Logs:Left Buried
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| RL Date: 3 April, 2015 |
| Who: A'rist, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A'rist has questions for R'hin. R'hin doesn't answer the ones A'rist is trying to ask. |
| Where: Star Stones, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 4, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Warm sunshine and cloudless skies make for a beautiful day and pleasantly warm evening. A breeze tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the air. |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions |
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Star Stones, High Reaches Weyr High on the southeastern edge of the Weyr, the Star Stones cast a now-lopsided shadow over the sheared stone plateau that holds them, a hole in the skyline left where the Eye Rock once stood. A watchrider stands guard here day and night, Pass or Interval, keeping an eye out for incoming visitors and inclement weather. Where the Eye Rock once stood, a scattering of debris remains, but nothing else; two dragonlengths south, the silent column of the Finger Rock stands alone, awaiting the balancing of the sun on its tip at the solstice to warn of the imminence of Thread. Between, and set out slightly to the side is the squat shape of the actual Star Stone, with an arrow pointing to where each of the other two stones should stand. The view from the Star Stones is unparalleled, its closest match that from the southern rim. A full circle around the Weyr can be seen from the Snowy Wastes to the north, to Keogh in the east, the peaks of the Western Range and Tillek Bay to the south, Pars and River Bend to the west. The only way up or down from the Star Stones is a-dragonback. To Leiventh, Lythronath does not go out of his way to like Leiventh. He seldom speaks to the older bronze. But he knows him, and is prompted. « Leiventh. » A directed demand for attention. « Stones. » The place. Impatient. Like? That doesn't even enter into the older bronze's thoughts. The younger speaks, the elder, after a curling of cold, wintry winds, responds in kind: « Lythronath. » He is settled on the rim; can, likely -- see the other dragon from here, but the demand doesn't stir him to movement. Instead, his cold winds hold a querying tone, a patience to counteract his lack thereof. (To Lythronath from Leiventh) Can he then see the younger bronze bob his head, and swing his tail? Can he see that younger bronze's rider look askance at his dragon? « Star Stones. » Clarity, and too much youth in that attitude. (To Leiventh from Lythronath) « Yes. » Whether encouraging or acknowledging a statement, Leiventh's response isn't precisely clear. (To Lythronath from Leiventh) So. « Come. » (To Leiventh from Lythronath) Again, since his earlier, unvoiced, but self-evident question was not answered, more thought than word: Why? And, a counterpoint: an image of the rim. Even if, R'hin isn't here, surely he is more interesting? (To Lythronath from Leiventh) « Waiting. » Answer and complaint. (To Leiventh from Lythronath) And he, watches the other bronze waiting. For a moment, there's a rustle of movement from the star stones, like he might... but no. He's just shifting over to make room for a green that wings her way up to land nearby. There might be a flicker of movement of a familiar figure at the ledge where the rider's lounge is, but that could be coincidence. (To Lythronath from Leiventh) To Leiventh, Lythronath repeats, « Star Stones. » His is more than a rustle. He takes to the wing and heads for the pens, leaving A'rist all by his lonesome. When Lythronath takes wing, so too does Leiventh -- silently, winging in behind, over, then past the younger bronze as he makes for the pen, swooping up towards a ledge halfway up the weyr. He leaves enough room for the two other dragons that come and go in the interim, before he finally takes wing as well, this time with a passenger, circling slowly up and towards the star stones. (To Lythronath from Leiventh) R'hin hasn't bothered with riding straps, nor a jacket -- and when he slides to the ground, it's with care for the bottle he carries more than what might be waiting for him. A'rist has sat down by the time they arrive; he stands up, getting out of the way, though not in a frantic way. He waits. And once R'hin has dismounted, Lythronath's rider, at the very least, says, "Thanks for coming." "You saved me from losing another quartermark to A'gon," R'hin replies, as if that's the only reason he did come, though his tone is lightly amused enough to belie that. He turns, marginally; takes a step, and Leiventh, too, drops off the star stones, a lazy arc taking him back to the rim where he resumes his watchful position. The Savannah Wingleader's eyes are on his dragon when he asks, "I'm torn between wondering if it was privacy, or," his boot nudges a stone, which goes tumbling over the edge, "Some other reason you chose here." "Glad I could help," A'rist notes wryly, one side of his mouth curling up a little, and crossing his arms over his chest as he speaks. He only watches Leiventh a short while; his eyes are on the other bronzerider again before the older dragon has landed. "We just chose here." Even if half the 'we' is now missing. "Mmhmm," comes the humoring tone from R'hin, who moves closer, and after some inspection, chooses on of the rocks as a seat. He lifts the bottle to his lips, takes a gulp, and then turns steady, pale gaze on A'rist. A'rist paces a little, while R'hin sits, while R'hin drinks. He rubs at the stubble on his jaw. When he turns to R'hin, he probably doesn't mean to look the part of the inquisitor. "Did you know Aishani? Before?" R'hin's pale gaze tracks A'rist, waiting out his pacing with