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Harper's Tale - Sunday, March 17, 2002,
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Upper Alpine Meadows
A vast alpine meadow stretches to the foot a glacier, flanked by the flat reach of a dozen more peaks; snow lurks at the higher elevations, capping the valleys in thick, endless layers of ice and new-fallen flakes. In contrast, during the spring and summer months a carpet of wildflowers spreads over a base of springy green turf, perfect for picnics and days outdoors. A small stream runs off towards the distant weyr, running cool and clear from out of the nearby blue-toned glacier.
It is a spring midmorning. The sun begins to rise up over the horizon and sets the grass afire sparkling off of the dew. Orange, pink and purple rays spread across the sky, turning a few high cirrus clouds into brilliant fingers of color.
Draped for sunning on the large volcanic rocks is one firelizards.
Gold Cadgwith, green Alymath, and green Vespurath are here.
Pyrene, Azia, Lylia, Fyria, Lis, and Tatia are here.
Obvious exits:
Ice Caves     Glacier Stream

Cadgwith sneezes at the sudden snow-explosion where the alleged snow-dragon used to be. Undaunted, she sets about piling more snow up. She joins it to Alymath's pile. As far as Cadge is concerned, the trick to snow-anything building is to amass lots of snow. So that is exactly what she is going to do.

Pyrene points at Fyria with sudden intensity. "The cellars! See?? Somebody has got the wits she was born with. I bet Fyria didn't try looking for the cellars up some stairs!" She declaims all this to Azia, completely ignoring the fact that Fyria has been resident at High Reaches for a good few turns.

"Uh-huh. Well... good." Lylia gives an awkward 'tweep', nodding at Fyria. "And.. they're very clean?" Very is an important word. The absinthe stare turns to Tatia with a wink, and she gives a little whine. "Weren't we supposed to coach Lis to, y'know, not talk?" She's more fun when she's not speaking, y'know... Mrowl.

PrinceJohn wanders on in from the lower meadows.
Sikkyen wanders on in from the lower meadows.

Sikkyen was here all along.. ayup. Eating his sandwich. ^^

Tatia finally settles herself next to Lis, yanking her helmet off but not bothering with other aspects of ridering. After all - it's nearly as cold in the meadow as it is *between*. "Lis doesn't know the /meaning/ of not talking," the greenrider responds to Lylia's question, head shaking as her long braid swings free of the helmet. "Neither, evidently, does she know the meaning of /not losing weyrlings/." Nevermind that they aren't weyrlings anymore, and that that's the point. Or that Tat should probably be hissing this just a /tad/ bit lower. She's angry. Angry Tat knows no bounds. She does, however, know how to glare quite convincingly toward the gathered candidates. Scowl.

Miralwyn was along too... reading one of her Healer scrolls.

Fyria crouches down, commandeering a nice handful of snow which she deftly forms into a snowball, lips twitching at faint memory of snowball fights with dragons. She looks up quickly, though - runner caught in glowlight look - and blinks. "Well, yeah Py...I'd hope I didn't get lost considering I've lived here for how long now?" Sienna gaze traverses towards Lylia and she shrugs. "Depends on your definition of clean. I found a few other interesting things though - underthings comes to mind.." And Fy lets that one hang in the air..

Alymath pats her tail atop the pile in near-maternal content, as if the lump of snow were her non-existant eggs and children she will never have (thank Faranth). And speaking of not having children, Lis (who can gird her womb against fertility quite will, thank you very much) glares from Lylia to Tatia equally. "Well, we can't let them skimp out on their, uh, task." Which apparently involves toplessness.

Azia colors somewhat at the Weyrwoman's outburst, scuttling back and almost knocking into Fyria herself. "Cellers _can_ have more than one level, you know. The only qualification in _my_ book is that they're under the ground!" Tremble. Shake. Her eyes widen somewhat at Tatia's words, and she can't help but supress a small giggle that quickly subsides at Tatia's glower-power. Meep. So she mimicks Fyria, scooping up a lump of snow, and offers this small condolence to Cadgewith. "Want it?"

Wince. Angry Tat is something To Be Avoided At All Costs. Sikkyen Learnt This Well. He shifts slightly, to put Pyrene and Azia in between himself and the angry wingleader. He winces. "This is /bad/," he mumbles under his breath.

Cadgwith opens her mouth at Azia helpfully. She does. Her tail continues to gather snow around and upon Alymath's pile. It's a snow mountain. Or a snow tidal wave. Or a snow pile of snow. It is many things and she'd darned proud of it.

"Oh! Um. Well. Very good job, Fyria, very good job indeed." Lylia clams up, an odd flush of red to her ears as she gives a sharp nod. "Though I hope your definition of clean agrees with the Headwoman's definition..." Or the chore lists'll get more interesting. A roll of the eyes shows that she's /much/ more calm than her wingleader. "It's okay, Tatia. We'll find 'em. They wouldn't go very far anyway..." Betweening might break something. "Have Sikkyen find them for you." Innocent beam. And if he doesn't...

Pyrene waves her arms vigorously. "You're outside!" she expostulates. It's the brisk weather that's giving her enough energy for expostulating. "How can you be underground if you're /outside/!" She gives Lis a shifty look. "There'd better not be a rampaging Tsunami rider on the loose."

Miralwyn glances up from her scroll and eyes AngryTat curiously, before leaning over to ask the sandwich eating Ike "What in the golden nose of Faranth is going on?" in a baffled whisper. There's such a thing as getting too wrapped up in one's reading, apparently.

"No, I can truthfully say there's not a single rampaging Tsunami rider on the loose," Lis chirps at Pyrene with altogether too much alacrity.

