Star Stones - 2 - Tuesday, June 08, 1999, 7:33 PM ------------------------------------------------- L'ton Sandy brown hair, bleached almost blond, brushes in rather flyaway fashion over a face deeply tanned by Turns spent outdoors. Eyes of ocean blue may be misplaced in the desert, but regard you with a friendly sort of mild interest, crinkled at the edges from too many days spent squinting into the sun. Currently, he sports a bit of short beard, a bit scruffy-looking, as it hasn't yet grown in enough for him to do anything with it. His build is light, lean and wiry; he stands at just the short side of average, but his carriage is as confident as any man twice his size. He wears a simple tunic of light tan, a dark brown belt of pewter-buckled wherhide, and lightweight off-white pants: the desert-dweller's standard garb. Upon his shoulder he sports a singly-looped double cord of black and yellow with a long tail, threaded with ribbons of silver and green, marking him as a greenrider of Igen Weyr. Tranoth Sun-brushed gold gilds the tracery of delicately-carven head, deep-set eyes whirling meditatively at the world from the depths of olive-green countenance. Regally narrow muzzle offsets the dish-shaped concave of her thin face. Neck is slightly overlong, but proportioned with a slinky musculature that well matches her graceful build. Wings of clearest emerald spread in protective canopy over all she deems her charges; mothering mein tends to add liberally to that list. A faint discoloration mars the polished olive of her left flank: an old scar, perhaps, long since healed, and surely gotten in the act of protecting another. Main Living Cavern The careless glitter of rose quartz reflects and refracts the light from within its bed of granite, each beam bringing a new shifting, a new subtlty of sight. Rows of long trestle table are seated in orderly awareness under the carven vault of the ceiling, centered around a great dais upon which sits the best-made one; this, too, shows the roughness of the others, but a roughness smoothed by time, and accented by the complexity of beams that show Turns-taken tesselation in their upward arch. Neither tapestries nor coverings mar the marbling of wild beauty, leaving unadorned grandeur that in naturalistic simplicity provides comfort to the occupants of the cavern. One archway, the only covered by a drape of black and gold, shields the entrance to the bowl from the blow of sand; another, almost unobtrusive, marks the entrance to the lower caverns through a short, winding and uncarefully-carved tunnel. Perched somewhere up high, you see Night, Naboo, Bubbles, Stub, Deception, Embyr, and Cariad. You see Commission Board here. From here you can go: Bowl Lower Caverns Infirmary Dobber pops in from ::between:: Yelena has connected. L'ton sits at a table with a couple wingmates, all clad in riding leathers and chatting idly before work, as it were. Yelena enters, scowling slightly. She's used to giving orders at this point, not sitting back meekly like some.... /drudge/. A glare is given to someone who jokingly calls her over to refill a wine skin. L'ton laughs out loud at some joking comment made by a bluerider at his table. It wasn't directed at Yelena at all, of course, but you know how touchy girls can be. A dull rumble of amusement rises from that corner of the room. Yelena snaps a glare at that section of the room. "What is so funny?" K'mra shuffles in from NorthWest Bowl. (Tranoth) Tranoth shakes her wings and looks restlessly up at the sky, a low rumble emanating from her throat. Isheri walks in from NorthWest Bowl. L'ton downs the remainder of his fruit juice and sets the empty glass on the tabletop. That Yelena-drudge person can take care of it. "K'ran and Kalgalath are flying Wingsecond today?" he makes last-minute confirmation with his wingmates. "I guess that puts you and me on flank, A'mis." That Yelena-drudge person just sniffs and moves to a corner seat, out of the way. G'min walks in from NorthWest Bowl. K'mra shuffles from bowl to