Difference between revisions of "Logs:Of Heroes"

Your location's current time: 2:16 on day 26, month 3, Turn 59, of the Tenth Pass. It is a spring night.

You circle down to the meadow behind the WoodCraft Hall below. You jump down Leiventh's side to the ground, using his straps as handholds. Meadow ~*~ WoodCraft Hall

This small meadow opens up behind the WoodCraft Hall. The sun long set, the meadow has become a realm of shadows. Moonlight drifts eerily over the landscape, casting it in shades of black and grey. Wildflowers bloom, carpeting the meadow in shades of pink, white, and blue. They are like scraps of color the weavers have tossed out in a random pattern. The colors bring forth the new green of springlife in the trees. Leaves unfurl, though the weather is not its warmest as a chills hangs in the air. Each breath you take is made solid in front of you for but a moment before wafting into nothingness. The meadow itself is a level bit of land. A stream wanders along the easternmost side, creating the meadows border, for beyond the stream is a solid line of trees. To the west lies the WoodCraftHall itself. The two story building is made of stone, blending into the surrounding landscape of barren ground. Stretching the full length of the back of the Hall is a porch, whose benches and chairs invite you in. To the northwest a path leads off, the trees taking on a different texture, that of the more predominant Oak and Skybroom tree.

For more information on the WoodCraft, type '+Lhelp'. Contents: Leiventh E'tyn Niereth Obvious exits: Back Porch Path Hardwood Grove

It's late afternoon on this side of Pern, the warm spring air pleasant enough not to need the thick clothing that between requires. Leiventh is settled comfortably in the meadow, looking like he's been here for a little while, statuesque as usual. R'hin's striding back across the meadow from the hall, slapping gloves against his hand, looking oddly cheerful despite his words, "Well, that was a complete waste of time that could surely have been handled by a responsible firelizard. What useless errand shall we be sent on next, Leiventh?" the bronze, it seems, has no response, for the Reachian grins, "Ah, free for the moment? Excellent."

Useless errands are apparently the theme of the day as the late afternoon brings another bronze to the Woodcraft. Winking out from between, sunlight spreads over the green-striated wings and glistens across the dragon's recently oiled hide as he descends into the meadow. Landing near Leiventh, the Telgar bronze bugles a greeting, or challenge, and stills to allow his rider to slip to the ground. With a thump to the copper-hued hide, E'tyn sheds his winter jacket and flight helmet, hesitating only as he spies out the craft hall, rather than the other bronze and his rider near. In fact, once R'hin is spotted, relief sketches across the bronzerider's face. "Telgar's duties to," a glance to the shoulder is followed by a salute, "High Reaches Weyr, sir."

Niereth's arrival, unlike R'hin's, actually stirs Leiventh to movement, even if it's only the parting of eyelids and a low, bassy rumble of greeting in return - more felt than heard. More by habit than any respectful gesture, the Reachian returns the salute, eyes drifting over the Telgarian in obvious scrutiny. "And High Reaches' duties to Telgar." A twitch of lips at the added title, the bronzerider drawling to his counterpart, "Ah. New rider, are we? You've still the polish and spit of months of rigmarole to you."

Rather than looking to R'hin, E'tyn studies his lifted hand, the saluting one. A mild frown pulls at his lips, and with a knit brow that segues quickly into sheepishness, the arm lowers slowly - as if the slowness might draw attention away from it. "I-, uh-... habit," he finally concludes, ducking his hand beneath the drape of his jacket. Out of sight, out of mind. "It's too easy to tell isn't it? Newness." Smiling small, the Telgari bronzerider's gaze casts down to his shuffling feet and then lift quickly to eye R'hin.

"Habit," R'hin echoes, though his tone might be a shade mocking, the sympathetic smile that accompanies it might soften the tone somewhat. The others' uplifted gaze will spy the sandy-haired man studying with a critical eye, taking note of both sheepishness and the shuffling of feet. His bearing is one of absolute confidence, not looking at Leiventh but his body half turned with that ever-present awareness of the dragon's nearness. "I attended your hatching. I remember Niereth." Pale, critical gaze is cast over the Telgarian dragon, with apparent approval. "I remember, too," amusement leaks into his voice, deliberate attempt to lighten the other's nerves, "One of your fellow riders making the very bold claim that Telgar dragons have a tendency to outfly any others. True, do you think?" the query is sent to the rider, but eyes remain on the dragon.

The mocking elicits a tightening to E'tyn's jaw, and from the critical study the bronzerider gains a spine - or at least the strength to make use of the one he has. Straightening, the lanky young man stills the shuffling of his feet, only for the movement to travel to his arms as they shift the jacket's weight from side to side. Thoughtful, if not entirely relaxed in R'hin's presence, the man's bovinish eyes glaze over in thought. "Hmmmm," comes his low utterance, which is then followed by a return of that half-smile, lopsided on his features. "I would say Telgar dragons have had a history of out-flying others, but p'rhaps," the bronzerider's shoulders and inflection eases incrementally into casual, "Perhaps it was all just good luck."

