Logs:Iesaryth's Maiden Flight
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| RL Date: 23 January, 2013 |
| Who: Brieli, N'rov, H'kon, Hraedhyth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: The plan to fix Iesaryth's flight in Vhaeryth's favor almost works, but falls apart when Arekoth turns up. (This flight was predetermined - and sneaky!) |
| Where: Some Far-Off South-Eastern Island |
| When: Day 18, Month 11, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Subtitled: 'Everything Sucks. Nobody's Happy.' Due to scheduling, this flight was held several days before it actually happened IC (Jan. 18). Thanks to the involved & to Azaylia for being cool with the juggling of time. |
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| It's only been a few days that Brieli and Iesaryth have been away from High Reaches, supposedly sick, or on vacation, or whatever story has been going around in the wake of her departure. It's gossip, to be sure, but likely nowhere as interesting as that which comes with Hraedhyth certain glow, and Azaylia's behavior. Only a few days, but Iesaryth looks as if she's been there on the beach forever, curled up to sleep in the sand, the shine of her sunburst hide now near impossible to hide - as it would be if she were at home. Good thing she's not, right? There's a pretty decent looking camp there for only a few days as well, and as has become her custom in recent days, Aishani - known to as Brieli to most, but to no one here - is likewise curled up on the beach, just in the shade of a tree. She must be tired. She's not even worried about the sand getting in her hair. To Iesaryth, Hraedhyth's touch comes from a place of genuine concern and curiosity. Is it her fault that wafting smoke carries with it a hint of something smug as plumes seek out her sister's breeze? Awake, she's not alert, letting heated influence drift while her body is so comfortably still. What is Iesaryth up to? And so far from home? Maybe that has something to do with how N'rov's finger-combing it, very gently, preserving each individual curl before laying it atop its neighbor... very gently, avoiding even inadvertent pulls: she may have said she's fine, she's good, she's not worried about it, but this is new, and... he's careful, anyway. It's still vacation, or what's passed for it in these last couple days, the earlier-earned flex time paying off in sun and shade and ocean and just the four of them. Just the four of them, and if Vhaeryth's watching Iesaryth from an admittedly slight distance, that's only so that he can drink all of her in at once. To Hraedhyth, Iesaryth has been oddly evasive about where precisely she is and what precisely she's doing (or who she's doing it with), but the weather has been pleasantly warm where she is, warm enough to doze in sand and under hot sun, quiet with her rider sleeping nearby. Without the human worrying these days past, it's been so peaceful. But the waters are dark and the skies above an odd unnatural dull green. Storm's a'brewin. Since Iesaryth isn't so keen on sharing, Hraedhyth decides she'll make up for it. Too bad the younger, more of a pup really, gold isn't here. It might not be sunny and warm, but it is perfect weather to curl up with a male. Black smoke blends in with darkening skies, a mental shove that is meant to be playful and not at all stifling. Really. « You do not have to hurry home. » Ever? No, a misheard drum, doing its best to be heard over ocean's waves. Big sister has it all under control, here. (Hraedhyth to Iesaryth) It's not stillness that the brown and his rider break, so high up above the waves of a sea that was once unfamiliar, once exciting for its newness, its foreignness; this spot of sea is now known, and remembered, for the winds the dragon is anticipating, water and land fighting mid air, Arekoth breaking between them, through them, a shrieking call with a defiant edge that is barely aimed, cried out for the rider on his neck, the gold escaping his clutches even now back home, and those gusts that buffet his wings. He tucks them in, dives for the ocean, mental presence a mass of energy, but one that has direction. Pull up, swoop off, get caught, ride; it's the wind, it's the grin that's slowly working its way through H'kon's frown, it's not anything or anyone below. Not yet. The younger gold seems to prefer the sun and the heat, the ocean nearby that seems much calmer than that in her mind, dark glossy waves rising. There's the faintest sense of metal, a flicker that's mirror-bright, but Iesaryth is possessive of that as smoke drifts over the water and breezes pick up to blow