Welcome
Dalibor is a semi-canon Dragonriders of Pern site. No knowledge of the series or site is required to join; players of all experience levels are welcome here. Founded in 2008 on Proboards and moved to Jcink in 2013, Dalibor has been running for eight years.

News
Winter, 17th Turn, 11th Pass

Upcoming Flights:
Cyan Ijreth
Cyan Ridesk

Upcoming Hatchings:

Winter continues on but for a lucky few it is not a factor as they travel south. Grove Weyr has called on Dalibor to assist them with exploring the deep jungle to the southeast of the Weyr. Warm weather sounds great and for a few days it is for the explorers.

Good things never last and those on the expedition soon meet huge snakes capable of crushing a human, huge felines - some of which are taken alive to be delivered somewhere, new fruits, new medicinal plants, and also a gorgeous bloom that no one has ever seen the likes of before! Other fauna in the jungle proves to be far more friendly as a number of riders and handlers return with winged snakes and some kind of bushy tailed rodent? No one is quite sure what they are but the beasthall will surely be interested in the new species!

Illness spreads through the expedition goers and then through Dalibor as well - possibly spread by someone who returned early from the expedition. No one is entirely sure what the catalyst for the illness was and it has an alarming fatality rate. For days there are large groups of people that are touch and go, healers work non-stop to keep them from perishing; for some their effort is in vain.


Leadership
Weyrwoman
Rayna of Gold Couineth - Boo

Weyrleader
Z'dyn of Iron Baihujinth - Rhia

Jr. Weyrwoman
Jali of Copper Laanasuth - Rii

Jr. Weyrleader
Arlya of Burgundy Xerocleth - Rowana

Alphahandler
Norla of Bronze Norsk - Ivy

Betahandler
Nevitheran of Gold Nevisk - Rhia

Weyrlingmaster
Rilorden of Blue Gabranth - Zane
Nia of Pink Koeneth - Catsitta
B'tor of Green Tavistrath - Sakoru

Wherlingmaster
Ijo of Brown Isk - Rhia

Candidatemaster
Al'dr of Blue Fortath - Raining
Zanii of Black Zansk - Leo

Staff
Head Admins

Ruin

Moderators

Ivy
Rii

Historian

Rhia

Advertisers

Tigersilk
Zane
Credits
Dalibor was created by Bre, continued by Cathaline, and is now owned and operated by Ruin. Most of the information, rules, and graphics were made, compiled, or written by staff with credit given to those whose resources they used. Stock thanks to credited parties. All characters and posts are copyrighted to the members of the game. No material from this site should be copied in any way, shape, or form without utter express permission from the members and staff. All references to worlds and characters based on Anne McCaffrey's 'Dragonrider of Pern' series are copyright Anne McCaffrey 1967-2017, all rights reserved. The Dragonriders of Pern is registered U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, by Anne McCaffrey, used here with general permission for non-commercial purposes without monetary gain.

Pages: (2) 1 2  ( Go to first unread post )
Closed
New Topic
New Poll

 Tidings, SU:11 {Boo/Tiger/Open to All}
Azhdarchid
 Posted: May 20 2015, 02:41 PM
Quote
Unregistered





N/A Posts
Marks


[ At the end of this, Q'sis asks for Rayna, but feel free to have an observant authority- or non-authority figure take notice. If you want maximum IMMERSION, assume no one else can hear his call to Rayna, and you can read only the third post in the thread if you really want to. ]

When he woke up the morning after the party on the beach, just a blink too after Valeath's uneventful Hatching, there was a package waiting for him on his desk. Aside from checking its mark- Western Hold -he ignored it, and went to ready himself for the day. A couple candlemarks of running, exercising, washing were necessary. He returned after all of that, wrapping a towel at his waist to keep from drowning his desk chair.

Q'sis picked up the package, a preemptive smile fading as he ascertained not the shape but the balance of the contents. Heavy-to-light in a familiar framework. He unwrapped the thing, slid it out onto his palm, hilt first. His fingers curled into the grips, and he turned up the blade into the glowlight. The metal was marred by brown stains, but the reflection of it still caught in his eyes.

A note fell out of the leather pouch once the knife had been dislodged: Whose?

The knife had a poor weighting. The metal was dull, produced well outside any Crafthall. But it was the shoddy balancing he had recognized even before he uncovered the piece: what weapons could be produced among the Holdless of Pern were always of the cheapest quality, even if they were the ones with the greatest need of them. He put the knife down on the desk and went to his riding belt, hanging from a wardrobe corner. The beltknife he used these days was precise but plain, with a dark brown sheath and leather-wrapped hilt.

From inside the wardrobe he extracted his last Trading dagger. Gold hilt, warty with gemstones. Thick silver blade. Terrible balance. Familiar. The gems were scuffed and scratched, the ruby at the base was cracked. He added these two knives to his desktop collection and sat back down. The assailant's dagger shared the leather wrap of the beltknife, the brittle plate of the trail boss ornament. Irohvyne had been lucky it had not simply snapped off in her chest.

On the golden dagger, etched beneath one swollen sapphire, was an image of a whersport. A glaring combie. Too small for display, it was an internal affirmation for the dagger's youthful owner. Still, detecting clues and warnings was an important skill for the less savory components of Trading. Aim carefully. The mumbler that had attacked Iroh was not a youth, the category most prone to wrecking their own things with signage. But maybe he had been at a time, and still hauled around the same weapon, just as Q'sis had carefully maintained his golden wreckage many turns after exile.

He prised off the top of the dagger's leather cuff, flattening the wrapping out as he undressed it from the hilt. Halfway down, in a section that had been covered in the final assembly by some inept wannabe smith, he found the knife's mark of make: a whersport. A combie.

No. He had gotten a good look at the assailant, and it was not one of his. Not enough turns had passed for it to be some newborn after his time all grown up either. Lost. Game of cards. A bet. All likely ways for a Holdless fool to lose his things. But that kind of trade only happened between people of the wind. Holders were not privy to such precious, broken trinkets. So, it was a movement among his kind, as the Lady suspected. Not surprising. Thread made them wards of the Holds. Probably...drove them crazy. Q'sis stared at the three knives for a long time yet, then picked up the one with the golden hilt. He grazed his thumb against the blade, and his thumb was cut. He grinned.

***

He did not have a firelizard.

Lady Irohvyne shipped me the dagger used to attack her. It is of Trader origin. I am investigating. I will report when I return.

-Q'sis


And maybe a firelizard would be too quick.

"Do you see the seal on it?" Q'sis asked his son, pointing at the wax Weyr dragon imprinted on the pitifully tiny hide scroll. Qaelis had started to nod, but at the gesture, followed the finger to the indicated point with his eyes, head frozen. "Attempt to read what is inside and everyone will know." Qaelis nodded. "Take it to whomever you see first of Weyrleader G'len or Weyrwoman Rayna."

The boy stared up the mountainous shadow called Father and, when Q'sis did not move or speak further, sharply nodded a second time. Q'sis turned and left, striding up to his dragon as she rested in the center of the Bowl. Qaelis pulled the message tube in closer to his chest as the dragon took off. He waited till it disappeared, then began jogging down the lakeshore, his fishing pole and homemade tackle box (contents: dried tunnelsnake tail, jar of live crawlers, poppo feathers) left behind. He stumbled more than once, as if not quite used to his own legs. He was very tall for his age of five turns. Dragons lounging in the lake glanced after him, his reflection trickling across their faceted eyes.

Qaelis ferreted his way up inside the north wall, considered the crossroads to the leadership's weyrs, then chose the tunnel up to the Records Room. He did not have permission to enter, but he could stand outside and wait, catching his breath and blinking hard at his own exhaustion.
^
Azhdarchid
 Posted: May 20 2015, 02:42 PM
Quote
Unregistered





N/A Posts
Marks


Crescent Hold, he had told the watchdragon. It was not untrue: Unath flew over Crescent's territory. Just several hundred leagues away from any part of the main hold. He hovered the tan at the cusp of what was comfortable, scanning the insect life below with her incredible jewel eyes. At that height she left no more impression than a bird. Q'sis identified the wagon trails through plains of useless grass, no stone where anyone could live. He judged the dryness of the hoofprints. It still took much of the day to find the caravans.

A small holding played host to several competing trains, so the holder laid it out like a Gather. He'd gotten the same inspiration from the warm weather that Q'sis had with Jali's party. The hold was overseen by the creeping outcrop of a cliff. The entire Gather was in shadow, with glowbaskets posted even. The hold lands were atop the cliff: sheep grazed on blue-emerald grass while young people on punishment duty followed them about. Even Unath could not see through rock. After an hour of watching the outermost milling, he steered the dragon down into the ravine that marked the hold's other border. Unath could be left to play in the river there, while he hiked up to the hold without fanfare.

He kept his knots on: there would be no way to welcome a man from out of nowhere otherwise. He kept his current knife on his belt, while the bloodstained one he slung in a pack over his shoulder, along with his marks. Busy hands stole nothing they could not reach. It did keep his right hand occupied, retaining the strap's place, but if the traders could hear and see the bulge and clatter of his cargo, they would be open to him.

An upright barrel stood on the boundary of the Gather, full of flags. Purple and gold combie, red and black runner, green and silver axe, a pale field of lavender inscribed with a white wheel. He underestimated the surge after he arrived: dragon-men were not paid, but they did earn favors, and they only showed up to Gathers when they were sure to have an allowance. That gave them a guarantee no moony-eyed holdling could offer. Reds and blacks, greens and silvers, lavenders, their hands and voices swarmed up against him. A substantial number of very young purples and golds did too. They did not see him, his dusky skin like many of theirs, his sharp eyes like theirs. They saw only the bag. That was what he thought.

He headed inside and got a lunch in the hold's diminutive dining hall, the ceiling of which was almost low enough to hit his head. The walls were chalky, like being inside an oven. The holder himself came in to chat- he was the only one who registered a momentary surprise at how much the honored dragonrider resembled the Holdless outside. But that Q'sis' shoulder-knots stood for the wing of women and failures, the man said nothing. That his dragon was Tan Unath, he said nothing. Some children of the hold had climbed down the ravine to try their hand at washing the beast, who formed her own eddy in the rushing river. Q'sis mentioned it, and a couple of the holder's attendants rushed out of the room.

Afterwards Q'sis headed back outside, to a slightly cooler reception now that he had come and gone once without buying anything. That suited his purposes, and he went stall by stall, even the ones where the traders had ordinary offerings like slightly wilted vegetables exotic to the region, or stools and chairs too small to ever suit him. Jewelry mongers waved chains and small river gems at him, asking if he had a beautiful woman on his mind. He avoided the purple combies: it could not be them. They did not invite outside men into the fold, and Iroh's assailant had not been born there no matter what his knife said.

Looking into the faces of lifelong salesmen and trying to judge their character was an arduous process. The sky dyed orange and the shadows congealed beneath the hold cliff. The children had grown bored even of Unath and went back to the cliff with their minders. Holders shuffled over to their plantless stone courtyard for dancing- traders played fiddle on commission, there was no Harper about. Q'sis sat down on a bench outside a roll shop, eating a monstrous roll of iced dough, his travelbag in his lap. The man who sold the rolls had vanished to count marks. The girl he assumed baked the rolls had come to the front of the stall, and was smiling at him.

Q'sis raised his eyebrows, but as soon as his mouth wasn't occupied he tried a smile back. She had very pale, flaxen hair, done down in braids that flowed from below her ears down to her shoulders. No one at the Weyr did their hair like that.

