amp;quot; she says. &amp;quot;We could help each other, regardless.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi falls into a serious, thought-filled quiet, leaning sideways to think. To consider. She's pulled back to the present at Telavi's approach, and she doesn't ward her or the offered warmth away. &amp;quot;Can we do it without a wing?&amp;quot; Is doubtful. &amp;quot;Can we do what we ''did'' with them?&amp;quot; The importance of it all. &amp;quot;Telavi,&amp;quot; The brownrider strays from the struggle to ask something harder, &amp;quot;Were you there? At the Gather?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Maybe not what we ''did'', ''exactly'', but something--&amp;quot; It might be a sign of Tela's sentiment that she sinks to the floor by Keysi's feet, only a quickly-borrowed couch cushion beneath her, when she ''hadn't even had the brownrider take off her boots''. Backlit, she looks up, a slow shake of her head the questioning answer.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi shifts off the couch, foregoing a cushion, thumping to the floor beside Telavi. &amp;quot;I'll join you.&amp;quot; Wherever that may be. Her steeled expression doesn't match the manner in which she draws the edge of the afgan to lay it over her wingmate too. Not ''touching'' quite, her reservation still in place. &amp;quot;I'm sorry.&amp;quot; For her loss, for their loss. For something. For everything? It seems awkward somehow, misplaced and heavy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tela's sideways glance holds a-- not smile, or an almost-smile, or the presentiment of one. &amp;quot;Watch out, I might lead you to weyrlings.&amp;quot; So she won't ''have'' to decide more, not yet. But then there's that awkwardness and Tela, sensitive, turns that much more toward her wingmate. &amp;quot;Why now?&amp;quot; wonderingly.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's a grimace to that. Had Keysi forgotten about that? She must've. There were a lot of eggs on the sands. Two clutches worth. &amp;quot;I guess that's... a means to having.. time.&amp;quot; To figure things out. She doesn't exactly spur much enthusiasm into it, however. The brownrider also too-often forgets Tela's observational skills, and she's quiet in consequence, lost in thought. She finds an answer eventually, &amp;quot;You knew him longer. All of them.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Telavi's already slipped past, enthusiasm or no; she ''certainly'' doesn't elaborate on having time to ''not get to sleep''. Grave green eyes consider Keysi in that lull, less focused on her wingmate's face and more drifting into the entirety until words bring her back. &amp;quot;There was a lot to know,&amp;quot; she says finally. &amp;quot;I think we knew different pieces.&amp;quot; Then, &amp;quot;They're not dead yet,&amp;quot; but not with finality.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Aye.&amp;quot; Keysi breathes her agreement, shifting her arms under the afghan to tuck it under her chin and rest her head. Her glass had been left behind when she joined the greenrider on the floor. “There were a lot of pieces. He seemed to be searching, I’m not sure even knew them all.” The word ‘dead’ to accentuate her point is too final, and cutting, even if it’s supposed to be somewhat reassuring. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tela bites her lip, quiet. Quiet even when she says, &amp;quot;Bristia...&amp;quot; only to have that too fade. &amp;quot;I want to ask things-- to remember-- stories, like when you met,&amp;quot; but hearing herself, her eyes press shut in a wince. &amp;quot;Not now. Sometime. Now I want to collar her and ''demand'' she tell us ''everything''.&amp;quot; To make it all make sense.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“Did they ever tell us everything?” Keysi answers, though her tone mildly drained, there’s the slightest of twitch to the edge of her lips as if it’s somehow in all the frustration it brings, a comforting memory. Because it was a normal. There’s agreement to that desire to tell stories, to ask things, but since there’s nothing beyond a nod, it’s even moreso an agreement of ‘not now’. Hushed, she continues, even if still stern by default. “If you ever want to talk, our weyr is open.” For whenever those stories come.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Telavi even laughs at that, somehow, hollow but there. It's muted in the hush. &amp;quot;Ours is too, you know,&amp;quot; she says to Keysi then. Her eyes have widened, she's intent, she'd ''press'' it on the brownrider if she could. &amp;quot;I don't mean it like... you know when people graduate, clutchmates, 'oh, we'll stay in touch!' and of course you know yours, and even some of ours have but some moved, or died, and poker isn't the same without D'kan, but-- this is different, we're different, Keysi. I know it wasn't as long for you but you ''are'' right. It matters. You matter, we matter.&amp;quot; Telavi stops her conjugating. &amp;quot;Remember. Okay? And,&amp;quot; a tiny ghost of a smile, &amp;quot;you don't have to want to ''talk'' to find me either.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“No more Bristia putting A’gon down in cards. And darts..” Keysi’s fallen into as close to wistful as the stern girl may likely get, the twitch of her lips a little more evident for the slight grin it could be. It falters to the more seriousness again when Telavi presses her point. “I don’t want to forget.” About anything, “I didn’t even get a good handle on my accents yet.” She lays her head back on the couch she’d abandoned. Too much left ‘’undone.’’ Her offer earns a soft grin though, as faint as Telavi’s ghost of one. Just sitting, just being, seems just fine.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;We can still work on those,&amp;quot; Tela can assure ''that'' much, and settle in to watch-- and not watch-- the fire. To sit, and be.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Gussied_Up_and_Nowhere_to_Go&amp;diff=77989</id>
		<title>Logs:Gussied Up and Nowhere to Go</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Gussied_Up_and_Nowhere_to_Go&amp;diff=77989"/>
				<updated>2015-10-14T06:25:06Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: Created page with &amp;quot;{{Log |who=Telavi, Keysi |what=Costumes and stories are crafted to follow a lead to Nabol after the Greenfields event, |where=On the road, Somewhere near Nabol |involves=High...&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Telavi, Keysi&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Costumes and stories are crafted to follow a lead to Nabol after the Greenfields event,&lt;br /&gt;
|where=On the road, Somewhere near Nabol&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=High Reaches Weyr, Nabol Hold&lt;br /&gt;
|day=18&lt;br /&gt;
|month=11&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=38&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.09.18&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;I want to see you properly kitted out for your wedding.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=Bristia, R'hin&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|ooc=Very backdated!&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon Keysi Allure.jpg, Icon telavi dimple.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=They may have had to delay tracking due to the rains, but two days into sunshine, the road's not bad and ''Telavi's'' mood has certainly lifted; Solith's already buzzed off out of sight, but the greenrider's cheerful as can be at the appointed time to meet, bustling about the... appropriated... huntsmen's shack as though she owns it. &amp;quot;Come on in,&amp;quot; she greets Keysi. &amp;quot;Ready for your makeover?&amp;quot; Yes, that is a dimple she's sporting. There's a valise by the far wall, too.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Since getting back to the Weyr, Keysi had spent most of the interim with  Neianth. So the fact that the small brown lingers nearby until his rider  is at the door of the shack probably isn't surprising. As she places a  hand with a whisp of hesitancy on the door frame of the shack, he turns  and takes again to the skies. The hand raised to knock pauses before it  does at Telavi's greeting and she steps inside. &amp;quot;Why is this necessary?&amp;quot;  is an unnecessary question; time-wasting since it allows her to stop just  inside the little shack. &amp;quot;Can't I just go as this? They shouldn't  recognize..&amp;quot; A fraction of a turn-up of a palm is meant to indicate  'herself' but she trails off as observations find the valise and curiosity  curtails words.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;''That's'' not in character. ''That'' is...&amp;quot; Telavi waves at Keysi: see? Trous!  Which won't do! A swish of skirts accompanies Tela moving around the brownrider to bar the door behind them both; at least there are glows, to make up for how the small windows are shuttered. It's not a large place, but it is cleaner than it ought to be, and a freshly-used rag on a stool may show why. &amp;quot;I have a dress for you, too. And different boots, and things for your hair... Have you been working on your accents?  Show me while you get changed.&amp;quot; Said dress is already hanging from a peg, the boots beneath: much like Telavi's, designed sturdily for a simple holder woman to be able to walk distances in them. The slits to make knives more readily accessible might be a little more unusual, however. And while Tela's at it, one more question: &amp;quot;What do you know of the woman you're traveling as?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;There are plenty of characters who where pants.&amp;quot; Is really Keysi's only  protest- so far- as Telavi bars the door. Voice is level, plain, hard to  differentiate if it's supposed to be dry humor or a real disagreement.  Appropriate steps to move out of her way in path for that door bring her a  foot or so into the smallish shack. The request for an on-the-spot  demonstration of her learnings shouldn't catch her by surprise but it  takes her a moment. When she does speak, it's something that ''should be''  regionally Southern, but manages to lapse partially with a Tillek flare.  Ie. It's not the best, but she's working on it? &amp;quot;I'm related to you.&amp;quot; Manages to get its own flicker of a grin, though when she realizes how off  her accent is, she seems to fall into a silence of personal-internalized  reprimand as she lifts the dress from the peg. &amp;quot;I could be the sister who  wants to go into beastcraft..&amp;quot; More a mumble as she looks it over.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Telavi's sniff is her only reply about ''pants''.  As for the accent, &amp;quot;I was hoping for more Cromese,&amp;quot; she says in that sort of voice, &amp;quot;like your traders, but if you play with your vowels like ''this'',&amp;quot; she exaggerates, &amp;quot;that will help.&amp;quot;  For the dress, reverting back to more normal Cromese, &amp;quot;You could have wanted beastcraft, how's that? But of course it 'isn't very womanly,' is it. I doubt it will come up but at least ''you'll'' know. And you shouldn't have to say much. Be glad we're not so upper-class that we're all cinched in, with or without a corset,&amp;quot; and there's mischief right there as she gestures for Keysi to change.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
For all her complaints, she won't waste ''too'' much time by poising her  intense stare on the garment as if looking at it in such a way would make  it change. &amp;quot;Womanly.&amp;quot; Keysi echoes as she works the dress on with the  modesty of a Holder and the efficiency of a trader; in a moment the tunic  hits the floor and as the bottom of the dress meets her feet, she's  shuffling out of the trousers too. &amp;quot;It sounds like,&amp;quot; The brownrider tries  again, this time in Cromese that really isn't that bad. Not great, but not  as horrendous as the Southern attempt was, &amp;quot;You have this all planned out  already.&amp;quot; It's accusatory without much attempt to hide it. She pauses as  she pulls at the dress to get it fitted to herself, &amp;quot;..Aye, I suppose  that's ''something''.&amp;quot; She gives the exaggeration, but overplays it via  distaste for the concept of a corset.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tela all but squeaks, swooping to try and rescue the tunic as though-- at least from her perspective!-- the floor just isn't that clean. She'll reach for the trous too if she can get them, her focus far more on the clothes than on Keysi herself. Yet. &amp;quot;It's my job,&amp;quot; she tells Keysi with more cheer as she straightens. &amp;quot;I ''am'' trying to make it easy on you, easy-''ish'', and your voice sounds ''much'' better.&amp;quot; She tilts her head to give the brownrider a professional look-over, front and back and sides; conveniently, they also aren't so upper-class that their clothes require someone to help them change. &amp;quot;Good, it still fits. I ''worried'' there for a bit. What was your favorite food they had there, with the traders I mean?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi clears her throat as she's examined. Shy? The once-healer has never worn  anything at the Weyr beyond her riding gear or, previously, pants and  tunics. With her swiftness of getting into the dress, it's likely she's at  ''least'' worn one before. But she didn't expect to be looked over. &amp;quot;How  far is it from here? We can't ride like this.&amp;quot; She's not typically one for  complaining, but this seems to be an exception, though with her last words  she forgot the accent again. All of Telavi's cheer- and the dive for the  tunic- offsets or unsettles her basis for arguement, and she gives in with  and exhale and, &amp;quot; What's your story?&amp;quot; There might also be a small grin  that lessens the intensity of her face at her last question, &amp;quot;You thought  I'd get fat and lazy with all my... socializing?&amp;quot; Her gaze follows Telavi  now, and after a reflective thought or two, &amp;quot;It wasn't a certain food. The  campfires on the road.. They were nice.&amp;quot; An understatement finishes it, the  real description going unsaid- but not without a little extra color to her  face.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Or skinny if it were awful,&amp;quot; Telavi points out, &amp;quot;though it's easier to cinch in.&amp;quot; Therefore, easier to adjust! &amp;quot;''I'' am your wicked half-sister, and the first stop isn't so far; the next several will depend on what we find. Count on walking. ''Anyway'', we're looking for the tinker for a hairclip to match your necklace.&amp;quot; What necklace? The necklace Tela tugs out from a pocket, and ''jingles''. She holds it out for Keysi to put on if she likes, or else she can do it herself; either way, though the blush met with a glance from under Tela's lashes, all she says there is, &amp;quot;I'm afraid firepits are none too likely, not unless we dig them ourselves, and that wouldn't be the same.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Wicked?&amp;quot; While Keysi's amusement is in earnest, it is semi-dramatized as if  she can't believe it- practice! She tries, she does. And after the last  month or so, it seems easier, &amp;quot;All those terrible things you've done-  sweeping the dirt roads, fetching you water and fruit as you recline?&amp;quot;  Playful? Seems to be, though she lacks some inflection to be able to make  it wholly believable. But she considers the necklace not out of distaste  for jewelry- surely that's there too- but a question, &amp;quot;What if it wasn't  really a trinket cart? One kid said it wasn't. And if we get all the way  there and they have no idea what we're inquiring about..&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Playful, too, &amp;quot;No...&amp;quot; though Tela waits to answer until the necklace is squared away, moving to delicately encircle the brownrider's neck unless Keysi seems to prefer it a different way.  It's a pretty if inexpensive thing, beads woven in with spiraling knotted laces. Once she's stepped back, &amp;quot;If it wasn't really a trinket cart, we have all the more reason to look bewildered,&amp;quot; she explains. &amp;quot;We don't have to be right, only to have a good reason to be there. Why the hairclip, and why the evilness? Because I want to see you properly kitted out for your wedding.&amp;quot; Wed-ding, sing-song.  &amp;quot;''Also'' some fresh air.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Since weyrlinghood, she'd let her hair grow back out. Likely, Keysi would have  cut it herself again given tapping into any other wing, but with Savannah?  Currently it's tied up in a bun for the sake of riding gear, but as she  turns to be at least ammendable to Tela clipping the neckace into place  she lets it down. With all the care she puts into training, the same  cannot be said for her hair-care. But it's the moment that hair's released  that she blinks at that ending, hand paused mid-air. &amp;quot;Wedding?&amp;quot; If she was  slightly accusatory earlier, this is much more so. &amp;quot;What do you mean,  'wedding'?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tela blinks dulcetly at her. &amp;quot;See? Evil half-sister-- now let me fix your hair.&amp;quot; Her fingers wiggle, all hopeful. She confides, too, &amp;quot;Don't think it's just me. You know R'hin pulls surprises ''all the time''.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Who am I marrying?&amp;quot; Keysi's question is not so demanding as still surprised.  &amp;quot;Whose idea was it?&amp;quot; Is much more reserved, and with a flicker of a grin  that may be a little fondness sneaking through regardless of who, &amp;quot;I hope  you- and he- aren't so wicked as to actually have set up someone to play  this.&amp;quot; But by the way she trails off at the end of that sentence? That  would not be a surprise apparently. &amp;quot;What's wrong with my hair?&amp;quot; She lets  her hand fall with the tie, a hint of confusion noting her earnest thought  on it being absolutely fine as it is.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;His,&amp;quot; Telavi is all too sorry to have to admit, complete to the slight petulance of her lower lip, no matter that Keysi's facing the other way. &amp;quot;You'd do better to condition it more, and I can do it a little more neatly, I have pins.&amp;quot; And she's all too ready to use them, given that clinking sound, if Keysi doesn't object overmuch. &amp;quot;As to your ''betrothed'', you can name him, if you want. Or we can have a shorthand name for him like 'sweet-cheeks.' ''Or'' you can just come up with it on the fly; it's better in some ways to figure it out ahead of time, but in other ways, you don't want to look confused while you're trying to remember. You know?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi doesn't object, standing still to let Telavi have her way with it- for  better or for worse? She's even actually quiet about it, tied up in other  thoughts aside from the quiet addition of, &amp;quot;Hair isn't important.&amp;quot; Hushed,  that, murmured more to herself. It's fortunate she's turned around,  because the ''grimace'' sweet-cheeks creates is fairly profound for the  usually muted expressions of Keysi. &amp;quot;Daken.&amp;quot; She offers, &amp;quot;But as soon as  we get the necklace piece, I'm getting cold feet and riding back to dad.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Better. Much, ''much'' better-- at least, if Telavi has anything to say about it. She's gentle, but still efficient, avoiding tugs; if she disagrees with the hair estimation, and she must, she doens't say a word. &amp;quot;Daken. Rhymes with bacon; I like it,&amp;quot; Tela compliments, and of course she does it ''cheerfully''. &amp;quot;There, you're done. I'd ''like'' to put a little moisturizer on your face,&amp;quot; and possibly other things, &amp;quot;but we'll survive. Ready to go?&amp;quot; Though first Tela's moving to retrieve Keysi's clothes, put them into a bag and thence into the valise, and with the help of the stool stash it in the rafters. ''Just in case.''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Despite the efficiency, there's impatience in Keysi and tense shoulders that  denote it. It's not a lack of appreciation, but of the thought of its  necessity, of course. She's quiet, a prolonged silence of thought, though  Telavi had receieved a shake of her head in regards to the moisturizer,  supporting the decision to not pursue such things. Her first steps to the  door and thusly out as Tela finishes stashing their things, are awkward,  made worse by the fact she doesn't quit fussing with the way the dress  settles on her. &amp;quot;Aye.&amp;quot; Is her response, though delayed in the time of  things to almost seem unassociated with the prior question.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's a brisk hike out to the main road, but easy to fall into the swing of things; Telavi has murmured advice here and there, how to 'walk like a girl' and such, but otherwise quiet as though she's making it easier on Keysi or else listening to something else that only she can hear. Or maybe she just likes the scenery. When they come to a cothold not far away, morning sun shining off its stone roof, the greenrider murmurs, &amp;quot;Come on, Etty.&amp;quot; 'Etty.' She's happy to walk briskly up to the cothold, but when the woman of the house answers... somehow she's moved to step ''behind'' the brownrider, though she ''does'' have a bright smile.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It seems, despite her grades in weyrlinghood and her studiousness everywhere  else, Keysi's worst subject is ''girliness''. Though she doesn't seem to  be ''trying'' to walk quite right or not fuss with the dress. That is,  until they're within view of the cothold. She slows her naturally quck  pace as they arrive, and right when she turns her head to call Tela out on  moving behind her, the door opens. &amp;quot;H-&amp;quot; A correction, &amp;quot;Hello,&amp;quot; Plaintive,  too girly? Too high pitched maybe, but at least she's trying Cromese too.  &amp;quot;I'm.. Etty. This is my sister..&amp;quot; Realizing she doesn't have the name,  there's a mild fumbling but she turns enough to play it off, coming up  with, &amp;quot;Brynn.&amp;quot; Bristia, R'hin. That works.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
''Somehow'', Tela manages not to giggle, though it's a near thing. &amp;quot;Come ''on'', Etty. You ask. It's for-- Excuse her,&amp;quot; she says plaintively to the woman, who's relaxed somewhat upon seeing the two young women with their similar attire, but does look puzzled even so. &amp;quot;We dropped her on her head as a baby and she's never been the same since. ''Ask'' the nice woman,&amp;quot; this last must be for Keysi.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The ''look'' that earns is one that could easily be thought of as a sister- sister conflict, Keysi's brow furrowed, and mouth slightly open as if to  argue. But the prompting takes that wind out of her, even if the  brownrider is clearly ''not'' over that comment with the lingering stern  look that only leaves Telavi to regard the puzzled woman once more, &amp;quot;We're  looking for a trinket trader.&amp;quot; She starts, &amp;quot;Have there been any to pass by  here? We heard of one that might have recently.&amp;quot; But as to the why? She seems a  little less giving with that just yet.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The woman's looking bemused, starting to shake her head even, so Telavi chimes in:  &amp;quot;Not just yesterday or anything? More like, oh...&amp;quot; she names the date, &amp;quot;before the rains came?&amp;quot; Still no luck. &amp;quot;Before the awful news? Anyone? My half-sister,&amp;quot; a bit of indulgence at the 'half,' &amp;quot;wanted a matching bit for her hair and of ''course'' we didn't get it at the time--&amp;quot; but, &amp;quot;No,&amp;quot; the woman's pretty clear on, &amp;quot;No one at all, dear. Maybe he skipped us? Why don't you try up ahead.&amp;quot; Telavi glances at Keysi; does she have more to ask?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi spends most of the time Telavi’s busy questioning watching the woman’s expressions. She’s not so intense as to be unsettling, though some may find that to be a fine line. But when Tela turns the attention back to her, she blinks once, and then brings a grin to her expression. Her head starts to shake first, tensed fingers brought forwards to clasp in front of herself, though she doesn’t quite pull off ‘’dainty’’. “Maybe if you hadn’t spent so much time with ‘’that’’ guy.” She says as the reason for not getting it ‘before’, an apologetic slight shrug given to the woman before she starts to turn from the doorway, “Thank you for your time, ma’am.” &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tela's sniff verges on saucy; &amp;quot;Well, if ''you''--&amp;quot; turns into, addressed to the woman instead of Keysi now, &amp;quot;Yes. Thank you for your time.&amp;quot; Not that the woman won't be able to see her agitating to 'Etty' along the path, hands moving animatedly, should she peer through the window. What Tela says is, though, &amp;quot;There's a lot to be said for acting... close to home? You're more track-down-able, but it feels more natural, or at least it's supposed to, and then you look more believable so they don't even think to track you down, as much anyway. How was that? Other than annoying that she didn't know anything?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi keeps an expression that looks partially offended, on the verge of an argument. But it doesn’t match the words, as she’s clearly playing along with the discussion started as they fade into the distance down the path. “More recognizable.” She adds on the notion of being close to home. “But it makes sense. The familiar and all.” Soon far enough away to let the expression slide into something more comfortable- that being a level neutral- she rubs the back of her neck, “Aside from being dropped on my head?” A brow rises briefly with that, “And the dress.” Keysi has to add, she’d not be honest if she didn’t, “I thought it went well. This will get exhausting after awhile if it continues like that.”&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
They have other stops to make, but the trail stays frustratingly cold. ''Not what it appeared to be'', Telavi can only suppose. ''At least they ruled that out''. But in the end, even after their return and their changes and the hot cider the greenrider arranges, ''ugh''.&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Mercy%27s_Burden&amp;diff=77948</id>
		<title>Logs:Mercy's Burden</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Mercy%27s_Burden&amp;diff=77948"/>
				<updated>2015-10-14T00:49:58Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Jo, Jo{{!}}Tacuseth, Keysi, Keysi{{!}}Neianth&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Shared, a secret and burden to carry to the grave.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Hidden Secrets Weyr, High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=High Reaches Weyr, Monaco Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=20&lt;br /&gt;
|month=13&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=38&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.10.11&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;They're free.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|weather=Steady snow.&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=Bristia, M'kris, R'hin, Aishani&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|ooc=Sad things. So sad.&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=icon jo pensive.jpg, Icon jo tacuseth shadows.jpg, Icon Keysi Neianth Agitated.jpg, Icon Keysi concern.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=It hasn't been long since R'hin's passing that Tacuseth reaches out to Neianth. Desert winds are gone, lost in a dead wasteland as he sends to the brown, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; We hope we're not interrupting. My Jo would like to come visit yers. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; His presence is near, as if expecting the confirmation for him to drop onto the ledge.&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
Neianth, who usually resides as sentinel out on his ledge, lays on his draconic couch within, focus clearly distracted even as another mind reaches for his. It was not the first to seek, to 'check-in' as many had done given the outburst. But this touch of Tacuseth draws more than a vague sensation from the brown. His ripples are slow to come in response but do, his deep baritones offering, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; You do not interrupt. She would accept a visit from yours. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; As if she had declined others.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tacuseth is smooth in his thanks, and the bluepair arrives shortly after. The blue is off-color - a bit grey tint to him as he sets himself up as a sentinel while Jo dismounts. On Jo, her face isn't a mess at least from the last time they met. She moves to Tacuseth's side to pull free a fine bottle before she goes into the inner weyr with a tentative but stoic, &amp;quot;Keysi.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The young brown's welcome is faint, touched over the ripples that fade down to smoothness. The bluerider's alert is met with a level, &amp;quot;Come in.&amp;quot; Crescent-touched faceted eyes of the small brown, curled off to the side of the room upon his draconic couch, watch Keysi. The rest of his form remains particularly still besides the slow rise and fall of breathing. The brownrider sits on the edge of her smallish bed, holding one of the daggers that must've been hung on a wall considering there's an empty place above her where it'd had been, slowly rotating it in her hands that rest on her lap until Jo may be visible. &amp;quot;How are you?&amp;quot; It's not really a fair question, but more than simply a formality in greeting.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The blue's presence in Neianth's mind lingers, his dark shadows murky but unpleasant. It's a presence of mourning as Jo walks in upon hearing Keysi's voice, and she pauses to take in the space. The mat and the punching bag, particularly, belatedly holding up the bottle she holds before her gaze meets the brownrider's. To her question, there's a pause. The bottle lowering a bit, &amp;quot;I keep expectin' him to show up. Come 'round,&amp;quot; she says, hollow. &amp;quot;I'm sad.... 'n I'm pissed off.&amp;quot; Pause. The bottle lifting again, &amp;quot;He liked nothin' but the finest,&amp;quot; she says in indication of it. &amp;quot;If ya drink. If not, I imagine it makes a lovely sound thrown against a tree. Might not wanna do that, though. This was one of ''his''.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Brown's mind doesn't withdraw from Tacuseth's touch, but his usually clear reflection pool that shares such vivid imagry with his own touch is nearly equally as murky; nothing shared to be seen or felt within. Evidence of the internalized mourning of his own. But as the bluerider enters, Neianth does rise, shaking himself once, resettling wings, and then moves out onto the ledge with the blue. As presence, if not a talkative one. Keysi stands as Jo answers, setting the knife down behind her on the perhaps overly-made bed. &amp;quot;Aye.&amp;quot; Is all she manages at first, pale stormy eyes looking over the other rider and then to the gift she brings. There's almost, almost the hint of a sorrowful grin, short-lived, &amp;quot;I didn't used to.&amp;quot; She begins, a shake of her head as he moves towards the chairs before the hearth, a hand gestured outwards as indication for Jo to join her, &amp;quot;Then R'hin came along. He changed many things. Everything.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
While Tacuseth settles so that he and Neianth are a pair of sentinels on watch, Jo watches Keysi with the knife as she stands there. Her study is equally intense, as Keysi approaches, and her response draw the bare bones of a sad smile. &amp;quot;How things change,&amp;quot; she says to doing things one didn't use to do, following her towards the chairs. Sitting, &amp;quot;Not surprised to hear it,&amp;quot; she tells her, her dark gaze going towards the hearth. &amp;quot;He had that effect, darlin'. That sort of ''influence''. I didn' wanna say much in front of that harper,&amp;quot; she notes, cutting a glance towards her, &amp;quot;but he spoke me a lot 'bout ya. Said we were a lot alike. Ya'n me.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi leans over the back of the chair she'd intended to sit in at first, her expression still a stony thing, carefully controlled for the moment. Though when Jo says ''that'' particular sentiment again, it takes significantly more effort and she's forced to look away- for now, to the small, simmering fire that could certainly use a good stoking. &amp;quot;He'd mentioned we should meet.&amp;quot; She says evenly, though in a way that doesn't seem like it was just once, &amp;quot;More than just in passing during darts.&amp;quot; The thought of the game makes her straighten, a hand rubbing the back of her neck before she shifts one more time to turn over the glasses next to the decanter on the table between them. &amp;quot;He was.. special to you.&amp;quot; More an observation than a question, &amp;quot;How long had you known him?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Jo watches her as she holds that bottle to her chest, the fire from the hearth lighting her eyes as she nods. &amp;quot;He insisted,&amp;quot; she says on meeting. &amp;quot;All the folks we met, yer the only one he pointed out.&amp;quot; And, there's a pause. &amp;quot;He still is,&amp;quot; she answers on him being special, the words difficult from the rigidness of her posture. &amp;quot;I don' let many in, 'n the bastard managed to worm his way through my defenses. Girl like me, darlin',&amp;quot; she says with a dark smile, &amp;quot;gets judged often. He never judged me. He had plenty of reason to, but he never judged me. Not once.&amp;quot; Her eyes drop back towards the fire before she answers the last with, &amp;quot;Can barely remember the first time I did. It's been many turns. It's been ''turns''. At a hatchin', where the departed Aishani was still Brieli'n Savannah wasn' long in this Weyr.&amp;quot; Pause. &amp;quot;How did'ja-?&amp;quot; Meet him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi lets time pass between thoughts, needing it as much to keep her voice from cracking as being so for gentleness' sake. &amp;quot;He wormed his way into many things.&amp;quot; She agrees quietly after listening, a faint twitch of her lips in fondness following. &amp;quot;In passing.&amp;quot; Her answer begins with a slow shake of her head, &amp;quot;A simple conversation while I was a weyrling,&amp;quot; A furrowing of her brow- &amp;quot;I guess it really wasn't that long ago. It seems like I'd known him for turns. I wish I had.&amp;quot; She thought she would. &amp;quot;I thought I knew what I was doing then. He decided to prove otherwise.. Helped me with...&amp;quot; Keysi's words fade, her grey eyes turning to study Jo finally, &amp;quot;None of my reservations meant anything to him. He was like..&amp;quot; Words are difficult, and she ends up sliding into the chair instead of finishing that sentiment. &amp;quot;What really happened Jo? He doesn't do things by accident. He was acting..&amp;quot; she hunts for the right adjective, &amp;quot;off sometimes after wing assignments.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's raking husk of laughter for what Keysi reveals first, and Jo shakes her head. &amp;quot;That's how it starts,&amp;quot; she notes on simple conversations. &amp;quot;Ya start seein' things ya wanna learn 'bout the person 'n the next thing ya know...&amp;quot; A shake of her head. But there was that pause from the brownrider on R'hin helping her, the older woman studying her anew in her silence. It's a silence of understanding, and the last is what has her head dip as she angles a look towards her. Her silence is heavy and long, but Tacuseth rouses. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; How loyal are ya to him? &amp;gt;&amp;gt; the blue sends, but the words seem not come from the dragon himself. Not the Weyr. ''Him''.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's some ease that husk of laughter brings to the heaviness of the room, but not for too long. Keysi leans forwards in both thought and patience, forearms rested over knees. &amp;quot;It's all upside down.&amp;quot; To finish that sentiment or to add a new one, that comment could be either. Intense but untelling gaze continues to lay on Jo, gathering whatever she can glean from expression or shared word. Then, silence is met with silence. Not uncomfortable, however, not to her anyway. Neianth stirs as Tacuseth does, his head angling slightly to level a greyed faceted eye at the blue, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Honesty was once everything. But in secrets, what matters is kept safe. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; The last seems to not be ''their'' own words. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; His honor will not be soiled. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The silence isn't uncomfortably by any shot, Jo settled in the chair with the bottle held in her lap as Tacuseth speaks for her. To Neianth's answer, the blue seems to agree since he returns with &amp;lt;&amp;lt; A promise was made. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; - &amp;quot;This must to kept to the grave,&amp;quot; Jo speaks behind her dragon, her tone heavy and even as she leans towards Keysi. &amp;quot;I...can't tell it all. I don't have the stomach to, but...&amp;quot; There's a pregnant pause before she goes on with, &amp;quot;He was dyin', darlin'. He was already dyin'. ''Here'',&amp;quot; and she lifts one long finger to tap the side of her head. &amp;quot;I've never heard of this happenin'. Of....a dragon ''forgetting'' their own rider. Leiventh was. I've seen it too many times for myself,&amp;quot; the last given quietly. &amp;quot;It was affectin' him, too.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neianth's ripples smooth over to a glassy surface of a reflective pool, deep, vast beyond word alone; a sensation of a dark mirror of Tacuseth's reply. An agreement, a promise in its own. Neianth's stirring had reached Keysi, but it only extended that patience within silence. And when Jo speaks, her gaze on her remains steady. It doesn't surprise her, a preceeding clause such as that, but she does nod her own value of promise. But the news, the actual story that follows, does not contribute to that steadiness. &amp;quot;Why couldn't.. why didn't he tell me?&amp;quot; Her fingers weave together, stopping the trembling that threatens them. The strained look she has denotes she already knows that answer. &amp;quot;How could that be? How long did he know? When.. when did he tell you?&amp;quot; A jumble of questions, rambled together.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
While Tacuseth lets his shadow winds ride on those ripples, Jo watches those fingers tremble before she meets Keysi's gaze and shakes her head. &amp;quot;Only one other knew,&amp;quot; she says soberly to her. &amp;quot;He didn'....I don' think he wanted to put that burden on ya, darlin'. He kept yer secrets, but somethin' tells me ya carry some burdens of yer own. That he told me at all...&amp;quot; There's an exhale and she slumps, her grief evident now on her features. She answers the rest now. &amp;quot;He knew for a long time 'n only told me towards the end. Told me there was a Weyrwoman that had what he had, 'n she withered away. That...he wouldn' go out like that.&amp;quot; Meeting Keysi gaze, &amp;quot;So, M'kris was set up,&amp;quot; she says, her gaze hard and measuring. &amp;quot;He wanted it to ''mean'' somethin'.&amp;quot; The words ring with significance, her gaze not wavering.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi's fingers are white as she holds her hands tighter, listening but on edge as she does. With each added word, she seems to want to say ''something'' to interrupt, to question, her expression cracking from the steel it had once been. But she manages not to. Not until Jo finishes. There's no disbelief there in those stormy eyes of hers. Maybe a turn ago there would've been, but now? &amp;quot;Who doesn't have their own burdens?&amp;quot; Is what she finally comes up with, her frame tensed. &amp;quot;That's no excuse.. He was like a father, a-&amp;quot; Anger wrinkles her face, &amp;quot;That's... horrible.&amp;quot; The word isn't terrible enough to describe R'hin's fate. Any word seems not enough to do it near justice, and her disturbed silence portrays its insuffiency. &amp;quot;Did Bristia know? Did anyone else?&amp;quot; But on the last that Jo shares, the wavering of her face and tone steadies abruptly, focus back on the bluerider, &amp;quot;Is the history you told the Harper part of it?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Jo watches Keysi closely, taking in any nuances she finds with her grave demeanor. The anger seems to be expected, for she states to it, &amp;quot;He is. When it comes to it, part of me rather not have known. There's better peace in ignorance.&amp;quot; Shaking her head, &amp;quot;He ''chose'' how he wanted to go,&amp;quot; she reiterates, the words being significant. &amp;quot;We can' deny him that. As much as I...I keep askin' myself, if I was in his place, would I had done the same? If I knew my time was limited...to make a choice...She was the only other,&amp;quot; she answers now. Bristia. &amp;quot;That's what he told me, so I have to believe it. The history....yes,&amp;quot; she says with a nod. &amp;quot;Monaco. It always stemmed back to them, didn' it? 'Least there, he kept his secrets close. I never learned the full story between him'n that Weyrleader, but I've seen 'nough with him to guess the temperature whenever I was down there.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Peace.&amp;quot; Keysi parrots the word in a fierce mutter, &amp;quot;There's innocence in ignorance too. But it's not real.&amp;quot; Vehemence courses that tone, but when she words his ''choice'' as such, she clenches her teeth. &amp;quot;No.&amp;quot; Is all she can manage in regards to denying him his last wish. About Monaco, she nods, not unfamiliar. &amp;quot;But if it was so.. much that M'kris was set up,&amp;quot; the brownrider continues evenly after Jo confirms that piece of story, &amp;quot;And it was his wish to- whatever end.&amp;quot; A beat, &amp;quot;You were the only other one in the tent.&amp;quot; There's no judgement or accusation with it, there's no pressure within her words at all, &amp;quot;Did M'kris do it?&amp;quot; It's direct this time, if almost whispered.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I've had a good few months to cope with this over ya,&amp;quot; Jo notes to Keysi's refusal, her smile sad. &amp;quot;The first month will be the worst.&amp;quot; Keysi's working it out, though, and the bluerider falls silent. It's almost as if she's expecting that question, so when it does comes, there's no flinching. There's that slight change of her gaze on the brownrider - a look that says 'What do you think?' once realized. Eyes cut towards those knives as she says, &amp;quot;I've done anythin' he's ever asked of me. Even when I didn' want to, 'n that's only happened once. It's the one time I couldn' refuse him. It's the one time I hate him for.&amp;quot; She shifts to turn more towards Keysi now, &amp;quot;I tell ya cuz I saw yer face when tried to get into that tent,&amp;quot; she says quietly, watching her face. &amp;quot;He meant a lot to ya, 'n ya meant a lot to him. That is why ya know now, 'n ya'll have the same burden as I in takin' his secret Between. For better're for worse now.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Given the puzzle had already been put together in her mind, the click of completion with Jo's words doesn't elicit anything abrupt. Keysi becomes resolved in a stillness, her eyes focused on the ground ahead of her. Searching, glazed. Shifting out on the ledge signifies Neianth stirring again, a rumbling that's somehow managed quietly likely an overflow between the two of the too-much that's internalized. When she moves, it's a quick movement to pick up one of the still empty nice glasses that she'd flipped over for wine and fling it across the weyr. It smashes into a shower of shards, loud in contrast the quiet that stretches. And while she doesn't look at Jo, that didn't seem directed at her. &amp;quot;It's better.&amp;quot; She says eventually with intense difficulty. A minute, or more, may have passed. &amp;quot;Cruel,&amp;quot; Falls quieter, &amp;quot;I'm sorry.&amp;quot; That she had to do the deed, she seems to imply. &amp;quot;I can't imagine how you.. managed.&amp;quot; To the end, &amp;quot;He's left so many memories in his wake. Changes. He always wanted more. Was he..&amp;quot; relieved? settled? happy? there's no word, &amp;quot;with that.. end?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neianth shifts and Tacuseth watches. Jo doesn't even react when that glass thrown. Her breath comes out long, like she was expelling something, and she looks where the glass has smashed. It's the apology that has her jaw working. &amp;quot;Who else but I that he could trust to follow through?&amp;quot; and her words fall bitter as her watery gaze lingers on the shattered glass. &amp;quot;I whose held a knife in one hand for too many turns?&amp;quot; Dark eyes cut to Keysi now, the grin self-deprecating as she says, &amp;quot;The girl whose innocence was taken by bein' accused of murder all those turns ago....made to be locked up for it. I managed 'cuz I've lived a life doin' what I had to to get by. Even to the detriment of others, darlin'.&amp;quot; Her eyes are caked in her own secrets, and perhaps the brownrider could see the pull Jo was for the late bronzerider. Clutching the bottle to herself for her last, the last has her lingering in silence before she quietly says, &amp;quot;He touched my cheek, 'n he thanked me. He wasn' alone, Keysi. I sat with him until Leiventh went Between. They were finally free.&amp;quot; It's the last that has a tear sliding down her face, and she angrily wipes it away.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I couldn't.&amp;quot; Keysi says darkly and reluctantly, in what one could say is some measure of agreement. As Jo describes herself as such, the brownrider finds herself shaking her head, &amp;quot;You can hold a knife to a stranger. But to hold one to ''R'hin''.&amp;quot; His name is sharp, accentuated by a crack in the sturdiness of her voice, &amp;quot;That's not the same. It's not the same.&amp;quot; Of doing what one has to, of holding a knife for so long. Her repetition comes mingled another slow shake of her head. When she speaks of the last moments, she doesn't lose it- not yet. But it's a close thing, the brownrider drawing her knees up to her chest, pulling her arms and head against her thighs as they tuck in tightly to her. The lump in her throat of being 'free' shuts her down, and she can't say a word for a good, long, drawn-out while. Almost croaked, all she's able to follow with is: &amp;quot;I couldn't say goodbye.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Ya don' wanna know the things I've done.&amp;quot; Jo's words are heavy. Dark. Raw. &amp;quot;It's not the same, but his alternative was.....&amp;quot; ''That'' was worse, she implies, looking back towards the hearth. &amp;quot;R'hin knew I could,&amp;quot; she states with certainty, nodding. &amp;quot;He knew my past. He knew what I was capable of. He didn' judge me, 'cuz of his own past. I respected that. I respected ''him''. I ain' the sort to respect many, darlin'.&amp;quot; Her eyes look on mournfully towards Keysi as she tries to maintain composure, and on goodbyes, &amp;quot;I'm sorry, Keysi. I really wished ya'd gotten that chance. I don' think...I think he would've lost his resolve if he saw ya.&amp;quot; Silence falls before she says, &amp;quot;It's....good, that ya can'. That ya have some decency left in ya.&amp;quot; Shaking her head, &amp;quot;Don' end up like me.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Ignorance.&amp;quot; The word from earlier is mumbled just loud enough to be audible, reminding the convict of her thoughts on it. Keysi lifts her head enough from her self-made caccoon so that her mouth is not so muffled. She watches the dying fire, but far be it from her to stoke it. She doesn't press harder for details. In light of everything, it's almost ''accepted''. &amp;quot;If he didn't judge you, there is a different kind of good in you. I don't know you, you're right. I won't pretend to.&amp;quot; With that, she does manage to look at Jo, not so intensely. More weary. &amp;quot;But I trusted him. I don't like trusting people.&amp;quot; She adds, slightly harsher, and looks away, &amp;quot;He saw things in people.&amp;quot; The heavy statement is left to linger, &amp;quot;Regardless of how, you did it.&amp;quot; Bluntly, but not unkindly, &amp;quot;If I can do anything for you, you only need to call.&amp;quot; Keeping of the secret, however, is already implied.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The one word draws a genuine smile from Jo, it staying in place for a few seconds. It falls completely when Keysi talks of there being good in her, and the the look that marrs her features is reluctance. &amp;quot;He did see things in folks,&amp;quot; she admits, a touch wry. &amp;quot;Yer pro'bly right. It's hard for me to see it myself is all.&amp;quot; Pause. It's something the brownrider says that has the woman nodding before she offers, &amp;quot;He was right. 'Course he was. Guess we do have some similarities. I see it now. Tacuseth's ledge is open to ya. If ya come, ya won' be turned away. Whatever ya need, darlin',&amp;quot; and she finally gets up from the chair with the bottle, &amp;quot;ya ask'n I'll work to get it. Even if it's just to talk 'bout him.&amp;quot; There's a fondness in the brief smile at it, nodding. &amp;quot;It's hard for me to trust,&amp;quot; she says, &amp;quot;but he trusted ya'n so, I will. I think we should get to know each other.&amp;quot; Keysi gets her measuring gaze before she offers over the bottle. &amp;quot;It's what he would've wanted.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi uncurls, one booted foot at a time set back on the rug shielding the hearth's corner from some of the cold of the stone beneath. &amp;quot;He always ended up being right.&amp;quot; A hint of fond annoyance, not that it's any less shaky in the voice that struggles to remain steady. As Jo rises, Keysi does too, pulled by the movement almost reflexively, though slowly. &amp;quot;He would have liked that,&amp;quot; on getting to know each other, &amp;quot;And I would like to.&amp;quot; She reaches a hand out to take the offering, but all the attempt at steeling herself is shown to be only surface-deep when she almost loses grip of the bottle when it's passed to her due to the lingering shaking. But her second hand reaches to steady the first, and then it's clutched to her chest just as Jo'd been clutching it since her arrival. &amp;quot;Thank you.&amp;quot; It takes effort, a lot of it, for Keysi to look to meet Jo's gaze. The delayed gratitude means to follow her offer of Tacuseth's ledge being open to her, but it doesn't ''just'' imply that. It's all-encompassing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Good,&amp;quot; Jo says on getting to know each other, facing her once she stands. &amp;quot;Maybe we can go to those desert tents in Igen. R'hin told me he's taken ya there, too.&amp;quot; The bottle is given and her odd open look of understanding is there on her face. She's gained most of her composure by now, and so the thanks with all its meaning has a nod in return for it. She goes to touch the brownrider's shoulder if she can, giving in the end, &amp;quot;They're free, darlin'. Our loss won' be in vain.&amp;quot; Perhaps meant to reassure as she steps away towards the ledge.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi accepts the touch, remaining still, and managing to continue to study Jo's eyes as she speaks, even with the closeness. &amp;quot;Aye.&amp;quot; She breathes, the now-set expression allowing the slightest change of the edge of her lips that may be the attempt of a smile in regards to the offer of plans. Good plans, those. &amp;quot;It won't be.&amp;quot; Assured, that. &amp;quot;He won't be forgotten.&amp;quot; Not in all the change he'd left behind, all the people he'd left behind. &amp;quot;&amp;quot;Our ledge is open to you too.&amp;quot; The brownrider says as the convictrider turns to leave, &amp;quot;Fly safe, Jo.&amp;quot; Is not quite the normal formality, but said by necessity and with an edge to it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Removing her hand, &amp;quot;Damn straight,&amp;quot; comes from Jo, firm and with a edge to the slight smile that comes. She makes it before the ledge before turning back on the offer, the convict rider nodding once on it along with a wry, &amp;quot;I'll be takin' up on that soon.&amp;quot; Pause. &amp;quot;Thanks. Y'all take care of yerselves.&amp;quot; Eyes looks toward Neianth briefly before she gone, the bluepair dropping into the sky moments later. Perhaps her thanks is oddly placed, but there was a taste of relief that could be heard in that one word, alluding to a burden shared as Tacuseth's presence fades.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs, Angst Logs, The Death of R'hin Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Ignorance&amp;diff=77937</id>
