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Harper's Tale 2 - Friday, May 10, 2002, 9:07 PM
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Weyrling Barracks
The large entryway opens into two immense U-shaped caverns stretching deep into the cliff side. Glow baskets lining the cavern walls cast a soft light, dispelling the shadows and illuminating the home of all High Reaches weyrlings. Stone couches of various sizes line the many walkways of well-packed dirt and stone.
Along the walls nearest the entrance, shelves and pegs hold the leathers, books and tools needed when teaching and practicing, and towards the back, a large pool for the dragonets and weyrlings and several large containers kept full of fresh meat serve as conveniences for the busy residents of these barracks.
Snuggled in with the leather supplies and tools are fifteen firelizards.
Brown Byndareth and blue Diulnyth are here.
You see Weyrling Progress Record, Dragon Wing, Taesha, and Star Studded Sky here.
Hyzen is here.
Obvious exits:
Training Grounds Couches
Hyzen strides briskly into the barracks, gaze searching... searching for a few lacking weyrlings. "Oh, goodness. Where are those 'lings?" she asks herself, frowning heavily. "Wyn!" A few more names are added to that one, foot tapping and arms folding across her chest as she awaits those she'd summoned.
"Right here, Hyzen," comes a bland reply from Wyn, over by Vorkoroth's couch and busying herself with giving a final fitting of the blue's latest pair of straps. Straps indistinguishable from the last pair, except that they're a good bit... larger. Vorkoroth is rumbling approvingly to himself.
Vorkoroth comes out of Vorkoroth's couch.
Hyzen spots Wyn and beams at her before nodding at the others. "Well, weyrlings, I have a little treat for you." She juts her chin out slightly and glowers at a few gigglers before continuing. "You're going to learn how to fly with your dragons." A pause is given, as always, for the eruption she knows will come.
And as a chorus of whoops, cheers, and shrieks, (One particularly girly one coming from S'titch) erupts around her, Wyn permits the largest grin seen on her face since Impression to make an appearance. Vorkoroth is a good bit more demonstrative, letting loose a loud bugle until he suddenly remembers that such behaviour is not at all suave. "Excellent!" she intones with a large amount of pleasure in the single word.
Kihaelth comes out of Kihaelth's couch.
Kihaelth heads out to the Training Grounds.
Hyzen beams proudly at the eruption of sound, clapping her hands together to get their attention once more. "Now that that's over with..." she giggles at Vorkoroth and curls a finger at the weyrlings. "Follow me. The air is waiting. Oh... and don't forget all your gear." And with that, she steps outside where Imbriath awaits.
Hyzen heads out to the Training Grounds.
Training Grounds
The marks of thousands of claws give testament to the shuffling of the young dragons that have torn up what little grass once grew in this corner of the bowl. Tucked in between the feeding pens to the south and the curve of the Weyrleader's complex, the training grounds are home to daily exercises and classes, all taking place well out of the way of the hectic bustle of the rest of the bowl. Cut deep into the cliff face, the large, covered openings leading into the extensive weyrling barracks rise high over the heads of any who come near, although the height of the caldera's spindles far above cast their own reaching shadows across the hard packed earth.
It is an autumn afternoon. The bright golden sun dips westward across the clear sky. The cool north breeze continues. The day is very pleasant.
To the west, you see a gold dragon.
Soaring high overhead are four firelizards.
Green Vespurath, green Miravith, blue Tsulryth, and green Imbriath are here.
You see LlamaMama here.
Hyzen is here.
Obvious exits:
Weyrling Barracks Northern Bowl Pens
Above, Kihaelth drops towards the ground.
Kihaelth glides in from above.
Vorkoroth senses Hyzen looking at him.
Kihaelth heads west towards the Northern curve of the bowl.
Vorkoroth
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 is 9 months and 21 days old.
He is 37 feet (12m) long, with a wingspan of 61 feet (20m).
Vorkoroth senses Wyn looking at him.
Vorkoroth seems to be listening.
Wyn is soon trotting out with the rest of the weyrling horde, keeping a good distance from S'titch and N'zgul, however. Even if Vorkoroth is attempting to offer genteel greetings to the levelheaded and lovely green Entymeth. Which Wyn will ignore, as she sets about tightening and checking over the newly made straps.
