Difference between revisions of "Logs:Fortian Ciath's First Flight"

Blacker...

Blackest!

You suddenly emerge...

Wyaeth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

You spiral down and backwing to a neat landing on the bowl floor.

Inneth is in her element, admiring all the male dragons one by one. She spends a little extra time checking out Chameth, giving him a rumble-croon the other males don't get.

Wyaeth> Ciath sleeps soundly in the drizzle that greys the skies but does nothing to dim the subtle luminescence of her hide. Pale wings drape around her form, her tail tucked in tightly against her body. Soldreth's lumbering along the bowl toward the collection of dragons near Ciath. When he's close enough, he swerves, his side giving Loketh a goodly jarring bump. Close to losing his own balance, he rights himself, staggering a little to one side.

Seith lands, his rider doing a sliding dismount. A brief, curious glance is cast to the various dragons around. "Go on, go get comfy while I visit." murmurs the young rider as he heads indoors.

The fact that N'thei is unfamiliar with Fort Weyr could not be more obvious. First, Wyaeth mosies along through the sky, dipping here and wheeling there, getting the lay of the place before he lands with a teeth-jarring thud. Second, once on the ground, the bronzerider gives the scenery a wholly bemused once-over while he unravels his scarf and pulls off his gloves. A look passes between dragon and rider, and the latter trots toward the living cavern with his brows all knit together.

You head into the Living Cavern.

Wyaeth> Loketh rumbles basso profundo on the air, the big bronze posturing a little for his lady love's benefit. And while others snap and growl, he simply arches his neck and spreads great pinions, hoping to attract Ciath's attention. And then he's staggering a little, too when that cad Soldreth slams into him -- making Loketh curl his lip and sneer at his sire. Then it's back to showing off again.

Wyaeth> Solath ducks his head to sway it to one side as a dragon crosses his path, blocking his view of Ciath - and the other males taking up position around her. Frantically when the other dragon remains in his path, he side steps left and then right, and then left again, nudging passed a few other males to edge his way closer, but not too close.

"Luminescent," repeats V'delin, tasting the word with relish. "Apt descriptor." The mug of cider is abandoned, forgotten, though the flames reflecting near Sal'ros's chosen area of contemplation are considered briefly before his eyes focus on the party containing the Weyr's leaders. "Probably a test of the fabric could be undertaken by the Weyrleader," he smirks, "since I'd estimate his occupation otherwise would be...advisible."

P'draig knocks back some more of his klah then drops the strip of cloth back into the basket. "Hm." He runs his free hand over his hair and down the back of his neck. "Not fond of too much heat myself," he murmurs in response to T'rien and finishes off the last of the liquid in his mug, setting it down where there's a smidgen of space on the table. The brownrider's arms fold across his chest and he leans one hip against the edge of the table, chin dropping a little to regard the baskets, seemingly lost in thought. V'delin's remark earns a quick grin though. "There you go. Or the Weyrwoman and Weyrsecond, eh?" he winks over at the young bronzerider.

Wyaeth> Cavoth slowly gets to his feet, his muscles shuddering along his flanks and back, sending a cascade of water shimmering around him. He ignores the antics of his gathered fellows for the time being, instead turning about to place one eye toward the living cavern and the other on Ciath.

It's just about now that V'ryce loses track of the conversations he's been holding, the tall young man blinking almost comically as he staggers slightly -- echoing Loketh. "Yes..mhmm.. positively luminescent.." he singsongs in vapid answer back to V'delin, but his green eyes are now all for Zahava.

M'yr's body twitches to the side suddenly, sables losing their focus in the activity around him. A shudder, then a jolt, as he stares once again toward the bowl as his lips move without words. Acadia's mention of the trips he's sent her on do stablilze him somewhat, as well as a few quick blinks. "Hmm?"

E'rik seems quite happy he's not been noticed yet. It gives him time to try to spy the one he came to visit. And there he is. E'rik manuevers around the room to end approaching P'draig. "P

T'rien glances over at the 'discussion' occuring between the Weyr's leaders, hiding his expression behind his mug. Once lowered, his face is emotionless once more. "He can't stay," he murmurs, to no one and everyone. "She won't let him."

E'rik continues. "P'draig. Check it out, no more weyrling any more." he boasts.

Zahava swallows, cup of wine held in one hand as she slowly nods to Jenna. "Yes, I think so," she says, her husky voice soft, easily lost in the din. She looks back to M'yr, her expression conflicted. A hand lifts slightly towards him. "You have to," she says finally.

N'thei walks into a busy living cavern with eyes that widen for the population. It's difficult for someone of his particular size to shrink into the shadows, to wallflower very well, but he makes a good show of being unobtrusive. He carries a pretty bottle under one arm, looks like liquor but more the gift-giving kind than the drinking-alone kind, and wears an 'oh' for his lips. Realization dawns, written all over his face.

It doesn't seem anything interesting could pull Sal'ros out of his contemplation, nor his eyes away from the continuous licks of flame and waves of heat. His hands have stopped rubbing but he has leaned closer to the hearth, trying to warm up his limbs that have long since been affected by the drizzling weather in which he spent his entire day in. A quiet groan is given as stiffened joints are stretched again, and his back straightened, then hunched over again.

V'delin's lip curls in a bemused sneer for V'ryce's utter surrender to the glossy-eyed distraction. "Have you no self-control, wingmate?" he jibes. "Keep this up and you'll be salivating on the cavern floor." T'rien's sudden reticence also captures his attention briefly. "This is a moment to celebrate, T'rien! Not to mope about. Your lifemate is strong - you might just wake with her tomorrow."

Wyaeth> Seith's brown head slowly swivels to regard the slumbering gold, the colors deeping and spinning a little faster as he watches. He shifts his pose subtly, the young brown's wings folding back with a quiet snap.

P'draig nods soberly along with T'rien. "Yep." It takes him a moment to look up at E'rik's greeting and smile. "Hey E'rik, yeah I know. I was there at the party remember? Brought everyone sweets. Didn't miss you did I? Congratulations again."