it back, the roar of the breakers rivaling the pounding of the drums. She doesn't remind Hraedhyth that they aren't actually blood, but there's rebellion there that's hers and her rider's both: don't tell me what to do. « Perhaps I will call them here. » Idle thought. Maybe. (Iesaryth to Hraedhyth) All else is ignored. Call them away? Who? Not Hraedhyth's males!? Fire roars in response to crashing ocean, sisterhood burnt up in the sudden territorial blaze that consumes her. « DO NOT. » Yes, she is telling you want to do little, itty bitty, gold! A maddening cackle sounds on the mainland, unhinged and all but forgetting that Iesaryth has her in physical size. « As if they would come. » She won't let them. (Hraedhyth to Iesaryth) Are they Hraedhyth's males? The last Iesaryth checked, before she left, they were the Weyr's. And is not Iesaryth part of the Weyr, no matter how far the (massive, giant, bigger than the older) queen may be from home? Her rider might not like it; it might go against the plan, but these things do happen. « We do what we like. » And we'll just see how it all turns out. (Iesaryth to Hraedhyth) On that nearby island, Shani doesn't wake first, perhaps soothed into sleep still by N'rov's gentle fingers, but Iesaryth does; there's not much to it - just an opening of eyes, a sliver of awareness. Awareness of Vhaeryth's regard, always - but also awareness of things beyond, things far past the endless ocean. In her mind, her tides are oddly dulled and quiet at first, the cloudy skies a strange, dull greenish shade. That traces of smoke are borne on the salt-sea winds is unsurprising, but the way they pick up in response might be - as might the strength of the fire's response, clouds and heat that are swiftly blown away. The faint rhythm of drums that are drowned in the roar of quickly rising waves. And as the queen begins to lift her head, slowly - as usual - her rider suddenly blinks, startled and confused. Fine brows draw together as she looks up to N'rov, murmuring, "Hraedhyth...? That doesn't make any sense." Still trying to wake up, and fit all this into reality besides. There's a flash of a dull, unnaturally greenish sky above dark forbidding waters that roar and crash with massive waves; a pull that's felt despite the distance - such a great distance that it's difficult to even tell where it really comes from. Iesaryth is somewhere hot and sandy and green, somewhere far from home; Iesaryth is waking up. Iesaryth is about to fly. (Iesaryth to all High Reaches dragons) Perhaps it's a false sense of security that Vhaeryth's been lulled into, or that N'rov has, or that they both have. When have Shani's plans gone wrong, after all? That N'rov knows about, anyway? That he cares about? And the sun's so bright on Iesaryth's lustrous hide, blinding ripples, drowsing ripples, maybe even drowning ripples, bright where her thoughts have dulled. Had dulled. The roar deepens. Vhaeryth looks through space, gets a whiff of that smoke, rises from his crouch to all four paws. But he's here, Iesaryth's here, the high shriek initially unheard. His tail begins to lash, slowly, leashed. The sense of his presence focuses, glass, magnification to see her by. His rider glances down rather than up, and he's a little dazed too but still, "Maybe she's... maybe, finally, she's doing it." What a gold's bred to. "But she's not here, we don't have to run. She can't be here." Not like that time at Fort, of which neither of them were witness. Drums have always been far from silent, but with each passing moment they have been growing in both power and volume. Hraedhyth's agitation is obvious, but what isn't is the cause. Not until... The queen gives an explosive roar, a blazing inferno of possessive fury. Of lust. She cannot burn Iesaryth out of existence, but she will do her damndest to scorch that vision out of the minds of HER dragons. Few escape to where they think she might be, but all too sudden the older queen has a hold on them all once more. There is no Iesaryth, only Hraedhyth, and she will claim 'Reaches sky this evening. (Hraedhyth to all High Reaches dragons) The waves that Arekoth sees are the ones that reflect him when he dips toward them again, tearing the water once in his wake and then climbing, fighting the wind that pushes for the land, fighting to keep his ascent as straight as he can. H'kon's grin, too, reflects his dragon; it, too fights the wind, the wind that otherwise would take his breath. Higher, higher, and there's a warning crackle through Arekoth's mind, a stab of pink and purple, remembering the gold, the bronzes, the other browns that blood at High