The alteration of demeanor, as slight as it is, does not go unnoticed by R'hin, and if anything, he seems pleased by it. "Perhaps, is it? Non-commital, diplomatic. Mm. But not what you really think." It is statement, not query, pale, intent eyes shifting back to the rider, hands casually slipping into his pockets. Patient silence follows, as if waiting for further responses.

E'tyn's almost reached completely casual in constant shifts of his hands and then the occasional roll back of his shoulders - as if such an aura need work itself up slowly from toe to head. When the lines of his face begin to sink into one of complacency, R'hin's statement brings a pause to this continued transformation, stilling the bronzerider's movements completely as he blinks placidly at the Reachian rider. For a moment, it might even seem that he's been tongue-tied into silence by such boldness, but with a steadiness in his flat study, a reply shapes in the form of an introduction, "E'tyn, Niereth's."

A curl of lips bespeaks amusement not completely concealed by the easy shift of head to glance back towards Leiventh. R'hin's study of E'tyn is thus broken, allowing the younger man some respite from that steady gaze. "R'hin," he eventually returns in kind, "And this is Leiventh. Do you fear to cause a diplomatic incident? Or, have they trained you that well that you only snap to," he snaps his fingers to emphasise the point, "When they ask you to jump, E'tyn of Telgar?"

"Perhaps," the Telgari points out frankly, careful of his pronunciation, "I simply do not know what to make of you." When E'tyn is still, Niereth picks up the bronzerider's movement by shifting about and then hunkering down, placid after a spell for his likely long wait. "Do you enjoy causing diplomatic incidents, sir?" The title is tacked on deliberately this time, a nose twitch marring the flat evenness of the young man's face.

"Most people don't," R'hin concedes with a low-throated laugh, "So I've hardly any cause to hold that against you." He runs a hand through sandy hair, going for casual demeanor. Twitch of lips becomes full grin at the other bronzerider's query, the Reachian's pale eyes amused, "Sometimes I do. Telgar suits me, however - it's one of the few places I actually respect - so I assure you, I'm not intent on causing one today."

Ponderously, E'tyn considers R'hin's words. The young man's face shapes into one of quizzical regard as the Reachian's statement sinks in finally. "You have intents to cause trouble if the place does not suit you?"

While the other considers, R'hin moves towards Leiventh's side, leaning against the bronze's flank, one hand stretched out above his head against the supple cinnamon hide. "I never intend to cause trouble, my good Telgarian. It tends to follow me around, however. Tell me," he changes the topic abruptly, as if bored with the line of questioning and the length it takes, "Had you any exciting duties today? What did you -do- with your time? Protect the helpless? Defend Pern? Anything like the duty song?"

"I see." E'tyn's initial noncommittal response is soon followed by dry reflection spoke aloud. "There's generally a reason when trouble constantly follows someone." To Leiventh, dark eyes drift finding more at ease in the cinnamon of the other bronze's hide than in the Reaches' dragon's rider. "I've graduated, but am still in the weyrling wing. We assisted in transporting logs from Lemos to the Weyr today. I came to-," pausing, the young man seems hesitant to continue. "And you? Did you protect the helpless, sir?"

"Yes, there usually is." And it's as if the Telgarian has said something interesting all of a sudden, judging by the way R'hin's sharp, pale eyes focus on the other bronzerider. Leiventh seems oblivious to the scrutiny, eyelids closed once more, to all appearances asleep, though Niereth could inform his rider otherwise, should he be asked. "Transporting. A beast of burden." The words spoken without inflection at all, as neutral as he's been since the conversation began. A beat or two, for emphasis rather than consideration, for it's clear by the intent tone that it is something the Reachian has long pondered, himself: "No. Does it not concern you that we have no purpose," a curl of lips, derision, "Other than to continue the species until such a time as Thread falls again?"

Fixing his eyes onto Leiventh reminds him of the still bronze that flanks his shoulder and E'tyn leans slightly into the warmth of Niereth's front flank. "And transporting isn't a purpose? Servin' the needs of our areas in an Interval isn't a purpose, albeit," he concedes, "Not as heroic as what the songs suggest."

R'hin's shoulders shift in minute dismissal. "It's a purpose. But is a purpose worthy of the vaunted Dragonriders of Pern? Is it a purpose that the areas will appreciate enough to continue tithing to us, for two hundred Turns?" A flash of a smile, as he adds, "Heroes aren't those who sit back and do nothing. Heroes are those who see something crying out for change - and change it. They make something of opportunity they have been given. What purpose, E'tyn, do you wish for you and Niereth?"

"Different times calls for different heroisms." E'tyn notes, any trace of a smile all but gone now. While his eyes still reflect a bovinish quality, the knit of his brows inward betrays an internal struggle of conflicting thoughts. A low rumble, inaudible but felt in the thrum that reverberates in the nearby air, results in the bronzerider easing off his dragon and straightening once more. "I can see how it might seem that trouble follows you, rather than a provocation somehow causin' it." Fondness shifts dark lashes to the dragon at his side. "You might be surprised, sir. Heroes aren't always those who leap to action when action is uncalled for."