Jenna shoots a tight smile at Acadia. "Should've wrapped them up to take with us." She shifts on the balls of her feet, the slight movement her only concession to the driving impulse to get Niyath away. As Zahava speaks, Jenna shoots her a swift look of pride. "You," she says lowly, though her voice resonates clearly through the conversations in the room, "Will do well for Fort." The faint stress on 'you' seems to indicate both halves of the dragonpair. Then she looks to Acadia again, "They should be broaching some ale kegs, and bringing up wine. Get 'em all good and drunk, Acadia." Then, formally to M'yr, "I'll meet you in the bowl, Weyrleader."

"What's to control myself over?" Val chuckles lightly to V'delin, then chiming in back with, "Mm, she looks so very lovely, doesn't she?" ALready he's moving over towards Zahava, but it's not clear which female he means.

E'rik grins boyishly. "I didn't see you there. And thanks." he fiddles with his knot absently. "So we're free now and stuff so I figured I'd visit Fort a bit." another boyish grin flashes.

T'rien's eyes swivel quickly toward V'delin and there's something flickering there that one doesn't see very often. "I was referring to the Weyrleader," he murmurs, gesturing toward M'yr with his mug. "/I'm/ staying." Draining his mug, he sets it down on the table between the baskets. "I've waited too long..."

Wyaeth> Above the southwest area, Niyath flies out of the aerial entrance to the Hot Springs cavern.

Wyaeth> Soldreth is nervous and it shows, the bronze's head swinging from one side to the other then back again. He even bugles at the group, the sound carrying a mixture of sensations. Now he snaps toward Chameth, but it's spent on the air, not making contact with the dragon.

Wyaeth> Wyaeth catches on quicker than his rider, thankfully. With all these dragons around, the gritty bronze swaggers right down to park where he can get an eyeful of Ciath, issues a rumble that's difficult to parse: Warning, threat, boast, greeting?

Wyaeth> Above the southwest area, Niyath spirals down and comes to a landing on the lake shore.

Jenna heads out of the cavernous entrance to the bowl. Jenna has left.

Wyaeth> Loketh seems to enjoy Soldreth's nervousness, but he doesn't focus on it, instead taking the time to try and woo his clutchsibling, even if she's not awake or even paying attention.

Acadia nods to the clearly distracted Weyrwoman, and polishes off her wine. She then finds a drudge and sends him off for more ale, pronto! Lots and lots of ale.

Wyaeth> Jenna doesn't entirely /run/ towards where Niyath has landed near the lake. But then again, she always moves at a pretty good clip. Blue eyes flicker over Ciath, gauging her color, and then she's gone.

Wyaeth> Cavoth shifts his position ever-so-slightly, wings dripping as rain collects over the membranes. His attention is now completely riveted on Ciath, though he spares a long, narrow-eyed view of Soldreth first.

M'yr touches Za's hand with his fingertips, digits that shake at her touch. He's certainly not himself at all. "I.. uhm.." he stutters, then watches Jenna leave. "Probably best to go and see what she wants.."

"Well you picked quite the afternoon to visit E'rik." P'draig reaches over to clap the young rider gently on the shoulder and leans down to murmur something to him in an undertone. His gaze flickers over to T'rien and V'delin and he nods once.

Wyaeth> Above the southwest area, Niyath wings up from the lake shore.

Wyaeth> Chameth raises his head, eyelids opening fully as his Sire snaps in his direction. The brown doesn't seem inclined to right, but he gives off a low grumbling rumble. Either a comment or a warning not to get too close isn't exactly clear, but the color of the browns eyes makes a subtle shift.

Wyaeth> Imirath obligingly snaps back at Soldreth, his stocky body puffing up in a petty show of strength across the distance that separates them, heedless of the other's status in the Weyr. Damp rivulets trail along his haunches, puddling on the ground as he sits up and back, more fascinated by the posturing and casual threats than he seems to be in the pale gold's present bright shade.

Wyaeth> Above the southwest area, Niyath wings higher up above the bowl.

Wyaeth> Soldreth gives one last bugle, snapping at the air all around him now, angry at something or another. He turns to leave the bowl, spins around again, then stares at the group before leaving for sure.

E'rik is all grins for a minute. It's all about the freedom for him and he's enjoying every minute of it too. Though as P'draig murmurs quietly to him his color seems to fade a little and his eyes near bug out of his head. Somehow he manages to keep his tone down.

M'yr heads out of the cavernous entrance to the bowl. M'yr has left.

Zahava's hand shakes slightly before it drops to her side, a shallow nod to M'yr. She doesn't look away until he's vanished into the bowl, and then she buries her face in the wineglass, tipping it back to drink the rest of the glass down at once.

Wyaeth> Inneth may be slow, but she's not entirely dumb. When the males flee for the feeding grounds, even she knows what's up. She stays right where she is, and only sends a despairing rumble after the male dragons before settling in for a wet nap.

Out of his element, clearly an outsider, N'thei makes the best of a bad situation. Heedless of exactly how rude it comes across, he flags down someone who looks like a kitchen assistant-- someone who could be the Headwoman for all he knows-- with quick comments about a corkscrew, ifyouplease. "At least I came prepared," he tells whoever happens to be nearby, bottle held up by the neck, nevermind that it's some kind of sipping wine hardly suited for Flights. "Who's the lucky lady? Anyone?"

Wyaeth> You travel west, toward the fenced pens of the feeding grounds.

C'nroy finds his shoulder being tapped. He looks up to spy someone hovering there. The fellow leans over and whispers something in his ear. The brownrider sighs and downs the last contents of his mug. "Glad to." Levering himself upright, he trudges off, following.

Wyaeth> Jekzith paces restlessly in the feeding grounds, to and fro, to and fro, tail twitching back and forth. He seems to be eyeing the herd meaningfully, but hasn't launched himself after them yet.

