Logs:Misdirected Tithes
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| RL Date: 16 May, 2013 |
| Who: D'kan, C'wlin, Vienne, Z'ian |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Z'ian gets word of the tithe situation, Boreal goes to take care of it with some weyrlings in tow. |
| Where: Outside High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 10, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: Kind of exhausted. Not sure who we mentioned. ;) Takes place at the same time as Direct Communication |
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| Misdirected Tithes Outside High Reaches Weyr Impressive enough at a distance, up close, the sheer size of the mountain is imposing -- to the vulnerable, overwhelming -- the more so as its crown of spires, distinguishing High Reaches from every other Weyr on Pern, thrusts long fingers of rock into the sky. The plateau just short of the Weyr's shadowy entrance can seem very small and very flat at the best of times, pinned as it is against the side of the mountain, but at least it's a refuge from the narrow, tight-kinked road that has to twist its way through the rest of the mountain range to reach the rest of Pern.
It's mid-afternoon sweeps with Boreal taking their turn over the coverage area closest to the Weyr itself. It's been a relatively uneventful execution of duties, except for that part where they were trying to haul a wagon out of a thick disgusting batch of mud for around half an hour. And the holder that didn't want all those dragons near his herdbeasts. Some of the others were taken to complete the fly over while Z'ian stayed behind with a handful of the weyrlings shadowing the wing today, along with Vienne and Oswinth. Any grumbling about having to get hands dirty dealing with this querulous holder, his animals and his rickety wagon are met with a short, "You guys wanted to be riders. Welcome to interval rider duty." It probably goes without saying that by the end, the bronzerider is just as covered in the mud as everyone else would be. All over his pants and his bare forearms, jacket spared only because it's been rolled up. Tossing an amused look in the bluerider's direction, "Well that was fun. Probably won't have any of them wanting to willingly join us at the end, yeah?" So much like her choking black plumes: the weight of responsibility, of duty, would surely smother if not for Hraedhyth's added strength. It is not she who struggles, the queen set in her role, one in which she thrives. Singed petals curl, tainted perfume carried by that curling smoke that reaches out to her tribesman. A loyal packmate, or so she believes, « There are rations. Supplies. » The air clears, visions of the tithe train framed by her flames, « They ask for Yours and Yours alone. We, » The crash of a distant ocean, « Leave to speak to the Tillek Matriarch. » A fact. But what can be heard over her contralto is the message in the echo of savage drums: their tribe needs that food. The outcome of their journey bares little importance to the warrior queen and rider, at least in this. (To Tsanth from Hraedhyth) Sometimes it's nice to be very small and thus dubiously useful in situations that require brawn. As such, Vienne is still rather clean, really. Her boots are a bit muddy from, well, let's call it supervising, but otherwise, she's still quite neat and tidy, if a bit windblown. (Someone had to point out that it was the other wheel that wasn't turning!) And now she slips a sly smile over at Z'ian. "As if the other wings offer anything better?"