"Disgusting," someone said behind him. Hadn't been paying attention, but when he looked the speaker and his blatant malevolence was still a half-dragonlength off. More the hoot of an animal than a threat. Like a caricature in a warning Ballad, the Holdless approaching him dripped rags, and swung an empty bottle for spirits from his hand. As he staggered forth though, he dropped the bottle, leaving him completely unarmed. Q'sis smelled him shortly after, a concentrate more like manure than ferment. "No tradition in it."

"There is actually a very long tradition of dragonriders making inadequate husbands jealous," Q'sis answered, turning toward the flaxen girl with a feisty grin and readied wink. But she wasn't there. And an arm collared his neck almost as soon as he took his eyes off the rambler.

"Hatched an abominat-" the rambler began to say as he drove a knife with a leather hilt and a shoddy blade into the tanrider's back. He got cut off when Q'sis jerked his head backwards, nailing the assailant's face with the back of his skull. That gave him time to drop the remains of his roll, and flex his own arm back to grab the man. He shoved against the first flat surface he found, and stood up, drawing his beltknife. The bag of marks fell to the ground, spilling everywhere. Fiddle music wafted between the stalls from a distance. Q'sis stared at him through pinpricks of pupils, eyes wide.

The rambler was already scrambling back to his feet, completely balanced. But his limbs were shaking with the sudden onset of fear. "You are the end of the Weyr," he spat, but that too rose into a perturbed squeak as Q'sis came at him, right over the bench. This time when he raised the knife his arm was caught in the tanrider's hand, and Q'sis flipped him around onto the bench. His torso came down onto the ground from the force of the slam, his midback still caught up on the benchtop. Something creaked inside. He dropped the knife. Q'sis tilted his head.

Wrapping his free hand around the rambler's neck, he hauled the man off past the other empty stalls, past the gently waving flags, down into the ravine. He kept his knife in his other hand, so the rambler could not relieve him of it. It was easy. At his full height he could just drag the assailant, who only got to his feet a couple times on the way down. Their passage left a faint spatter of blood in the dust. The rambler's nose. Q'sis' back.

At a curve in the path just ahead of where Unath sat in the river, Q'sis stopped, jaw hanging, fist tightening on its captive neck. He dropped his knife, and the bag he had hauled up as he left, now with two retrieved weapons inside. The rambler he propped up with his back to a boulder, releasing him just long enough to cock his his arms back. His fist rocketed into the soft, thin stretch of the man's belly. Just once was enough to set the rambler spitting and choking on his own produce, but Q'sis kept going. Stomach, chest, carefully avoiding the face, which was intact aside from the bleeding nose. When the rambler had gone still and was sliding down to the ground, suspended only by the rock to his back, Q'sis grabbed his hair and hauled him up again. He picked up his knife and cut it across the bruised neck, which got a final twitch from the rambler and a small wash of red down his raggedy front.

Q'sis stepped back, then hunched over, arms against his knees, panting, his eyes on the crumpled body. His blood settled, and he reached behind him with one hand, scrambling his fingers against the hard leather of his riding jacket. He almost fell when he grazed the wound, but widened his stance and, so huddled, picked at the opening till he extracted a two-inch scrap of metal. The blade had snapped. Crying out as he removed it, Q'sis let the bloody piece slip from his numb fingers.

He turned over his carrysack, dumping the marks out onto the ground. He put only the knives back inside before he shouldered it. He grabbed the corpse by the arm, and hauled it down to the river.

Q'sis, Unath said immediately as he came into view. She stretched her speckled neck out across the water. Did you bring anything for me? She thought very furtively of a meatroll. When he came into the shallows, she began sniffing at him, but though she smelled blood it was not the kind she preferred. Q'sis was just staring back at her, not answering, and then he let go of the thing he had dragged out with him and stuck both his hands in the water.

Unath looked at the thing, the river rippling around and over it. If she pushed it, would it float away? But when her nose came down, Q'sis put his hand against it and guided her away.

"You will have to pick it up," he mumbled, though Unath could hear him quite easily. She wiggled up to the shoreline and stuck out her front paws, flexing her talons demonstratively. "Wait," her rider said, so she stopped flexing. He waded out just far enough to clamber onto her arm. He got to her shoulder very slowly. Then he stayed there for a long time. He wasn't even in the saddle, just sort of slumped against the broad top of her shoulder. "Are you alright, Unath?" he said as he finally opened one of her saddlebags. "Does it hurt?"

Hurt? Q'sis had explained it to her before. He did again now, to remind her. Unath thought about it, patting her forepaws against the shallows. I am sore, she concluded.

"Are you? It will go away. Do not worry." Q'sis made his way back down her arm, a roll of canvas in his grasp.

I am not worried, Unath noted. Can we play?

"We are going home now." Q'sis coughed as he wrapped up the thing he had brought in the canvas, but the noise eased before he was done. "Now you can pick it up." Unath blinked at this request, then looked at her paws, which were already stretched out toward the thing. Oh! She put her claws around it, just enough to secure it. Q'sis climbed up from her elbow, and this time he went all the way to the top.

He sat there for a long time. Unath twisted her head back to look at him, but he wasn't being very interesting. She tried to knead the thing she was holding onto, but he stopped her. Then he had her take off, and he reminded her what home looked like since she did not remember.

Dalibor Weyr.
^
Azhdarchid
 Posted: May 20 2015, 02:42 PM
Quote
Unregistered





N/A Posts
Marks


Between always got into the bones, but coming out this time gave the impression of a spike of ice receding quickly from his very flesh. He had Unath come out just off the Weyr purposefully, so that when he sat rigid in his saddle, unable to direct, she did not draw attention. Once he had recovered his composure enough to relax his shoulders, Q'sis slid further into the dragon's body, and winged her over the Rim before gliding her across the Bowl to the ledge by the Records Room. He dropped the burden from the dragon's claws on it, and settled Unath's wings to her back. He remained mounted. Water dripped from his jacket, frosted his legs after the journey. The canvas wrapper on his delivered parcel had a dark spot at one end of it now.

Rayna, he called to Couineth, Unath's voice twisted by that very predictable gruffness.
^
Tigersilk
 Posted: May 21 2015, 03:22 AM
Quote
Wingleader





1071 Posts
675 Marks
Member Inventory: View


G'len had snuck into the Records Room during a point when Rayna was not around to chase him out, or inquire why he was there before snagging the records he was after. In truth he wasn't entirely sure why he was there, to be honest. Beyond a nagging thought of his that the man who'd attacked Lady Iroh last season was somehow connected to the other assaults the Weyr had endured for over a decade now, going back at least as far as the assassins who injured several of his Weyrling classmates, killing one of them. And while Iroh's attacker could be a lone crazy Holdless, he doubted it was anything so simple as that. Not with Dalibor's history of attackers and poisoners running around creating mayhem to deal with.

So it was that G'len was sitting close to the door reading the records of that long-ago assassination of dragonriders (and wondering if anyone where they were imprisoned was left there to recall if those attackers said or did anything that identified them; he was going to have to ask about that), when a boy approached the door. He looked up. "Qaelis," he identified him as one of his daughter Lerian's agemates. "Do you need anything?" G'len kept his voice friendly in order to not scare the boy off or anything. Likely he was there to deliver a message, or as part of a dare. The boy was getting to that age where kids would start to do such things, after all.

It turned out to be the former. The Weyrleader raised an eyebrow when he read the contents of Q'sis' scroll. So that's where that knife went off to. He strongly suspected Iroh had it when none of the searchers could turn it up anyplace they checked for it. He put the letter down where Rayna could get to it easily to read for herself, and discuss the implications that even the Tanrider's brief message couldn't hide from the observant. Or at least from someone as observant as he was.

Such as the fact that Iroh still didn't trust the Weyrleadership farther than she could throw them injured, or else - or in addition to - considered them too incompetent to find their own rears even with a map and a glowbasket. Plus the fact that the Lady of Western Hold had turned to Q'sis of all people to investigate the knife's origins, rather than anyone under her command to do so. Interesting. Basher had told him months ago that Iroh had someone who looked like the Tanrider in her weyr for Valeath's mating flight, but G'len hadn't thought to ask his Yellow to memorize her visitors that morning, and Basher forgot the man's identity by the time the Bronzerider thought to ask about it. Obviously he should have been asking who else among his riders Iroh considered as hers; he was going to have to ask some pointed questions among those he knew hoarded the gossip around the place and see who was loyal to whom in the Weyr. Once G'len got Q'sis' report, that is, and learned what the big man had found out about that knife.

G'len spent the next few hours reading up on, and sifting his own memories, of which caravans traveled Crescent's part of the continent; Zeuth had told him what the watchdragon told the Bronze about where Unath went. So something about the knife lead Q'sis to those caravans, then. Likely a maker stamp, though how exactly a Holdless got one from a caravaner remained to be seen; those weren't easy to get from a Trader, even if the quality of said knives left something to be desired. That much he recalled from his own time in a caravan, turns ago. A knife was a knife when it came time to defend oneself, after all.

He was just returning to the Records Room after getting some food for himself when Q'sis returned with a package in Unath's paw. G'len nonchalantly walked over to where the Tanrider and his mount waited. The packaged was human sized and shaped, he noted, with a suspicious dark stain at one end. Great. Just what he didn't want to see this soon after a meal. He kept the queasiness off his face, though; no need to let this man know that much about himself right now. G'len looked Q'sis over, noting the melting frost off the Tanrider's clothes. Swimming before a jump between? Wanting to catch the flu that badly? Or something else to be learned in a few minutes? Something was off with the other man, though he couldn't place why. Yet.

He looked down at the package again, then up at Q'sis. "You do realize a live prisoner would've given us more answers than a dead one, don't you?"
PMEmail
^
Azhdarchid
 Posted: May 21 2015, 01:06 PM
Quote
Unregistered





N/A Posts
Marks


At his Weyrleader's question, Q'sis looked down at the package.

"Yea."

Unath laid down, wrapping her tail along her side. Q'sis leaned forward, an arm around her ridge, shutting his eyes and resting his forehead against the hard surface. "You could still have one," he said from there, straightening to refocus on G'len. "There was a woman. Maybe she was supposed to help him, but got scared." Unath's dull mind activated long enough to impress the woman's fairy-like complexion, pale braided hair, and modest neckline to Zeuth. Then the hold beneath the cliff: the prickling blue light of its glows, the red ravine and its churning river. "Woolcross. Holder is Garlandt."

He ran his hands over his hair, pushing the blackness of it away from his face. "The river has an obvious dragon pool. Land some riders there, climb to the flagpost. The stall I was at was on the outskirts near it, sold only rolls. The chaff at your feet, see his boots. They were the only part of his clothing not in-costume, but I did not notice till after. They might have his mark. And the bottle he carried- he played a drunkard -if it has the same, you will know which train to put a fire to."

The tanrider blinked the glassiness from his eyes. "Funny." He smiled. "I pulled a similar prank not long ago, but I did not see it in either of them. I must be suffering domestication." He sat up, tall as he could, only holding his hand to his back. "I cannot lead them myself. I need a patch." Q'sis shook his head. "So pick some with working eyes." It would start right there: the corpse's boot had a mark, just as he said. A faded white scratch on the right heel: a wheel.

The path he'd described up to the hold was marked too, by drops of blood, a mist of it against a boulder, a chunk of metal wreathed in it at the same spot, and a tiny puddle smeared on the stall bench and the ground. "Have you ever heard the holders that need to profess their love of Faranth whenever they can? That feverish devotion to an imagining." Q'sis spit. "Drunkenness was the snake's charade, but he spoke like that. He said 'disgusting', 'abomination'. 'The end of the Weyr'." The tanrider hefted his shoulders and dried his expression to neutrality at that accusation. "Fetch a healer. I might have messed up a little."
^
Boo
 Posted: May 21 2015, 08:09 PM
Quote
Senior Weyrwoman





2954 Posts
935 Marks
Member Inventory: View


Yes she had spotted G’len leaving the records room. If she had been a few steps closer she might have hit him (lightly) and shoed him on his way. It was almost as though he had been sitting there waiting for her to leave for a snack. Of course, he was permitted in the room but everything was organised just how she liked it and the more people that entered the more mess that was created. The Weyrwoman rolled her eyes but it was merely a gesture as a small smile passed her features. Stepping into the room, she noticed the letter on the table.