		<title>Logs:Ignorance</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Ignorance&amp;diff=77937"/>
				<updated>2015-10-13T07:11:51Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Keysi,&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Honorbound.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Hidden Secrets Weyr, High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=23&lt;br /&gt;
|month=13&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=38&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.10.11&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=Wasn't that enough?&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=R'hin, K'del, Irianke, Jo, Edyis&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Vignette&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon Keysi Sad.jpg, Icon Keysi Neianth.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=Neianth huffs into her palms, the warmth of his breath curling through her fingers that she has splayed over his tanned muzzle. He shoves his nose gently into those hands, the pressure increasing as much physically as mentally. Keysi presses her forehead to the brown’s, and both dragon and rider close their eyes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He’d opened the doors.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He was the catalyst. Savannah was the tool. Its riders, the hands to give her that push.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
They were so much more than that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She was ‘’home.’’ She ‘’belonged.’’&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ever since she Impressed, everyone told her she was safe. That she was protected. That she was surrounded by friends. That the Weyr was family. Edyis persisted. Irianke assured. K’del promised. R’hin made her believe.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He’d given her everything.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Did he realize that? She’d never told him, probably never would have.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He inflamed her ambition by describing his own, gave her wings because feathers had already been there. He never flew for her. That wasn’t what R’hin did. He let her fly because it was what she was meant to do.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He was what a father should have been. She wanted to kill her own, had planned the possibilities of his murder turn by turn, had started putting in motion the steps to begin tracking him only these short months past. And the man who’d stepped into that vacancy had been killed in his place.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Worse, he wasn’t murdered. The knife was Jo’s. The knife was mercy- Never before had that word felt so very heavy. It was ‘’release’’ from a fate she couldn’t comprehend.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She couldn’t harbor hatred. She couldn’t fester on plans of revenge and find comfort in action. There was no trail to follow, nothing to fight for in his honor. There was nothing she could do except to carry the weight of ‘’knowing.’’ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Wasn’t that enough?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’No.’’&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’Ignorance.’’ The word burned. Jo had used it, R’hin had as well. The power of not knowing was as strong as knowing. Stronger, maybe. It could destroy as much as protect. He’d tried to tell her that. She’d argued. She had always argued. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And now she had to lie to ‘’him’’. Keysi knows she’ll be called before her Weyrleader soon, and it wasn’t with true innocence that she’d face him. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The two men who garnered her loyalty to such a degree that she’d stand for them in the face of anything now warred. Both had been struck down by the cold of blades. Both wrapped in secrets, of some she still remained so painfully ‘’ignorant.’’ Only one still stood, but the honor of the fallen is no small thing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Savannah had taught her to lie in every form, from costumes to voice to manner. To her, it had all always ultimately been to protect. It had been for the Weyr.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It had been for ‘’K’del.’’ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And maybe for the last time, even as everything that brought ‘’purpose’’ seemed to be slipping away, she’d have to use what she knew. Against him.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs, Angst Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Ignorance&amp;diff=77919</id>
		<title>Logs:Ignorance</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Ignorance&amp;diff=77919"/>
				<updated>2015-10-13T01:46:24Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Keysi,&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Honorbound.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Hidden Secrets Weyr, High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=23&lt;br /&gt;
|month=13&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=38&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.10.11&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=Wasn't that enough?&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=R'hin, K'del, Irianke, Jo, Edyis&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Vignette&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon Keysi Sad.jpg, Icon Keysi Neianth.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=Neianth huffs into her palms, the warmth of his breath curling through her fingers that she has splayed over his tanned muzzle. He shoves his nose gently into those hands, the pressure increasing as much physically as mentally. Keysi presses her forehead to the brown’s, and both dragon and rider close their eyes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He’d opened the doors.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He was the catalyst. Savannah was the tool. Its riders, the hands to give her that push.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
They were so much more than that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She was ‘’home.’’ She ‘’belonged.’’&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ever since she Impressed, everyone told her she was safe. That she was protected. That she was surrounded by friends. That the Weyr was family. Edyis persisted. Irianke assured. K’del promised. R’hin made her believe.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He’d given her everything.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Did he realize that? She’d never told him, probably never would have.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He inflamed her ambition by describing his own, gave her wings because feathers had already been there. He never flew for her. That wasn’t what R’hin did. He let her fly because it was what she was meant to do.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He was what a father should have been. She wanted to kill her own, had planned the possibilities of his murder turn by turn, had started putting in motion the steps to begin tracking him only these short months past. And the man who’d stepped into that vacancy had been killed in his place.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Worse, he wasn’t murdered. The knife was Jo’s. The knife was mercy- Never before had that word felt so very heavy. It was ‘’release’’ from a fate she couldn’t comprehend.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She couldn’t harbor hatred. She couldn’t fester on plans of revenge and find comfort in action. There was no trail to follow, nothing to fight for in his honor. There was nothing she could do except to carry the weight of ‘’knowing.’’ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Wasn’t that enough?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’No.’’&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’Ignorance.’’ The word burned. Jo had used it, R’hin had as well. The power of not knowing was as strong as knowing. Stronger, maybe. It could destroy as much as protect. He’d tried to tell her that. She’d argued. She had always argued. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And now she had to lie to ‘’him’’. Keysi knows she’ll be called before her Weyrleader soon, and it wasn’t with true innocence that she’d face him. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The two men who garnered her loyalty to such a degree that she’d stand for them in the face of anything now warred. Both had been struck down by the cold of blades. Both wrapped in secrets, of some she still remained so painfully ‘’ignorant.’’ Only one still stood, but the honor of the fallen is no small thing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Savannah had taught her to lie in every form, from costumes to voice to manner. To her, it had all always ultimately been to protect. It had been for the Weyr.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It had been for ‘’K’del.’’ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And maybe for the last time, even as everything that brought ‘’purpose’’ seemed to be slipping away, she’d have to use what she knew. Against him.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs, Angst Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Ignorance&amp;diff=77918</id>
		<title>Logs:Ignorance</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Ignorance&amp;diff=77918"/>
				<updated>2015-10-13T01:44:59Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: Created page with &amp;quot;{{Log |who=Keysi, |what=Honorbound. |where=Hidden Secrets Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |day=23 |month=13 |turn=38 |IP=Interval |IP2=10 |gamedate=2015.10.11 |quote=Wasn't that enoug...&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Keysi,&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Honorbound.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Hidden Secrets Weyr, High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=23&lt;br /&gt;
|month=13&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=38&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.10.11&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=Wasn't that enough?&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=R'hin, K'del, Irianke, Jo, Edyis&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Vignette&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon Keysi Sad.jpg, Icon Keysi Neianth.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=Neianth huffs into her palms, the warmth of his breath curling through her fingers that she has splayed over his tanned muzzle. He shoves his nose gently into those hands, the pressure increasing as much physically as mentally. Keysi presses her forehead to the brown’s, and both dragon and rider close their eyes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He’d opened the doors.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He was the catalyst. Savannah was the tool. Its riders, the hands to give her that push.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
They were so much more than that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She was ‘’home.’’ She ‘’belonged.’’&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ever since she Impressed, everyone told her she was safe. That she was protected. That she was surrounded by friends. That the Weyr was family. Edyis persisted. Irianke assured. K’del promised. R’hin made her believe.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He’d given her everything.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Did he realize that? She’d never told him, probably never would have.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He inflamed her ambition by describing his own, gave her wings because feathers had already been there. He never flew for her. That wasn’t what R’hin did. He let her fly because it was what she was meant to do.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He was what a father should have been. She wanted to kill her own, had planned the possibilities of his murder turn by turn, had started putting in motion the steps to begin tracking him only these short months past. And the man who’d stepped into that vacancy had been killed in his place.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Worse, he wasn’t murdered. The knife was Jo’s. The knife was mercy- Never before had that word felt so very heavy. It was ‘’release’’ from a fate she couldn’t comprehend.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She couldn’t harbor hatred. She couldn’t fester on plans of revenge and find comfort in action. There was no trail to follow, nothing to fight for in his honor. There was nothing she could do except to carry the weight of ‘’knowing.’’ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Wasn’t that enough?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’No.’’&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
‘’Ignorance.’’ The word burned. Jo had used it, R’hin had as well. The power of not knowing was as strong as knowing. Stronger, maybe. It could destroy as much as protect. He’d tried to tell her that. She’d argued. She had always argued. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And now she had to lie to ‘’him’’. Keysi knows she’ll be called before her Weyrleader soon, and it wasn’t with true innocence that she’d face him. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The two men who garnered her loyalty to such a degree that she’d stand for them in the face of anything now warred. Both had been struck down by the cold of blades. Both wrapped in secrets, of some she still remained so painfully ‘’ignorant.’’ Only one still stood, but the honor of the fallen is no small thing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Savannah had taught her to lie in every form, from costumes to voice to manner. To her, it had all always ultimately been to protect. It had been for the Weyr.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It had been for ‘’K’del.’’ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And maybe for the last time, even as everything that brought ‘’purpose’’ seemed to be slipping away, she’d have to use it what she knew. Against him.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs, Angst Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Keysi&amp;diff=77884</id>
		<title>Keysi</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Keysi&amp;diff=77884"/>
				<updated>2015-10-12T12:47:04Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{ProfileTabs&lt;br /&gt;
|picture=Lynn-collins-profile.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|mother=NPC - Ex-Journeywoman Smithcrafter&lt;br /&gt;
|father=NPC - &amp;quot;Blackmarket&amp;quot; trader&lt;br /&gt;
|siblings=None&lt;br /&gt;
|children=None&lt;br /&gt;
|body= Description =&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
While her body seems slender and lithe, runner's leg muscles and a sparrer's arms add a little 'something' to her contour which would otherwise seem relatively plain and flat, fitting of one so stern. The palms of her hands and the soles of her feet are rough and calloused, and bruises can be spotted here and there upon rather pale skin that has seen far more snow and mountains than sun-lit beach. There are two heavy scars that mar her form- one between her shoulder blades, the other over her right bicep. Numerous lighter scars trek down her forearms, hands and legs and appear wholly superficial and of varying age. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Reaching an average height of about 5'7&amp;quot;, her stature really does not scream much of a domineering personality. However, her well-sculpted hardly hued face appears naturally stuck and rigid in the same exact non-expression. Set, critical eyes that are so light blue they appear silver-grey stare out of heavily lashed lids. Dark brown hair that varies between looking almost black in dim light to shinning golden-brown in bright had at once been cut short, but has started to gain some length to it as time has passed, regaining some of the natural curls of it. However, much more often than demonstrating what might be pretty, it's collected in a tight bun on the back of her head. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A tan tunic is modified into a heavy wrap-around top with a thick black boarder, combined at the waist with a wide belly-wrap. The white half-sleeves at the shoulders and central wrap are lined by a furred trimming. The flight jacket that often covers it is a deep almost-black that has seen its share of days, worn in spots but still functional. Her pants are a sandy off-white, tough material with heavier patches at the knees. Arms from elbow to mid-fingers are wrapped with 1&amp;quot; strips of cloth beneath heavy leather forearm guards that are long enough to cover the back of her hands.  A particularly well-made belt knife sits at her lower back, and may not be the only piece of steel on her. A dragonrider's knot is fastened to her shoulder only while within the Weyr proper, intertwined with the hues of High Reaches and the brown of her lifemate.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= WYSK =&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
  * Pronounced Ke-si                                                        &lt;br /&gt;
  * Most of her history goes untold, but it is known that she traveled a    &lt;br /&gt;
  great deal                                                                &lt;br /&gt;
  * Was an apprentice of HealerCraft transferred to HRW as part of a program&lt;br /&gt;
  to improve Weyr-Hall relations. Most skilled in emergency care.           &lt;br /&gt;
  * Talented in fighting, but the basis of which seems to be a mixture of   &lt;br /&gt;
  regional methods.                                                         &lt;br /&gt;
  * Searched by N'qui&amp;amp;Trevisath for Niahvth and Reisoth's clutch, at which  &lt;br /&gt;
  she Impressed to brown Neianth                                            &lt;br /&gt;
  * Intensely serious, and seriously intense, she's overly ambitious and    &lt;br /&gt;
  often complicated by her own thoughts                                     &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= History =&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi is of Tillek Hold birth, given a Smith-trained journeywoman mother and a father of much more questionable means who bided by the title of trader. But what /did/ he trade? He never shared that information. Her father was one of many vices- from drinking and gambling to underhanded dealings that left her mother in a sticky situation when his ways were questioned. Eventually, the man was all but exiled- unofficially ''asked'' to leave when Keysi had just turned 3 turns old. From there, they traveled with different caravans, seeking to transplant themselves into Hold or Hall that needed a Smith's works, and found nobody accepting of them as whispers of her fathers dealings seemed to precede him. Could it be anything but a set up? Black mail? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Their caravan was intermittently intercepted in-route of wherever her mother could find work, or her father had a meeting to sell his 'goods'. With Keysi always in a relatively dangerous situation just on the outskirts of her father's dealings, her mother spent her extra marks on training for the young girl- with guards, with vagabonds, with people who were probably convicts but would do anything for payment. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Once old enough, her mother sought help from the safety that was a crafthall. She fronted an apprenticeship for Keysi in Healing. Despite a rebellious teenage start, craftmasters and the young journeywoman Tess, both grounded her mind and continued physical training in order to help her find balance. She hid herself beneath her studies, using focus and drive as a wall. She spent three long studious turns at the HealerHall at Fort. The external threats lessened as time went on. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The movement for improving Weyr-Hall relations following the reluctance(?) of healers to assistant in situation with the goldrider Teris and the subsequent outcries following it, became an opportunity to further her safety and her Healership, appreciated more by her superiors than herself. At a little over 16 turns, she was posted as an apprentice at High Reaches Weyr, M12D29T36.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Just short of reaching her senior apprenticeship, she was caught up in the politics of High Reaches as a transfer of Irianke and her gold lead to an appropriate, if strained, agreement to send green and blue weyrlings to Igen as trade for use of their Queen and her clutch. An argument with the yet-unmet Weyrlingmaster Quinlys in regards to the fairness of losing Reaches-Hatched dragons led to being Searched (out of amusement?) by her brother  N'qui and his Trevisath. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
During her candidacy, Keysi's inability to socialize, drink, or dabble in any sort of relationship was highlighted but rarely questioned. Following an explosion of unknown origin, Dragonhealer Leova, Bluerider Ghena, Alpine's wingsecond H'kon, the weyrwoman's assistant Lycinea and Keysi became trapped in a small segment of collapsed inner cavern tunnel. They were rescued some 14 days later (M6D19T36), Keysi having broken multiple ribs along with a multitude of lacerations after trying to act the hero at the time of the collapse. Not 24 hours later, an attempt to raise moral with an Igen-style Bazaar for the candidates leads to the death of High Reaches' weyrwoman, Azaylia. Unable to help left Keysi stricken, and even more reserved, unwilling to admit to the troubles the events had left her.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nearly healed by time of hatching, Keysi Impresses to Mysteries of Harmony Brown Neianth of Niavhth and Reisoth's clutch M7T36, not a day after getting into a near-fight with Reisoth's rider. Weyrlinghood proved a time of growth and inner reflection, of self-question and loyalty evaluation. She realized she's been running, hiding. It's after graduation, when she's tapped into Savannah with R'hin that she turns to face her demons.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= Firelizard =&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Blue '''Shen'''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Square-jawed, barrel-chested, and compact of torso, this prodigious blue is all lines and angles, his neck ridges jagged-looking, eye-ridges prominent. Grandiose wings are a surprising shade of glacial blue that eddies into snow-devils of chill indigo upon wingsails' trailing edges. The bulk of his hide is a frenzied, chaotic winterscape of every shade and tint of an arctic storm; gelid gusts of pale sapphire rushing from shorter neck and down shoulders over his back, while random stipples of whitish-blue suggest ice and snow upon flanks. Frozen-seeming claws of an indigo so pale as to appear white suggest the pristine, latent threat of icicles... perhaps echoed by the rather aggressive cant of short headknobs and his rather bold posture.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
* ''Dam:'' Alida's Pyrite&lt;br /&gt;
* ''Sire:'' Jo's Mime&lt;br /&gt;
* ''Hatch Date:'' 23D 11M 38T I10&lt;br /&gt;
* ''Name:'' Chinese Medicine considers Shen to be one of the &amp;quot;three treasures&amp;quot; that constitute life: Jing, the essence; Qi, the life force; and Shen, the spirit. &lt;br /&gt;
* ''Inspiration:'' From Greek mythology's Boreas (Aquilo), the North Wind. The bringer of winter, the devourer, coming down from the north to chill the air relentlessly with his icy breath. He was personified as purple-winged, very strong, and with a violent temper.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= Relationships =&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Alida''' ''respect'' &amp;quot;More than simply a friend of a friend, important in your own way.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Edyis''' ''drifting'' &amp;quot;I still consider you my friend. But I'm changing. Don't forget about me while I figure all this out.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Farideh''' ''work in progress'' &amp;quot;You can do this. For better or for worse, I'm here to help you.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Faryn''' ''smart'' &amp;quot;You match words with me just fine. But only you can figure out who you want to be.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''H'vier''' ''frustrating'' &amp;quot;He makes it very hard to respect authority.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''K'del''' ''idol'' &amp;quot;You've been there. I will do absolutely everything necessary for you. For the Weyr. I will not let you down.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''K'zin''' ''observant'' &amp;quot;Once, I thought you were just an empty-headed prettyboy. But you spoke my language, you changed everything in my weyrlinghood, diverting a destructive path.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lycinea''' ''emergency-besties'' &amp;quot;I know you were hurt, but I'm just not sure how deeply.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Madilla''' ''master'' &amp;quot;You were once what I aspired to be. Now you ask more than I think I can give. But you provide a challenge, and I- we- will meet it.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Quinlys''' ''passionate'' &amp;quot;I don't think we'll ever see eye to eye, and it frustrates me that I can't appreciate your passion.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'van''' ''trouble-starter'' &amp;quot;We certainly don't agree. But I will try to find something to respect.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'hin''' ''catalyst'' &amp;quot;It took me time to trust you. You broke every rule, but you opened every door. I ''will'' be more. You didn't choose wrong.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= Media =&lt;br /&gt;
==Songs==&lt;br /&gt;
'''Keysi'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c4bQsQUdkmY Awake and Alive - Skillet]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_GEUQx-033E Immortals - Fall Out Boy]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2k7pmQxTtmw The Hell Song - Sum41]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFgozleeawE Lose Yourself - Eminem]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eI_8SQwsjA Not Afraid - Eminem]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Neianth'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAwWPadFsOA Mortal Kombat]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zS1xjS_LTyo Pump it - Black Eyed Peas]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ms5mSDy59eM Remember the Name - Fort Minor]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EK2UYoz8azo Hall of Fame - The Script]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNV_sbBrxMQ&amp;amp;index=8&amp;amp;list=PLkOJB9BEJFI333x1obNnanan8DDs6QEGE Kung Fu Panda Instrumentals]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Extras ==&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xta1/v/t1.0-9/12006158_1359865107376272_4569562618017696234_n.jpg?oh=a03e3db36fa71c7c54844d90b492acd3&amp;amp;oe=56A0232B A visual of the pair's outlook on danger], provided lovingly by Faryn.&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://orig10.deviantart.net/cb5e/f/2015/109/f/1/hatchling_neianth_by_rakuraiwolf-d8qbzu5.jpg Hatchling Neianth]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/jh/keysihrw Johari]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/nohari?name=KeysiHRW Nohari]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
= RP Logs =&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{NewLogs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
=Icons=&lt;br /&gt;
{{Icons}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
|where=High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|Has rank=Weyrling&lt;br /&gt;
|craft=Healer&lt;br /&gt;
|dragon=Mysteries of Harmony Brown Neianth&lt;br /&gt;
|birthplace=Tillek Hold&lt;br /&gt;
|playedby=Lynn Collins&lt;br /&gt;
|status=Active&lt;br /&gt;
|face=Face-Keysi.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Character-Categories&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Crafters, Healers, High Reaches Weyr, Tillek Hold, Riders, Brownriders&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Characters]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Greater_Pern]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:High_Reaches_Area]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:High_Reaches_Weyr]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Keysi&amp;diff=77883</id>
		<title>Keysi</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Keysi&amp;diff=77883"/>
				<updated>2015-10-12T12:16:41Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{ProfileTabs&lt;br /&gt;
|picture=Lynn-collins-profile.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|mother=NPC - Journeywoman Smithcrafter&lt;br /&gt;
|father=NPC - &amp;quot;Blackmarket&amp;quot; trader&lt;br /&gt;
|siblings=None&lt;br /&gt;
|children=None&lt;br /&gt;
|body=== Description ==&lt;br /&gt;
While her body seems slender and lithe, runner's leg muscles and a sparrer's arms add a little 'something' to her contour which would otherwise seem relatively plain and flat, fitting of one so stern. The palms of her hands and the soles of her feet are rough and calloused, and bruises can be spotted here and there upon rather pale skin that has seen far more snow and mountains than sun-lit beach. There are two heavy scars that mar her form- one between her shoulder blades, the other over her right bicep. Numerous lighter scars trek down her forearms, hands and legs and appear wholly superficial and of varying age. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Reaching an average height of about 5'7&amp;quot;, her stature really does not scream much of a domineering personality. However, her well-sculpted hardly hued face appears naturally stuck and rigid in the same exact non-expression. Set, critical eyes that are so light blue they appear silver-grey stare out of heavily lashed lids. Dark brown hair that varies between looking almost black in dim light to shinning golden-brown in bright light has been cut crudely. What may have remained as shoulder-length at best is collected in a tight bun on the back of her head. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A tan tunic is modified into a heavy wrap-around top with a thick black boarder, combined at the waist with a wide belly-wrap. The white half-sleeves at the shoulders and central wrap are lined by a furred trimming. Her pants are a white, tough material with heavier patches at the knees. Arms from elbow to mid-fingers are wrapped with 1&amp;quot; strips of cloth beneath heavy leather forearm guards that are long enough to cover the back of her hands. When not restricted by formality, her obsession with &amp;quot;all things sharp&amp;quot; may be somewhat apparent with a single high-quality belt knife at her hip, and more likely a couple more of different styles stashed secretly upon on her person.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== WYSK ==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
  * Pronounced Ke-si                                                        &lt;br /&gt;
  * Most of her history goes untold, but it is known that she traveled a    &lt;br /&gt;
  great deal                                                                &lt;br /&gt;
  * Was an apprentice of HealerCraft transferred to HRW as part of a program&lt;br /&gt;
  to improve Weyr-Hall relations. Most skilled in emergency care.           &lt;br /&gt;
  * Talented in fighting, but the basis of which seems to be a mixture of   &lt;br /&gt;
  regional methods.                                                         &lt;br /&gt;
  * Searched by N'qui&amp;amp;Trevisath for Niahvth and Reisoth's clutch, at which  &lt;br /&gt;
  she Impressed to brown Neianth                                            &lt;br /&gt;
  * Intensely serious, and seriously intense, she's overly ambitious and    &lt;br /&gt;
  often complicated by her own thoughts                                     &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== History ==&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi is of Tillek Hold birth, given a Smith-trained journeywoman mother and a father of much more questionable means who bided by the title of trader. But what /did/ he trade? He never shared that information. Her father was one of many vices- from drinking and gambling to underhanded dealings that left her mother in a sticky situation when his ways were questioned. Eventually, the man was all but exiled- unofficially ''asked'' to leave when Keysi had just turned 3 turns old. From there, they traveled with different caravans, seeking to transplant themselves into Hold or Hall that needed a Smith's works, and found nobody accepting of them as whispers of her fathers dealings seemed to precede him. Could it be anything but a set up? Black mail? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Their caravan was intermittently intercepted in-route of wherever her mother could find work, or her father had a meeting to sell his 'goods'. With Keysi always in a relatively dangerous situation just on the outskirts of her father's dealings, her mother spent her extra marks on training for the young girl- with guards, with vagabonds, with people who were probably convicts but would do anything for payment. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Once old enough, her mother sought help from the safety that was a crafthall. She fronted an apprenticeship for Keysi in Healing. Despite a rebellious teenage start, craftmasters and the young journeywoman Tess, both grounded her mind and continued physical training in order to help her find balance. She hid herself beneath her studies, using focus and drive as a wall. She spent three long studious turns at the HealerHall at Fort. The external threats lessened as time went on. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The movement for improving Weyr-Hall relations following the reluctance(?) of healers to assistant in situation with the goldrider Teris and the subsequent outcries following it, became an opportunity to further her safety and her Healership, appreciated more by her superiors than herself. At a little over 16 turns, she was posted as an apprentice at High Reaches Weyr, M12D29T36.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Just short of reaching her senior apprenticeship, she was caught up in the politics of High Reaches as a transfer of Irianke and her gold lead to an appropriate, if strained, agreement to send green and blue weyrlings to Igen as trade for use of their Queen and her clutch. An argument with the yet-unmet Weyrlingmaster Quinlys in regards to the fairness of losing Reaches-Hatched dragons led to being Searched (out of amusement?) by her brother  N'qui and his Trevisath. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
During her candidacy, Keysi's inability to socialize, drink, or dabble in any sort of relationship was highlighted but rarely questioned. Following an explosion of unknown origin, Dragonhealer Leova, Bluerider Ghena, Alpine's wingsecond H'kon, the weyrwoman's assistant Lycinea and Keysi became trapped in a small segment of collapsed inner cavern tunnel. They were rescued some 14 days later (M6D19T36), Keysi having broken multiple ribs along with a multitude of lacerations after trying to act the hero at the time of the collapse. Not 24 hours later, an attempt to raise moral with an Igen-style Bazaar for the candidates leads to the death of High Reaches' weyrwoman, Azaylia. Unable to help left Keysi stricken, and even more reserved, unwilling to admit to the troubles the events had left her.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nearly healed by time of hatching, Keysi Impresses to Mysteries of Harmony Brown Neianth of Niavhth and Reisoth's clutch M7T36, not a day after getting into a near-fight with Reisoth's rider. Weyrlinghood proved a time of growth and inner reflection, of self-question and loyalty evaluation. She realized she's been running, hiding. It's after graduation, when she's tapped into Savannah with R'hin that she turns to face her demons.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Firelizard == &lt;br /&gt;
Blue '''Shen'''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Square-jawed, barrel-chested, and compact of torso, this prodigious blue is all lines and angles, his neck ridges jagged-looking, eye-ridges prominent. Grandiose wings are a surprising shade of glacial blue that eddies into snow-devils of chill indigo upon wingsails' trailing edges. The bulk of his hide is a frenzied, chaotic winterscape of every shade and tint of an arctic storm; gelid gusts of pale sapphire rushing from shorter neck and down shoulders over his back, while random stipples of whitish-blue suggest ice and snow upon flanks. Frozen-seeming claws of an indigo so pale as to appear white suggest the pristine, latent threat of icicles... perhaps echoed by the rather aggressive cant of short headknobs and his rather bold posture.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
* ''Dam:'' Alida's Pyrite&lt;br /&gt;
* ''Sire:'' Jo's Mime&lt;br /&gt;
* ''Hatch Date:'' 23D 11M 38T I10&lt;br /&gt;
* ''Name:'' Chinese Medicine considers Shen to be one of the &amp;quot;three treasures&amp;quot; that constitute life: Jing, the essence; Qi, the life force; and Shen, the spirit. &lt;br /&gt;
* ''Inspiration:'' From Greek mythology's Boreas (Aquilo), the North Wind. The bringer of winter, the devourer, coming down from the north to chill the air relentlessly with his icy breath. He was personified as purple-winged, very strong, and with a violent temper.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Relationships ==&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Alida''' ''respect'' &amp;quot;More than simply a friend of a friend, important in your own way.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Edyis''' ''drifting'' &amp;quot;I still consider you my friend. But I'm changing. Don't forget about me while I figure all this out.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Farideh''' ''work in progress'' &amp;quot;You can do this. For better or for worse, I'm here to help you.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Faryn''' ''smart'' &amp;quot;You match words with me just fine. But only you can figure out who you want to be.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''H'vier''' ''frustrating'' &amp;quot;He makes it very hard to respect authority.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''K'del''' ''idol'' &amp;quot;You've been there. I will do absolutely everything necessary for you. For the Weyr. I will not let you down.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''K'zin''' ''observant'' &amp;quot;Once, I thought you were just an empty-headed prettyboy. But you spoke my language, you changed everything in my weyrlinghood, diverting a destructive path.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lycinea''' ''emergency-besties'' &amp;quot;I know you were hurt, but I'm just not sure how deeply.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Madilla''' ''master'' &amp;quot;You were once what I aspired to be. Now you ask more than I think I can give. But you provide a challenge, and I- we- will meet it.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Quinlys''' ''passionate'' &amp;quot;I don't think we'll ever see eye to eye, and it frustrates me that I can't appreciate your passion.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'van''' ''trouble-starter'' &amp;quot;We certainly don't agree. But I will try to find something to respect.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'hin''' ''catalyst'' &amp;quot;It took me time to trust you. You broke every rule, but you opened every door. I ''will'' be more. You didn't choose wrong.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Sound Tracks ==&lt;br /&gt;