Hyzen eyes S'titch and N'zgul, one brow lifting slowly before she shrugs it off and checks Imbriath's straps swiftly. That done, she quickly mounts and straps in, settling herself before grinning mainly at Wyn, who was a level-headed seeming weyrling out of this lot. "Once you've checked your straps /thoroughly/ and are settled in, tell me." She now awaits this to happen, pantomining something towards a clueless looking bronzerider.
Hyzen, with the kindly help of a delicate forelimb, manages to pull themself up Imbriath's straps and betwixt ridges of star-kissed emerald.
With the courtly offer of a foreleg, you alight upon Vorkoroth's neck. Good to go.
N'zgul offers a hissing growl in the direction of S'titch, who quails with a flutter of lace-enhanced sleeves. But both manage to focus on their respective mounts, and are soon ready to go. Wyn, on the other hand, is already settled and buckling in, grey eyes alert and fastened on Hyzen with a nearly disconcerting intensity.
Betwixt Imbriath's absinthe ridges and creamy straps, Hyzen grins as she watches the bronzerider finally get settled in before gaze shifts back to the main group. "Well done. Now that everything's checked, put on your helmet and gloves. Have your lifemate move away from others. When we're in the air, Imbriath will be giving the orders, considering you won't be able to hear me. Listen to her. I don't want any wild antics." That last part is also directed to her green, who rumbles softly. "With that said..." she raises her fist high, watching... and then pulls it down. Launch! Her dragon crouches and with a bugle, pushes herself skywards, wings fanning out and flapping several times to carry her high above.
<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Imbriath thinks << Be careful of your rider's when you launch and land. They are not used to riding you. >>
With a meticulous series of tugs and adjustments /just/ this side of anal retentive, Wyn is suitably kitted out. The fussiness isn't all her doing, of course. Vorkoroth too, insists that everything be right and proper. And so, on Imbriath's relay, he fans out to form the point of a large and loose triangle with Entymeth and Ringwraith, offering an answer-rumble before fanning his wings, and taking to the skies, dipping a bit at the unaccustomed, if slight, weight of a rider, before settling into steady wingbeats with an anxiously muffled croon that Wyn reassures, her words lost to the wind.
Imbriath coils and then bursts upwards into flight.
Above, Imbriath bursts up from the bowl below.
Training Grounds
The marks of thousands of claws give testament to the shuffling of the young dragons that have torn up what little grass once grew in this corner of the bowl. Tucked in between the feeding pens to the south and the curve of the Weyrleader's complex, the training grounds are home to daily exercises and classes, all taking place well out of the way of the hectic bustle of the rest of the bowl. Cut deep into the cliff face, the large, covered openings leading into the extensive weyrling barracks rise high over the heads of any who come near, although the height of the caldera's spindles far above cast their own reaching shadows across the hard packed earth.
It is an autumn sunset. Dusk approaches as the sun descends in a brilliant display of color across the sky. The moons begin to rise, and you can just see the three bright points of the Dawn Sisters low on the horizon to the east.
To the west, you see a gold dragon.
Above, you see a green dragon.
Soaring high overhead are four firelizards.
Green Vespurath, green Miravith, and blue Tsulryth are here.
You see LlamaMama here.
Obvious exits:
Weyrling Barracks Northern Bowl Pens Fly
New wings or old, they work because suddenly you are airborne.
Above the Training Grounds
Weyrling pairs have trampled the ground below into the hard-packed training grounds: ash pits near the pens, targets on the walls, the occasional loose Weyrling out of control here in the gentle thermals. The Weyr curves north towards large ledges and the Hatching Grounds beyond, and south towards pens and lake. What ledges are occupied here are high above the noise and smell of the Weyrs' youngest riders.
It is an autumn sunset. Dusk approaches as the sun descends in a brilliant display of color across the sky. The moons begin to rise, and you can just see the three bright points of the Dawn Sisters low on the horizon to the east.
Below, you see three dragons.
Green Imbriath is here.
Obvious exits:
Up Training Grounds Central Bowl Northern Sky Northwest Ledges
Vorkoroth thinks to you, << We're flying! >>
You think to Vorkoroth, >> That we are, love! That we are... You and me. /This/ is how it ought to be. <<
<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Imbriath thinks << You are all right? Your riders are fine? >>
<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he streaks electric blue <<Yes! Yes! We're fantastic!>>
<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Imbriath thinks << Then we shall go higher. >>
Imbriath pushes their way upwards through wind and thermals.