The expression on her face darkened as she replaced it on the table. Fool. She appreciated the work he was doing but the secretive nature of his actions were not conducive to the cohesiveness of a Weyr already torn. She needed people she trusted and at the moment she trusted almost anyone else more than Q’sis. His loyalty seemed fickle and his actions erratic. A lot would have to change before she accepted him at his word.

What was more, Irohvyne’s actions could have delayed investigation more than was necessary. She sighed and carefully, with her growing size, maneuvered herself into a seat to continue writing. She was not overly large at that moment but it was certainly beginning to show.

About half a day had passed before she heard the voice. Something in that voice sounded desperate. Why would he call for her if there was nothing wrong? No he would have found her first and gloated about his victory.
Master Tedaon, come to the Bowl we have an injured rider.

As she approached the tanrider, Tedaon came from the Lower Caverns, triage bag in tow. Of course, his specialisation was in diagnosis not injury care but he knew how to handle a wound such as this.
“Why do riders insist on pulling the knives out.” He muttered on approach. The healer then set about stopping the bleeding as best he could.

Rayna also noted the size of the ‘package’ with a dark expression. Well he had made a point of attacking a Rider so she didn’t know what he’d expected but still… This was not particularly useful to their ongoing investigation. She listened to the tanrider’s explanation, one hand on her hip as she regarded the men before her, including the deceased.

“What was it he said to you, exactly? As best you can recall.”
If her suspicions were correct, this went deeper than mere frustration with the Weyr. Too many deaths couldn’t be a mere coincidence.
Chiyo, Wynmuri, come to the Bowl immediately.
Rayna knew that the two young handlers would want to see this through to completion and besides which, they had a good idea of what they should be doing going ahead.


user posted imageuser posted image
PM
^
Ruin
 Posted: May 21 2015, 08:44 PM
Quote
Prideleader





3024 Posts
1021 Marks
Member Inventory: View


If Q'sis' entrance had been quiet.

This one was anything but.

The Blue exploded from between with such force that the very air seemed to crackle. Glints and flashes of metal shone in his hide as he spiraled erratically down to the Bowl where his landing was more of a controlled crash than a tidy landing. Western is under seige! Shalith cried, his voice rippling from the effort of ignoring the painful bolts that lay lodged in his hide. The Infirmary already appeared to be mustering, though Sian could not know why; who had come before them injured. All that mattered was what lay behind. The Palefolk rise again, Western calls for aid!

"Save those," Sian implored of the first Dragonhealer at Shalith's feet. They were larger than the bolts typically used in a crossbow, as if forged to pierce dragonhide, though the dimensions had been off. Painful though they may be, they were little more than thorns in the dragon's side. Neither of the pair wanted to wait for their extraction, but it was a matter of safety.

Western was under seige.


*click for plot page*
user posted image
PM
^
Rowana
 Posted: May 21 2015, 10:00 PM
Quote
Jr. Weyrleader





798 Posts
257 Marks
Member Inventory: View


Couineth calls, Wynsk reported. His voice was its usual monotone, laking in surprise or interest. To the bowl.

Wynmuri was already up and mostly ready. She nodded and quickly check to make sure she had everything. Survival pack, tools, knife. If Rayna was calling them, it was probably about the investigation and they might not have time to go back to get anything she forgot. Once she was ready, the pair ran out to the bowl. It didn't take long to spot the small gathering. Wynmuri jogged up with Wynsk at her side just as a blue dragon appeared shouting overhead.

Wyn stared for a moment, then cursed under her breath. Why hadn't they seen this coming?! Nothing from their investigations lead them to anything on this scale. Whatever Rayna had to tell them might have to wait. Lives were on the line. Wyn turned to Rayna, standing straight and trying not to show how nervous she was. Taking down a lone assassin was one thing. This sounded like all out war.

"You're orders, Weyrwoman?" she asked, voice sounding a lot more confident than she felt.

~

N'rik and Onith had been across the bowl when Shalith came from between with his warning. The boy was on his feet at once, heart pounding. Western was being attacked? This wasn't something he'd trained for. Well he had learned self defense, but he thought he would be fighting thread, not people. He looked at Onith, thoughts whirling in his head. They could stay here. No one would blame them. But people were in trouble. Nice people, like K'oa who had Searched him and brought him here. He might never have met Onith if it weren't for him.

That decided him. "Xena, take everyone back home," he gestured to the swarm of pets around him. WAR!! The yellow pillie declared. N'rik should not fear! She would protect them whatever the cost. The boy nodded and took Rusty of his shoulder and put the squirming stoat on NightFang's back before the group took off. Merrywings stayed a moment on his shoulder to nuzzle him worriedly. "I'll be fine, Merry, stay with them." The fire lizard chirp in affirmation and took off.

N'rik took a deep breath and turned to Onith, who was already up and stretching his wings. "Ready?" Ready? HA! Those creeps will wish they'd never seen a dragon! the black declared boldly. Grinning, N'rik climbed up on his back and checked the straps. Once they were ready, he fixed the image of Western in his mind. They would need to be high to see what was happening. A few wingbeats into the air and they were gone between.

~

Dh'mel love, Ziprith started, her voice quivering.

"I heard." Dh'mel was already scrambling into his flying gear and putting a knife on his belt. This sounded bad, but it was no time to be a coward. Fighting Thread was bad, this was no different in some ways. Besides, he had more responsibilities now than his and Ziprith's safety. "Tell all the Weyrlings to stay here! They are to help the healers or assist with other preperations, but they are not to join the fighting!" His class of weyrlings were far to young to consider it, but the older Weyrlings might be tempted and they couldn't risk them.

Ziprith raised her head as Dh'mel fastened her straps. Young ones! she called to all the Weyrlings. Report to us in the bowl! Do not fight! Stay and assist the Weyr! For all Ziprith's silliness, she was old enough to be calm in a crisis and new how to call out an alert.

Nodding, Dh'mel jumped up to Ziprith's back and the pair soared out over the bowl to take a protective stance near Rayna and G'len. His eyes scanned the skies and bowl for his charges.

~

Xerocleth growled deep in his throat at Ziprith's orders. His eyes tinted red with fury and he dug his claws into the ground. As if he needed to protected like a child. He should be out there! Dealing justice to these fools with flame and claw. Arlya laid a hand on his side, her face stoney. She understood his fusteration. Much as she did not wish to be in a battle, she wished even less to be pushed aside and protected. She knew the reasons for it, but it still made her angry. Checking straps, the girl climbed onto her dragon's back. "Come. Let us see if the Weyrwoman has a more worthy task for us," she suggested. Rayna would probably say the same thing, but they could take it better from her.Yes. Xerocleth agreed with barely controlled anger. Let us see.

The pair took off for the short flight across the bowl to the gathered dragons. My queen! the young burgundy called as they approached. Command us! Let those who threaten our lands taste their blood on my claws! Arlya herself nodded in grim determination. She may not like people most of the time, but that didn't mean she was going to let this chaos stand. Order had to be restored.
PM
^
Ruin
 Posted: May 22 2015, 01:12 AM
Quote
Prideleader





3024 Posts
1021 Marks
Member Inventory: View


Kemarahath sat quivering on her ledge, blazing crimson eyes watching the spiral descent of Shalith as he collided with the Bowl. Typically, she would have spent a great amount of time telling Hiolair why exactly this male had failed at his duty and how he could better himself by following in the footsteps of the women, but she was in no mood for jesting. In fact, having lost her large Pink sister some seasons ago, the Green was rarely in a jesting sport. Kinni had been the joy in their siblinghood, Kermie had always only been the work, and that was what she had done. Every season, every turn, watching her Wingleader and learning. Preparing. Kemarahath touched the Bronze mind of her Wingleader and then turned her attentions to her Rider.

She had not known that it was for war, but what was Thread but another type of battle. Her talons rippled against the stone ledge, flakes of weyr rock flaking off and fluttering down to the Bowl like crackdust. Hiolair, come, we rise to our duty, our Hold is besiged The girl was already on her way, pulling her riding helmet over the long hair she had braided around her scalp. "Call them." Their straps were enormous, thick and heavy, for a dragon so large it was impossible to handle them herself. Instead they hung along the wall where Kemarahath could slide her neck through the first great loop and shake it down to where her Rider could form the cinches between her neck ridges.

Dawn Wing, assume forward vee formation in the Bowl, we depart for Western on the orders of our Weyrleader Hiolair spied the metallic hide of their Wingleader as O'sho checked his dragon's straps, she did a double-check of her own, leaning all her weight into the padded forward ring to ensure it would not list to the side under her weight, before she gave Kemarahath's neck a signaling thump with one fist. The Green knelt her wingshoulder to the ground, tucking her arm and wrist below to form a ramp up to her neck which Hiolair mounted swiftly, using the ropes that trailed to climb her way to the broad neck of her dragon and hook herself in to the tethers.

The dropped down into the Bowl and landed behind the Bronze in position, Kemarahath again dropping her shoulder low so the firestone bags could be hoisted up on the ropes and lashed along the straps at equal ballast. The Green turned her broad head, mouth open wide enough to swollow Hiolair whole, and accepted rock after rock to be churned and digested in her second stomach as the pair waited for the order to be given, uncertain of what they would find on the other side. We are strong, together, Hiolair her dragon said, and the woman nodded--certain of this truth.


*click for plot page*
user posted image
PM
^
Kestrel
 Posted: May 22 2015, 01:24 AM
Quote
Unregistered





N/A Posts
Marks


They hadn’t slept much. Chiyo’s mind had burned throughout the day, still working over everything they knew so far and trying to puzzle it together, to find the connections that lay just out of reach. Chisk had less a mind for mysteries, but the wher, too, was eager to root out the rival criminals that had come slithering into her territory. But with Chiyo’s mind, they would surely find them. Then Chisk would eliminate them.

The sun was just setting, but Chiyo had risen already from her day of patchwork sleep, leaning back into Marlowe’s warm fur as she peered through her notes again. The green wher drowsed lightly nearby, caught somewhere between dreaming and thinking of her vengeance.

Until a golden voice pulled her back out. Weyrboss callin’.

Chiyo frowned, putting away her notes and strapping on her knife. “Must be something.”

Something else may have turned up during the day. She gave Marlowe the usual goodbye head ruffle, though the icehowler deflated a little as she realized she wouldn’t be brought along. Arkady, though, was already flitting ahead, waiting for Chiyo and Chisk to catch up, though she stayed high, watching from above.

Chiyo nodded to Wynmuri as she fell in beside the other handler, a good partner for whom her respect was growing. “Reporting in, Weyrwoman,” she said, brusque but solemn. Awaiting orders.

Then the blue dragon came. She and Chisk looked up as he burst into bloody being overhead, a burning falling star of blue and metal, crashing to the ground. The handler tensed, jaw setting, eyes straining for a good glimpse of the strange metal flashing out from his hide—then swiftly moving back to the faces of the weyrleadership.

Their investigation, it seemed, had failed. Failed to uncover any significant warning of what was coming in time to make a difference, that was.

They wouldn’t fail a second time. Chiyo ignored the blue dragon, standing steadily before the weyrwoman and awaiting instructions with heightened resolve. Of course she was nervous, even afraid—an all-out battle was beginning, humans attacking dragons. But that was one of the most unforgivable crimes a person could commit. Justice was needed now more than ever, and Chiyo would do all in her power to deliver it.

