Difference between revisions of "Logs:Errand Boys"

Crom Hold
Like many Holds of Pern, Crom is built within the shelter of a solid panel of rock. An expansive courtyard rests beneath this shelter, leaving up towards massive stone-wrought doors and a wide deck of smoothed boulders. The distinctive shadows of the watchdragon's ledge, the drumheights, and the fireheights rise high on the cliff and dotted along the wall are windows that are either flung open or shuttered depending on the weather or, more dangerously, Thread. Vegetation is lacking in this mine-based Hold, though the carts and beaten paths of miners returning home weave in twisted circles about the Hold, leading far off towards the furthest reaches of the few mines untouched near Crom itself.
A proud Hold, the crests and banners of the family flap in the wind, hanging from the highest windows of the stone walls.
Fog begins to coalesce in the very early morning hours and lingers throughout the day, soft and still and clammy.

D'kan and Kazavoth have been playing tour guides on behalf of Glacier to a couple weyrlings over the last few days, and today it was A'rist and Lythronath's turn. It involved some routine sweeps that involved checking in with several of the cotholds along the way, and now, on their way back out to their dragons, D'kan has just tugged his helmet back onto his head. There is a little over an hour left before sunset, but the autumn air is already quickly cooling, especially this far north of the Weyr. "So, basic routine," the brownrider says idly, walking along the path out to the nearby meadow. "Show up. Make them believe your visit's the most important thing on your docket that day. Make sure your 'mate doesn't eat any of their livestock. Everyone goes home happy." Helmet is strapped. Next come his gloves. "Now. That was the last cothold, but Kaz and I have one last thing to do today. If you guys are tired, we can take you home," he adds, glancing at A'rist, "or you can see what riders can do with their time when there's no Thread, and still act like riders."

In some ways, touring around with the wings has been good; Lythronath's been kept on his toes, and has been going home tired and sleeping like a petrified log. But Lythronath being kept on his toes means A'rist's been kept on his toes for just as much of it. So he nods, in that mental-note-taking, student way, as D'kan speaks, but his face is starting to droop, so much as teenage faces do. "All easy except the livestock part, then," when he starts (unconsciously) mimicking the brownrider, donning his own gear. "No." With all the insistence of an overtired toddler who's had bedtime proposed. "No, we're okay for a little more. Better than lying around in baths or things, right?" The laugh is meant to be confident, rather than awkward, but he's watching D'kan carefully out the corner of his eye in the process.

It's entirely possible D'kan catches the awkward part, because he laughs softly as the dragons come into view. "Better than lying around any time," he agrees. "And the livestock part isn't so bad once they stop growing so much. Just have him eat something in the morning, and scope out the animals before you find a spot to land," he explains in his own practical sort of way. Which A'rist has probably heard off and on throughout the afternoon now. Reaching the dragons, D'kan walks up to Kazavoth and does a brief straps check before climbing up to the brown's shoulders. "We'll be heading to Crom," he calls over once he's settled. "You're sure that's not going to strain Lythronath? We're just heading straight to the Weyr from there."

A'rist adjusts the cuff of one sleeve around his glove, and spends a bit more time on the other. When he answers, "That works fine, if it's just hunger that makes your dragon hunt," it's a bit of a tight sound, through teeth closed in concentration. "And not prey drive. Or just plain stealing or taking what's not his." Finally, the glove battle is won, and A'rist hauls himself to Lythronath's neck. The bronze snorts, claws the ground twice, one with each hind leg, and stares at Kazavoth. The rider answers, "He's fine. We do more flying than most of the other weyrlings. He's strong." « Stronger. » And the younger dragon leaps into the air.

It is entirely possible that D'kan tuned out early into A'rist's explanations. Kazavoth, however, has not. He turns his dark brown, speckled head in the weyrling pair's direction, his large eyes slowly whirling in shades of deep green. « Are you so short-sighted? » he asks quietly disbelieving. Quiet for a normal dragon, even, and not just a Kaz-quiet voice. There is a moment where the flow of thought slows to a crawl. Then, everything goes still and black. He hasn't dropped the link with the bronze. Just dismissed it, likely to say something to his rider, since it's immediately followed by a short, choked laugh from D'kan. He tries to change it into a throat-clearing sound, but it's not entirely subtle. A few seconds after the weyrling pair clear the meadow, Kazavoth takes to the air and quickly turns west while gaining altitude. « Strength is nothing without focus, » Kazavoth drawls after a couple minutes' silence, his mindvoice otherwise devoid of his usual scents and colors.