V'ryce is simply..standing there. Looking at Zahava with delight. Just staring like some idiot teenager.

Acadia answers N'thei, "Yes, Zahava's dragon is glowing. Inneth reports that the males are all leaving for the feeding grounds."

Wyaeth> Seith leaps up with no warning, on the heels of some of the other males as they leap to the feeding grounds. By pure instinct he brings down his first kill with a quick swipe of a paw. He lowers his muzzle to begin the blooding.

Wyaeth> Cavoth drops into the feeding grounds carefully, plucking out his first selection before settling down on the ground to dispatch it. His neck jerks quickly as the neck of the beast is snapped and his jaws close around it, muscles pumping as it's life's blood is drained.

Wyaeth> Wyaeth is utterly graceless. He carries his rangy girth over the fence into the feeding grounds with a barely coordinated hop, more a swagger over the fence than a proper leap and glide. But it serves to land him in the middle of a cluster running in terrified disarray, and he swipes tarnished gray talons at those passing. He succeeds in scraping from shoulder to flank of one poor buck, who limps off for a slow and painful death, and grabs at a littler doe, happy with his capture for all that it was clumsy.

P'draig nods E'rik's way. "All right then, lad. Steady as she goes." He claps the younger brownrider on the shoulder then detaches himself from the table with the baskets with a nod and heads over to where Acadia and Zahava are seated. "Need a refill, Za?" he asks casually.

Wyaeth> Loketh is more direct than Jekzith, and arrows in on one beast his calculating eyes have already singled out as his. A quick snatch from above and a hard shake break the herdbeast's back, the large bronze then gliding out of the pen to drop and feast off the carmine vitae.

V'delin's giving in to the state of near-reverie as well, the threads of chatter about fabric and will-he or won't-he around the Weyrleader unravelling steadily. "Hm, wine?" N'thei's request grabs his focus next, and he smiles welcomingly to the tall man. "Green dress," he helpfully offers.

E'rik's gaze snaps to the bowl, growing slightly more paler. Looks like it's too late to run if that were considered. The young Istan lad is here to stay it seems and he swallows nervously. P'draig gets a distracted nod as his shoulder is clasped by the Fort rider. His eyes watch him go over to the table and his attention shifts to Zahava. He stay where he's at, standing beside the table, one hand resting lightly on. Briefly his eyes unfocus as he speaks with his lifemate in the corrals.

Wyaeth> Jekzith continues to hover on the edge of the feeding ground, clearly wanting to get in on the action, but something's holding him back. A couple of times he stops his pacing, body tensing to spring and then with a low-voiced rumble, desists and starts pacing again, tail lashing back and forth more violently with each pass.

T'rien leans against the table, hunching his shoulders as he wraps his arms around his torso. He closes his eyes briefly and, when reopened, fixate on a point near his feet. "Not for me, Cav," he murmurs. "For you."

Two drudges roll in barrels of ale and set them up by the meal table. A third one brings bottles of wine, and Acadia starts offering drinks to any and all interested parties.

Sal'ros still remains in the comfy chair by the hearth, though his eyes have redirected toward the rider of Ciath, trying to see her amongst a throng of bodies. Sighing though with the effort and not even getting a glimpse, straining his neck on top of it sets his vision back on the flames, his cheek propped up by a fisted hand.

Wyaeth> Imirath is slow to leap toward the promise of gore in the pens beyond, but finally it is the instinct to sup that wins out over the desire to shuffle for ranking among his peers. His landing is hard, bone-crushing, the reverberating echo of snapping joined by his snarls during his meal.

N'thei smiles beatifically at Acadia, his one hand outstretched to collect the corkscrew from the now worried-looking kitchen girl. She scuttles off like her hair's on fire. "Which one is-- ah. Green dress." So he turns, working the corkscrew, to find that green dress; "Could be worse, could be worse. I usually fancy brunettes, but beggars can't be choosers." He turns the partially opened bottle toward V'delin, friends until their foes anyway. "Dessert wine, raspberry. I expect a wicked ripping headache. Game for the same?"

Wyaeth> High above the bowl, Niyath disappears into Between.

The door to the kitchens opens. Trays of glasses and mugs are being carried out. C'nroy brings up the rear of the column, a tray of mugs in his hands. Kinda looks like old times for the brownrider as he sets his tray atop the other two near the ale casks. Quietly, he moves off again.

Zahava takes a few steps, sinking down into a chair, head shaking slightly at P'draig's offer of more. Now seated, she's even harder to see for those who are trying, head buried in her hands.

Wyaeth> Solath lands neatly on the outskirts of the feeding grounds, watching the other males scatter the flock for him, he patiently waits as he slithers forward, a growing thunder in his gut as he picks out a target that gets chased at him. A pounce followed by a grizzly swipe that takes the animals head clean off. Solath even goes so far as to catch the body of the animal before it flops onto the ground wasting blood. Instead, he caught it with his mouth and hefts it easily upward, guzzling it down like a drunk man with a pitcher of ale - spilling runs of blood down his muzzle and neck.

V'delin looks the Reachian visitor up and down, arms folding across his chest, his cider long abandoned on the table. "I'd rather expect a few shreds of green dress fluttering in the breeze, but the headache's far more likely." The ale's arrival causes a smack of his lips, and he welcomes Acadia's proffering of that as well. "We'll share? Ale'd be a good choice if you plan to down any amount of it. Shame to waste the dessert wine on ...something other than dessert."

No matter Zahava's sitting, Val is right there next to her, simply standing behind her chair with one hand resting lightly upon it's back, smiling like the daftest idiot in the region.

T'rien rubs his chin with a hand, still staring at that obscure point on the floor. "We could wrap the straps with the cloth strips, I suppose," he murmurs, his voice distant. "Might have to actually attach them to helmets and jackets...though I wish we could figure out some way to preserve the luminescence *between*."