'''Keysi'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c4bQsQUdkmY Awake and Alive - Skillet]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2k7pmQxTtmw The Hell Song - Sum41]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFgozleeawE Lose Yourself - Eminem]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eI_8SQwsjA Not Afraid - Eminem]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Neianth'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAwWPadFsOA Mortal Kombat]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zS1xjS_LTyo Pump it - Black Eyed Peas]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ms5mSDy59eM Remember the Name - Fort Minor]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EK2UYoz8azo Hall of Fame - The Script]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNV_sbBrxMQ&amp;amp;index=8&amp;amp;list=PLkOJB9BEJFI333x1obNnanan8DDs6QEGE Kung Fu Panda Instrumentals]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== RP Logs ==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{NewLogs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{Icons}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Extras ==&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xta1/v/t1.0-9/12006158_1359865107376272_4569562618017696234_n.jpg?oh=a03e3db36fa71c7c54844d90b492acd3&amp;amp;oe=56A0232B A visual of the pair's outlook on danger], provided lovingly by Faryn.&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/jh/keysihrw Johari]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/nohari?name=KeysiHRW Nohari]&lt;br /&gt;
|where=High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|Has rank=Weyrling&lt;br /&gt;
|craft=Healer&lt;br /&gt;
|dragon=Mysteries of Harmony Brown Neianth&lt;br /&gt;
|birthplace=Tillek Hold&lt;br /&gt;
|playedby=Lynn Collins&lt;br /&gt;
|status=Active&lt;br /&gt;
|face=Face-Keysi.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Character-Categories&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Crafters, Healers, High Reaches Weyr, Tillek Hold, Riders, Brownriders&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Characters]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Greater_Pern]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:High_Reaches_Area]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:High_Reaches_Weyr]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Mercy%27s_Burden&amp;diff=77863</id>
		<title>Logs:Mercy's Burden</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Mercy%27s_Burden&amp;diff=77863"/>
				<updated>2015-10-12T06:30:35Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Jo, Jo{{!}}Tacuseth, Keysi, Keysi{{!}}Neianth&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Shared, a secret and burden to carry to the grave.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Hidden Secrets Weyr, High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=High Reaches Weyr, Monaco Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=20&lt;br /&gt;
|month=13&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=38&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.10.11&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;They're free.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|weather=Steady snow.&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=Bristia, M'kris, R'hin, Aishani&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|ooc=Sad things. So sad.&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=icon jo pensive.jpg, Icon jo tacuseth shadows.jpg, Icon Keysi Neianth Agitated.jpg, Icon Keysi concern.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=It hasn't been long since R'hin's passing that Tacuseth reaches out to Neianth. Desert winds are gone, lost in a dead wasteland as he sends to the brown, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; We hope we're not interrupting. My Jo would like to come visit yers. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; His presence is near, as if expecting the confirmation for him to drop onto the ledge.&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
Neianth, who usually resides as sentinel out on his ledge, lays on his draconic couch within, focus clearly distracted even as another mind reaches for his. It was not the first to seek, to 'check-in' as many had done given the outburst. But this touch of Tacuseth draws more than a vague sensation from the brown. His ripples are slow to come in response but do, his deep baritones offering, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; You do not interrupt. She would accept a visit from yours. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; As if she had declined others.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tacuseth is smooth in his thanks, and the bluepair arrives shortly after. The blue is off-color - a bit grey tint to him as he sets himself up as a sentinel while Jo dismounts. On Jo, her face isn't a mess at least from the last time they met. She moves to Tacuseth's side to pull free a fine bottle before she goes into the inner weyr with a tentative but stoic, &amp;quot;Keysi.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The young brown's welcome is faint, touched over the ripples that fade down to smoothness. The bluerider's alert is met with a level, &amp;quot;Come in.&amp;quot; Crescent-touched faceted eyes of the small brown, curled off to the side of the room upon his draconic couch, watch Keysi. The rest of his form remains particularly still besides the slow rise and fall of breathing. The brownrider sits on the edge of her smallish bed, holding one of the daggers that must've been hung on a wall considering there's an empty place above her where it'd had been, slowly rotating it in her hands that rest on her lap until Jo may be visible. &amp;quot;How are you?&amp;quot; It's not really a fair question, but more than simply a formality in greeting.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The blue's presence in Neianth's mind lingers, his dark shadows murky but unpleasant. It's a presence of mourning as Jo walks in upon hearing Keysi's voice, and she pauses to take in the space. The mat and the punching bag, particularly, belatedly holding up the bottle she holds before her gaze meets the brownrider's. To her question, there's a pause. The bottle lowering a bit, &amp;quot;I keep expectin' him to show up. Come 'round,&amp;quot; she says, hollow. &amp;quot;I'm sad.... 'n I'm pissed off.&amp;quot; Pause. The bottle lifting again, &amp;quot;He liked nothin' but the finest,&amp;quot; she says in indication of it. &amp;quot;If ya drink. If not, I imagine it makes a lovely sound thrown against a tree. Might not wanna do that, though. This was one of ''his''.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Brown's mind doesn't withdraw from Tacuseth's touch, but his usually clear reflection pool that shares such vivid imagry with his own touch is nearly equally as murky; nothing shared to be seen or felt within. Evidence of the internalized mourning of his own. But as the bluerider enters, Neianth does rise, shaking himself once, resettling wings, and then moves out onto the ledge with the blue. As presence, if not a talkative one. Keysi stands as Jo answers, setting the knife down behind her on the perhaps overly-made bed. &amp;quot;Aye.&amp;quot; Is all she manages at first, pale stormy eyes looking over the other rider and then to the gift she brings. There's almost, almost the hint of a sorrowful grin, short-lived, &amp;quot;I didn't used to.&amp;quot; She begins, a shake of her head as he moves towards the chairs before the hearth, a hand gestured outwards as indication for Jo to join her, &amp;quot;Then R'hin came along. He changed many things. Everything.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
While Tacuseth settles so that he and Neianth are a pair of sentinels on watch, Jo watches Keysi with the knife as she stands there. Her study is equally intense, as Keysi approaches, and her response draw the bare bones of a sad smile. &amp;quot;How things change,&amp;quot; she says to doing things one didn't use to do, following her towards the chairs. Sitting, &amp;quot;Not surprised to hear it,&amp;quot; she tells her, her dark gaze going towards the hearth. &amp;quot;He had that effect, darlin'. That sort of ''influence''. I didn' wanna say much in front of that harper,&amp;quot; she notes, cutting a glance towards her, &amp;quot;but he spoke me a lot 'bout ya. Said we were a lot alike. Ya'n me.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi leans over the back of the chair she'd intended to sit in at first, her expression still a stony thing, carefully controlled for the moment. Though when Jo says ''that'' particular sentiment again, it takes significantly more effort and she's forced to look away- for now, to the small, simmering fire that could certainly use a good stoking. &amp;quot;He'd mentioned we should meet.&amp;quot; She says evenly, though in a way that doesn't seem like it was just once, &amp;quot;More than just in passing during darts.&amp;quot; The thought of the game makes her straighten, a hand rubbing the back of her neck before she shifts one more time to turn over the glasses next to the decanter on the table between them. &amp;quot;He was.. special to you.&amp;quot; More an observation than a question, &amp;quot;How long had you known him?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Jo watches her as she holds that bottle to her chest, the fire from the hearth lighting her eyes as she nods. &amp;quot;He insisted,&amp;quot; she says on meeting. &amp;quot;All the folks we met, yer the only one he pointed out.&amp;quot; And, there's a pause. &amp;quot;He still is,&amp;quot; she answers on him being special, the words difficult from the rigidness of her posture. &amp;quot;I don' let many in, 'n the bastard managed to worm his way through my defenses. Girl like me, darlin',&amp;quot; she says with a dark smile, &amp;quot;gets judged often. He never judged me. He had plenty of reason to, but he never judged me. Not once.&amp;quot; Her eyes drop back towards the fire before she answers the last with, &amp;quot;Can barely remember the first time I did. It's been many turns. It's been ''turns''. At a hatchin', where the departed Aishani was still Brieli'n Savannah wasn' long in this Weyr.&amp;quot; Pause. &amp;quot;How did'ja-?&amp;quot; Meet him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi lets time pass between thoughts, needing it as much to keep her voice from cracking as being so for gentleness' sake. &amp;quot;He wormed his way into many things.&amp;quot; She agrees quietly after listening, a faint twitch of her lips in fondness following. &amp;quot;In passing.&amp;quot; Her answer begins with a slow shake of her head, &amp;quot;A simple conversation while I was a weyrling,&amp;quot; A furrowing of her brow- &amp;quot;I guess it really wasn't that long ago. It seems like I'd known him for turns. I wish I had.&amp;quot; She thought she would. &amp;quot;I thought I knew what I was doing then. He decided to prove otherwise.. Helped me with...&amp;quot; Keysi's words fade, her grey eyes turning to study Jo finally, &amp;quot;None of my reservations meant anything to him. He was like..&amp;quot; Words are difficult, and she ends up sliding into the chair instead of finishing that sentiment. &amp;quot;What really happened Jo? He doesn't do things by accident. He was acting..&amp;quot; she hunts for the right adjective, &amp;quot;off sometimes after wing assignments.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's raking husk of laughter for what Keysi reveals first, and Jo shakes her head. &amp;quot;That's how it starts,&amp;quot; she notes on simple conversations. &amp;quot;Ya start seein' things ya wanna learn 'bout the person 'n the next thing ya know...&amp;quot; A shake of her head. But there was that pause from the brownrider on R'hin helping her, the older woman studying her anew in her silence. It's a silence of understanding, and the last is what has her head dip as she angles a look towards her. Her silence is heavy and long, but Tacuseth rouses. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; How loyal are ya to him? &amp;gt;&amp;gt; the blue sends, but the words seem not come from the dragon himself. Not the Weyr. ''Him''.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's some ease that husk of laughter brings to the heaviness of the room, but not for too long. Keysi leans forwards in both thought and patience, forearms rested over knees. &amp;quot;It's all upside down.&amp;quot; To finish that sentiment or to add a new one, that comment could be either. Intense but untelling gaze continues to lay on Jo, gathering whatever she can glean from expression or shared word. Then, silence is met with silence. Not uncomfortable, however, not to her anyway. Neianth stirs as Tacuseth does, his head angling slightly to level a greyed faceted eye at the blue, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Honesty was once everything. But in secrets, what matters is kept safe. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; The last seems to not be ''their'' own words. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; His honor will not be soiled. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The silence isn't uncomfortably by any shot, Jo settled in the chair with the bottle held in her lap as Tacuseth speaks for her. To Neianth's answer, the blue seems to agree since he returns with &amp;lt;&amp;lt; A promise was made. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; - &amp;quot;This must to kept to the grave,&amp;quot; Jo speaks behind her dragon, her tone heavy and even as she leans towards Keysi. &amp;quot;I...can't tell it all. I don't have the stomach to, but...&amp;quot; There's a pregnant pause before she goes on with, &amp;quot;He was dyin', darlin'. He was already dyin'. ''Here'',&amp;quot; and she lifts one long finger to tap the side of her head. &amp;quot;I've never heard of this happenin'. Of....a dragon ''forgetting'' their own rider. Leiventh was. I've seen it too many times for myself,&amp;quot; the last given quietly. &amp;quot;It was affectin' him, too.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neianth's ripples smooth over to a glassy surface of a reflective pool, deep, vast beyond word alone; a sensation of a dark mirror of Tacuseth's reply. An agreement, a promise in its own. Neianth's stirring had reached Keysi, but it only extended that patience within silence. And when Jo speaks, her gaze on her remains steady. It doesn't surprise her, a preceeding clause such as that, but she does nod her own value of promise. But the news, the actual story that follows, does not contribute to that steadiness. &amp;quot;Why couldn't.. why didn't he tell me?&amp;quot; Her fingers weave together, stopping the trembling that threatens them. The strained look she has denotes she already knows that answer. &amp;quot;How could that be? How long did he know? When.. when did he tell you?&amp;quot; A jumble of questions, rambled together.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
While Tacuseth lets his shadow winds ride on those ripples, Jo watches those fingers tremble before she meets Keysi's gaze and shakes her head. &amp;quot;Only one other knew,&amp;quot; she says soberly to her. &amp;quot;He didn'....I don' think he wanted to put that burden on ya, darlin'. He kept yer secrets, but somethin' tells me ya carry some burdens of yer own. That he told me at all...&amp;quot; There's an exhale and she slumps, her grief evident now on her features. She answers the rest now. &amp;quot;He knew for a long time 'n only told me towards the end. Told me there was a Weyrwoman that had what he had, 'n she withered away. That...he wouldn' go out like that.&amp;quot; Meeting Keysi gaze, &amp;quot;So, M'kris was set up,&amp;quot; she says, her gaze hard and measuring. &amp;quot;He wanted it to ''mean'' somethin'.&amp;quot; The words ring with significance, her gaze not wavering.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi's fingers are white as she holds her hands tighter, listening but on edge as she does. With each added word, she seems to want to say ''something'' to interrupt, to question, her expression cracking from the steel it had once been. But she manages not to. Not until Jo finishes. There's no disbelief there in those stormy eyes of hers. Maybe a turn ago there would've been, but now? &amp;quot;Who doesn't have their own burdens?&amp;quot; Is what she finally comes up with, her frame tensed. &amp;quot;That's no excuse.. He was like a father, a-&amp;quot; Anger wrinkles her face, &amp;quot;That's... horrible.&amp;quot; The word isn't terrible enough to describe R'hin's fate. Any word seems not enough to do it near justice, and her disturbed silence portrays its insuffiency. &amp;quot;Did Bristia know? Did anyone else?&amp;quot; But on the last that Jo shares, the wavering of her face and tone steadies abruptly, focus back on the bluerider, &amp;quot;Is the history you told the Harper part of it?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Jo watches Keysi closely, taking in any nuances she finds with her grave demeanor. The anger seems to be expected, for she states to it, &amp;quot;He is. When it comes to it, part of me rather not have known. There's better peace in ignorance.&amp;quot; Shaking her head, &amp;quot;He ''chose'' how he wanted to go,&amp;quot; she reiterates, the words being significant. &amp;quot;We can' deny him that. As much as I...I keep askin' myself, if I was in his place, would I had done the same? If I knew my time was limited...to make a choice...She was the only other,&amp;quot; she answers now. Bristia. &amp;quot;That's what he told me, so I have to believe it. The history....yes,&amp;quot; she says with a nod. &amp;quot;Monaco. It always stemmed back to them, didn' it? 'Least there, he kept his secrets close. I never learned the full story between him'n that Weyrleader, but I've seen 'nough with him to guess the temperature whenever I was down there.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Peace.&amp;quot; Keysi parrots the word in a fierce mutter, &amp;quot;There's innocence in ignorance too. But it's not real.&amp;quot; Vehemence courses that tone, but when she words his ''choice'' as such, she clenches her teeth. &amp;quot;No.&amp;quot; Is all she can manage in regards to denying him his last wish. About Monaco, she nods, not unfamiliar. &amp;quot;But if it was so.. much that M'kris was set up,&amp;quot; the brownrider continues evenly after Jo confirms that piece of story, &amp;quot;And it was his wish to- whatever end.&amp;quot; A beat, &amp;quot;You were the only other one in the tent.&amp;quot; There's no judgement or accusation with it, there's no pressure within her words at all, &amp;quot;Did M'kris do it?&amp;quot; It's direct this time, if almost whispered.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I've had a good few months to cope with this over ya,&amp;quot; Jo notes to Keysi's refusal, her smile sad. &amp;quot;The first month will be the worst.&amp;quot; Keysi's working it out, though, and the bluerider falls silent. It's almost as if she's expecting that question, so when it does comes, there's no flinching. There's that slight change of her gaze on the brownrider - a look that says 'What do you think?' once realized. Eyes cut towards those knives as she says, &amp;quot;I've done anythin' he's ever asked of me. Even when I didn' want to, 'n that's only happened once. It's the one time I couldn' refuse him. It's the one time I hate him for.&amp;quot; She shifts to turn more towards Keysi now, &amp;quot;I tell ya cuz I saw yer face when tried to get into that tent,&amp;quot; she says quietly, watching her face. &amp;quot;He meant a lot to ya, 'n ya meant a lot to him. That is why ya know now, 'n ya'll have the same burden as I in takin' his secret Between. For better're for worse now.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Given the puzzle had already been put together in her mind, the click of completion with Jo's words doesn't elicit anything abrupt. Keysi becomes resolved in a stillness, her eyes focused on the ground ahead of her. Searching, glazed. Shifting out on the ledge signifies Neianth stirring again, a rumbling that's somehow managed quietly likely an overflow between the two of the too-much that's internalized. When she moves, it's a quick movement to pick up one of the still empty nice glasses that she'd flipped over for wine and fling it across the weyr. It smashes into a shower of shards, loud in contrast the quiet that stretches. And while she doesn't look at Jo, that didn't seem directed at her. &amp;quot;It's better.&amp;quot; She says eventually with intense difficulty. A minute, or more, may have passed. &amp;quot;Cruel,&amp;quot; Falls quieter, &amp;quot;I'm sorry.&amp;quot; That she had to do the deed, she seems to imply. &amp;quot;I can't imagine how you.. managed.&amp;quot; To the end, &amp;quot;He's left so many memories in his wake. Changes. He always wanted more. Was he..&amp;quot; relieved? settled? happy? there's no word, &amp;quot;with that.. end?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neianth shifts and Tacuseth watches. Jo doesn't even react when that glass thrown. Her breath comes out long, like she was expelling something, and she looks where the glass has smashed. It's the apology that has her jaw working. &amp;quot;Who else but I that he could trust to follow through?&amp;quot; and her words fall bitter as her watery gaze lingers on the shattered glass. &amp;quot;I whose held a knife in one hand for too many turns?&amp;quot; Dark eyes cut to Keysi now, the grin self-deprecating as she says, &amp;quot;The girl whose innocence was taken by bein' accused of murder all those turns ago....made to be locked up for it. I managed 'cuz I've lived a life doin' what I had to to get by. Even to the detriment of others, darlin'.&amp;quot; Her eyes are caked in her own secrets, and perhaps the brownrider could see the pull Jo was for the late bronzerider. Clutching the bottle to herself for her last, the last has her lingering in silence before she quietly says, &amp;quot;He touched my cheek, 'n he thanked me. He wasn' alone, Keysi. I sat with him until Leiventh went Between. They were finally free.&amp;quot; It's the last that has a tear sliding down her face, and she angrily wipes it away.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I couldn't.&amp;quot; Keysi says darkly and reluctantly, in what one could say is some measure of agreement. As Jo describes herself as such, the brownrider finds herself shaking her head, &amp;quot;You can hold a knife to a stranger. But to hold one to ''R'hin''.&amp;quot; His name is sharp, accentuated by a crack in the sturdiness of her voice, &amp;quot;That's not the same. It's not the same.&amp;quot; Of doing what one has to, of holding a knife for so long. Her repetition comes mingled another slow shake of her head. When she speaks of the last moments, she doesn't lose it- not yet. But it's a close thing, the brownrider drawing her knees up to her chest, pulling her arms and head against her thighs as they tuck in tightly to her. The lump in her throat of being 'free' shuts her down, and she can't say a word for a good, long, drawn-out while. Almost croaked, all she's able to follow with is: &amp;quot;I couldn't say goodbye.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Ya don' wanna know the things I've done.&amp;quot; Jo's words are heavy. Dark. Raw. &amp;quot;It's not the same, but his alternative was.....&amp;quot; ''That'' was worse, she implies, looking back towards the hearth. &amp;quot;R'hin knew I could,&amp;quot; she states with certainty, nodding. &amp;quot;He knew my past. He knew what I was capable of. He didn' judge me, 'cuz of his own past. I respected that. I respected ''him''. I ain' the sort to respect many, darlin'.&amp;quot; Her eyes look on mournfully towards Keysi as she tries to maintain composure, and on goodbyes, &amp;quot;I'm sorry, Keysi. I really wished ya'd gotten that chance. I don' think...I think he would've lost his resolve if he saw ya.&amp;quot; Silence falls before she says, &amp;quot;It's....good, that ya can'. That ya have some decency left in ya.&amp;quot; Shaking her head, &amp;quot;Don' end up like me.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Ignorance.&amp;quot; The word from earlier is mumbled just loud enough to be audible, reminding the convict of her thoughts on it. Keysi lifts her head enough from her self-made caccoon so that her mouth is not so muffled. She watches the dying fire, but far be it from her to stoke it. She doesn't press harder for details. In light of everything, it's almost ''accepted''. &amp;quot;If he didn't judge you, there is a different kind of good in you. I don't know you, you're right. I won't pretend to.&amp;quot; With that, she does manage to look at Jo, not so intensely. More weary. &amp;quot;But I trusted him. I don't like trusting people.&amp;quot; She adds, slightly harsher, and looks away, &amp;quot;He saw things in people.&amp;quot; The heavy statement is left to linger, &amp;quot;Regardless of how, you did it.&amp;quot; Bluntly, but not unkindly, &amp;quot;If I can do anything for you, you only need to call.&amp;quot; Keeping of the secret, however, is already implied.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The one word draws a genuine smile from Jo, it staying in place for a few seconds. It falls completely when Keysi talks of there being good in her, and the the look that marrs her features is reluctance. &amp;quot;He did see things in folks,&amp;quot; she admits, a touch wry. &amp;quot;Yer pro'bly right. It's hard for me to see it myself is all.&amp;quot; Pause. It's something the brownrider says that has the woman nodding before she offers, &amp;quot;He was right. 'Course he was. Guess we do have some similarities. I see it now. Tacuseth's ledge is open to ya. If ya come, ya won' be turned away. Whatever ya need, darlin',&amp;quot; and she finally gets up from the chair with the bottle, &amp;quot;ya ask'n I'll work to get it. Even if it's just to talk 'bout him.&amp;quot; There's a fondness in the brief smile at it, nodding. &amp;quot;It's hard for me to trust,&amp;quot; she says, &amp;quot;but he trusted ya'n so, I will. I think we should get to know each other.&amp;quot; Keysi gets her measuring gaze before she offers over the bottle. &amp;quot;It's what he would've wanted.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi uncurls, one booted foot at a time set back on the rug shielding the hearth's corner from some of the cold of the stone beneath. &amp;quot;He always ended up being right.&amp;quot; A hint of fond annoyance, not that it's any less shaky in the voice that struggles to remain steady. As Jo rises, Keysi does too, pulled by the movement almost reflexively, though slowly. &amp;quot;He would have liked that,&amp;quot; on getting to know each other, &amp;quot;And I would like to.&amp;quot; She reaches a hand out to take the offering, but all the attempt at steeling herself is shown to be only surface-deep when she almost loses grip of the bottle when it's passed to her due to the lingering shaking. But her second hand reaches to steady the first, and then it's clutched to her chest just as Jo'd been clutching it since her arrival. &amp;quot;Thank you.&amp;quot; It takes effort, a lot of it, for Keysi to look to meet Jo's gaze. The delayed gratitude means to follow her offer of Tacuseth's ledge being open to her, but it doesn't ''just'' imply that. It's all-encompassing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Good,&amp;quot; Jo says on getting to know each other, facing her once she stands. &amp;quot;Maybe we can go to those desert tents in Igen. R'hin told me he's taken ya there, too.&amp;quot; The bottle is given and her odd open look of understanding is there on her face. She's gained most of her composure by now, and so the thanks with all its meaning has a nod in return for it. She goes to touch the brownrider's shoulder if she can, giving in the end, &amp;quot;They're free, darlin'. Our loss won' be in vain.&amp;quot; Perhaps meant to reassure as she steps away towards the ledge.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi accepts the touch, remaining still, and managing to continue to study Jo's eyes as she speaks, even with the closeness. &amp;quot;Aye.&amp;quot; She breathes, the now-set expression allowing the slightest change of the edge of her lips that may be the attempt of a smile in regards to the offer of plans. Good plans, those. &amp;quot;It won't be.&amp;quot; Assured, that. &amp;quot;He won't be forgotten.&amp;quot; Not in all the change he'd left behind, all the people he'd left behind. &amp;quot;&amp;quot;Our ledge is open to you too.&amp;quot; The brownrider says as the convictrider turns to leave, &amp;quot;Fly safe, Jo.&amp;quot; Is not quite the normal formality, but said by necessity and with an edge to it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Removing her hand, &amp;quot;Damn straight,&amp;quot; comes from Jo, firm and with a edge to the slight smile that comes. She makes it before the ledge before turning back on the offer, the convict rider nodding once on it along with a wry, &amp;quot;I'll be takin' up on that soon.&amp;quot; Pause. &amp;quot;Thanks. Y'all take care of yerselves.&amp;quot; Eyes looks toward Neianth briefly before she gone, the bluepair dropping into the sky moments later. Perhaps her thanks is oddly placed, but there was a taste of relief that could be heard in that one word, alluding to a burden shared as Tacuseth's presence fades.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs, Angst Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Mercy%27s_Burden&amp;diff=77862</id>
		<title>Logs:Mercy's Burden</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Mercy%27s_Burden&amp;diff=77862"/>
				<updated>2015-10-12T06:29:24Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: Created page with &amp;quot;{{Log |who=Jo, Jo{{!}}Tacuseth, Keysi, Keysi{{!}}Neianth |what=Shared, a secret and burden to carry to the grave. |where=Hidden Secrets Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |involves=High...&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Jo, Jo{{!}}Tacuseth, Keysi, Keysi{{!}}Neianth&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Shared, a secret and burden to carry to the grave.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Hidden Secrets Weyr, High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=High Reaches Weyr, Monaco Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=20&lt;br /&gt;
|month=13&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=38&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.10.11&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;They're free.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|weather=Steady snow.&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=Bristia, M'kris, R'hin, Aishani&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|ooc=Sad things. So sad.&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=icon jo pensive.jpg, Icon jo tacuseth shadows.jpg, icon keysi concern.jpg, Icon Keysi Neianth Agitated.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=It hasn't been long since R'hin's passing that Tacuseth reaches out to Neianth. Desert winds are gone, lost in a dead wasteland as he sends to the brown, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; We hope we're not interrupting. My Jo would like to come visit yers. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; His presence is near, as if expecting the confirmation for him to drop onto the ledge.&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
Neianth, who usually resides as sentinel out on his ledge, lays on his draconic couch within, focus clearly distracted even as another mind reaches for his. It was not the first to seek, to 'check-in' as many had done given the outburst. But this touch of Tacuseth draws more than a vague sensation from the brown. His ripples are slow to come in response but do, his deep baritones offering, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; You do not interrupt. She would accept a visit from yours. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; As if she had declined others.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tacuseth is smooth in his thanks, and the bluepair arrives shortly after. The blue is off-color - a bit grey tint to him as he sets himself up as a sentinel while Jo dismounts. On Jo, her face isn't a mess at least from the last time they met. She moves to Tacuseth's side to pull free a fine bottle before she goes into the inner weyr with a tentative but stoic, &amp;quot;Keysi.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The young brown's welcome is faint, touched over the ripples that fade down to smoothness. The bluerider's alert is met with a level, &amp;quot;Come in.&amp;quot; Crescent-touched faceted eyes of the small brown, curled off to the side of the room upon his draconic couch, watch Keysi. The rest of his form remains particularly still besides the slow rise and fall of breathing. The brownrider sits on the edge of her smallish bed, holding one of the daggers that must've been hung on a wall considering there's an empty place above her where it'd had been, slowly rotating it in her hands that rest on her lap until Jo may be visible. &amp;quot;How are you?&amp;quot; It's not really a fair question, but more than simply a formality in greeting.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The blue's presence in Neianth's mind lingers, his dark shadows murky but unpleasant. It's a presence of mourning as Jo walks in upon hearing Keysi's voice, and she pauses to take in the space. The mat and the punching bag, particularly, belatedly holding up the bottle she holds before her gaze meets the brownrider's. To her question, there's a pause. The bottle lowering a bit, &amp;quot;I keep expectin' him to show up. Come 'round,&amp;quot; she says, hollow. &amp;quot;I'm sad.... 'n I'm pissed off.&amp;quot; Pause. The bottle lifting again, &amp;quot;He liked nothin' but the finest,&amp;quot; she says in indication of it. &amp;quot;If ya drink. If not, I imagine it makes a lovely sound thrown against a tree. Might not wanna do that, though. This was one of ''his''.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Brown's mind doesn't withdraw from Tacuseth's touch, but his usually clear reflection pool that shares such vivid imagry with his own touch is nearly equally as murky; nothing shared to be seen or felt within. Evidence of the internalized mourning of his own. But as the bluerider enters, Neianth does rise, shaking himself once, resettling wings, and then moves out onto the ledge with the blue. As presence, if not a talkative one. Keysi stands as Jo answers, setting the knife down behind her on the perhaps overly-made bed. &amp;quot;Aye.&amp;quot; Is all she manages at first, pale stormy eyes looking over the other rider and then to the gift she brings. There's almost, almost the hint of a sorrowful grin, short-lived, &amp;quot;I didn't used to.&amp;quot; She begins, a shake of her head as he moves towards the chairs before the hearth, a hand gestured outwards as indication for Jo to join her, &amp;quot;Then R'hin came along. He changed many things. Everything.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
While Tacuseth settles so that he and Neianth are a pair of sentinels on watch, Jo watches Keysi with the knife as she stands there. Her study is equally intense, as Keysi approaches, and her response draw the bare bones of a sad smile. &amp;quot;How things change,&amp;quot; she says to doing things one didn't use to do, following her towards the chairs. Sitting, &amp;quot;Not surprised to hear it,&amp;quot; she tells her, her dark gaze going towards the hearth. &amp;quot;He had that effect, darlin'. That sort of ''influence''. I didn' wanna say much in front of that harper,&amp;quot; she notes, cutting a glance towards her, &amp;quot;but he spoke me a lot 'bout ya. Said we were a lot alike. Ya'n me.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi leans over the back of the chair she'd intended to sit in at first, her expression still a stony thing, carefully controlled for the moment. Though when Jo says ''that'' particular sentiment again, it takes significantly more effort and she's forced to look away- for now, to the small, simmering fire that could certainly use a good stoking. &amp;quot;He'd mentioned we should meet.&amp;quot; She says evenly, though in a way that doesn't seem like it was just once, &amp;quot;More than just in passing during darts.&amp;quot; The thought of the game makes her straighten, a hand rubbing the back of her neck before she shifts one more time to turn over the glasses next to the decanter on the table between them. &amp;quot;He was.. special to you.&amp;quot; More an observation than a question, &amp;quot;How long had you known him?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Jo watches her as she holds that bottle to her chest, the fire from the hearth lighting her eyes as she nods. &amp;quot;He insisted,&amp;quot; she says on meeting. &amp;quot;All the folks we met, yer the only one he pointed out.&amp;quot; And, there's a pause. &amp;quot;He still is,&amp;quot; she answers on him being special, the words difficult from the rigidness of her posture. &amp;quot;I don' let many in, 'n the bastard managed to worm his way through my defenses. Girl like me, darlin',&amp;quot; she says with a dark smile, &amp;quot;gets judged often. He never judged me. He had plenty of reason to, but he never judged me. Not once.&amp;quot; Her eyes drop back towards the fire before she answers the last with, &amp;quot;Can barely remember the first time I did. It's been many turns. It's been ''turns''. At a hatchin', where the departed Aishani was still Brieli'n Savannah wasn' long in this Weyr.&amp;quot; Pause. &amp;quot;How did'ja-?&amp;quot; Meet him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi lets time pass between thoughts, needing it as much to keep her voice from cracking as being so for gentleness' sake. &amp;quot;He wormed his way into many things.&amp;quot; She agrees quietly after listening, a faint twitch of her lips in fondness following. &amp;quot;In passing.&amp;quot; Her answer begins with a slow shake of her head, &amp;quot;A simple conversation while I was a weyrling,&amp;quot; A furrowing of her brow- &amp;quot;I guess it really wasn't that long ago. It seems like I'd known him for turns. I wish I had.&amp;quot; She thought she would. &amp;quot;I thought I knew what I was doing then. He decided to prove otherwise.. Helped me with...&amp;quot; Keysi's words fade, her grey eyes turning to study Jo finally, &amp;quot;None of my reservations meant anything to him. He was like..&amp;quot; Words are difficult, and she ends up sliding into the chair instead of finishing that sentiment. &amp;quot;What really happened Jo? He doesn't do things by accident. He was acting..&amp;quot; she hunts for the right adjective, &amp;quot;off sometimes after wing assignments.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's raking husk of laughter for what Keysi reveals first, and Jo shakes her head. &amp;quot;That's how it starts,&amp;quot; she notes on simple conversations. &amp;quot;Ya start seein' things ya wanna learn 'bout the person 'n the next thing ya know...&amp;quot; A shake of her head. But there was that pause from the brownrider on R'hin helping her, the older woman studying her anew in her silence. It's a silence of understanding, and the last is what has her head dip as she angles a look towards her. Her silence is heavy and long, but Tacuseth rouses. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; How loyal are ya to him? &amp;gt;&amp;gt; the blue sends, but the words seem not come from the dragon himself. Not the Weyr. ''Him''.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's some ease that husk of laughter brings to the heaviness of the room, but not for too long. Keysi leans forwards in both thought and patience, forearms rested over knees. &amp;quot;It's all upside down.&amp;quot; To finish that sentiment or to add a new one, that comment could be either. Intense but untelling gaze continues to lay on Jo, gathering whatever she can glean from expression or shared word. Then, silence is met with silence. Not uncomfortable, however, not to her anyway. Neianth stirs as Tacuseth does, his head angling slightly to level a greyed faceted eye at the blue, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Honesty was once everything. But in secrets, what matters is kept safe. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; The last seems to not be ''their'' own words. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; His honor will not be soiled. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The silence isn't uncomfortably by any shot, Jo settled in the chair with the bottle held in her lap as Tacuseth speaks for her. To Neianth's answer, the blue seems to agree since he returns with &amp;lt;&amp;lt; A promise was made. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; - &amp;quot;This must to kept to the grave,&amp;quot; Jo speaks behind her dragon, her tone heavy and even as she leans towards Keysi. &amp;quot;I...can't tell it all. I don't have the stomach to, but...&amp;quot; There's a pregnant pause before she goes on with, &amp;quot;He was dyin', darlin'. He was already dyin'. ''Here'',&amp;quot; and she lifts one long finger to tap the side of her head. &amp;quot;I've never heard of this happenin'. Of....a dragon ''forgetting'' their own rider. Leiventh was. I've seen it too many times for myself,&amp;quot; the last given quietly. &amp;quot;It was affectin' him, too.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neianth's ripples smooth over to a glassy surface of a reflective pool, deep, vast beyond word alone; a sensation of a dark mirror of Tacuseth's reply. An agreement, a promise in its own. Neianth's stirring had reached Keysi, but it only extended that patience within silence. And when Jo speaks, her gaze on her remains steady. It doesn't surprise her, a preceeding clause such as that, but she does nod her own value of promise. But the news, the actual story that follows, does not contribute to that steadiness. &amp;quot;Why couldn't.. why didn't he tell me?&amp;quot; Her fingers weave together, stopping the trembling that threatens them. The strained look she has denotes she already knows that answer. &amp;quot;How could that be? How long did he know? When.. when did he tell you?&amp;quot; A jumble of questions, rambled together.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