Reaches. His fight turns straight into the wind, climb forgotten now, battling against it for the slightest bit of space. Space, so that when he does turn to race the wind, he can start in that same spot to which he'd climbed. "But it's the same time. They're both... It's happening at the same time." Aishani is shocked into being fully awake by voicing that particular realization, dark eyes gone wide on N'rov's gray, perhaps a little pale. "I don't know..." What that means? What's going to happen? She starts to sit up, but not away - no, she'll maybe cling to him a bit more than usual, because there's no one to see her doing it, and frankly, this is starting to freak her out. Because Iesaryth is slow and quiet, but much more intense than she ever has been in the past, hyper-present, ocean ever rising in swells that could wash away wood, break glass, bend steel. She too rises, water-in-sunlight wings rustling and spreading wide before her attention turns to the tangle of green on the island, where the food lurks. So N'rov kisses his girl, while she's still Shani and not broken or bent into being just Iesaryth's rider. (Though just maybe, with Iesaryth the way she is, it won't have to be that way at all.) His girl who doesn't know, much as he doesn't know, only N'rov at least also doesn't care. "You did it. Shani. We don't have to go the flight cave. We don't even have to stand up. Only, can you keep her just blooding? From here? If you have to see her, we'll go. Just so she doesn't wind up like," and it's early days yet, but already N'rov can't quite say the other, older queen's name, the one with so few eggs, unless it's only that he doesn't want to risk breaking Iesaryth's charm. Vhaeryth's charmed, glad to chance the swell of ocean with a flash of he's-here light, youthful and eager to press into her presence even as he's perhaps gladder yet to actually stop sitting and fly. Yes. Like this. This is how it's supposed to be. A twist of body, angling of wings, and Arekoth is pushing and being pushed all at once by the air, letting out another shrill cry, not so easily drowned out as H'kon's simultaneous laugh. He picks up speed, his shadowed reflection on the water shooting over waves, mental lights whipping and crackling with the same rapidity. H'kon ducks low behind the ridge, making his compact self smaller, offering up as little resistance as he can, to the wind, to his lifemate's play, the better to take part in it all. The exchange of blue for green, sea for land, is near, but not near enough. They push for more speed, for a blurring of the lines that separate the two as they come upon the island. That kiss could go on for some time, Shani's fingers curling into N'rov's hair, possessive in the same way Iesaryth is now of Vhaeryth's attention - focused. Even when he pulls away, he speaks, it takes a long moment for it all to sink in, though she won't quite claim victory yet, not with so many questions. "I... I don't know." She'll disentangle herself from him only enough to turn, to watch Iesaryth with still-widened eyes as she takes flight so suddenly, as quick as a glass spilled, up into the blue skies, then low across the island in search of prey. Her ocean, now dark and threatening, now surges less in waves than in one great mass after another. Her rider, starting to push to her feet despite the fact that there's no way to see the gold from here, "I hope so." Vhaeryth should perhaps be disturbed by such a change, so different from Iesaryth's usual self, but instead he speeds up in the sheer thrill of it all: not to keep her from passing him, but so it won't be quite so easy and, better, so he can get there sooner too. There are beasts waiting for them, waiting for the ravaging snap of teeth, their fright suddenly pungent upon the wind. And while the beasts themselves might be too small to see from on high, the swift, sharp movements of those who would slay them might be another story. Abruptly there they are, below. He overshoots, wheels back, strikes with joyous violence that has N'rov swallow hard. He's tried to help Shani up, and now he stays close as he can, brushing skin against skin when it doesn't feel so hot as to singe: the sort of intimacies she's allowed him in the past, at least, not to be tolerated in a flight cave full of men. The different feel of the air as they pass over the island is expected; that flash of gold as Iesaryth takes to the air is not. Purples and pinks crackle back in full force, directed now to the gold that Arekoth sees. H'kon's sharp gasp lets the wind nearly choke him. His attempted, "No!" to the flood of rekindled lust