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Harper's Tale 2 - Saturday, June 22, 2002, 10:41 PM
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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 is a bronze firelizard.
Obvious exits:
Stairs Ground Weyrs Cellars

Lis arrives from the ground weyrs, closing the heavy grate behind them.

"Donis? Donis?" Lis' voice echos off the walls of the fractal tunnels of the catacombs, sounding only mildly perturbed and not genuinely distressed. Yet. "Dammit, he's too young to be wandering off by himself down here. It's not /safe/."

What an intriguing scene the catacombs are this evening. Little bowls of finely chopped meat scraps in various corners and crannies, dotting the floor around a petite figure in green and black leathers, who's most un-Wynnishly calling out "Here kitty kitty kitty. Kitty? Here kitty?" And every now and again, a frightening yowl echoes out from the shadows.

Lis comes around the corner of a tunnel, glowbasket in hand, but it doesn't stop her from tripping over a bowl of meat. "Shards! What in Faranth's name..." Holding her light aloft, she squints at the dim form of Wyn that coalesces out of the shadows. "Wyn? /What/ are you doing?"

"Oh!" Cue a startled little jump from Wyn at seeing Lis appear. "Ah. Yes. Good evening to you Lis. There is a feline in here. I do believe the poor thing is starving, as it doesn't seem to know it's way out..." She trails off as another mmmeYOOOOOw is heard, turned spooky by the echoes. "So, you see? I wish to acquire it and move it to a safer place. Ah... what are /you/ looking for?"

"My son." The glowlight wobbles a bit as Lis shifts her weight onto one foot, her hip leaning against the wall. "For most of the same reasons, I guess. I don't think he's starving, yet; all's fun and games until he gets hungry, and you'd be amazed how quickly the adventure ends." The greenrider-mother rolls her eyes, looking vaguely in the direction of the feline yowling. "Had much luck?"

"Ah." notes Wyn in tones of enlightenment. "I see. Well, I didn't see him head this way... And some luck." With a touch of gory showmanship, the bluerider shucks off a glove to reveal a nicely-mauled hand. "Poor, frightened little beastie. I've got the right of catching it now," she confirms, pulling the glove back on. "But it's smart, and I think I require a second person to help herd it into a corner now..." "MRrrrowr." from the cat, and a sudden blur of ginger fur makes a quick pass at one of the bowls before vanishing into shadow again.

Lis purses her lips at the sight of Wyn's hand, most likely to restrain herself from saying something like 'Great, so my son's lost down here with /that/ monster'. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not noble enough to sacrifice my hand to the cause. Nearly lost my foot in Threadfall, thanks." The foot in question is held up for evidence, ankle twisting it back and forth - but the toes don't wiggle, anymore.

Good thing, because Wyn, with her unsuspected soft spot for felines, would be quick to come to the beast's defense. "Oh, you needn't do /that/, Lis," the ex-Healer assures. "Simply... stampede the beast over to me, so that I might catch it in here." A burlap sack is displayed as evidence. "Poor little feline."

"I think you might need a thicker sack," Lis comments dryly, eyeing the direction in which she last saw the feline vanish. "Here, kittie, kittie," she tries, experimentally, wandering off with the light as she coos into the dark. An annoyed yowl is followed by a more human shriek, shortly after which Lis, not the feline, comes running back from the tunnel

Wyn eyes the sack and shrugs, before sidling a little closer towards Lis and her tunnel of choice. Sidestepping neatly as Lis bolts by, a veritable beam on her face, regardless of the greener's distress. "Oh /good/." she praises in her Benden accent. "You found it. Where is it, can you scare it out towards me next time?"

Lis mutely points down the tunnel she came out of, composed enough not to be shaking but hardly inclined to go back in there again.

Wyn rushes in where angels fear to tread. Or perhaps 'Into the Valley of Death, strode the bluerider' would be a more appropriate corruption. In any case, Wyn gives a nod to Lis, and blithely takes herself and her sack out of sight and into the darkness of the tunnel. Sounds of a scuffle, curses, yowls, hisses and growling can be heard, followed by a long silence. Wyn does not emerge.

"Wyn?" Lis' initial call is a lot more plaintive than she would have liked, being a thirty-Turn-old woman and all. "Wyn, that's not funny. I'm not coming in to get you... I'm sending for help... Wyn! Wyn!!!"

A scuffing of stone can be heard, along with muffled growls growing louder, and the sound of something squirming madly in a sack. And out walks Wyn, a forehead cut bleeding like forehead cuts tend to, but with a satisfied smirk gracing her normally-bland face with rakish effect. "Lis. We have aquired ourselves a feline."

Lis winces as Wyn steps into the light again, wondering aloud, "I hope that's not as deep as it looks. And what do you mean, 'we'? This is /your/ feline. I did not help catch it, I was just an innocent bystander." Story of her life.