While Tacuseth lets his shadow winds ride on those ripples, Jo watches those fingers tremble before she meets Keysi's gaze and shakes her head. &amp;quot;Only one other knew,&amp;quot; she says soberly to her. &amp;quot;He didn'....I don' think he wanted to put that burden on ya, darlin'. He kept yer secrets, but somethin' tells me ya carry some burdens of yer own. That he told me at all...&amp;quot; There's an exhale and she slumps, her grief evident now on her features. She answers the rest now. &amp;quot;He knew for a long time 'n only told me towards the end. Told me there was a Weyrwoman that had what he had, 'n she withered away. That...he wouldn' go out like that.&amp;quot; Meeting Keysi gaze, &amp;quot;So, M'kris was set up,&amp;quot; she says, her gaze hard and measuring. &amp;quot;He wanted it to ''mean'' somethin'.&amp;quot; The words ring with significance, her gaze not wavering.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi's fingers are white as she holds her hands tighter, listening but on edge as she does. With each added word, she seems to want to say ''something'' to interrupt, to question, her expression cracking from the steel it had once been. But she manages not to. Not until Jo finishes. There's no disbelief there in those stormy eyes of hers. Maybe a turn ago there would've been, but now? &amp;quot;Who doesn't have their own burdens?&amp;quot; Is what she finally comes up with, her frame tensed. &amp;quot;That's no excuse.. He was like a father, a-&amp;quot; Anger wrinkles her face, &amp;quot;That's... horrible.&amp;quot; The word isn't terrible enough to describe R'hin's fate. Any word seems not enough to do it near justice, and her disturbed silence portrays its insuffiency. &amp;quot;Did Bristia know? Did anyone else?&amp;quot; But on the last that Jo shares, the wavering of her face and tone steadies abruptly, focus back on the bluerider, &amp;quot;Is the history you told the Harper part of it?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Jo watches Keysi closely, taking in any nuances she finds with her grave demeanor. The anger seems to be expected, for she states to it, &amp;quot;He is. When it comes to it, part of me rather not have known. There's better peace in ignorance.&amp;quot; Shaking her head, &amp;quot;He ''chose'' how he wanted to go,&amp;quot; she reiterates, the words being significant. &amp;quot;We can' deny him that. As much as I...I keep askin' myself, if I was in his place, would I had done the same? If I knew my time was limited...to make a choice...She was the only other,&amp;quot; she answers now. Bristia. &amp;quot;That's what he told me, so I have to believe it. The history....yes,&amp;quot; she says with a nod. &amp;quot;Monaco. It always stemmed back to them, didn' it? 'Least there, he kept his secrets close. I never learned the full story between him'n that Weyrleader, but I've seen 'nough with him to guess the temperature whenever I was down there.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Peace.&amp;quot; Keysi parrots the word in a fierce mutter, &amp;quot;There's innocence in ignorance too. But it's not real.&amp;quot; Vehemence courses that tone, but when she words his ''choice'' as such, she clenches her teeth. &amp;quot;No.&amp;quot; Is all she can manage in regards to denying him his last wish. About Monaco, she nods, not unfamiliar. &amp;quot;But if it was so.. much that M'kris was set up,&amp;quot; the brownrider continues evenly after Jo confirms that piece of story, &amp;quot;And it was his wish to- whatever end.&amp;quot; A beat, &amp;quot;You were the only other one in the tent.&amp;quot; There's no judgement or accusation with it, there's no pressure within her words at all, &amp;quot;Did M'kris do it?&amp;quot; It's direct this time, if almost whispered.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I've had a good few months to cope with this over ya,&amp;quot; Jo notes to Keysi's refusal, her smile sad. &amp;quot;The first month will be the worst.&amp;quot; Keysi's working it out, though, and the bluerider falls silent. It's almost as if she's expecting that question, so when it does comes, there's no flinching. There's that slight change of her gaze on the brownrider - a look that says 'What do you think?' once realized. Eyes cut towards those knives as she says, &amp;quot;I've done anythin' he's ever asked of me. Even when I didn' want to, 'n that's only happened once. It's the one time I couldn' refuse him. It's the one time I hate him for.&amp;quot; She shifts to turn more towards Keysi now, &amp;quot;I tell ya cuz I saw yer face when tried to get into that tent,&amp;quot; she says quietly, watching her face. &amp;quot;He meant a lot to ya, 'n ya meant a lot to him. That is why ya know now, 'n ya'll have the same burden as I in takin' his secret Between. For better're for worse now.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Given the puzzle had already been put together in her mind, the click of completion with Jo's words doesn't elicit anything abrupt. Keysi becomes resolved in a stillness, her eyes focused on the ground ahead of her. Searching, glazed. Shifting out on the ledge signifies Neianth stirring again, a rumbling that's somehow managed quietly likely an overflow between the two of the too-much that's internalized. When she moves, it's a quick movement to pick up one of the still empty nice glasses that she'd flipped over for wine and fling it across the weyr. It smashes into a shower of shards, loud in contrast the quiet that stretches. And while she doesn't look at Jo, that didn't seem directed at her. &amp;quot;It's better.&amp;quot; She says eventually with intense difficulty. A minute, or more, may have passed. &amp;quot;Cruel,&amp;quot; Falls quieter, &amp;quot;I'm sorry.&amp;quot; That she had to do the deed, she seems to imply. &amp;quot;I can't imagine how you.. managed.&amp;quot; To the end, &amp;quot;He's left so many memories in his wake. Changes. He always wanted more. Was he..&amp;quot; relieved? settled? happy? there's no word, &amp;quot;with that.. end?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neianth shifts and Tacuseth watches. Jo doesn't even react when that glass thrown. Her breath comes out long, like she was expelling something, and she looks where the glass has smashed. It's the apology that has her jaw working. &amp;quot;Who else but I that he could trust to follow through?&amp;quot; and her words fall bitter as her watery gaze lingers on the shattered glass. &amp;quot;I whose held a knife in one hand for too many turns?&amp;quot; Dark eyes cut to Keysi now, the grin self-deprecating as she says, &amp;quot;The girl whose innocence was taken by bein' accused of murder all those turns ago....made to be locked up for it. I managed 'cuz I've lived a life doin' what I had to to get by. Even to the detriment of others, darlin'.&amp;quot; Her eyes are caked in her own secrets, and perhaps the brownrider could see the pull Jo was for the late bronzerider. Clutching the bottle to herself for her last, the last has her lingering in silence before she quietly says, &amp;quot;He touched my cheek, 'n he thanked me. He wasn' alone, Keysi. I sat with him until Leiventh went Between. They were finally free.&amp;quot; It's the last that has a tear sliding down her face, and she angrily wipes it away.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I couldn't.&amp;quot; Keysi says darkly and reluctantly, in what one could say is some measure of agreement. As Jo describes herself as such, the brownrider finds herself shaking her head, &amp;quot;You can hold a knife to a stranger. But to hold one to ''R'hin''.&amp;quot; His name is sharp, accentuated by a crack in the sturdiness of her voice, &amp;quot;That's not the same. It's not the same.&amp;quot; Of doing what one has to, of holding a knife for so long. Her repetition comes mingled another slow shake of her head. When she speaks of the last moments, she doesn't lose it- not yet. But it's a close thing, the brownrider drawing her knees up to her chest, pulling her arms and head against her thighs as they tuck in tightly to her. The lump in her throat of being 'free' shuts her down, and she can't say a word for a good, long, drawn-out while. Almost croaked, all she's able to follow with is: &amp;quot;I couldn't say goodbye.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Ya don' wanna know the things I've done.&amp;quot; Jo's words are heavy. Dark. Raw. &amp;quot;It's not the same, but his alternative was.....&amp;quot; ''That'' was worse, she implies, looking back towards the hearth. &amp;quot;R'hin knew I could,&amp;quot; she states with certainty, nodding. &amp;quot;He knew my past. He knew what I was capable of. He didn' judge me, 'cuz of his own past. I respected that. I respected ''him''. I ain' the sort to respect many, darlin'.&amp;quot; Her eyes look on mournfully towards Keysi as she tries to maintain composure, and on goodbyes, &amp;quot;I'm sorry, Keysi. I really wished ya'd gotten that chance. I don' think...I think he would've lost his resolve if he saw ya.&amp;quot; Silence falls before she says, &amp;quot;It's....good, that ya can'. That ya have some decency left in ya.&amp;quot; Shaking her head, &amp;quot;Don' end up like me.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Ignorance.&amp;quot; The word from earlier is mumbled just loud enough to be audible, reminding the convict of her thoughts on it. Keysi lifts her head enough from her self-made caccoon so that her mouth is not so muffled. She watches the dying fire, but far be it from her to stoke it. She doesn't press harder for details. In light of everything, it's almost ''accepted''. &amp;quot;If he didn't judge you, there is a different kind of good in you. I don't know you, you're right. I won't pretend to.&amp;quot; With that, she does manage to look at Jo, not so intensely. More weary. &amp;quot;But I trusted him. I don't like trusting people.&amp;quot; She adds, slightly harsher, and looks away, &amp;quot;He saw things in people.&amp;quot; The heavy statement is left to linger, &amp;quot;Regardless of how, you did it.&amp;quot; Bluntly, but not unkindly, &amp;quot;If I can do anything for you, you only need to call.&amp;quot; Keeping of the secret, however, is already implied.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The one word draws a genuine smile from Jo, it staying in place for a few seconds. It falls completely when Keysi talks of there being good in her, and the the look that marrs her features is reluctance. &amp;quot;He did see things in folks,&amp;quot; she admits, a touch wry. &amp;quot;Yer pro'bly right. It's hard for me to see it myself is all.&amp;quot; Pause. It's something the brownrider says that has the woman nodding before she offers, &amp;quot;He was right. 'Course he was. Guess we do have some similarities. I see it now. Tacuseth's ledge is open to ya. If ya come, ya won' be turned away. Whatever ya need, darlin',&amp;quot; and she finally gets up from the chair with the bottle, &amp;quot;ya ask'n I'll work to get it. Even if it's just to talk 'bout him.&amp;quot; There's a fondness in the brief smile at it, nodding. &amp;quot;It's hard for me to trust,&amp;quot; she says, &amp;quot;but he trusted ya'n so, I will. I think we should get to know each other.&amp;quot; Keysi gets her measuring gaze before she offers over the bottle. &amp;quot;It's what he would've wanted.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi uncurls, one booted foot at a time set back on the rug shielding the hearth's corner from some of the cold of the stone beneath. &amp;quot;He always ended up being right.&amp;quot; A hint of fond annoyance, not that it's any less shaky in the voice that struggles to remain steady. As Jo rises, Keysi does too, pulled by the movement almost reflexively, though slowly. &amp;quot;He would have liked that,&amp;quot; on getting to know each other, &amp;quot;And I would like to.&amp;quot; She reaches a hand out to take the offering, but all the attempt at steeling herself is shown to be only surface-deep when she almost loses grip of the bottle when it's passed to her due to the lingering shaking. But her second hand reaches to steady the first, and then it's clutched to her chest just as Jo'd been clutching it since her arrival. &amp;quot;Thank you.&amp;quot; It takes effort, a lot of it, for Keysi to look to meet Jo's gaze. The delayed gratitude means to follow her offer of Tacuseth's ledge being open to her, but it doesn't ''just'' imply that. It's all-encompassing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Good,&amp;quot; Jo says on getting to know each other, facing her once she stands. &amp;quot;Maybe we can go to those desert tents in Igen. R'hin told me he's taken ya there, too.&amp;quot; The bottle is given and her odd open look of understanding is there on her face. She's gained most of her composure by now, and so the thanks with all its meaning has a nod in return for it. She goes to touch the brownrider's shoulder if she can, giving in the end, &amp;quot;They're free, darlin'. Our loss won' be in vain.&amp;quot; Perhaps meant to reassure as she steps away towards the ledge.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi accepts the touch, remaining still, and managing to continue to study Jo's eyes as she speaks, even with the closeness. &amp;quot;Aye.&amp;quot; She breathes, the now-set expression allowing the slightest change of the edge of her lips that may be the attempt of a smile in regards to the offer of plans. Good plans, those. &amp;quot;It won't be.&amp;quot; Assured, that. &amp;quot;He won't be forgotten.&amp;quot; Not in all the change he'd left behind, all the people he'd left behind. &amp;quot;&amp;quot;Our ledge is open to you too.&amp;quot; The brownrider says as the convictrider turns to leave, &amp;quot;Fly safe, Jo.&amp;quot; Is not quite the normal formality, but said by necessity and with an edge to it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Removing her hand, &amp;quot;Damn straight,&amp;quot; comes from Jo, firm and with a edge to the slight smile that comes. She makes it before the ledge before turning back on the offer, the convict rider nodding once on it along with a wry, &amp;quot;I'll be takin' up on that soon.&amp;quot; Pause. &amp;quot;Thanks. Y'all take care of yerselves.&amp;quot; Eyes looks toward Neianth briefly before she gone, the bluepair dropping into the sky moments later. Perhaps her thanks is oddly placed, but there was a taste of relief that could be heard in that one word, alluding to a burden shared as Tacuseth's presence fades.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs, Angst Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Murder_Gather&amp;diff=77792</id>
		<title>Logs:Murder Gather</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Murder_Gather&amp;diff=77792"/>
				<updated>2015-10-11T07:20:36Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Aughan, Everett, Farideh, Faryn, Jo, K'zin, Keysi, M'kris, Oriane, Quinlys, R'hin, Rategar, Yesia&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Crom's gather turns... a little pear-shaped.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Crom Hold&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=High Reaches Weyr, Crom Hold, Monaco Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=18&lt;br /&gt;
|month=13&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=38&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.10.10&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;What a ''terrible'' turnday party.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|ooc=Happens in and around [[Logs:R'hin's End{{!}}R'hin's End]].&lt;br /&gt;
|st=K'del&lt;br /&gt;
|log=Gathers in the middle of winter are always a little touch-and-go: if you're lucky, it won't be snowing or sleeting or windy or otherwise miserable, and if you're not... well. Aughan, however, has luck on his side; it's icy-cold, today, but clear and fine, and between gather tends with cromcoal ranges, and bonfires out in the open (not to mention the great hall for those desperate to get indoors), it's not so bad. Tents and stalls line the gather grounds; dragons line of the fireheights; the air is full of merriment. Turn's end is days away, and despite the peculiarity of holding a celebration as large as this for a thirty-ninth turnday, there are few complaints from the visitors-- hailing from near and far-- on hand. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Mid-afternoon finds Aughan and his Lady acting as bystanders as a skating competition takes place, along with a number of other dignitaries; others enjoy the other celebrations on offer, including music and dancing, and a plentiful array of food. The atmosphere is festive. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
''Quinlys'' is always loath to give up a gather, especially with impending weyrlings, so it's no wonder, really, that she's out today, dressed up in white fur and a brilliantly cerulean blue coat. With a drink in hand, the bluerider weaves her way through the crowds, pausing every so often to examine wares in one tent or stall or another, though she doesn't seem inclined to ''buy'' anything. The music, as always, draws her attention, and though it's still too early for dancing, she meanders that way nonetheless. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's a gather, and what enterprising harper would miss such an opportunity, really? Certainly not Quint! Especially with such a small contribution to the set, standing in for a short time while some of the local harpers take a break, Quintus is free by mid-afternoon, watching the skaters -- or more accurately, watching the ''people'' watching the skaters. His harper blue makes him stand out, perhaps, which is why he doesn't stay overlong: just enough to get a measure of the Lord, his wife, and the people around them, before heading towards the stalls.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Out on the ice, one of the skaters takes a tumble, to the roar of delight from a good amount of the crowd: great fun! Of course, those who've placed bets on the young men... well. Today's just not their day, is it? Up by the harper pavilion, a reel begins, and a few young people grab partners to dance, just because they ''can''. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now there ''is'' dancing, but Quinlys has a drink in hand, and that's no use at all. The bluerider gives the dancers a somewhat wistful glance and then turns away again, her path carrying her towards Quint; a chance encounter. She gives him a glance, as if she's not sure if she recognises him or not, but her smile is bright enough: those candidates that she is escorting are looking after themselves, and that makes today a ''fine'' day indeed. &amp;quot;Cheers to the turnday lady,&amp;quot; she offers, with a lift of her glass. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The cold weather customary to High Reaches' coverage hasn't stopped Farideh from enjoying herself at gathers in the past, and, despite her three month hiatus of late, it doesn't stop her ''today''. She's dressed in her gather best: a dress in varying shades of midnight blue and deep sapphire, a fur-lined cloak, and a silly fur hat that's pulled down over her ears. Since she arrived, in the late morning, she's been seen a varying parts of the gather grounds, conversing amicably with different people, weyrfolk and holders alike. But now, with most of the pleasantries out of the way, she's found her way to one of the bonfires, to seek warmth with the other bodies present, as she strategically dissects a pastry-like dessert she got off one of the vendors. Oblivious to skaters, dancers, and dignitaries, she seems terribly pleased with her lot right now; fireside eating sticky bread with wind-reddened cheeks and a secretive smile.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Even if Quint isn't recognized by the rider, he recognizes ''her''; what good Harper wouldn't know such an ''esteemed'' personage of the Weyr? &amp;quot;Weyrlingmaster,&amp;quot; Quint says, with no small amount of pleasure at the encounter, a hand pressed to his waist in the shade of a bow not-quite-executed. &amp;quot;What a delight. Journeyman Quintus,&amp;quot; he offers his name smoothly, and at her toast, lifts his hand -- and grimaces, because said hand is empty. Still, he recovers well enough: &amp;quot;Yes, yes. A whole seven in celebration of his Lady. A ''generous'' Lord indeed.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Everett arrives with a greenrider--That Greenrider, it might be said--having made some attempt to dress well enough to warrant the company. At least, he's gotten a better coat at some point than whatever he might have originally arrived at the Weyr with, and better boots, and none of it's flashy, but let's leave flashy for the girl. What he can provide is smiling, and a bit of conversation about nothing in particular, and a little pausing here and there for amiable small talk with familiar faces. Not the fanciest folks, these people--mostly young men--that he's made acquaintance with along the way, but they're generally seeming in good enough spirits for the occasion.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Quinlys, plainly pleased to have been recognised, is all dimples in her reply to Quint, not even acknowledging hi lack of glass. &amp;quot;No one feted me like this when I turned twenty-nine,&amp;quot; she comments, merrily. &amp;quot;Let alone ''thirty''. Perhaps it's something I've got to look forward to when ''I'' hit thirty-nine. Will he try and top this next turn, d'you think? A pleasure to meet you, anyway, Quintus. I've seen you at the Weyr, haven't I? Or ''somewhere'', anyway.&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Well,&amp;quot; Quint replies, with an affront that is clearly adopted on behalf of the Weyrlingmaster, &amp;quot;That seems like a terrible fault that ought to be rectified. Perhaps,&amp;quot; he leans in as if about to impart some conspiratorial suggestion: &amp;quot;You should have a word with the Headwoman. ''Terrible'' shame,&amp;quot; he's even shaking his head, though the twitch of lips perhaps belies the gravely affronted countenance. &amp;quot;He ''has'' set the bar awfully high,&amp;quot; the harper agrees, of Lord Aughan. &amp;quot;Next Turn it will have to be a Turn-long celebration -- and where do you go after ''that''? Mm, yes, guilty -- well-settled in now -- actually, it's a fortuitous coincidence that I've run into you. Many weyrlings to come, I believe -- I'll be helping out with their mm, academic training, when it comes to it. I'd love to get your thoughts, some time.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Delighted, Quinlys all-but beams at Quint; those first four letters in their name are clearly a sign of good judgement and taste, though her reaction to mention of those weyrlings is a little more wary, for all that she slides back to a smile quite promptly. &amp;quot;Quintus and Quinlys,&amp;quot; she muses, idly, before actually moving on to answering what he's actually ''said''. &amp;quot;I'll tell her directly,&amp;quot; she agrees. &amp;quot;I'm sure she'll understand the fault and have it remedied quickly. I'm in my office most afternoons, anyway, if you'd like to drop by so that we can talk. Kharven was with us a long time,&amp;quot; she continues, naming his predecessor, &amp;quot;But I trust we can make things work. For all,&amp;quot; twitch, roll of the eyes, half-sigh, &amp;quot;Twenty-eight of them.&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
L'rok arrives, bringing with him the candidate, Rategar. The pair of them can be seen heading towards the drinks tent in easy laughter and banter. They'll likely be in there for a little while before they emerge again.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; Up on the fireheights, there's an extended collection of dragon-- not just High Reaches ones, but also others from further afield, including an extensive collection of Monacoans. Perhaps most notable, at least for High Reachians? Feyzeth is one of them, lounging in his place quite as if he is lord of all he sees. (To nearby dragons)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Quint, please,&amp;quot; the harper corrects, easily, though he chuckles at her comparison of their names. &amp;quot;I'd ask if you have family in Lemos, but I'm Hold-born; so that isn't much of a clue.&amp;quot; He looks pleased, nodding, taking in her glass with a measure of study. &amp;quot;He left some fairly detailed notes,&amp;quot; the harper replies, of his predecessor. &amp;quot;But there's always room for, mm, ''tweaking''?&amp;quot; at her mention of the number, he gestures grandly towards the drinks table, past some of the bonfires. &amp;quot;''That'',&amp;quot; he says, &amp;quot;Sounds like it requires at least half a glass of something stronger than wine to bear. Hard to imagine during a Pass,&amp;quot; he muses, gaze flickering about.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; Feyzeth is unperturbed by everyone. Lord of everything he sees, okay? Though... there's something extra-smug in his surface thoughts, now. (To High Reaches dragons)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Coincidence, then,&amp;quot; laughs Quinlys, though some of her good humour is sliding away amidst all of this work talk. Her own gaze drops toward her glass, and in a single gesture she draws it towards her mouth and drains it. &amp;quot;Let's go,&amp;quot; she agrees, firmly. &amp;quot;The idea of raising a pass clutch full of dragon make me want to cry, and this is a party; we'll have none of that. Whiskey, though... whiskey is ''always'' a good plan.&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Leiventh isn't apt to draw appreciable attention, reticent that he is; but he is there, perched up on the fireheights, not-so-still as normal.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To High Reaches dragons, Leiventh is silent, watching. If he's perturbed overly by the presence of Monaco's representatives, he keeps it well in check.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If Everett is doing one thing right tonight, its leaving flashy for the girl. Frigid weather notwithstanding, no amount of cold is ever going to convince Yesia -- ''That'' Greenrider -- to wear a skirt that goes far past her knees, and for a weeklong gather she's pulled all the stops. In a long-sleeved burgundy number, with a fur hat and all her red hair down around her shoulders in big ringlets, Yesia's delight is radiant on her face once Aeaeth has deposited her and Everett on the ground. She immediately links her arms with Everett's -- ''hers'' -- and smooths down the collar of his shirt prissily. &amp;quot;Drinks, then dancing? Dancing then drinks? Drinks then...&amp;quot; She trails suggestively off, finishing uneventfully with, &amp;quot;bonfire?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Perhaps it's strange that Tacuseth can be seen near Leiventh, as well. Those that can pick out the blue dragon would find him on those heights, as silent as a mountain as he watches everything.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; Icy seas stir and thrash at the touch of the unwelcome foriegner. Otherwise the brown seems settled enough. (To High Reaches dragons from Akluseth)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Quint must have a certain appreciation for the bluerider's unapologetic draining of her glass; he's grinning, falling into easy step with her. Perhaps it's mere coincidence that they pass near the bonfire -- near Farideh -- as he's replying to Quinlys' comment about the size of the clutch: &amp;quot;I've always wondered if you could have queens hold off. Space it out a bit more. Though by the sounds of things they're sharing the sands well enough.&amp;quot; He makes what sounds like an agreeably noise to the suggestion of whiskey, rubbing hands together as they pass nearer the warmth.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
L'rok and Rat seem to take a tour about the gather grounds, taking in the female sights around them. Of course. They seem content to move in the background, heading towards the bonfire with little purpose.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
From high up on the fireheights, the sound of an angry roar carries-- it's loud enough that many of the holdfolk, unused to such things, glance up and stare, uncomfortable and concerned. What's wrong with that bronze?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The siren's call of the dance floor is what K'zin escapes to head toward the skating contest. Sweat beads his brow until it's mopped away with the loose cream sleeve of his shirt, setting off the blue-grey of his gather best with its peach accents. It's the sort of outfit that's meant to ''accent'' someone else's rather than be flashy on its own, but the other half of the paired ensemble seems absent. With drink in hand, he moves through the figures. Rasavyth, up on the heights, tilts his head toward the roar.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Bonfires and gossip, gossip and bonfires! It's ''another'' reason Farideh has stationed herself nearby the others gathered around the flames. She can lend an ear to their conversation as she tears apart her gather food, without actually having to contribute to the conversation; it's the best of both worlds. Still, one can't help themselves when they're hearing something salacious, and it's with one brow arched high that the goldrider leans back, her focus settling, not without some surprise, on the weyrlingmaster and her harper escort. She's ''just'' about to say something presumably waspish, when-- her eyes lift to the fireheights, confusion plain on her face.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; Feyzeth owns that roar, and the deep fury that follow it, curling and uncurling in his immediate thoughts. (To High Reaches dragons)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Neither of them is bitchy,&amp;quot; agrees Quinlys. &amp;quot;Which is a good thing. A really territorial queen could mess things up pretty bad. I mean, shells, they ''have'' to share, or you have to send one queen to another Weyr before she clutches, and that opens up a whole ''host'' of other issues.&amp;quot; Beat. &amp;quot;Ridiculous, really, having gathers like this in winter. ''I'' for one am going to head south for turnover. Bring on the beaches, righ--&amp;quot; She pauses, uncertain; that roar has caught her attention, and in seeking it out, she's caught sight of Farideh, too. There's a question in red eyebrows, but not upon her lips. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To High Reaches dragons, Rasavyth's attention shifts in the wake of the sound, the shimmer of ooze attentive, his shrewd mind casting out tendrils of his curiosity to query the moods of the dragons around and about, stopping short of the one who made the sound.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Faryn's been here for a while, as it were, but her participation has been mostly indoors, where she won't lose a limb to frostbite. Her reappearance from the main hall is not obtrusive -- it's the sound of a dragon roar that draws her out, not ''fast'' but with an urgency that's easily read as she steps into the cold. Her brow is furrowed with confusion, and her eyes scan the heights for just a moment before she hastens further out, scanning for something specific as she goes. Maybe some''one''.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A dragon roaring up on the fireheights is unusual an occurrence during a gather; a second more so. The normally watchful bronze Leiventh stretches his wings wide, talons gripping the edge.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To High Reaches dragons, Olveraeth projects &amp;lt;&amp;lt; What's going on? &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Olveraeth's stars are seeking, searching, and uncertain. His discomfort is obvious, that voice lower and more nasal than usual. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Is something wrong? &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I've heard that's not always been the case...?&amp;quot; Quint says, thoughtfully, in response to the Weyrlingmaster, quizzical expression perhaps seeking further information. &amp;quot;And that, I don't blame you,&amp;quot; he's laughing, &amp;quot;I've been at Boll for the last couple of Turns, so this is quite some shock to the system, let me tell--&amp;quot; he breaks off, as he notices Quinlys' odd look, frowning as he glances from her, following her gaze to Farideh, with a frown. &amp;quot;Is something wrong, Weyrlingmaster?&amp;quot; he asks, politely.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; Although there is no verbal content to Leiventh's mental presence, there is something dark and roiling. Fury? Fear? Something in between, even: wintry winds whipping into stormlike conditions. (To High Reaches dragons from Leiventh)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Drinks,&amp;quot; that much Everett can be decisive about; it's a good place to start, and the focus on this--complete with having to give instructions to whoever's pouring, because apparently he's fussy when there's a girl to impress--is perhaps enough to distract from whatever's going on with the dragon up there. &amp;quot;I do intend to get a dance in, mind, but might as well save it. They usually wind up serving better stuff at the beginning of the night than at the end--at least, to most of us.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tacuseth looks agitated, but the blue is the only one remaining where he is. It only shows in his stiff posture, his wings coming up halfway.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; Roars? Akluseth is unimpressed. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Bullies. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Is his irritated scoff, the Ice churning in the waves of his thoughts as he answers his onetime mentor. (To High Reaches dragons from Akluseth)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; Can anyone not ''feel'' Feyzeth's fury, now? His absolute towering rage? ''No'' says his thoughts, except he's not got it in him to put it into words. Somewhere, beneath that, there's the touch of a queen-- Evielth, probing from all the way back at Monaco; concerned. (To High Reaches dragons)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neianth circles slowly before landing upon the heights, having appeared from Between a little while ago and vocalizing an initial- and brief- announcement of his arrival. He doesn't fully settle, wings shuffling and re-shuffling, as he angles a faceted-eyed look at the angered bronze's general direction. The small brown's location lingers some distance from the already-arrived Leiventh and nearby Tacuseth, but aside from a second tilt of his head and a quiet rumble, his presence is otherwise 'just' there. For now. Keysi had been within the masses of the Gather for at least a little while, with the majority of her attention caught by a stall lined with smith wares.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
''Two'' dragons making a fuss up on the fireheights? Farideh makes a thoughtful &amp;quot;hm&amp;quot; sound, letting her gaze fall from the angry dragons up above to the weyrlingmaster nearby. She gives her head a tiny shake of unknowing, as the earlier confusion clouding her face starts to recede underneath a more rational, if neutral emotion.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To High Reaches dragons, Aeaeth's rainbows are muted with surprise and caution; there's the disjointed squeal of bow drawn poorly along violin strings. The roars, the fury -- what are we all ''yelling about''?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I don't know,&amp;quot; is genuine, apologetic, and ''confused''. Quinlys breaks away from her glance towards Farideh and the fireheights and looks back at Quint. &amp;quot;But be ready for trouble. Olly's trying to find out-- Farideh, do you know anything?&amp;quot; She has to ask, even if she ''has'' seen that shake of the head. &amp;quot;Olly says one of them is Feyzeth. And R'hin. Have you seen either of them?&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Abruptly, something stirs Leiventh to movement, launching up from the heights. Instead of climbing, however, he's diving ''downwards'', towards the middle of the gather, a noise tearing its way from his throat somewhat between a roar and something higher-pitched.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; The storm gathers to something haphazard; kaleidoscopic anger and fear mixing with something odder: relief, welcome. (To High Reaches dragons from Leiventh)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's enough commotion, now, that Lord Aughan and his Lady are on the way back towards the gather tents, the former quietly watchful, the latter plainly furious. Above, too, there's a new dragon in the air: Evielth of Monaco, her rider clinging to her without straps, both their heads craning to see what's happening below. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Quint's ''be ready for what?'' isn't quite voiced aloud, even if it's writ large in his expression. Still, he's well-trained enough to ''observe'', gaze flickering between the pair of riders, and across the crowds, fixing on riders, here and there, with a frown.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When Leiventh launches, it's the first time during all of this that Tacuseth emits a loud shriek in his wake. His wings lift as if he was going to follow after the bronze, but the blue ''still'' seems rooted to the heights.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi moves away from the stall, the look on her face mutedly distracted in that glaze of draconic communication. Neutral expression gains lines that just slightly furrow her brow as she turns to move away from the stall and just start walking, pale eyes simply looking over faces. When she sees Quinlys, her simply meandering observance turns into something a little more directed as she starts an approach towards her. &amp;quot;Weyrlingmaster-&amp;quot; Is started in both greeting and question, but she's paused, stiffly, when Neianth first warns and then she sees Leiventh ''diving''. Her sorrel-topped brown spreads his dark wings almost to their length, maw opened in what should be sound but isn't. Talons curl over the edge, ready to follow, weight tipped over the edge as if all he needs to do is let go.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
K'zin's stopped in his path, not a far distance now from the Qs and the weyrwoman, but his eyes aren't looking for familiar (and unfamiliar) faces, but is rather upturned toward the heights, brow wrinkled and expression troubled. With the launch of Leiventh, however, and his apparent course ''down'', K'zin is turning his eyes to take in his surroundings anew - who has two thumbs and doesn't want to be collateral damage if there's to be damage? This guy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To High Reaches dragons, Olveraeth reaches, reaches for Leiventh: &amp;lt;&amp;lt; What's wrong? What's going on? &amp;gt;&amp;gt; He's too agitated to try and control the channel; it spills outwards.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When the dragons get agitated, both L'rok and Rategar pause to look towards the fireheights. &amp;quot;Is this normal?&amp;quot; Rat asks his friend, his Bitran accent oddly missing. L'rok - being usually jovial and easy-mannered - isn't so much anymore as he slowly shakes his head answers him with, &amp;quot;I would think not.&amp;quot; He didn't even notice the accent change.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The frantic movement of her eyes, flicking here and there around he gather, tells another story than the calm of her expression. &amp;quot;M'kris? And R'hin.&amp;quot; Farideh exhales loudly, turning in a circle until she's coming to face Quinlys and Quint. &amp;quot;I haven't seen either of them. Perhaps M'kris has said something vile again and they're just--&amp;quot; Horror alights in her eyes when they lift again, to espy Leiventh's dive towards the gather grounds. &amp;quot;No. Nononono--'''no'''.&amp;quot; It's obvious that ''whatever'' is going on is not merely a lover's spat, and Farideh's walking towards Quinlys, panic on her features for a moment before she reels it back in. &amp;quot;They ''can't''. Not here. Not on--&amp;quot; But Lord and Lady Crom already look angry-- the former anyway.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I don't ''know'',&amp;quot; is not really answer to anyone's question specifically, not as High Reachians start coming out of the woodwork towards Quinlys and Quint. She looks from one face to the other, evidently attempting to seek out ''some'' kind of answers, but it largely seems as if none are presently forthcoming. Leiventh is perhaps the only clue the bluerider has; she gestures in his direction, and says, firmly, &amp;quot;Come on. If Aughan is going to head that way, we need to too.&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yesia is pliant tonight at the promise of a party, and she all-but purrs, &amp;quot;Okay, ''drinks'',&amp;quot; and lets Everett guide her along, trusting that he'll get her something she likes. She's startled by the roar, enough that her grip on Everett's arm tightens quickly, then loosens enough that she won't cut his circulation off. &amp;quot;That's weird.&amp;quot; Which means something, for a girl whose been a dragonrider all of a turn and change. &amp;quot;I think maybe we--&amp;quot; Then there's ''diving'', and motion, and Yesia's eyes glass over when Aeaeth startles on the other side of the fireheights.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;M'kris?&amp;quot; Quint echoes Farideh, too much the harper not to recognize that name: &amp;quot;The Monaco Weyrleader?&amp;quot; He's frowning, now, in thought, eyes fixing on the Cromese Lord and Lady. With a nod, he's surging forward, checking his longer strides to match that of Weyrlingmaster and weyrwoman.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Faryn stops in her tracks at the shrieking, the roars, and now her calm urgency presses to a a jog -- she's going for Quinlys and Farideh, the two-fer of authority figures. Leiventh's dive stops her, and she skitters to the next best thing: K'zin, who is lucky enough to have to field the Faryn's shaken, &amp;quot;K'zin, what's--?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Leiventh's dive takes him down, over the line of tents near the weaver's, close enough that the buffeting of his downsweep might stir the air below. That noise that comes from the bronze, somewhat between a roar and something more terrifying, ''terrible'', ceases abruptly, as the hook-nosed bronze vanishes between.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; There is no answer; the storm silences, abruptly. As does any trace of Leiventh's presence. (To High Reaches dragons from Leiventh)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Above, Evielth is not too far from Leiventh as he disappears; hers is the first keen, the first of many as those dragons present-- and others, further afield-- acknowledge the absence of another.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's sudden, Tacuseth's keen. He sends it on high, the sound deep and shattering as the blue seems to lose the rigidity of his posture.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; Tacuseth's presence is a silent one throughout all of this, his shadows darker than usual. More chilly than usual. Now, his sadness is all that is felt, lingering on desert winds. (To High Reaches dragons from Tacuseth)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To High Reaches dragons, Cadejoth's not ''at'' Crom, but that doesn't mean he's not aware-- as Leiventh's departure resonates within the minds around him, High Reaches' Weyrleader dragon raises his own keen, joined by Niahvth alongside him. Confusion, however, reigns: what the shell is going on?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Instinct takes Aeaeth. She was focused, wholly, on Yesia a distance away -- now whatever drove her concern drains out, and her high-pitched keen is inconsolable.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A still-internally-panicking Farideh makes a strangled sound and bobs her head at Quinlys, her cheeks flushing with brighter color when she only spares a glance for the harper; ''not right now''. &amp;quot;They're going to be ''pissed''. First Greenfields and now this. What if they do what--&amp;quot; Again, another unfinished sentence, as Leiventh's dive takes him past the tents and-- ''between''. She'd been in the process of scurrying after Quinlys, in the direction of the holders, but the sudden disappearance of the bronze brings her to a stiff halt, shoulders rigid and arms straight at her sides; her face goes pale. ''Leiventh'', R'hin?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I don't-&amp;quot; is all K'zin manages to answer Faryn, a hand instinctively reaching for her elbow as though to guide her away from ''here'' and to where things might be more safe. Only the movement is forgotten. If it contacts, the grip is too tight in the moment that the bronzerider loses his breath. If it doesn't, he doesn't even realize the hand is still upraised. Leiventh's abrupt departure prompts Rasavyth to raise his voice with the rest. &amp;quot;Leiventh-- ''R'hin'',&amp;quot; is all K'zin manages to get out before looking to Faryn, eyes fearful-- no, ''dreading'' what must be. It must, mustn't it?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt;  Rising With his Dam's cry, Akluseth joins in the confusion and keening. (To High Reaches dragons from Akluseth)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi listens to the tail-end of whatever pieces of conversation she tags from the moments between joining Farideh, Quint, Quinlys, to the change in Leiventh's path. &amp;quot;Is there any idea-&amp;quot; The stern look about her, creasing that neutral expression, suddenly goes abruptly blank, very still and even more pale. In the same beat, Neianth releases his hold on the fireheights to dive for the Gather, as if to follow the bronze's path though he never makes it so low. His keen is delayed, potentiated but not suppressed by the disbelief between himself and His. When he lands, he lands on the grounds at the edge of the gather, his voice joining in no lack of volume to those already spreading the note of loss.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; Back at ''home'', back on the sands that she shares with Niahvth, Roszadyth keens thoroughly and deeply, for another one of their own lost. She lacks her usual sunshine and brightness, and in its place is a feather-light breeze of cold Reachian climes. (To High Reaches dragons from Roszadyth)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Quinlys' face goes deathly pale, but ''she'', at least, manages to push herself back into action. &amp;quot;With ''me'',&amp;quot; she says, in a low, furious undertone, aimed towards those in her close vicinity: she as a Lord and his Lady to follow, and now, as Evielth lands, a Weyrwoman, too. And there, coming out of a tent, not so very far away... M'kris, bloody-handed and stunned.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; Every ounce of color shudders away, soaked up into nothingness -- Aeaeth in grayscale is a miserable thing, but her mental keen is a pitch-perfect melancholy, a wordless dirge she didn't know she knew. (To High Reaches dragons from Aeaeth)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Faryn would complain any other day, hiss her objection to the tightness of K'zin's fingers on her elbow, but she ''knows'' this, and she doesn't need an answer. She goes from stock still to trembling in a way even the cold couldn't be responsible for, with realization and understanding, her rejection breathless: &amp;quot;No. K'zin -- he can't -- ''no''.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Is it Quinlys' ferocity that kick starts Farideh into action? Or perhaps the vision of the bloody-handed M'kris? Farideh's brow dips once, her lip wobbling twice, and then her face relaxes, again, as she picks up her skirts to gain on Quinlys. &amp;quot;That makes two,&amp;quot; is all she says to the bluerider, mindless of the others that come with them, if harper or brownrider follows.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;What's going on?&amp;quot; Everett has been at the Weyr a bit now, but even with that, the reaction of the dragons gets more of an unsettled glancing-around than any expression of instant recognition. An arm around Yesia's shoulders is entirely there for her security and comfort, of course. Not his. He is absolutely not spooked by any of this.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Quinlys' voice is what snaps K'zin out of his moment. It's an automatic response to the long habit of doing what he's told by ''that'' voice. Well, usually not with the irate undertone, but still familiar enough. Releasing and turning away from Faryn, the bronzerider's jaw sets and he falls into step behind the weyrlingmaster. His expression only deadens when brown eyes catch on M'kris.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Clearly, Quint has heard this sound before. Still, exposure doesn't make him like it any less; he winces and grimaces, but if anything it makes him ''hurry'' more, even seeking to outstrip his companions, as if he could possibly outrun the noise. He seems not to have noticed that Farideh's stopped, trailing Lord Aughan and the guards that have appeared, not having to strain overmuch to see over them. To see... an unfamiliar figure, to ''him'', but in an obvious situation. He takes two steps forward, but Crom is not ''his'' posting. Instead, he steps in line of sight of Lord Aughan, in his harper blue, giving a nod to him as if to suggest his support. His fingers are white, threaded together in a simulacrum of calm, turning his head as one of the Hold's harpers arrives at his side.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi hears the bluerider's voice, but it takes her a moment, almost two before it registers. But when it does the change from shock to anger is a switch-flip, redness flushing her face in an abrupt contrast to the paleness of initial reaction. She follows the weyrlingmaster's and Farideh's gaze first, taking in M'kris' posture far more readily than his expression. Once the lead lifts from her legs, deadened so thoroughly and slow to leave to give her any sort of speed, she's moving with the group, shortly picking up pace from a deliberate walk to a jog, hand shifted under her flight jacket to touch the hilt of her own dagger in the seconds before confrontation.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yesia's eyes are wide as saucers, on the spot where Leiventh was, on Everett, then on her lifemate on the fireheights, where she's strident in her grief. &amp;quot;He just --&amp;quot; she starts, hollow, her eyes distant. She takes the comfort Everett offers for all of ten seconds, then pushes him away, gently. &amp;quot;We...no, ''I''. Do you know -- no. No, you wait here. It's okay, it's okay, shh.&amp;quot; Conversations are overlapping in her head, it seems, because she's shushing him and looking at the fireheights as she backs away. &amp;quot;Right back. I'll be ''right'' back.&amp;quot; Maybe.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Through all the confusion, maybe no one will notice that several moments later, someone looking very much like Jo - the front of her yellow halter top bloodied - emerges. Her steps falter a bit with a dark look at M'kris. Uncharacteristically, there's tear tracks down her cheeks. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