from Arekoth is as lost in the gusts as his laugh was only moments before. H'kon grips the ridge tightly enough his fingers ache; it does little to turn Arekoth away from the herd Iesaryth - and Vhaeryth - have made him aware of. Arekoth is greedy for Iesaryth's ocean, pressing in, uninvited, H'kon's arguments now just unworded flotsam. It's only loosely shared survival instinct that stutters the brown's first would-be strike into an almost-stop, short of the herd, talons shearing earth. H'kon knows enough is lost to leap from his dragon before Arekoth is off again after a beast. It's also an easy thing to sense the pull of massive waves, the unrelenting flow of waters that would draw any nearby in - but there should be no others close to sweep away with Iesaryth and Vhaeryth; there's nothing Aishani's looking for, there's nothing she's trying to contain or hide. She's just trying to keep herself together and do what she's supposed to do, which is keep her queen blooding and get her in the skies again. The blooding, so far, is not an issue - Iesaryth has killed, and is drinking in a serious, focused manner that has her rider shaking. N'rov's touch is welcome for now, at least, by the way she leans into him, closes her eyes - but she doesn't look entirely well as she murmurs, "We'll all be gone by the end." Drowned, washed away. That'd be all, but her queen's sudden, sharp notice of the colors that crackle through the air - and perhaps her pleasure in them - has the girl cursing. "No." Waves Vhaeryth would dive into, though for now he mirrors them, glass backed by metal into brilliance. He can't help but watch Iesaryth in all her exactitude, only afterwards remembering to finish off his first kill, to take on his second... and then to snarl with the reverse-mirror displeasure of the queen's. N'rov's expression contorts simultaneously, his arm around Shani's shoulders tightening. "What's he doing here?" Then, with a suddenness approaching relief, "Just a brown." H'kon hits the ground hard, stumbling onto one knee. He stays down until Arekoth is clear, eyes wide, any pain from his half-fall well down the list of priorities. "No," comes a frustrated shout, one he knows by now - now that the brown's talons have sunk into a beast, that his wings are mantling around it as he bloods, one side dropped to watch Iesaryth - serves no other purpose but to wish his dragon ill luck in the pursuit. So H'kon starts backwards, first for space, then, soon, looking for the other two who must be here. But he can't see any sign of them. And Arekoth, when he can feel the blood of his kill charging him, sends a warning flare and piercing cry to both Iesaryth and Vhaeryth. Be ready. Beware. Iesaryth will have Vhaeryth's attention, even if if distracts him from his kill - that's clearly his problem and none of hers. As for Arekoth, she has no need for warning or caution. She's brilliant, hasn't he heard? The waves, cresting high, have reaches a certain regularity as she kills her next and drinks, methodical. She has a sense of this now, knows what she needs to do - it's as if her rider doesn't even need to concern herself. Which might be a good thing, as Shani is now totally distracted, looking around as if she expects someone to come running out of the brush or along the beach any moment - which she might well do at this point. "How, is what I want to know." She's not going to move away from N'rov, not now especially. "Same here." N'rov, low-voiced. What's silent is How to get rid of him, for all that that's what he might want to know most of all. There's no waving to whoever-the-brownrider is, no polite beckoning 'flight tent this way,' no flaming arrows (as though anything could hold a candle to Iesaryth, just now). There are, though, that brush and those trees. Trees, between which a dragon couldn't have landed. "Come on." He's already guiding their way, though now and again he can't help but glance back over his shoulder, swallowing, as though Iesaryth has him fixated too. Movement might attract attention, but can they just stand there? Vhaeryth's had enough of drinking, but not enough of staring: still, he's crouched, wings flared, altogether too ready to leap. Come on, Iesaryth. Do what you will do. Let's go. (And as for the challenger? All he reflects is wave-washed darkness... or almost all. Because Vhaeryth's still young, and he has to trumpet too. Because that'll show him.) Arekoth is just a brown; one beast might be sufficient, which could be why he stops after that first kill. Or it could be simple anticipation, made sharper, hotter, by the earlier denial at High Reaches. His wings