R'hin's hand finally drops, and he mirrors E'tyn - hard to tell if it's deliberate or not - in pushing away from his dragon's side, straightening minutely. "Perhaps not always," the concession might be a surprise, then again since E'tyn hardly knows him, perhaps it is not, "But they do what they believe is right, no matter the consequences. Do you," pale eyes travel over the Telgarian, "Know of any heroes, E'tyn of Telgar?"

While he continues in slow ponderance, there's quickness in sudden movement of his eyes - a darting movement that draws the entire picture of this spring afternoon and the settings that surround them, including the cotholds of various masters far down along the paths. "Heroes, R'hin of High Reaches," the bronzerider finally begins in a light tenor, "Are found in those who live their lives to their fullest." Though his chin rises, it's the backward roll of his shoulders that's the significant shift in the young man's stance: a return to casual from uneasiness. "The heroes you speak of are oft spoken of ill in their lifetime."

The initial response sits ill with him, R'hin abruptly dismissive in the way his body half turns away from the other's, eyes studying Leiventh rather than the Telgarian. However, it's the latter comment that draws his attention back with a sharp look that turns very quickly into congenial smile. "Yes, they are, aren't they. That is a burden they must bear." The grin widens, arms spreading outwards as if to encompass the grandiose statements that follow, "Ah, there may be hope for you yet, E'tyn. Telgar continues to impress me. I have high hopes for its future."

Where some might find pride in R'hin's assessment, E'tyn bristles visibly, a reaction completely at odds with his general even temper. Any verbal reply is, as always, slower to come from the currently reticent rider, and when he speaks, it's precursor is a shallow bow. "I thank you, sir, on behalf of my Weyr for your approval of our ways." The initial relief at spotting a distraction from his errand has long since faded out, and the cotholds are once again spied out with renewed purpose. "I leave you to your heroes then, sir, as I've people of more import than heroes to tend to." He only allows a beat to pass before a small smile shapes again, dry. "Parents. Good afternoon."

The Telgarian's bristling and the response that follows earns a curl of lips from R'hin, the sandy-haired Reachian undaunted by what he takes as mocking response out of the mild-mannered bronzerider. "It is compliment," is all he says, "Though not one you, I imagine, will welcome, since my interest is likely less than welcome by you." Once more, it's statement rather than question, E'tyn's latter comment drawing a rise of brows from the other bronzerider. No verbal response is forthcoming to that statement, perhaps bespeaking restrained disagreement, as the Reachian bronzerider gives one last look to his counterpart, turning towards Leiventh.

If any good has come out of this conversation, beyond extended musings on subjects not thought of, it's the way in which E'tyn takes the narrow path down towards the woodcraft's cotholds. His steps are imbued with confidence, however mild, and dread of duty is lacking in the young man's expression. Niereth, however, keeps a steady study on the Reachian bronzeriding pair.

Leiventh senses that Niereth notes in a basso touch imbued with genteel regality, « Yours pushes limits for seeming no reason. » His share is presumably nothing new to the other bronze, though the rich gold that touches the depths of his mind is more questing than questioning: general inquisitiveness.

Leiventh> Niereth senses that Leiventh has slow regard for a response, musing over Niereth's offering with studied consideration, stark crimsons shifting and altering in his dark mental landscape. « Mine pushes limits for many reasons. Yours, » a smugness imbues itself in his tones under the altered regard of his rider's sharing, « Seems changed for meeting mine. That is one reason, in and of itself. »

Pale eyes note the change of demeanor with a smug regard to echo his lifemate's; R'hin's confident demeanor, that supreme sense of knowing his place in the world never altering as he climbs atop the Reachian. A tip of head is given the Telgarian bronze, by way of parting, one hand touching to Leiventh's side before the pair spring aloft.

Leiventh senses that Niereth's gold gravitates to the dark landscape of Leiventh's mind, illuminating that darkness with pure light. The bronze's young curiosity delves deftly in his continued quest, the skill with which belies his age. Affirmation of what Leiventh says comes not in words but in a flare of light. « He does not usually desire to see his sire and dam. »

Niereth acknowledges Leiventh's departure with his rider with a rise of his neck, the sunlight haloing the champagne-touched wedged head that lifts to rumble his own version of riders' 'clear skies.' Then, the young bronze returns to hunker down - his wait will be long.

Leiventh> Niereth senses that Leiventh doesn't shy away, though there's a sense that the darkness resists the illumination, the shadows giving away reluctantly, but only to gain strength elsewhere. « Then their chance encounter was not without a positive outcome, whatever yours may think of mine. We will, » confidence is his own, not his rider's, « See you and yours again, I think, Niereth. Fly well. » The crimsons flare briefly, before fading as he disappears into the coldness of between.