caverns, uncomfortably shifting her pregnant weight as she enters. "Hi." It's a simple enough greeting. Brownrider moves towards sideboards -- and citron -- nodding politely to those gathered. And that's Isheri, prancing in just a bit late for wing c gatherings. But according to her, she's flying in...that one wing. Ah ha. "Hey, you," she calls L'ton-wards. "Where am I stuck this fall?" L'ton smooths his mustache idly as he turns to nod greeting to Isheri. "We're playing musical dragons today, with Salimae out with the baby," he smiles. "Take fourth right, behind me if you like." Yelena sits in the corner, glaring to at the wall. The chair she sits on is snuggled into and she looks less than happy. Of course, lately that could be her at any given moment. She asks aloud, "Anyone check the flamethrowers? Since /someone/ isn't allowed to?" G'min yawns as he staggers in, brushing the sleep from his eyes. "Well, where's Eilish?" And the rest of his wing, for that matter. Isheri nods, tossing helmet gingerly between her hands. "Fourth right's fine," is agreed, as greenrider locates /someone's/ klah mug, and quaffs the remains. Seeing as it's early, and all, she doubts it'll be missed. "I didn't check the throwers..." is added, for that Candidate-Groundsperson who asked. Helpful as can be, K'mra intones to G'min, "Try the Bowl." Boebabe, after all, remits excited pictures of gathered dragons and the like. K'den is here in spirit, really. His player's just too spammed to run two riders at once. ;) Make that Candidate-Groundcrew captain turned /drudge/. Yelena just continues to scowl. "Hope someone did," she mumbles to herself. L'ton slaps his gloves against his thigh. "Well, my flamethrower's digesting her fuel right now, so I've done my bit," he chuckles. And Isheri's not one bit worried, herself, so Jammoth must be in the middle of her own fueling. "You could check them," greenrider suggests. "Or not." Yelena glances to L'ton from the corner of her eye. "You mean your dragon or your spitfire daughter?" L'ton smiles. "Tranoth, of course. I can't quite see Lynnea chewing stone - though I did see her filling sacks a bit ago." Which Yelena, of course, notably isn't. Yelena is, noticably, pregnant however. Not that she could lift more than a quarter of a sack at a time anyway with her toothpick-thin arms. "Good. Useful chore for a candidate," she replies before crossing her arms over her chest. Speaking of noticably pregnant - so's K'mra. Sloshing her citron juice from pitcher to mug, the woman slowly makes for a nearby chair -- one of those comfy Wingleader ones, complete with cushions. "That's what candidates are for," Isheri tosses in from out the conversation, interjecting here and there in various chit-chats. Wow, she must be edgy, to be so rude. G'min walks toward NorthWest Bowl. L'ton stops playing with them and tugs his gloves over his hands, nabbing his helmet from where he'd left it on the tabletop. "Aye, and riders are for flying," he agrees. "Speaking of which, I'm going to prime my flamethrower," he smirks, "a bit more before we're off. I'll see you all in the sky. Be careful out there, folks." NorthWest Bowl A shelter from the stronger desert winds that strike across much of the rest of the bowl, the original founders of the weyr found the lee a suitable location for the most active area of the weyr. A gaping stone awning provides covered protection and suitable sunning space for the occupants of the dragon infirmary. Shallow steps lead into a recessed entrance to the guest weyr. A much smaller entrance leads to the living caverns. Perched somewhere up high, you see Shade and Rell. You see Snazzy Trader Booth here. The following dragons are here: Balinth, Teradyth, Jisanth, Tranoth, Tyranoth, and Jammoth From here you can go: Living Cavern Infirmary Center Bowl Guest Weyr Stairs Up Weyr Entrance You lead Tranoth toward the Center Bowl Area. Center Bowl Area Open air but allows for more heat to envelope each form in the usually fairly busy section of the bowl's center area that