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Harper's Tale - Sunday, March 17, 2002,
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Baths
Steam enshrouds, a misty curtain that veils the room. Pools abound, water constantly swirling, warm and inviting; soapsand waits on nearby ledges for easy access. Racks of clothes stand by the door, freshly washed clothing hang from some, and bundles of yet to be washed clothes fill mutliple baskets beneath. Large cupboard doors open to reveal multitude of fresh, soft towels, and plenty of bathing items -- sponges, pumice stones, and back scrubbers.
Ducking steamclouds are four firelizards.
Sikkyen is here.
Obvious exits:
Caverns

Azia is but a blurr in the steam, moving quietly in from the caverns.

Ike is already immersed - up to his chin, resting against the back of one deep pool. Damp hair fans out on the ledge, eyes closed, seemingly content - except for the new hollowness to his cheeks, the entire grey pallor of his face, of course.

A long, drawn out sigh fills the cavern as a petite Candidate enters, long hair bound up behind her head to free her face from the clinging black strands. Azia pauses, inhaling the warm steam gratefully, and she promptly drops her belongings and strips, dumping her clothes to the side and slipping into the water. "'Mornin', Ike."

Miralwyn slips in, padding barefoot and wrapped in an oatmeal grey robe, a large and almost absurdly fluffy towel draped over her arm. Disrobing, she aquires a soft sponge and a small sachet of soapsand before taking to the warm waters. Wyn is fond of creature comforts. She regards Sikkyen through half-lidded eyes, noting conversationally that "Good morn Ike...You look wherry-gnawed."

Ice-silver flecks seem translucent against the deep, dark, silver'n grey background; Ike's twin circlets shimmer, before he focuses in apon Azia. "Good morning," he quietly replies. Gaze shifts to Miralwyn, and he gives a slight shrug of his shoulders. "When bad things happen, my looks go down the drain." He twitches, and shifts lightly in the water.

Miralwyn nods slightly, and ducks under the water briefly to wet her hair. "Do you care to elaborate...?" she asks quietly, the stiff words softened by an almost gentle tone. And she pries no furthur, instead focusing on working her hair into a lather, and keeping an ear cocked for a reply.

Sikkyen pauses, dipping underneath the surface of the water; he rises to the surface once more, before - almost tiredly - picking up a handful of sandstone, and working his dyed hair into a lather. "My brother and his dragon went :: between ::," is said, his tone low. "...last 'Fall. I went to pick up the robe he promised me, and he was.. gone." Distress is a low undercurrent along the stream of his voice, heavily veiled - but still there.

And Wyn may be an apprentice Mindhealer, but she's got enough of a trained ear to catch the distress. She crosses the pool to sit on a shelf about four feet from Ike. "Good Faranth, I'm sorry, Ike," is her first comment. "Were you two very close?"

A shake of the head is given. "No.. We weren't very close, at all, over the past few turns." He sighs. "But we were brothers. We grew up together. He saw me through my first crush, the first time I got beaten up, the first time I hit on another guy--" a light smile is given at /that/ memory, and Ike seems to become distant, thinking of his memories. "..and I saw him through likewise situations. Well.. 'scept the hitting on another guy thing. He was straight." And then, his fragile world of memories comes crashing down about his ears, and he dips the tips of his hair into the water, brushing fingers through until the sandstone's out. "The last words I said to him were angered words. I wish.. I wish I could go back and correct that."

Azia has been listening in silence for this, a pang of sorrow flashing through her dark eyes at Sikkyen's pain. "I'm sorry, Ike.." she murmurs quietly, wading closer. "But.." Her words trail off, unable to bring herself to share her experiences with this sort of thing. She prefers to sit, staring at the whirling of the water and lost in memories.

Pyrene is but a blurr in the steam, moving quietly in from the caverns.

Ike, Wyn, and Aziz are all in the water - Ike's washing his hair, oddly enough, and they're arranged in a loose triangle. Ike has his back to a wall, Wyn's at a slight angle, and Aziz is a bit farther back. Sikkyen looks pale and gaunt, Wyn looks concerned, and Aziz looks.. well.. teary.

Miralwyn's expression drops it's usual expressionless mask to show a very careful gentleness. She even raises a hand to offer a tentative pat to his shoulder, scootching a little closer, and ignoring her little sachet of sweetsand. "That's a hard thing to be left with, Ike. But, you can't allow yourself to be eaten by guilt over it. From what you say, your brother knew you well. And I believe he would know that you loved him, regardless of angered words. We tend to get most angry at those that are closest to us."

Pyrene wrinkles her nose. Candidates? When /she/ wants to take a bath? A relaxing bath by preference, but... needs must. "Morning," she suggests brightly, picking through the towels in the laundry cupboard as she decides which will be the most clean.

Sikkyen squeezes his eyes shut. "Yeah.. yeah." And the Healing Process Has Begun. Cough. "I think you're right, Wyn... thanks." Grey eyes are still slightly clouded over, and pale skin has an abnormal greyish tint - and those hollows are still evident - but at least It's Started. Goldrider is glanced at, and he offers a soft "G'morn," in return, before concentrating on the task at hand - cleaning his hair.

Azia raises her eyes to Pyrene, face somewhat expressionless in regarding the Headwoman. No greeting is offered, lest Azia's voice crack and break her facade of immortality, and she opts to sink further into the depths of the warm water. She nods amiably at Miralwyn's words, interjecting in a voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, Ike.. You can't take back what happened. I'm.." She trails off again, shoulders rolling in place of words she can't really find.

Pyrene tips her head as she slides into the water. "What's up?" she asks tentatively, curling down beneath suds of sweetsand as if they can provide an effective barrier against emotion.

Miralwyn appears satisfied, and backs off again, having read her scrolls and shadowed her mentor enough to know when to leave alone. She remains nearby, though, as she returns to lathering her hair, offering a slight "Good morning, Weyrwoman," and letting the others clue her in.

Sikkyen quietly nods at Azia and Wyn, contemplating deeper thoughts than one should. Finally, he shakes his head, and allows his gaze to fall on the junior weyrwoman; he ponders, quietly debating. "Nothing," is quietly replied, though his entire being defies that statement.

Azia peers curiously at her companions, loosening her hair from its bind and letting it fall into the water. "G'morning, m'am." A soft greeting, lacking any distinct eye contact, and the girl slips back into her mind. Dark eyes occasionaly flit to Sikkyen, then go blank again. Lively conversationalist, neh?