With Rategar and L'rok having following Quinlys belatedly, the convict candidate's gaze sharpens on her familiar form before furtively looking around. L'rok is oblivious, staring hard at the Monaco Weyrleader as he comes to realize that one of his own has been snuffed out.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Shoulders drawn back, expression a mask of calm, Oriane approaches her Weyrleader, falling in step with Aughan and his guards (though the Lord Holder acknowledges Quint, too, and the local harper alongside him). Oriane looks at her Weyrleader as if to dismiss him, but it is Aughan who speaks first. &amp;quot;Guards, arrest him.&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And from Oriane: &amp;quot;No.&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nor has Jo slipped past anyone: as those guards file in, aiming to grab hold of the Monacoan Weyrleader, another attempts to take hold of Jo. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Sure!&amp;quot; Easygoing. There's nothing wrong, is there? Nothing at all. Everett is perfectly fine with Yesia taking off--or if not fine, at least quickly distracted by other things afoot, and making his way over to try to get a glimpse, and watching with very furrowed brow. But certainly no attempt to intervene, say anything, signal that he's ever met Jo before in his life, none of that, absolutely not.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's a moment of conferring amongst the harpers. Apparently Quint draws the short straw, because he steps forward: &amp;quot;Lord,&amp;quot; with a bow towards Aughan, &amp;quot;Weyrwoman,&amp;quot; the same to Oriane. &amp;quot;Perhaps you will allow myself and my fellow harpers to question both, provide you with a report, and then a decision can be made as to the ah-- outcome.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
K'zin's eyes have finally taken in enough of the bloodied Weyrleader to stray farther, to take in more, like ''Jo'', his breath catching, eyes searching down the bloodied top as if to see if there's a wound there, or only blood.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
For all her rush, Quinlys now stands back; out of her depth.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When a guard comes near her, Jo comes to life. She wrenches her arm away as if he tries to touch her with a steely, &amp;quot;Don' ya dare.&amp;quot; Her gaze falls on M'kris now, her anger palpable as she shakes her head and says, &amp;quot;I saw him do it.&amp;quot; If she could rush the man herself, she would in her anger.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It, at first sight, appears that Keysi would push past everyone, even the guards, moving to arrest the Weyrleader to get to him in her evident rage as she shoulders her way past the forefront of the line of onlookers. But if anything else could stop her in her tracks a second time, maybe it's seeing a familiar face appear from the tent, seeing the tears on Jo's face. &amp;quot;Jo.&amp;quot; Her voice, harsh and more air than any volume, echoes after K'zin and undoubtedly others. She forces her fingers free from the hilt she'd held as much to steady herself as in preparation to use it. It's ''easier'' to stare unfiltered anger M'kris, but the brownrider finds herself staring at the tent's entranceway instead, locked on it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After a few moments, the pieces snap into place for Faryn. Left to consider it for a head-spinning moment, it seems she might follow K'zin and the rest, but she stops for just a moment, not sure of her place in this. Eventually she settles for her place on the edge, her arms banded around her middle and her eyes intent on the scene unfolding. She cuts a look at Quint's offer, then the pair. &amp;quot;''His'' dragon's still here,&amp;quot; she says bitterly, not to him. To her boots, but it might carry.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Forgive me, Weyrwoman, if I do not trust your... position in this.&amp;quot; Aughan is smooth; oily smooth. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Oriane is undaunted, ignoring Quint and his harper companion in lieu of focusing upon the Lord and those around him, as M'kris attempts to struggle away from his captors, swearing blind that, &amp;quot;It wasn't me! I didn't do it!&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;You're quite right, Lord Aughan. My leadership, in this, is compromised. I resign my knot,&amp;quot; says Oriane. &amp;quot;We will cooperate fully with all Harper investigations, although I request that, as soon as the interrogations have been completed, we be allowed to take him back to Monaco, where we will have the ability to keep him safe-- ''that'', I swear upon the life of my queen. Forgive me, my Lord, if I do not trust ''your'' position on this.&amp;quot; Beat. &amp;quot;The same goes for her,&amp;quot; a dip of her head, now, towards Jo. &amp;quot;Whomever she is. Does anyone know her-- you?&amp;quot; Her eyes fall, briefly, upon Keysi. &amp;quot;We will know ''exactly'' what happened, from all involved. Have the site secured, please.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yesia doesn't have to go ''far'' from Everett to find what she was looking for; short being her burden, when she gets far enough to the front of the onlookers to find, &amp;quot;Jo?&amp;quot; she stops, taking in the bluerider. The guards. Everything. Everyone. &amp;quot;Everett?&amp;quot; A whisper. &amp;quot;I think I want to go home.&amp;quot; Even if she's standing there, not making any move to do that at all, while Oriane looks for someone to vouch for Jo. She keeps her mouth shut, for once, shaking her head.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
For a moment, Quint's gaze lands on Faryn, the slight shift of head perhaps acknowledgement, but his attention is all too soon returned to Lord and Weyrwoman. &amp;quot;All involved will be questioned fairly. You have our word as harpers,&amp;quot; Quint says, with a tip of his head, only the slightest ripple of a grimace given at the Weyrwoman's resignation. His voice rises: &amp;quot;If you are witness to anything you think might be helpful, I ask that you remain to speak with a harper.&amp;quot; There's no familiarity in the gaze he gives to Jo, expression neutral. He looks to Lord Aughan, as if to discern whether the Lord is agreeable to the Oriane's proposal before proceeding.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;How ''could'' ya?&amp;quot; Jo goes on, fresh tears threatening to fall as she just stares at M'kris. &amp;quot;How could ya?&amp;quot; It's a mantra, on repeat, and it's soft and perhaps barely heard. Her gaze lights on Keysi from her position, the bluerider looking to her for a moment before she says, &amp;quot;He shouldn' be alone right now.&amp;quot; It's clear she wants to go back in, but with the guards there and -- her gaze finds Yesia's, those tears in her dark eyes, registering no one else.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; HE DIDN'T. HE ''DIDN'T''. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Feyzeth is sure... mostly sure. He's ''confused'', perhaps because his rider is. There's all that blood, all that confusion. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; He ''didn't''. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; (To High Reaches dragons)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi's hands are shaking, knuckles whitened from fists so tightly curled. She's lost in her stare, that want so badly to break out of the lineup of onlookers, taking a single step towards the tent, though it is in such parallel with the question asked of her, it may seem to be some part of a reply. Vague awareness of the silence that follows that question of Jo's identity scews her unfiltered expression into lines of confusion mixed with that anger that's no less evident. Grey eyes look to the bluerider in question, searching her face for a long moment as if in seeking permission, an answer, something. It only takes that much from Jo, even if it wasn't what she was initially searching for, before she breaks into a sprint to get to the tent and enter if not stopped without answering the questioner at all.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;''Stop her''&amp;quot; is immediate, and comes from Aughan to his guards-- there are enough of them that they certainly do all fall in to try and prevent her, even if it means tackling her to the ground, as Aughan says, loudly and more firmly, &amp;quot;Anyone who enters that tent will be arrested and held at my convenience. The scene is ''sealed'' until further notice.&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One of his hands is placed upon Ienavi's arm, the Lady of Crom shaking with fury. Aughan, however, composes himself. &amp;quot;I would never dream of doubting the promise of a weyrwoman,&amp;quot; he says, oily-smooth. &amp;quot;Take them both-- all three.&amp;quot; Because there's Keysi, now, too. &amp;quot;Oriane-- Weyrwoman-- come, we will retire to my personal study. And,&amp;quot; he turns, glancing around for the first time to register who ''else'' is present, gaze finally falling upon poor Farideh. &amp;quot;Ah, weyrwoman, good. High Reaches, too, much be represented. Come.&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And M'kris? &amp;quot;I DIDN'T DO IT.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
ST&amp;gt; (To Keysi): Before anyone manages to get close enough to stop you, perhaps you have a moment to see what lays within: R'hin's body, on the ground, a knife in his belly. But then there are arms aiming to tackle you down, and-- well. &amp;lt;!-- From K'del --&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
K'zin's jaw works a little, staring at Jo. It means he doesn't miss the way she locks eyes with-- who? he glances but doesn't take in Keysi in that moment. Looking back to the bluerider, the tension in his frame doesn't ease. He looks again around the gathered group, in time, it would seem to catch sight of Keysi's movement, to reach out strong arms instinctively to try to catch her up-- not quickly enough. His grunt is low, frustrated, but he doesn't, in the end, step toward the guards to pursue.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;NO!&amp;quot; Keysi, at such a loss for words through it all, suddenly is at no loss for volume when the guards are quite thoroughly moving to apprehend her. She struggles to get to the tent- her direction obvious and absolute- with no lack of effort to detach herself from those who work to restrain her but with no attempt to make direct violence. &amp;quot;GET OFF!&amp;quot; Is snarled amoung other words. She gets a handsbreath through the tent, perhaps, just enough to see around the corner. Just enough, it would seem, to see ''something''. And that something takes the wind out of her, and just enough of the fight out of her. And a second &amp;quot;No.&amp;quot; Is gasped. And by the time she's stopped, on her knees for being quite nearly tackled for it, she turns eyes now damp away towards those holding Jo, &amp;quot;She didn't do it!&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Quint's gaze, like many others, goes to Keysi once the brownrider makes a run for it, but they don't stay there -- flickering around the crowd, taking note of faces both familiar and unfamiliar. There's a nod, for the departing personages, before he and the other harper confer, and step towards whichever guard looks in charge. &amp;quot;There's rooms put aside in the Hold. We can question them there.&amp;quot; Not the cells, notably, and hopefully a suggestion taken since the Lord hasn't said elsewise.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If Everett doesn't make eye contact, it's like he wasn't even there, isn't it? He tears eyes away, moves closer to Yesia. &amp;quot;That seems like... for the best, right now,&amp;quot; he agrees, voice distant, quiet, putting an arm back around her to coax her in the direction of... somewhere that isn't here, now, even if it's not as far away as her dragon.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To High Reaches dragons, Cadejoth, still far away but evidently at least partially apprised of what is going on, extends a tendril, backed by Niahvth: &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Return home, &amp;gt;&amp;gt; he instructs. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; All that are able. Tomorrow-- we will tackle this with clearer heads. I will be there soon. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; He's reluctant, as always, to leave ''his'' Weyr and ''his'' eggs, but this is something that must be done. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Stay calm. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Faryn's expression is more and more pained as Reaches riders are detained and wrangled to be part of the questioning. Jo, Farideh, Keysi. Keysi, whose detainment makes her draw back in a wince of sympathetic pain. Perhaps it's ''her'' that breaks Faryn -- stoic, strong, steady Keysi, the ''tears'' there. The sound Faryn makes is choked off as she takes a step backwards in retreat. &amp;quot;Move,&amp;quot; in lieu of excuse me, but Faryn can't watch anymore; she uses her elbow to make room for herself to get out and away.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
With Keysi launching herself towards the tent, it takes all of Jo not to double over in her grief in front of all of these people. With her glassy eyes glaring at M'kris for his cries, she doesn't even dignify him with further commentary. Something draws her to meet K'zin's gaze suddenly, lingering there a moment before she looks back at Keysi as she's being waylaid. She moves as if to go towards Keysi - to stop the guards if no one gets in her way.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
With a flick of his fingers, Aughan sets his guards into further action, his nod acknowledging Quint and the other harper. The dignitaries depart, but not before those guards grab up not only Keysi but Jo, too, with enough hands on deck to pacify them by force if required, ready to frog-march them all back to the Hold. But not, at least, to the ''cells''. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It leaves Quinlys to yell orders: &amp;quot;Stay ''calm''. Don't make this ''worse''.&amp;quot; She looks, quite possibly, as if she'd like to knock certain people's heads together (namely Jo and Keysi).&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Farideh only moves from her position in the crowd when bid by Lord Aughan, and that's with her hat in hand and a severe expression on her face. She remains silent, starkly so, as she watches the proceedings with troubled eyes; where they say go, she will.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yesia stares at Jo when their eyes meet, and when something softens in her for a half-second, it's easily dismissed. The greenrider turns away first, trying to block out the direction and conversation behind her. When she laces her arm through Everett's it is purely practical, so they're not separated as she guides him to where they so recently landed. &amp;quot;What a ''terrible'' turnday party,&amp;quot; she remarks, deflecting her discomfort into trademark shallowness.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
L'rok and Rategar are gone. Once that initial eye contact was taken, the candidate urges his rider friend to suddenly ''not'' be here. With everything going on, their sudden absence won't be easily noted.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To Cadejoth, Rasavyth's mind reaches for his Weyrleader. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; We wish permission to stay, please. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Yes, this is Rasavyth saying the 'p' word, and sounding sincere. There is a brief collage of images: a wingsecond's knot, a Snowdrift badge, Jo's face with tears.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; To Rasavyth, Cadejoth projects &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Granted. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; It is prompt, at least. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; But don't let your rider be an idiot. &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi rises back to her feet, likely with some assistance. But she does, at least, stop fighting as she's escorted in a less than ideal manner towards the Hold. The brownrider looks back at the tent one last time before she's drawn to far away to be able to crane her neck in the appropriate direction. Gaze slips towards Jo as she starts to move towards her, and then simply falls in front of her when the guards move to take her as well, making no further eye contact- especially with Quinlys, Faryn, Farideh, other familiar faces. Although steeled in her expression finally, it doesn't hide the tears that are still there before she's gone. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; Reflection-less darkness, skewed in choppiness of intense agitation carries Neianth's response to Cadejoth. There's a hint of apology beneath it, in the vastness of his presence, followed and predominated by a desired resolution to ''stay''. (To High Reaches dragons from Neianth)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; The touch of amusement is veiled with the shock and shared grief of the events of the night. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; I'll have my K'zin wait with me, &amp;gt;&amp;gt; is offered, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; unless your K'del wishes him elsewhere. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Back up maybe? There has been a disturbing event and ''other'' disturbing events are not yet distant memories, and K'zin ''does'' have muscles and training to use them, if need be. (To Cadejoth from Rasavyth)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; The very possibility that muscles may be important bothers Cadejoth; that much is certain. But the acknowledgement is there, nonetheless: &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Wait together, for now. We come. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; (To Rasavyth from Cadejoth)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dragon&amp;gt; Apologies are not (yet) required. Cadejoth appears in the air above the hold, circling downwards. Everything will be okay; he and his will make sure of it. Somehow. (To High Reaches dragons from Cadejoth)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Jo doesn't fight as she's escorted finally with Keysi. Her gaze lingers finally at Yesia before her gaze steels up with the last of those tears unshed before she's gone towards the Hold.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
K'zin's retreat from the scene mimics several other riders to the point of joining their lifemates, but rather than Rasavyth making movements toward home, the pair settle near Tacuseth on the heights, to wait and watch.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Quint falls in somewhat behind the guards, he and the other harper now conferring in silent tones, glancing back over their shoulder.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Gather Logs, Angst Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Keysi&amp;diff=77142</id>
		<title>Keysi</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Keysi&amp;diff=77142"/>
				<updated>2015-09-26T09:42:40Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Profile&lt;br /&gt;
|picture=Lynn-collins-profile.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|mother=NPC - Journeywoman Smithcrafter&lt;br /&gt;
|father=NPC - &amp;quot;Blackmarket&amp;quot; trader&lt;br /&gt;
|siblings=None&lt;br /&gt;
|children=None&lt;br /&gt;
|body=== Description ==&lt;br /&gt;
While her body seems slender and lithe, runner's leg muscles and a sparrer's arms add a little 'something' to her contour which would otherwise seem relatively plain and flat, fitting of one so stern. The palms of her hands and the soles of her feet are rough and calloused, and bruises can be spotted here and there upon rather pale skin that has seen far more snow and mountains than sun-lit beach. There are two heavy scars that mar her form- one between her shoulder blades, the other over her right bicep. Numerous lighter scars trek down her forearms, hands and legs and appear wholly superficial and of varying age. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Reaching an average height of about 5'7&amp;quot;, her stature really does not scream much of a domineering personality. However, her well-sculpted hardly hued face appears naturally stuck and rigid in the same exact non-expression. Set, critical eyes that are so light blue they appear silver-grey stare out of heavily lashed lids. Dark brown hair that varies between looking almost black in dim light to shinning golden-brown in bright light has been cut crudely. What may have remained as shoulder-length at best is collected in a tight bun on the back of her head. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A tan tunic is modified into a heavy wrap-around top with a thick black boarder, combined at the waist with a wide belly-wrap. The white half-sleeves at the shoulders and central wrap are lined by a furred trimming. Her pants are a white, tough material with heavier patches at the knees. Arms from elbow to mid-fingers are wrapped with 1&amp;quot; strips of cloth beneath heavy leather forearm guards that are long enough to cover the back of her hands. When not restricted by formality, her obsession with &amp;quot;all things sharp&amp;quot; may be somewhat apparent with a single high-quality belt knife at her hip, and more likely a couple more of different styles stashed secretly upon on her person.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== WYSK ==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
  * Pronounced Ke-si                                                        &lt;br /&gt;
  * Most of her history goes untold, but it is known that she traveled a    &lt;br /&gt;
  great deal                                                                &lt;br /&gt;
  * Was an apprentice of HealerCraft transferred to HRW as part of a program&lt;br /&gt;
  to improve Weyr-Hall relations. Most skilled in emergency care.           &lt;br /&gt;
  * Talented in fighting, but the basis of which seems to be a mixture of   &lt;br /&gt;
  regional methods.                                                         &lt;br /&gt;
  * Searched by N'qui&amp;amp;Trevisath for Niahvth and Reisoth's clutch, at which  &lt;br /&gt;
  she Impressed to brown Neianth                                            &lt;br /&gt;
  * Intensely serious, and seriously intense, she's overly ambitious and    &lt;br /&gt;
  often complicated by her own thoughts                                     &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== History ==&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi is of Tillek Hold birth, given a Smith-trained journeywoman mother and a father of much more questionable means who bided by the title of trader. But what /did/ he trade? He never shared that information. Her father was one of many vices- from drinking and gambling to underhanded dealings that left her mother in a sticky situation when his ways were questioned. Eventually, the man was all but exiled- unofficially ''asked'' to leave when Keysi had just turned 3 turns old. From there, they traveled with different caravans, seeking to transplant themselves into Hold or Hall that needed a Smith's works, and found nobody accepting of them as whispers of her fathers dealings seemed to precede him. Could it be anything but a set up? Black mail? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Their caravan was intermittently intercepted in-route of wherever her mother could find work, or her father had a meeting to sell his 'goods'. With Keysi always in a relatively dangerous situation just on the outskirts of her father's dealings, her mother spent her extra marks on training for the young girl- with guards, with vagabonds, with people who were probably convicts but would do anything for payment. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Once old enough, her mother sought help from the safety that was a crafthall. She fronted an apprenticeship for Keysi in Healing. Despite a rebellious teenage start, craftmasters and the young journeywoman Tess, both grounded her mind and continued physical training in order to help her find balance. She hid herself beneath her studies, using focus and drive as a wall. She spent three long studious turns at the HealerHall at Fort. The external threats lessened as time went on. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The movement for improving Weyr-Hall relations following the reluctance(?) of healers to assistant in situation with the goldrider Teris and the subsequent outcries following it, became an opportunity to further her safety and her Healership, appreciated more by her superiors than herself. At a little over 16 turns, she was posted as an apprentice at High Reaches Weyr, M12D29T36.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Just short of reaching her senior apprenticeship, she was caught up in the politics of High Reaches as a transfer of Irianke and her gold lead to an appropriate, if strained, agreement to send green and blue weyrlings to Igen as trade for use of their Queen and her clutch. An argument with the yet-unmet Weyrlingmaster Quinlys in regards to the fairness of losing Reaches-Hatched dragons led to being Searched (out of amusement?) by her brother  N'qui and his Trevisath. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
During her candidacy, Keysi's inability to socialize, drink, or dabble in any sort of relationship was highlighted but rarely questioned. Following an explosion of unknown origin, Dragonhealer Leova, Bluerider Ghena, Alpine's wingsecond H'kon, the weyrwoman's assistant Lycinea and Keysi became trapped in a small segment of collapsed inner cavern tunnel. They were rescued some 14 days later (M6D19T36), Keysi having broken multiple ribs along with a multitude of lacerations after trying to act the hero at the time of the collapse. Not 24 hours later, an attempt to raise moral with an Igen-style Bazaar for the candidates leads to the death of High Reaches' weyrwoman, Azaylia. Unable to help left Keysi stricken, and even more reserved, unwilling to admit to the troubles the events had left her.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nearly healed by time of hatching, Keysi Impresses to Mysteries of Harmony Brown Neianth of Niavhth and Reisoth's clutch M7T36, not a day after getting into a near-fight with Reisoth's rider. Weyrlinghood proved a time of growth and inner reflection, of self-question and loyalty evaluation. She realized she's been running, hiding. It's after graduation, when she's tapped into Savannah with R'hin that she turns to face her demons.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Firelizard == &lt;br /&gt;
Blue '''Shen'''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Square-jawed, barrel-chested, and compact of torso, this prodigious blue is all lines and angles, his neck ridges jagged-looking, eye-ridges prominent. Grandiose wings are a surprising shade of glacial blue that eddies into snow-devils of chill indigo upon wingsails' trailing edges. The bulk of his hide is a frenzied, chaotic winterscape of every shade and tint of an arctic storm; gelid gusts of pale sapphire rushing from shorter neck and down shoulders over his back, while random stipples of whitish-blue suggest ice and snow upon flanks. Frozen-seeming claws of an indigo so pale as to appear white suggest the pristine, latent threat of icicles... perhaps echoed by the rather aggressive cant of short headknobs and his rather bold posture.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
* ''Dam:'' Alida's Pyrite&lt;br /&gt;
* ''Sire:'' Jo's Mime&lt;br /&gt;
* ''Hatch Date:'' 23D 11M 38T I10&lt;br /&gt;
* ''Name:'' Chinese Medicine considers Shen to be one of the &amp;quot;three treasures&amp;quot; that constitute life: Jing, the essence; Qi, the life force; and Shen, the spirit. &lt;br /&gt;
* ''Inspiration:'' From Greek mythology's Boreas (Aquilo), the North Wind. The bringer of winter, the devourer, coming down from the north to chill the air relentlessly with his icy breath. He was personified as purple-winged, very strong, and with a violent temper.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Relationships ==&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Alida''' ''respect'' &amp;quot;More than simply a friend of a friend, important in your own way.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Edyis''' ''drifting'' &amp;quot;I still consider you my friend. But I'm changing. Don't forget about me while I figure all this out.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Farideh''' ''work in progress'' &amp;quot;You can do this. For better or for worse, I'm here to help you.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Faryn''' ''smart'' &amp;quot;You match words with me just fine. But only you can figure out who you want to be.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''H'vier''' ''frustrating'' &amp;quot;He makes it very hard to respect authority.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''K'del''' ''idol'' &amp;quot;You've been there. I will do absolutely everything necessary for you. For the Weyr. I will not let you down.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''K'zin''' ''observant'' &amp;quot;Once, I thought you were just an empty-headed prettyboy. But you spoke my language, you changed everything in my weyrlinghood, diverting a destructive path.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lycinea''' ''emergency-besties'' &amp;quot;I know you were hurt, but I'm just not sure how deeply.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Madilla''' ''master'' &amp;quot;You were once what I aspired to be. Now you ask more than I think I can give. But you provide a challenge, and I- we- will meet it.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Quinlys''' ''passionate'' &amp;quot;I don't think we'll ever see eye to eye, and it frustrates me that I can't appreciate your passion.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'van''' ''trouble-starter'' &amp;quot;We certainly don't agree. But I will try to find something to respect.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'hin''' ''catalyst'' &amp;quot;It took me time to trust you. You broke every rule, but you opened every door. I ''will'' be more. You didn't choose wrong.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Sound Tracks ==&lt;br /&gt;
'''Keysi'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c4bQsQUdkmY Awake and Alive - Skillet]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2k7pmQxTtmw The Hell Song - Sum41]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFgozleeawE Lose Yourself - Eminem]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eI_8SQwsjA Not Afraid - Eminem]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Neianth'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAwWPadFsOA Mortal Kombat]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zS1xjS_LTyo Pump it - Black Eyed Peas]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ms5mSDy59eM Remember the Name - Fort Minor]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EK2UYoz8azo Hall of Fame - The Script]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNV_sbBrxMQ&amp;amp;index=8&amp;amp;list=PLkOJB9BEJFI333x1obNnanan8DDs6QEGE Kung Fu Panda Instrumentals]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== RP Logs ==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{NewLogs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{Icons}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Extras ==&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xta1/v/t1.0-9/12006158_1359865107376272_4569562618017696234_n.jpg?oh=a03e3db36fa71c7c54844d90b492acd3&amp;amp;oe=56A0232B A visual of the pair's outlook on danger], provided lovingly by Faryn.&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/jh/keysihrw Johari]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/nohari?name=KeysiHRW Nohari]&lt;br /&gt;
|where=High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|Has rank=Weyrling&lt;br /&gt;
|craft=Healer&lt;br /&gt;
|dragon=Mysteries of Harmony Brown Neianth&lt;br /&gt;
|birthplace=Tillek Hold&lt;br /&gt;
|playedby=Lynn Collins&lt;br /&gt;
|status=Active&lt;br /&gt;
|face=Face-Keysi.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Character-Categories&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Crafters, Healers, High Reaches Weyr, Tillek Hold, Riders, Brownriders&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Characters]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Greater_Pern]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:High_Reaches_Area]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:High_Reaches_Weyr]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Keysi&amp;diff=77141</id>
		<title>Keysi</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Keysi&amp;diff=77141"/>
				<updated>2015-09-26T09:26:04Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Profile&lt;br /&gt;
|picture=Lynn-collins-profile.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|mother=NPC - Journeywoman Smithcrafter&lt;br /&gt;
|father=NPC - &amp;quot;Blackmarket&amp;quot; trader&lt;br /&gt;
|siblings=None&lt;br /&gt;
|children=None&lt;br /&gt;
|body=== Description ==&lt;br /&gt;
While her body seems slender and lithe, runner's leg muscles and a sparrer's arms add a little 'something' to her contour which would otherwise seem relatively plain and flat, fitting of one so stern. The palms of her hands and the soles of her feet are rough and calloused, and bruises can be spotted here and there upon rather pale skin that has seen far more snow and mountains than sun-lit beach. There are two heavy scars that mar her form- one between her shoulder blades, the other over her right bicep. Numerous lighter scars trek down her forearms, hands and legs and appear wholly superficial and of varying age. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Reaching an average height of about 5'7&amp;quot;, her stature really does not scream much of a domineering personality. However, her well-sculpted hardly hued face appears naturally stuck and rigid in the same exact non-expression. Set, critical eyes that are so light blue they appear silver-grey stare out of heavily lashed lids. Dark brown hair that varies between looking almost black in dim light to shinning golden-brown in bright light has been cut crudely. What may have remained as shoulder-length at best is collected in a tight bun on the back of her head. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A tan tunic is modified into a heavy wrap-around top with a thick black boarder, combined at the waist with a wide belly-wrap. The white half-sleeves at the shoulders and central wrap are lined by a furred trimming. Her pants are a white, tough material with heavier patches at the knees. Arms from elbow to mid-fingers are wrapped with 1&amp;quot; strips of cloth beneath heavy leather forearm guards that are long enough to cover the back of her hands. When not restricted by formality, her obsession with &amp;quot;all things sharp&amp;quot; may be somewhat apparent with a single high-quality belt knife at her hip, and more likely a couple more of different styles stashed secretly upon on her person.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== WYSK ==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
  * Pronounced Ke-si                                                        &lt;br /&gt;
  * Most of her history goes untold, but it is known that she traveled a    &lt;br /&gt;
  great deal                                                                &lt;br /&gt;
  * Was an apprentice of HealerCraft transferred to HRW as part of a program&lt;br /&gt;
  to improve Weyr-Hall relations. Most skilled in emergency care.           &lt;br /&gt;
  * Talented in fighting, but the basis of which seems to be a mixture of   &lt;br /&gt;
  regional methods.                                                         &lt;br /&gt;
  * Searched by N'qui&amp;amp;Trevisath for Niahvth and Reisoth's clutch, at which  &lt;br /&gt;
  she Impressed to brown Neianth                                            &lt;br /&gt;
  * Intensely serious, and seriously intense, she's overly ambitious and    &lt;br /&gt;
  often complicated by her own thoughts                                     &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== History ==&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi is of Tillek Hold birth, given a Smith-trained journeywoman mother and a father of much more questionable means who bided by the title of trader. But what /did/ he trade? He never shared that information. Her father was one of many vices- from drinking and gambling to underhanded dealings that left her mother in a sticky situation when his ways were questioned. Eventually, the man was all but exiled- unofficially ''asked'' to leave when Keysi had just turned 3 turns old. From there, they traveled with different caravans, seeking to transplant themselves into Hold or Hall that needed a Smith's works, and found nobody accepting of them as whispers of her fathers dealings seemed to precede him. Could it be anything but a set up? Black mail? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Their caravan was intermittently intercepted in-route of wherever her mother could find work, or her father had a meeting to sell his 'goods'. With Keysi always in a relatively dangerous situation just on the outskirts of her father's dealings, her mother spent her extra marks on training for the young girl- with guards, with vagabonds, with people who were probably convicts but would do anything for payment. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Once old enough, her mother sought help from the safety that was a crafthall. She fronted an apprenticeship for Keysi in Healing. Despite a rebellious teenage start, craftmasters and the young journeywoman Tess, both grounded her mind and continued physical training in order to help her find balance. She hid herself beneath her studies, using focus and drive as a wall. She spent three long studious turns at the HealerHall at Fort. The external threats lessened as time went on. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The movement for improving Weyr-Hall relations following the reluctance(?) of healers to assistant in situation with the goldrider Teris and the subsequent outcries following it, became an opportunity to further her safety and her Healership, appreciated more by her superiors than herself. At a little over 16 turns, she was posted as an apprentice at High Reaches Weyr, M12D29T36.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Just short of reaching her senior apprenticeship, she was caught up in the politics of High Reaches as a transfer of Irianke and her gold lead to an appropriate, if strained, agreement to send green and blue weyrlings to Igen as trade for use of their Queen and her clutch. An argument with the yet-unmet Weyrlingmaster Quinlys in regards to the fairness of losing Reaches-Hatched dragons led to being Searched (out of amusement?) by her brother  N'qui and his Trevisath. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
During her candidacy, Keysi's inability to socialize, drink, or dabble in any sort of relationship was highlighted but rarely questioned. Following an explosion of unknown origin, Dragonhealer Leova, Bluerider Ghena, Alpine's wingsecond H'kon, the weyrwoman's assistant Lycinea and Keysi became trapped in a small segment of collapsed inner cavern tunnel. They were rescued some 14 days later (M6D19T36), Keysi having broken multiple ribs along with a multitude of lacerations after trying to act the hero at the time of the collapse. Not 24 hours later, an attempt to raise moral with an Igen-style Bazaar for the candidates leads to the death of High Reaches' weyrwoman, Azaylia. Unable to help left Keysi stricken, and even more reserved, unwilling to admit to the troubles the events had left her.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nearly healed by time of hatching, Keysi Impresses to Mysteries of Harmony Brown Neianth of Niavhth and Reisoth's clutch M7T36, not a day after getting into a near-fight with Reisoth's rider. Weyrlinghood proved a time of growth and inner reflection, of self-question and loyalty evaluation. She realized she's been running, hiding. It's after graduation, when she's tapped into Savannah with R'hin that she turns to face her demons.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Firelizard == &lt;br /&gt;
Spirit of the North Wind Blue Shen&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Square-jawed, barrel-chested, and compact of torso, this prodigious blue is all lines and angles, his neck ridges jagged-looking, eye-ridges prominent. Grandiose wings are a surprising shade of glacial blue that eddies into snow-devils of chill indigo upon wingsails' trailing edges. The bulk of his hide is a frenzied, chaotic winterscape of every shade and tint of an arctic storm; gelid gusts of pale sapphire rushing from shorter neck and down shoulders over his back, while random stipples of whitish-blue suggest ice and snow upon flanks. Frozen-seeming claws of an indigo so pale as to appear white suggest the pristine, latent threat of icicles... perhaps echoed by the rather aggressive cant of short headknobs and his rather bold posture.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
* ''Dam:'' Alida's Pyrite&lt;br /&gt;
* ''Sire:'' Jo's Mime&lt;br /&gt;
* ''Hatch Date:'' 23D 11M 38T I10&lt;br /&gt;
* ''Name:'' Chinese Medicine considers Shen to be one of the &amp;quot;three treasures&amp;quot; that constitute life: Jing, the essence; Qi, the life force; and Shen, the spirit.  This spirit manifests as our wisdom, emotional well being, and ability to see all sides of an issue. It contributes to wisdom, virtue, and calmness, and maintains our whole being in order. &lt;br /&gt;
* ''Inspiration:'' Greek Mythology's Boreas/Aquilo, the North Wind. Purple-winged; god of winter, chilling the air with icy breath; very strong, with a violent temper.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Relationships ==&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Alida''' ''respect'' &amp;quot;More than simply a friend of a friend, important in your own way.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Edyis''' ''drifting'' &amp;quot;I still consider you my friend. But I'm changing. Don't forget about me while I figure all this out.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Farideh''' ''work in progress'' &amp;quot;You can do this. For better or for worse, I'm here to help you.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Faryn''' ''smart'' &amp;quot;You match words with me just fine. But only you can figure out who you want to be.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''H'vier''' ''frustrating'' &amp;quot;He makes it very hard to respect authority.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''K'del''' ''idol'' &amp;quot;You've been there. I will do absolutely everything necessary for you. For the Weyr. I will not let you down.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''K'zin''' ''observant'' &amp;quot;Once, I thought you were just an empty-headed prettyboy. But you spoke my language, you changed everything in my weyrlinghood, diverting a destructive path.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lycinea''' ''emergency-besties'' &amp;quot;I know you were hurt, but I'm just not sure how deeply.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Madilla''' ''master'' &amp;quot;You were once what I aspired to be. Now you ask more than I think I can give. But you provide a challenge, and I- we- will meet it.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Quinlys''' ''passionate'' &amp;quot;I don't think we'll ever see eye to eye, and it frustrates me that I can't appreciate your passion.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'van''' ''trouble-starter'' &amp;quot;We certainly don't agree. But I will try to find something to respect.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'hin''' ''pillar, catalyst'' &amp;quot;It took me time to trust you. You broke every rule, but you opened every door. You illuminated the spark. I ''will'' be more. You didn't choose wrong.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Sound Tracks ==&lt;br /&gt;
'''Keysi'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2k7pmQxTtmw The Hell Song - Sum41 (Life struggles)]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFgozleeawE Lose Yourself - Eminem (You've got one shot)]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkrLfl-npY4 Awake and Alive - Skillet (Impression)]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eI_8SQwsjA Not Afraid - Eminem]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Neianth'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAwWPadFsOA Mortal Kombat - Theme Song]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zS1xjS_LTyo Pump it - Black Eyed Peas]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ms5mSDy59eM Remember the Name - Fort Minor]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EK2UYoz8azo Hall of Fame - The Script (Impression... and every day since)]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Hidden Secrets Weyr'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNV_sbBrxMQ&amp;amp;index=8&amp;amp;list=PLkOJB9BEJFI333x1obNnanan8DDs6QEGE Sacred Pool of Tears]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== RP Logs ==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{NewLogs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{Icons}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Extras ==&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xta1/v/t1.0-9/12006158_1359865107376272_4569562618017696234_n.jpg?oh=a03e3db36fa71c7c54844d90b492acd3&amp;amp;oe=56A0232B A visual of the pair's outlook on danger], provided lovingly by Faryn.&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/jh/keysihrw Johari]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/nohari?name=KeysiHRW Nohari]&lt;br /&gt;
|where=High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|Has rank=Weyrling&lt;br /&gt;
|craft=Healer&lt;br /&gt;
|dragon=Mysteries of Harmony Brown Neianth&lt;br /&gt;
|birthplace=Tillek Hold&lt;br /&gt;
|playedby=Lynn Collins&lt;br /&gt;
|status=Active&lt;br /&gt;
|face=Face-Keysi.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Character-Categories&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Crafters, Healers, High Reaches Weyr, Tillek Hold, Riders, Brownriders&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Characters]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Greater_Pern]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:High_Reaches_Area]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:High_Reaches_Weyr]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=77126</id>
		<title>Ka'ge</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Ka%27ge&amp;diff=77126"/>
				<updated>2015-09-25T21:59:42Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Profile&lt;br /&gt;
