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Harper's Tale 2 - Thursday, June 27, 2002, 10:02 PM
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Central Bowl
Seven spindles brush the clouds overhead, displaying a jagged, spired cotillion grey-stoned majesty. The bowl from here is expansively large, extending a full half-mile in both directions, and though a bit of a stretch at times, most of the hubs of activity can be easily observed. Hard-packed ground shows the common pathways, all of them meandering about the craggy bunch of boulders that form a centerpiece within the middle of the otherwise vast emptiness. .
The hatching grounds and leadership weyrs are located to the north, while the lows of herdbeasts noisily allude to the feeding pens slightly east of there. Constant traffic marks the entrance to the westward living caverns, whereas a glance southeast reveals the glittering, cold lake.
It is a spring afternoon.
To the north, you see a gold dragon.
Clinging to footholds in the boulder-mound are eighteen firelizards.
Green Kelitath, green Zoryanth, blue Lainnoth, brown Revnath, bronze Telynth, bronze Jhanath, blue Tsulryth, blue Rhajath, brown Sevareth, Brown Dsalth, green Alymath, blue Jakith, blue Kearneth, and blue Vorkoroth are here.
You see a wagonmaster, The Wagon of Death; Doom; and Ultimate Destruction, George Dubya bush, Hanabi's Order Board, Ischoria, and Shafirah here.
Raewyn is here.
Obvious exits:
Pens     Northern Bowl     Caverns     Ground Weyrs     Lakeside     Guards' HQ

**Poses lost to an evil connection**

Raewyn smirks about pets owning humans. "Sounds like a flitter to me." Peers up at the blue as he whuffs at his rider. "I take it he doesn't approve?" she asks with a gesture towards Vorkorth and half a grin. Tentatively she begins to answer Wyn's question, "A little experince, yes.." (repose)

<All> Vorkoroth senses that Dhiammarath stretches and shifts almost uncomfortablly. >>It is time.<< A mixture of cinimmon and jasmine mingle with the jade and gold tones of her mind with portents of a future to come... good or ill.

Wyn rolls a shoulder slightly. "They are apparently of the same level of intelligence," she allows to Raewyn, before her gaze settles on the Messanger again. "A little experience..." she muses, before eyes suddenly alight as some internal decision is reached. "Yes. Just so. Very well then. Climb aboard, and Vorkoroth will take us up so that you can see Jack." Apparently Raewyn doesn't get a terrible lot of say in the matter.

<All> Vorkoroth senses that Quarith twines together the beautiful pastels of the setting of Rukbat, allowing the sweet cadence of her voice to emerge. << More grandchildren for me. >>

Raewyn just splutters for a moment before getting aboard Vorkorth. "But..uh..shards.." is muttered and she vaults aboard. Silently wondering how she gets herself into these messes. Ugh.

With the courtly offer of a foreleg, you alight upon Vorkoroth's neck. Good to go.
Vorkoroth [Central Bowl]
Sleek, clean lines are traced in tarnished steel, gleaming bright against the secretive navy of his hide. Form follows function in the simplicity of his face, neither overly snub nor equine-long, eyeridges hooded slightly over unsettling gaze and headknobs contoured close to a short, broad neck. A noble filigree, feathered like a crest of honor, hides in the surreptitious shadows of low-dipping neckridges and sneaks across boxy shoulders and swell of breast. There is only slight narrowing at his waist, leaving his short tail to taper abruptly to its fork, efficient and slick. Thickset limbs plunge into polished boot-black around his paws, silver starlight in his talons tiptoeing in the comet-streaked heavens of wings.
The faint glitter of oil gilds the glossy darkness of a fine pair of riding straps. Looped securely about neckridges, and fastened with military precision by gleaming polished steel buckles, the leather is dyed in a deep and unrelieved shade of midnight blue, wool padding dyed cromcoal black and fitted with a uniformity that speaks more of a desire for symmetry than a need for protection from the supple hide. Straps in the colours of High Reaches deserve the full appearance of livery, after all.
Vorkoroth seems to be listening.