Pyrene raises her eyebrows, not fooled for a moment by that 'nothing'. She's also loth to get involved so she merely blows some lather across to the candidates. "Be sure you wash behind your ears, OK?" she tells them, not unkindly. "What're you planning for today?"

Sikkyen eyes Pyrene. Eye-ment. "..wash behind your ears? You sound like my mother," is grumpled, before he makes a show of washing behind both ears. Aheh. "..chores. Chores, chores, chores -- and, oh! More chores."

Miralwyn raises an eyebrow right back at Pyrene. "A Healer apprentice has some grasp on sterile technique..." she drawls, her expression back to it's dryly amused mask. "And... as Sikkyen says. Mending, for me. Mostly repairing ripped bodices after that last greenflight..."

Azia nods, pushing away her dark thoughts in favor of shallow chatter. "Yes.. Chores, and llama-feedings. Boy and Girl are growing, and they're growing fast. And mending fences. Watching Lorsalia bludgeon the life from her thumb was a source of mild entertainment.." No, nobody ever said Azia was nice. Besides, Lorsalia tried to tell her how to hammer. Serves the girl right.

Pyrene winks lightly at Sikkyen. "Well, we /are/ supposed to be looking out for you while you're here. And it's important to have clean ear-rears." She considers the responses to her question at some length before adding: "And what of the unscheduled events for today? Don't try to make me believe you're /only/ doing chores. I've seen and been in too many candidate classes to fall for that."

Is that a /smile/ twitching on the edges of Ike's lips? Impossible. "Bludgeon the life from her thumb, hmm?" A twitch. "I've got fence-riding, latrines," he twitches, "..and mucking stalls." Atleast he knows how to do the majority of that well. "Unscedualed events? Surprise llama feedings, no doubt." This time, amusement /does/ glitter in the depths of those grey pools. You get a nine for trying, Py.

Azia smothers a laugh, dunking her head quickly into the water before resurfacing, composed once again. "Nothing that I know of, m'am. But, then again, life is unpredictable. I'm sure there'll be something interesting afoot." Pun intended. Playing with a long strand of hair, Azia maintains the perfect poker face towards the Weyrwoman.

Pyrene is never taken in by poker faces and the best way to get into her bad books is to look innocent. Azia will now be accorded full blame for anything that goes amiss with Pyrene today. "What was Lorsalia doing with a hammer anyway?" she asks. "I never saw her as being the physical labour type."

Ike's face is smoothly impassive, though he visibly twitches at 'afoot'. Azia, you're going to get us all killed, after this, with your /puns/ alone, he thinks to himself; innocence is a nice look on his face, even if it is horribly inaccurate. "I think she was trying to.. mend a fence?" He twitches, and gives a light shrug, before working on scrubbing those long arms of his with a soft sponge and a bit of soapsand.

Miralwyn nods as well, eyes alight just slightly, but her expression politely deadpan as she lathers her arms and shoulders. "Naturally, if I have any free time, I'll be keeping up with my studies." Wyn, after all, is the one who's quite sure she's going home dragonless. "But, if anything requires my assistance, you may be sure that I'll boot it over to help." A smile for Ike. She's going to make him la-aaaugh.

Pyrene puzzles over the thought of Lorsalia mending a fence. "Are you sure it was Lors?" she queries, nodding absently to Miralwyn. Subtle hints about pranks to come appear to be dancing jigs over her head.

Wyn isn't the only one. Sikkyen is looking forwardsto the Hatching only so he can go back and romance Trajan within a few inches of his life. Cough. His slight cough turns into a sputter at Wyn's 'boot' statement... He stares, before shaking his head mournfully. Doomed, they are.

Azia nods. "It was Lorsalia. We were mending the fence in the Pens, and Yajisarath was snacking. Lorsalia claimed I was 'doing it all wrong' and took over, thus leading to a bruised thumb for her and a good laugh for me." The edges of her lips twitch at Miralwyn's 'boot' comment. They're dancing on very thin ice right now, as would be appropriate for the beginning of Spring at the 'Reaches.

Sikkyen twitches. Seriously. Grey eyes now have a blank screen of impassion set in place; his face is like stone, as he scrubs himself down with efficiency. Snagging a long-handled brush, he works on his back, eyeballing his fellow candies and Pyrene, all in turn.

Pyrene's lips do more than twitch, screwing themselves into a sadistic smirk. "Oh, I would have liked to have seen that...." She suddenly finishes her scrubbing and swaps the water for a towel. "Ugh. It's going to be cold out and I need to get back to the weyr before Pidge wakes up.... I don't suppose any of you feel like babysitting duty later today?" She says it like they'll have a choice. "Keep well anyway." An almost fond farewell, that, and she dresses and slips out.

Pyrene goes home.

Sikkyen eyes after Pyrene, waving slightly - before turning and glaring at Wyn and Aziz. "You two were dropping things all over the place! 'Afoot'.. 'boot'.. indeed!"

Azia bursts into laughter, almost slipping from her perch on the bath ledge. "That was hilarious! But we'll have to play it safe when we steal her boots.. Or else we'll get it for sure."

Sikkyen sluices out of the water, liquid falling in cascade falls off his pale skin; he snags a towel, and dries himself with that same efficiency, before shrugging on jerkin and pulling on breeches -- highboots are gazed at, and pulled on, before he grabs a familiar, silver-flecked cloak. "Shall we go terrorize a few people before chores?" is asked, his tone amused.

Azia slips out of the water herself, drying quickly and throwing on her garments, tugging each into perfect alignment before slipping her feet into well-worn boots. "Before chores? What's stopping us from terrorizing them *during* chores?" she queries brightly, flashing the lad a bright smile. "And.. I'm really sorry about your brother. Trust me.. I've been there." With that, she quickly halts her words and moves toward the exit. "So.. where to?"

Sikkyen towels out his hair, braiding back sections before looping a hide braid around it, tying with a harsh knot. "Living Caverns," he murmurs, attaching his cloak, and slipping into the garb of Sit--er, LlamaWraith. Hood is tugged down, and sinister smile is felt, rather than seen. "Let us go?" is inquired, before he slips out, bootheels clicking as cloven hooves.

Sikkyen has had enough and slips back out of the baths, hopefully smelling better.
Azia has had enough and slips back out of the baths, hopefully smelling better.

