Deliciously Shadowed Nooks and Crannies Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
The entrance to the weyr is straight and narrow, a dragon couch taking up most of the space there. Once past the couch, the room opens up incredibly to reveal a truly odd bit of artistry. This part of the weyr is a nearly perfect circle and actually quite small. The cathedral ceiling is domed and appears twice as high as the ones found in most rooms at High Reaches. The unusual stonecutter that designed this weyr certainly had his own sense of style. A gigantic glow basket has been hung in the center of the doomed ceiling, though the light it spreads downward are like gloomy fingers grasping from above. A rope runs from the basket through a series of loops along the side of the wall, tied off where it can be easily reached to lower the glows for changing. The dim light of the weyr washes over the walls, revealing tiny glints and sparkles here and there. All over the wall of the cavern from about five feet off the ground to about twelve feet overhead, hewn nooks have been left. The lower ones contain odd bits, mostly hides filed away in accordance to some system known by the weyr's inhabitant, some pens, some small trinkets, a bottle or two of good whisky. The higher nooks are more eye-catching, each containing a glass bottle or dish of some sort which causes the eerie glittering.
What little floor space there is is taken up by carefully placed furniture. A loft frame, once a bed, now serves as storage space for several trunks and few dishes, the mattress laid out on simple wooden risers below. Opposite the bed, a small, round table sits surrounded by three chairs - one small, two large, all without cushioning and armless. Kept to the side is a folding wooden stepladder, rungs smoothed and lightened by regular use.
His weyr is his castle. No, his sanctum. No, his... hideaway? Whatever the case, H'kon's weyr is private, and it's privacy the brownrider now wants, more than anything. So, although having shown his face for drills, for meetings, for squirreling away food in the caverns during the least busy times he can manage, he tends to be here. And this day is no exception. Currently, he's got a short, squat stool pulled forward, a flattened piece of reflective metal as mirror, and a razor in hand. At least, it would seem, H'kon is not intent upon growing a beard of mourning just yet.
The warning to their arrival comes with a curt, polite notification of their intent from Tsanth. It's given mere minutes before the bronze lands on the ledge of H'kon and Arekoth's weyr. Z'ian strides his way into the brownrider's castle/sanctum/hideway looking purposeful, but tense. Pausing on the doorway he clears his throat, not taking the rest of the steps in just yet. "Do you have a couple of minutes?"
With fair warning, albeit from a brown missing in action, H'kon does not, in fact, slit his own throat in surprise. He does look up, blade dropped a few centimetres from his skin, stubble glistening. "I do," is formal; the razor is laid down, a towel picked up to dab at his neck and chin.
"Great." Z'ian intones, not sounding particularly cheerful in that. He does take a few more steps in, looking uncomfortable as he glances around the weyr quickly. Gaze settling onto the other man again, he takes a breath. "There's been rumors of K'del going to Telgar and getting them involved. I went and dug around, it's not him." Likely said so that part can be put to rest first. "It's possibly more troubling than that. A Wingleader and his 'second instead."
H'kon gets to his feet, an element of dragging in the motion, though there's no moaning or groaning to accompany it. He lifts his chin, eyes forced attentive. And hears the whole business with a grave expression. "Wingleader," has all the sound of, 'go on,', really.
"Boreal's. He's likely the mastermind behind S'varis going to Telgar. Talking to Teris and the Weyrleaders. And stating that he has the authority to do so." Z'ian lifts his hand to his hair and rakes his fingers through it. There's some reluctance but it may seem important to add, "I spoke with him the other night, not alone. With one of Taikrin's crew from Glacier. She's also encountered uh, evidence of his adventures."
"Evidence," has much the sound of, 'wingleader'. H'kon rubs at his chin, lets his hand drop, with fingertips playing at the slick feel left on them.
"The rumors that K'del slept with a barmaid outside of Telgar and had her call him, Weyrleader?" Z'ian brings it up as prompt, in case the other rider has heard it. "That was S'varis. So..." And maybe there's still some hint of amusement about it there, though he's mostly bereft at that at this point. "We attempted to dissuade him from continuing such activities and strongly suggested he turn his knot in. But he responded to the effect of only needing to answer to his Wingleader, so."
H'kon gives one, solid nod. "I see." Lips press together while his tongue runs the line of his front teeth. "Taikrin knows of this as well, then," isn't really a question. A moment of distracted thought, and he looks to Z'ian more squarely. "Is there anything else I ought to know before seeking her out?"
It's not a question but, "If not, she will soon." Z'ian scuffs his boot against the stone of the floor, thinking on it. "I got the information from Telgar's watchrider. I also broke S'varis' nose getting the rest from him. He's relatively unscathed otherwise." There's almost a touch of apology in that, indicative that perhaps that wasn't part of his original intentions. "What are you going to do?"