Even airborne, the flat, almost grim expression brought on by D'kan's not-a-throat-clearing sticks to A'rist's face, like so much charred pudding to the bottom of a pot. Lythronath says nothing; his smartest response comes in trying to get higher, faster than Kazavoth, to fly the route to Crom that he knows, held back from working outright to get in front of the brown only by the half-brooding teenager on his neck. Beside. Can they settle on beside?

Kazavoth pays the bronze exactly zero mind, though echoes of his thoughts likely reach across that mindvoice. For anyone who knows the brown, they might suspect it's on purpose, like some underhanded way to get beyond his own rider's censure. Those echoes would include faded images of the "strong" Lythronath holding to Kaz's tail, or an even smaller version squashed under the brown's back end. Political commentary, dragon style. If Kaz could spell, it might include the bronze's name in blocky letters. As for D'kan, he's either unaware what's going on, or ignoring it like so much white noise. After about fifteen minutes of this, Crom's perimeter can be seen. Rather than give his own 'mate license to actually "speak" again, D'kan relies on those hand signals the weyrlings must have learned by now, right? Translation: we'll land over there. Which happens to be just outside the Hold's courtyard.

Lythronath lands like a comet striking the earth - or at least, harder than A'rist would like him to, and all in the name of getting the best spot before Kazavoth can. It does, however, turn what had become a hard-grit expression of forced control into nothing but a wince. A good few moments make their way past before the bronzerider releases himself from his straps, and gets down.

Possibly just to be contrary, Kazavoth takes his own sweet time spiraling down to land. Which he does primly. Perfectly. And all that was likely in defiance of what D'kan had been asking, because the brownrider's face is just a little stormy as he all but launches himself to the ground. He doesn't go so far as to rip off his gloves and helmet, but his movements have that stiff, almost jerky air to them, as if he's trying too hard to control them. He takes a deep breath, then glances at A'rist and Lythronath, just as a crafter makes his way across the courtyard. "Merak!" D'kan calls over, sounding thankful for the distraction. "This is A'rist, Lythronath's rider. A'rist, this is Journeyman Merak, of the Miners," which is followed by the crafter's drawled, "What else?" before he offers to shake hands with the teen. "You trainin' up to be like D'kan here?"

A'rist has managed to stand up straight by the time D'kan's removing his riding gear. The weyrling, of course, does the same. A'rist keeps a step behind D'kan, right until the hand is offered. Then he steps forward, not in front, clasps it firmly. "Um," with a glance toward Lythronath - Lythronath, who stretches, leaving deep trenches so that the talons of either foot might be remembered, and if an extended wingtip might get in Kazavoth's personal space, so be it - "Similar, yes, s-" wait, "Journeyman." He's back at D'kan's side, looking expectant, the moment his hand is released. There must be a reason they're here.

D'kan's lips twitch as he tries not to grin, smiling when A'rist steps back. As for Kazavoth, he's not exactly big on personal space, but he does notice when some punk of a bronzeling is trying to push it. Slowly, the brown turns his head to regard Lythronath. He doesn't say anything, exactly, but those whirling eyes of his have been steadily darkening to a orange so dark it could almost start to resemble the brown's hide soon. Sensing more than seeing that, D'kan rushes into the transaction with the journeyman. "A'rist is just a weyrling. I didn't actually fill him in on what Kaz and I do yet. Is the shipment ready?" Merak, who has been watching the dragons', turns back to the riders and winks. "Right. Fuel. Hold tight, I'll get the 'prentices to wheel it on out," at which point he hurries back the way he came.