Meanwhile, D'kan, hardly a stranger to muck, is nearly knee-deep in mud at this point while Kazavoth keeps his distance, sullenly staring at the belligerent holder, too stupid to keep his cart out of danger, and even more stupid when the job could be done so much more easily without the riders getting in the way. Or mud. "A pulley. Lever. Only way we're getting this bit--, uh, big thing out of this stuff," he's muttering while trying unsuccessfully to get the sharding wheel moving. "Perhaps if they're in Glacier they'll be encouraged to simply fly past?" Z'ian remarks in turn to her question. He's been bearing a certain stress around the corners of his eyes these last few days, but this afternoon he appears to be in a good mood again. The wagon thankfully cooperated after awhile and so in theory, D'kan wasn't stuck up to his knees for very long over there. E'sren and Ahruth are there, being relatively helpful in the background. They're all about ready to start mounting up again when the bronzerider stops, his head turning to stare at his own dragon. That easily amused expression from earlier darkens and he looks confused. It's a look that he turns over to Vienne, as if he thinks that she might be hearing about it too. But the realization that she possibly doesn't, well. That dawns on him too. "There's tithe trains coming in from... Tillek. They're not allowing the supplies to be delivered to either of the Weyrwomen." He's speaking as if he's relaying the message out loud as he receives it. "They want to hand them over to Boreal." Quieter, so only the people in the immediate vicinity might hear. "To me. You've got to be fucking with me." Restless, driven by an unseen wind, Athimeroth dances from foot to foot while C'wlin tries to dust what bits of mud and dried earth off the leather of his pants. His own leather jacket is going to be regaled to the 'donate' pile, or to the 'dirty jobs' pile upon returning to his weyr. The young bronzerider is turning to D'kan, to say in a low undertone, "Can you believe--" He pauses. Blinks those cold blue eyes at the hubbub at the front of the line (looking at Z'ian here!) and slants another look to D'kan. "Did you hear that?" Snoopin' weyrlings since the turn '99. Vienne is not hearing it, no, she looks between Z'ian and Tsanth, then back to Oswinth who sits blinking and demure on the edge of things. But no, she doesn't know what's going on, and her expression slows as a waiting brow lifts. The start of his explanation means nothing to her, and so the one brow is joined by the other. And then they drop together when the meat of it comes out. She stares. "They want to deliver the tithe to a wing? To you?" Her head gives a jerky little shake. "Why?" She glance aside at the weyrlings, just to check. Smoke wafting over the beach, darkening the bright blue skies that hang over the ocean. Tsanth notices this change and he rises to meet it, attention lifting from the holder and his wagon trapped in the mud. To entertaining the young dragons. « It is not our duty to recieve tithes says ours. He is out with the wing, we help the holders. » There's an undercurrent of worry regardless, the sense of Z'ian's solid connection with his dragon evident in that. They're very much one in the same within this commnuication. Both wondering what exactly is going on. « Iesaryth. What of hers? » (To Hraedhyth from Tsanth) D'kan has moved toward Kazavoth now, where he's sitting down so he can pry his boots off and scrape the worst of the mud from his trousers. He glances up at C'wlin at the aside, then peers over at Z'ian and Vienne with open curiosity. Which is to say, no, he didn't hear. Distracted. Mud. Z'ian's eyes cut to the weyrlings, the ones that are likely close enough to hear plenty. It can't really be helped now, not where they are. "I don't know. Maybe I'm being elected Weyrleader again. This time by by Lady Edeline." He sucks in a deep breath, his gaze scanning the younger dragons. "The goldrider's went to Tillek to discuss, whatever this is that's happening. Meanwhile Hraedhyth seems to be insinuating to Tsanth that we should just go and deal with it. While they're gone." He lifts an eyebrow to Vienne. "I'm inclined to agree. Take the supplies while they're here, before they can start walking back tomorrow or decide not to give them to us at all. It's a quarter of our turn's supply of food." « The Tillek Matriarch has made it your duty. » Oh, Hraedhyth is not untouched by the pointed insult. It rankles, fire crackling and popping only once she is reminded of priorities by that wilting perfume. « Either Yours accepts, or it will be a harsh winter. » Much like the bronze pair, both the queen and her rider are in attendance. The latter spares what she can from the tense meeting of leadership, the tension felt from Iesaryth's added when Tsanth questions. « Hers is... displeased. » Where low voice rumbles, there is a hiss of flame that draws out the last of that word. « Mine believes there