Living Caverns
The rough-hewn majesty of this cavern far outpaces any delight in the multitudes of curves that form its enclosure. The glabrous grey granite is shot through with translucent obsidian, lending subtly-veined sparkle to the walls and the foot-trodden smoothness of the floor that shows centuries-old placements of the scarred trestle tables; carven hollows give homes for the glow baskets and the coat-pegs that line the walls. No mosaics, no painting, no tiles: just a few well-done tapestries mark the pathway that lead to the kitchen to the north and the inner caverns to the west, and frame the nighthearth's stew and snacks, while a heavier strip of oiled canvas shields the unwary from the wind in the bowl.
Scattered about in various perches and niches are fifty-six firelizards.
You see OOC NOTICE (look sign), White Clay Egg Pot, Thief, and Vtol here.
Squaln, Niea, Larnat, Ellianna, Sikkyen, and Azia are here.
Obvious exits:
Bowl Kitchens Inner Caverns Crafting Area

Larnat eyes glint angrily. So he was behind this...though quite frigghtened by the Wraiths, Larnat's never let fear dominate her before. Best to surprise them all, then...hehe... She sits down, leaning against the wall. "Ah, from the LaughCraft?" she asks pleasantly of them.

Boo, indeed; LlamaWraith's shadowy form actually detaches from the shadows, whispering across the glow-lighted caverns; keeping away from direct light, but still, etheral form is now materialized. A slight nod to fellowWraithInPlainSight is given. One gloved, dark arm raises, and points straight at Larnat; a noise from the back of the caverns, remniscient of a cackling wherry, is heard, before the arm is lowered, and shadow disappears; was it even there?

With her back to the group -- and the wraiths -- Niea hums tunelessly as she piles food onto her plate. Cup in grubby hand, she turns and glares at the cloaked critters, eyes narrowed to near slits.

A form slips along the walls, cloaked in the shadows of flickering glows, and appears beside Squaln as though it had been there along. This movement completed, BootyWraith turns owlish eyes on Larnat and shakes her head slowly, eerily. Not bloody likely.. WraithCraft, perhaps. A sweep of black cloak is given, covering the tapping of her movements with the gentle rsutle of fabric.

With a rustle of cloth and a flicker in the shadows, WraithLeader makes an appearance. A thin, unseen smile lurks beneath the midnight of the shrouding hood. They amuse themselves with lurking from shadow to shadow and offering the odd spectral tap to unwitting shoulders, letting their Wraiths have free reign over the bratlings. Mwah.

Kh'ryn walks, with casual strides in from the Central Bowl.

Niea slams her plate onto the nearest table. "You stop that right now!" She announces, voice quavering only a little.

Larnat turns to glare at the Wraith, seemingly able to sense its thoughts. "I'm not a bratling, thank you. I'm a /Weyr/brat." Ah well, not much distinction, but that's Larnie for you. "Maybe I'll start haunting /you/."

Selendi walks in from the Central Bowl.

Yeeessssssssssss.. Tapping commenses; faint shrieks of terror emit forth, and LlamaWraith continues rounds, it moving with unearthly grace. Unseen feet don't appear to move; silver circlets gleam dangerously -- and Niea's shoulder is the next to be tapped. With the rustle of grain against metal tubs - or hide against other hide - the Wraith slinks back into the shadows.

One Wraith turns toward Niea with a shake of a black-cloaked head. Mm.. It doesn't think it'll stop right now. This is too much fun. The Wraith, identified by the tap of boothells as BootyWraith, steals up near Niea and waits for LlamaWraith to retreat before circling the girl, scraping boot heals forming a soft, percussive accompaniement.

Hawk glides in from the Central Bowl.

StormWraith rumbles quietly, brooding dangerously at the fringes of the cloud of wraiths. It moves with the stealth of of a summer rain to hover near Larnat. A sharp, annoyed hiss, like the splatter of rain, and the StormWraith retreats back whence it came.

Larnat stares triumphantly at the Wraith. "Not so clever now, are you?" she whispers fiercely, dignity and pride kept high.

Kh'ryn strides into the caverns, a faint whistle exiting from between pursed lips, as he heads directly towards the klah pot upon the sideboard. At least, that's where he /means/ to go, but his way is blocked by a dissapearing.. um.. /thing/. Watching it depart, the bluerider turns towards a nearby crowd, and asks, "Just what was that?" He's not one to get scared easily, so takes no fright - however, his curiousity does take the better of him, and he searches the caverns for others of the sort. Seeing them, he crosses his arm and simply .. well.. stares. Never having encoutered such.. um.. shadowed strangers before, he's unsure how to deal with them. So, he'll just stand here. Though, he still wants his klah.

Niea's hand reaches out, snatches up her drink cup, and sloshes the contents all over the black cloak of 'BootyWraith'. "Take that, you wherry hen!" She hollers -- a war cry.

WraithLeader looms over towards Larnat, a cold, cruel, cackle escaping from it's hidden lips. "Haunt me, child, Haunt ME? You speak dangerous words... Have you not heard the tales of those who dare oppose the Wraiths?" Another cackle, nigh on the borders of madness. Which continues at BootyWraith gets attacked, WraithLeader attempting to merge a sudden desire to snicker into something properly menacing.

A long, piercing scream, much like a rabbit's final cry, fills the cavern as BootyWraith observes the growing dampness on her black cloak. Words like falling pebbles, clashing sharply against one another, shoot towards Niea. "Foolish brat! You will pay for that!" In the time it takes one to blink, the Wraith is enveloped in shadow once more, most probably nursing her poor, drink-soiled cloak.

Larnat turns to Kh'ryn and shrugs. "A Wraith. I think we've pretty much scared them off with LaughCraft jokes and taunts." But she spoke too soon, and her eyes go wide as the WraithLeader comes over to /her/. "Maybe. You might be surprised," she says quite suddenly back, not even controlling her mouth it would seem. She turned to grab a blanket she had been folding in the brat cave and flung it onto the WraithLeader. "Take /that/."

And there is a strangled, choked cry of laughter from the silver-flecked creature known as LlamaWraith; the Wraith covers up, but Niea's swift, half-violent action against fellow Wraith is just /too/ much not to snort at. A humm, scaling up until it reaches fervent levels of feverish pitch, is cut off when a weyrmaid's shriek haunts the air. LlamaWraith had an urge - and did it, creeping fingers up a tensed shoulderblade. Clopping of bootheels - the half-ominious sound of a bull's cloven hooves - is heard, as he slinks farther into the shadows.