P'draig nods just once at Zahava's refusal and stays put nearby, eyeing the swirl of activity in the living cavern, the pairs of eyes increasingly turning Zahava's way. His jaw tenses after a moment, eyes vague and under his breath he mutters a directive: "I said, /no/." He straightens then and takes up a casual stance just to one side of the goldrider and quirks an eyebrow at V'ryce, likely for the 'daftest idiot' look on the bronzerider's face. "Mind hooking me up with a glass of that 'Cadia?" he nods over at Inneth's rider with a wry grin and her array of bottles.

Wyaeth> Seith drains the first kill and leaps forward half a dozen feet to watch the beasts scatter. For several long moments his head swivels this way and that way as he watches the other dragons feed. He's got confidence though for such a young brown, despite he is a fair size, and he casually knocks down a large 'beast, claws raking it open down the middle before he lowers his muzzle to blood once more. He's not overly vicious or bloody. Every movement he makes is energy efficient as he draws more energy from the beasts.

Wyaeth> Loketh finishes supping on his beast, and without a though or much of a look, launches himself again towards the pen. Snarling roughly at a foreign bronze who nearly gets in his way, the Fortian soon enough singles out what he wants -- a delicious looking doe -- and then swipes one taloned paw at her, neatly impaling the beast and ending her sudden cry. Back again to the ground, and Lo' fastens his teeth into her, suckling greedily.

Wyaeth> Ciath comes over from the east. Wyaeth> Ciath has arrived.

N'thei spends more time grinning than returning V'delin's once over, just enough of a look upwards that gray eyes can rake the scrawny fellow briefly. "I plan to down any amount of it." And he breaks the cork right then, dons a satisfied beam. "Win and I'll toast your victory. To... Whom?" For someone on the verge of a Flight, he's remarkably lucid.

Wyaeth> Ciath transitions from sleep to wakefulness in an instant, a wash of emotion rolling off the pale gold - fury and passion exploding. She suits her actions to her mood, uncoiling from her sleeping pose and launching into the damp, grey skies towards a bleating ovine that has caught her attention. She dives out of the sky, dispersing the herds in her passage as she focuses on the one that has caught her attention. She ignores the gathered males in favor of a swift dispatch of the hapless creature, tearing into its soft belly without hesitation, mere seconds after coming awake. Crimson runs down her muzzle as she feeds on the flesh, ripping and tearing with each hurried mouthful.

Sal'ros brings an item out of his pocket, his brows knitting as he flips the item over in his hand, smoothing it with a finger before stuffing it down in his pocket. In that moment of contemplation, he sits straighter, his eyes squinting as he helps his mate out in the drizzled plain. Folding an arm on the chair, he strays a look toward the crowded table and those crowding around in a certain area - a place where the man suspects Zahava to be.

V'ryce grins widely, thickly up at Paddy, then giving the Weyrlingmaster a quite salacious wink and wiggle of brows. Thankfully for the brownrider, his intent gaze slips back to the more likely object of his desire, poor Zahava most of his world, right now.

Zahava bolts upright, empty wineglass falling to the floor to shatter there, her eyes going wide and sightless as her lifemate's emotions crash into her own without warning, her spine stiffening as her hands call into white-knuckled fists. Her parted lips draw in a gasp of breath, stunned by the transformation. Disoriented and confused, she forgets to breath, her glassy eyes sightless, attention far away.

Acadia fetches a glass and pours it brimful with good, strong ale. "Here you go P'draig. Drink up quick--Inneth says Ciath has started blooding!"

V'ryce gently moves in towards Za, not touching her, but staying near her in every step. "Mm, it's okay, Za. Just be with her, control her. You're fine.." he murmurs reassuringly.

Wyaeth> Imirath joys at the spoils of the gray afternoon's entertainment, burying his head in the warm flesh of the beasts made to sacrifice their lifeblood to draconic lust. He raises his head to sniff and snort at the air upon Ciath's awakening, nostrils flaring and neck bulging and tensed. Soon his greenish-bronze cast has a red tint, the drizzle washing away the dark droplets to a fading of pink along his burnished muzzle.

Wyaeth> Cavoth lifts his muzzle from his kill as Ciath arrives, tongue licking over his stained muzzle. His eyes are tinged with amber and red as watches, a low rumble coming from somewhere deep within his chest. With a sudden snarl, he whips his head out quickly to snatch up another herdbeast, teeth sinking hard into its fat neck before he lowers it to the ground to feed.

Wyaeth> Wyaeth was just all happy being messy and ruthless. But now there's a /lady/ here, and he reins in his more uncouth tendencies a little there. Instead of just hack-and-slash, he's now actually using some finesse to catch a limping buck as she makes a crooked pass in range. With this second kill clasped merrily, he turns toward Ciath with a look-what-I-did trumpet!

C'nroy comes back out, side by side with Maryliza, both carrying trays of bowls. He's commenting. "Probably something quick and hot. Broth or soup with the weather like it is." he looks up, hearing Acadia's voice echoing. He stops in his tracks and looks at his friend before moving over to put his tray of bowls down atop hers.

E'rik has fallen silent, his once tanned face is quite ashen as the reality of his first flight is a Gold flight. He stands still, having not fallen yet, by the table and his eyes roam, seeking a glimse at least of the lovely rider to Ciath.

T'rien looks up as Zahava's gasp reaches his ears, even through the low murmur of the crowd around her. His own body tenses and there seems to be a brief bunching of his muscles, as if he's about to move toward her. Sanity, or something else, seems to prevail and he stays rooted right where he is.

Wyaeth> Solath throws the discards away, having time for another quick pick even though his movements are sluggish, abhorring to the methodical kills he has to make - as if it drains the energy he has attempted to store. Attention faulters from his intended kill as Ciath bloods, causing the coffee crisp brown to moan with dejection as the beast he was after turns too quick for him to catch. A third beast, a less likely meal, perhaps better for a blue, has to be taken down to fill what was prime for a brown like him. The chore is done with less precision than the first kill, the dragon being childishly picking as teeth snare down into the gangly things neck - at first revolted for the lack of meat therein. Only after a few tries does the brown return to vamping blood from the beast.