will be insult, and the Weyr will suffer for it. » Anxiety spikes again, drums skipping a beat, a show at how uncertain her other half feels in all of this. In bespeaking them. « There is no need. The solution is an easy one. » In their opinion. (To Tsanth from Hraedhyth) Vienne lets out a long disgusted scoff, even though there are weyrlings present. "You can't be serious. Have you been meeting with her? Or... Is there any reason for it? Or is she just trying to stir up trouble" Which is apparently like a coal in tinder around here." There's one more roll of her eyes, but after that, when he talks about the Weyrwomen and the options laid before them, she composes what little she's allowed herself to show and nods dutifully. "Yes, of course," she agrees with the decision to accept the darn tithe as opposed to... oh, any of the other options. And now it's her turn to consider the weyrlings again, D'kan's muddy oblivion and C'wlin's quiet murmurs. She catches her lip between her teeth. C'wlin is not like his weyrling mate distracted by the mud. Neither is Athimeroth all that distracted, though it's harder to tell with the young bronze for how fidgety he remains; burnished hints of bronze flare in Rukbat's bright rays between the tarnished shadows of twitchy wings. Big blue eyes meet Vienne's, though C'wlin's expression gives little away beyond, of course, curiosity. Tight-lipped, though some tension might ease at the mention of goldriders. At least it's not clandestine gatherings. Right? "Oh, but I am." A derisive snort. "I just had breakfast with her the other morning." Z'ian replies offhandedly. It probably doesn't mean to come out quite as blithely as it sounds. But he's had it up to his neck recently with Weyrwoman, Holders and former Weyrleaders. "I think she probably just wants to start up trouble with Aishani and Taikrin. Which is... probably the way to go about it." He's watching the weyrlings like she is too and takes a long breath, glancing at Vienne. "I guess they might as well see the other ugly side to flying with the wings. Becoming unwitting accomplices to political scandals, at least they'll have something talk about when they go back." As an aside, "I wonder how pissed Quinlys will be." If the bluerider doesn't have any strong objections, he'll step passed her and wave the handful of them over. All three weyrlings. "We're going to go meet up with tithe train from Tillek just outside the weyr. They're probably not in a good mood. So be on your best damn behavior." Not this group is full of troublemakers, but well. He doesn't really know any of them. D'kan has done what he can for his trousers and boots, so he gets back to his feet, which are stomped with squishing sounds into slightly improved footwear. By now he's caught on to Other Things going on, though his glances toward the riders are surreptitious at best. When they're beckoned, he glances at C'wlin again and wipes his hands on a cleaner part of his trousers. Just blending the colors, really. Mouth opens for some sort of verbal remark or reply, but then D'kan closes it just as quickly. Not the time and place. Kazavoth, at least, seems highly interested. Even excited. Not necessarily a good sign. To Hraedhyth, Tsanth remembers still, he remembers the force of Hraedhyth combined with Iesaryth. Even if the memory is becoming distant in his mind. The crackle of her fire has him flinching back briefly from her. « We will accept. Though we must bring the young ones with us. » A flash of three weyrling dragons, bronze, brown and blue. The image of another of theirs, an older blue that does not fly as well as the others. Oswinth. « He wishes that you keep us 'in the loop' on what is progressing with yours and Iesaryth's. If it goes well. » There is none of that force now, though instinct is a temptation, if only to help this process along. It does not sit well with Hers, and Azaylia's discomfort fuels Hraedhyth's flames more than anything ever could. His flinch has her giving a snarl of frustration, but not at him, but because past actions have given the bronze good reason to do so. « We will not force you. We are asking. » When he accepts, « Good. » Not so good are the pups, but they are grown enough and Oswinth is sensed to be faintly familiar. « This concerns them. » All of their tribe, and because of this she will stifle any protective objections. « You will know what We know. » (To Tsanth from Hraedhyth) Vienne wrinkles her nose faintly. "I can't imagine she'd care all that much," Quinlys, that is. "It's not like we're taking them between for the first time without her approval or something. It's just a tithe train." Is she already spinning that situation? Probably. As Z'ian moves to address the weyrlings, she heads toward Oswinth, who seems to perk up with her proximity, eyes swirling faster. But she pauses to frown sympathetically at D'kan. "Oh, you are a mess, aren't you. I doubt this will take long," she tells him. "Though... It's been