"Well..." Tatia replies reluctantly toward Pyrene as soon as Lylia gets a faintly thoughtful nod. "If it helps, they /aren't/ Tsunami," she offers with a pointed scowl toward Lis. Wonder who Tatia blames for this situation?

A panicky look is sent to Lylia. EVIL woman. Even more EVIL than Tatia! Sikkyen inches slightly closer to Azia. Fellow Wraith. /Save him/. Pleasedon'tpleasedon'tpleasedon't. Lylia, you evil woman. Then.. ahhhh. Sigh. Good. She didn't hear it. Ike slumps in relief. "Stuff," is idly commented to 'Wyn. "Um... y'know. Some ex-weyrling is on the loose, barechested, with 'Tsunami' written on their chest."

"Oh wait...is this Tsunami rider topless, really? Then this might be hers.." And without further ado, Fyria reaches into her sack and pulls out a rather large - bra. Dirty, slightly dusty, but a bra nonetheless. "One of the things I found in the cellars. Anyone care to claim it?" Her lips curve into a smirk, hand slowly swinging the dingy piece of underthing around in the air. "Else I'm just going to burn it." 70's flashback. Ha.

Azia drops the snowball on Cadgewith's gorgeous snowpile with a flourish. "Ta-da.. A snow sundae." Pyrene gets a long, steady look. "I knew, upon entering cold air, that I was not in the cellars anymore. However, your presence was drawn to my attention, and I could hardly surface without greeting you, m'am." Her tone is carefully measured and polite, though it's easy to tell her patience is being tried. She turns her attention to saving Ike. He will surely appreciate her efforts. Yes. "Hey, Ike.. Somethin' wrong?"

Lis has already spilled the beans, so what's one or two more, as she corrects Sikkyen: "Weyrling/s/." Plural. Many.

Miralwyn arches an eyebrow at Sikkyen, and then coughs slightly at the elaboration from Lis. "Bare chested former weyrlings on the loose. Male or female? And was proddiness involved?" Wyn apparently attempting to diagnose the latest outburst of insanity.

"Well.. not really.. they /did/ graduate, you know," Tatia points out with a sidelong glance at Lis. Evidently she's given up on the silently hissed and glaring thing in favor of reluctant correction. Her arms cross over her chest, and candidates are again given a look.

"No.. no.. nothing wrong," Ike is quick to reassure Aziz. Mister Tight Leathers is relaxed. Kinda. Lis is blinked at. "Plural?" He eyes. "How.. many.. are on the loose?" And.. he blinks. "Yeah.. proddiness involved?" He quickly shuts up, though. Don't need to draw any more attention to the candie..

Pyrene draws herself up to her full, insignificant height (any minute now, she'll use the dragons' pile of snow as a podium) and looks down at the greenriders. "Are there any rampaging riders on the loose?" She twitches at Sikkyen's summary of the situation, and adds venomously: "Because you two have succeeded in damaging the fragile psyches of these young people where there is or not!"

Lylia isn't evil. She's... okay, so she's evil. Innocence lights those dark eyes, a cheery glow in them as she beams at Sikkyen. "I'm sure you'd /love/ to look for them. Right? Right?" Let it go? Her? Naaaah. She's evil. Tatia gets a quick nod. "They're not weyrlings, Lis. Well, not really. And they're /not/ Tsunami, Fyria." Important point. But the bra just get staaaared at. "Uhhh." Dude.

Lylia's words aren't /heard/ for a few heartbeats, before Ike turns to her. His face is the image of serenity, eyes half-blank to keep the panic from showing. His voice, heavily modulated, queries.. "And how am I going to find them? On foot? I wouldn't have a chance of finding them." Shiftylook. He prays. And blinks at the bra. "Faranth save us all," he mutters.

Fyria shrugs, tucking the offended bra back into the sack. "Suit yourselves." Ike's reaction is somewhat amusing however, Fyria nudging him rather wryly. "C'mon Ike. You know you wanna see 'em. Or see one, at least one."

Lis replies to Pyrene in a surly, almost argumentative tone (snow-wrestling, anyone?), "You know, /we/ didn't break them. And if they're so fragile, then what on Pern are they doing trying to Impress on of /them/?" This the greenrider would like to know, indicating the sorts of dragons around her by pointing an incriminatory finger over her shoulder at Alymath.

Tatia stares at Lis, gaze unbelieving. Lis.. has a /point./ And since she's one of those Tsunami's being yelled at by the weyrwoman - Faranth help us, she's supposed to be /in charge/ of those Tsunamis... she straightens her spine and takes up her place next to Lis. "Honestly! You have to admit that if we're going to have them living in the weyr, they'll have to get used to such things /one/ of these days, Pyrene. You can't go sheltering them from unpleasant realities" ...Such as ex-weyrlings with Tsunami painted across their chests.... "Forever!"

Pyrene considers this. After all, Alymath is a previous progeny of Chayath--in the same clutch that spawned Druseth, no less. "Good point," she concedes, and abruptly she drops out of her discipining and sits on the foothills of the snowpile. She'll just watch.

Miralwyn offers Pyrene one of her stock of serene expressions. "Oh, I assure you my psyche would survive contact with the aforementioned culprits. Nothing being displayed that I do not already own a set of." Healer, former weyrbrat... Any tendancy to giggle over nekkidness has been rather ruthlessly weeded out.

He could find them in a box, he could find them with a fox... Lylia just smirks, a slow drawl her her voice as she nods. "You could walk on yo' tongue, boy." Pyrene gets that sunny-sweet beam. "Besides, Py, we haven't broken them. They don't get broken until they Impress. Even Lis didn't." She swivels pointing at Miralwyn. "See? She doesn't look broken." But Lyli could fix that. Lis just gets a sulking look. "This clutch'll be cute and sweet, anyway." She belieeeeveeees.