stay protectively arced over the drained carcass a few moments longer, and then shift up higher for the bronze's trumpet, now stretched out and at the ready. His mind crackles, though his colours stay relatively stable. IesarythIesarythIeasarythIesayrth. And while he stays poised, all but vibrating, a hair's breadth from flight, H'kon has chosen a direction, quite at random, quite disoriented, in which to begin moving through the trees. There is the direction the pair seemed to have come from besides, if there was time to notice in all the flying and landing and killing - the largest beach on the mid-sized island. "Where?" Shani's still moving, but she has a point - where is N'rov planning on hiding them? But she'll go along with it - what better plan does she have? None, not now. "I'm going to kill him," she tells the bronzerider suddenly, and in such a completely serious way that she just might not be exaggerating. Perhaps not coincidentally, Iesaryth is finished with her drinking, so careful with it even now that she's not sullied pale hide with blood. Let's not be gauche. Her wings stretch wide as she looks to the skies, and with the barest rustle, she leaps up and into the air, her ocean one massive wave, powerful and deadly - set to wreck everything in its path. Fun! "Do that." N'rov's quite intent on her... and then, gray eyes narrowing for focus, on getting them through the trees: not too many of those trees, not far off the killing fields, but also not back to what had been their sanctum, either. There's a small thicket, a tighter grouping, a cluster right there for them to slide into. Three old ones, two narrower young trees aiming for sky and sun but still drowned by their elders. "Shh," he murmurs with his back to one of the giants, holding her to him if she'll go, whispering into her ear through the hair he'd disentangled such a very short time ago. "If we're not jostling about. If we're quiet." Can they hear him? Whoever he is. Or her. Can they keep themselves quiet, through the flying, Vhaeryth rocketing into Iesaryth's wake, troubled by his rider's turbulence but that adrenaline undeterred? He's flown with her so often, has studied her for all that now it's with fresh eyes, has a complete disregard for personal safety when the challenge is the thing. Iesaryth. It was meant to be. What can H'kon remember of that blur of blue and green? The only other thing that he can bring to mind is that pale gold - or rather, it's Arekoth brings this to his mind, over and over, relentlessly, more so than a normal flight. This is a flight despite H'kon's boring-ass wishes. This is a forbidden chase, and even just taking off feels good, and churning air under his wings is excellent, and trying to angle into Vhaeryth's path is irresistible, and crackling and flaring unquenchable and otherworldly light against Iesaryth's dark waters is exceptional. If H'kon makes his way for the beach, it's instinct only. He picks the quickest path, with the most space through the trees, and if his breathing gets a bit off-rhythm here and there, it's probably more caused by dragon than exertion. Aishani will go with him right now, now while Iesaryth's just taken to the air, while that sensation has her breath taken away as the gold soars, that inexorable tide starts to carry her away. Like she said it would. N'rov feels familiar, and safe and close and good, still - so she'll let him draw her in, though she doesn't hold onto him quite so desperately now that they're into the chase, now that she's not quite herself. And if she's well aware of who exactly they're dealing with and will have to be murdered, well. Best to worry the bronzerider with one thing at a time, maybe. Her breathing is quick and shallow, her expression still just displeased - with the situation, with herself, with the ruins of her clearly brilliant plan - just everything. And that's not even considering Hraedhyth. At the same time! As for Iesaryth - she's actually brilliant, despite her arrogance. If Vhaeryth's spent his time flying with her, she's spent as much time with him, watching him. She watches High Reaches' bowl somewhat more than Vhaeryth, so there's some little she knows of Arekoth too - and she's able to still use it all somehow. She speeds ahead, drops behind; she dives low to skim the water - because it's something that she loves to do - and she banks higher after, between the clouds. Though there's no way to beat them really, she plays the game like she can. Just to prove she's better. It takes time before she even shows signs of tiring. (All the sleeping.) Over time, even Vhaeryth's reckless, focused