quite a while since I greeted a tithe train." She has a little chuckle with bewilderment, though, because that is apparently what they're doing today and really, who'd have guessed? Beckoning is what finally stills the grimalkin form of Athimeroth, the bronze's eyes finally swinging 'round to watch, watch, Z'ian and Vienne as C'wlin glances at D'kan. Shrugs. And steps forward. A fairly innocuous smile is already settling on this lips, sharp features holding a neutral expression while brows lift just a touch. Perhaps sending a sketchy glance towards Vienne for her words. "Yes, sir." C'wlin knows how to play the game, at least. Expect no trouble from this quarter! Athimeroth's wings twitch. "We wouldn't behave in a way that puts a bad light on the weyr." E'sren, D'kan are included in this. They're good boys! "I think it goes without saying that we're not terribly popular with that particular Hold right now, so." Z'ian lets the potential speech end there. Glancing in the direction of Vienne over by D'kan to see if she has anything to add, a move that seems to be becoming all the more common the last couple of sevens. It's probably no mistake that Boreal's actual Wingsecond is nowhere to be found right now. And then it becomes time for everyone to wipe the mud off as best they can and get on their dragons. The tithe train isn't far, but the bulk of them are no longer right outside the weyr. They've moved off to set up camp for the approaching nightfall, before hauling themselves back down to Tillek in the morning presumably. The small group lands a bit away so as to not scare the animals needlessly and while they're dismounting the man in charge approaches. He's a fat, red-faced little man with a squirrely mustache and an exceptionally ugly hat on top of his probably bald head. There's two bronze dragons here. He looks between C'wlin and Z'ian. "Which one of you is the Wingleader Z'ian?" He squints his eyes and examines their respective knots. He does the same, floating an image of their group meeting with the tithe train currently. The other younger bronze is in view, Athimeroth. « Mine thinks that the man who brings the supplies may be blind. He can not tell one rider from another. » There's a distinct impression given of the short, round man with the squinty eyes looking between the weyrling bronze's rider and Tsanth's. For every moment that he keeps in contact with Hraedhyth and nothing unfortunate happens to his mental psyche, he gradually relaxes again. (To Hraedhyth from Tsanth) They land again and with the temperature cooling off, Vienne hugs her jacket more tightly around herself, fastening that last button right under her chin, which makes her look just a bit more formal as well as, well, warmer. Then she steps right up to Z'ian's side, a veritable midget despite the heel on her boots. And if the Tillek man is blind to the obvious markers of age and experience, she greets him with an easy smile and the nod of her head. "This is Z'ian, Boreal Wingleader," she says, making the smooth introduction. If there's a little extra curl at the corner of her smile, something that wants to be mischievous but has better sense, who could really blame her? "Mmmm," C'wlin acknowledges that, but once the speech is done and they're off to find the tithe trains, he does make pains to be toeing the line. Especially with Ath's penchant for bucking the rules. Now would be a bad time. Once landed and faced with the holder's question, he's quick to point: "He is." Just in case there's any confusion. But hey! He's here. Like a good boy. Doing what good boys will do. (Of course, also noting in his harper-nosy way, everything that goes down, yo.) At some point Z'ian rolled the sleeves of his jacket back down over his mud stained forearms. He also wiped at his face try and make sure that wasn't covered with any spots either. The Tillek man looks between the much younger C'wlin and the other bronzerider, then over at Vienne. He's squinting his eyes again but he eventually seems to be satisfied with that answer. Straightening up, he pulls at the squirrely mustache. "And you're here to recieve the tithes now?" The complaining begins. "We've been waiting long enough, you know. We're not walking back to the weyr now." A whole... half a mile away or whatever it is. Z'ian clears his throat, "Ah, yes. We're anxious to complete the uh- transaction? Tithing process?" Help-him-this-isn't-his-day-job. "We can help you move the supplies to the Weyr. It would hardly cause you any trouble and then in the morning you could leave." What amusement Hraedhyth might have for Tsanth is dashed away by another crackling hiss, « Mine still fears insult. » There's fresh validation for that earlier concern, though whether it's for the Lady or Iesaryth's... Likely both. « Ours are very... different. » Unbothered drums roll, firm but not overly loud, the impression of her lifemate fading into one of the Acting Weyrwoman-- drums even quieter, steady, only to be