|picture=Kaelige.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|mother=NPC - Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|father=NPC - Seacrafter/Renegade&lt;br /&gt;
|siblings=Infant bother (deceased)&lt;br /&gt;
|body={{wysk}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Description ==&lt;br /&gt;
A sad scruff of stubble lines his squared and defined jaw, hinting at the man that this boy is attempting to become, and making it difficult to age him just by looks. His skin is well-tanned beneath bruises and scratches, hinting of tones used to warmer climates. Shadowed beneath short, spikey black hair are rather piercing perhaps mischievous green-touched blue eyes. He has a hardness about his lazy stance that highly suggests the term trouble. Or misfit. Or both. Standing straight, he reaches about 5'11&amp;quot; or so of lithe, suspicious stature. His limbs are somewhat lanky in comparison to his body but already toned with a strong hint of muscular potential, and his torso is as skinny as can be. His athleticism is obvious, his direction not so much. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He's dressed in darker colored garb from head to toe which may have been black at some point but has long since faded, fingerless gloves and hood included. Wher-hide jacket and pants are cheaper in make, but usable. The material is thin, the edges are worn and just a bit ragged from high wear and tear. There is, however, a small patch of material sewn on with poor form onto his left shoulder which seems to have numerous tiny scratch marks all over it. Around his right arm beneath his jacket is a hide strap that holds three heavy metal four inch long pins, and a short dagger is strapped to his right thigh that perhaps takes the place of, or is in addition to, an unseen belt knife.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{Family}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{FamilyEnd}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== History ==&lt;br /&gt;
It started as simply as intervening ships enroute from Gar to Boll, and later from Ista to Fort. His father, wholly skilled at the sea and its crafts, had a steady hand in the seaborne raids. After the event of the Scudder, he had reached out to the land based raids, joining the renegades and meeting the woman who would become Kael’s mother on the evening of being apprehended at a hand-off of supplies by Fort Weyr riders.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Kaelige was born not long after the exiles had made a make-shift home out of their Southern colony. Although a younger brother was born a few years following him, he shortly perished of an illness as an infant, and his mother became too frail to bear further children,. Kael, though perhaps lacking in general social skills, was raised with a non-harper but still strict discipline into the basics of reading and writing, and even heavier in the aspects of survival, hunting, and understanding of beasts and the sea. Fighting was a necessity, but he seemed weaker at direct confrontation. However, another renegade took him under his wing and the pursuit of spying and assassination was intensive and thorough. He could throw an average punch at best, but using subtlety to end a contest quickly, few could match him even at his young age. A prodigy perhaps, or maybe he just had something to prove. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Following his bonding to a dusky brown firelizard he called Chiv as part of a non-public agreement with his scheming father and having no law restricting his movements, he was sent back to the Fort area, puppet strings attached. Early in turn 37, he secured transport to Fort Weyr with Katriona and Yueth, though dismounted some distance away to avoid prying eyes and minds. He arrived to public attention as a vagabond- some sort of parentless trader-traveling looking for residency. With no talents offered to the lower cavern staff who asked in regards to placement but an affinity for being 'outside', he was given the position of stablehand.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Although kept well-shielded from the public eye since arriving at Fort, he continues to be molded by his master's 'acquaintance' - another well experienced in his particular area of expertise. Messages are passed via firelizard to those who hold his puppet strings, but never last long enough to be seen beyond his eye. He appears to the masses to be a hooded enigma with plenty of sarcastic wit to cover what isn't shadowed by his garb. And although he seemed more than reluctant to participate in anything of benefit to the Weyr, it' was notable that he was rather possessive of his rank of candidacy after being Searched by Lilah's Eliyaveith. During his candidacy, he had a hand in organizing and spying for the thefts from the stores meant for relief to the Hold post-landslide, which ultimately failed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In late turn 37, he Stood for Elaruth and Bijedth's clutch, for which he failed to Impress and was witness to a young green hatchling going Between instead of choosing a lifemate. He retained his knot, Standing for Eliyaveith's first clutch by Liesanth and Impressed to Zymadiath.  Another bronze hatchling had approached him first and fell, clawing a large gash in his chest. Zymadiath knocked the other away, who ended up Impressing to Y'tob, a boy Ka'ge had threatened but didn't take the life of, again risking his secrecy.  Both boy and dragonet were wounded and fell behind in their weyrling class in the first couple of months. However, most of Ka'ge's allergies to hard work seemed to evaporate during weyrlinghood, and he passed his exams and other basic training with all too-much ease. Despite being less nocturnal, he still seems to disappear at times from the group.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Crudely Crafted and Concealed Brown Chiv ==&lt;br /&gt;
A boney little brown firelizard, seemingly lacking in muscular features and certainly no fat to speak of, is inconspicuous in presence though perhaps of generally normal length for his color. Sharpness defines him at every angle, like a tiny knife with wings. From fanged narrow muzzle to curved, hooked back-ridges to dark-silver pointed talons oversized for his dusky paws, the brown is a creature that looks less than inviting to the touch. Heavy dull browns coat him, dusty and dim, powdered darker at the lengths of raptor-long wings and whip-thin tail as if he'd been rolled in a mixture of soot and soil.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Relationships ==&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Dee''' ''Innocent'' - You are everything I am not . What have you done? &lt;br /&gt;
* '''Eadgyd''' ''Disruptive'' -  Be careful who you push.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Hattie''' ''Leadership'' - If I cannot avoid you, I suppose I should at least watch my mouth.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Jemizen''' ''Too much happy'' - If I get stuck with you again in chores, I'm not sure any of my training will help me handle it.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Katriona''' ''Disappointed'' - It frustrates me to know you're 'done'. There's so much left to do.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lilah''' ''Tolerable'' - Can you read minds? Because if you can, I'm in trouble. You seem to be everywhere I go. A real hiccup in the process. But, there's something about you.. I almost don't mind it.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Paislie''' ''Shy'' - Shy or secretive or both, I'm not sure how to handle you, but you're no threat so you've got that going for you.&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Rasaid''' ''Dense'' - Either you fell and hit your head on your way through the door, or you're really that thick. I hope for your sake it's the former.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Sound Tracks ==&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EaxNHs93oIA For Your Entertainment - Adam Lambert]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntowwrTDZSQ Gonna Go Far Kid - The Offspring]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdfSSkeXs-k Angel with a Shotgun - The Cab]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wi_Qlq5WlTQ Everybody Loves Me - One Republic]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9H01_vkhAIY Demons - Imagine Dragons]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2C7-Zy-r10&amp;amp;index=98&amp;amp;list=PLfbnV6tfC8_lwBhTpv8SDrhDq4RjNVqqi Skulls - Bastille]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCLgCeBJOWg On my own - Ashes Remain]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== RP Logs ==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{NewLogs |name={{BASEPAGENAME}}}}&lt;br /&gt;
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{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{Icons}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Miscellaneous ==&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Given Nicknames:''' Hood, Lord Hood, Attitude, Sparkly Dirt&lt;br /&gt;
*Personality Type ESTP - [http://www.16personalities.com/estp-personality &amp;quot;..the likeliest personality type to make a lifestyle of risky behavior&amp;quot;]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/jh/kaelige Johari]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/nohari?name=Kaelige Nohari]&lt;br /&gt;
* D&amp;amp;D Alignment - Neutral Evil Human Rogue&lt;br /&gt;
|position=Stablehand&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|Has rank=Candidate&lt;br /&gt;
|craft=&lt;br /&gt;
|birthplace=Exile Island&lt;br /&gt;
|pb=Colin O'Donoghue&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Character-Categories&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Exiles, Fort Area, Fort Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Bronzeriders]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Quartz_Wing]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Keysi&amp;diff=77125</id>
		<title>Keysi</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Keysi&amp;diff=77125"/>
				<updated>2015-09-25T21:44:06Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Profile&lt;br /&gt;
|picture=Lynn-collins-profile.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|mother=NPC - Journeywoman Smithcrafter&lt;br /&gt;
|father=NPC - &amp;quot;Blackmarket&amp;quot; trader&lt;br /&gt;
|siblings=None&lt;br /&gt;
|children=None&lt;br /&gt;
|body=== Description ==&lt;br /&gt;
While her body seems slender and lithe, runner's leg muscles and a sparrer's arms add a little 'something' to her contour which would otherwise seem relatively plain and flat, fitting of one so stern. The palms of her hands and the soles of her feet are rough and calloused, and bruises can be spotted here and there upon rather pale skin that has seen far more snow and mountains than sun-lit beach. There are two heavy scars that mar her form- one between her shoulder blades, the other over her right bicep. Numerous lighter scars trek down her forearms, hands and legs and appear wholly superficial and of varying age. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Reaching an average height of about 5'7&amp;quot;, her stature really does not scream much of a domineering personality. However, her well-sculpted hardly hued face appears naturally stuck and rigid in the same exact non-expression. Set, critical eyes that are so light blue they appear silver-grey stare out of heavily lashed lids. Dark brown hair that varies between looking almost black in dim light to shinning golden-brown in bright light has been cut crudely. What may have remained as shoulder-length at best is collected in a tight bun on the back of her head. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A tan tunic is modified into a heavy wrap-around top with a thick black boarder, combined at the waist with a wide belly-wrap. The white half-sleeves at the shoulders and central wrap are lined by a furred trimming. Her pants are a white, tough material with heavier patches at the knees. Arms from elbow to mid-fingers are wrapped with 1&amp;quot; strips of cloth beneath heavy leather forearm guards that are long enough to cover the back of her hands. When not restricted by formality, her obsession with &amp;quot;all things sharp&amp;quot; may be somewhat apparent with a single high-quality belt knife at her hip, and more likely a couple more of different styles stashed secretly upon on her person.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== WYSK ==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
  * Pronounced Ke-si                                                        &lt;br /&gt;
  * Most of her history goes untold, but it is known that she traveled a    &lt;br /&gt;
  great deal                                                                &lt;br /&gt;
  * Was an apprentice of HealerCraft transferred to HRW as part of a program&lt;br /&gt;
  to improve Weyr-Hall relations. Most skilled in emergency care.           &lt;br /&gt;
  * Talented in fighting, but the basis of which seems to be a mixture of   &lt;br /&gt;
  regional methods.                                                         &lt;br /&gt;
  * Searched by N'qui&amp;amp;Trevisath for Niahvth and Reisoth's clutch, at which  &lt;br /&gt;
  she Impressed to brown Neianth                                            &lt;br /&gt;
  * Intensely serious, and seriously intense, she's overly ambitious and    &lt;br /&gt;
  often complicated by her own thoughts                                     &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== History ==&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi is of Tillek Hold birth, given a Smith-trained journeywoman mother and a father of much more questionable means who bided by the title of trader. But what /did/ he trade? He never shared that information. Her father was one of many vices- from drinking and gambling to underhanded dealings that left her mother in a sticky situation when his ways were questioned. Eventually, the man was all but exiled- unofficially ''asked'' to leave when Keysi had just turned 3 turns old. From there, they traveled with different caravans, seeking to transplant themselves into Hold or Hall that needed a Smith's works, and found nobody accepting of them as whispers of her fathers dealings seemed to precede him. Could it be anything but a set up? Black mail? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Their caravan was intermittently intercepted in-route of wherever her mother could find work, or her father had a meeting to sell his 'goods'. With Keysi always in a relatively dangerous situation just on the outskirts of her father's dealings, her mother spent her extra marks on training for the young girl- with guards, with vagabonds, with people who were probably convicts but would do anything for payment. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Once old enough, her mother sought help from the safety that was a crafthall. She fronted an apprenticeship for Keysi in Healing. Despite a rebellious teenage start, craftmasters and the young journeywoman Tess, both grounded her mind and continued physical training in order to help her find balance. She hid herself beneath her studies, using focus and drive as a wall. She spent three long studious turns at the HealerHall at Fort. The external threats lessened as time went on. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The movement for improving Weyr-Hall relations following the reluctance(?) of healers to assistant in situation with the goldrider Teris and the subsequent outcries following it, became an opportunity to further her safety and her Healership, appreciated more by her superiors than herself. At a little over 16 turns, she was posted as an apprentice at High Reaches Weyr, M12D29T36.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Just short of reaching her senior apprenticeship, she was caught up in the politics of High Reaches as a transfer of Irianke and her gold lead to an appropriate, if strained, agreement to send green and blue weyrlings to Igen as trade for use of their Queen and her clutch. An argument with the yet-unmet Weyrlingmaster Quinlys in regards to the fairness of losing Reaches-Hatched dragons led to being Searched (out of amusement?) by her brother  N'qui and his Trevisath. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
During her candidacy, Keysi's inability to socialize, drink, or dabble in any sort of relationship was highlighted but rarely questioned. Following an explosion of unknown origin, Dragonhealer Leova, Bluerider Ghena, Alpine's wingsecond H'kon, the weyrwoman's assistant Lycinea and Keysi became trapped in a small segment of collapsed inner cavern tunnel. They were rescued some 14 days later (M6D19T36), Keysi having broken multiple ribs along with a multitude of lacerations after trying to act the hero at the time of the collapse. Not 24 hours later, an attempt to raise moral with an Igen-style Bazaar for the candidates leads to the death of High Reaches' weyrwoman, Azaylia. Unable to help left Keysi stricken, and even more reserved, unwilling to admit to the troubles the events had left her.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nearly healed by time of hatching, Keysi Impresses to Mysteries of Harmony Brown Neianth of Niavhth and Reisoth's clutch M7T36, not a day after getting into a near-fight with Reisoth's rider. Weyrlinghood proved a time of growth and inner reflection, of self-question and loyalty evaluation. She realized she's been running, hiding. It's after graduation, when she's tapped into Savannah with R'hin that she turns to face her demons.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Spirit of the North Wind Blue Shen == &lt;br /&gt;
Square-jawed, barrel-chested, and compact of torso, this prodigious blue is all lines and angles, his neck ridges jagged-looking, eye-ridges prominent. Grandiose wings are a surprising shade of glacial blue that eddies into snow-devils of chill indigo upon wingsails' trailing edges. The bulk of his hide is a frenzied, chaotic winterscape of every shade and tint of an arctic storm; gelid gusts of pale sapphire rushing from shorter neck and down shoulders over his back, while random stipples of whitish-blue suggest ice and snow upon flanks. Frozen-seeming claws of an indigo so pale as to appear white suggest the pristine, latent threat of icicles... perhaps echoed by the rather aggressive cant of short headknobs and his rather bold posture.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Relationships ==&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Alida''' ''respect'' &amp;quot;More than simply a friend of a friend, important in your own way.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Edyis''' ''drifting'' &amp;quot;I still consider you my friend. But I'm changing. Don't forget about me while I figure all this out.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Farideh''' ''work in progress'' &amp;quot;You can do this. For better or for worse, I'm here to help you.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Faryn''' ''smart'' &amp;quot;You match words with me just fine. But only you can figure out who you want to be.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''H'vier''' ''frustrating'' &amp;quot;He makes it very hard to respect authority.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''K'del''' ''idol'' &amp;quot;You've been there. I will do absolutely everything necessary for you. For the Weyr. I will not let you down.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''K'zin''' ''observant'' &amp;quot;Once, I thought you were just an empty-headed prettyboy. But you spoke my language, you changed everything in my weyrlinghood, diverting a destructive path.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lycinea''' ''emergency-besties'' &amp;quot;I know you were hurt, but I'm just not sure how deeply.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Madilla''' ''master'' &amp;quot;You were once what I aspired to be. Now you ask more than I think I can give. But you provide a challenge, and I- we- will meet it.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Quinlys''' ''passionate'' &amp;quot;I don't think we'll ever see eye to eye, and it frustrates me that I can't appreciate your passion.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'van''' ''trouble-starter'' &amp;quot;We certainly don't agree. But I will try to find something to respect.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'hin''' ''pillar, catalyst'' &amp;quot;It took me time to trust you. You broke every rule, but you opened every door. You illuminated the spark. I ''will'' be more. You didn't choose wrong.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Sound Tracks ==&lt;br /&gt;
'''Keysi'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2k7pmQxTtmw The Hell Song - Sum41 (Life struggles)]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFgozleeawE Lose Yourself - Eminem (You've got one shot)]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkrLfl-npY4 Awake and Alive - Skillet (Impression)]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eI_8SQwsjA Not Afraid - Eminem]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Neianth'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAwWPadFsOA Mortal Kombat - Theme Song]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zS1xjS_LTyo Pump it - Black Eyed Peas]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ms5mSDy59eM Remember the Name - Fort Minor]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EK2UYoz8azo Hall of Fame - The Script (Impression... and every day since)]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Hidden Secrets Weyr'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNV_sbBrxMQ&amp;amp;index=8&amp;amp;list=PLkOJB9BEJFI333x1obNnanan8DDs6QEGE Sacred Pool of Tears]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== RP Logs ==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{NewLogs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} }}&lt;br /&gt;
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{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
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{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
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{{Icons}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Extras ==&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xta1/v/t1.0-9/12006158_1359865107376272_4569562618017696234_n.jpg?oh=a03e3db36fa71c7c54844d90b492acd3&amp;amp;oe=56A0232B A visual of the pair's outlook on danger], provided lovingly by Faryn.&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/jh/keysihrw Johari]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/nohari?name=KeysiHRW Nohari]&lt;br /&gt;
|where=High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|Has rank=Weyrling&lt;br /&gt;
|craft=Healer&lt;br /&gt;
|dragon=Mysteries of Harmony Brown Neianth&lt;br /&gt;
|birthplace=Tillek Hold&lt;br /&gt;
|playedby=Lynn Collins&lt;br /&gt;
|status=Active&lt;br /&gt;
|face=Face-Keysi.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Character-Categories&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Crafters, Healers, High Reaches Weyr, Tillek Hold, Riders, Brownriders&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Characters]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Greater_Pern]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:High_Reaches_Area]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:High_Reaches_Weyr]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Forcing_Tradition&amp;diff=76720</id>
		<title>Logs:Forcing Tradition</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Forcing_Tradition&amp;diff=76720"/>
				<updated>2015-09-17T00:37:14Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=H'kon, Keysi&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Hypotheticals, purpose, and tradition.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Star Stones, High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=2&lt;br /&gt;
|month=11&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=38&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.09.16&lt;br /&gt;
|weather=The sky is clear today. The air remains cool and damp, but the weather is overall pleasant today.&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=Farideh, Irianke&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon Keysi.jpg, Icon Keysi Neianth ReflectionPool.jpg, Icon h'kon justhisface.jpg, Icon h'kon kothcalcified.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=''Star Stones, High Reaches Weyr''&amp;lt;br&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
''High on the southeastern edge of the Weyr, the Star Stones cast their long shadows over the sheared stone plateau that holds them. Here, a watchrider stands guard day and night, Pass or Interval, keeping an eye out for incoming visitors and inclement weather. The stocky, rectangular shape of the Eye Rock stands firm against the tests of time, the circular aperture that punches through it from side to side providing a frame for the view beyond, waiting for the Red Star's approach. Two dragonlengths south, the silent column of the Finger Rock awaits the balancing of the sun on its tip at the solstice to warn of the imminence of Thread. Between the two and set out slightly to the side is the squat shape of the actual Star Stone, inscribed with an arrow pointing to each of the other two stones.''&amp;lt;br&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
''The view from the Star Stones is unparalleled, its closest match that from the southern rim. A full circle around the Weyr can be seen from the Snowy Wastes to the north, to Keogh in the east, the peaks of the Western Range and Tillek Bay to the south, Pars and River Bend to the west. The only way up or down from the Star Stones is a-dragonback.''&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's barely dawn, but H'kon and Arekoth have been here longer. The watchrider knows them, and while having not yielded her post, has at least given them some space for their observation. Of what? The sky is clear, which makes it cold as well, humidity doing nothing to help take the edge off of that chill. H'kon is looking to the rebuilt Eye Rock now, his brow furrowed, of course, but lacking that same strictness. It's something more thoughtful, now. And something a bit sad. Arekoth looms behind him, fierce gaze following his riders, though his is, if a bit ironically, harder to read. His eyes are a bit dimmed, not distressed, but not that fast and happy whirl of blues or greens that are their norm. They wait, and their breath clouds in the air, and none of the signs that these great Stones have been built to gauge appear.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's with a blue's agility that the small brown dragon speeds upwards along the sharp curve of the bowl's wall. It's without doubt that it's done for the sheer challenge of it- with the barest margin given to evade the protuberances of ledges, he nearly clips the ledge of the level-off that he arches for the Star Stones themselves. He's clipped it before, much to the chargrin of the dragonhealers. But that hasn't stopped him from doing it again, nor has his rider. Stark white talons catch stone, biting it hard enough to create a groove or two as the elevation threatens to take him backwards with gravity before he can land. Neianth pulls himself up the rest of the way, one flap of black-hewn wings given to steady himself. He almost turns to leap from the height when one or both of the pair notice the familiar brown and, subsequently, the wingsecond before him. Keysi doesn't yet dismount, but the from the draconic summed conciousness, ripples reach, disturbing the surface of a reflection pool of no reflection but glinted light. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Are you both well? &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ledge grooving makes noises, and Arekoth and H'kon ''look'' that way, as one, a sharp turn of the head, a narrowing of eyes, a mutual intense stare. H'kon's head draws back a bit, as Neianth seems to avoid certain doom - or at least, certain embarrassment. Arekoth's cranes farther forward. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Are ''you''? &amp;gt;&amp;gt; asks the older, larger brown, teasing, certainly, with that bit of a glow at the back of those words. The man, meanwhile, is looking to the rider on Neianth's neck. He must know her before he's even seen her; he certainly knows her dragon. Still, it takes a moment before his chin raises in some sort of greeting.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There is ''certainty'' and a vast sense of ''rightness'' that accompany the imagery in Neianth's reflections- mountains, mists, breezes disrupting pink-tinged cliff-dwelling trees. All is still disrupted by those ripples that bring with them his mindvoice, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Yes. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; is so simple in comparison to the confirmatory sensations behind it. The brown's chest heaves in his breaths, noting that the pair must've been up for some time already despite the oh-so-early hour. But he settles, lowering slightly as Keysi unbuckles herself and swings herself down by the straps. &amp;quot;G'day, sir.&amp;quot; There's a pitch to her tone, her control lopsided by the adrenaline of moments before, but there's no loss of a salute with it. Stormy eyes shift from him to the stones though in unspoken question.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Looked for a bit like it wasn't a sure thing, is all, &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Arekoth points out, the tilt of his head coming quickly, almost more a twitch than a movement. That sharp gaze is the same as it ever was, except for the angle. &amp;quot;Wingrider,&amp;quot; H'kon answers, the salute returned crisply. That might even have been some bit of pride in the title., even if all of the weyrlings are wingriders now, even if it's old news. H'kon glances to Arekoth, from him to Neianth, before returning his focus to Keysi. &amp;quot;Early calisthenics?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; But it was. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Neianth's baritone is amused and confident, but not smug. &amp;lt;&amp;lt; There is no satisfaction in aiming low enough to reach a goal every time. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; Meaning, he's missed before. Blue eyes whirl swiftly with laces of green, still exhilerated and not ''done'' with whatever bar he'd set for himself today. He observes Arekoth in a similiar manner, but much more canid like than hawk-like, a slight tilt of his crescent-touch face given in mirror of him. &amp;quot;Always.&amp;quot; The word serves as a bridge, as the smile that had been in place slowly dissolves into her more typical, more controlled, more stern self. She allows a quiet after, as she removes her helmet to tuck beneath her arm. Studious gaze watches H'kon in a long moment of characteristic intensity before shifting to the view beyond the stones. &amp;quot;Enjoying the morning view, sir?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Barely, &amp;gt;&amp;gt; answers Arekoth, though there's something amused in that tone. His head tilts the other way. &amp;quot;It remains relatively unchanged,&amp;quot; H'kon answers Keysi, his hands coming to clasp formally behind his back, &amp;quot;apart from differences in the weather and the usual changing stars that come with the seasons.&amp;quot; Though he doesn't purse his lips, the lines in his forehead, nose and mouth all pull toward that same central point, if faintly. &amp;quot;Did you know, that this wasn't the original Eye Rock?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;lt;&amp;lt; More than barely would be easy. &amp;gt;&amp;gt; The smaller brown keeps his head tilt steady despite Arekoth's change, though despite his stillness, it's interrupted by a brief chuffing sound. &amp;quot;It takes times to move mountains.&amp;quot; Not that it can't be done, notes Keysi likely by periphery of her Neianth. She decides against carting the helmet, setting it into a saddlebag before crossing some distance- slowly, for her- to come up nearer H'kon. &amp;quot;Most are content with the weather changing.&amp;quot; Grey eyes are eventually back on Alpine's wingsecond before being redirected at the stone. Contemplative silence soon givens to, &amp;quot;No sir. It was destroyed?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Arekoth answers that chuff with a flick-flick of his wingtips, resettling against each other with minimal movement, but some audible sound. &amp;quot;For mountains to move,&amp;quot; H'kon more muses than corrects, though there's a sharper something in his gaze for a moment. Her assessment of 'everyone' has him turning to look to that Eye Rock once more. &amp;quot;Meteors,&amp;quot; is confirmation. &amp;quot;High Reaches' skyview was changed. A dragon even lost for it. This was reconstructed, but never allowed had a chance to be tested for its accuracy.&amp;quot; A tilt of his head. &amp;quot;Not,&amp;quot; he allows, in almost a sigh, &amp;quot;that it should be blamed for the constancy of the skies.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neianth continues to regard Arekoth with an adjusted view, one focused faceted eye. But he turns slightly to hook talons over the edge of the Weyr to watch beyond as the riders had been. It's difficult to assess if Keysi isn't surprised because of her nature or she had known something about it, but she listens regardless of which, content apparently in the telling of it. &amp;quot;And you believe it will miss its purpose?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This time, it's a real sigh. H'kon shifts a half-step back, and turns his face back to Keysi. &amp;quot;No.&amp;quot; A beat, brow still furrowed. &amp;quot;I do not expect much of anything to change. But two queens to rise early can make one at least wish to see the thing once more. Even if they are only in this Weyr. Even if the Starcrafters have said nothing.&amp;quot; Those eyebrows lift, then, the furrow easing somewhat. Two steps are taken, the first turning him, the second one bringing him nearer his lifemate.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Thread.&amp;quot; Is both a question and a statement, unreadable grey eyes turning to focus on H'kon, to watch him as he turns to his Arekoth. &amp;quot;In all the focus that's been done towards the time of interval, it would be...&amp;quot; Keysi trails off, no hint of whether it 'would be' good, or 'would be' so grave as it could be. &amp;quot;You've given this much thought?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi's saying it aloud has Arekoth's head lifting, turning with that lightning-quick motion to her. H'kon simply, slowly lifts his head to consider his dragon's snout. His lips press into one another. A sidelong glance to join Arekoth on his point of focus. &amp;quot;I don't imagine there ''is'' much thought that can be given it. There have been aberrations in the past, but I do not believe the dragons have sensed that. Not as they do a proper Pass. Not only two in the same Weyr. More it was ''a'' thought. Or,&amp;quot; and he lets his head tilt to the side, permissive, &amp;quot;a recollection of purpose.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi doesn't lift her watch of him, turning herself in a step, two steps to face him even if it's to his back. &amp;quot;Purpose.&amp;quot; She echoes, this time in a sort of agreement though even without the inflection she should provide to it. &amp;quot;There is more purpose to hold- to find- than that.&amp;quot; Is quiet but steady. A sigh allows her to look to Neianth who considers her just as closely. &amp;quot;A united purpose, I suppose. A battle,&amp;quot; And there's a faint grin that last word turns her expression slightly, if a touch darkly. &amp;quot;Would remind many. I wish to see traditions remain, but that doesn't seem to be much of a popular opinion.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Hm,&amp;quot; is not much in the way of return, though H'kon keeps on watching her, considering. Arekoth, too, of course, those wingtips flick-flicking again. &amp;quot;Many,&amp;quot; comes after, with some hint of humour tugging the corner of his mouth sideways, &amp;quot;and not only here.&amp;quot; It's pointed, then, the step to adjust his angle. The Eye Rock earns his attention once more, though for all he can view it, the angle adjusted, it isn't ''right'' now, it isn't on. It doesn't, as it seems, need to be.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;But even then.&amp;quot; Her length of thoughts collect eventually into words, &amp;quot;Knowing it's not a real Pass, would they not just return to the thoughts of these times as soon as it's over? They may be reminded after every Pass, but choose to forget at every interval.&amp;quot; Forget seems like too strong a word, but Keysi leaves it at simply that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Should knowing it to not be a real Pass,&amp;quot; asks the wingsecond, tilting his head, more in Neianth's style than that of his own dragon, &amp;quot;not make them question the duration or recurrence of such an event? Although,&amp;quot; and he nods, and this time, it's a heavy gesture, &amp;quot;that is perhaps not what is at issue, not truly.&amp;quot; There's something disappointed in that, spoken in that faintly Tillekian accent that has still persisted, after all these turns at the Weyr.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Perhaps so. But so too would be the skill of Starcrafters, the stones,&amp;quot; Keysi's hand lifts in an idle motion as she steps back to Neianth, within reach of his lighter nose which reaches her palm with a huff of a breath, &amp;quot;the safety of traders and their routes. There still may be push for change, and nontraditional thoughts of our purpose.&amp;quot; But H'kon's following thought leads her to the most expected curiosity, &amp;quot;What is at issue?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;There may be,&amp;quot; he is willing to agree, though there is little in H'kon's tone to suggest approval or disapproval of that. It is stated as if a fact, for all his choice of words speaks only of possibility. Arekoth has been remembered, and the older brownrider takes another step toward his dragon. &amp;quot;Tradition is subject always to convenience, when there is no present reminder. It has little force on its own.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Unfortunate.&amp;quot; Is Keysi's heavier answer, but an agreement to some degree. She seems torn, though, not fully committed to her answers neither now nor before. &amp;quot;Traditions do have strength, though. If not in what's been found to be reliable, then in lessons of the things that weren't.&amp;quot; She finally says, though likely with multiple meanings, as she takes her helmet back from where she'd placed it, &amp;quot;Especially in the inconveniences.&amp;quot; She drops her intense gaze as she dons her gear with a tip of her head.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Hm,&amp;quot; says H'kon. The last few steps bring him to Arekoth's side. The brown turns to face his rider, and then crouches, that foreleg balanced carefully, but at this point in his life, instinctively. &amp;quot;Clear skies,&amp;quot; offers the compact wingsecond as he takes hold of his dragon's straps, &amp;quot;Keysi,&amp;quot; a nod, and then, &amp;quot;Neianth,&amp;quot; another. There is either thought or conversation that prevents Arekoth from calling back to Neianth, &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Try it with only one leg to land on, next time, &amp;gt;&amp;gt; until he and H'kon have already left the Star Stones.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Keysi&amp;diff=76637</id>
		<title>Keysi</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Keysi&amp;diff=76637"/>
				<updated>2015-09-13T07:00:22Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Profile&lt;br /&gt;
|picture=Lynn-collins-profile.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|mother=NPC - Journeywoman Smithcrafter&lt;br /&gt;
|father=NPC - &amp;quot;Blackmarket&amp;quot; trader&lt;br /&gt;
|siblings=None&lt;br /&gt;
|children=None&lt;br /&gt;
|body=== Description ==&lt;br /&gt;
While her body seems slender and lithe, runner's leg muscles and a sparrer's arms add a little 'something' to her contour which would otherwise seem relatively plain and flat, fitting of one so stern. The palms of her hands and the soles of her feet are rough and calloused, and bruises can be spotted here and there upon rather pale skin that has seen far more snow and mountains than sun-lit beach. There are two heavy scars that mar her form- one between her shoulder blades, the other over her right bicep. Numerous lighter scars trek down her forearms, hands and legs and appear wholly superficial and of varying age. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Reaching an average height of about 5'7&amp;quot;, her stature really does not scream much of a domineering personality. However, her well-sculpted hardly hued face appears naturally stuck and rigid in the same exact non-expression. Set, critical eyes that are so light blue they appear silver-grey stare out of heavily lashed lids. Dark brown hair that varies between looking almost black in dim light to shinning golden-brown in bright light has been cut crudely. What may have remained as shoulder-length at best is collected in a tight bun on the back of her head. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A tan tunic is modified into a heavy wrap-around top with a thick black boarder, combined at the waist with a wide belly-wrap. The white half-sleeves at the shoulders and central wrap are lined by a furred trimming. Her pants are a white, tough material with heavier patches at the knees. Arms from elbow to mid-fingers are wrapped with 1&amp;quot; strips of cloth beneath heavy leather forearm guards that are long enough to cover the back of her hands. When not restricted by formality, her obsession with &amp;quot;all things sharp&amp;quot; may be somewhat apparent with a single high-quality belt knife at her hip, and more likely a couple more of different styles stashed secretly upon on her person.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== WYSK ==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
  * Pronounced Ke-si                                                        &lt;br /&gt;
  * Most of her history goes untold, but it is known that she traveled a    &lt;br /&gt;
  great deal                                                                &lt;br /&gt;
  * Was an apprentice of HealerCraft transferred to HRW as part of a program&lt;br /&gt;
  to improve Weyr-Hall relations. Most skilled in emergency care.           &lt;br /&gt;
  * Talented in fighting, but the basis of which seems to be a mixture of   &lt;br /&gt;
  regional methods.                                                         &lt;br /&gt;
  * Searched by N'qui&amp;amp;Trevisath for Niahvth and Reisoth's clutch, at which  &lt;br /&gt;
  she Impressed to brown Neianth                                            &lt;br /&gt;
  * Intensely serious, and seriously intense, she's overly ambitious and    &lt;br /&gt;
  often complicated by her own thoughts                                     &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== History ==&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi is of Tillek Hold birth, given a Smith-trained journeywoman mother and a father of much more questionable means who bided by the title of trader. But what /did/ he trade? He never shared that information. Her father was one of many vices- from drinking and gambling to underhanded dealings that left her mother in a sticky situation when his ways were questioned. Eventually, the man was all but exiled- unofficially ''asked'' to leave when Keysi had just turned 3 turns old. From there, they traveled with different caravans, seeking to transplant themselves into Hold or Hall that needed a Smith's works, and found nobody accepting of them as whispers of her fathers dealings seemed to precede him. Could it be anything but a set up? Black mail? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Their caravan was intermittently intercepted in-route of wherever her mother could find work, or her father had a meeting to sell his 'goods'. With Keysi always in a relatively dangerous situation just on the outskirts of her father's dealings, her mother spent her extra marks on training for the young girl- with guards, with vagabonds, with people who were probably convicts but would do anything for payment. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Once old enough, her mother sought help from the safety that was a crafthall. She fronted an apprenticeship for Keysi in Healing. Despite a rebellious teenage start, craftmasters and the young journeywoman Tess, both grounded her mind and continued physical training in order to help her find balance. She hid herself beneath her studies, using focus and drive as a wall. She spent three long studious turns at the HealerHall at Fort. The external threats lessened as time went on. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The movement for improving Weyr-Hall relations following the reluctance(?) of healers to assistant in situation with the goldrider Teris and the subsequent outcries following it, became an opportunity to further her safety and her Healership, appreciated more by her superiors than herself. At a little over 16 turns, she was posted as an apprentice at High Reaches Weyr, M12D29T36.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Just short of reaching her senior apprenticeship, she was caught up in the politics of High Reaches as a transfer of Irianke and her gold lead to an appropriate, if strained, agreement to send green and blue weyrlings to Igen as trade for use of their Queen and her clutch. An argument with the yet-unmet Weyrlingmaster Quinlys in regards to the fairness of losing Reaches-Hatched dragons led to being Searched (out of amusement?) by her brother  N'qui and his Trevisath. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