and yet flamboyant energy (which is to say, exhibitionism) must settle into a different sort of concentration: avoiding getting his path too fouled, anything-but-avoiding Iesaryth herself. The bronze's muscles have loosened, at least, and while he falls for the first dive, for the second he stays higher so she'll come back towards him: learning what she's learned of him, of that other one (who gets snapped at during one too-close moment, jaws clashing), of them. And then he must grit those teeth, and endure past the few trial attempts to intercept, bide his time, wait and fly and race and... there's another, close, finally. Heedless of Arekoth's likely nearness, confident in his admittedly lean mass, reaching with that long neck, he sweeps in towards Iesaryth from one side. N'rov's own breath catches, that small merely human person, down there on the ground. Whatever strategy Arekoth has built up over the turns, it can't fully overpower the elation of all that is going on. He mimics, or mirrors, or flies counterpoint to Iesaryth's moves. He occasionally veers off his own course and toward Vhaeryth, reaching talons for that bronze as much in thrill the thrill of, as retribution for, the competition he provides. Mostly, he laces his flight with the gold's a step behind here, a step ahead, anticipating, there. It's as much a turn of the wind as the gold's proximity that has him changing his angle sharply, that smaller body maybe useful now, a sudden move that lets him extend those claws once more, this time for the real prize, and not just some scuffle. And on the ground, H'kon darts and dodges too, breathing ragged, eyes moving toward wild, looking for someone who isn't there. And though Iesaryth is enjoying the counterpoint Arekoth flies, the attention, the competition she thought she'd be denied, she isn't trying too hard to get out of Vhaeryth's way as her time runs out. It's likely not much of a surprise - Vhaeryth has been on the gold's ledge regularly as long as she's had one, it was Vhaeryth that Iesaryth flew out to protect from Hraedhyth, it's always been Vhaeryth. That could be pretty irritating, especially given he's Fortian. But it's her overconfidence that ends up being part of her downfall; she's spent too much energy in the chase before with little thought to precision later. Arekoth's sense of shift in wind is not one she notices until it's too late for what she's trying to do - instead of banking towards the bronze, she's swept into a path that meets directly with the brown's. And Aishani, though she's been holding her breath, eyes wide and hand pressed to her mouth, can't help but exclaim, "No!" Because NOT THE PLAN. IESARYTH. Arekoth has her, coils around her, wins her. Triumph is palpable, aurorae explode, and he carries on with all that in the air. Grounded, H'kon catches his breath in some sort of reverse bark, stops only to cast about him, frantic and hopeless. He can't quite manage words, not even a 'no'. It's a guttural, non-verbal half-roar of frustration as he sets back to his futile hunt. And if he makes it to that camp site, things will be broken in the search. And if he doesn't, well, there will at least be a broken twig trail of fail and frustration. NOT THE PLAN. NOT OKAY. Vhaeryth roars his dismay, and there's a long moment that looks like it's going to become an extra-large collision... but at last the bronze breaks off, finally descending towards the ocean in a way that will scatter sand all over that beach when he overflies it... and then plunges into the ocean. See no evil, hear no evil, and it's the closest thing to Iesaryth he's going to get. He can't leave. Not when N'rov's not leaving, intent on catching his girl if his dragon can't catch her queen. This isn't a flight cave. He doesn't have to step back, get out of the way. Not unless she leaves. The wave finally crashes - and though it's Arekoth that Iesaryth is carried away with, and Vhaeryth left in their wake, the queen is past caring once the brown is wrapped around her and they're high in the air. Below, Shani isn't quite as present anymore and isn't quite sure where she should be - but she's not leaving if N'rov's keeping her with him. Even if she's partly somewhere else, not really his in this moment. Awkward. |
Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Thu, 24 Jan 2013 20:06:03 GMT.
< Let's not be gauche. Because NOT THE PLAN. So many amazing moments/lines/poses. It's just... man. I feel bad for everyone involved (except Arekoth and for now, Iesaryth). It was such a GOOD plan! Stupid brown. ...Poor N'rov.
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