------------

An attack.

Not on the weyr. Not today. But an attack on Western Hold was close enough to home, for the sole protector of the western continent. And there was no guarantee an attack on Dalibor was not soon to come. Lady Irohvyne had been targeted already, not so very long ago. Vrell, in the bowl, looked up at the blue harbinger, her blood running cold, the dragon careening down toward a hard reunion with the ground.

There was no time to think. Candy-date! All candy-date, be return to barrack! Now, immediate! No care what doing! Vresk commanded, and Vrell jumped to the orange’s back to let the faster of the pair carry them back to the candidate barracks. Vresk remained outside, scanning each direction for potential approaching candidates, ready to snap at them to come faster if they failed to understand what she meant by immediate. Vrell, however, hopped off and hurried inside, to take stock of any candidates who had been inside already.

“Candidates! Anyone in their rooms, come out to the common room for a headcount.” She began moving quickly through the hall, rapping on doors as she might if there was a hatching, but today’s event was of a far grimmer nature. She knew little more than they did—they surely had heard Shalith too. But once they were safely gathered (if, she hoped fervently, they could be safely gathered) she would explain what little she could and carry out whatever orders the weyrwoman gave. She was not about to ask for them just yet. The weyrleadership had much to coordinate. The orders for the candidatemasters would come when they could.
^
Tigersilk
 Posted: May 22 2015, 03:17 AM
Quote
Wingleader





1071 Posts
675 Marks
Member Inventory: View


G'len took the images offered to him via Zeuth into his mind, fixing them in place inside his memory with the appropriate mental tags on them. Later, when he had a bit of time to himself to do it, he'd sort through his memories and see if he had meet this woman before, and what he'd gleaned about her from past meetings. While he remembered everything he saw and did in his life, it would take him a good while to sift through all those memories to find the information he wanted and needed about the current crisis. But first, he had to capture the would-be assassins while they knew their location.

Couineth had called the handlers who have been investigating the attack so far Zeuth informed him. Good. Pass on to Couineth the images we got from Q'sis so she can show the handlers who and what we're looking for up there, the man said to that. They would know the right questions to ask these Holders, and would likely know what to look for up there at Woolcross. He'd let Rayna organize the wherhandlers and give them their orders. He would call up a few dragons to act as ferry, plus help with the information gathering. More eyes could always help in the end, yes?

Zeuth did so, hiding his distaste of the Tanrider as best he could from the Queen. He did not like how Q'sis had treated Unath over the turns, and would have gladly given the large man the lecture from Hell (with much roaring) about it if he or G'len thought it would make a bit of difference. A calming thought from his rider quieted the Bronze; now was not the best time to think about such things. No need to let the Tanrider know Zeuth's feelings right now anyway. The safety of the Weyr came first, as always.

G'len listened to Q'sis' explanations and request for a Healer (the reason he was 'off', clearly) while Zeuth summoned a few riders to aid the handlers. One was the Blackrider Smith, M'teng, whom G'len was reliably informed was good at gathering information from others. Such a skill would be an asset to the handlers, he was sure.

Once the requested riders and handlers arrived to get their orders, all hell broke loose. Shalith's arrival and warning of attack threw their plans into chaos. Again. Shards, couldn't he have a turn as Senior Weyrleader without something bizarre blowing up in his face? He turned to the gathered handlers and riders. "You lot, get up to Woolcross Hold and find Irohvyne's attackers. You," turning to Q'sis, "tell them everything you know about those Traders and Holders up there. Clan names, trading specialties, anything at all that might help them identify their targets. Trader silence to outsiders be damned; we're under attack! And been attacked for too many turns now. So start talking. You know those clans better than the wherhandlers do." Whatever qualms left in him from his own Trader days about spilling clan secrets to outsiders had fallen away from him; he realized suddenly that those qualms left him turns ago. He'd look to see when it must have happened later. His home base was Dalibor now, not his old Trader clan, and his home was being attacked. And as the leader/trail boss, it was up to him to help protect it.

G'len started running for his weyr to gather what he needed for the coming battle. Call them! he ordered Zeuth. All Wings! Report to the Weyrbowl now! Western Hold is under attack by the Pale Folk! All riders, wear your full Flight gear as protection against arrows! All riders who have ranged weapons, bring them! They will be needed! They appear to have weapons that can pierce dragonhide, so watch yourselves! Capture the Palefolk leaders if possible, for later questioning! Heritage Wing, go to Crescent Hold and make sure there is no army there waiting to attack while we're busy at Western! Horizon Wing! Patrol the island and make sure there is no army of invaders here as well!

"Daddy, what's happening? Everyone's upset," the voice of G'len's daughter interrupted him while he was putting his leathers on in his bedroom. Lerian was astute in reading moods, even at her young age of four turns. The going-ons now must be confusing her no end, since it wasn't time for a Fall now. He picked the girl up and hugged her to him, taking in her scent one last time. He hoped that wasn't an omen of his fate tonight. That'd suck, to be sure.

"A situation's come up at the Hold, and the Weyr has to go settle it," he told her, trying to strike a balance between not lying to his baby - she already knew how to tell when she was lied to, and made a fuss when it happened - and not scaring her sleepless. G'len didn't want her to have nightmares over this incident, after all. "You go down to the creche with your minder and keep yourself safe for Mommy and Daddy, okay? Like you do for us during Falls. So we don't worry about you while we're out settling the fuss. Can you do that for us?"

"'Kay. If I gotta." Lerian knew her parents didn't want to worry about her when they were fighting Fall, and in her mind right then her parents were doing something like a surprise Fall. Somehow. She didn't understand it, not really, but it must be a Fall they were going to if Daddy was invoking The Rules for one.

G'len smiled a bit in relief. His baby understood enough to - hopefully - not get into trouble while they were gone. "Now give me your good luck hug and kiss, baby girl, then Jori," the girl's minder tonight, "will help you find your mother so she can get one, too. See you in the morning." He and Durian had developed certain little pre-Fall traditions with their girl, to keep her from fearing they'd never come back at the end of one. Right now he hoped that hug and kiss worked overtime for both him and his dear friend.

With that G'len handed Lerian off to the minder to hunt down her mother, and finished dressing. He fetched his crossbow from where he had it stowed in his weyr. He hated using it on anything living, since blood still made him squeamish, but the Weyr's territory was under attack now. He was likely going to need it before the night was over.

Meanwhile, Zeuth asked certain questions of the Bluepair at the direction of his rider. Shalith, what did you and Yours see of the Palefolk's numbers and positioning? What weapons? Whers? Firebrands? Whatever answer he got would be passed along to the rest of the Wings so they could best plan their attacks.

Once the Wings were assembled, G'len gave the order to rise into the air. He hesitated a moment before giving the jump order, though. Dragons attacking humans was unheard of, though if he could browse all the Records ever made, he could likely find instances of such things, he was sure. He just hated that his Weyr was once more making history, and not in a good way. Then again, these attackers were also deliberately attacking dragons, which was sacrilege. No-one was walking away from this a truly innocent party, then. Desperate times, and all that.

He gave the order. Fate and Faranth would decide who would return to the Weyr in the morning, and in what shape.

((OOC: I will edit in the other riders doing the ferrywork for the wherhandlers as soon as I get some volunteers to do it.))
PMEmail
^
RhiaBlack
 Posted: May 22 2015, 03:28 AM
Quote
Senior Weyrleader





3899 Posts
0 Marks
Member Inventory: View


The alarm had been raised, both by the Blue as well as several others, it appeared, in the area. Western was under attack. Baihujinth's head lifted as soon as the descent from the injured visitor was sighted to be less careless, more harmed and hindered. Much as he wanted to simply mount up and go see what was going on, he hadn't been given position as a Wingleader for nothing. Logic and calm heads prevailed, more often than not.

Call Kira an' V'yeri. An' Pa. He'll wanna know.
Sunset Wing! The thundering mindvoice came seconds after, You will don your straps, and arm yourselves in preparation. Your Weyrleader has summoned us, meet in the Bowl as directed. Be mindful - we do not know if there are Palefolk here, as well.

He pressed Jyderin quietly, privately, to notify the Master Tanner; he would of course have to keep Keivyhn while Z'dyn and Kira were busy. Io'tez lingered, Keukorimath already in his straps, waiting on orders from either his Wingleader, or from Couineth herself. One thing was certain; the alert was going out, and Io'tez was prepared to answer, alongside his two betrothed.

At G'len's command, all three joined the others in the Bowl, regimented into Wings. Z'dyn could feel the anger well somewhere in his gut. How dare they? Did they understand what they brought down on themselves?

They waited, and they watched; only a handful of people seemed to know what was going on, and Z'dyn wasn't about to act brashly. Not where Q'sis was concerned. The Ironrider briefly humored a thought of the other's revenge for the punch in the face that lead to his imprisonment, but even the Tanrider didn't seem so foolish. While he disagreed with him on the regular, it seemed, death wasn't something he wished on anyone. Regardless of what had happened between them.

Do you think they will come here?
Dunno. We'll hafta see. Important part is, people're gettin' roused t'what's goin' on. If they need us, we'll be there, but I'm not gonna go out an' get people involved if'n there's no need to. Be careful. Don't want t'be any more cracked'n I am, 'cause you got yerself shot.


PM
^
rubixcubed
 Posted: May 22 2015, 03:30 AM
Quote
Unregistered





N/A Posts
Marks


Ems and Kapth had graduated. Much good it did them - the Weyr didn't seem to know what to do with a rider that couldn't see, even though Ems had worked twice as hard as the other weyrlings, and F'dren had made sure she was as good a rider as any of them. It simply wasn't fair, something Ems complained about regularly. Now that she was a rider, she did even less than she had in the Weyrling wing. Kapth wasn't nearly as fussed. No wing training, no Fall, not even guard duty (what good was a guard with no sight, when her dragon was as unreliable as Kapth?) meant sooo much more time for messing with people. The Blue was becoming quite the master manipulator, now that he had nothing better to do.

As a result, Ems had been somewhat of a fixture around the rooms of the Weyr's upper management, lately. She needed something to do, and if she wasn't given anything then by Faranth she'd spend all that time trying to get a position, any position, in the Weyr. They didn't want her on a wing? They had to put her somewhere. Unfortunately, all the Weyrleaders and Weyrwomen, and even the Wingleaders seemed to have an annoying amount of staff, all of whom directed Ems to see someone else. So far, she hadn't managed to present her case to anyone that could actually do anything for her, thanks to the pesky Weyrfolk that kept her away.

So when Ems heard the call that Western was under siege and Riders were to assemble, she saw her chance. C'mon, Kapth! Lets go show them what we can do. For once, the Blue complied, rolling up to his feet and practically vibrating as Ems put his straps on. She had no ranged weapons (ha!), but Ems also wasn't thinking especially straight at the moment. Like a game? Like in training, when we flamed the ribbons? Ems snorted. You hated that, if I remember correctly. Well, yeah. But that was then! This is now! Let's go flame some ribbons!

Ems mounted up and she and her two-toned Blue circled down to the bowl, all fire and brimstone. Onith left right from his ledge, Kapth whined, irritated at being left behind. He did? Ems asked, considering. They could just go, without permission, show everyone... and then Kapth caught sight of the bolt, and showed it to Ems, all excitement. Is that what we're flaming? Awesome! Oh. No. Those were real, dangerous weapons, and without the ability to see that Shalith was fine, Ems' mind jumped to the worst. The Weyrleader's bronze had been right about the need for protection. They couldn't go to Western.