...it's not like Ike's going to go into sporastics over nekkid bodies, either. When was he /ever/ shy, in the first place? Lylia's sent a half-evil grin, before it falters. "I couldn't walk on my tongue.. phsyically impossible," he mutters. "We're actually unbreakable. Well.. 'scept for some of those sniveling holdbrats. But not /us/." Us includes himself, Fyria, Wyn, and Aziz. Apparently.

Pyrene sighs. "I don't know.... it'd be kind of nice not to have some hardened reprobates on offer for a change," she muses wearily. Ever solicitous, Cadge offers her head to lean against.

Fyria snorts as she scoops up another handful of snow, adding it to the first to make quite the large snowball. "Besides...I'd think they would've run high-tailing it back to their respective holds by now, Search or no Search, if it was that bad. And, it /is/ a weyr, so it's not like they didn't have fair warning." Shrug.

Azia might be scarred for life if some topless person came trotting through. _She_ is innocent and prude, even if the others aren't. She positively beams at Ike's praise, for she's never been a breakable holdbrat. She's a.. a.. stable-brat. Yeah. Her fellow Candidates are supported and she remains quite quiet, apart from her usual murmurings.

Now that Lis has won, she can turn her attention away from defending her Tsunami-torment. "Say, Fyria, whose, uh, undies are those?"

"Uh-huh. You sure?" He can't be sure if he's never tried it, right? Lylia belieeeveees. Pyrene gets a slight snort as the brownrider shakes her head. "You don't have to deal with 'em." Hmph. Goldriders.

Miralwyn offers Ike a wink and picks up her scroll again, before peering curiously at Fyria's fine example of a bustenhalter. "Indeed... You could almost use that article as a carrying sling for a pair of twins."

"What /is/ it with candidates and undergarmemts?" Tatia questions with a sudden huff and a glance toward Pyrene - the one rider here she Stood with, at one time. "/We/ were never this obsessed with underwear!" Really.

Fyria twists her gaze towards Predatory-Greenrider Lis, with a blink. "This?" Bra is produced again as she swings it lightly. "No clue. Is it yours?" She thrusts her hand out towards Lis, eyes twinkling rather evilly. Oh, the things she's thinking at the moment, but won't say. Yet. Then again..."It looks 'bout your size, though..."

Ike peers at Wyn, and shakes his head in disbelief. "I cannot believe that we have /this/ crowd talking about what one could do with a bra that's dragon-sized..." Oh, no. Badbadbad image.

Lis gleams with delight as she poises herself to quash Fyria's plans. "I don't wear one, Fyria-love. It's probably one of the old aunties." So don't get /too/ excited over the bra's size.

"Twins indeed. They come in pairs, don't they?" Azia quips curiously, eyes squinting at the bra. "And we're obsessed with underwear because we _wear_ it on regular occasion, unlike some of the Riders around here." And she promptly shuts up at Lis proves her point.

"Uh-huh... Pyrene, I take /no/ responsibility for them..." A shake of the head, and Lylia flounces off down the meadows. Someone looked at the eggs wrong, Druseth needs her.

Pyrene is obviously not the owner of the bra, and therefore she chooses this moment to gracefully retire. "C'mon Cadge..." she coaxes. "My boots are soaked." She still has boots. See?

Lylia has disconnected.
Lylia falls asleep.

Hack. Hack. [[Someday, Fizz, someday. Furball. Heh heh.]] Sputter. He won't even /reply/ to Lis's statement, even though he's itching to...
'n that was Ike. Obviously. ^^

Pyrene goes home.

Fyria's lips twist a bit. "Too bad...I found a rather roomy pair of boxers near 'em. Makes me wonder who indeed needed to have the seams let out on /boxers/ of all things." Innnuendo. Cough. "I'm sure the man that wore them was rather well endowed, but then again.." She shrugs once, returning it towards her sack. "But I'm only an innocent little, well-behaved Candidate, who'd never know such things." Ahem.

Miralwyn offers Ike a positively angelic smile. "Is there something wrong, Ike? Suffering a little embarassment? No need, really. I could reccomend some strategies for overcoming your discomfort..." /Mindhealing/ strategies, for any dirty minds, present. *cough*

The housekeeper arrives to cart Lylia off to bed.

Lis peeks around her as the elder riders start to disappear, leaving her alone with the rabid, evil candidates. And they're afraid of /her/. "So... uh, think I'll be going, now," the greenrider babbles, scooting backwards hurriedly.

"Ok, that's enough!" Tatia steps forward slightly and /almost/ manages to look like she's in control here. "I take it back.. there is no reason that candidates should be /this/ corrupted after a mere sevenday or two.. enough with the underwear! No reason you should have it, if you're all behaving yourselves. They told you about the rules, right? Good. Then find a /new/ topic of conversation." Hmph.

Sikkyen steps away for a moment to scrawl out a message to someone.
Sikkyen returns, sending a firelizard off to deliver the message.

Buah. Ha. Ha. Ike's silent, because.. nobody's talking to him, and he's feeling unimaginiative. So, he chews. Chomp. Chew. Swallow. Sip of his klahflask. Sigh. They took his liquor away...

Fyria blinks at Tatia, shrugs again with a faint smirk, and tucks the offending fabric back into her sack. "Well, I /did/ find it while /cleaning/, y'know. Just wanted to make sure it didn't belong to someone," she says, innocent-like. Crossing her arms, she fixes her gaze here, there, everywhere. And tries not to outright laugh.