Awake before even the sun dares to peek out from its bed of fluffy clouds, the young woman moves to the Living Quarters hoping to snatch a bit of food before the mad morning rush. Her motions are smooth and easy, steps characterized by a languid ease. That is --- until she spots _that_. The scream pierces her ears, sending shivers up her back, and her whole shoulder tenses in such a way that her once soft, and nubile body changes into an unforgiving, pole of rimrod. And she echoes that scream, her mouth opening to send soprano chords of fright into the air.

"Yeah," sasses Niea smugly. "Make me." She slouches into her chair and spears a hunk of meat with her fork.
[OOC:] Selendi *claims Awake pose.

StormWraith laughs outright at Larnat's fiece pride, not deigning any intelligible response. None is needed for one so unworthy of a Wraith's attention. The Wraith's head jerks in the direction of all the screams, and rumbles softly as it glides nearer -- though with amusement or ill intent, its hard to tell.

Having not received a straightforward answer to his question, Kh'ryn simply shrugs, and tries once more to reach the sideboard, and the treasure that is klah. He's got sweeps later today, and that task goes ever on and on, down from the sky where it began. These 'wraiths' haven't done anything to him as of yet, and so he simply assumes that they're there to.. well.. make lots of noise and scare the drudges. Therefore, with that in mind, he finally makes it to the klah pot, and pours himself a generous mug - though, the latest scream of horror does set his nerves on edge just a tad. "Alright, alright.. Calm down... Can anyone tell me what's going on??" And over the rim of his mug he peers, staring down the one 'wraith' that appears to be the leader. "You. Who are you?"

Kh'ryn drops Worn Rucksack.

Squaln is sitting by himself, sipping his klah and trying not to burst out laughing at the little 'uns and his fellow Wraiths. He'll just be nice for the time being and watch. The Brats are noticed as well and he shakes his head absent-mindedly. Amazing, eh? "This is all just too much." is finally spoken. "Although it's rather amusing." That'll teach /them/ to sass about candidates ever again. Meh heh.

Kh'ryn releases G'dalf, who launches into the air.
[OOC:] Kh'ryn ahem's. Ignore the flying G'dalf. He hasn't walked in yet IC'ly.. *grin*

Mimi arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

Ah, but Wraiths were once weyrbrats, gone mad and corrupted by the power of the One Prank. Or at least WraithLeader was. With a shrieking hiss, the balnket clad Wraith hauls her attacker into the shadows, a blackgloved hand holding a wriggling crawlie, which is then dropped down a certain weyrbrat's shirt. A satisfied cackle, and the wraith glides towards Kh'ryn. "You summon me...?"
balnket/blanket. Yeah.

BootyWraith reappears beside her Leader, rumbling her grave annoyance. Though, if one were to listen closely, undertones of laughter might be heard by those of great hearing. A rustle of fabric is given in response to Kh'ryn's interrogation, dark eyes merely settling on his features with something akin to respect, though a Wraith would never admit to that. Nu-uh! She glides after WraithLeader, amused to no end by her antics, and nods at Kh'ryn. WraithLeader will talk for her.

LlamaWraith, the ever-there presence, slips behind and to the side of WraithLeader. Hood low, silver flickering along the hem and in the cloak itself, unetheral beauty glints. Yessssss - WraithLeader shall speak for them all, and LlamaWraith shall provide the special effects - if needed.

Lylia walks in from the Central Bowl.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken, and a light from the shadows shall spring; and its from this light that the shadow of a man- a very tall man, spindly, with crooked hat and an even more crooked nose, suddenly appears. "Halt!" he shouts over the screams, laughter and foolish questions being yelled across the caverns. "Is this High Reaches, where a clutch warms itself upon the sands, and candidates are said to reside?" asks the strange rider, his cloak and leathers dusty from travel. G'dalf turns to a fellow rider, namely Kh'ryn and his stern gaze demands a reply.

Larnat sreams. If there's one thing Larnie hates, it's /crawlies/. Ugh. Just the name sends her up on top of a chair. "Ahhhhh!" she screams loudly and in vain tries to get the squiggling thing out of her dress, she finally manages to throw it off with a wild shake and a few hand-slaps. She turns to the WraithLeader, very embarassed and yells, "Okay, now I'm /really/ mad."

Why don't the -other- people seem scared? New at High Reaches, the young woman or rather _girl_, scuttles towards the tables, seeking comfort in its liquid form and perhaps the most potent form .. klah. She wrings her blond her together, chewing on the tips as Selendi watches the commotion and exchange between the Wraiths and Kh'ryn and now, G'dalf. Bright violet optics, like pools of amethyst, look from BootyWraith, to LlamaWraith, to finally settle on their leader, the most formadible Wraith of all. o.O. Surely they are what the stuff of nightmares are made of.

Niea gnaws on her meat, dark eyes in slits. "Stupid candidates," she mutters, fingers wrapped 'round her fork. "Need a good spanking, they do." Pirate hops down from her shoulder and pecks at a few slivers of discarded wherry.

Don't spank the Candies... They might like it too much...
Oooh, spanking..

Zeja saunters in from the Central Bowl.

Kazra walks cheerfully in from the Central Bowl.

StormWraith, gray-glad and bulkily omminous, gathers near Kh'ryn to-- well, whatever it was going to do, its head suddenly jerks up and seems to bore its stare into G'dalf wordlessly. It hisses softly and takes a few steps back, unwilling to deal with this new rider.

J'den wanders in from the Central Bowl.

Kh'ryn is about to question the Wraith leader further, when a senior rider suddenly demands his attention. He turns, about to reply with a rather frustrated 'aye', but the other man's physique and appearance forces him to swallow his sarcastic response and simply nod, dumbfouded. "Yes. Yes it is," he answers simply.

Sock-footed and shivering, Lylia slinks into the caverns, her lifemate's creep-creep-creep present in her footsteps. The jacket is tightened around her as she flops onto a chair, gaze flickering lightly around the caverns. Kh'ryn is greeted with a nod, while the Wraiths... get a brief look of fear. She slinks closer to the creampuffs. Meep. G'dalf is glanced at, a momentary flicker of puzzlement in her eyes as she backs up Kh'ryn's response. "Aye."