Kapth started shifting from foot to foot, picking up on Ems' nerves, although she kept her thoughts carefully separate from his. Should they go? Should they stay? Technically Ems was a trained healer, but without her eyes she was next to useless, there. Of course, without her eyes she was putting Kapth in danger if they went to Western, but... maybe they could ferry firestone? Or try and evacuate the wounded, like they had during their first Fall? The pair stayed on the ground, buffeted by the wind of riders landing and taking off, trying to work their way towards someone who could tell them what to do before Ems did something really, really stupid. There was a group of Whers and a Blackrider over near the Weyrwoman, so Ems dismounted and pushed her way through them, fetching up next to Rayna with her fists balled up on her hips. She opened her mouth to say something, but got cut off by a Wherhandler, asking for orders. Ems glared daggers at Wynmuri, but knew better than to interrupt the Weyrwoman when she was giving orders.

---

Midnight was called to assemble. As'lin wasn't a Wingleader, or even a Second, but as far as Smauth was concerned the opinions of humans and lesser colors meant little. Drieth was an older bronze, and for that Smauth gave him a measure of respect, but Mesreath and Roiath were lesser, and he would not be subject to their leadership. Smauth was the rightful Wingleader of Midnight. Or at least the Second.

He didn't especially enjoy being summoned by Zeuth, either, but once again the Bronze did have years and rank on Smauth. For now, anyway. But would it kill him to be polite about it? he griped to As'lin as the trembling teen did his best to buckle on the Bronze's fighting straps. Threadfall was one thing - As'lin was still nervous every time they went out to fight, but at least he was somewhat used to it now. A battle over Western? That was completely out of his wheelhouse. He had no weapons, but he tucked a couple of his old gutting knives from his fishing days in his belt, along with a roll of line. Never knew what it could be useful for. Be respectful, Smauth, As'lin pleaded as he mounted up, but when he got nervous all the mental strength he'd built with Rayna and Couineth's assistance seemed to evaporate.

Smauth knew this, and wasn't the kind of dragon to give His an easy time just because he was having a bit of a mild panic attack. He'd had worse, that's for sure, but the deep breathing wasn't working as well as As'lin had hoped. Smauth landed in the bowl with earthshaking panache, drawing himself up to his full size and scanning the ranks of smaller dragons. He didn't immediately spot his Leaders or Seconds, but even if he had, it wouldn't have stopped the Bronze from trying to take control. Midnight wing, to me! We must crush these invaders, who seek to steal what is rightfully ours! As the Wing started to form up - S'iole and Gozukith, at least, came over - Smauth spoke privately to Counieth, voice slippery sweet, ignoring the fact that she likely had many, many more important things to handle. Sun of suns, I am yours to command. If you have need of me, only speak the word and I will be at your side.

---

((Runner and Raloma are in the common room like good little candidates. S'iole and Gozukith are hanging out somewhere near Smauth, looking apprehensive))
^
Kestrel
 Posted: May 22 2015, 05:21 AM
Quote
Unregistered





N/A Posts
Marks


Unath’s has something odd.

The universe, perhaps, would forgive V’yeri for being neither particularly surprised nor interested. Vespasiath, as always, was quick to note anything that potentially struck him as out of order—dragons not on their usual ledges, tans carrying odd packages, too many people on one side of the lake and not enough on the other. But whatever Q’sis-the-surely-latent-stabber (why did they have to let him out of weyr jail?) was up to now, V’yeri was certain it had nothing to do with him.

And it didn’t. Not yet.

Until it turned out to matter a great deal to each and everyone in the weyr. And further, even, to everyone in the Western Continent.

V’yeri grimaced, putting his hands over his ears in an instinctive but futile reaction to the blast of words, pain, and urgency in his head, in Vespasiath’s head, in everyone’s head. A warning, a summons. A clarion.

The blue defector. He has landed. He has…V’yeri. What are those? Vespasiath asked uncertainly. There was no point for V’yeri to try to look himself—the metal spears would be little more than shiny sticks to his eyes, from such a distance. But Vespasiath’s sharper dragon eyes sent him a clearer picture. Not that it made much difference. The long bolts sticking out of the blue below were as foreign to him as to anyone.

All that matters is not to be hit by one.

The dragon fell silent, grim, searching his rider’s superior memory for what he knew of violence, of raids, of attacks on holds. More than most Pernese, and from a perspective Vespasiath didn’t totally understand. But it was long in the past, now. V’yeri had already begun pulling on his flight leathers, readying Vespasiath’s riding straps before the official order went out. Western was under siege. The weyr’s duty was to protect its holds. From thread, usually—but though this challenge was soberingly different, a weyr needed its holds in order to survive. V’yeri would be surprised indeed if the wings weren’t summoned in short order.

The palefolk, too, had already proven their intent to murder as many of Dalibor’s dragons as they could. None could forget the day their smokeweed had taken Kalith. This time their method was less sneaky, more confrontational. Just as well, to V’yeri. Underhanded tactics, assassinations in the night—these were hard to plan for. The things that plagued his nightmares, though not as much as they used to. V’yeri preferred to avoid all forms of violence, but if he had to choose one, it would be the more obvious kind. Yes, the palefolk could still have some more clever plan in store than simply storming Western and doing as much damage as they could—but at least it wouldn’t be much of a surprise. Tonight, they knew to expect anything.

Humans hurting dragons. Attacking holds! Attacking riders. How can they justify such a thing? Vespasiath growled, a growing red in his eyes. The more he came to understand the situation, the angrier he became. What possible reason could anyone have to even contemplate such wanton cruelty, such gleeful, bloody chaos? Everything under Pernese skies relied on a careful order for life to go on. The crafthalls were organized to provide what the holds and weyrs needed. The holds were structured to feed their people and provide for the weyrs. And the weyrs kept thread from destroying them all.

Vespasiath was not a violent creature. He was not even particularly angry. Stern, yes. Diligent. He struggled still to tolerate the thoughtless waste, the recklessness others could show in the name of ‘fun’. But in this case, there was nothing for him to understand. Nothing to forgive. Order had been threatened, and must now be defended. He didn’t like the idea of what they must do any more than his rider, but his conscience was unclouded. The entire Western continent depended on them.

Sunset, you heard the weyrleader, and the wingleader as well. Do not neglect to check that all your straps and leathers are in order due to haste or nerves. Come properly prepared, or not at all. Together, every sevenday we flame the thread that threatens our holds. Today our enemy comes from the ground, but our purpose is the same. The viridian echoed Zeuth and Baihujinth’s command, then glided down to take his position at Baihujinth’s flank for firestone loading. V’yeri secured the bags of precious rock, quickly but carefully, giving each task at hand all of his focus. The best way to survive was not to think about it too much. Not in the moment, anyway. And like in threadfall, he had a wing to worry about as well as himself.

This line of feeling filtered through to Vespasiath, and the viridian sought out Halventh’s mind. Be careful, he urged the flightier, sillier blue. The viridian inhaled, standing tall before his queen, flanked by his wingleader and wingmates. The rider sat more heavily in his seat, resigned but ready. At the command, they rose as one, and disappeared into the black.
^
Boo
 Posted: May 22 2015, 09:23 AM
Quote
Senior Weyrwoman





2954 Posts
935 Marks
Member Inventory: View


Could they not have even a moment’s peace? Rayna’s arms were folded over her growing belly as she awaited the answer from Q’sis. However, he was spared from the continuing discussion by the arrival of Wynmuri and Chiyo. Before she could explain her wishes to the two handlers, there was a burst that ripped the air as Shalith appeared from Between, hide littered with some kind of metallic bolts. More than likely from a crossbow but it was difficult for something to penetrate a dragon’s hide. It did not bode well. If something could do that to a dragon, what might it do to a human? For a while she stood there open mouthed before shaking her head into action.

“Western needs our support.” I needn’t be said but it was more for herself than anyone else. Rayna took a deep breath and then looked across the Bowl as the Weyr began preparing for war. G’len had already begun organising the Wings.
“Some of the Riders must remain,” She implored of the Weyrleader before turning back to the handlers.

“Q’sis has just returned from an area near Western Hold known as Woolcross Hold,” Couineth sent an image to the two whers, “This was the area he was investigating in particular. Under the pretense of purchasing goods, I want you to investigate. I do not know what it is they want but I fear they do not like the non-traditional colours. Wynmuri, be especially careful. Avoid mentioning Dalibor’s name as best as you can and remove your knots. I will send a rider with you.”
The pair sent them another image of the woman Q’sis had seen.
“This is the woman we are seeking. Q’sis believes she might have something to do with all of this. If you can find anything about her, anything at all about these actions, Couineth will be able to hear your call.”
The Weyrwoman then turned to Q’sis once more.
“If there is anything else you need to tell them before they go, you must tell them now.”
Smauth! Yes. You are needed. Take these two handlers and their whers to this place, Woolcross Hold, Couineth sent the image to the bronze, Remain there until the handlers return. Agrippith get your rider’s Frontier knots and bring them here. Smauth tell Yours to remove his knots and replace them with the knots Mine has given Chiyo...
Rayna added this for her dragon in a burst of inspiration. Lirone was a particular sort of person and it was highly unlikely that she would have easily given up her former knots. She would have begged to hold onto them before she’d transferred. The knots could do something small to help in hiding their origins. Probably not enough but something… Rayna was somewhat hopeful.

Once the handlers had finished their discussion with Q’sis, Rayna handed the knots to Chiyo.
“As’lin will take you there. Give these to him. It might not do much but it’s something. I must organise the Home Front. If you have any questions Couineth can answer.”
Rise Wings of Dalibor. We will remain and prepare for your return.
The gold dragon made her presence known in the Bowl as she straightened herself out and watched the Wings departing. She had no desire to go out there and fight, come back looking like a pincushion, however she appreciated the fact that there were so many willing to fight.

Rayna turned to the two riders before her. Ems she remembered because, well, she was rather distinctive. Arlya was, however, a Weyrling.
“Arlya, we will need watch dragons to take over. You may take up the first watch. Ems… You are a healer correct? Use Kapth to rally the candidates. We will need to set up a triage outside in the Bowl in case of dragons being unable to make it to the infirmary. I know you cannot see,” Rayna was blunt, “But Kapth can be your eyes. Use him to direct the candidates in particular.”

Let’th do it! My leader, we will follow you alwayth.
Onith get your butt back here! You forgot to preheat the firestone!
We go. Now. Our Weyr, our duty.
Can’t we all just get along?
HULSK SMASH!
You will not be harmed, Mine.
I think Shalith’s hide is much improved.
I think it’s better that we have to remain. You will be noticed easier this way.

(as per usual let me know if I missed something)


user posted imageuser posted image
PM
^
Sari
 Posted: May 22 2015, 02:43 PM
Quote
Unregistered





N/A Posts
Marks


(C'sen)

He'd been about ready to go for one of his extra flight, Kozameth in gear, though C'sen himself hadn't intended to wear anything other than the riding straps as far as official flight wares. Plan, however, were destined to change, the chaos in the bowl erupting before the Iron' pairs very eyes. Whatever was to happen, they needed to be ready, so C'sen shot back into his weyr to get himself fully attired, finishing not long before the pink's voice offered those initial commands. The Iron had started to grow restless and unsure, despite himself, but hearing from one he was to obey set things to rights; now, they knew what they were to do.

Once C'sen was properly secured, he took note of the diving and calling out of his flitter trio, caught up in the excitement, but having the sense to stick close to Kozameth and not get in the way. That sense got them far as Kozameth assisted in calling them in, each finding a proper place to settle in against the King for the short drop down from their ledge. They were of like mind though, not settling on the bowl floor. There was only so much room there, best to leave what portion of the floor that would be claimed by weyrlings for the smaller of their class, and the flightless of the new one. Kozameth, instead borrowed a ledge near enough to the floor that they could hear, and be accounted for, without taking up valuable, limited space.