greets eye eyes of those coming through the west entrance. Lifting wings to flight and shooting past during landings are two of the most common activites for the Weyr's draconic residents. To each side, evidence of the Weyr's true volanic nature can be seen: rough edges reaching skyward in sand-blasted fingers of spires that scrape the underbelly of the sky. The living cavern area can be seen towards the northwest and the hatching sands are evident due east, accessible through the northeast or southeast sections of the bowl. To the south, the glitter and glimmer that is the lake becons forth to offer cool respite. It is a bright, cheery day. Belior is slightly more than a quarter full and Timor is slightly more than three-quarters dark. It is a spring early morning. Perched somewhere up high, you see Vowelet, Boebabe, and Diabolith. You see Butterscotch and Kalienth here. The following dragons are here: Delennth, Ysaeth, Lirith, Spectreth, Tirelth, Eratoth, and Palsth From here you can go: SouthEast Bowl NorthWest Bowl Weyr Entrance NorthEast Bowl SouthWest Bowl Feilath has arrived. (Dobber) Isheri shrugs, setting mug to it's original table before also edging out. "Thread t'fly," is her only explanation. The only she needs, really. (Dobber) Isheri walks toward NorthWest Bowl. Isheri walks in from NorthWest Bowl. Jammoth waddles in from NorthWest Bowl. Katry enjoys a swift slide down lush verdant grasses of Palsth's soft hide, hopping from the offered forepaw and landing safely on the ground. Astride Spectreth, Gamma nods at R'il, others who wave and salutes at still others. With a turn of her head, she glances back, notes the position of all there. Calling to Fontaine, she orders, "Settle the ranks, please, Fon." She catches Isheri out of the corner of her eyes, and L'ton. Once Palsth obliges to lower herself down, Katry heaves up and slips between vibrant neck ridges. Tranoth bugles light greeting to her wingmates, flapping her wings restlessly once before settling them again at her sides and dipping her head for another chunk of stone. "Finished chewing, m'dear?" Isheri checks with her lifemate, gets a trill of affirmation, and checks the straps. Those found all tight, she mounts up. Not late at all, honest. Isheri mounts Jammoth. Perched Proudly 'Pon Eratoth's bronzen neck, G'min is already settled, astride Eratoth's great neck. The buff bronze spreads his wings in readiness, striking a proud pose. The rider on his back sets his goggles and his helmet. "Ready Eilish!" He calls to his Wingleader. (Dobber) Laih huffs in from NorthWest Bowl. (Dobber) Dashing in from outside, Laih is daring; yes, daring indeed. She's late. (Dobber) K'mra glances up long enough from her mug of citron to regard the latest entry: Laih. "G'morn," she greets, casual enough. "Laih, isn't it?" L'ton slips a largish piece to his green, giving her nose a light pat before moving to her shoulder to swing himself up. You mount Tranoth. (Tranoth) Nearly dancing in anticipation for a good Fall, Palsth - ever the optimist - accepts another bite of firestone, forcing herself to chew slowly while Katry leans down and murmurs something about being patient. (Tranoth) Murath paces proudly in from NorthWest Bowl. (Dobber) "Laih. Yeah," is the response, though rather unsure, the poor girl still gasping for breath in an attempt to remain outside as short a time as possible. Downing a mug of klah, she smiles. (Dobber) Tarilane has arrived. (Tranoth) Astride Tranoth, L'ton tightens his straps and settles his goggles snugly, gripping slim neck with his knees as Tranoth dances restlessly beneath him. "Patience, love, we'll be on it soon enough." (Tranoth) Murath bugles his impatience at Leigha, eager to get airbourne at the first opportunity. Leigha merely grins, surveying her wing and nodding in satisfaction as the riders wave their readiness. She waves towards the Weyrleaders, signalling readiness. (Tranoth) Astride Lirith, Sionell looks backwards, checking the nerves of her wing before she slaps her Lirith's neckridges