You take off.
Above the Bowl
The ocean's tranquil thermals settle within the center section of the bowl's airspace, unusually smooth and buoyant -- though oft to switch as the seasons shift. Lingering beneath spires' constant presence, the perpetual activity of the weyr can be observed from every direction: from the testing rustle of dragonet wings, to the playful games sent aloft.
It is a spring afternoon.

You soar in for a landing on Vorkoroth's ledge.
Vorkoroth's Staging Area
An oversized ledge, much like the matching weyr. Designed as a bronze dragon's abode, but opportunistically siezed upon by the blue and bluerider who reside here, it offers a commanding view of the bowl's goings-on in a space large enough to comfortably hold a quartet of dragons. Neatly swept by a broom that can be spotted hanging from a peg against the cliff face, it bears the air of order and precision in form and function characteristic of any space claimed by Wyn and Vorkoroth. No decoration has been added to the slate grey stone, beyond the patterns and markings hinting at centuries of occupation by various 'riders and their mounts, but it maintains an aura of comfortable use, form following function, and the residue of hours of soaked-up sunlight. A stack of crates containing who-knows-what is piled neatly against the rock wall, beside the short entry tunnel to the weyr, making admirable seats for humans when the weather is right.
It is a spring afternoon.
Obvious exits:
Weyr     Fly

Slithering down the straps-ladder, Wyn slides from Vorkoroth's neck and gently touches earth.
Slithering down the straps-ladder, Raewyn slides from Vorkoroth's neck and gently touches earth.

Wyn has a bright little smile fixed on her face as she dismounts, and beckons for Raewyn to follow her, a distinct warning sign that any of Wyn's friends would take as a reason to /run/. Poor Raewyn.

You head to the heart of the Vor Imperium.
The Vor Imperium
Grey granite vaults upwards to form the high cathedral's ceiling of the main part of the weyr, cool and solid, undecorated but for the sparkle of light refracted from quartz veins streaking the walls: an ancient weyr, but one carved partially by the hand of man, and not the forces of volcanism. The standard large, raised couch is located off to one side, away from the short entry tunnel to the ledge, all the better to block winter winds with. Across from it sits a massive 'hearth'. A braided rug, a quartet of elderly 'chairs' and a large wine crate converted to a coffee table stand in front of it, while neat pegs and shelves appear alongside. Near the back, the cavern arcs downwards, ceiling height dropping rapidly to form the demarcation between human areas and draconic, a series of heavy 'curtains' patterned in a conservative blue and silver available to provide privacy to the 'inner weyr', drawn back partially to permit glimpses of the mystery within. A somewhat lumpy mound of sand almost goes unnoticed here.
The ancient and cool tang of stone mixes with a warmth of rich leather, accented with faint traces of some dusky cologne and the barest hint of fine whiskey. Decidedly masculine, like the blue who lives here, and with only a few touches of the clean sharp scents of citrus and redwort to indicate Wyn's contribution to the atmosphere of the weyr.
On the ledge, you see a blue dragon and one person.
Peering from a crevasse in the wall are two firelizards.
You see Grey Leather Satchel, Old Marble Chess Set, Summer Sky Egg, Ye Olde Hatchyng Rooles ('read rules'), Hearth, Curtains, Inner Weyr, and Chairs here.
Obvious exits:
Ledge

Raewyn walks in from the Vorkoroth's Staging Area.

From her resting place on an overstuffed scatter pillow by the hearth, the ginger-copper ball of scraggly fur that is Jack the Feline gives a threatening mrrrowl. Wyn, however, appears oblivious to this, gazing fondly at the beastie with something like maternal pride. "Ah. There she is. Jack, meet Raewyn. Raewyn, this is Jack. So... what do you think of her?"