~Ziprith, we are here ~, reported the Iron dutifully, while also being sure that it would not be mistaken for defiance on their part, after all, his was a very grey hide that had not strayed far from the bowl's wall to be noticed, and the pink's eyes could not scan the whole bowl at once.

^
Rii
 Posted: May 22 2015, 05:54 PM
Quote
Jr. Weyrwoman





2307 Posts
17 Marks
Member Inventory: View


The Weyrleader summons, Recath informed his rider in a tone that hummed with so much urgency that Reylia dropped her paperwork immediately to run to her dragon's part of their small weyr. Western Hold is attacked. They try to kill and burn. The black spread his oversized wings, inside or not. Most are called to Western. We are ordered with our wing to Crescent, to guard against attack there.

"It's a bad time to assume that whoever is attacking won't try a two-pronged attack," Reylia agreed crisply, going for his riding straps. "What other instructions?"

Wear full leathers. Horizon remains to guard the Weyr. More instructions being arranged. He crouched, letting his rider scramble over him.

"Call the wing. Vol'ze can confirm things but the faster we're assembled the better." Seconds would count. What possessed these people to attack a Hold in force? As a steward's daughter, however estranged, it baffled her.

Heritage Wing! Report to the Bowl in full Threadfall gear. We are going to Crescent in defense. Straps were tightened, then Reylia suited up and mounted.

Let's go, Recath!


***


ATTACK! Ietermath roared his outrage at the call. Attack at Western. We're needed now!

Even with his dragon's rage (and his own, quiet as it was), T'yandon's cold control didn't falter. Call Mayday. We depart as soon as the wing is ready. Practice let him speed through the familiar motions of gearing up.

MAYDAY WING ASSEMBLE. Full straps, full leathers, full firestone loads. No mistakes. We'll be leaving for Western in high-low formation. Half of the wing flying above the other half. It was T'yandon's favored choice for mass betweenings, when multiple wings had to use roughly the same reference point.

It didn't take long for them to assemble, and T'yandon silently blessed his own stubborn determination to run a tight wing. In an emergency like this, it made all the difference. Z'is and Hephaeth, lead the upper half. More orders when we arrive. Go! Go! GO! They launched into the air.

Ietermath, bespeak Couineth and Zeuth for me, please.

Couineth, Zeuth, T'yandon suggests M'lock and Meridian Wing remains at the ready in the Weyr Bowl in case they need to defend the Weyr or be dispatched where needed once we have the full situation. We may need dragons to transport more wher forces. The vigorous, enjoyment-loving dragon was all honed energy in times like these. The crisp message delivered, his rider signaled his Wing between.


***


An attack on a hold. The audacity took Jali's breath away, but only for a moment. Then she was hurrying to respond to the calls that flew, keeping up with Laanasuth's rushed report. The pair went immediately to the heights, to perch atop the Weyr wall far above where any human could reach alone.

Couineth, we will remain on watch and be ready if any injured dragons arive in need of help landing, and help relay your orders at the same time, the copper told the acting senior queen. We can catch those of any size on our own and have never fumbled a catch. Experience and practice was a wonderful thing, and Laanasuth was understandably proud of her prowess at preserving life.

Jali patted Laanasuth's neck, speaking only in thought to her bonded. My Jali suggests Ga'am and Dragoth to join us. They are most watchful of what they consider theirs. None will slip by them. If you agree, perhaps you or your wingsecond can choose scouts from our wing to patrol outside of the Weyr, whoever might be best for it.


((Everyone else is doing what they were told to do!))


PMAIM
^
Azhdarchid
 Posted: May 22 2015, 06:10 PM
Quote
Unregistered





N/A Posts
Marks


"You are spry for a one-armed man," Q'sis greeted Tedaon after the healer ascended Unath's reclined posture to reach him. He took off his coat and let the Master work, muttering or no. It did not get to start with numbweed, so he resumed his slumped posture against the ridge ahead, folding his arms over it and grimacing. "Why are there so many knives to be pulled out of riders," he grunted back after a particularly torturous pressure. The redwort was not going to be pleasant in a wound of this size. It almost made the whole causal incident pale in anticipation.

Shalith burst from Between and crashed. Siege at Western Hold, he said. Those malnourished, bitter pale ones and their hopeless ambushes. They only ever did enough damage to hurt someone's feelings, kill a handful of precious people. Q'sis did not even try to straighten up at the news. All the Weyr slipped out, save the Queen's Wing, and the Weyrlings, and a few unusual spares.

Hanging against the ridge, he looked down at the corpse by Unath's paw. Face drawn, he motioned Chiyo and Wynmuri closer when they arrived.

"There are four trains at Woolcross tonight," he told them, shutting his eyes a long moment before continuing. "I was exiled from Farenise, known by the royal gold combie. They are..." Q'sis blinked, the corner of his mouth in a snarl as Tedaon spiked something against his back. "...insular. Only women are brought in from outside." Their target would be a woman who did not look much like a daughter of the trail. An import. "There is no room for deviations like what this thing expressed." He let his hand hang toward the body. "It would interfere with the money. They trade in clothes, women's clothes especially, spices, vegetables. The men will not speak to you unless you express an interest in buying some of those clothes. The women will not speak at all. They model, or stay back with the wagons to mind children."

"The second is Wryhop, the red runner. They deal in smallbeasts. They rarely trade in or carry a watchwher egg. Much of their work is transport, carrying studs to dams for the holders. But if they are participating in the Gather and not simply leaving, then they have something to sell. They are from the South originally, and arrived after Dalibor had already taken me from mine."

Tedaon must have finally found his numbweed. A chill in his muscles vaporized all pain, leaving only a dragging, heavy-eyed weariness. "The silver axe, Meirite, is another old Northern train. Enormous and historied. Their presence in the West is but a branch of a branch, and yet it challenges for most coverage. Their stalls were the closest. They deal in all varieties of goods, but show their dominance in the trade of gems and jewelry. Every man in Meirite has a firelizard. If the one there had a flit, it never thought to aid him." He might have been more successful if it had.

"The last is the white wheel, from Benden. Leiveen. Wine merchants more than traders. They carry retired Craftsman in return for their services, but some of the Crafters find it a fair retirement. The women, they love. The people can play and dance too. All of them will be your friend, and charge you too much for alcohol. They seem grandiose but they are weak: they brought all of their kin here. Every woman and every baby. They stay to the larger holds and pick up everyone's scraps. They would have been easy to destroy." A wistful smile for destinies lost, and Q'sis shrugged.

He pointed at the body. "Look at his face. It is beaten by the sun. But the woman was as cream, and she appeared at the roll table. Traders do not have ovens. Baked goods are a holder treat."
^
rubixcubed
 Posted: May 22 2015, 08:40 PM
Quote
Unregistered





N/A Posts
Marks


How dare these Palefolk think to take what belongs to m- ussss! Smauth demanded of the dragons assembling near him. It was a leader's place to prepare his troops for battle, after all. Pacing in front of them, he casually biffed Gozukith with his tail. Our teeth are swords, our claws are spears, our wings are a hurricane! Our breath is -

Oh. Counieth actually needed them. Smauth paused, heroically posed, then rumbled slightly and slithered around to contact the Midnight Wingleaders directly. Apologiessss, but I have been personally requested by Counieth. I will return to the fight as soon as I am able, but I do not know what she desires. With no additional explanation, and no warning to As'lin, Smauth took off, throwing his rider back into his harness. Certainly it was good that Counieth had summoned him personally, but... he would not get to display his prowess in battle. He had expected just to get brownie points for offering, not to actually be called to service. But my breath is DEATH! he complained to his flummoxed rider. Smauth? What are we... what about the wing?

The bronze did not deign to answer, just settling on a ledge nearby Counieth's to wait for the Whers to be in a better position for pickup, trying to decide if he was sulking or not. Oy, Smauth! Why aren't we down with our wing? Take off your knotsss, the bronze hissed, shifting his shoulders under As'lin to make the boy sit straighter. As'lin complied, still totally lost, tucking his beloved Rider's knots into an empty bag on Smauth's harness usually meant to hold the rider's gloves and goggles when they weren't being worn. Come to the next ledge east when you have your information, Smauth told Chisk and Wynsk, making no effort to hide the disgust in his tone. He only got along with a few Whers, and Tousk was not present.

While they waited, As'lin managed to pull a few details out of Smauth. "Two whers? I guess they're small ones, then. Better have both Handlers ride up with me, then you can carry one with your front feet, and the bigger one with your back feet. Will that work? Maybe the Handlers will have a better idea."

--

Ems was momentarily startled, but recovered quickly. "Yes Ma'am," she replied to the Weyrwoman, in response to both her question about Ems' healing training and her orders. Triage the incoming riders? At least that was useful. Intriguing. She called Kapth and waited for the blue to nose her in the back so she could safely find his harness without going off a ledge. She'd gotten quite good at mounting in the past two turns, and did it nearly as smoothly as a sighted rider would. Triage, though, would be a different story.

((moving Ems to the Home Front thread - Vrell and the Candidates will be tagged there))
^
Kestrel
 Posted: May 22 2015, 09:53 PM
Quote
Unregistered





N/A Posts
Marks


It would be dark soon.

Summer afforded more light in the evenings than any other time of the turn, but it was never enough for Ar’lan. Flighty dark vtols were a challenge to properly see under glowlight alone. Turns of habit had brought him efficiency, but the quicker he got at doing the chores his project demanded—breeding the vtols, updating records, cleaning jars from now-dead generations to be repurposed for a new batch—the more he was only tempted to increase the scale, to test more lines. Taseth, his only regular verbal companion, had accused him of simply not wanting to have any free time. She may have been right.

He was taking down one last jar for inspection when Shalith burst into the weyrbowl, shouting of siege. He dropped the jar. Mercifully, it did not break, but the lid popped loose, and a small swarm of bugs issued out of the jar like black steam. “Shards and shells,” he hissed, grabbing his net and trying to re-capture the bulk of them. But his surprise and irritation were eclipsed by that of his dragon. MURDERERS! Taseth roared, stalking back and forth on her ledge, eyes a dark crimson. Cowards and killers! Ar’lan, come. We must protect the holders!

“Just a—just a moment,” he grunted, trying to knock a few vtols free of the net and back into the jar. “What are we going to do, exactly? If you didn’t notice, you didn’t exactly impress a guard, over here.”

We will work as we do in threadfall. I will fight. My claws are sharp and my flame is strong. You will lend me your eyes, and keep the firestone at the ready.

“What about orders? We can’t just fly off to Western by ourselves!”

Onith already did! Our own wingmate! I know your vtols are important to you, but this matters too. We should be there already. Get the riding straps!

Ar’lan glanced between the jar and his flight leathers with an exasperated sigh. But then orders were coming in, the wings mustering for war. Taseth would have her justice that night. “Virgil! Algernon! Just…round up as many as you can, will you?” The black firelizard replied with a squeaky chirp and set to work, gently snatching up bugs in his nimble claws. The bronze puffed out his chest, ready for action. He was not, however, the natural vtol-wrangler Virgil was. The bugs wafted free of his grasp, and he nearly knocked another jar from its shelf in his pursuit. Ar’lan sighed, but was already fastening Taseth’s straps in place, carefully double-checking. She was not a large dragon, which meant the metal spears were a greater threat to her than they may have been for a larger beast. So too was Ar’lan more exposed.

But Taseth, even by green standards, was fast, agile, and focused. The deadliness of the weapon mattered little if it couldn’t touch her. And she would be hurt herself before she let harm befall her rider.

They soon took their place with their wing, loading the firestone, and Taseth’s tail lashed as they awaited the official command. Ar’lan was in no hurry, all but too shocked by the knowledge of what they were being sent to do to do anything more than stay with the wing and follow orders. He was not as cold as he seemed. He was not a killer. But Taseth had the resolve, the determination to defend, that he lacked. When the order came and they were airborne at last, it couldn’t come soon enough. It was time for justice.