with affection, glancing upwards apprehensively. "All ready?" she asks of the wing. (Tranoth) Astride Ysaeth, R'il nods his head, once he gets confirmation from the wing. "We're ready. And at full strength too." Thanks to a few newly graduated weyrlings. (Dobber) "That's right." The brownrider nods, thoughtful. "I'm K'mra." As if she hasn't heard; Wingleader on hiatus reclines in her chair, complete with padding, and queries amiably, "How goes your Candidacy?" (Dobber) A soft scoffing sound comes from Yelena who sits slouched in a chair in a corner, arms folded over her chest. (Tranoth) Kohath snorts proudly, swishing his stubby tail to knock one of his brown sons in the shoulder. Graduated, indeed. He'll show you how it's done. (Tranoth) Jammoth just looks all...senior in her stance, turning an eye to those 'whipersnappers.' Graduated, indeed. (Tranoth) Tranoth arches her neck and lets loose a full-throated bugle of challenge now, echoed by several others, as the horizon darkens. (Tranoth) Astride Lirith, Sionell beams back at the nervously shifting weyrlings, and nods, preparation in her stance. (Dobber) Tarilane wanders into the Living Cavern, looking around idly and catching sight of people wandering around. And sitting. Sitting is good. In fact, sitting is what Tarilane wants to do right now. So she does. She flops herself right into a chair and smiles at everyone. "'Ello" (Tranoth) Astride Jammoth, Isheri gently nudges her lifemate into 'proper' behavior. Or at least, focused. Instinct casts her eyes to the sky, and she tenses in readiness. (Dobber) K'mra. Storing that name deep down in her mind alongside other previously stored names, Laih smiles and nods, still rather tired for ignoring Tarilane and Yelena alike. No fights, not so close to Threadfall. "It goes...well." She's forgiven Shanlor, anyway. (Tranoth) Astride Lirith, Sionell looks to the left, and the right. Wings are in position. "WindSchorcher wing, fly!" The command starts, and she gives the signal, Lirith leaping upwards easily. (Tranoth) Lirith soars upwards on soft sage wings toward Sky Above the Central Bowl. (Dobber) K'mra shoots an irritable glance towards Yelena, and regards her half-empty mug contemplatively. "I could use more juice, you know," she voices, loud enough for the Candidate-turned-drudge to hear. Breath catches, however, and K'mra peers bowl-wards. "Not /now!/" she mutters. "Not now -- Thread falls." Random murmurs? Or not. Tarilane, too, is noticed briefly, and awarded a nod of the head. (Dobber) Yelena glances toward K'mra with a hint of a glare. "Well perhaps if you made up your mind if you wanted juice or not, /someone/ might take pity and get some for you." (Tranoth) Palsth floats toward Sky Above the Central Bowl. (Tranoth) Ysaeth flies toward Sky Above the Central Bowl. (Tranoth) Eratoth roars as he leaps to the sky, his rider crouched low over his neck (Tranoth) Eratoth glides with perfect grace toward Sky Above the Central Bowl. (Tranoth) Astride Murath, Leigha pumps her fist in the signal to rise, and SurfBlaster joins WindScorcher in almost perfect formation. (Tranoth) Murath glides with the greatest of ease toward Sky Above the Central Bowl. (Tranoth) Feilath flies toward Sky Above the Central Bowl. (Tranoth) Diabolith flies toward Sky Above the Central Bowl. (Tranoth) Tranoth dips, lithe haunches bunching beneath her and sproinging skyward as CliffCleaver launches in tandem. (Tranoth) Sky Above the Central Bowl (Tranoth) Gusts of scalding, ruthless winds circumvent within this focal point of the weyr's airspace, unpredictable in their multi-directional entrances; below, dragons and humans converge amidst the mesmerizing architecture of the central bowl area, though their presence rarely obstructs the sheer splendor of the weyr. Ledges, each spanning an entire dragonlength apart, align upon weyr's sand-scoured walls, their occupants often seen basking during the day's zenith. Nearby, the inviting crystal-clear waters of the lake shimmers, sand- and sun-burnt bodies resting