Wyn waves a hand airily, and pats the yowling bundle of burlap affectionately. "Of course you helped catch it Lis," she corrects with a saintly air. "Really, I would never of looked down that tunnel myself, or at least not so soon. So really, this poor, lost, starving little feline owes its' life to /you/, just as much as I. Now, let's take it to the kitchens and get a better look, eh?" That said, and the bundle beginning to wriggle frantically, the young bluerider trots smartly towards the cellar stairs.

Ah yes, this way heads back towards the main caverns.

Wide and well-spaced, the stairs back up are easy.
Kitchens
Heat and a large, unidentifiable morass of pungent odors assail those that pass through the herb-strung doorways and into the broad depths of hearth-filled kitchens. From the earliest hour of morning to shadows of latenight, the cavern is never empty: mealtimes bring vast crowds of drudges and workers scurrying 'neath cooks watchful eyes, while at other times a handful of clean hands tend the many fires and huge ovens that bake and broil breads and meat. A smaller hearth sits near-idle but for the ever present pots of klah, soup, and stew kept warm and ready.
Several anonymous doorways lead into storage caverns, stairwells, and cabinets that line the walls... surely anything needed can be found.. somewhere.
Hoping for food are two firelizards.
You see Delphin here.
Obvious exits:
Cellars     Caverns

Lis comes up from the cellars.

"Shouldn't I go get some rope? Or something?" Lis calls as she comes up the stairs behind Wyn. "To tie it down," the greenrider adds, just in case Wyn might suspect her of violent motives. "Or at least something for your hand."

Wyn's hands, now suitably gloved, wave a casual dismissal of Lis' fretting. Or at least until the burlap sack makes an escape attempt, complete with a spitting hiss when the venture fails. "Tsk, I'll be perfectly fine, Lis. It's just a little feline, after all. Probably weak as... well... a kitten after five days down there and no food. Right, little one?" Good Faranth. Did Wyn just /croon/ at something? "Here." she directs. "You open the sack, and I'll pick it up?"

"No. Way." Lis' eyes bulge wide with ill-hidden fear as Wyn attempts to deputize her as an assistant cat-wrangler. "It'll take my hand off. I want some gloves, too."

Wyn clucks her tongue. "Lis," she notes. "It's physically impossible for something that size to remove a hand from something your size without something on the order of a solid quarter hour's worth of uninterrupted chewing. But very well..." Wyn deigns to part with one of her gloves, extending it to the other rider with a trifle of a disappointed air.

Lis only makes a 'harrumph' sort of noise in response to Wyn's condescending chiding, cautiously stalking over to the burlap sack. She twitches the neck of it open and tugs the bag back before jumping out of the way and ducking.

Ducking is good, because as soon as the sack is opened, out pops the ginger feline, scrabbling and clawing, and managing to get nearly four feet straight up in the air before Wyn grabs it and firmly restrains it's paws. "Ah. And here we have our new friend," she decrees, gazing folndly at the cat, who is now gnawing quiescently at the leather glove covering the hand immobilizing the front legs. "See? Easy as falling off a dragon."

"About as painful and as fun, too," is Lis' cynical observation as she emerges from her duck-and-cover position. "I think you might want a thicker glove, too." The feline's current immobilization gives her a chance to examine it closely, and she can't help but blurt: "You got your hand chewed raw for /that/?"

Wyn turns to eye the feline critically, reaching her free hand to affectionately scratch behind its' ears, earning a temporary surcease of growling. "Well... I admit she doesn't look like much /now/..." she does allow. "But I'm sure she'll look better in time." After all, the scrawny, matted longhair, with one eye swollen shut by a raised lump, and several old patches of scabbed blood, topped with a liberal layer of dirt certainly can't look much /worse/, right?

Lis won't say it out loud, but her expression suggests it. "Well, I'm not going to bathe her... and how can you tell it's not a him, huh?" Not like this greenrider was looking for those sort of parts when she was trying not to get eaten by the furry demon of the catacombs.

Wyn smiles serenely, and pats the feline again. "Why Lis, did you hear me ask you to?" she inquires. "Of course, if you actually want to, I'd be glad to let you bathe her. But as for her gender..." A wave of the free hand near the cat's hindquarters. "No testicles."

"Well, that /would/ do it," Lis agrees with another roll of her eyes, arms folding across her chest. In the ensuing quiet, only her mother's (and gossip's) ears could pick up the dainty footsteps on the cellar stairs, followed by a curly-haired imp-face smudged liberally with dust and spinner-webs. "You! Get right to Alymath this instant, because you're going to bed without any supper. /And/ getting a good spanking when we get home." Donis is crushed, briefly, but upon spying a fresh tray of cookies, hope springs eternal, and he snags one on his way out. "I'm sorry, Wyn, but the pleasure of bathing your monster is all yours. I have my own to take care of, thanks."
And with that long drivel, Lis is gone.

Lis goes home.