------------

On the records room ledge, another mission for justice was only beginning. Chiyo listened with rapt attention to Rayna’s instructions. Woolcross. A place she had not heard of. Was it significant? Or just somewhere the traders happened to be? Chiyo was disinclined to believe anything was a coincidence unless there was no other explanation. She glanced to Wynsk at the mention of non-traditional colors. Chisk was green, as traditional a color as they came, though the spines covering her body were rather less so. But that was the way of whers. Still, whers didn’t inspire the devotion and fanaticism that dragons did, the kind of fervor that could lead a people to kill—to, perhaps, even attack a hold—just for their daring to mutate. But Chiyo, too, would stay on her guard for her partner’s black wher nonetheless.

At Rayna’s order, she removed her knots and her jacket bearing the green patch of Delta pride. Frontier Weyr. A small weyr, in the south. One of the closest to her birth weyr of Eastern. Frontier did not have any great program like Dalibor, their handlers would not have prides and patches. They would need to look more low-key, less military.

Not, she suspected, that it would do any great deal of good. What would a rider and two handlers from a Southern Weyr be doing at a tiny hold’s impromptu gather in the West? They could invent a family member or a friend, perhaps—someone with a firelizard who’d moved West and told them of the little gather. Sunset, the start of a handler’s day, was at least not a strange time for them to arrive. It may be that they would not be asked questions anyway, that the traders may not care as long as it seemed they had marks to spend. But it would do to be prepared regardless. Chiyo nodded as she accepted the knots from Rayna, holding onto them as they waited for As’lin.

She just had one request for Rayna before she began her other duties. “Weyrwoman. It may aide our investigation to bring marks. If the traders find out we have none, we may not get far with them.” Too many marks, of course, would raise suspicion as well, but just a little—enough to flash and buy a bubbly pie or a small trinket, perhaps, to prove they were more than window shoppers—would be useful.

She turned, then, to Q’sis, ignoring the healer working at his bloody back. Only the information mattered. Four caravans. The palefolk, and the potential accomplice, could be involved with any one of them, or none, if they had been lurking in Woolcross itself. Meirite seemed unlikely—she couldn’t imagine Arkady not even making an appearance if her life was in danger. Still not impossible, of course, but something she kept in mind.

“What I would like to know,” she asked when he had finished. “Is what led you to suspect traders in the first place. Why Woolcross?” Clearly he had some kind of information that they had not uncovered.

She next knelt down to examine the body. A gruesome thing, smelling of blood and manure. For all her turns as a wannabe investigator of crime, she had been just that—a pretender, mostly. She had little experience with actual bodies. But she pushed through the layer of instinctive revulsion and unease, knelt down, and began to examine it. Chisk, too, stepped forward, sniffing and prodding lightly at the dead thing with her nose. Chiyo could feel her wher’s approval. Q’sis had done a much better job than Irohvyne’s would-be assassin, that was for sure.

Chiyo examined the man’s filthy clothing. Ragged—except for his boots. His, or stolen? Or won, perhaps, in gambling. Closer inspection showed they had one more clue to give. “A wheel,” she noted aloud. “White.” The mark of Leiveen. From Benden—like Lady Irohvyne herself. A connection? Maybe. Maybe not. Another fact to file away.

She stood up, and looked to Wynmuri. “What do you think?” she asked her partner, interested in another’s take on things. If she had any thoughts Chiyo may have missed. “Also, we should figure our story out. Two handlers and a rider from Frontier turning up at a tiny Western hold—need a reason. Family, maybe, or a friend? Told us there was a gather. Couple Frontier handlers with the night off and some marks to spend, got a rider to bring us over? Might not matter, but it’s good to know what part we’re playing.” If Wynmuri had a better cover story, or something to add to Chiyo’s idea, she would be glad to hear that as well.

Ride’s ready when you are, Chisk informed her. The bronze’s arrogance and distaste for whers was obvious, and the green couldn’t resist a snide comment back. Sure thing, burdenbeast. Chiyo passed the knots to As’lin when they joined him on the next ledge, but left it to him or Wynmuri to determine their transport arrangement, her own mind still busy cycling through the facts they knew so far.
^
Rowana
 Posted: May 22 2015, 10:10 PM
Quote
Jr. Weyrleader





798 Posts
257 Marks
Member Inventory: View


Wynmuri listened to Rayna's explaination, trying to ignore the crowd and bustle of dragons and riders getting ready to defend Western. The timing of events couldn't have been worse. Almost like someone had planned it that way. She glanced down at Wynsk with a worried frown. He couldn't possibly be mistaken for a traditional color, but hopefully he was small enough not to be a threat. At least he wasn't as large or flashy as say an orange or red.

While Rayna summoned a rider for them, Wyn sent a mental prod to her fire lizard, Mala. The green appeared at her shoulder, fushing and prodding as she normally did. Wyn shushed her and gave her the knots. "Take these back to our room, then come back," she instructed. Mala was vain and a bit silly sometimes, but she could take instruction well. Wyn would have liked to bring Quartz, but the Icehowler was still young and untrained. At least Mala was a traditional color and having her would give her the option to send for help at a moments notice. She nodded at the suggestion of marks. It would help if they could buy a few things to gain trust. Though Wyn didn't think they should bring so many as to be easy marks for theivery.

Wyn moved closer to Q'sis so she could hear what he had to say. If his past history surprised her, she didn't show it. She let Chiyo ask the question about how he had come to investigate on his own. For all his reasons, the information about the Traders would be invaluable. She had dealt with them little during her time as a Holder. She wished that examining the body had not been so required, but she grimly did it. Wynsk examined the man even more closely. He had an eye for detail that Wyn sometimes lacked.

Once they had all the information and Mala had returned, Wynmuri turned to Chiyo as the other voiced questions. "I have some Miner training," she added as a suggestion. "I could pass for one if it will help. We could say we're visiting friends at the MinerHall at Crescent." The Hall was a large one and hosted folks from all over Pern. It would not be unusual for Miners to have whers, or to be interested in trade and stones from other regions. She could even name some of the Masters and staff who worked at the Hall still, if anyone got suspicious. "We should reveal as little was we can to avoid contradicting each other. Keep it casual though. We don't want to seem like we have something to hide."

She went to meet As'lin and Smauth as they finished their discussion. She was a bit surprised that such a large dragon would be their escort, even a young one. Given all the dragons that would be needed to defend Western. She was grateful though. "Thanks for the lift," she offered with a wry smile. It was hard to make light in such a serious situation, but she didn't think they had to be all grim among friends. "Wynsk is pretty small and he won't wiggle. Right, Wynsk?" Wynsk regarded the big dragon stoically. If dragon not rough, he decided at last.
PM
^
Tigersilk
 Posted: May 23 2015, 03:05 AM
Quote
Wingleader





1071 Posts
675 Marks
Member Inventory: View


((OOC: For the record, G'len has approved T'yandon's idea, and Meridian Wing is also stationed at the Weyr for protection/supply runs/wher transport/snipe hunts/ect. Also all dragonriding Dragonhealers have been left behind to help deal with potential incoming injured.))

M'teng listened to the Weyrwoman's words about this mission to a minor Holding to find the attackers, keeping quiet and thus unnoticed by the others present. It made sense to him to continue on with this mission while the rest of the Wings - or at least the majority of them - went to Western to drive off the attackers. More than likely there was some sort of connection between the Lady's attackers and the people laying siege at her Hold this hour. Best to attack both ends at once, so it would be harder for their enemies to regroup later.

He absorbed the information Q'sis provided about the Trader clans at their target Hold. Especially he noted which of the clans was the Tanrider's native home. Interesting. If what he heard about that clan was true, it explained much about Q'sis. Didn't excuse many of the man's actions, though. Just explained where he learned them at. The news about Leiveen caught M'teng's full attention. He knew that name, from his years in Bitra Hold, and Benden Weyr. That train had moved to the West some turns before he was Searched, if he recalled correctly, but oldtimers in both places still talked about them, and their...services. He also had some vague memory that his late grandmother had dealings with this clan in turns gone by, but there was no time now to find it. He'd look into it later, after this mess was done with.

While the two wherhandlers discussed their plans for going in, M'teng touched Szolath's mind. Who is this As'lin that's doing the escort duty? he asked his Black. While Chiyo and Wyn were young, they still had the air of someone who knew how to look after themselves in a tight spot. If this Bronzerider was who he thought he was.... Szo gave him the image: a boy, an older teen, and based on his body language not someone who was used to going into dangerous Holds and coming out alive. He was the weak link in the trio, and their targets would sense it inside of a minute, if that, and exploit it to their advantage and the boy's potential loss of life. Unless the Bronzerider had someone looking out for him specifically.

"Weyrwoman Rayna," M'teng spoke up quietly, drawing their attention to himself. "I would like to go on this mission too. I've had encounters with similar criminal types in the past, though none from this continent." And thus no connection to the Palefolk attackers; I will not betray us to them was his unspokedn comment. "I can help spot the shadier people Chiyo and Wyn will likely run into up there, and possibly give them enough warning to defend themselves. Besides, your young Bronzerider doesn't strike me as being savy enough about criminal types to to know how to avoid them. I can watch out for him and bring him back safe."

Once he got Rayna's approval, he turned to Chiyo and Wyn. "I suggest, before we go, that we each take a fast look in the mirror and make sure we're dressed right for our roles. They're not likely to believe that you're based at the Crescent Minerhold if you're not wearing their patches, after all. Me, I'm going as a Bitran Holder looking for the man who cheated me out of a major poker pot. Once I grab my Hold patches and change my clothes I'll be ready to go." Bitrans were notorious about their gambling and their winnings; M'teng figured that reputation would be enough to explain why a stranger was at such a small Holding to begin with asking questions.

"You," he turned towards As'lin, "don't have to change more than those patches, really. But I would suggest grabbing a good fighting knife and bringing it with you. Just in case." He turned towards the group as a whole. "So unless there's any more discussions left, we meet by the Wherhandler Quarters in fifteen minutes? Then get going to the Hold?"
PMEmail
^
Azhdarchid
 Posted: May 23 2015, 11:45 AM
Quote
Unregistered





N/A Posts
Marks


Q'sis tugged a small bag from aside his saddle, unhooking it and then holding his arm out as low down Unath as he dared to bend. He released the carrystrap, and the bag rolled down pebbled dragonhide before dropping off around the elbow and clunking to the ground beside the tan.

"The knife used for Irohvyne was a trader's. It has the combie on the hilt. Woolcross is where I tracked Farenise to. I did not look at the other dagger." But the other one had no mark, not at the hilt or the broken half of the blade. "I left a few Marks at Woolcross, by the river." The pile numbered just about thirty. A few. "If you can find any that are not covered in blood, you can use those."

M'teng joined them, but only as a listener before he looked at the bronze Rayna had commandeered, then volunteered. Between that silent, blackrider-style judgement and the prickly green playing with the corpse, Q'sis smirked. "The suspects are Holdless all, so do whatever you need to."

***

At Crescent Hold...

"I wish there had been dolphins here when we came here."

"There probably were," the dolphin said. "Did you look?"

"No, I guess not!" She shook her head, smiling at him. The dolphin smiled back, all cone teeth and fish breath.

A wing of dragons all in formation materialized over the hold, full of roars and self-importance. The dolphin stood on his tail, wiggling to maintain position. Feen looked over her shoulder, tucking her windswept hair behind her ear. "I wonder what they want," she muttered. The dolphin tilted his head to see her pouty face. Feen was sticking out her lower lip more than was humanly possible, he thought.

