Difference between revisions of "Logs:Reign of Terror"

To Vysravth, Sforzath rolls in like the thunder: the faint thuds of a giant's footsteps coming closer and closer. His voice, when it falls into the space thereafter, is an unexpectedly melodious counterpoint. « Where are you? » Straight to the point.

To Sforzath, Vysravth lets the thunder roll over his thoughts, covering the rather pleasant evening he was enjoying. The faint metallic groans of a giant gear trying to start echo in the distance. « We are at the lake. »

To Vysravth, Sforzath moves on rather than receding, sweeping past Vysravth and leaving the acrid scent of burnt atmosphere in his wake. He's almost gone completely, would be gone completely except that a brief flash of gratitude illuminates, an after-thought.

E'gin's reign of terror is over; Riorde's has begun? The newly appointed weyrling wingleader, announced at the end of the day's drills, has been notably absent thereafter. One presumes she was preparing to take up her tenure on the morrow. But now here she comes striding down to the lake, a pace with purpose, a purpose that clarifies with, "E'gin!"

Rhaelyn doesn't go when her fellow weyrling actually speaks the words. Her steps slow and then shuffle to a stop before she turns towards E'gin, curious now. "Really?" She glances from E'gin to Vysravth but her lifemate is responding to her brother, « She likes me to...connect the stars. » Amused yet fond of the girl. « Let me see. » The dots are considered before she begins stretching out the bright ribbons of green light. "I'm sure you both will be..." Rhae's words are snipped short by Riorde's arrival, "Riorde."

There is no time to respond to Rhaelyn, before his named is barked. A moment is taken to compose himself, eyes flutter close and he takes a deep breath, before squaring his shoulder and turning around. His salute appears genuine, "Riorde. Vysravth told me you were one your way. What can I do for you?" His posture is formal, his word even and slow.

"Rhaelyn," the other girl responds, thus completing the circle of names. She comes to a halt near the other two and, looking at E'gin, wrinkles her nose with distaste. "Oh stop that." No salutes for her, then; Riorde's not demanding any sort of formal attention. "I was thinking," she starts up, slow and deliberate.

Rhaelyn's eyebrow slowly eases up at the exchange between the ex-wingleader and the new leader but her attention jerks back towards her lifemate, warning in her eyes. The green, who was starting to perk up, lounges back again with a huff, whatever silent exchange coming through loud and clear. "Well, you two must have /so/ much to catch up on."

E'gin drops his salute but keeps it formal. His hands held together behind his back. Not even Rhaelyn's attempt to fuel the fire rock his cool composure, the corners of his mouth curl up, showing distinct creases on the outside of his mouth. He waits silently for the inevitable, "Were you?" If Vysravth is listening he is showing little sign of interest.

As an aside to Rhaelyn, Riorde replies, "Oh tons"; her dry tone that says otherwise. Her mouth twitches once, but whatever she finds amusing is internalised and doesn't reach her eyes as she continues to regard E'gin with cool attention. "Yes," she resumes. "You had extra assignments for us for the whole of this past month. So I've got one for you."

Rhaelyn doesn't make any departure, but instead goes to her dragon and rubs the sharp green's eyeridges while obviously listening in to her peers. There's even a slight wince as Riorde opens up the can of worms that E'gin is likely going to have to...eat? Or something.

"Yes," E'gin is accepting of his fate, "Once I heard it was you I thought this would probably come, you do like retribution." A hint of admiration in his voice. "What is my sentence then, Riorde?" Vysravth snakes his head around, leveling it over his rider's head as they await their curse.

Riorde takes her time in getting to the sentence, diverted along the way to ask, "Do I? Do you think so?" Her tone makes them real questions, but she leaves the short gap that only rhetoric would allow. "You're going to help anyone who asks you to," she pronounces. An air of satisfaction clings to her words; clearly, she thinks she's found a fitting way for E'gin to make reparations. "With whatever they ask, whenever." A glance at this point cuts to Rhaelyn, carrying curiosity -- what will she make of it? Rhaelyn is, after all, the vindictive one.

Rhaelyn does like her petty torments, it's true. Her eyebrows lift fully now, reflective for what this punishment might mean for E'gin. Then she laughs quietly, head shaking from side to side, "And people say /I/ am the ruthless one."

Vysravth snorts into the cooling night air, his neck slinking back slowly, as he settles back to the ground. There is a beat before E'gin starts to respond, but no sounds come out, his jaw shuts again. Half his mouth twisting into a smirk, as he raises an eyebrow, "It's a fair cop." His hands are shoved into his jacket pockets as he falls into a lean against his dragon.

Lines crease Riorde's brow in reaction to how Rhaelyn responds, but otherwise her composure is unaffected. Perhaps that's part of her so-called ruthlessness. She looks back at E'gin, watching that smirk, that stance, his whole demeanour. So abrupt that it almost loses its cordiality, her response comes: "Glad you think so." Though is she? Riorde appears to have nothing more to say, for she gives a shallow nod meant for both her clutchsiblings and turns to go.

E'gin doesn't bother to give a greeting to his departing wingleader. Waiting until after she has turned he lifts his gaze back up to the now multiplied stars in the sky, after giving her a few feet to walk off he lets his set jaw, relax and pull up into a grin, "Poor Ri..." He offers, a whisper, into the night air.

Rhaelyn gives her head a little shake, a laugh hidden in that smile of hears. As Riorde makes her departure the green weyrling lifts a hand and wiggle-fingers after her and then turns to check on E'gin and how he's taking it. "You could at least make it seem like it's a lot--or else she'll just find more to load on you."

The night air carries in the absence of daytime hustle and bustle, but the whisper is quiet. Poor Ri? If she hears, she makes no sign of it-- but then, her bearing is already fairly rigid with tension carried in her shoulders. A quickened step takes her away; there's no lingering tonight.