another lift of the bottle to his lips. The question has his brows twitching upwards for a moment. "Before what?" A'rist shrugs, which brings a stop to his pacing, and loosens his arms. He brings his hands behind his back when he resumes. "Before she came here. Before she was a rider. Before she was a weyrwoman. Before she died. Before." His expression largely impassive now, but curious still, R'hin rubs at his chin as he adds, amused: "Before she was Brieli?" A'rist shrugs, and stops pacing, stops facing R'hin. "Did you know her then?" "I know many people. I do like to appear omnipotent, but still," R'hin pauses to take a gulp from his bottle, before eyes steady on the younger bronzerider. "It surprises me to think you'd believe I'd knowingly allow someone that destructive to enter the Weyr." A beat, as his eyes go skyward for a moment. "In your head, did I twirl my mustache as I did so?" A'rist blinks, and shakes his head, and wrinkles up his nose. "That's not what I meant." All that gets replaced by a frown at the older rider soon enough. "I just want to know if you knew her. What you knew about her." "She's dead," R'hin says, flatly. In case he hadn't heard. "Yeah, but that's something everyone knows," says A'rist, an edge of frustration hitting his voice. R'hin hears that frustration, though he earns no obvious enjoyment from it. Instead, after a measured breath; "A seven after she died, I put a proposition to Azaylia. I asked her if she wanted to know why Aishani was at Tillek, or whether she was willing to let history stand, to let Aishani save the Weyr, in her own way." He's looking at A'rist closely, as if keenly interested in the younger bronzerider's reaction. A'rist stands as still as when he'd stopped. He nods, once, and then again, a second time. "And she wanted to let history stand. Because she thought it would be better for everyone, probably?" R'hin takes another gulp from the bottle, his voice steady, even, as he agrees: "It's her job to consider what's best for everyone, as it is the job of all leaders." "We're not leaders, me and Lythronath," says A'rist. "And we're not everyone, either." Sardonic, with a tilt of his head. "No, you are not," R'hin agrees, without hesitation. A'rist says, "Will you tell me why she was there?" "No," is said again, without hesitation. A'rist says, "Can you tell me why someone at Tillek would want to shoot flares at her?" R'hin's head tips. "Sometimes, the most obvious suspect is obvious for a reason." A beat. "She was not beloved at the Weyr." He lets that sink in for a moment, taking a small sip from his bottle. "But she had a gold dragon," A'rist more thinks out loud than points out. That pacing starts up again, his eyes off R'hin now. "So did Iolene," R'hin replies, blandly. "Murder rug," murmurs the younger bronzerider, which prompts some sort of a snort out of him. That gets a level, almost bemused sort of look from the older one. And then: "She was also a Vijay." R'hin throws that out there, casually. Now, A'rist turns a skeptical look over to R'hin. "Yeah." Oddly, that skeptical look makes R'hin chortle, briefly, rubbing at his chin. "She claimed half her family couldn't deal with Iesaryth, which I believe was true. She also claimed she wasn't that close to her family, which I think was not so true." A'rist simply nods, and stops pacing once more. R'hin snaps his fingers, like something's suddenly occured to him. "You want to impress a girl." A'rist scrunches up his face - forehead and nose and mouth - and stares at R'hin. "What?" "Mmm. No?" R'hin half-squints. "Impress your new Wingleader?" "No." A'rist's face is relaxing, at least. "No," R'hin's saying, at precisely the same time as A'rist's denial. "The burning urge to just know? To uncover things better left buried, regardless of the cost?" And it un-relaxes just as quick, to have him squinty-eying the older bronzerider. "Better left buried, that you asked Azaylia about anyway?" "Let's play it forward, shall we?" R'hin doesn't wait for agreement or lack thereof. He holds up a finger. "Let's say it's someone in Tillek, for some past imagined slight. After all, we're responsible for the loss of two of their heirs so far, and there's a lot of bad blood. Let's say you get pointed to someone, who may or may not be related to Edeline. Word gets out, Tillek's relationship sours again -- they cut tithes, maybe they even try and break away like Crom did." Another finger goes up. "Let's say its the Vijays. Track 'em down, hang another leader, send the rest to the mines again. In another twenty turns you'll have more Brieli's lining up at the Weyr." A third finger. "Let's say it's someone at the Weyr with a grudge against Aishani, either for something she did or who she was. They're found out, exiled or worse. Given how divided things were before, how divided do you think they'd be after?" A'rist scowls at all that. And all he says to it, once R'hin has finished, is, "Lythronath's done." And, presumably, on his way back. R'hin lifts his hand, and spreads it, as if inviting A'rist to depart, before taking another gulp from his bottle. Leiventh's still up on the rim, and hasn't shown signs of movement. The bronze arrived with blood all over his muzzle and talons. "Thanks for coming," says A'rist, though with more testiness behind it than when he'd first greeted R'hin. He's up and in the gore and gone soon thereafter. |
Contents
Comments
Roz (09:51, 13 April 2015 (EDT)) said...
The murder rug! \o/
Roz (09:53, 13 April 2015 (EDT)) said...
Murder rug aside.. I feel like I learned something today. Always got to love the glimpses of history you see here and there. Great scene, guys!
Edyis (12:24, 13 April 2015 (EDT)) said...
Oooh. Interesting.
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