Ike has to know, though. Even if it means getting himself into.. lotsa trouble. Potentially. Fyria's glanced at, and he queries to the 'riders... "Is anyone going to go after the.. er.. non-Tsunami shirtless people?"

"Volunteering yourself, Ike?" drawls Miralwyn smoothly, over the top of the Diagnostics scroll that rests in her lap. "Well, if we have to form a search party, I'll do my bit as well." An excuse to check corners of the weyr is also an excuse to aquire more boots...

"You know," Tatia points out dryly, gaze fixed on Fyria. "I can find plenty of other tasks for you, if you don't behave." Oooo, power's going to someone's head. "And I have an infant who is /teething/." Nevermind that she's sworn that she's never letting candidates get their hands on Eitanex. At Sikkyen's words, her brow wrinkles, and her head spins to whip toward her wingmate. "Lis! We /forgot/ them!" Or rather.. Tat did. Lis is likely just trying to slink off. "And we've got to find them before they get to the.. er.. you know." She waves her hands in helpless explanation - something that seems to involve.. er.. spinning? And.. shards, what /is/ that she's miming?

Lis wiggles her fingers at Sikkyen in lieu of a shrug. "They'll turn up eventually, I suppose. And we'll just have to, uh, punish them for their bad behavior." Her voice becomes just a shade deeper and darker, promising things to come for these would-be Tsunamis. Tatia is huddled next to, and she conferrs with She who Mimes Suggestive Things.

Stare. Just.. /stare/. "I am /not/ volunteering myself," he half-snaps, but sighs, and stares s'more at Tat. "Before they get to.. the what?" He stares s'more. Let's just hope to Faranth that it doesn't involve pole dancing and snow...

"Would you /really/ want to leave an infant with us? I mean...poor Pidgery's prolly been traumatized after his time in the Barracks." Fyria drums her fingers on her arms lightly as she meets Tatia's gaze right back. Her eyes slide towards Ike with amusement, Fyria commenting "Indeed. You seem rather eager to try and hunt down these errant ex-weyrlings, Ike. Any reason why?" Like catching site of half-naked riders bouncing about?

..hey, he's a male that was in an.. er.. active relationship. Then, candidacy struck You can't /blame/ Ike for trying..

Miralwyn arches an eyebrow at Ike, face going even more expressionless still, and her eyes beginning to dance. Uhoh. Someone's going to tease. She nods at Fyria. "Indeed, and then such a sharply hostile reflex reaction to a simple query... I think he's trying to repress something..." she drawls.

Well, that's a new way to put it, Miralwyn. Ain't heard /anyone/ call it 'something'.. Innocence. Sunshine and Rukbat's rays. He isn't dirty-minded at /all/, naw. "I have a sharp, hostile reflex to everything." Well, everything 'scept.. Well. Um. Tatia's sharp words illecit a cringe. She's trained him with one smack. Wow. Amazing, ne? He cowers.
...Ike, again. Thud. His player's out of it.

Lis' eyes light with unholy joy at Tatia's suggestion. "Oh, of course. We can't miss the..." And there goes this greenrider, too, smirking wide enough to split her face in two. "I'd love to bring you all," she coos apologetically, "but we have to keep some things secret." Except for the public humiliation parts.

Fyria's eyes narrow with suspicion at the random handmovements and whispers occuring between the two Tsunami team. Ike's reply only earns him a derisive snort. "More like everything tends to have a sharp reflex to you, Ike," Fyria referring to his previous role as Tatia's punching bag. She nods in agreement with Wyn before gracing Lis with a wary look. "I'm sure you would, Lis." But then, some Candidates might disappear for good after spending time with her company. Or so she's herad.
herad/heard

Miralwyn just... Eyes Lis. Scary Lis. Lis who now has one less pair of boots. *snicker* And doesn't comment on invitations, instead returning to poking at Ike, although not as severely. "Hmm. You know, massage often has beneficial mental effects in addition to muscular relaxation. I reccommend some nice long soaks in the bath, and conning someone into giving you a shoulder rub."

G'dalf blinks in from ::between::!

Ike blinks at Wyn. "I'm not good at conning someone into giving me shoulder-rubs. Well, I am, but it almost always ends up--" he snaps his jaw shut with an audible click, and smirks. Sikkyen eyes Lis, again, and his mind wanders towards boots. Mhmm. Boots. "Though I could look for someone who wouldn't try to.." Ahem, "..to give me a back rub."

A pity; they decide to pilfer Lis' weyr and stop with boots when there's so much more interesting paraphenalia to be found. "Aw, Fyria," begs the greenrider pathetically, puppy-eyes added for theatrical effect. "Candidates shouldn't be giving backrubs in the baths," warns the greenrider ominious. /She/ didn't get any action as a candidate, so no one else can.

Suddenly, the sun is blocked from view, and a large shadow covers the land, as a bronze dragon appears from ::between:: As the beast swirls to land, one can see a tall and lanky rider mounted atop, but it's not until landing that those who know him recognize G'dalf. Dismounting, the rider pats his flying mount with a soft carress, before turning towards the group of candidates and their guide. "Sorry for the intrusion," states the old man, "But Gollumth told me that I'd find you here, and thought that I'd make acquaintance with those too shy to show their faces earlier this day."

LlamaWraith -- er -- Sikkyen crosses his arms, glaring dolefully at the bronzerider. He edges towards Lis. Maybe she'll know just /why/ he's here.. "Do you have /any/ idea what the old dude with the pointy hat's here for?" He has a grudge. Why? Who knows. Maybe it's the fact he's a bronzerider. From.. Igen, no?