This time, when Lythronath swipes at the ground (with a front paw), it's almost gleeful. His head bobs, once, twice, up and down, one side to the other. His tail swings in counterbalance. « Haha. » Taunting. A'rist... has stopped paying attention to the transactions going on, rude though it may be. He, in fact, turns and takes a step, back toward D'kan, now. "You've got something for us to do on the way back, right?" Distracted. The bronze's head stops bobbing, but it settles too even to his shoulders. He stares orange right back.

D'kan has slowly turned his head toward the dragons, his friendly smiles for the crafter disappearing. "Yeeep," he answers A'rist in a low drawl. "I think Lythronath is going to carry some coal back to the Weyr. Sound fun?" The squeal of burdened axels reverberates off the walls of the courtyard before half a dozen Miner apprentices appear, pushing and pulling two carts piled with processed coal. The dark substance has been packed in several large crates, which are then gathered in two nets, already assembled. "Usually, Kaz just carries the whole lot himself. But I think yours can handle some of it." It's not exactly said as a compliment. "There's a lot more to a rider's duties than sending your brute after glowing gilded hides, after all." There isn't exactly a bitter note to that... but it's only just shy.

"Good." A'rist looks over his dragon's posture, then looks away, to those bundles of coal. "If there's a bigger one," and his hesitation comes with the tap-tapping of fingers against his thigh, considering, calculating, maybe trying to count the supplies on short notice, "if one's even a bit bigger, he can take it." He even has time to spare D'kan a look, earnest enough, with, "It'll help." A'rist meets D'kan's not-quite-bitterness with a not-quite-defensive, "I know that." He's back to looking at his dragon when he asks, "Is this our stuff, or is this for something else?"

Kazavoth, more than used to this little routine by now, has already moved toward the carts, possibly just as an excuse to move away from the pestering bronze. The apprentices are apparently also used to this. All but one, who stares wide-eyed at the approaching dragon until an older apprentices yanks his shoulder back. Kazavoth reaches out with a forepaw and shifts the netted crates out of the cart, while D'kan explains in an aside to the weyrling that it makes it easier for the take-off. He then makes Kaz step back while the Miners take their carts back to the Hold. "These are for us. Kitchens. Smithy. Laundry. That sort of thing. Takes a lot of coal, and since our sweeps were in the area ... ." He turns to size up Lythronath for a moment, then adds, "I think I can spare the extra straps, if we don't split the cargo. I'll grab them. You pick one of the bundles." He then moves toward the brown and begins loosening tugging a large roll of thick leather from one of the saddlebag-type things attached to Kaz's straps.

A'rist nods, and there must be some sort of mental conversation, for the way Lythronath promptly looks at him. And then looks at those nets of coal. "So... it's not always you guys who take it? Is it your wing? Or do they normally just send it on the trains?" And from that comes more questions, like, "Does it always come from here? How often?" Maybe there's even more after that, but A'rist is, despite his relative youth, not actually three turns old.

D'kan returns with one of the rolls of straps, which he's hefted onto a shoulder. Arching a brow at the barrage of questions, the brownrider moves to pass them to A'rist, quietly adding that he'll show the weyrling how to attach them. "No, it's not always us. Not all the dragons, even the browns and bronzes, are suited for this sort of thing. Don't know why. Bulk, maybe. Wing shapes." He glances at Lythronath, sizing him up anew. "Not that they can't. May as well try now. He's about the age Kaz was when we first started. And... usually just emergencies. Or in winter. And... most of it's from Crom, as far as I know. You'd have to ask Azaylia or one of the clerks or something." In the meantime, he approaches the bronze dragon and starts pointing out where to attach the extra straps, adding, "I'll make more sense after you've tried it once." During all this, Kazavoth is pointedly not looking at any of them. Punky little bronze, stealing (half) his thunder.

The bigger half. It's worth Lythronath turning his less-than-pleased look at D'kan's approach away and straight over to Kazavoth. He steps forward, too, lays his claim through physical space. A'rist tails after D'kan, at first, then steps in to his dragon to start hooking everything up. He's content enough with D'kan's answers, and quiet until he thinks, "Have these ever got tangled up for you guys? Would it mess it all up?