Niea wraps a protective arm around her plate, dark eyes glaring at the sudden influx of people. "Why on Pern did Ma think this was a good place to come to?" asks the Brat, a plaintive tone in her young voice.

"What's he saying now?" Zeja questions toward Kazra with a wink and grin, more for conversation. "Klah... klah would be nice," she murmurs toward the others as, without waiting, she strides into the caverns. "Quite a group in here," she sends back to the other Istans through chattering teeth.

Squaln is having one shell of a time trying to keep a straight face as the Wraiths all gather 'round the Leader. Sipping his klah, his eyes are still reluctantly glued to the confrontation of his fellow Wraiths and the rider. Heh. Sqa isn't dressed in the Wraith attire nor will he give his alias away -- he's just relaxing and having a cup of klah before kitchen duty starts. Zeja is then noticed and waved at. "Heeyy, long time so see!" Beam. Pause. The candidate almost chokes on his klah when he sees G'dalf. Now he just stares.

WraithLeader emits a triumphant sort of hiss as the inquisition is suspended, and then the hooded face shifts to regard G'dalf. Perhaps with a touch of unease. The weyrfolk are easily frightened hobbits, but this one is an entirely different sort of colour. Or monochrome.

MusicWraith sweeps into the caverns, bells on hood jingling ominously as it slips over to fellow black-clad ones. A bubbly murmur of greeting is directed to the others and shadowed eyes scan over the room. Got word of a few children frightenend by funny hissing people in black. Had to join the fun.

Jamvolio shines a vigorous emerald, a wisp of cold air followed with the blunt return from ::between::!

Dark eyes turn on G'dalf, catching the quick reflection of light and narrowing somewhat. Hiss. One might sense that BootyWraith fears G'dalf, or at least respects him enough to back away. Those eyes turn on her Leader with a great deal of curiosity. What now?

G'dalf nods his approval at the simple answer, though the actions of the 'wraiths' seems to bother him still. "Stop!" The change in the riders's voice is astounding. Suddenly it became menacing, powerful, harsh as stone. A shadow seemed to pass over the high sun, and the caverns for a moment grew dark. He turns to the nearest shadowed character, and beckons it close. "You, the stormy one," he declares, a strange look within his steely gaze. "Who might you be. Speak not aloud, but whisper it to me." Seems this man is the only one reasonable enough to ask the true names of these creatures.

The Staring thing must be contagious, for wide-eyed and owlish in their appearance, Selendi's pale orbs continue to stare at the scene unfolding before her. She isn't quite sure what to think of the commotion; some are scared, others just seem _amused_. "Momma was right when she said that Weyrfolks were not all quite there in the head," the young woman mutters to herself. As more and more Wraiths begin to move into the area, conglomerating around the Living Quarters, the young woman draws closer to the table. "They won't eat me, will they?" Comes the timid, soprano question.

Jacima sees the Wraithleader and the other torturing whoever is in their path... She sees G'dalf, he was speaking in a powerful voice to the 'wraiths'... She decided to get closer but with caution...

WraithLeader offers a single nod to StormWraith, a gloved hand twitching aquiescence to G'dalf's demands.

Larnat nods at G'dalf. She should have thought of that earlier. "I'd like very much to know that."

Kazra's eyes glaze briefly, before she laughs. "Flights." she explains to Zeja, before blinking at the mass of people. "Busy." she agrees, before trying to conceal a grin at the shivering of her friends. Coming from Reaches does have its advantages. Hang on, what are all those strange robed people? "Think we've walked in on something we shouldn't?" she questions, before taking a step back as G'dalf speaks. "Remind you of a certain Weyrlingmaster?" she whispers quietly.

Kh'ryn does believe that he's had enough of this, and decides that now, while everyone is distracted with this new riders presence, might be a good time to dissapear... Quickly. Therefore, with klah cup still in hand, the bluerider slides through the crowd and exits via the bowl.

Kh'ryn exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.

G'dalf's entrance is noted only with the reply of strong, black-clad arms - muscular, they, perhaps, give LlamaWraith away to those whom know the candidates well enough. Shifting into perfect parade-rest, dark gaze simmers out from underneath a shadow'd hood. Menacing gaze is /felt/ rather than seen; indeed, LlamaWraith doesn't like people - even tall, eccentric dragonriders - barging in on a party, uninvited.

StormWraith harbors no ill intent for G'dalf, as one who could overshadow a sunny day as itself like the dappening rain. So it approaches, warily, and reguards G'dalf with all the pride and supposed menace it can muster from the faceless depths of its cloak. A bit hard without seeing expressions, but it tries. Proper display of Wraithly strength shown, it whispers to the rider in a hiss as soft as the rain on the damp grass, revealing its True Name.

Selendi has disconnected.
Selendi falls asleep.

BootyWraith hovers beside WraithLeader, observing StormWraith from the shadow of her voluminous hood. Her head drops somewhat, cloak slipping around her until she is nothing but a dark pillar of repentance. Or so the strangers would say - Strangers who can not see the defiant glint in her eyes, the smirk that skews her lips.

Zeja hears a familiar voice and turns toward Squaln with a broad grin. "Well, look who we have here, folks!" That being said back to Kazra and J'den, of course. "'Reaches dragons couldn't keep away from you either, Squallie, dear?" she remarks before blinking towawrd the hooded figures. "Do they always dress like this around here?" As always, the demeanor of amusement remains on Ze's face. "Ooh, flights" is murmured back toward Kazra with a grin and eyebrow waggle. "Oh, so this /isn't/ normal?"

"Weyrfolk are fine, it's the candidates that are missin' some equipment in the mind...," Lylia casually mentions towards Selendi, a shake of the head given that sends that coppery braid a'bouncing. "'Lo." The brownrider nods a greeting towards Kazra, Zeja, and J'den. "You'd better not be here to steal all our cookies." Even that's said rather playfully, despite the fact that she's still shivering. The candidates do enough of that... Among other things. The wraiths are still eyed with a cautious glance, fingertips twitching against the table top as she waits. For something.

"Sweet Faranth above.." Squaln whispers under his breath. Blue orbs continue to gaze at the rider who is known as G'dalf. Swallowing the lump in his throat, the candidate then leans forward in his chair and sets the mug of klah down on the table in front of him. Sqa starts listening to the conversation now that the room has been hushed.