"To Ciath," V'delin murmurs, not entirely aware of the specifics of the question but enough in the moment to speak what's on his mind. "Er, I mean, I'm V'delin. You're visiting, then?" Brilliant assessment made, he chugs the first glass of ale, soon ready for another.

Wyaeth> Puddles of scarlet at Loketh's fore soon grow pinkened at the pattering rain's diluting, the coppery bronze draning his beast utterly. A call of desire and elation to the arriving Ciath, and his chest puffs to twice its normal size for a moment as he shows off for her. And then it's back to finding food for the upcoming Flight, Loketh deftly breaking the neck of a juicy wherry male, then drawing it close to him for white teeth to set into.

P'draig only gets a sip of that wine in before Zahava's glass crashes to the floor and he puts his own down very deliberately and takes a half step over towards the goldrider. "Zahava." He speaks calmly but firmly, a voice most of the recent riders at the Weyr will remember from Weyrlinghood. "C'mon, Za. Remember who you are."

Wyaeth> Seith pauses in his blooding to watch with some awe the arrival of the glowing queen. Her beauty fills his vision and for several long moments once more the inexperienced brown stops his blooding to watch. And watch he does, staring as if to memorize every shape of her golden form. Eventually though he does take down one more smaller beasts before he feels his blooding in complete. He crouches low, ready for the spring off when she shall leap up to the skies above. The light misting rain bothered him none yet.

"Ciath," Zahava breathes at last, almost as though it's her answer to the Weyrlingmaster, her lips forming other words without giving them voice. All of the sudden, she tears away from P'draig's hands as she bolts for the bowl, threading and dodging past those in her way until she escapes into the rain.

Zahava heads out of the cavernous entrance to the bowl. Zahava has left.

Wyaeth> Jekzith is still being restrained and growing more frustrated by the minute. Finally something happens such that the mental leash on the brown goes slack and as soon as it does, he arrows out into the feeding grounds in a single bound and tackles the first beast that comes across his path, felling it with a blow of one paw and bearing it down to take a long, deep drink.

Zahava's sudden move out into the bowl puts T'rien's feet into motion at last. Scooping up his riding jacket, he's after her in a heartbeat, knocking down and nearly stumbling over a chair in the process.

Oddly for him, V'ryce levels a disapproving stare on P'draig as he monopolizes Zahava. But the young bronzer doesn't do much more than that, simply nodding and smiling in agreement with him, then giving that same goofy look to Za. And quickly, he's on the pair's heels, following them wherever the woman leads.

"To Ciath. Er, I mean, V'delin." N'thei raises his bottle, gets it to his lips, then seems to think the better of it and looks to have a mug deposited in his mitt instead. "Can you really call it visiting now?" he asks with a roughly amused chuckle. "I was looking for Persie, but that will have to wait. N'thei, for what it's worth." He's just about to offer a hand-shake to V'delin when the mug arrives and he just tips it that way instead. "Looks like we're moving." And he falls in.

Acadia takes two steps after Zahava before stopping. "No, no, no. Stay out of the way." She puts her own words to good use, moving away from the exit to the bowl as fast as she can.

V'delin's only woefully in the midst of glass of ale number two when Zahava finds her feet and is hastily exiting. "Persie," he repeats absently, then tips his head in assent, joining the departing rnaks. "Allow us to share the more, ah, picturesque parts of our fair Weyr."

Sal'ros isn't one to rush after the weyrwoman, there are plenty of saps willing to do the job of wiping away tears and nervous anxieties - even more who truly long for the woman. It seems comical to him that a throng of men would be right upon her heels, an insight of what the flight was to be like for sure. For him, like his lifemate, it's almost a burden to be caught up in the malestrom of the flight, an unlucky chance for them to return from duties. So he took his time to put his jacket on, knowing pretty well the direction of where the herd is going. His shoulders snap forward as he throws on the jacket, flipping the collar up, stuffing his hands into pockets before striding outside, feet unhurried as he goes.

C'nroy walks along the wall as the throng begins to part and bodies begin to move. A brush in one hand and a tray in the other, he circles longwise and patiently to where Zahava's glass shattered and pulls three cloths from the back of his belt. Kneeling down, the browner starts to brush up the mess, shaking off the offer of help from a Cavern worker.

You head outside to the bowl.

Zahava runs through the mud and rain, darting for the edge of the feeding grounds, climbing up onto the lowest railing, her elbows locking over the topmost as she glares through the drizzle at the creature her lifemate has turned into.

E'rik follows a bit more slowly, slightly distracted as if he's running through a mental checklist on everything that supposed to happen in a mating flight. Think think think. This lesson wasn't that long ago. But it seems so different with Seith in the grounds and really feeding. He doesn't approach Zahava but instead he watches from a far, taking in her form much like his Seith looked over her Ciath.

Wyaeth> Ciath's jaws snap shut on another gulp of flesh, barely chewing as she near-inhales the raw meat. After swallowing it, she hisses at a brown who she has deemed to be too near her, her wrath palpable in the chilly air. She growls low in her throat, her tail tucking in tightly against her body as she struggles with her rider. Another bite is taken as Zahava bolts towards the fence in the hopes that proximity will reinforce her demands. By now the queen has consumed most of the easy flesh on the ovine at her feet, and as the goldrider scrambles up onto the fence, the gold turns again to hiss at her.

V'ryce grins widely back at P'draig, then letting Zahava consume his gaze again -- ignoring the gathering of other men and women.

Wyaeth> Imirath's indulgence consumes meat and fluid alike, the sooty bronze careless and contemptuous of his destruction and of his fellows. The approach of some human watchers only intensifies his ichor pumping, and tension causes his wings to snap against his seemingly inscribed sides, wicked delight in whirling eyes for the queen's triumphs over her rider.