"All right, then," states She who Mimes Suggestive Things, arms folding across her chest again and eyes weighing the candidates silently. "Let's break them into groups, shall we, and have them scan the Meadows. Surely we can find them before they freeze to death or.. things start to fall off." Single track mind from Tat here. Of course, she hasn't really been to her weyr since her extended vacation island-wards to discover missing boots, which could be why they aren't getting reamed about /that/ right now - Tat is a supicious person by nature, you know. She scowls upwards at G'dalf's appearance, brow wrinkling. "Of /all/ the times," she mutters.

"Don't 'awww' me, Lis...and you just go ahead and turn those puppy eyes on...on...on Ike," she says, waggling her finger towards Ike. Poor boy. Only male here. Oh oh...and see? Ike's already edging closer towards the greenrider. Fyria simply beams wickedly - until a shadow appears, and she glances up. "Erm..." Fyria /really/ doesn't know what to make of this rider. Pointy hat and all.

Lis peeks over her shoulder and perks as she spots G'dalf. Old men are both her specialty - and her weakness. "Oh, surely they won't freeze to death!" the greenrider gasps in shock, "Or.... anything off." Dead or defunct, they'd never make it as a Tsunami rider. "Good day, sir!" she sings out, waving cheerfully at G'dalf. Nekkid weyrlings can wait.

Miralwyn glances up at G'dalf, offering a polite nod, but no recognition. It appears the Mindhealer has developed separate personalities of WraithLeader and Wyn. Either that, or she's just playing it canny. Lis is given a beaming smile. "Ike not being swayed by female charms, and myself used to apprentice rules, I doubt there'd be any rulebreaking, much as the gossips would love some."

Sikkyen glares at Fyria. "Go.. flirt with the pointy-hat guy," he growls. "I'm not swayed by female charms." Twitch. "..male, maybe. Female.. nah." Twitch. Twitch. Hey, was that a streak of tan -- and pink? Cough. Pink breeches, that is. Of course. Innocence.

G'dalf sketches a short bow to those present, politely turning away from those less .. decent.. Once again, he pardons his intrusion, removing his hat with one hand while the other whipes at his sweaty brow. "Shards, but the weather has changed drastically in the past few day's," he comments good naturally, before once again donning his headgear. Though none of the faces are known, there's something about the gathered group that is oddly familiar... Memorable. Like the one lad's quiet disdain, for instance, or the older lass' quiet dignity. There is one, however, whom he's sure he's never met before, and it is towards Fyria that this wisened old man makes greeting. "Fair day to you, miss. I am guessing that you too are a candidate for the upcoming clutch?"

Lis gives Sikkyen a faintly sad look, but Miralwyn is waggled a finger at. "Still..." She's wrong, and she's going down, but she's going to do it as slowly as possible. "It's the principle of the thing." Ah - when it doubt, call down The Rules and hide behind them.

Tatia simply seethes in silence. Interrupting her work. Hmph.

Fyria would seriously worry if /Wyn/ of all people, a Mindhealer, ends up going schizo on them all with two personalities. Fear. She blows a light kiss at Ike, tacking on a wink, then sobers, staring up at the tall pointy-hatted man as he addresses her. "Ermm, well..yeah. Can't you tell by this?" Fyria reaches up, wiggling her knot with a half-smile, then oh's softly. Maybe the poor man needs spectacles. Ah, well...age does that to folks. She blinks at the others with a who-on-Pern-is-this? look, finally meeting his gaze again. "Ahh...can I help you wiht something?"

Sikkyen quietly observes Tatia, and ponders - he has a deathwish. He inches past SadLookLis towards SeethingTatia - and halts a safe distance away. Fizz is stared at. He's.. winked at. Blink. Then, he smirks. Slowly. Fizz's gonna end up with a scroll, he bets. Mhmm. "Who /is/ this guy..." is muttered, again. He just doesn't like people whom he doesn't know. Read: He doesn't like half of Pern. [[The other half he knows.]]

In the Biblical sense?

G'dalf chuckles faintly, his laughter rather scratchy, not unlike his voice. "Aye.. I see that, now I do..," he states, having before averted his eyes incase this miss was in a state of disapparel, as were some of the others. Now his dark gaze lands upon her shoulder, viewing said knot, and a sage nod is given. "Yes yes.. Well then, hmm, you can do me the favour of receiving something that I've carried with me for quite some time.. Something, in fact, that belongs to /you/."

Sikkyen has disconnected.
Sikkyen falls asleep.

Oh, all Mindhealers are crzy, didn't you know that. Wyn, as she's stated before, is merely quietly so, rather than loudly. The HealerCandie in question murmurs to Ike that "I haven't a clue... The hat is rather intriguing, however."

Lis takes the opportunity to leer after Sikkyen's unattainable behind as he inches by, eyes then flicking suspiciously to G'dalf, who - in her approximation - is about to proposition Fyria. "You do know, sir that she /is/ a candidate?" No spoiling them until the hatchlings get their first chance.

Azia has disconnected.
Azia falls asleep.
Sikkyen has connected.
Sikkyen wakes up.

Fyria doesn't know whether she'd /want/ to end up with an old' man's scroll...she's heard stories, though. Doesn't really care to experience it herself. The fact that he says it's hers already though tempers her fears for hte moment - until she hears Lis' comment. "Lis!!" Hiss. "I /doubt/ that's what he meant.." Although, she does peer back up at the bronzerider. Somewhat worriedly. No scrolls are going into /her/ bookcase, that's for sure.