Lianta arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

Larnat huffs, 14-year-old dignity affronted. "So, what /is/ your name," she demanded.

Jacima gets closer to one of the candidates... she is not sure what is going on around here today... She seemed to remember his name Squaln... She sits in a chair accross from him and gives him a nod with her head...
Jacima has disconnected.
Jacima falls asleep.

G'dalf hears the whispered/hissed response, and nods his sage head slowly. "Then it is thee that I see. This is the hour of the Candidates, when they arise from their washwork and chores, to shake the weyr of the Reaches with their delightful pranks." Though that might have given a bit away about the origins of the 'wraiths', the rider does little else to spoil their fun. Instead, he turns to StormWraith, and motions the creature closer. "Be wise, young one, of things unexplained. All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost;" And with those puzzling words, he hands the shadowed character a ragged scroll from within the dark recesses of his worn sack.
G'dalf opens Worn Rucksack.
G'dalf removes Jundi's Scroll from Worn Rucksack.

J'den steps into the Caverns with the Istans, unzipping his jacket as he enters. Brows shoot up at the sight of a certain gathered group, black robes and all. "That's...interestin'," he remarks. He sends a wave and grin to Squaln and glances at Zeja. "Maybe their just...trying to keep warm?" Yes, in black robes. He the greeting to Lylia with a grin as his eyes flicker back to the...group. Oh, these Reachians are strange...

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

The housekeeper arrives to cart Selendi off to bed.

Scented of grain, low hum ever present - even now, the ghostly shadow of the noise is heard from within LlamaWraith's hood. Eyes focused apon G'dalf and fellow Wraith, head is held arrogantly, hood not dipped like most of his fellow candidates, Llama broods over this whole deal. Who is this man, to barge in on their funmaking, to inquire their /true/names/? And now.. scrolls? What in the first Egg is this about?

MusicWraith slips over to stand just behind WriathLeader, swaying side to side as the bells sewn to her hood jingle quietly. Even Wraiths can sound pretty! Who is this G'dalf that earns the right to know their Names? A small green-beaded braid of hair flashes out from the hood before the wraith quickly adjusts it to screen her face from view.

StormWraith bobs its head in silent acknowledgement of G'dalf's wisdom, though still unwilling to give voice to words. With a soft, thunderous rumble, it takes the scroll and burries it somewhere within the depths of its stormy attire, slipping back into the background. Its been far too sociable for one day, and so must go back to being menacing.

Jacima has connected.
Jacima wakes up.

Larnat says, ""Stupid Wraiths," she murmurs. Someday perhaps /she'll/ be a Candidate and terrorize /them/. But for now, it seemed best to salvage what remained of her dignity and make a graceful exit."

WraithLeader simply aims a disdainful stare in the direction of Larnat. A stare unseen but for a bit of light that catches grey eyes. The slate orbs then return to focus on G'dalf, apprehension warring with distinct and Wraithly curiosity. A quelling hand is offered the other wraiths, and a gravelly comment of "Be still... Observe this one." She already noted that she didn't approve of the bells.

Squaln stands up from his seated position and slips over to the rest of his fellow candidates as G'dalf is addressing all of them. A hand is gently ran over his green tipped spiky hair, just to make sure it isn't out of place or messed. Not like it would be.. Drawing a deep breath, Sqa then exhales slowly as he watches StormWraith and the rider converse.

Jundi has disconnected.

"Nope, this isn't that normal for the Reaches." Kazra whispers back to Zeja and J'den "Mind you, they're all insane, so this could be the latest fashion." a pause. "Ah, its candidates. Or so Xylyth says. Though he could be wrong." And Kazra seems to be burbling slightly. Must be the altitude. And now insane Kaz offers a wave to Lylia. "Nope, not here to steal cookies."

Miria flounces, spring in her step, in from the Central Bowl.
Miria walks out.

G'dalf watches with hooded gaze as the stormy one retrieves its advice and gift. Then, to the one who dares ask his name, he states, "G'dalf am I, and I have travelled far through Middle Pern in order to reach my destination - Reaches. That is all you should know.." He returns to searching through his sack, rummaging silently for another item. "And let us hope that none will ever speak it here again," adds the old man. For his name, like the true ones of the 'wraiths' contain powerful powers... ('Cause then people know who to tease afterwards.. ahem) The less threatening, but just as stony BootyWraith is then called forward, and gifts will be offered, if only it speaks its truth to him as did the other.

"No cookies for me!" Zeja replies to Lylia with a grin and wave. "Ista's duties and all that fun stuff, and I'm here for the klah, though I'll take that back with me if he's not liking it here." 'That' being said as she points to Squaln. She giggles toward J'den. "Perhaps, perhaps." She's finding this all amusing. "Maybe I should ask one if I could borrow their little outfit. It's even cold in /here/." She laughs toward Kaz. "It's not a fashion I'll pick up, I know that much! This is like watching the harpers do one of their little shows..."

The Wraith of the Booty - who goes by BootyWraith - shuffles her boot-encased feet irritably. Her head raises at being addressed, a quick glance going to the others before she shuffles forward with a long, eerie scrape. Larnat gets a long, low growl as BootyWraith approaches G'dalf, head bowed once again as she leans forward to whisper her name, unheard by anyone else.

Larnat steps into the shadows that lead back into the Weyr.

Niea gathers her firelizard and her jacket and stalks out, muttering imprecations a 12 turn old shouldn't know.
Niea steps into the shadows that lead back into the Weyr.

G'dalf removes Azia's Scroll from Worn Rucksack.

"Good." And a sunny beam is offered as Lylia curls up upon a bench, though Zeja gets eye for a moment. "None at all? Very strange..." The Wraiths are normal compared to someone who doesn't want cookies at /all/. G'dalf's still watched with a cautious gaze. He couldn't be giving them a good thwack, like a normal rider, no... Mysteriouser and mysteriouser.

Squaln feels a little out of place for the moment since he's not in his typical Wraith costume at the time. Ahem. And he thought today was going to be normal for once.. Wrong, eh? Not at 'Reaches where everything is odd. Standing amongst his fellow candidates, the lad watches as G'dalf speaks to BootyWraith with intent.

The housekeeper arrives to cart Jundi off to bed.