Wyaeth> Cavoth finishes his latest - and apparently last - kill, lifting his head once more. Traces of blood remain on his jaw, soaking into the coppery brown hide despite the steady trickle of rain. He settles back on his haunches, flexing his wings slightly in preparation for what is to come. Red-tinged eyes never leave Ciath now, narrowing into contemplative slits as he considers her glowing form.

Wyaeth> Wyaeth shoulders by the hissed-at brown with a look that goes beyond smug satisfaction, complete with a flicker of tumbleweed wings. In a bad-influence way, he turns a croon toward Ciath after her second bite. Though his eyes still whirl fast and heated, there's a new approval in his view of the queen-- like a pale-dawn gold in the midst of Flight-lust give's two shakes about the approval of a dust-and-leather bronze. At least he's happy in his delusions. He snacks on the blood of a wherry stupid enough to be in grab's reach, glug glug.

Wyaeth> Loketh thrums deeply at the hissing, eating Ciath, rising to his haunches and spreading his great wings in a display touched by heavy droplets of rain..just as he'd predicted. The moisture rolls down his bright hide in tiny rivulets that only emphasize his glory, and then the bronze launches out one last time to the pens, to silence the screams of another wherry buck, which is hurled out of the corral with a restrained viciousness -- Loketh sucking heavily at it's body for the fluid to fuel his need.

Up until now, P'draig's been keeping a pretty cool head, but with Jekzith breaking away from him, he's looking a little more rattled, jaw working as the brown launches himself whole hog into the feasting in the grounds. He joins the goldrider on the fence, eyeing Jekzith with a distinctly less-than-pleased expression. "C'mon Za. Hold her back. You can do it. Blood only. Blood only." It's an age-old mantra for goldriders since time immemorial.

Lingering far behind the crowd with less enthusiasm for the event than the others, Sal'ros stops short of following the throng, staying so far back that he'd mostly be considered an observing party than one whose got a dragon participating. Shrugging his shoulders forward he grimaces at the cold, having hoped to spend the better part of the evening tucked away in a warm weyr than out here where the drizzle threatens to seep underneath his jacket.

V'ryce steps quickly up to the fence to join Za and Paddy, nodding daftly at the Weyrlingmaster and his good friend. "Blood blood, it's all in the blood.." he chants merrily.

Zahava locks eyes with the furious gold, clinging to the fence, heedless of those who've followed her out into the rain, her hair darkening as the soaking mist wets it, sticking it to her face and cheeks. She shows no sign of hearing P'draig, but her lips form the same words silently.

Wyaeth> Jekzith is up to his headknobs in gore now and abandons the limp carcass of his first catch to leap onto another one, again quick to toss the beast down and gets busy getting every last drop out of the nag-backed creature, a weather eye out for Ciath, though for the most part he seems to be ignoring her intent on this task that his rider seemed so determined to keep him from.

T'rien stands apart, bareheaded in the rain. He seems to have the wherewithal to shrug into his riding jacket eventually, closing his eyes briefly as a shudder takes him. Whether its from the chill or the emotional tumult eminating from his dragon it's impossible to say.

N'thei repeats with a lascivious relish, "The more picturesque parts, you say?" His eyes trail Zahava, darkening in a way that has nothing to do with the step outside or the rain leaking past his eyelashes. The smirk fades by degrees while he walks a good distance behind the goldrider, his head steadily tilted till it's at a wholly questioning angle; "Maybe I just didn't pay enough attention as a weyrling-- which I don't doubt-- but she really shouldn't be /eating/ like that, should she? Your goldrider, she's dim?"

Not Val. No forethought, or much thought at all lies within him, the tall young man exposed to the rain in his shirt and vest and trous only. He hardly seems to feel it, though, so caught up in Loketh's heat is he.

E'rik runs his fingers back through his damp hair, causing it to stand up in uneven spikes. His attention flickers from the grounds with Seith to Zahava standing there. He watches the silent battle she wages with her queen.

Wyaeth> Seith's tail lashes this way and that as he's not blooding any more but watching the queen. His eyes whirl quickly with shades of deep blues and purples tinged with red.

Wyaeth> Loketh drains the last precious drops of blood from his kill, and then violently tosses it aside with a proud shake of his head -- maybe hoping to distract some other male who might happen to be in the way. A low croon of delight at Ciath's furious form, one more posturing for her, and then the canny bronze flicks his form up and away to..a nearby ledge twenty feet above the bowl's floor. His whole body quivering with anticipation, he crouches low -- wings already spread -- waiting..watching his glorious clutchsibling.

Wyaeth> Solath thankfully seems to flick the unsatisfying beast away once he's drained it dry, going so far as to draw his back leg high over it so he doesn't have to step on the wretched thing! Solath begins to meander around the other dragons, tail held high as he plods along with his gangly light brown self. Its only when he finds a rise in the feeding grounds that he stops, head swayed to one way and then to the other, plotting his stake in the pack as he squats on the uplifted ground - a good place to take off from. Any advantage is better than none. Ensuring he's enough wingspace to actually take off, the brown extends his wings - not just once, but numerous times, over and over again, spinning in his spot to ward off competitors. Flash of brown, spray of wings, show of teeth - it might be a good start.

V'delin's straggling along, his cup of ale shielded by his hand thought the damp invades at will. Every so often, he halts to take another invigorating gulp of the weak drink, managing between them to focus his blue eyes on the figure in the green dress, particularly as droplets begin to cling to it. Somehow he manages a reply, though it comes out stilted. "Dim? I'd've thought her to be bright? But for her newness. First flight, strong willed gold? Some talk of her not rising turns since she shelled."

Zahava barely seems to breathe, so intent is her gaze on the uncontrollable Ciath. Her lips press together, sweat joining the drips down her face as she struggles against the savagery of the gold.

P'draig shoots a look out at Ciath, head shaking back and forth. "C'mon Za," he mutters, for now still able to focus on what's /not/ happening that should be amongst the shuffle. He repeats the words again. "Blood only. Hold her, Zahava. Hold her."