Raewyn obliviously, perhaps foolishly, she follows Wyn into the weyr. Mistaking the bright little smile as perhaps pride in her decorating skills. She looks around the large space and feels the need to comment, trying to shake off the feeling of something evil approaching. "Nice, simple, very calm." Then she sees it, giving a shaky little grin she gets a good look at the feline and hears the threatening meow. "Ah, I was under the impression Jack was a he. Uh, she looks alright.." Even as she says it, she takes a step backward.

"Thank you," replies Wyn to the decorating compliment simply, far more interested in Raewyn's knowledge of felines as she settles herself on a chair, and scoops Jack onto her lap, the feline alternating growls with purring in a vaguely schizophrenic fashion. "So. What can you tell me about felines, Raewyn? And would you like to hold her?"

Raewyn immediatly steps back from Wyn at the suggestion of holding. "No, no, that's quite alright. I wouldn't want to hurt her or anything." A little strained 'hee' is heard from her as she eyes the wild thing. "Umm, well, all I can really tell you is that they generally like to be left alone. Or at least that's from my experince. If you feed them though sometimes they warm up. And hissing or growling is bad, very /bad./"

Wyn clucks her tongue. And cuddles Jack with a trace of bemused defiance of Raewyn's skittishness. And, to her credit, the feline /does/ seem to relax a touch, still growling, but the noise directed more towards the world in general. "Tsk. No one wants to hold her, poor dear, and she's had such a rough time. Do you know that I found her starving, trapped down in the catacombs? Poor little dearling. But feeding and leaving them alone. Hmm. I suppose I can manage that. Do you like kittens?"

Raewyn gives a little look at Jack and as she seems less likely to jump out of Wyn's lap and scratch her. She calms too, resting back on her heels. "Hmmm, poor dear is right. No wonder she so sketchy.." She scratches the side of her face and gives the feline a side long glance. "I do like kittens. Cute little things."

Wyn gives a slight nod, and continues to scratch the feline's ears. "Oh, I'm rather glad to hear that," she notes, looking pleased. "You see, I need to have a Herder confirm it, but I do think that she might possibly be expecting a litter..." Mini-Jacks. Fear. She removes her hands from the cat's head in order to pick up a forgotten book and place it on an endtable, in hindsight a bad move, as it lets Jack loose to spring from her lap and bound towards Raewyn, mrowling fiercely, and apparently intent upon attacking the messanger's boot.

Raewyn lets her head rest to her chest, still in semi-squating position. Considering the prospect of Mini-Jacks. "That could be another reason for her fier.." she's cut off as the feline comes bounding towards. "Aaack!" is cried as her arms flail in her unbalanced position. Crashing backwards she trys to withdraw her boot without hurting Jack.

"Mew??" And all of a sudden, Jack is meekness itself, batting playfully at the downed messanger girl and looking all innocent green eyes. She alights on Raewyn's legs, and begins washing her face as Wyn, still clucking her tongue, stands and crosses over to stare downwards at the scene. "How many fingers am I holding up?" she queries.

Raewyn from her position on the floor she awaits the attack. But it never comes, odd. Peering up, she eyes the feline washing herself. Humph. Then Wyn is noticed above her. "Two?" she asks, countning fingers.

Felines, as any cat owner can tell you, are notoriously unpredictable creatures. Wyn, first time cat owner that she is, doesn't see fit to comment on that, instead offering a hand up, after tossing a rolled up sock to get Jack out of the way. "It was three, to be precise... Ah, my apologies about that. She really only wanted to play with you, you see..." Play, mangle, same thing, right? "Ah, want me to give you a lift back down? Thank you for your advice..."

Raewyn grabs the offered hand. "Three?" She just shakes her head as she gets to her feet and dusts herself off. Nodding her head slowly she eyeballs the feline. "Play..right.. No problem. Just telling you what I've picked up over the years. A lift down would be most appreciated and soon if that's okay, I've got, uh, more runs." A suspicious glance is given to Jack as she makes her way closer to the exit.

Wyn simply herds Raewyn towards the exit, letting Jack return to her pillow, where she presides over the room with a suspicious glower in her eyes. "Again, my thanks to you then. And this way. Mind the step here. There we go..."

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