Jacima walks back to the klah pot and pours some on a mug... she stands next to it and waits

It is very.. mysterious, LlamaWraith shall agree. A glance is slanted at the Leader, before he rocks back ever-so-slightly, eyeing his fellow Wraith with G'dalf. And still, the slight hum continues, uninterrupted, ghostly light through the clear, cold, early spring air.

MusicWraith ceases her swaying, letting the bells fall silent, resisting the urge to argue about her luffly bells. What do the mysterious scrolls say? Oooh the mystery. The Musical wriath can be threatening when she chooses to be, but for casual terrorizing in the caverns, bells are donned - if only to bug the Leader.

Head lowers and body slouches so that the tall rider might better view and hear the wraith. Once true name is spoken, G'dalf utters more words of wisdom, before handing this one a scroll of its very own. "Be wise, youth - for the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by frost." What that might mean, only Booty can guess... though, interesting phrase none the less.

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

Lianta, from beneath a faintly splotchy blue hood, gazes out at the crowded Living Caverns. Lessee, fellow (former) Istans get a shy wave and various other weyrfolk that she knows get a small nod. Having blown her Wraith cover, she slinks back into the back of the Candidate crowd.

BootyWraith smiles up at G'dalf, dwarfed easily by his height, and looks at him in the manner with which one might look at a favorite uncle or a benevolent grandfather. Her step is somewhat bouncier as she rejoins her fellow, scroll clutched tightly to her chest.

Yeah, yeah, bug the WraithLeader. Never mind that one of her Wraiths already has a penchant for pink pony beads. Argh. Cough. Back to lurking properly. A faint hissing escapes as the Leader lurks, head still up and gaze riveted on G'dalf with an almost preternatural lack of blinking.

J'den eyes the members of the Wraith, shaking his head slightly and quirking an eyebrow at Kazra. "Latest fashion? Well. It could happen at the 'Reaches, couldn't it?" His mouth curves slightly. "Maybe we should bring it back to Ista? Be up on the latest trends and all?" Actually, no. They'd die of heat, and J'den wouldn't be caught dead in one of...those, anyway. But hey. His eyes return to the robed men, brows still raised. "Glad nothin' like this happened when /we/ were candidates..." That might have been frightening.

Nylca arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

G'dalf returns to his lofty height, his pointed hat making him seem taller than is truthful. Loud, booming voice commands forth yet another wraith. There, he stands before LlamaWraith seeming now tall beyond measurement, and powerful beyond enduring, terrible and worshipful. "Beware of dragons," he sternly tells this shadowed character, "For you are tiny, and taste good with katchup." The slightest grin slips across the riders lips for the barests of seconds, before dissapearing as he leans over to hear the creatures true name, a scroll already in hand.

"Bring it back to Ista? Perhaps we should, see how many people take up the fashion." is Kazra's slightly evil comment as she slides into the nearest out of the way seat, but not so far away that she can't keep an eye out on what's happening. "I seen to remember a smiliar phase of being masked and disguised. Or was I supposed to forget that?" she grins, before paying attention to the strange words that G'dalf is speaking. Interesting. Strange, but interesting.

Nylca pauses, then hurries over to a pot of klah. Though she wasn't a candidate, she figured it couldn't hurt to stand and listen for a while. She might learn something. Grabbing a hot cup of klah, Nylca makes her way over to a chair and sinks in to listen.

G'dalf removes Sikkyen's Scroll from Worn Rucksack.
G'dalf hands Sikkyen's Scroll to Sikkyen's Scroll.

MusicWraith happens to think those pink beads are very pretty. But the pink beads are for PinkWraith, otherwise she'd don some herself. But no, MusicWraith has the jingly bells. A blink at G'dalf as he advises LlamaWriath, mentally noting that she'll have to "accidently" dump ketchup on on said wraith and go for a stroll around the bowl.

"Depends, what sort of cookies are these?" Zeja queries as she moves nearer to Lylia, curious, worried she might be missing out on something good. "The only 'new' fashion I've seen at Ista," Zeja sends toward J'den, "is the lack of clothing as the weather grows warmer. And I think I prefer that. She snickers toward Kazra. "Some of ours did do that, didn't they?" She shakes her head. "Shards, that was so many turns ago..."

Wraithleader observes the continuing goings-on with coolly dispassionate eyes. Even as she steps aside to permit LlamaWraith to move forward. Eyes flicker to the pointy hat. Will he show them any tricks involving it? 0:)
He, being G'dalf.

LlamaWraith straightens - he's resentful. Beware of dragons?! Why don't you give him some advice that he can /use/? Snuff. However resentful he might be, curiousity pulls the grain-scented candie forwards, uttering a single, baritone-toned voice into an ear. He is not tiny. He tastes good /without/ katchup. But -- curiousity always killed the fel--er, llama. Scroll is accepted, and he arrogantly steps back - after the tiniest of nods is given, of course.

Nylca absently sips her klah and enjoys a bit of time off.

Nylca exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.

J'den smirks slightly, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes remain on the...show. "Oh, I think we should," he remarks to Kazra. "It'd be fun to see, wouldn't it?" Imagine, Istans draped in black robes. Or, on second thought, don't. He chuckles slightly in memory, nodding. "Y'know...I'd nearly forgotten about that." Ah, the good ol' days. He chuckles at Zeja, shrugging. "Actually...I think I prefer that one, too."

Squaln stands amongst his fellow Wraiths, glancing at the scrolls being given out already. Dying to take a look at their gifts, the lad just keeps a straight face and gazes out at the candidates and G'dalf in front of him. His turn will come soon enough, so, he keeps his eyes on the rider for the time being. This is actually getting exciting..

The disdain for his person is ignored, as G'dalf does not play little llama games. Instead, this wise rider awaits the latest wraith's departure, and calls forth yet another. As the jingling bells of MusicWraith echo softly as it approaches, he bends to her ear and whispers the following words. "You've jangled very handsome all along, nearly put me off my guard, ringing such bells and all. But handsome is as handsome does we say. Now's a chance to show your quality. Give me your name, and quip me a chorus, and the following scroll shall be yours..."

Nylca walks in from the Central Bowl.
Nylca nods as she returns from the bowl, taking her seat again and sipping her slightly cooler klah.
G'dalf removes Mimi's Scroll from Worn Rucksack.