Wyaeth> Ciath returns her rider's stare intently, her jaws slightly parted as she and Zahava contest with one another as never before. Her hide, already gleaming fiercely seems only to heat by the moment. Abruptly, she looks away, taking to the skies again, abandoning the ovine to the firelizards who swoop in to make the most of her leftovers. Her second kill is a wherry, and again she goes for its belly, tearing into it before it has stopped moving, gulping down a bite. Her head twists around again to growl at Zahava's persistant pressure on her, her jaws snapping closed on the empty air before she turns back to feed again. Several bites more are swallowed before she last turns her attention to the beasts neck, though her previous actions have already started the blood draining from the other wounds, quickly reducing the supply. Dispatching a second wherry, she goes straight for the neck, blooding deeply from the carcass. Her pale wings flutter open as she drinks the crimson fluid, spilling its lifeblood into her throat.

Sal'ros looks from the savage Ciath toward the woman half righting herself over the fence, his eye sight able to pick up the tension even from the distance he stands back at. He clenches his teeth, brows drawn down with determination as he stands alone, placed away from the other men and women, focused abruptly upon the task at hand - uniting two savage beasts, his mate and that ruthless cloud-pale gold.

Wyaeth> Jekzith pounces one last beast to the ground, drains it dry and shakes it loose, sending it flying so that it coasts along in the mud nearly to the fence itself. He lets out a loud bugle, head swinging back and forth, practically dancing in place, wings open to catch the spray from the sky, ready now for the fun part: the flying.

N'thei gives up on the ale, tosses it out of the cup with a splash that lets it join the puddles of rain, but he frowns some at the loss of a good drink. "I see, I see. So not dim, just wea-- new." He let just enough of that syllable go to make his point, and clipped just enough of it that he tries to smooth it over with a smile of understanding and apology, a smile that looks pretty grim and funky under the circumstances. "There she goes. Crisis averted." He reaches the fence in time to deliver his line, leans on the railing some fifteen feet clear of Zahava.

Wyaeth> Loketh gives a rumbling approval to Ciath's newfound blooding, and V'ryce echos the sound in a weird croon uluating from his own throat. Both males are poised and ready for gold/woman to take flight.

Wyaeth> Seith unfurls his wings partially, eyes only on the gold as she finally bloods fully. No more meat to weigh her down. He shifts with impatience, ever on the ready to leap to the sky behind Ciath.

Wyaeth> Wyaeth and N'thei have absolutely no interaction, and the one hardly seems to mind the other. While N'thei is off being jocular, Wyaeth is lining 'em up and knocking 'em back, draining his fourth kill so far. His dusty form, sheathed in rain, even moves to interrupt his rider's line-of-sight to Ciath, and he chucks his last corpse aside in such a way as to land in a mudpuddle apt to splash at least one competitor.

Wyaeth> Cavoth folds in his wings, the muscles of his hindlegs bunching as he prepares himself for the inevitable leap into the sky. That low rumble in his chest resumes, eyes briefly scanning the ranks of his competition before returning to Ciath once more.

Wyaeth> Solath continues to do his sweeping twisting dance on that uplifted rise of earth, his head bobbing as the dragon flashes the gore still attached to his teeth. He doesn't even make an attempt to fly when Ciath sails through the air - chancing it to stay planted and getting rewarded when Ciath does indeed take another kill instead of actually going for the sky. This is when he makes one last ditch attempt to clear his immediate air space, snapping at a bronze that gets too close in his daft attempt to trundle near toward the feasting gold. Coiling his body down close to the ground, the lurking gloom merchant basks in the drizzle as it layers over his hide.

Wyaeth> Rippling with a muscular tension commensurate, Imirath lowers his head only to find his chosen coated with a layer of grime mingling in to mud from the force of his companions and their vigorous manglings, particularly a toss from Wyaeth's leavings. The forged bronze makes a gutteral noise deep in his throat, a tempestuous growl rich with yearning, and slashes the next victims with unleashed fury, only settling to restrained tautness again after his prey is dispatched.

Zahava's eyes close only for a moment as Ciath finally does as she ought, though she takes only the barest moment to relax before refocusing her attention on the dainty gold.

"There you go Za. That's it. Keep holding her." P'draig continues to speak the encouragement, whether it's heard or not, still leaning on the rail just beside the goldrider. With Ciath seemingly under control, his gaze swings back to Jekzith and another battle of wills starts to take place as the Weyrlingmaster tries once more, to keep his brown from taking off after the gold.

Wyaeth> Seith's rumble as he's splashed from the mudpuddle is low and warning even though his head only swivels around to eye Wyaeth for the briefest of seconds. The mud on his hide though isn't easily seen against his brown coloring and it'll dry soon enough. Again hs shifts his weight, watching and waiting as he's never done before. His firmly linked with his rider, the pair of them waiting waiting waiting.

Val has no such compunctions at P'draig does, the tall young man simply smiling broadly at his once Weyrlingmaster, then grinning up through rain-soaked hair limp in his eyes at the siren-song Zahava so near. A hand reaches out slowly, almost in entreaty, and then cautiously comes to rest opposite Paddy's own -- on the other side of the fence near the junior's.

V'delin too approaches the railing, his action more to support his suddenly weakening knees, a chuckle at N'thei's observation giving way to a little frown in poked-at pride for his Weyr. "She'll learn, I suppose," he mediates, scanning over the lineup for familiar and unfamiliar faces and actions among those gathered. "I likely won't recall it after an eyeblink, but who is it that Fort's queen welcomes so enthusiastically?"