upon its inviting shores. (Tranoth) Flittering around are Blix and Diabolith. (Tranoth) The following dragons are here: Lirith, Palsth, Ysaeth, Eratoth, Murath, and Feilath (Tranoth) From here you can go: (Tranoth) Barracks Entrance Weyr Entrance Southeast Bowl (Tranoth) Northwest Bowl Southwest Bowl (Tranoth) Jammoth has arrived. (Tranoth) Alexath pops in from ::between:: (Tranoth) As the wings lift, the menace of Thread comes closer. (Tranoth) Ysaeth launches easily enough, hind legs pushing off the ground and springing him into the sky. (Tranoth) From Center Bowl Area, Astride Spectreth, Gamma throws her hand up into the air in the ready position, then throws it forward, "Wait...!" She watches the wings rise, wind of their wings slapping at her and all those left on the ground. Then, at the very last, SunFlamers rises. "Launch!" (Tranoth) Alexath pops in, with A'ly atop glancing around warily. "Oh.." She mutters quietly, peering around in confusion. Too late for a wing? (Tranoth) Astride Lirith, Sionell looks back as the wings arise behind her. Lirith churns through the air forward, the wing following. Perfect formation attained, she heads towards a patch, Threads gleaming. As all arrive to the scene, she gives leave, Lirith bursting the first flame to char the threads to black cinders. (Tranoth) Astride Murath, Leigha glances towards Sionell, awaiting the signal for her wing to rise into the upper or lower levels as necessary. SurfBlaster fans outwards at a wrist turn, all riders in position in a standard vee formation. (Tranoth) Astride Ysaeth, R'il fixes the goggles over his eyes as Ysaeth sears the first clump of Thread daring to come nearby. Leaning forward to get a better seat, he angles his lifemate away from another's blast of firey heat. (Tranoth) Settled 'twixt Palsth's verdant neck ridges,Katry manages not to be thrown cruelly back as Palsth rises with malicious fervor, hating Thread as much as she does for a dragon; without time to beg forgiveness from her 'rider, flames are directed at a fat patch of Thread, nearly missing one of her forepaws. (Tranoth) Astride Tranoth, L'ton hunkers low over his lifemate's neck, urging her higher with low words of encouragement. As the point of his wing meets Thread head-on, Tranoth's green form arrows aside to sweep up the missed clumps with pinpoint accuracy. (Tranoth) A clump, irregular as they all are, falls downward and waits for someone to blast it with flame. Tauntingly it hovers near a blue. (Dobber) "I don't." K'mra makes up her mind, lips drawn into a thin line. "Don't worry about it." Not that Yelena would, anyhow. She carefully rises from her chair, and directs her steps towards the infirmary without another word. (Dobber) Chuckling softly, under her breath, at the actions of the two, Laih simply downs another mug of klah; simple, spicy, and her favorite. (Dobber) K'mra shuffles toward Inner Infirmary. (Dobber) Yelena casts a glance at K'mra as she moves and shrugs before settling back into a seat. (Tranoth) Astride Jammoth, Staying tight in wing formation, Isheri just barely ducks a missed clump, that one neatly hit by Jammoth as head turns to greet it. Working together, the pair continues higher, flaming as they go. (Tranoth) Astride Lirith, Sionell calls backwards. "SurfBlaster, upper left!" A patch is spotted and she points, Lirith relaying. "DuneRaider, upper right!" WindScorcher stays middle, cutting a swath, as the lower sweep is caught by SunFlamer and SandStormer, CliffCleavers pulling in the lower middle sweep. Between the wings, they cut a charring swath through the silver Threads with accuraccy. (Tranoth) Perched Proudly 'Pon Eratoth's bronzen neck, G'min rises with the rest of the SandStormer wing, still crouched low over Eratoth's back. The massive dragon sits one behind and to the left of Eilish's Loralith. The bronze angles to the side, easily catching out a stray clump of Thread and charring it. (Tranoth) Astride Murath, Leigha pumps a fist in acknowledgment, and her entire wing lifts upwards and