Lis takes the opportunity to leer after Sikkyen's unattainable behind as he inches by, eyes then flicking suspiciously to G'dalf, who - in her approximation - is about to proposition Fyria. "You do know, sir that she /is/ a candidate?" No spoiling them until the hatchlings get their first chance. (repose, before Fyria's)

A deathwish, hmm? No luck, then. Tatia's not in /that/ bad a mood, and she's not pregnant. Nor is she proddy, at the moment. "As if /I/ know... I have weyrlings to find, and he pops in, taking up all the attention," she mutters in faint reply.

Stare. "The hat.. intriguing?" Hack. "I don't see it as.. intriguing. It looks like a /Dangerous/Weapon/ to me, Wynz.." Sikkyen eyes, before shaking his head. Blink at Lis, and he shakes his head, inching towards Tatia. He wants to see what the idiotic ToBeTsunamis are doing - twirling somehow, heh heh - so. "Where could they /be/, ma'am?" is politely inquired. Very politely inquired.

The old man seems to take afront at this, and therefore rises himself to his full height - one which towers high above most candidates /and/ the riders. "Madam," G'dalf speaks, his words low and stern. "I dare say that the sole reason I am here is to offer advice to those who will be standing in a short while, and to offer them a gift pertaining to their cause." Nothing more, nothing less.. and wo to those who read any secret diaries that may state otherwise. Ahem. With that said, the rider leans forward and asks of the candidate-he-does-not-know, "What is thy name, child?"

The housekeeper arrives to cart Azia off to bed.

Lis sneaks back to Alymath's side as they're all distracted by G'dalf's appearance, the greenrider slinking between lumps of snow as she mounts up, off to track down the Tsunami would-be's.
Lis has disconnected.
Lis's eyelids get heavier, and heavier and soon she's gone and passed out.

Miralwyn meets Sikkyen's stare with a well mannered blink. "A dangerous weapon...?" she inquires in mild tones. "It's a hat. One wears it on one's head to prevent heat loss or sunstroke. Have you been eating those mushrooms growing in the catacombs...?"

Fyria stares right up at the man, lips twitching a bit. She's amused. Highly. Granted, it doesn't take much to amuse her. "Fyria, kind sir," she says with a curtsy, demeanor abruptly switching to one of an innocent, complacent, obedient Candidate. *gag* "And pray, what deems me lucky enought to be the cause of your arrival?" Hat, is ignored, lest Fyria loses her composure.

/They/ aren't twirling. Tatia grumbles a bit more, head shaking toward G'dalf. She's too busy sulking to properly answer Sikkyen - and besides, Lis is off and on a search. Not that Lis is normally trustworthy, but given the situation.. the greenrider feels that it is safe to waste time in sulking.

Voice once again grows low, but with the power and might of a windstorm, the force of the words torn from the old man's mouth by the airstream that suddenly buffets them on all sides. "One dragon to fly, and one to find them, and thereupon on the sands, impression will bind them!" That puzzle offered, G'dalf then reaches into his rugged carrysack and pulls forth a scroll, offering it to the girl. "Wary those words, and fare the well.." With that, the rider turns, strides to his dragon, mounts Gollumth, and dissapears as suddenly as he came.

The housekeeper arrives to cart Lis off to bed.

Well, that's good, he supposes. Sikkyen slips away from Tatia, snow crunching underfoot as he slinks off. Miralwyn's eyed. "It's /pointy/, 'Wyn. Looks to be halfway sharp.." Twitch. He snorts at Fizz's whole demaneor, then more at the old man's words. Freaky.

"It's cloth, Ike. Scalpels, beltknives, and dragon teeth are pointy and sharp. A hat is pointy and... squishable." Wyn settles on an appropriate technical term at last, eyeing Ike right back. Yes, she's being snippy, but she's /cold/!

Sikkyen eyes Wyn, and falls silent. Silence. He eyes Fyria, and her scroll. Eye-ment. Silence again. Shnuff.

G'dalf hands Fyria's Scroll to Fyria's Scroll.

Fyria definitely doesn't quite know how to respond to that one. "Umm...sure," she says, eyeing the scroll warily. Fy glances quickly at Ike and Wyn with a do-I-take-it? expression, shrugs, turns, and reaches out to accept the scroll. "You don't need me to /copy/ this, do you? Faranth knows I've copied enough stuff these past few sevendays." Mutter mutter. "Oh...and...thanks." She thinks. Beam.

From high above, Gollumth bugles a rather menacing call, before once again dissapearing into ::between::

G'dalf suddenly disappears ::between::!

Fyria has disconnected.
With a soft sigh, Fyria succumbs to the dream known as reality.
Fyria has connected.
Fyria stretches languidly like a cat before slowly opening her sienna-coloured eyes.

Miralwyn eyes Ike right back, and then stands, stowing away her Healer scroll inside her everpresent grey leather satchel. "I'm cold." she announces. "Anyone else up for booting it back to warmer places to lurk?"

Sikkyen beams. And eyes Wyn for 'booting'. "I'll hoof wherever it's warm," he confesses. The very last bite of his sandwich is eaten. "So, lead the way."

"Some of us," Tatia points out icily. "Have work to do." Tat's really good about keeping that up, too. Really. More likely, it's just that she likes pointing things out icily while jamming her helmet back into place and stalking toward Vespurath puposefully. Doesn't she look important?

Fyria just stares at the scroll, then nods blankly at Wyn. "Sure. Warm. Good." She opens the scroll and begins to read, face expressionless, as she follows the others. Remembering to give Tatia a farewell finger-waggle, of course.

**TRAVEL SPAM**

Secrets unfold as you head west, finding a small door at the back of the weyr. Long, dark, wetly slimy stairs head down into the back of the caldera.