Sure could have fooled Llama, G'dalf. 'Little llama games', indeed... The wraith in question is itching to read his scroll, but circumstance dictates that he continue to stand in perfect parade rest, to the right side and back a step from WraithLeader.

WraithLeader resists the temptation to peer curiously at the gifts her coterie is recieving. Proper Leaderish form must be attended to, you know. She permits MusicWraith to move mast her, with just the slightest sour quality to her posture at the sound of the jingling bells.

Nylca yawns softly, and blinks, sipping her klah to try and wake up fully.

MusicWriath simply beams at the praise, swiveling around to shoot WraithLeader an unseen glance. See. Her bells are /lovely/. She stands up on tiptoe, making sure the bells are caught in enough movement to jingle louder than their usual quiet whisper, to murmur her name, looking hopefully at the mysterious rider from beneath her hood.

Nylca steps into the shadows that lead back into the Weyr.
Rostov suddenly disappears ::between::!
G'dalf hands Mimi's Scroll to Mimi's Scroll.

Sikkyen goes home.

It might not have been a chorus sung, but with the myriad bells, this chorus instead was rung - and that was enough for G'dalf. Therefore, scroll is handed over, and he raises his head to take a moment to ponder the few still gathered. There are several candidates who are not in guise, and it is towards one of these that he then motions. "You," he says, beckoning Lianta. "Come here. Do make haste, as the wraiths are quick and agile, and might decide that you make a better shadow than a girl anytime soon."

G'dalf removes Lianta's Scroll from Worn Rucksack.

Lianta shuffles forward awkardly, the center of all attention. Quickly she comes to the front, not a little bit frightened of wraiths and their pranks. She gazes intently at G'dalf, gathering some sort of courage. She stands straighter, and her downcast eyes move up towards the crowd.

G'dalf awaits a moment, and then smiles kindly down at the lass, his eyes twinkling with friendly mirth. "Your name," he quietly asks of the uncloaked girl. "Then you shall have what's coming to you."

Lianta murmurs in a very quiet voice, barely enough to be heard. "Lianta, sir. " The longer this takes, the more she seems to shrink in on herself, despite her own objections.

WraithLeader's gloved fingers twitch, unseen, inside the billowing folds of her robe. Forget about fire wielded by Rangers or water by Elven princesses, curiosity is beginning to get to /this/ Wraith. But still, locked behind her facade, she stands, and watches, turning to offer the occasional wickedly fearsome hiss towards encroaching weyrbrats/

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

A smile cracks Lianta's timid face as she thanks G'dalf, most politely. Looking towards the Istans (to see if they recognized her), her smile broadens and she pads softly over to her fellow Candidates. Time for frolicking with them in a bit.

Though G'dalf may tower over the candidate girl, his pleasant smile at the moment manages to not make him seem so ... lofty. In fact, the kindly look offered to Lianta along with her scroll is enough to make this old rider almost seem... friendly. However, that quickly dissapears as he looks over the remaining candidates gathered. Talking as though to himself, he states, "Very nice friends, O yes my precious, very nice," before motioning for Squaln to come forward.

Squaln glances at those people here who aren't candidates, blinking as he does. It's like a show.. or something. Grinning slightly, the lad peers at Lianta as she receives her gift from G'dalf happily. His attention is then grabbed finally when the rider beckons him forward, and so he steps. Ok, now it's his turn for words of wisdom.

Zeja 's lips turn into an amused grin and chuckle at J'den's words as she shakes her head. "I'd be scalding hot," she replies with a wink, "but one of those outfits might be an interesting souvenir to take back to Ista. Think any would turn one over?"

And WraithLeader continues to stand, motionless but for one minor movement to place another crawlie on the shoulder of an unsuspecting resident that draws too near the Wraiths' huddle.

The tall rider watches silently as the lad comes forward, his hand already clutching the candidate's prize. He leans down to hear the boy's name, idly wondering why he never thought to take a seat during this whole time... Ah well, nearly done now... To Squaln, he then whispers his wisdom. "Receive it, lad!" he said: "in earnest of other things that shall be given back. But if I may counsel you in the use of your own, do not use it - yet! Be wary!" To a non-costumed wraith, these words have several meanings, but their main truth shall only be revealed upon Hatching time. Gift is then given, and the wise man stands tall as he beckons the final wraith come hither.

G'dalf removes Squaln's Scroll from Worn Rucksack.
G'dalf hands Squaln's Scroll to Squaln's Scroll.

Squaln stands tall, raising his chin up slightly as he gazes at G'dalf with admiration. His own blue eyes stare at the rider's for a moment, just before he receives the gift with pride. "Thank you, sir." is said and he steps aside to let the last Wraith claim their wisdom.

WraithLeader sweeps forward, the mystique surrounding her ebbing swiftly as she enters the sphere of the tall 'rider's influence, becoming simply a short and slim figure in black robes, though possessed of a quiet calm. Her true name is revealed in a low and steady alto murmur.

As the leader makes its way forward, G'dalf's features change to a calm, if deliberate facade. No wish to let on as to what might be spinning underneath that pointed hat of his - especially not to this shadowed creature. The fire crackled behind them within the hearth as they simply stand and stare. Then, silently, the rider nods and hands over the scroll, his words echoing as he gives them voice. "One dragon to fly, and one to find them, and thereupon the sands, forever bind them."

G'dalf removes Miralwyn's Scroll from Worn Rucksack.
G'dalf hands you Miralwyn's Scroll.

Kazra blinks out of the glassy-eyed state that she's been inhabiting for a while, and offers a rueful smile to anyone near her. "Turns out I'm wanted back at Ista." she whispers, before she rises and quietly slips out, being careful not to disrupt whatever is going on.
Kazra exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.

And WraithLeader takes the scroll with a slight bowing of her head, and the murmured comment that "You have a most facinating mind, sir." before stepping back into place with her fellows.

Squaln goes home.

Raising his hands up high, the rider speaks once more before taking leave of the caverns for this day. "Well, here at last, dear friends, within the caverns comes the end of our fellowship in Middle-Pern, for now. Remind your fellow candidates that I will be here for a sevenday, in which they too may receive their wisdom and treasures... But take heed - use not your power for wrong, as I have often seen such acts corrupt the very candidate that yield them." A stern and direct look is given towards the leader of these wraiths. With a tip of his hat, G'dalf exits the caverns, back to wherever t'was where he first came.

G'dalf exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.