"Don't know!" he squeaked, sliding down into the water. "You had better go back." He ducked under the water, and came up with the bell rope in his jaws. He yanked on the rope and the great metal bell began its fateful clatter. Feen got to her feet and cupped her hands around her mouth.

"Oi Feesk! Are you paying attention?!"

Feesk was, though only because the two dolphins spinning her around in the deep water stopped at the first loud bong. She paddled in to shore and walked up on the sand, six feet and a fair number of inches dripping. She shook herself.

Feesk like salt! The huge green watchwher finally turned her lamp-like eyes to the sky. She reared her front paws off the sand, staring at the formation, then her chest shook with an abnormally high-pitched bark:

"Wouf!"

The wher took off, full speed up the road from Dolphinhall to Hold. "Wouf!"

"Bye Feesk," her handler mused. She waved at the dolphin- he did a backflip. Then she jogged to catch up. Feesk ascended the parapets of the Hold's outer courtyard long before Feen arrived, and ran from corner to corner, hopping in place with her fangs pointed skyward.

"Wouf!"
^
Guestperson
 Posted: May 23 2015, 12:33 PM
Quote
Unregistered





N/A Posts
Marks


Holds under attack, Mine! Rayna call other investigation whers to bowl! Arovisk seemed rather upset at being forgotten. Arovin, for his part, felt a bit ashamed that Rayna thought he wasn't fit for the task, anymore, but she was probably right. A handler who couldn't handle his wher probably shouldn't be part of any investigations, much less in charge of them.

Chisk! Wynsk! No leave without me, or will be greeted by angry black wher when get back! Arovisk broadcasted his message, and barreled away from Arovin out into the weyrbowl. The handler let out an exclamation of surprise, and hurried after his wher.

"You can't go with them, Rayna didn't summon us! We'll get in huge trouble for disobeying a Weyrwoman, and possibly end up in jail ourselves!" He said, going into a sprint to catch up with Arovisk, who was only loping ahead.

Rayna Shmayna, Arovisk not getting left be—

Unfortunately for the black, Arovin was sick of getting pushed around, and before he could finish his sentence, Arovin attempted to tackle the black to the ground. Arovisk snarled in surprise, and twisted away from the much smaller and weaker human being.

Arovin let out a growl of his own, and quickly got to his feet. "We are not disobeying orders, this time, Arovisk. You've had your fun, and now you have to deal with the consequences." He rubbed at the back of his neck, and paused to catch his breath. "Now, call Couineth or someone and see what we can do."

Arovisk growled reluctantly, but reached out his mindvoice to the acting senior. Gold-wing, Arovisk and Arovisk's want know what can do.

_____________


E'lin! There's a fight at Western Hold! We need to go protect the weyr!

The rider sat up sharply, having heard the call at the same time as Sproth, and looked at his dragon with no small bit of horror. The hold was under siege? What? How? E'lin's hands trembled slightly, but when he heard the orders for Mayday Wing—his wing—to go to the Hold he knew he had to follow them. Hurriedly, the man gathered the straps and hoisted himself over Sproth's back.

"Faster, faster, faster, c'mon," he murmured under his breath, coaxing the leather into place. When he looped the final loose strap through the clasp and felt it grow snug against his dragon's hide, E'lin hurriedly secured, and clambered onto the burgundy's back. Throughout his nervous routine, Sproth had twitched his wings with anticipation and impatience, and eagerly hopped toward the ledge once his rider was up.

Send a message to my sister, the rider asked, looping his hands through the straps arcing over Sproth's shoulders.

The burgundy lunged into the air, which wasn't so open right now. Dragons swarmed through the air to answer the call to arms. E'lin began to tremble again, whether from awe or fear, he wasn't sure. Either way, he knew that today would be a day (or rather, a night) to go down in the records.

Black.

Nalis,

Blacker.

We're going to fight.

Blackest.

Wish us luck!

Between.

_________

Think Ridesk some common runnerbeast? No ride Ridesk!

"But Rides—"

If want look "cool", ride dumb Northdawn instead.

And so it went.

_________

Nalis hurried into the bowl, golden-red hair secure in a tight bun. She hoisted herself onto the back of Nalisk, who had grown into a handsome, young bronze. He whuffled at the extra weight, but he'd carried his handler before, so he took it in stride as he lumbered across the bowl.

The pridesecond thumbed her knots, and leaned forward over her bronze's back. "Call out the pride," she suggested. Her eyes roamed over the bowl, crowded over with people spilling from the entrances and the weyrs. The ground was dotted with pale shadows from dragons winging overhead, and Nalisk traipsed over agitated pillies in his run.

Alpha Pride! Report to bowl for instruction! Nalisk exclaimed, his mindvoice snaking into the minds of his fellow pridesecond, the betahandler Embomere, and the rest of the pride. Nalisk felt happy at the idea of how powerful and majestic he must look now, a king in command of queens.

Don't get too excited over it, Nalis said good-naturedly.

Abruptly, the girl jerked her head up at the voice of Sproth, something she didn't hear very often. Her heart fluttered a bit, and her eyes rounded. Well, of course her brother was going off to defend the hold.

"Good luck," she exclaimed softly when she saw the lithe burgundy form above her blink between.

________

"Falkoth?" Pelinora's voice wavered in the dimness of her weyr, and she reached out to touch the soft hide of her beloved partner.

Why would someone do this? Why someone try to hurt our friends? Pelinora's heart twisted to hear her pink's distress, something she'd never really heard up until now. The pink had stayed strong through the deaths and the assassinations, but here, in the wake of a true battle with casualties and everything, Falkoth wavered.

"I don't know, Falkoth, I don't know, but we've gotta go out and fight—our wing was called!"

I won't shed blood, the pink exclaimed sharply.

"We won't have to."

I don't want to see others do it.

"Then we'll stay home."

I don't like this home. Let's go to your home. I'll bet everyone's your friend there!

Pelinora's face contorted in confusion. Home? Dalibor was her home. D-did Falkoth mean her old home? Her hold? Or the weyr where her brothers were?

Brothers? Your hatch-siblings? Let's meet them! Falkoth's eyes blurred into a bright blue. It seemed the pink had already forgotten about the imminent battle everyone was preparing for outside. Pelinora smiled softly at her pink, and thought to herself for a bit. Leaving now would be seen as cowardice, or even treason. B-but, Falkoth's fear was infectious, and when the rider closed her eyes, she could see dragons falling out the air with long spears driven into their hide, and torn into their rider. Blood raining down like rain from the sky.

She and Falkoth had fought Thread ever since graduation, but this, this was different. Thread did not think, did not have malicious intent for those who went up to defend Pern against it. The people who were attacking Western Hold, however, did. Every time they saw a body fall they would relish it. They would celebrate over her Falkoth's corpse.

"Ah-alright, Falkoth, let's go see my brothers," the girl said softly.

When they went finally between amidst the chaos over the weyr, it wasn't to Western Hold, or Crescent, or Woolcross. It was to Fort Weyr.
^
Kestrel
 Posted: May 23 2015, 06:34 PM
Quote
Unregistered





N/A Posts
Marks


Chiyo knelt down and picked up the bag that dropped from the tan, peering inside. There it was—the dagger. She was more than a little annoyed that Irohvyne had hindered the handlers’ investigation by sending it instead to this rider. And look where it had gotten them—a man they could have questioned dead, and a rider stabbed. Q’sis had managed to be a little useful, at least, in identifying the trader mark on the dagger and finding the caravan, she could begrudgingly allow. But it didn’t change the fact that the dagger should have been theirs to investigate.

No matter now. Now that the handlers had it, neither Irohvyne nor Q’sis were about to get it back anytime soon.

A Farenise dagger, and a Leiveen boot. Meirite and Wryhop were not yet cleared of suspicion, either. They would have their chance to speak to all four caravans soon enough.

Chiyo tilted her head as she listened to Wynmuri’s idea for their cover story. “Frontier handlers, miner friend at Crescent, came up there to visit and heard about the gather…could work. Less risk than claiming to know someone at a small hold like Woolcross. Would be tough if people started asking questions.” She nodded. “Yeah, best not to go spouting things off without a reason. Just makes things more complicated.” Complicated was the enemy, in Chiyo’s mind. They needed to be able to focus on their work first and foremost, not get stuck working too hard to keep up a convoluted act and not contradict anything they might have said before.

At the message from the apparently-forgotten Arovisk, Chisk chuckled, her laughter her chief initial response to the black. Chisk didn’t even dislike him, really—like her, he was smart, and not tied down by morals like all the other goody-two-shoes in the weyr. He could be a good ally, if he would be on her side. If not, he was an enemy. After a pause, she spoke to him again. Chiyo say she fine if you and handler wanna come, ‘long as Weyrboss says okay. And ‘long as you handler not gonna do anything dumb. Not that she thought Arovin was especially likely to, really. It was just general Chiyo prickliness.

Chiyo was distracted from her preparations with Wynmuri when the blackrider who’d been lurking around approached the Weyrwoman and began to speak. She frowned, turning to listen and look over the rider who was, it seemed, inviting himself along on their mission. On the wherhandlers’ investigation. First Q’sis, and now this?

Chiyo was sadly used to not being taken very seriously. The adults at Eastern hadn’t, nor had those at her father’s minor hold near Paradise. Whether because she was young, a girl, or simply not very tall or strong-looking, many people looked at her and assumed she couldn’t do things by herself. Particularly the kind of things she wanted to do—rooting out criminals and fighting crime. Dalibor’s wher program had been a happy exception. Rayna had trusted her, had given the investigation to her, and Wynmuri, and Arovin. And that trust meant more to her than she could say. So this know-it-all rider, coming in and professing himself to be vital to their mission, honing in on their investigation, quickly got her hackles up.

Her eyebrows rose at his claims. She and Wynmuri needed him to spot shady people? His comments about As’lin led her to glance at the bronzerider and back, feeling almost defensive of the guy as he was labeled incompetent. M’teng was judging all that just from looking at him? Who was he to decide what As’lin could and couldn’t do? His job was mostly transport, anyway, and he would have a bronze to defend him.

Her expression had fixed into a steely stare, but she voiced no objections to his coming. It was Rayna’s decision, not hers. Still, M’teng won no more goodwill from her when he presumed to start taking charge and directing them. “Our clothes are fine. Without the jackets with Dalibor’s patches, we could be handlers from anywhere. And since we are bringing our whers, there’s no point pretending to be holdergirls instead of handlers. Since our transporter will be wearing knots from Frontier, the simplest course would be for us to play the role of Frontier handlers, so Crescent Minorhold patches—which I doubt anyone had lying around anyway—aren’t needed. Frontier’s wher system is informal. No prides. We’re ready. If you need time to get your costume on, do it. But we won’t wait long.”

Chisk moved to her handler’s side, green eyes glittering at the blackrider. “And if you’re going to play holder, better land your dragon far away.” The further away the better was her private thought. “‘Bitran holder’ showing up and dismounting from a black dragon, no other obvious rider, doesn’t hold together too well.” She turned, then, to As’lin. “It’s…Smauth, is it? I think the whers will be alright one in each front paw, as long as he’s careful. That’ll leave the back feet free to land. His,” she jerked her head toward M’teng. “Can carry Arovisk.”
^

Topic Options
Pages: (2) 1 2 
Closed
New Topic
New Poll


 


 


Chatbox
1. No advertising.

2. No in-depth discussion of highly personal issues, incl. medical issues affecting you, your family or friends, or your pets. Do not ask for medical advice in the cbox.

3. Please refrain from explicit description of illegal, violent or gross subjects. Be mindful of your fellow members and guests to the site.

4. Important communications for staff should be sent via PM - just because someone is on the site does not mean they are looking at the cbox! :)


Cbox Mods: Ruin, Rii, Ivy
Affiliates