Catacombs
Some ancient volcanic forces has shredded the Weyr's intestines, leaving behind these innards of blind corners, dead ends, and forgotten rooms. Ocassionally heavy doors block the way, and sometimes the roof itself has fallen in. The only way through, if one does not get lost, is up the seemingly endless flight of stairs; step after step, ledge after ledge, steep and slick they go forever upwards.
Loitering in the darkness are four firelizards.
You see Siren here.
Obvious exits:
Stairs Ground Weyrs Cellars

Fyria slips in from one of the many passageways.

Miralwyn glances at her fellow PrankWraiths, and inquires six brief words. "Time to raid G'deon and Pyrene?" An arched eyebrow as she leans against one of the walls.

Sikkyen leans against a wall, and stops as it starts to move. Mm. Okay. He'll stop leaning on stuff. "...about time, indeed," he agrees.

Fyria nearly runs into the both of them as she tucks the scroll into her sack with a slight grin. "Interesting." That's all she says, then nods at both Candidates. "Surrrrrre.." she practically purrs, rolling her r's phonetically.

Miralwyn offers a twinkle, and sweeps out her PrankWraith robe, donning it with a smile. "After playing Wraith so much today, I'd as soon drop the act for a bit, but a good disguise is hard to come by." And with that, the hood descends into play. "I do think..." she cackles, "That we've succeded in giving a few weyrbrats nightmares, though."

That infamous silver-flecked, ebon-hued cloak is donned, and Sikkyen literally steps into being LlamaWraith - much more menacing than the name suggests, of course. Cough. "I think so, as well," is agreed in his Wraithish, growly tone.

IceWraith has already slipped her inky black swath of cloth around her form, pinpoint eyes once again peeking from beneath ice-cracked shadows. No words uttered, she simply nods her head, lifting one pale hand towards the entrance, indicating the WraithLeader to indeed, lead forth.

WraithLeader offers a low cackle, and with a sweep of her unadorned cloak, moves out into the light of day, abandoning the shadows to seek her prey. Muahahaha.

**TRAVEL SPAM**

You go to the Cadgwith's Ledge.
Cadgwith's Ledge
A short flight of steep and narrow steps connect the ledges of High Reaches' other queens to this one, encompassed in the bay of the craggy rocks. There is still ample space for a queen to rest comfortably with another large dragon, but ancient landslides have scalloped into what was once a larger ledge, leaving most prominent the wide spur of rock on which a dragon may rest and survey the bowl both above and below. On either side, the ledge's depth is shallower, although a good expanse still sweeps before the cavernous entrance to the weyr, its scarred surface raked daily by the commutings of its largest occupant. On the other side of the main projection, nestled into the rocks, is a smaller, more private ledge denied to dragons by virtue of its size, but providing a handy sunning nook for a rider at ease.
It is a spring afternoon. The sun begins to rise up over the horizon and sets the grass afire sparkling off of the dew. Orange, pink and purple rays spread across the sky, turning a few high cirrus clouds into brilliant fingers of color.
To the south, you see two people.
Obvious exits:
Weyr     Stairs

Fyria sashays and shimmies her....self in from the Stairs to Queen's Ledges.
Sikkyen saunters in from the Stairs to Queen's Ledges.

WraithLeader raises a hand to motion her Wraiths to a noiseless halt, furthur finger twitching signals directing them to peer around the corner of the weyr entrance with her before entering. Golds and goldriders are /dangerous/ to be caught by.

IceWraith freezes. Pun intended. She seems to melt into the cold of the stone walls, eyes watching the leader for further instructions. And yes, particularly goldriders with a kidlet named Pidgery.

Sikkyen takes point, peeking around the corner of the weyr as directed, before rolling his wrist in a clear 'move on' signal. "Clear," he whispers back to the others.

"Move out," is Leader's next order, with a sharp nod to LlamaWraith, the motion exaggerated from her slight gestures of norm to compensate for the hood. Slipping stealthily forward, she inserts herself into the shadows of the inner weyr.

You go to the Cadgwith's Harbour.
Cadgwith's Harbour
Vastness prevails... the ceiling arches echo-high overhead, while the irregular curves of the walls seem barely able to meet around the space that is a necessity of this queen's weyr. A wide hearth strains to provide sufficient warmth while the tide of Cadgwith's great stone couch sweeps far into the immensity of the room, dwarfing to incongruity the table, chairs and a few other human accoutrements. Even Pyrene's perennial clutter seems cast adrift in the draconic proportions of the cavern and the little nook in the rock that serves as her sleeping alcove is often overlooked at first glance. Yet there's a cosiness inherent in these diminutive touches that grants the outsized grandeur of the weyr an undeniable feeling of 'home'.
On the ledge, you see two people.
You see Origamith, LlamaBloo, Stuffith, and Sephne here.
You notice Pyrene asleep here.
Obvious exits:
Ledge

Fyria sashays and shimmies her....self in from the Cadgwith's Ledge.
Sikkyen saunters in from the Cadgwith's Ledge.

Sikkyen lags behind, twitching and turning to keep a good lookout. Posting himself at the ledge's entrance, he devoids his mind of any thought of what the other two are doing, and keeps keen eyes a'lookin' for intruders.

Her entrance almost causing the hearthfire to sputter out from cold, the IceWraith glides along, death-like with her wintry aura. She pauses to gaze at the coziness of the weyr, and would cackle aloud if not for the weyr's occupants. As such, she glances around, and spots the prey: Pyrene's boots. With one frosted hand, she points towards them, eerily silent.

WraithLeader permits herself a hidden smile behind the opressive darkness of her robes. Pyrene's boots indeed, still squishy from the high meadows, and resting bare feet from the bed, and the sleeping weyrwoman upon it. Stealthily, silently, she approaches the prize, hesitant, and not daring to breathe, lest that disturb the goldrider's sleep.