Wyaeth> Ciath, still feeling the pinch of hunger in her belly, makes a final kill, taking out a large bovine. Once more, she goes straight for the creature's neck with seemingly no urging needed from Zahava, filling herself with the blood. At last, sated, her hide takes on its final luminescence, brilliant against the dismal skies. Capacious, bleached-pale wings spread again, and this time her head lifts towards the clouds as her wings sweep down, carrying her up and out of the feeding grounds into the thickening fall of the rain, each stroke lifting her higher, away from the browns and bronzes who've been drawn to give chase to her this afternoon. She veers away from where Loketh has perched himself to wait for her, surging towards the opposite rim of the bowl.

Zahava wobbles, slumping as her struggle ends and Ciath finally takes flight for good, her mind carried with her lifemate into the Fortian skies. Her grip on the railing of the fence loosens.

N'thei laughs heartily at V'delin, a big laugh from the oversized bronzerider. He pointedly recalls his words from the living cavern; "N'thei, for what it's worth." With his arm dangled over the fence, his thumb corking the wine, he angles the end of the bottle toward Ciath-- or what he can see of her with Wyaeth messing up his view. "I won't hold it against you if you don't send me a card afterward." Aside from a new flush, he still looks pretty together.

Wyaeth> There! THERE she is! The swelling of Loketh's hearts is almost painful in intensity, and as Ciath rushes by him, he propells himself upwards after her from his chosen ledge with a massive thrust of lean, powerful muscle. Giving a bass roar of challenge and lust, his wings pump hard to gain altitude as fast as his massive body can allow, some of the smaller browns and bronzes pulling even with him already. Good thing he had those extra few feet.

Val's hand on Paddy's shoulder makes the brownrider jump. "What?" he focuses briefly on the bronzerider and whatever control he'd gained over Jekzith snaps instantly. Off like a shot, there goes Jekzith and P'draig's face goes all thundercloud briefly, as he drops off the fence just in time to realize that Zahava's losing her grip. "Hey, hey ... Za, stay with us ..." The brownrider moves forward to loop an arm around the goldrider's waist so she doesn't fall right off the fence.

Wyaeth> Cavoth launches himself into the sky in a blink, his powerful legs lending height as his wings pump once, twice, gaining altitude quickly. All too familiar with the qualities of luminescence of late, thanks to his lifemate's current obsession, he chases after Ciath as his rider chases answers, both looking toward the dismal sky as the rain continues to drift down upon them.

Wyaeth> Wyaeth reacts to the growl from Seith with something like a dragon's shrug, a ripple of his shoulders and a flicker of arid-washed wings; not his problem. If one should hope to catch a dragon grinning, Wyaeth would come close to obliging now. Fleeting, though, fleeting. Like a shotgun blast, disarrayed and inaccurate, he hops upward, beats down with his wings, and takes the air. It takes him an extra half-lap around the airspace over the feeding grounds to orient himself to Ciath's direction, not exactly quick on the draw.

Wyaeth> Seith is actually caught by surprise for all that he was preparing to launch up so quickly. He takes a few steps to give himself room to leap up and suddenly he finds he's ran into a young bovine, his talons somehow entangling within the tail of the creature! With a loud roar he tries to gain momentum into the air, slowly though by the beast. Two feet up from the grounds he's able to shake free, the bovine falling to the ground with a loud sound of protest. And then Seith is off, nearly lumbering through the skies as he gains height with powerful strokes of his wings.

T'rien lifts his face into the rain as the flight takes to the sky, water trickling down his face as he does. With one last look toward the heavens, he finds Zahava's form against the railing and waits, patiently, saying nothing as always.

Zahava seems for a moment to no longer inhabit the body she has lived in the last quarter-century, slumping against P'draig as he catches her, her fingers coming entirely free of the fence. She rouses a little after a beat, shaking her head in confusion. "Have to... east..." she murmurs.

Wyaeth> Jekzith leaps into the sky lightly the minute P'draig's commands to stay ground bound evaporate and he's off, wings beating fast and furious at first to keep up with Ciath. Free to fly! Free to fly. « Yes! » His jubilation washes out all over the place past various and sundry dragons, plainly audible by anyone with any sensitivity within range. Wind rushing, water soaking, /Ciath/ flying. Yes.

V'ryce intakes his breath in a wonderous gasp as he takes to the skies on Loketh's wings, the bronzer's green eyes cast upwards to the weeping clouds. But Val is not crying today. No, the Fortian is laughing softly, fully enjoying the sensation and the thought that Ciath/Zahava may just choose /him/ this day.

Wyaeth> Solath watches the clouds above moving closer, appearing dissatisfied as the ground is left behind, the direction sckewed in the spread of wings of browns and bronzes - the darkness of the task lying before him as he surges up in the throng. Hopless for wind, the brown has to use his might to carry on after her, the gold left alone in that first pristine moment that she flees. Her only protection is the sky, and perhaps a set of brown wings, though that is long from this moment, left to the winds and the turns of tails. He scrapes his talons into the air, striking through the growing rain as he climbs higher, higher, caught up between two other males, a third and forth blocking his view of Ciath. A mournful cry rides the air with him as he sears the sky with his wings, water bouncing off him as he veers for that glow, the beam of light in the scape of gloomier prospects.

Wyaeth> Imirath slashes the air, the force of his sudden turn almost tumbling the stocky bronze over onto his side and his whipcord tail flailing very near some of the chasers leaning on the fence. No scenic vantage has he, his veracity such that he even drop his head to drink again from a freshly-felled prey-beast before joining the beating of wings filling the gray Fortian skies, all in pursuit of the glimmering slender golden queen. His rear leg reaches out, talons scraping against another latecomer, and the resulting flow of ichor only fuels his fervor.

"Yep, we're going, Za. C'mon." P'draig half-lifts the goldrider down off the fence and helps her get her feet on the ground. "Lean on me. We'll get there." He shoots another look over his shoulder at the dragons vanishing into the dark drizzly skies and Val's laughing and shakes his head. "Faranth preserve us," he murmurs under his breath, then gently, leads Zahava across the Bowl towards the Flight Cave.

Zahava heads into the flight cave. Zahava has left.

You head into the flight cave.