During her candidacy, Keysi's inability to socialize, drink, or dabble in any sort of relationship was highlighted but rarely questioned. Following an explosion of unknown origin, Dragonhealer Leova, Bluerider Ghena, Alpine's wingsecond H'kon, the weyrwoman's assistant Lycinea and Keysi became trapped in a small segment of collapsed inner cavern tunnel. They were rescued some 14 days later (M6D19T36), Keysi having broken multiple ribs along with a multitude of lacerations after trying to act the hero at the time of the collapse. Not 24 hours later, an attempt to raise moral with an Igen-style Bazaar for the candidates leads to the death of High Reaches' weyrwoman, Azaylia. Unable to help left Keysi stricken, and even more reserved, unwilling to admit to the troubles the events had left her.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nearly healed by time of hatching, Keysi Impresses to Mysteries of Harmony Brown Neianth of Niavhth and Reisoth's clutch M7T36, not a day after getting into a near-fight with Reisoth's rider. Weyrlinghood proved a time of growth and inner reflection, of self-question and loyalty evaluation. She realized she's been running, hiding. It's after graduation, when she's tapped into Savannah with R'hin that she turns to face her demons.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Relationships ==&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Alida''' ''respect'' &amp;quot;More than simply a friend of a friend, important in your own way.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Edyis''' ''drifting'' &amp;quot;I still consider you my friend. But I'm changing. Don't forget about me while I figure all this out.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Farideh''' ''work in progress'' &amp;quot;You can do this. For better or for worse, I'm here to help you.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Faryn''' ''smart'' &amp;quot;You match words with me just fine. But only you can figure out who you want to be.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''H'vier''' ''frustrating'' &amp;quot;He makes it very hard to respect authority.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''K'del''' ''idol'' &amp;quot;You've been there. I will do absolutely everything necessary for you. For the Weyr. I will not let you down.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''K'zin''' ''observant'' &amp;quot;Once, I thought you were just an empty-headed prettyboy. But you spoke my language, you changed everything in my weyrlinghood, diverting a destructive path.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lycinea''' ''emergency-besties'' &amp;quot;I know you were hurt, but I'm just not sure how deeply.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Madilla''' ''master'' &amp;quot;You were once what I aspired to be. Now you ask more than I think I can give. But you provide a challenge, and I- we- will meet it.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Quinlys''' ''passionate'' &amp;quot;I don't think we'll ever see eye to eye, and it frustrates me that I can't appreciate your passion.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'van''' ''trouble-starter'' &amp;quot;We certainly don't agree. But I will try to find something to respect.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'hin''' ''pillar, catalyst'' &amp;quot;It took me time to trust you. You broke every rule, but you opened every door. You illuminated the spark. I ''will'' be more. You didn't choose wrong.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Sound Tracks ==&lt;br /&gt;
'''Keysi'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2k7pmQxTtmw The Hell Song - Sum41 (Life struggles)]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFgozleeawE Lose Yourself - Eminem (You've got one shot)]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkrLfl-npY4 Awake and Alive - Skillet (Impression)]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eI_8SQwsjA Not Afraid - Eminem]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Neianth'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAwWPadFsOA Mortal Kombat - Theme Song]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zS1xjS_LTyo Pump it - Black Eyed Peas]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ms5mSDy59eM Remember the Name - Fort Minor]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EK2UYoz8azo Hall of Fame - The Script (Impression... and every day since)]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Hidden Secrets Weyr'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNV_sbBrxMQ&amp;amp;index=8&amp;amp;list=PLkOJB9BEJFI333x1obNnanan8DDs6QEGE Sacred Pool of Tears]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== RP Logs ==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{NewLogs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{Icons}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Extras ==&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xta1/v/t1.0-9/12006158_1359865107376272_4569562618017696234_n.jpg?oh=a03e3db36fa71c7c54844d90b492acd3&amp;amp;oe=56A0232B A visual of the pair's outlook on danger], provided lovingly by Faryn.&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/jh/keysihrw Johari]&lt;br /&gt;
* [http://kevan.org/nohari?name=KeysiHRW Nohari]&lt;br /&gt;
|where=High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|Has rank=Weyrling&lt;br /&gt;
|craft=Healer&lt;br /&gt;
|dragon=Mysteries of Harmony Brown Neianth&lt;br /&gt;
|birthplace=Tillek Hold&lt;br /&gt;
|playedby=Lynn Collins&lt;br /&gt;
|status=Active&lt;br /&gt;
|face=Face-Keysi.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Character-Categories&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Crafters, Healers, High Reaches Weyr, Tillek Hold, Riders, Brownriders&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Characters]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Greater_Pern]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:High_Reaches_Area]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:High_Reaches_Weyr]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Keysi&amp;diff=76636</id>
		<title>Keysi</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Keysi&amp;diff=76636"/>
				<updated>2015-09-13T06:52:07Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Profile&lt;br /&gt;
|picture=Lynn-collins-profile.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|mother=NPC - Journeywoman Smithcrafter&lt;br /&gt;
|father=NPC - &amp;quot;Blackmarket&amp;quot; trader&lt;br /&gt;
|siblings=None&lt;br /&gt;
|children=None&lt;br /&gt;
|body=== Description ==&lt;br /&gt;
While her body seems slender and lithe, runner's leg muscles and a sparrer's arms add a little 'something' to her contour which would otherwise seem relatively plain and flat, fitting of one so stern. The palms of her hands and the soles of her feet are rough and calloused, and bruises can be spotted here and there upon rather pale skin that has seen far more snow and mountains than sun-lit beach. There are two heavy scars that mar her form- one between her shoulder blades, the other over her right bicep. Numerous lighter scars trek down her forearms, hands and legs and appear wholly superficial and of varying age. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Reaching an average height of about 5'7&amp;quot;, her stature really does not scream much of a domineering personality. However, her well-sculpted hardly hued face appears naturally stuck and rigid in the same exact non-expression. Set, critical eyes that are so light blue they appear silver-grey stare out of heavily lashed lids. Dark brown hair that varies between looking almost black in dim light to shinning golden-brown in bright light has been cut crudely. What may have remained as shoulder-length at best is collected in a tight bun on the back of her head. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A tan tunic is modified into a heavy wrap-around top with a thick black boarder, combined at the waist with a wide belly-wrap. The white half-sleeves at the shoulders and central wrap are lined by a furred trimming. Her pants are a white, tough material with heavier patches at the knees. Arms from elbow to mid-fingers are wrapped with 1&amp;quot; strips of cloth beneath heavy leather forearm guards that are long enough to cover the back of her hands. When not restricted by formality, her obsession with &amp;quot;all things sharp&amp;quot; may be somewhat apparent with a single high-quality belt knife at her hip, and more likely a couple more of different styles stashed secretly upon on her person.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== WYSK ==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
  * Pronounced Ke-si                                                        &lt;br /&gt;
  * Most of her history goes untold, but it is known that she traveled a    &lt;br /&gt;
  great deal                                                                &lt;br /&gt;
  * Was an apprentice of HealerCraft transferred to HRW as part of a program&lt;br /&gt;
  to improve Weyr-Hall relations. Most skilled in emergency care.           &lt;br /&gt;
  * Talented in fighting, but the basis of which seems to be a mixture of   &lt;br /&gt;
  regional methods.                                                         &lt;br /&gt;
  * Searched by N'qui&amp;amp;Trevisath for Niahvth and Reisoth's clutch, at which  &lt;br /&gt;
  she Impressed to brown Neianth                                            &lt;br /&gt;
  * Intensely serious, and seriously intense, she's overly ambitious and    &lt;br /&gt;
  often complicated by her own thoughts                                     &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== History ==&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi is of Tillek Hold birth, given a Smith-trained journeywoman mother and a father of much more questionable means who bided by the title of trader. But what /did/ he trade? He never shared that information. Her father was one of many vices- from drinking and gambling to underhanded dealings that left her mother in a sticky situation when his ways were questioned. Eventually, the man was all but exiled- unofficially ''asked'' to leave when Keysi had just turned 3 turns old. From there, they traveled with different caravans, seeking to transplant themselves into Hold or Hall that needed a Smith's works, and found nobody accepting of them as whispers of her fathers dealings seemed to precede him. Could it be anything but a set up? Black mail? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Their caravan was intermittently intercepted in-route of wherever her mother could find work, or her father had a meeting to sell his 'goods'. With Keysi always in a relatively dangerous situation just on the outskirts of her father's dealings, her mother spent her extra marks on training for the young girl- with guards, with vagabonds, with people who were probably convicts but would do anything for payment. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Once old enough, her mother sought help from the safety that was a crafthall. She fronted an apprenticeship for Keysi in Healing. Despite a rebellious teenage start, craftmasters and the young journeywoman Tess, both grounded her mind and continued physical training in order to help her find balance. She hid herself beneath her studies, using focus and drive as a wall. She spent three long studious turns at the HealerHall at Fort. The external threats lessened as time went on. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The movement for improving Weyr-Hall relations following the reluctance(?) of healers to assistant in situation with the goldrider Teris and the subsequent outcries following it, became an opportunity to further her safety and her Healership, appreciated more by her superiors than herself. At a little over 16 turns, she was posted as an apprentice at High Reaches Weyr, M12D29T36.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Just short of reaching her senior apprenticeship, she was caught up in the politics of High Reaches as a transfer of Irianke and her gold lead to an appropriate, if strained, agreement to send green and blue weyrlings to Igen as trade for use of their Queen and her clutch. An argument with the yet-unmet Weyrlingmaster Quinlys in regards to the fairness of losing Reaches-Hatched dragons led to being Searched (out of amusement?) by her brother  N'qui and his Trevisath. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
During her candidacy, Keysi's inability to socialize, drink, or dabble in any sort of relationship was highlighted but rarely questioned. Following an explosion of unknown origin, Dragonhealer Leova, Bluerider Ghena, Alpine's wingsecond H'kon, the weyrwoman's assistant Lycinea and Keysi became trapped in a small segment of collapsed inner cavern tunnel. They were rescued some 14 days later (M6D19T36), Keysi having broken multiple ribs along with a multitude of lacerations after trying to act the hero at the time of the collapse. Not 24 hours later, an attempt to raise moral with an Igen-style Bazaar for the candidates leads to the death of High Reaches' weyrwoman, Azaylia. Unable to help left Keysi stricken, and even more reserved, unwilling to admit to the troubles the events had left her.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nearly healed by time of hatching, Keysi Impresses to Mysteries of Harmony Brown Neianth of Niavhth and Reisoth's clutch M7T36, not a day after getting into a near-fight with Reisoth's rider. Weyrlinghood proved a time of growth and inner reflection, of self-question and loyalty evaluation. She realized she's been running, hiding. It's after graduation, when she's tapped into Savannah with R'hin that she turns to face her demons.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Relationships ==&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Alida''' ''respect'' &amp;quot;More than simply a friend of a friend, important in your own way.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Edyis''' ''drifting'' &amp;quot;I still consider you my friend. But I'm changing. Don't forget about me while I figure all this out.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Farideh''' ''work in progress'' &amp;quot;You can do this. For better or for worse, I'm here to help you.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Faryn''' ''smart'' &amp;quot;You match words with me just fine. But only you can figure out who you want to be.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''H'vier''' ''frustrating'' &amp;quot;He makes it very hard to respect authority.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''K'del''' ''idol'' &amp;quot;You've been there. I will do absolutely everything necessary for you. For the Weyr. I will not let you down.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''K'zin''' ''observant'' &amp;quot;Once, I thought you were just an empty-headed prettyboy. But you spoke my language, you changed everything in my weyrlinghood, diverting a destructive path.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lycinea''' ''emergency-besties'' &amp;quot;I know you were hurt, but I'm just not sure how deeply.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Madilla''' ''master'' &amp;quot;You were once what I aspired to be. Now you ask more than I think I can give. But you provide a challenge, and I- we- will meet it.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Quinlys''' ''passionate'' &amp;quot;I don't think we'll ever see eye to eye, and it frustrates me that I can't appreciate your passion.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'van''' ''trouble-starter'' &amp;quot;We certainly don't agree. But I will try to find something to respect.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'hin''' ''pillar, catalyst'' &amp;quot;It took me time to trust you. You broke every rule, but you opened every door. You illuminated the spark. I ''will'' be more. You didn't choose wrong.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Sound Tracks ==&lt;br /&gt;
'''Keysi'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2k7pmQxTtmw The Hell Song - Sum41 (Life struggles)]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFgozleeawE Lose Yourself - Eminem (You've got one shot)]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkrLfl-npY4 Awake and Alive - Skillet (Impression)]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eI_8SQwsjA Not Afraid - Eminem]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Neianth'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAwWPadFsOA Mortal Kombat - Theme Song]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zS1xjS_LTyo Pump it - Black Eyed Peas]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ms5mSDy59eM Remember the Name - Fort Minor]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EK2UYoz8azo Hall of Fame - The Script (Impression... and every day since)]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Hidden Secrets Weyr'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNV_sbBrxMQ&amp;amp;index=8&amp;amp;list=PLkOJB9BEJFI333x1obNnanan8DDs6QEGE Sacred Pool of Tears]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== RP Logs ==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{NewLogs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{Icons}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Extras ==&lt;br /&gt;
[https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xta1/v/t1.0-9/12006158_1359865107376272_4569562618017696234_n.jpg?oh=a03e3db36fa71c7c54844d90b492acd3&amp;amp;oe=56A0232B A visual of the pair's outlook on danger.]&lt;br /&gt;
|where=High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|Has rank=Weyrling&lt;br /&gt;
|craft=Healer&lt;br /&gt;
|dragon=Mysteries of Harmony Brown Neianth&lt;br /&gt;
|birthplace=Tillek Hold&lt;br /&gt;
|playedby=Lynn Collins&lt;br /&gt;
|status=Active&lt;br /&gt;
|face=Face-Keysi.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Character-Categories&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Crafters, Healers, High Reaches Weyr, Tillek Hold, Riders, Brownriders&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Characters]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Greater_Pern]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:High_Reaches_Area]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:High_Reaches_Weyr]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Keysi&amp;diff=76635</id>
		<title>Keysi</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Keysi&amp;diff=76635"/>
				<updated>2015-09-13T06:49:28Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Profile&lt;br /&gt;
|picture=Lynn-collins-profile.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
|mother=NPC - Journeywoman Smithcrafter&lt;br /&gt;
|father=NPC - &amp;quot;Blackmarket&amp;quot; trader&lt;br /&gt;
|siblings=None&lt;br /&gt;
|children=None&lt;br /&gt;
|body=== Description ==&lt;br /&gt;
While her body seems slender and lithe, runner's leg muscles and a sparrer's arms add a little 'something' to her contour which would otherwise seem relatively plain and flat, fitting of one so stern. The palms of her hands and the soles of her feet are rough and calloused, and bruises can be spotted here and there upon rather pale skin that has seen far more snow and mountains than sun-lit beach. There are two heavy scars that mar her form- one between her shoulder blades, the other over her right bicep. Numerous lighter scars trek down her forearms, hands and legs and appear wholly superficial and of varying age. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Reaching an average height of about 5'7&amp;quot;, her stature really does not scream much of a domineering personality. However, her well-sculpted hardly hued face appears naturally stuck and rigid in the same exact non-expression. Set, critical eyes that are so light blue they appear silver-grey stare out of heavily lashed lids. Dark brown hair that varies between looking almost black in dim light to shinning golden-brown in bright light has been cut crudely. What may have remained as shoulder-length at best is collected in a tight bun on the back of her head. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A tan tunic is modified into a heavy wrap-around top with a thick black boarder, combined at the waist with a wide belly-wrap. The white half-sleeves at the shoulders and central wrap are lined by a furred trimming. Her pants are a white, tough material with heavier patches at the knees. Arms from elbow to mid-fingers are wrapped with 1&amp;quot; strips of cloth beneath heavy leather forearm guards that are long enough to cover the back of her hands. When not restricted by formality, her obsession with &amp;quot;all things sharp&amp;quot; may be somewhat apparent with a single high-quality belt knife at her hip, and more likely a couple more of different styles stashed secretly upon on her person.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== WYSK ==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Pronounced Ke-si (Que Si)&lt;br /&gt;
Nicknames: &amp;quot;Keys&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Key&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
* Most of her history goes untold, but it is known that she traveled a great deal&lt;br /&gt;
* Heavily combat trained with open hand techniques and daggers, the skills of which she pursues with a fiercely passionate and tireless if not reckless degree of training&lt;br /&gt;
* Intense and overly serious, and carrying little but a neutral expression, she’s somewhat of an enigma. Though she follows her Craft with a mechanical thoroughness, given certain situations, the heart she puts into what she believes in may just show through to a frightening degree.&lt;br /&gt;
* Apprentice of HealerCraft, studied for 3.5 turns before being transferred to HRW as part of the program meant to supplement better relationships between Hall and Weyr D29 M12 T36. Primarily interested in emergency/critical care, and seems strangely adverse to mindhealing.&lt;br /&gt;
* Searched for Niahvth and Reisoth’s clutch by N’qui &amp;amp; Trevisath&lt;br /&gt;
* Trapped in a cave-in of a lower cavern tunnel in HRW from D5 to D19 of M6 T37.&lt;br /&gt;
* Impressed to brown Neianth D25 M7 T37.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== History ==&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi is of Tillek Hold birth, given a Smith-trained journeywoman mother and a father of much more questionable means who bided by the title of trader. But what /did/ he trade? He never shared that information. Her father was one of many vices- from drinking and gambling to underhanded dealings that left her mother in a sticky situation when his ways were questioned. Eventually, the man was all but exiled- unofficially ''asked'' to leave when Keysi had just turned 3 turns old. From there, they traveled with different caravans, seeking to transplant themselves into Hold or Hall that needed a Smith's works, and found nobody accepting of them as whispers of her fathers dealings seemed to precede him. Could it be anything but a set up? Black mail? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Their caravan was intermittently intercepted in-route of wherever her mother could find work, or her father had a meeting to sell his 'goods'. With Keysi always in a relatively dangerous situation just on the outskirts of her father's dealings, her mother spent her extra marks on training for the young girl- with guards, with vagabonds, with people who were probably convicts but would do anything for payment. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Once old enough, her mother sought help from the safety that was a crafthall. She fronted an apprenticeship for Keysi in Healing. Despite a rebellious teenage start, craftmasters and the young journeywoman Tess, both grounded her mind and continued physical training in order to help her find balance. She hid herself beneath her studies, using focus and drive as a wall. She spent three long studious turns at the HealerHall at Fort. The external threats lessened as time went on. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The movement for improving Weyr-Hall relations following the reluctance(?) of healers to assistant in situation with the goldrider Teris and the subsequent outcries following it, became an opportunity to further her safety and her Healership, appreciated more by her superiors than herself. At a little over 16 turns, she was posted as an apprentice at High Reaches Weyr, M12D29T36.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Just short of reaching her senior apprenticeship, she was caught up in the politics of High Reaches as a transfer of Irianke and her gold lead to an appropriate, if strained, agreement to send green and blue weyrlings to Igen as trade for use of their Queen and her clutch. An argument with the yet-unmet Weyrlingmaster Quinlys in regards to the fairness of losing Reaches-Hatched dragons led to being Searched (out of amusement?) by her brother  N'qui and his Trevisath. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
During her candidacy, Keysi's inability to socialize, drink, or dabble in any sort of relationship was highlighted but rarely questioned. Following an explosion of unknown origin, Dragonhealer Leova, Bluerider Ghena, Alpine's wingsecond H'kon, the weyrwoman's assistant Lycinea and Keysi became trapped in a small segment of collapsed inner cavern tunnel. They were rescued some 14 days later (M6D19T36), Keysi having broken multiple ribs along with a multitude of lacerations after trying to act the hero at the time of the collapse. Not 24 hours later, an attempt to raise moral with an Igen-style Bazaar for the candidates leads to the death of High Reaches' weyrwoman, Azaylia. Unable to help left Keysi stricken, and even more reserved, unwilling to admit to the troubles the events had left her.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nearly healed by time of hatching, Keysi Impresses to Mysteries of Harmony Brown Neianth of Niavhth and Reisoth's clutch M7T36, not a day after getting into a near-fight with Reisoth's rider. Weyrlinghood proved a time of growth and inner reflection, of self-question and loyalty evaluation. She realized she's been running, hiding. It's after graduation, when she's tapped into Savannah with R'hin that she turns to face her demons.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Relationships ==&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Alida''' ''respect'' &amp;quot;More than simply a friend of a friend, important in your own way.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Edyis''' ''drifting'' &amp;quot;I still consider you my friend. But I'm changing. Don't forget about me while I figure all this out.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Farideh''' ''work in progress'' &amp;quot;You can do this. For better or for worse, I'm here to help you.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Faryn''' ''smart'' &amp;quot;You match words with me just fine. But only you can figure out who you want to be.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''H'vier''' ''frustrating'' &amp;quot;He makes it very hard to respect authority.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''K'del''' ''idol'' &amp;quot;You've been there. I will do absolutely everything necessary for you. For the Weyr. I will not let you down.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''K'zin''' ''observant'' &amp;quot;Once, I thought you were just an empty-headed prettyboy. But you spoke my language, you changed everything in my weyrlinghood, diverting a destructive path.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Lycinea''' ''emergency-besties'' &amp;quot;I know you were hurt, but I'm just not sure how deeply.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Madilla''' ''master'' &amp;quot;You were once what I aspired to be. Now you ask more than I think I can give. But you provide a challenge, and I- we- will meet it.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''Quinlys''' ''passionate'' &amp;quot;I don't think we'll ever see eye to eye, and it frustrates me that I can't appreciate your passion.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'van''' ''trouble-starter'' &amp;quot;We certainly don't agree. But I will try to find something to respect.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
* '''R'hin''' ''pillar, catalyst'' &amp;quot;It took me time to trust you. You broke every rule, but you opened every door. You illuminated the spark. I ''will'' be more. You didn't choose wrong.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Sound Tracks ==&lt;br /&gt;
'''Keysi'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2k7pmQxTtmw The Hell Song - Sum41 (Life struggles)]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFgozleeawE Lose Yourself - Eminem (You've got one shot)]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkrLfl-npY4 Awake and Alive - Skillet (Impression)]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eI_8SQwsjA Not Afraid - Eminem]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Neianth'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAwWPadFsOA Mortal Kombat - Theme Song]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zS1xjS_LTyo Pump it - Black Eyed Peas]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ms5mSDy59eM Remember the Name - Fort Minor]&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EK2UYoz8azo Hall of Fame - The Script (Impression... and every day since)]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'''Hidden Secrets Weyr'''&lt;br /&gt;
* [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNV_sbBrxMQ&amp;amp;index=8&amp;amp;list=PLkOJB9BEJFI333x1obNnanan8DDs6QEGE Sacred Pool of Tears]&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== RP Logs ==&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{NewLogs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments}} | }}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{{Icons}}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
== Extras ==&lt;br /&gt;
[https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xta1/v/t1.0-9/12006158_1359865107376272_4569562618017696234_n.jpg?oh=a03e3db36fa71c7c54844d90b492acd3&amp;amp;oe=56A0232B A visual of the pair's outlook on danger.]&lt;br /&gt;
|where=High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|Has rank=Weyrling&lt;br /&gt;
|craft=Healer&lt;br /&gt;
|dragon=Mysteries of Harmony Brown Neianth&lt;br /&gt;
|birthplace=Tillek Hold&lt;br /&gt;
|playedby=Lynn Collins&lt;br /&gt;
|status=Active&lt;br /&gt;
|face=Face-Keysi.jpg&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Character-Categories&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=Crafters, Healers, High Reaches Weyr, Tillek Hold, Riders, Brownriders&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Characters]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:Greater_Pern]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:High_Reaches_Area]]&lt;br /&gt;
[[Category:High_Reaches_Weyr]]&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:On_the_Inside&amp;diff=76634</id>
		<title>Logs:On the Inside</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:On_the_Inside&amp;diff=76634"/>
				<updated>2015-09-13T04:54:38Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=R'hin, R'hin{{!}}Leiventh, Keysi, Keysi{{!}}Neianth&lt;br /&gt;
|what=R'hin sends a rider with a trader's cover to find what can be found about Greenfields&lt;br /&gt;
|where=HRW and Crom, trader's caravan&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=High Reaches Area, High Reaches Weyr, Crom Hold&lt;br /&gt;
|day=21&lt;br /&gt;
|month=9&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=38&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.09.11&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=People will talk. This sort of thing -- it's inevitable. It's too big to keep quiet forever.&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=Bristia, A'gon, K'del, Telavi&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon r'hin.jpg, Icon r'hin leiventh.jpg, Icon Keysi impatient.jpg, Icon Keysi Neianth.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=It's been a difficult week, between the senior flight, news of the Weyrleader's stabbing, and High Reaches' junior starting to glow, as well. It's, perhaps, unsurprising that R'hin's been largely absent, with Bristia doing the morning briefings and assignments in his stead. ''This'' morning, Bristia gives out assignments to everyone but Keysi, and instead, touches her arm, murmuring, &amp;quot;Crom, at the river,&amp;quot; as she passes by.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's drizzling, out there over Crom, the river running swiftly as a sign of the recent autumn rains. A handful of caravans are set up at the river's edge in a makeshift camp, figures visible moving here and there. One might even be familiar, from this angle; her Wingleader appears to be talking with an older man near one of the larger wagons.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The young brownrider stands where and how she almost always does, in that lingering sense of her shroud of formality that she's slowly learning to forego when assignements and occassions call for otherwise. Perhaps it's because it's not the first time she's been left at the end, Keysi lets her stormy grey eyes follow the other riders out before returning to Bristia and giving her a faint nod when she passes by, only to follow suit on her heels without missing much of a beat. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neianth had blinked in over Crom from Between, but landed some calculated distance away. On foot, the girl jogs towards the caravan and slows before coming upon the camp. Observations first slow her approach, moving between the figures among the camp, settling on her wingleader long enough to angle her destination, and otherwise focus lingers on what seems to be memorization. Although she's kept her jacket, helmet and elsewise has been left behind in saddlebags. By the time she arrives, her hands are stuffed into pockets, quiet, likely to catch whatever tail end of that conversation she may.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Leiventh is nearby, ''somewhere'' -- that much is clear by the abrupt gust of cold, wintry wind that greets (assaults?) the young brown the moment he appears in Crom's skies. Flickered images pass in succession: sunlight glinting off an impossibly bright not-quite-Crom river; a green dragon, making an impossibly shrill noise a moment before she winks between; an empty bottle on a sandy beach. The images are intense, full of sounds, scents, and smells, and then gone as abruptly as if they never were, along with the sense of the older bronze's presence. &amp;quot;I'm sure it will be a fruitful trip, Bresmon,&amp;quot; R'hin is telling the younger man -- certainly nothing exciting. Bresmon notices Keysi first, thoughtful eyes settling on her, and the Savannah Wingleader notes the look, enough to turn. &amp;quot;Kimmi,&amp;quot; he stretches out a hand towards Keysi in welcome, pale eyes amused as ever: &amp;quot;Come and meet Bresmon, would you? He's been looking for an extra pair of hands for a while now, and I've told him all about you.&amp;quot; Bresmon snorts, amends: &amp;quot;He's told me ''nothing''.&amp;quot; He sticks his hand out all the same, in greeting, regarding her thoughtfully, &amp;quot;So, you traded much before?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The ripples of Neianth's mind smooth over almost completely at the sensation of Leiventh's chill. The more still surface mirrors, mutedly, those flickered images in the reflective pool that makes up the feel of his mind as his means of denoting understanding, acceptance. Some of those glass-like light-glinting ripples carry back sensations of question; the green?, the empty bottle? The small brown doesn't seem utterly overwhelmed, but in making sense of it all, there is the feeling of pause, of unraveling. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi adopts an earnest, light smile that seems to brighten her face in such a way that would be foreign to those who know her. It casts gentle lines on her face and beside her eyes that makes her seem expressive, sincere, as she looks at first from R'hin to Bresmon. &amp;quot;Hello.&amp;quot; Is simple at first, but a friendly thing. &amp;quot;No, sir. But I've talked with many traders coming by the healerhall. I'm happy to help, just tell me what you need done.&amp;quot; Her hand meets his to shake amiably, a light handshake but sincere enough.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Healer?&amp;quot; Bresmon's brows go up in brief surprise, seemingly impressed. &amp;quot;Well, won't say no to someone who's spent time there, either. Get into a few scrapes -- especially my youngest,&amp;quot; he flicker a hand in the direction of a boy of ten-or-so, who is kicking despondently at a ball. &amp;quot;The last on the right'll be yours,&amp;quot; the trader adds, with a nod to the wagons, now. &amp;quot;Got some clean bedding in our supplies. I'll go get that for you.&amp;quot; With a nod to the pair of them, he heads for one of the middle wagons, calling to the boy to help him. R'hin, silent throughout the exchange, gives a low-throated chuckle of what appears to be approval, then gestures towards the wagon Bresmon indicated as if to invite Keysi to walk with him in that direction. He speaks in a low, easy voice, like he's picking up in the midst of a conversation previously interrupted: &amp;quot;You'll be able to step away once they camp for evenings, to tend to Neianth. Some of the dragons don't mind; others do. Best to see which he is. The others'll keep him company, mind, if he wants.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I have a few skills down.&amp;quot; Keysi adds in what could be considered a playful exchange, her glance straying from the trader to his boy. She watches him for maybe a prolonged period of time, as if lost in her thoughts. Given the delay, she'd missed the initial nod, and visually searches for the one he'd indicated- thankfully through word as well. &amp;quot;Thank you. I'll be there inna moment.&amp;quot; There's a brief moment of appearing stiff- likely an indication through the girl of having a measure of uncertainty, but it's only after the trader had turned away. And the smile wanes and fades back to her typical controlled one. Grey eyes look up at R'hin, intense as they always are, but maybe even a grade or two more. &amp;quot;It will be a little late by then. I can't just leave.&amp;quot; She raises a hand to rub at her opposite bicep and shakes her head, &amp;quot;Where will you be?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Bresmon won't watch too closely. It's why he's perfect,&amp;quot; R'hin reassures her, lips twitching into a smile when she looks at him, taking a slow step or two in the direction of her new temporary home. &amp;quot;Not with you, I'm afraid. Not for Greenfields.&amp;quot; He grimaces, a fleeting gesture gone as soon as it appears. &amp;quot;I want you to ''listen'', Keysi. If I hear you're getting caught where you shouldn't, or in some sort of fight, I'll be ''very'' displeased.&amp;quot; He exhales a breath, glancing at her sidelong, letting that sink in a moment. &amp;quot;People will talk. This sort of thing -- it's inevitable. It's too big to keep quiet forever. Drink, make friends, talk and listen. Fuck, if you want -- have fun, but don't ''fuck it up'', mm?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi's eyes narrow slightly, at the grimace mainly, but she otherwise doesn't move until after the warning off of many things, the most clear of which that gets her is the note of fighting. And after it? She looks away from him, attention straying to the people she'll be with for the time she's here. But she starts moving in the direction that he does, towards the wagon indicated for her, for the time being. 'Try' isn't an acceptable word, so she responds with &amp;quot;I won't let you down.&amp;quot; That addition seems delayed after his final words, but it's not that she doesn't mean it. The girl already seems a touch wound up, and not all from this being a first time left alone, and she has something on her tongue that she doesn't say, given their location, as to why. &amp;quot;And I'm glad I'm here. I'll be fine.&amp;quot; Far more resolved than she was moments before, after letting herself fall into her thoughts for a minute and then drawing herself back out again.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;You won't,&amp;quot; R'hin agrees, with a certainty. There's a couple of steps leading up to the entrance to the wagon, and the bronzerider reaches up to open it, allowing Keysi first view of her temporary home. It's pretty plain inside, but clean -- there's a cot with no bedding on it, a press for storage, and some basic amenities. It's his wingrider's latter statement that earns an amused snort, &amp;quot;Of course you will, or I wouldn't send you. I ''am'' omniscient, if you haven't learned that yet.&amp;quot; He tugs a hand through his hair, before he adds, &amp;quot;Your mm, ''aunt'', ''older cousin'', whathave you, might drop in to check you haven't run away with a traveling troupe. Not that I'd blame you -- they ''are'' fascinating and ''different''.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi does manage to roll her eyes, but it's as she moves beyond R'hin to climb up into the wagon. &amp;quot;If you were that, this wouldn't be necessary.&amp;quot; Is said in passing. A too-practiced hold on the door and lift to bring herself up into the cabin leads to spending a little bit of time 'exploring' in a short turn. Arms folded, she takes a step down the first of the steps to sit in the doorway so as not to need to raise her voice. &amp;quot;Yeah, I have that rebellious streak in me.&amp;quot; Her dry sarcasm offers, in place of nervousness that's not wholly put aside, &amp;quot;We'll see if they're any more fascinating than mine was.&amp;quot; She sits back a little and glances past him to watch a younger man closer to her age pass by, a lopsided slight grin rising as she shakes her head and looks back at him. &amp;quot;Sounds like you're half considering it.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Have you not considered that I'm doing this merely to assuage my complete boredom with the world?&amp;quot; R'hin replies all too readily, as he follows her up the steps, ducking his head as he passes inside. With one person, it's comfortable; with two it's starting to get cramped, and the bronzerider retreats back outside, one arm outstretched to lean against the wall, waiting until Keysi emerges again with a quizzical lift of brows as if to determine whether it passes her muster. There's an amused chuckle when the younger man catches the brownrider's eye. &amp;quot;Would, if Leiventh'd stand for it,&amp;quot; he confesses, to all apparent seriousness -- only the glimmer of pale eyes perhaps serving to belie the words. &amp;quot;Something satisfying about life on the road. Always new people, new places, new things, new ''secrets''. What's not to envy?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi offers no assessment on the wagon, in fact the way she's sitting makes it appear like she's already lived here for awhile. &amp;quot;Satisfying, terrifying. Same meanings in some sense if you're just chasing boredom away.&amp;quot; Her wry tone is partially relaxed of its seriousness by his amusement, riding on it which seems to smooth over that tension easily. &amp;quot;You don't envy what you have until you don't have it anymore.&amp;quot;  Keysi does her usual hedging before she relents with, &amp;quot;I did this for a long time when I was growing up. There are an awful lot of secrets out here. &amp;quot; But it explains the familiarity at which she's been taking everything in. And from that admittance of a secret of her own to something of a realization, her grey eyes lighten as she allows an abbreviated laugh of sorts; sort of a cough-like sound that's only notable for what it is by its context. &amp;quot;I guess I hated them so much,&amp;quot; the secrets, she implies, &amp;quot;I didn't realize how useful they could be.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And R'hin, for his part is silent, or almost so; he acknowledges her point about boredom with a twitch of lips and tip of his head, her mention of envy with a silent regard, and her talk of secrets with an acknowledging noise in the back of his throat. There's noise over by the storage wagon, where Bresmon's kid is struggling to carry the bedding, but flatly refusing his father's help, with a determined expression. The Wingleader's gaze is only for Keysi, however. &amp;quot;It depends,&amp;quot; he says, after a moment, &amp;quot;Whose they are, and whether they can hurt you. There is power in keeping secrets, but power in releasing them, too.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi is quiet for a few moments, considering in her intensity that's lessened by a general lightness she seems to keep in place. &amp;quot;Easier to be prepared for something you know about, whether or not it hurts you.&amp;quot; But to the latter, she sighs heavily, an agreement if a semi-reluctant one. Only then would she look past him to the kid. &amp;quot;At any rate, I hope they're not too stuck on keeping them. Or else I'm just going to party wildly for days and not have anything but scary firepit stories to tell you when I get back.&amp;quot; Is so out of character that despite how dryly she says it, she can't help but smirk at the end.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
R'hin lifts one shoulder in an obvious shrug, replying with no small amount of amusement, &amp;quot;Can't see that it's waste, either way.&amp;quot; He lifts one hand, &amp;quot;Either you learn something useful,&amp;quot; he lifts the other, higher than the first, &amp;quot;Or you don't, but you make a cover you can use again, establish yourself with some of the Greenfields locals, and when something happens down the track -- it will, with ''Greenfields'' -- you'll be in a good position to learn something next time.&amp;quot; He moves his hands as if weighing the two against each other, then finally gives another shrug, hands dropping to his sides. &amp;quot;Win-win. And,&amp;quot; he pushes away from the wagon's wall, &amp;quot;At least ''try'' and sneak in some enjoyment, mm? Something to exaggerate around the firepit for A'gon.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;This cover won't be.&amp;quot; A thought as she watches the young boy, &amp;quot;Except if-&amp;quot; Keysi could play over a hundred scenarios, but stops herself from any of it- &amp;quot;Doesn't matter.&amp;quot; The dismissal is more for herself than for R'hin. &amp;quot;I don't know anything about them as it is.&amp;quot; Except the obvious, in regards to the fires and the Weyrleader. &amp;quot;Is there anything in particular?&amp;quot; To watch for? To know? As he pushes away, her brow furrows curiously, shaking her head slightly with a lightly exasperated, &amp;quot;He's got enough stories for everybody.&amp;quot; But there's a hint of a smile for it, a natural one and not simply created from nothing. &amp;quot;Fine. I'm sure I can manage something.&amp;quot; And to business, the pleasure in that moment fading as fast as it'd come, before he goes, &amp;quot;And if I need something immediately- do we reach for you, Bristia?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;You'll have time on the trip down to Greenfields to learn,&amp;quot; R'hin seems unconcerned about it, or perhaps that's merely confidence in her abilities. He spreads his hands at her question, &amp;quot;Even the merest, unlikeliest rumor could prove useful. The important thing is watching, and listening -- learning to judge when people are telling a story merely to brag, or telling a story because it is so interesting, they can't stand to keep it to themselves. The latter ones are almost always useful in some way.&amp;quot; He chuckles at her assessment of A'gon, in agreement: &amp;quot;You're not wrong. But there's always room for more, no?&amp;quot; A beat, after that last, an unusual hesitation on his part. &amp;quot;Your... mm, let's say cousin, Tela, will be keeping an eye out for you.&amp;quot; The boy's making his way slowly over towards them, and it makes R'hin straighten to watch as he nears.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi starts to rise as she listens to the answer, stepping down from the foot hold leading into the wagon's cabin but not quite leaving his side yet. To his instruction there's a nod amidst her movements, pretending to need to steady herself as she reaches the ground by leaning slightly against the wagon close where he had. In response, part of her seems glad that it's Telavi, but the other part lingers her attentions on her Wingleader. She caught this hesitation, and although she's looked over abnormalities before, she seems to hold onto this one. &amp;quot;Is there something else?&amp;quot; The words are a little rushed this time, given the boy finally managing to make it closer with the articles promised despite his determined struggle.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