Not a question, but the answer has H'kon pausing. Eyebrows drop, and he takes a slow breath in, and lets it out in much the same way. "If she may not know, then perhaps this wingleader," and the title is used wryly, "ought to be seen to first." It's solid for action, though he doesn't look the least happy about it. "Arekoth is a brown. He does not command the same authority of a leading bronze. Who all could be called on short notice?" No explanation as to why the golds are left out of the equation, of course.
"Yes, that's what-" Z'ian catches himself, pulling back whatever words were about to come out. "Taking the wingleader into hand first would be appropriate." The bronzerider takes a breath himself and looks away from H'kon, to the far corner of the other man's weyr. "So get a leading bronze or a bronze that knows how to bark like he leads. I haven't gone to K'del myself because I'm afraid that... it could be considered not objective if the man being accused turned the accusing around on someone else. But with you...?" Perhaps it could be different if the two were together in it, may be the implication.
"There are many would still answer Cadejoth," H'kon agrees. He's started pacing, a slow, steady thing, head turning to keep his eyes on Z'ian as he moves. "What of you and Tsanth? You have heard the reports direct. He is bronze, if not a weyrleader. There is something in that."
"Cadejoth knows how to bark like a leader." Z'ian lifts one shoulder and then brings the other up as well. "We would follow K'del. Whatever you do, you need to do it quickly. S'varis..." The bronzerider looks for the word. "Disturbed me greatly. The wings are not where they should be, those who are ambitious are beginning to see their opportunity. And the rest of us are busy fighting amongst ourselves. Boreal needs to be put into the hands of a person who wouldn't abuse the power and... I don't know." A hand comes up, rubs at his face.
To Cadejoth, Arekoth projects, « Arekoth comes as abrupt and authoritative as if he really were weyrleader, and really were bronze. « We need you, » is commanding. « You and yours, » proud. « Your influence, » wavers only slightly, though some of the edge comes off it. Still, there's an almost electric feel beneath the words. This is action. This is exciting. And this... is an image of his ledge. »
"Arekoth is seeking Cadejoth already," H'kon replies, a bit sharp, though not rightly scolding. Still, he gives Z'ian a long look, his pacing paused. "Do you believe he would attempt flight to Telgar, if confronted?"
The sharp words has Z'ian crossing his arms over his chest, lifting one eyebrow lifting up. There aren't any words for that first. But on the second, "Flight to Telgar? S'varis doesn't seem to have people there. And if they both fled to the other weyr, would it really be a negative? Anyway, I don't know if they'd want them there either."
It's surprise that first answers the brown, as though Cadejoth has not expected such authority... and no doubt, he did not expect it. « What is it? » he asks, with a rattle of bones that is not quite an exercise in his own authority, and yet... « How can we help? With what? » (Cadejoth to Arekoth)
"I am mostly concerned if we should require a guard, more than would come from Cadejoth, Tsanth, and Arekoth." Arekoth, who is now backwinging to land on his ledge, whose eyes begin to fleck yellowed orange with anticipation. The sharpness is gone from him. Now, it's just cold, solid, in that voice. "Though from what I know of him, I would not anticipate flight," is an allowance.
« Staziath's. He must be confronted. He goes to Telgar. » All quickly fired off, with growing intensity from Arekoth. « And we, » and here again is the swell of pride, « will put a stop to this. Now. » (Arekoth to Cadejoth)
"I don't think they're the fleeing sort." Z'ian replies, more dryly than what could usually be expected from him. The sound of another dragon and likely warning from Tsanth, has him turning to glance over his shoulder and watch the brown land.
To Arekoth, Cadejoth catches up, piece by piece of information slotting into his thoughts, like links in his chains. He understands, even if he doesn't have an immediate reply. « We will provide support, » he confirms. « In this, we are at your command. They must not be allowed to do that. »
The swelling of Arekoth's ego can be, quite literally, felt, a slight pressure taking the place of the static charge, though still no imagery supports his words. « Then be quick. We must get to him. Before anyone else does. » Almost as a taunt: « Tsanth's is here already. » (Arekoth to Cadejoth)
This, too, Cadejoth understands: this must be Arekoth's win, and he's quite happy to assist with that. « We'll be there, » he promises. « Give us a moment. » And they will, too. (Cadejoth to Arekoth)
"Then it will be the three of us," H'kon summarises as much as he decides. "If you will wait," and the nod that the bronzerider gets is strictly polite, "I must fetch my gear." The excitement coming off that brown is not mirrored in his rider; H'kon's walk is determined. And by the time Cadejoth and K'del alight on that pockmarked ledge, he'll be ready to begin acting.
"Of course." Unsurprisingly, Z'ian doesn't run from the weyr as soon as H'kon's back is turned. He remains standing the entire time, waiting patiently with his arms crossed until the other bronzerider's eventual arrival. And while he doesn't seem excited either so much as grim when they eventually proceed, Tsanth shares an enthusiasm similar to Arekoth's.
Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Sat, 23 Feb 2013 22:35:30 GMT.
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Arekoth: I'M IN CHARGE.
H'kon: I hate my life.
It's amazing! He's actually doing something *gasp* leaderly. Also- awwww. He's still using the stool. ;^;
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