"Wind makes everything more difficult," D'kan says in answer, nodding a couple times as Lythronath gets suited up. "There's a trick to it, though," he adds, glancing in Kazavoth's way. The brown is still ignoring them, though. At least physically. There might be something along the private link to D'kan, because the rider has to surreptitiously clear his throat before he turns back to A'rist. I don't know if he could now, but once he's bigger, he'd sort of... straddle it. Then jump straight up. The straighter the better, 'cause if that gets swinging, you're going to have a hell of a time pulling it up." At this point, Kazavoth practically squats over the smaller bundle of coal. Like he chose it. Really he did. This is the prettier one. Look at my tail. D'kan groans to himself, then heads over to get the other strap hooked up to Kaz, telling A'rist to get Lythronath as near the other bundle as possible. Of course, Kazavoth's current stance makes it so easy to belt in the extra leather.

« Hahaha! Poop. » Had he the lips, there may have been a 'pthbt' to follow. The young bronze gets good and near the load destined for him. This is how you do it without looking dumb. A'rist carries on doing as he's told, but now has started looking along the mess of rings and leather attached to the cargo, up to Lythronath, up to the sky. The bronze spreads his wings, testing the wind, while his rider seeks visual cues of the same. Preparation. At least there's no more questions.

D'kan soon has Kazavoth settled and returns to the bronze pair to finish showing them the ropes. So to speak. A long rope from the cargo net goes through the metal rings on the extra riding straps, and the very end of it is then heavily knotted, which means teaching A'rist one of the end knots D'kan learned in his dockhand days. "That'll give you a good handhold when you first start to haul up the load," he adds, "And when you start, you really have to commit. This one should be a nice intro, since you won't have the whole load, but whatever you do, don't let it slip from your hands. You could hurt yourself, and more likely Lythronath. Now... take this and strap in," as he hands over that rope. "Kaz and I will demonstrate, then you guys give it a try. We won't haul up the bundles until they have some good height." Then, hurrying into his flying gear, D'kan returns to Kazavoth and heads up with his own rope in hand. Impatient to be off, the brown barely waits for the go-ahead before he leaps, wings simultaneously sweeping down powerfully as he starts to gain altitude. Eventually the long rope grows taut, which is the dicey part. Before the brown can lift the bundle off the ground, D'kan begins hauling on the rope hand over hand, letting physics do its part until he can lash the rope to the riding straps.

A'rist carries on being the dutiful student, watching D'kan's hands with intensity as he demonstrates the knot. It's not the first try he gets it, but when he does, it's done properly. It's the same stare as he watches D'kan and Kazavoth lift off. Lythronath's stare is different; Lythronath's stare is a challenge, the adolescent dragon waiting his turn, but barely so. It's forced waiting. Their liftoff isn't the glorious thing Lythronath had planned, but it's not the disaster A'rist may have feared, either. There's a wobble. A grunt when A'rist nearly misses a handhold and his shoulder muscles need to tighten too abruptly. A hiss when the load swings and Lythronath needs to compensate. There will need to be liniment tonight. But at least there'll be coal.

Grudgingly, clearly forced by his rider, Kazavoth comments into the otherwise empty mindlink, « Well done, Lythronath. » The words are stark and colorless. At first. There is another far quieter comment, likely kept from D'kan, and infused with a haze of spiky, spicy scent that invades the senses, while a deep wash of violet winds throughout. « Well done not dying. I was worried for a while there. » Soon, bronze and brown turn south toward home, wearing out both wings and minds along the way. After the necessary but brief evil of hidework at the other end, D'kan will most definitely be hosting A'rist to a drink or two at the Snowasis, while Kazavoth likely goes to the farthest corner of the Weyr he can find.

Comments

Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Fri, 17 Jan 2014 17:58:40 GMT.

< I don't know what I enjoyed more- A'rist trying so hard or Kazavoth barely tolerating Lythronath. He's such a bronze dick, but I wouldn't have him any other way. x3 It's really cool getting to see riders just being riders, and more exploration about what it is D'kan does that's productive and helpful. He may not be A'rist's mentor- but on-camera wing shadowing is still rare and awesome. Great log, guys!