broken by a biting strike before smoothing out once more. Yes, very different. (To Tsanth from Hraedhyth) Vienne hesitates a little, the halted move of her hand toward Z'ian's arm probably more notable than the gentle smile she wears. "We are sorry to have kept you waiting," she explains. "We were out on sweeps. You understand that the wings aren't usually responsible for these matters. We weren't aware you were coming or we'd have been here to meet you." Well, not -here- exactly, but that goes without saying. She warms her smile further. And then with wondering brows, turns to ask her wingleader, "Perhaps we should let them rest tonight, and in the morning have the store workers ready to accept the tithes?" Maybe the Weyr has staff in place to deal with such things in an organized, hands-on fashion? And a glance between the caravans and the weyrlings they have with them doesn't leave her looking terribly confident. She herself is probably good for lifting one apple at a time. Vienne's got this. Which is great, because Z'ian is still staring at the strange little man in front of them with a look of distinct confusion on his face. He's probably still recovering from him thinking C'wlin was the Wingleader. Unless of course, that kind of slight was on purpose. Which given the situation, who knows? The portly little man tilts his chin up to consider the bluerider, then the bronzerider again. His squinty eyes move along the little group of weyrlings. He makes a 'huh!' noise at her. "I hand the tithes over to whoever Lady Tillek tells me to." So he doesn't care if they're responsible or not, they should have been there. But meanwhile, "That sounds like a much better plan. I'm sure the stores workers know how to do this job better than me. I apologize for my... lack of knowledge." He presents an easy smile, even if there's some force behind it. He puts a relatively clean hand out to the man, aiming to shake it. "Will you send my greetings and thanks to your Lady?" There's a glance towards Vienne. Yes, no, appropriate? A lofty soprano, carried so high by smoke that one may have to roll their gaze upwards to find it. The resigned sentiment is joined by Hraedhyth's contralto, « They are similar. » Too much so, « Their back-words mean not what they say. It is.. perilous. » Hraedhyth has little mind, even less patience for politics. (To Tsanth from Hraedhyth) He fell silent for a time, but Tsanth is there on the edges of Hraedhyth's mind. Blowing sand in the heat of her fires. « Mine speaks with the man. He is glad that Oswinth's is here. She is... better at this than he is. So he says. » There's lingering concern for the news that she shares of the meeting in Tillek. « Tell yours that we have secured their presence. They have camped but will stay in the morning to meet with the stores workers and deliver the tithes. All is well. » (To Hraedhyth from Tsanth) It's to the ugly man that Vienne smiles and nods, but surely Z'ian can take that as approval, the way she lends her agreement to his words. When the shake is complete, she offers her own dainty little hand and a brighter grin. "Your name, sir? So we can alert the weyrstaff. Does your Lady require a representative of Boreal to be present or do you believe this suffices as acceptance? Just so we may streamline the morning's progress. We wouldn't want to delay you further." And we wouldn't want to make Z'ian stand around watching people unload crap all day if something else can be arranged, now would we. If only he can get that lucky. The blueriders wears her sweetest smile. "Tempranillo." Which is a really big name for such a little man, even if he's wide in girth. He answers, further squinting up at Vienne. He must like what he sees, because he breaks a smile loose for the bluerider even as he's shaking Z'ian's hand with his sweaty palms. Sweaty palms that he turns onto her. "No, I think that this is sufficient. Even the Weyrwoman doesn't typically stay for the entire thing and I suspect-" Glancing at the bronzerider now. "That Wingleader Z'ian won't be counting the boxes that come in anyway. Thank you for coming to accept our tithes. We do appreciate your efforts, also. Lady Edeline sends her greetings from the Hold." D'kan has been hanging back with the other weyrlings all this time, working hard at staying out of trouble, not to mention keeping his mud-caked self from too obvious a view. Now that the muck has had time to dry, he's been able to flake a bit more of it away, a little bit like sculpting a more presentable weyrling out a block of clay. He's probably also working hard at keeping Kazavoth from opening his big mouth (figuratively or literally) and getting in the way, as the young brown has been watching the goings-on with rapt attention, eyes whirling with quickly changing shades of yellow-tinted blues and greens, and now and then a deep shade of eggplant purple. At the mention of "counting", both the brown weyrling and dragon give the newly named liaison