LlamaWraith, finally getting into the spirit of things, shifts -- and spots someone coming their way. Well - to another gold's ledge. He tenses, eyes studying the fellow. Will he head this way? No -- Pyrene's sleeping. The approaching man pauses, as if torn - and then turns around and trods off. Llama heaves out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, and casts furgitive gaze over. "You two'd better hurry up," he mutters.

Fyria is a mere whisper of chilled northern wind as she slides next to the WraithLeader, sack deftly opened to receive the preciousness of Pyrene's boots. If, you could call them that. A slight wrinkle is seen upon the pale face within - even an IceWraith has it's limits when it comes to foot odour. Regardless, she stands stone-still, holding the sack open.

WraithLeader offers a soothing whisper of "Steady... Almost there... Almost /there/." to the edgy LlamaWraith, shuffling the boots into the waiting bag. "Just hold them off for a few seconds... Got it, let's go."

LlamaWraith is /not/ edgy. Just.. concerned. "Yes.. let's go," he mutters, as he spies another. "This part of Pern is very accessible, y'know," is whispered. "..people are all over the place."

IceWraith silently closes the sack, cinching it tightly. Wordlessly, only the rustle of onyx tattered cloth around her limbs betraying her presence, she lifts her hand again and points towards the exit. Yes, out would be good.

Cadgwith's Ledge
A short flight of steep and narrow steps connect the ledges of High Reaches' other queens to this one, encompassed in the bay of the craggy rocks. There is still ample space for a queen to rest comfortably with another large dragon, but ancient landslides have scalloped into what was once a larger ledge, leaving most prominent the wide spur of rock on which a dragon may rest and survey the bowl both above and below. On either side, the ledge's depth is shallower, although a good expanse still sweeps before the cavernous entrance to the weyr, its scarred surface raked daily by the commutings of its largest occupant. On the other side of the main projection, nestled into the rocks, is a smaller, more private ledge denied to dragons by virtue of its size, but providing a handy sunning nook for a rider at ease.
It is a spring afternoon. The sun begins to rise up over the horizon and sets the grass afire sparkling off of the dew. Orange, pink and purple rays spread across the sky, turning a few high cirrus clouds into brilliant fingers of color.
Inside the weyr, you see two people.
Obvious exits:
Weyr Stairs

Fyria sashays and shimmies her....self in from the Cadgwith's Harbour.
Miralwyn is led in by Fyria.
Sikkyen saunters in from the Cadgwith's Harbour.

**TRAVEL SPAM**

Weyrleader's Weyr
The dusty smell of parchment and hide wafts lightly through this large Weyr, though from time to time there might be found a packet of aromatic herbs or a vase of flowers set in the few open areas on the many shelves and cabinets. A wide but shallow fireplace has been carved into one wall, using an old natural vent to whisk away the smoke. Opposite the fireplace is a wide desk, the top tilted at an angle so that the maps hanging from the top can easily be seen from the large table in the middle of the weyr. Several sturdy chairs have been set around the table, well-padded for those long discussion sections. Finally, towards the very back of the weyr, a rather long couch has been setup, comfortable enough for long bouts of reading or the occasionally needed nap.
You see dice, Pidgery, and Wing Jacket here.
Obvious exits:
Ledge Stairs

Fyria spirals up from the council chambers.
Sikkyen spirals up from the council chambers.
Lhana spirals up from the council chambers.

LlamaWraith is here. After a brief detour, he eyes around the corner - and only sees black cloaks, so he enters. Quietly padding across the room, he eyes IceWraith and WraithLeader for a long moment.

Once more into the breach, my friends! Or Wraiths. WraithFriends? Sounds good. Why should elves corner the market? Cough. Back to your regularly scheduled RP: WraithLeader likewise steals into the Weyrleader's domain, heaving a relieved sigh, and noting, full voice, if Wraithishly that "It appearsss that the Weyrleader iss ssstill off vacationing... Now... let uss take our time and find the bessst of all pairsss of bootss available."

Fyria goes home.

PinkWraith appears out of the shadow, or seems to if you didn't see her move into them in the first place. Cough. Turning about, she makes a low hissing noise. Yes, that's right. She's remembered that the hissing was quite originally /her/ thing, and therefore gives WraithLeader's hissing a fierce glare...which nobody should be able to see due to the overshadowing-ness of her hood. "Yessssss...Let'ssss..." And she sweeps off into the shadows, silent forever more...
Lhana goes home.

...and it seems that the partners-in-crime are the last ones standing. LlamaWraith's sharp eyes glance over, and he dips towards the apparent 'closet'. "...dress boots," he murmurs.

Yes, the partners-in-crime are at it again. Tsk, the others just don't seem to be able to go the distance. WraithLeader shakes her head briefly. "Hmm, pretty but no..." Her glance falls on a pair of incredibly battered, well-used, and rather comfortable looking half boots. "Those. I think they bear all the signs of being a favourite pair, wouldn't you say?"

LlamaWraith grumbles slightly -- but she has a point. "Favorite pair, it does appear," is reluctantly conceded. He carefully picks them up, eyeballing her sack. "Yes.. very much 'broken in'." A slight twitch of his nose underneath that volumious hood; yes, they smell like a favorite pair, too.

WraithLeader nods, and would add a sniff of agreement, but... the boots are too close for comfort. "Precisely. And now, my Dear LlamaWraith, it appears that our quest is complete. To the Lair? Our /work/ is only just begun..." And a comment like that just /deserves/ a dramatic exit, so with a swirl of her cape and a rustle of cloth, WraithLeader vanishes.

"Our quest is done," is half-cackled, and he settles on swishing out with a much less dramatic exit.