With a glib ease of Turns of dissembling, R'hin replies, low-voiced and amused: &amp;quot;Just the nerves of a father letting his daughter out into the world on her own. I'll be fine.&amp;quot; A beat, as he leans closer, low-throated amusement audible in his voice. &amp;quot;All the same, sleep with a knife under your pillow, mm? Just to make this old man feel better.&amp;quot; His voice fades as the boy approaches, gives both of them a narrow-eyed look, and roughly tries to push past Keysi to gain access to the wagon. &amp;quot;I'll leave you to it,&amp;quot; the Wingleader says, taking a deliberate step away.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi pauses in both a physical and thought-stilled sense at his reply, pale eyes watching his. She searches his eyes for a drawn out moment as if she'd find something else there, until he leans closer for his addendum. Instead of a reply, her balance is shuffled by the kid- something she gives for, with a returned reach and messing of his hair in a way that an older sibling would do, regardless of the backlash it might- and should- deserve. As he takes that step away, she turns to follow the boy in, her arm shifting back to send a casual wave of farewell, and that lifts her jacket up enough that the end of the sheath of one of her more plain daggers that she'd brought with her can be seen. The beginning of &amp;quot;Come on, kid, you look stronger than that..&amp;quot; can be heard from within the wagon as she disappears inside.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When Keysi's attention is taken by the boy, R'hin retreats, taking a moment to have a last word with Bresmon before disappearing. Neianth feels the wintry touch of the bronze moments before he becomes visible further down along the river, though they barely reach the top of the treeline before they vanish. The boy, meanwhile, gives Keysi a dark look, as perhaps expected, in response to that hair-ruffle. He's ''way'' too old for that sort of thing, now. &amp;quot;Bet you couldn't do it better!&amp;quot; is his response, giving her an expectant look, a moment before he asks hopefully, &amp;quot;Do you know to play ball?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neianth lingers at the riverside some ways off from the actual campsite, though doesn't actually invade the water's edge. The wintry touch is met again by a ripple of uncertainty, followed by one of disapproval, followed by concern. The levity of it is not groundbreaking, only unsettling as something ''new''. The brown had been as close as to be in his rider's mental and physical shadow since he shelled, dizzyingly close. He shakes his crescent-touched head, dark-hewn wings spreading as he leaps to become airborne again- if not yet to go Between and fully ''leave'' Keysi. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi seems unperturbed by the boy's reaction, having incited it. &amp;quot;I bet I could. Twice as much.&amp;quot; Stern eyes are less so, her arms folded as she converses with the tradersson. This really wouldn't be that hard of a cover, so long as it didn't prove as memory-invoking as the tea. &amp;quot;Of course I do. But I wouldn't want a girl to embarrass you or anything.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
While Leiventh's presence doesn't linger, there are others to fill the gap after he goes: Bristia's Saindyth, A'gon's Druisath, others; checking in non intrusively and retreating if not wanted. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It won't take much for Keysi to make a friend in the young boy; he's clearly starving for someone willing to indulge him and ''play'' at something -- anything -- other than boring old trader talk. The afternoon passes pleasantly enough, with Bresmon introducing her to the rest of the members; his wife, first, and his sister and her family. They seem welcoming enough of Keysi, curious but not pushy. Dinner is a communal affair, and they retire soon after, in preparation for the early start in the morning on their trip to Greenfields.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs, Savannah Wing Logs&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Priorities_and_Possibilities&amp;diff=76633</id>
		<title>Logs:Priorities and Possibilities</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Priorities_and_Possibilities&amp;diff=76633"/>
				<updated>2015-09-13T04:53:59Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=Keysi, Madilla&lt;br /&gt;
|what=Madilla has questions for Keysi.&lt;br /&gt;
|where=Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=Healer Hall, High Reaches Weyr&lt;br /&gt;
|day=23&lt;br /&gt;
|month=10&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=38&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.09.12&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=&amp;quot;I don't wish to leave it behind. I told K'del I wouldn't. But I can do more. I don't want to be pulled from my wing because I can heal.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=Irianke, K'del, Leova, R'hin, Treinan, Faryn&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon Keysi.jpg, Icon madilla.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=An autumn fog hangs across High Reaches despite the lateness of the afternoon; clammy and cold, it has sent plenty of weyr denizens indoors wherever possible, to crowd in front of hearths. Madilla's job doesn't often take her outside, these days, now that she's travelling so much less, and perhaps that's how she's managed to get herself a prime spot in a cozy chair by the fire, her latest quilt project laid out upon her lap. There's a low buzz of conversation in the air, and the quiet clamour of spoons against ceramic, mug against mouth. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
With very much the smell of outdoors clinging to her, one of Savannah's turns into the small cavern off the living cavern. It's not the bad sort of smell, faint for what it is, but woodsy, maybe even a bit of the beach. Though even after all this time, Keysi's skin tone is still pale as the cozy fire of the nighthearth reaches her. Her initial path, always with steps of purpose, always quick in pace, had been towards the pot of stew. However, grey eyes do something of a double-take- that brief cursory glance over the room, leading into a second first pulled by the quilt then directed to the one making it. &amp;quot;Masterhealer.&amp;quot; Is it surprise? There's just the slightest of increased pitch to her otherwise controlled tone. There's a salute, of course, but she finishes her trek to at least claim a steaming mug of something to drink before circling back.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Madilla,&amp;quot; corrects the healer, but not without a warm smile-- and a sudden look of keen interest and approval. Perhaps it's because of that perhaps-surprise; perhaps there's something else on her mind as she secures her needle and reaches for the mug of klah beside her. &amp;quot;Come and sit. It's been an age since we spoke-- I want to hear how everything is going. You're with Savannah now, aren't you?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The whisp of a smile turns the edge of Keysi's lips as she chooses and slides into one of the cushioned chairs, the mug cupped between both palms and a thumb hooked through the handle. Even before she's completely settled, the stormy intense gaze of hers watches Madilla for a long time, comfortable in a thoughtful silence that at times lasts a little too long. &amp;quot;It has been,&amp;quot; A beat as the rider thinks back, &amp;quot;a very long time. The last time we spoke at length- before I even Stood.&amp;quot; There's a stretch again as she considers, internalized in her thoughts, &amp;quot;Aye, ma'am. I never thought I'd appreciate playing games and..&amp;quot; There's a mild grimace which fleetingly upsets the stoniness of her face, &amp;quot;drinking- jovial things- until I joined them. I thought I'd seen a lot before I joined the Hall. Apparently there was a lot more.&amp;quot; After the rambling, though paced it may have been, she shakes her head as if she'd said too much, &amp;quot;How have you been?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Madilla's smile is pleased for that, although surely Keysi speaks of a world she knows little-to-nothing about.  &amp;quot;I'm glad,&amp;quot; she tells the brownrider. &amp;quot;Though I never doubted you would fall on your feet. I'm well. Our Craftmasters are allowing me to spend more time here, for the moment. Treinan-- you remember Treinan?-- has walked the tables and is working as my assistant, doing more of the visits to other Weyrs.&amp;quot; She sets her mug down, reaching again for her needle. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi nods in regards to Treinan, but on the talk of the Hall and of visiting the Weyrs, her attention shifts down to the steaming if still untouched liquid in her mug. The smile fades as she focuses on Madilla's words. &amp;quot;How much more time?&amp;quot; She starts and after a pause, &amp;quot;Has there been progress in regards to the relations?&amp;quot; Of healers and the Weyr, now that she's been so out of the loop. &amp;quot;I was talking to Faryn some days ago- she was once a herder apprentice-&amp;quot; She trails off for what that means, but concludes in fewer words, &amp;quot;It doesn't seem seamless on all fronts.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;It's not.&amp;quot; Of this, at least, Madilla is sure. &amp;quot;The healers won't follow the path set by the herders, certainly. I've spent the past two turns of my life trying to make sure we understand each other better, and can work with each other; my intention is for us to ''improve'' relations, not make them more difficult. In fact...&amp;quot; she hesitates, those green eyes considering Keysi for a long time. &amp;quot;The Weyrwoman and I had a conversation about this, not so long ago.&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;But that doesn't stop the smiths, tanners-&amp;quot; Keysi uncircles one hand from her mug to offer an abbreviated gesture, 'et cetera'. The reminder of all her efforts draw her intense observative look back to the masterhealer, with an agreeing and understanding nod, curious but more reserved now than she had been. &amp;quot;Does she feel like it's helped?&amp;quot; The question hedges what she means to ask, and after a quiet exhale, &amp;quot;Is there more that could be done? You've gone to great lengths-&amp;quot; The last is added a little more hurridly than the comments prior, &amp;quot;It's why I came to High Reaches in the first place.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Madilla pauses, needle hovering a few inches above her quilting as she works her way around to what it is she wishes to say. &amp;quot;The decision by the herders has brought forward a lot of things that, I think, were already in motion. That is to say...&amp;quot; She pauses again. &amp;quot;Irianke would like to see more riders who were crafters continue their studies. Not just dabble, but, actually ''learn'' and ''practice'' even if they are no longer entitled to craft rank. I imagine it all comes back to self-sufficiency for the Weyr, but also reassurance for the crafts that losing apprentices to Search doesn't mean ''losing'' them altogether.&amp;quot; Beat. &amp;quot;I thought we healers would be an ideal place to start, ''given'' the work I've been assigned.&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi sits back in the chair, regarding Madilla's words more than her, though she studies her expression for a long moment as if she'd find something else there. &amp;quot;To truely practice a craft,&amp;quot; She starts, but hesitates awkwardly. A shake of her head dismisses a thought before starting once again, &amp;quot;To practice means time devotion. A significant amount of time.&amp;quot; There's nothing in her words that offers an opinion of whether that's a bad thing or not, &amp;quot;Healing-&amp;quot; Because it's that's the most familiar to both and the easiest to discuss for lack of other comparisons, &amp;quot;I considered and-&amp;quot; promised? she wouldn't word it that way, &amp;quot;will continue to practice it. But there are drills, sweeps, assignments. Does it not seem like a weighty commitment to pursue it in that degree, given it would perhaps necessarily still be done on the side?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Madilla's nod confirms all of this, unhesitatingly. It's only at the end that she says, &amp;quot;I believe the idea is that some riders may practice their craft to the exclusion of other, more traditional activities. It's still-- the weyrwoman raised this with me before Niahvth's flight, and intended to wait until after to raise it with her Weyrleader.&amp;quot; She lets that hang for a moment, time enough for the dots to be connected: K'del hasn't been brought in yet, or so the healer assumes. &amp;quot;I can't imagine your new wingleader wouldn't allow you to make time, though, if you asked. If you wished to... take up formal classes, at the hall. Or in whatever form it ends up being.&amp;quot; There's at least half a question in there. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;The exclusion.&amp;quot; Keysi echoes, having either not considered it in that light or had but didn't desire to toy with the concept until now. Pale eyes unfocus from the masterhealer, looking beyond her at the devulsion of that information. Eventually, the young rider offers cautiously, &amp;quot;I knew multiple candidates whose main concerns were having to forsake their Crafts to be able to pursue a chance at Impression. I was among them.&amp;quot; Though, there's no evidence of regret there, &amp;quot;It sounds like it would circumvent that hesitation.&amp;quot; A bonus for both sides, she implies, &amp;quot;But as K'del- as others- told me, some crafts mesh better than others. It may start as simply,&amp;quot; the word hangs as if she knows it's not-so, &amp;quot;as that, but surely it would progress from there?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Again, Madilla secures her needle, and again, she reaches for her mug, this time with the aim of cradling it between both hands as she considers Keysi's words. &amp;quot;Few things stay simple,&amp;quot; she agrees. &amp;quot;I imagine there are a lot of details that... will be more complicated. There are, of course, the dragons themselves to think of; I know Vrianth struggles with Leova's dragonhealing. But-- we've already seen that the Interval can be difficult for Weyrs. I don't believe the ''healers'' will be removing permission for Search any time soon, but that doesn't mean I don't think it would be wise for the Weyr to make the most of the talents and skills available.&amp;quot;  &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;And my wingleader,&amp;quot; Keysi backtracks, &amp;quot;Sometimes assigns tasks that will require days away. I imagine other wings may be similar.&amp;quot; The latter is added as if necessary, &amp;quot;It sounds like it would come down to a choice.&amp;quot; The brownrider takes a long drink from her mug, if only to buy her moments for thought. &amp;quot;The Halls are guaranteed to keep their apprentices- tabs on them, their profits, their skills- after Impression. Or the Weyr starts to collect their own array of skilled riders.&amp;quot; Of the consequences of that, she seems to keep to herself, but she doesn't seem utterly dismissive of the thought as a whole. There is a reservation, a clear one, that maintains a tension to her shoulders that isn't yet given voice.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I suspect,&amp;quot; Madilla says, after a long moment, &amp;quot;that it would be the latter arrangement, and not the former. It would be to the benefit of the Weyrs to be... self-sufficient in this, at least.&amp;quot; But she's not been a healer all these turns without being able to read body language, and so she waits, watchful, her expression quietly encouraging of whatever else the rider across from her might have to add. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Do you think the other masters would find that..&amp;quot; An uncomfortable search for a word leaves her only with, &amp;quot;good?&amp;quot; A terrible word choice, the mild grimace that skews her face decides afterwards, &amp;quot;Would it be beneficial to them to not have to send more of their own people to Weyrs?&amp;quot; There's more and more than goes unsaid, and Keysi makes that obvious by cutting off her statements relatively sharply. Madilla's read on her makes her draw her look back up to study her again in turn, steady but in the same manner a hint of guilt, &amp;quot;I had intention to pursue healing with that degree of fervor.&amp;quot; She takes a breath, &amp;quot;I don't wish to leave it behind. I told K'del I wouldn't. But I can do more. I don't want to be pulled from my wing because I can heal.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Madilla's mouth opens, just slightly; just enough for an exhale that is nonetheless not much like a sigh. &amp;quot;You don't want to be pigeon-holed,&amp;quot; she concluded. &amp;quot;No, I understand that. I think... I think there's still room for all of the above. For those who want to focus wholly on their craft skills; for those who can turn their craft skills into something they practice ''as'' a rider. You're lucky; your skills can aid your work, without being the focus of it. But,&amp;quot; she smiles, now, both rueful and cheerful. &amp;quot;I think that simply means there's more to be thought about. In the short term... would resuming classes, to refresh your skills, be something you would be interested in? As the rest of your schedule permits? I don't need commitment, just... whether I should raise the possibility.&amp;quot; Beat. &amp;quot;You won't be the only person I ask, so don't be afraid to say no.&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The tension appears portionally alleviated by Madilla's assessment, understanding. Keysi is quiet through most of it, waiting until she's said everything before she determines her next reply. And even that, even without commitment, she seems to consider it thoroughly. Thinking, overthinking. While she doesn't give everything she internalizes, she appears to speak openly when she finally does speak, &amp;quot;I would.&amp;quot; It starts brief, but she continues on after that acceptance is given with a release of a sigh, &amp;quot;I stopped studying during weyrlinghood, and I feel rusty. But if anything, what happened at Greenfields-&amp;quot; She shrugs lightly, a lopsided thing, &amp;quot;It's necessary. Having riders with more skills would be priceless in the field.&amp;quot; Her pale eyes fall to Madilla's quilt, following the pattern absently, &amp;quot;But it will be a test to see what I can do with my time.&amp;quot; And not let anyone down. She refocuses on the masterhealer, &amp;quot;There's priorities... especially right now.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Understood,&amp;quot; is Madilla's reply, gentle and very quiet, though it's obvious too that she's ''pleased'' by it. &amp;quot;No dragonrider can ever devote themselves to a craft the way a non-dragonrider can; I think that's the absolute core of this, and why none of this will result in craft ''rank''. But there are different ways to practice a craft, and...&amp;quot; She inclines her head towards Keysi. &amp;quot;I will float the possibility. We'll see if there's some way to make it work; for you, for the Weyr, for the Hall. Are...&amp;quot; Madilla hesitates; swallows. &amp;quot;Has anything been discovered, about what happened to K'del?&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;This could be very sensitive.&amp;quot; Keysi's stern but level voice notes, quieter, with another thought she desires to add. &amp;quot;And it's not my wish to help create such a non-traditional road that it burns bridges that can't be built again.&amp;quot; There's a caution there- is it her place to say such a thing to the masterhealer? &amp;quot;I still have my notes. Picking up where I left off will not be difficult.&amp;quot; She amends, given the open door that could be provided. To Madilla's concerned curiosity, there's a shake of her head, a faint and brief grimace of something akin to an unspoken apology. &amp;quot;Not yet.&amp;quot; seems earnest, though her expression is hidden briefly by the final drink she takes from her mug. &amp;quot;There's no short of people looking though.&amp;quot; A beat, &amp;quot;It was hard to see him that way.&amp;quot; Is her way of saying she's more than just glad he's alive.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In Madilla's response, there's no censure; only the slow nod of understanding, and the wry smile that acknowledges all that Keysi has to say. &amp;quot;In a hundred and fifty turns, any changes such as these will need to be rolled back, all tradition resumed,&amp;quot; she says. &amp;quot;But until then, we have to make things work, some way or another.&amp;quot; For K'del, she's less pleased, though this is plainly not aimed at ''Keysi'', so much as the situation. &amp;quot;The poor man,&amp;quot; is what she says. And, &amp;quot;It must help, at least, to know that he ''will'' recover, and ''will'' return.&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;You make that sound easy.&amp;quot; Keysi is slightly amused by the concept of 'roll back', her intensity lightening a touch or two even if it's really not that funny. &amp;quot;Have you gone to see him? I only spoke to him, not to his healers.&amp;quot; Two very different things that, of course. The patient's word against the medicine.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I wish it were,&amp;quot; acknowledges Madilla, with a wry laugh, as her needle resumes its slow progress through her quilt. &amp;quot;Wave your hand, click your fingers, and everyone's ready for things to change-- but it will be one in many steps, I think. There's change for everyone, as you approach the Pass, and at least that means it's not focused on one thing alone.&amp;quot; Of K'del, she shakes her head. &amp;quot;No. I thought to, but-- I have to be careful with my travel, at the moment, and unfortunately, there have been other priorities. I'm reliably informed, however, that he'll make a full recovery.&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi nods, conveying both agreement and understanding in the brief notion. &amp;quot;There always are.&amp;quot; Her level voice gives on the note of priorities. &amp;quot;I should get back to mine, master- Madilla.&amp;quot; She corrects as she stands, the faint suggestion of a smile coming and going in the time it takes for her to offer a salute of her intended departure. &amp;quot;I appreciate the consideration.&amp;quot; Too formal, but she seems more comfortable in saying it as such, &amp;quot;And whatever comes of it, I assure won't be for lack of trying.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Madilla's smile, in reply, is warm and bright and utterly genuine. &amp;quot;Thank you for your time, Keysi, and your thoughts. I appreciate it. Do pass on my regards to that brown of yours, please?&amp;quot; She gestures to her own needle, as if to imply that this, too, is something she should be getting back to... though surely it can't be work-related.&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

	<entry>
		<id>https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:On_the_Inside&amp;diff=76610</id>
		<title>Logs:On the Inside</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:On_the_Inside&amp;diff=76610"/>
				<updated>2015-09-12T07:08:59Z</updated>
		
		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Swiift: Created page with &amp;quot;{{Log |who=R'hin, R'hin{{!}}Leiventh, Keysi, Keysi{{!}}Neianth |what=R'hin sends a rider with a trader's cover to find what can be found about Greenfields |where=HRW and Crom,...&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;{{Log&lt;br /&gt;
|who=R'hin, R'hin{{!}}Leiventh, Keysi, Keysi{{!}}Neianth&lt;br /&gt;
|what=R'hin sends a rider with a trader's cover to find what can be found about Greenfields&lt;br /&gt;
|where=HRW and Crom, trader's caravan&lt;br /&gt;
|involves=High Reaches Area, High Reaches Weyr, Crom Hold&lt;br /&gt;
|day=23&lt;br /&gt;
|month=9&lt;br /&gt;
|turn=38&lt;br /&gt;
|IP=Interval&lt;br /&gt;
|IP2=10&lt;br /&gt;
|gamedate=2015.09.11&lt;br /&gt;
|quote=People will talk. This sort of thing -- it's inevitable. It's too big to keep quiet forever.&lt;br /&gt;
|mentions=Bristia, A'gon, K'del, Telavi&lt;br /&gt;
|type=Log&lt;br /&gt;
|icons-new=Icon r'hin.jpg, Icon r'hin leiventh.jpg, Icon Keysi impatient.jpg, Icon Keysi Neianth.jpg,&lt;br /&gt;
|log=It's been a difficult week, between the senior flight, news of the Weyrleader's stabbing, and High Reaches' junior starting to glow, as well. It's, perhaps, unsurprising that R'hin's been largely absent, with Bristia doing the morning briefings and assignments in his stead. ''This'' morning, Bristia gives out assignments to everyone but Keysi, and instead, touches her arm, murmuring, &amp;quot;Crom, at the river,&amp;quot; as she passes by.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's drizzling, out there over Crom, the river running swiftly as a sign of the recent autumn rains. A handful of caravans are set up at the river's edge in a makeshift camp, figures visible moving here and there. One might even be familiar, from this angle; her Wingleader appears to be talking with an older man near one of the larger wagons.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The young brownrider stands where and how she almost always does, in that lingering sense of her shroud of formality that she's slowly learning to forego when assignements and occassions call for otherwise. Perhaps it's because it's not the first time she's been left at the end, Keysi lets her stormy grey eyes follow the other riders out before returning to Bristia and giving her a faint nod when she passes by, only to follow suit on her heels without missing much of a beat. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neianth had blinked in over Crom from Between, but landed some calculated distance away. On foot, the girl jogs towards the caravan and slows before coming upon the camp. Observations first slow her approach, moving between the figures among the camp, settling on her wingleader long enough to angle her destination, and otherwise focus lingers on what seems to be memorization. Although she's kept her jacket, helmet and elsewise has been left behind in saddlebags. By the time she arrives, her hands are stuffed into pockets, quiet, likely to catch whatever tail end of that conversation she may.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Leiventh is nearby, ''somewhere'' -- that much is clear by the abrupt gust of cold, wintry wind that greets (assaults?) the young brown the moment he appears in Crom's skies. Flickered images pass in succession: sunlight glinting off an impossibly bright not-quite-Crom river; a green dragon, making an impossibly shrill noise a moment before she winks between; an empty bottle on a sandy beach. The images are intense, full of sounds, scents, and smells, and then gone as abruptly as if they never were, along with the sense of the older bronze's presence. &amp;quot;I'm sure it will be a fruitful trip, Bresmon,&amp;quot; R'hin is telling the younger man -- certainly nothing exciting. Bresmon notices Keysi first, thoughtful eyes settling on her, and the Savannah Wingleader notes the look, enough to turn. &amp;quot;Kimmi,&amp;quot; he stretches out a hand towards Keysi in welcome, pale eyes amused as ever: &amp;quot;Come and meet Bresmon, would you? He's been looking for an extra pair of hands for a while now, and I've told him all about you.&amp;quot; Bresmon snorts, amends: &amp;quot;He's told me ''nothing''.&amp;quot; He sticks his hand out all the same, in greeting, regarding her thoughtfully, &amp;quot;So, you traded much before?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The ripples of Neianth's mind smooth over almost completely at the sensation of Leiventh's chill. The more still surface mirrors, mutedly, those flickered images in the reflective pool that makes up the feel of his mind as his means of denoting understanding, acceptance. Some of those glass-like light-glinting ripples carry back sensations of question; the green?, the empty bottle? The small brown doesn't seem utterly overwhelmed, but in making sense of it all, there is the feeling of pause, of unraveling. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi adopts an earnest, light smile that seems to brighten her face in such a way that would be foreign to those who know her. It casts gentle lines on her face and beside her eyes that makes her seem expressive, sincere, as she looks at first from R'hin to Bresmon. &amp;quot;Hello.&amp;quot; Is simple at first, but a friendly thing. &amp;quot;No, sir. But I've talked with many traders coming by the healerhall. I'm happy to help, just tell me what you need done.&amp;quot; Her hand meets his to shake amiably, a light handshake but sincere enough.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Healer?&amp;quot; Bresmon's brows go up in brief surprise, seemingly impressed. &amp;quot;Well, won't say no to someone who's spent time there, either. Get into a few scrapes -- especially my youngest,&amp;quot; he flicker a hand in the direction of a boy of ten-or-so, who is kicking despondently at a ball. &amp;quot;The last on the right'll be yours,&amp;quot; the trader adds, with a nod to the wagons, now. &amp;quot;Got some clean bedding in our supplies. I'll go get that for you.&amp;quot; With a nod to the pair of them, he heads for one of the middle wagons, calling to the boy to help him. R'hin, silent throughout the exchange, gives a low-throated chuckle of what appears to be approval, then gestures towards the wagon Bresmon indicated as if to invite Keysi to walk with him in that direction. He speaks in a low, easy voice, like he's picking up in the midst of a conversation previously interrupted: &amp;quot;You'll be able to step away once they camp for evenings, to tend to Neianth. Some of the dragons don't mind; others do. Best to see which he is. The others'll keep him company, mind, if he wants.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;I have a few skills down.&amp;quot; Keysi adds in what could be considered a playful exchange, her glance straying from the trader to his boy. She watches him for maybe a prolonged period of time, as if lost in her thoughts. Given the delay, she'd missed the initial nod, and visually searches for the one he'd indicated- thankfully through word as well. &amp;quot;Thank you. I'll be there inna moment.&amp;quot; There's a brief moment of appearing stiff- likely an indication through the girl of having a measure of uncertainty, but it's only after the trader had turned away. And the smile wanes and fades back to her typical controlled one. Grey eyes look up at R'hin, intense as they always are, but maybe even a grade or two more. &amp;quot;It will be a little late by then. I can't just leave.&amp;quot; She raises a hand to rub at her opposite bicep and shakes her head, &amp;quot;Where will you be?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Bresmon won't watch too closely. It's why he's perfect,&amp;quot; R'hin reassures her, lips twitching into a smile when she looks at him, taking a slow step or two in the direction of her new temporary home. &amp;quot;Not with you, I'm afraid. Not for Greenfields.&amp;quot; He grimaces, a fleeting gesture gone as soon as it appears. &amp;quot;I want you to ''listen'', Keysi. If I hear you're getting caught where you shouldn't, or in some sort of fight, I'll be ''very'' displeased.&amp;quot; He exhales a breath, glancing at her sidelong, letting that sink in a moment. &amp;quot;People will talk. This sort of thing -- it's inevitable. It's too big to keep quiet forever. Drink, make friends, talk and listen. Fuck, if you want -- have fun, but don't ''fuck it up'', mm?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi's eyes narrow slightly, at the grimace mainly, but she otherwise doesn't move until after the warning off of many things, the most clear of which that gets her is the note of fighting. And after it? She looks away from him, attention straying to the people she'll be with for the time she's here. But she starts moving in the direction that he does, towards the wagon indicated for her, for the time being. 'Try' isn't an acceptable word, so she responds with &amp;quot;I won't let you down.&amp;quot; That addition seems delayed after his final words, but it's not that she doesn't mean it. The girl already seems a touch wound up, and not all from this being a first time left alone, and she has something on her tongue that she doesn't say, given their location, as to why. &amp;quot;And I'm glad I'm here. I'll be fine.&amp;quot; Far more resolved than she was moments before, after letting herself fall into her thoughts for a minute and then drawing herself back out again.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;You won't,&amp;quot; R'hin agrees, with a certainty. There's a couple of steps leading up to the entrance to the wagon, and the bronzerider reaches up to open it, allowing Keysi first view of her temporary home. It's pretty plain inside, but clean -- there's a cot with no bedding on it, a press for storage, and some basic amenities. It's his wingrider's latter statement that earns an amused snort, &amp;quot;Of course you will, or I wouldn't send you. I ''am'' omniscient, if you haven't learned that yet.&amp;quot; He tugs a hand through his hair, before he adds, &amp;quot;Your mm, ''aunt'', ''older cousin'', whathave you, might drop in to check you haven't run away with a traveling troupe. Not that I'd blame you -- they ''are'' fascinating and ''different''.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi does manage to roll her eyes, but it's as she moves beyond R'hin to climb up into the wagon. &amp;quot;If you were that, this wouldn't be necessary.&amp;quot; Is said in passing. A too-practiced hold on the door and lift to bring herself up into the cabin leads to spending a little bit of time 'exploring' in a short turn. Arms folded, she takes a step down the first of the steps to sit in the doorway so as not to need to raise her voice. &amp;quot;Yeah, I have that rebellious streak in me.&amp;quot; Her dry sarcasm offers, in place of nervousness that's not wholly put aside, &amp;quot;We'll see if they're any more fascinating than mine was.&amp;quot; She sits back a little and glances past him to watch a younger man closer to her age pass by, a lopsided slight grin rising as she shakes her head and looks back at him. &amp;quot;Sounds like you're half considering it.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;Have you not considered that I'm doing this merely to assuage my complete boredom with the world?&amp;quot; R'hin replies all too readily, as he follows her up the steps, ducking his head as he passes inside. With one person, it's comfortable; with two it's starting to get cramped, and the bronzerider retreats back outside, one arm outstretched to lean against the wall, waiting until Keysi emerges again with a quizzical lift of brows as if to determine whether it passes her muster. There's an amused chuckle when the younger man catches the brownrider's eye. &amp;quot;Would, if Leiventh'd stand for it,&amp;quot; he confesses, to all apparent seriousness -- only the glimmer of pale eyes perhaps serving to belie the words. &amp;quot;Something satisfying about life on the road. Always new people, new places, new things, new ''secrets''. What's not to envy?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi offers no assessment on the wagon, in fact the way she's sitting makes it appear like she's already lived here for awhile. &amp;quot;Satisfying, terrifying. Same meanings in some sense if you're just chasing boredom away.&amp;quot; Her wry tone is partially relaxed of its seriousness by his amusement, riding on it which seems to smooth over that tension easily. &amp;quot;You don't envy what you have until you don't have it anymore.&amp;quot;  Keysi does her usual hedging before she relents with, &amp;quot;I did this for a long time when I was growing up. There are an awful lot of secrets out here. &amp;quot; But it explains the familiarity at which she's been taking everything in. And from that admittance of a secret of her own to something of a realization, her grey eyes lighten as she allows an abbreviated laugh of sorts; sort of a cough-like sound that's only notable for what it is by its context. &amp;quot;I guess I hated them so much,&amp;quot; the secrets, she implies, &amp;quot;I didn't realize how useful they could be.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And R'hin, for his part is silent, or almost so; he acknowledges her point about boredom with a twitch of lips and tip of his head, her mention of envy with a silent regard, and her talk of secrets with an acknowledging noise in the back of his throat. There's noise over by the storage wagon, where Bresmon's kid is struggling to carry the bedding, but flatly refusing his father's help, with a determined expression. The Wingleader's gaze is only for Keysi, however. &amp;quot;It depends,&amp;quot; he says, after a moment, &amp;quot;Whose they are, and whether they can hurt you. There is power in keeping secrets, but power in releasing them, too.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi is quiet for a few moments, considering in her intensity that's lessened by a general lightness she seems to keep in place. &amp;quot;Easier to be prepared for something you know about, whether or not it hurts you.&amp;quot; But to the latter, she sighs heavily, an agreement if a semi-reluctant one. Only then would she look past him to the kid. &amp;quot;At any rate, I hope they're not too stuck on keeping them. Or else I'm just going to party wildly for days and not have anything but scary firepit stories to tell you when I get back.&amp;quot; Is so out of character that despite how dryly she says it, she can't help but smirk at the end.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
R'hin lifts one shoulder in an obvious shrug, replying with no small amount of amusement, &amp;quot;Can't see that it's waste, either way.&amp;quot; He lifts one hand, &amp;quot;Either you learn something useful,&amp;quot; he lifts the other, higher than the first, &amp;quot;Or you don't, but you make a cover you can use again, establish yourself with some of the Greenfields locals, and when something happens down the track -- it will, with ''Greenfields'' -- you'll be in a good position to learn something next time.&amp;quot; He moves his hands as if weighing the two against each other, then finally gives another shrug, hands dropping to his sides. &amp;quot;Win-win. And,&amp;quot; he pushes away from the wagon's wall, &amp;quot;At least ''try'' and sneak in some enjoyment, mm? Something to exaggerate around the firepit for A'gon.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;This cover won't be.&amp;quot; A thought as she watches the young boy, &amp;quot;Except if-&amp;quot; Keysi could play over a hundred scenarios, but stops herself from any of it- &amp;quot;Doesn't matter.&amp;quot; The dismissal is more for herself than for R'hin. &amp;quot;I don't know anything about them as it is.&amp;quot; Except the obvious, in regards to the fires and the Weyrleader. &amp;quot;Is there anything in particular?&amp;quot; To watch for? To know? As he pushes away, her brow furrows curiously, shaking her head slightly with a lightly exasperated, &amp;quot;He's got enough stories for everybody.&amp;quot; But there's a hint of a smile for it, a natural one and not simply created from nothing. &amp;quot;Fine. I'm sure I can manage something.&amp;quot; And to business, the pleasure in that moment fading as fast as it'd come, before he goes, &amp;quot;And if I need something immediately- do we reach for you, Bristia?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;quot;You'll have time on the trip down to Greenfields to learn,&amp;quot; R'hin seems unconcerned about it, or perhaps that's merely confidence in her abilities. He spreads his hands at her question, &amp;quot;Even the merest, unlikeliest rumor could prove useful. The important thing is watching, and listening -- learning to judge when people are telling a story merely to brag, or telling a story because it is so interesting, they can't stand to keep it to themselves. The latter ones are almost always useful in some way.&amp;quot; He chuckles at her assessment of A'gon, in agreement: &amp;quot;You're not wrong. But there's always room for more, no?&amp;quot; A beat, after that last, an unusual hesitation on his part. &amp;quot;Your... mm, let's say cousin, Tela, will be keeping an eye out for you.&amp;quot; The boy's making his way slowly over towards them, and it makes R'hin straighten to watch as he nears.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi starts to rise as she listens to the answer, stepping down from the foot hold leading into the wagon's cabin but not quite leaving his side yet. To his instruction there's a nod amidst her movements, pretending to need to steady herself as she reaches the ground by leaning slightly against the wagon close where he had. In response, part of her seems glad that it's Telavi, but the other part lingers her attentions on her Wingleader. She caught this hesitation, and although she's looked over abnormalities before, she seems to hold onto this one. &amp;quot;Is there something else?&amp;quot; The words are a little rushed this time, given the boy finally managing to make it closer with the articles promised despite his determined struggle.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
With a glib ease of Turns of dissembling, R'hin replies, low-voiced and amused: &amp;quot;Just the nerves of a father letting his daughter out into the world on her own. I'll be fine.&amp;quot; A beat, as he leans closer, low-throated amusement audible in his voice. &amp;quot;All the same, sleep with a knife under your pillow, mm? Just to make this old man feel better.&amp;quot; His voice fades as the boy approaches, gives both of them a narrow-eyed look, and roughly tries to push past Keysi to gain access to the wagon. &amp;quot;I'll leave you to it,&amp;quot; the Wingleader says, taking a deliberate step away.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi pauses in both a physical and thought-stilled sense at his reply, pale eyes watching his. She searches his eyes for a drawn out moment as if she'd find something else there, until he leans closer for his addendum. Instead of a reply, her balance is shuffled by the kid- something she gives for, with a returned reach and messing of his hair in a way that an older sibling would do, regardless of the backlash it might- and should- deserve. As he takes that step away, she turns to follow the boy in, her arm shifting back to send a casual wave of farewell, and that lifts her jacket up enough that the end of the sheath of one of her more plain daggers that she'd brought with her can be seen. The beginning of &amp;quot;Come on, kid, you look stronger than that..&amp;quot; can be heard from within the wagon as she disappears inside.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When Keysi's attention is taken by the boy, R'hin retreats, taking a moment to have a last word with Bresmon before disappearing. Neianth feels the wintry touch of the bronze moments before he becomes visible further down along the river, though they barely reach the top of the treeline before they vanish. The boy, meanwhile, gives Keysi a dark look, as perhaps expected, in response to that hair-ruffle. He's ''way'' too old for that sort of thing, now. &amp;quot;Bet you couldn't do it better!&amp;quot; is his response, giving her an expectant look, a moment before he asks hopefully, &amp;quot;Do you know to play ball?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neianth lingers at the riverside some ways off from the actual campsite, though doesn't actually invade the water's edge. The wintry touch is met again by a ripple of uncertainty, followed by one of disapproval, followed by concern. The levity of it is not groundbreaking, only unsettling as something ''new''. The brown had been as close as to be in his rider's mental and physical shadow since he shelled, dizzyingly close. He shakes his crescent-touched head, dark-hewn wings spreading as he leaps to become airborne again- if not yet to go Between and fully ''leave'' Keysi. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Keysi seems unperturbed by the boy's reaction, having incited it. &amp;quot;I bet I could. Twice as much.&amp;quot; Stern eyes are less so, her arms folded as she converses with the tradersson. This really wouldn't be that hard of a cover, so long as it didn't prove as memory-invoking as the tea. &amp;quot;Of course I do. But I wouldn't want a girl to embarrass you or anything.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
While Leiventh's presence doesn't linger, there are others to fill the gap after he goes: Bristia's Saindyth, A'gon's Druisath, others; checking in non intrusively and retreating if not wanted. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It won't take much for Keysi to make a friend in the young boy; he's clearly starving for someone willing to indulge him and ''play'' at something -- anything -- other than boring old trader talk. The afternoon passes pleasantly enough, with Bresmon introducing her to the rest of the members; his wife, first, and his sister and her family. They seem welcoming enough of Keysi, curious but not pushy. Dinner is a communal affair, and they retire soon after, in preparation for the early start in the morning on their trip to Greenfields.&lt;br /&gt;
|Categories=General Logs, Savannah Wing Logs&lt;br /&gt;
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		<author><name>Swiift</name></author>	</entry>

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				<updated>2015-09-12T06:17:22Z</updated>
		
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