Past ledge and rock to Star Stones and higher still, you circle up past even the Spires themselves.
Above High Reaches
Quite, quite high, nothing braves these heights but stone and dragon and cloud; the Star Stones jut dutifully above the Weyr proper, flayed by the mountain winds that are consistant at this altitude whilst the rest spreads below, protected by its crown of jagged stone spires'-teeth.
It is an autumn sunset. Dusk approaches as the sun descends in a brilliant display of color across the sky. The moons begin to rise, and you can just see the three bright points of the Dawn Sisters low on the horizon to the east.
To the east, you see a green and a brown dragon.
Gliding around are four firelizards.
Green Imbriath is here.
Obvious exits:
Weyr Over The Mountains Star Stones Weyrling Air
Betwixt Imbriath's absinthe ridges and creamy straps, Hyzen waves wildly from her position, her grin huge though probably not seen by the weyrlings that surround her. There's the faint sound of a shout, ripped away by the roar of the wind upon dragon-back. Hands clench the saddle and straps as green slowly mingles with the air currents, nearer a few of the weyrlings. Watching. Monitoring.
Wyn's expression is one completely and utterly unguarded. One might very well guess that this is the sight of Wyn at six turns old, taking her first ever flight on a dragon. But even more disgustingly jubilant than that. Vorkoroth steadied into a solid updraft, and her belts reassuringly tight, she even lets go of his neckridges briefly, to lift her arms out at her sides and soar in a mild flight of fancy. But as soon as she spots Hyzen looking, it's back to bland, perhaps a trifle sheepish looking.
Betwixt Imbriath's absinthe ridges and creamy straps, Hyzen smiles gently as she focuses upon Wyn as Imbriath glides closer to the blue, a wave sent to the other. Nothing is said, or shouted, about what she'd witnessed. Greenrider knew the feeling all too well and seemed... proud that others felt the same. Finally, the rider motions towards the star stones and then seems to focus upon something not seen.
<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Imbriath thinks << Hyzen says to tell your rider that you are not to go higher than the star stones. You are still young and not used to flying. >>
You think to Vorkoroth, >> Oh dear... Hyzen probably thinks us as foolish as S'titch. But... Let her talk. <<
Vorkoroth thinks to you, << She merely says that we are not to go higher than the star stones because I am young. We are /not/ like S'titch. >>
You think to Vorkoroth, >> /That/ is a mercy. I believe we'd need therapy if we were. But you listen to her about the Star Stones... I don't want to be grounded any more than you. <<
<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he thinks << <<Of course. We shall not go higher than the star stones without permission.>> >>
Is that a trace of a blush on Wyn's cheeks? Never! It's the wind. 'Only that, and nothing more', to quote Poe. A brief mental discussion, and then a nod, emphasized by a hand signal for 'OK'. And then it's back to grinning like an idiot, albeit a tad more restrained.
Vorkoroth thinks to you, << I told her that we will listen. Flying at all, even if we cannot go very high, is better than not flying at all. I shall hone my skills for now. >>
You think to Vorkoroth, >> Very good. And I can now practice with you... And we can visit the weyrs of others of the 'Reaches now. If there's any you'd care to pay a visit to, that is. <<
Vorkoroth thinks to you, << Mm... yes, I suppose I could think of someone to visit, should we wish to. >>
You think to Vorkoroth, >> It would be good to practice managing the updrafts and downdrafts of the bowl, at least. You've learnt them wonderfully on your own, but now you've me to take along. And we must be at our best when it comes time to practice formations. <<
Vorkoroth thinks to you, << Yes, we must. Practice is essential. We /shall/ be the best when it comes time to practice formations. >>
You think to Vorkoroth, >> We /are/ the best, love. We just have to show them all that. I'll bet you can outfly anyone in our clutch any day. You and me. <<
Vorkoroth thinks to you, << I can. I have no doubt. We will show them, when the time comes. >>
Imbriath flies back home.
You think to Vorkoroth, >> So who do you peg as being Wingleader and Seconds for our weyrling wing, now that we're all airborne. Entymeth has the brains for a Second, even if S'titch does not. <<
Vorkoroth thinks to you, << Yes, I believe Entymeth could be competant in the position, but I fear for you if S'titch is granted it... >>
You think to Vorkoroth, >> Don't fear for me, love. Fear for Sii'kyn... Or not. Fear for S'titch if he tries anything. <<