a scrutinizing look. Faranth be praised, though, the brown continues to keep his commentary to just his rider. A fresh bouquet carried in a sigh, relief flooding the connection with a pleasant heat. « Yours and Oswinth's have done well. » Hraedhyth and her bond aren't given much of a respite, smoke winding tightly upon itself, muscles tense as she shares, « We are trying. Tillek's Matriarch speaks well of Yours. We speak well of Yours. » Efforts are being made, but there's an uncertain tremble reverberating through her plains. There is no promise that things will end well on this end. (To Tsanth from Hraedhyth) Vienne lets out a little chuckle, as if good old Tempranillo has said something clever and funny. "No," she agrees. "I'm afraid this really isn't our area of expertise. The weyrstaff will have their clipboards and much more helpful than us." She gives a little duck of her head, a hunch of her shoulders, as if she's made some poor attempt at a joke in return. "Thank you for your patience, Tempranillo. And yes, give your Lady our best." She flashes a quick smile up at Z'ian, who can share his own parting words, before slipping back toward the weyrlings, to whom she makes a face of exaggerated relief. There's the sensation that Tsanth has one eye on the things proceeding in front of him and another on the far distant scene that he observes with Hraedhyth. « Mine would like it if yours could convey our greetings to the Lady. High Reaches accepts and thanks for the tithes received, if yours hasn't already. » The thoughtful pause there that allows for the concept that this has already likely happened, but that Z'ian feels it's necessary for the bronze to convey such a thing anyway. « We are with you. » Even if they're far. (To Hraedhyth from Tsanth) Z'ian has to laugh for that, the first non-uncomfortable action from him this entire exchange. "I won't be counting boxes, no. And I don't possess a single clipboard. Thank you for that and yes, please do give your Lady our best." The round little man twinkles another smile at Vienne and you know, a polite one for the bronzerider before he waddles back off to the camp. Turning on his heel, he heads to the weyrlings, just a few steps behind the bluerider. He exhales and rolls his eyes up towards the sky. Kazavoth has been remarkably well-behaved and quiet, something that the Wingleader realizes once he's gotten in the brown weyrling's range of hearing. "He's a noisy bastard, isn't he? He did good just then." Casting a look in the woman's direction too, "You were brilliant too." Kazavoth nearly quivers with the urge to share, but D'kan reaches out a hand and lays it flat against the brown's shoulder. It doesn't stop the intense gaze the dragon gives the entire group, but they are not regaled with song or philosophy. "So, all set?" the weyrling asks, glancing from Z'ian to Vienne, then back. "They're just going to wait for morning?" "Hopefully," Vienne says, eyes wide and cast sideways. She doesn't look back to make sure Tempranillo is out of earshot, but Oswinth continues to watch him head off, so he's probably let her know that it's safe to exhale heavily. "I figured," she says, mostly to Z'ian but certainly still facing the weyrlings. "We might as well be nice and accommodating. Whatever happens with Tillek, the tithe workers will say that they were well received in the end. Or..." She gives a flustered little shake of her head. "Something." But for her wingleader's praise, she demures a bit, smile shy. "Lots of training, I suppose." Not regaled with song or philosophy, thank someone for small favors tonight. They probably heard a lot of that during the sweeps though, so it's not as if Z'ian is unaware of Kazavoth's personality. "Seems like. Crisis averted or something." He replies to D'kan with a tired grin, folding his arms over his chest. "I'm sure. Not at the weyr." Comes the comment from the bronzerider, catching that shy smile from the bluerider. "Knew that we recruited you for a reason. We're going to have to talk about the type of training you got at the Harper Hall in more detail." Glancing over to the young brownrider and his fellow weyrlings, he inclines his head towards their dragons. "Lets get out of here, hand you back over to the barracks." « It is done. » There is no insult, no indignation to fill Tsanth's pause; not terribly reassuring that his reminder was for the best. Hraedhyth's heat builds from within, sharing that flood of warm relief, « We are coming Home. » Where they will not be so far. (To Tsanth from Hraedhyth) |
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Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Fri, 17 May 2013 07:00:27 GMT.
< Vienne flexin' those Harper muscles! As was the snoopy lil' C'wlin. <3 I was really curious to read what was happening, and I really enjoyed everyone's reaction to such an... odd occurrence. And I still really enjoy Tempranillo's name. xD
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