left in precision flying. Murath roars a challenge that echoes in the Bowl below as he encounters his first Thread of the Fall - demolishing it in style. (Tranoth) Alexath gives a small 'hmph' with his shoulders as A'ly prods him forward into action, turning his head sideways for a small blast at a semi-charred clump floating to his left. A'ly quickly prods Alexath over to the left after disposing of the piece, narrowly avoiding another, taking a blast at it, but missing. "A'gel, coming your side!" (Tranoth) A missed tendril nips Kohath's wingtip, the brown tumbling sideways in a flurry of wings and spurted flame to char the offending Thread before he pops /between/ to crack it off. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Weyr Entrance, With a shimmer of moondusted 'sails, Lhanath appears from the darkness of ::between:: (Tranoth) Lhanath has arrived. (Tranoth) Churning dark pours forth more of the deadly beautiful silvery strands. More Thread. More fire. More firestone smell permeating the air. (Tranoth) Astride Ysaeth, R'il cautioins a weyrling that's flying too close. Fortunately this young bronzerider backs off, and no accidents occur this day. Veering his lifemate again, R'il grins in approval as Ysaeth belches forth a massive ball of flame, charring a nasty-looking tangle. (Dobber) Shanlor has arrived. (Tranoth) Settled 'twixt Palsth's verdant neck ridges,Wincing as a bit of thread-char goes whistling past, Katry navigates Palsth a bit further to the left, where in a single streak of flame she takes out two nasty clumps. (Tranoth) Astride Tranoth, L'ton murmurs, "Relay to Kalgalath: we're skipping to the rear to grab that patch Gooberth missed. Ready... go." Tranoth -bips- /between/, reappearing seconds later on the same course, several lengths back. (Tranoth) One clump, disorganized and turbulant, heads toward Alexath and A'ly. (Tranoth) Diabolith follows Murath and Leigha, A'gel signalling to A'ly to confirm that he heard him. A wingbeat and Diabolith chars the clump missed, skipping to avoid another. (Dobber) A moan comes from the direction that K'mra disappeared in and Yelena stands up, glancing in that area. Without a word, she moves to follow the weyrmate of the father of her child to be. (Dobber) Yelena walks toward Inner Infirmary. (Dobber) About the same instant that Shanlor arrives, Laih rises from her seat, sending to mug of klah clattering to the floor. Wincing with an expression vaguely saying 'oops', she picks it up and deposits it in the appropriate place, dashing after K'mra and Yelena without even so much as a nod to the newcomer, whom she hasn't noticed. (Dobber) Laih huffs toward Inner Infirmary. (Tranoth) A'ly catches the clump all but too late, as it hits against her right arm and tumbling down to bounce against Alexath's wingsails. The two pop between, cringing, to rid themselves of the silvery gray threads. Uck. (Tranoth) [*] Lirith excited and turbulent thoughts mix into steadying encouragement. >>Higher, everyone! Brownieth, to your left, a tangle...<< Green encouragement snips out with contralto. >>Good, all of you are doing well. Be careful...<< (Tranoth) Astride Murath, Leigha adjusts her goggles slightly, as Murath again dips towards an errant clump, flaming mightily, then skipping into between as another clump veers towards them. Returning in a moment, the brown dragon zooms upwards as a wingrider signals dibs on the second clump, and Leigha watches proudly as the blue dragon finishes it off with gusto. "Well done!" is shouted into the wind, then she is fumbling for another bit of firestone for her own lifemate. (Tranoth) From Sky High Above the Center Bowl, Eratoth dives down and to the left for a moment, avoiding a particularly nasty clump. "Good job." His rider mutters so only his lifemate can hear. Then Eratoth is flaming again, before skipping between. Looks like G'min and Eratoth know what they're doing now. (Tranoth) Jammoth is more than a mite proud of herself, having caught a good number of missed clumps. But now's not the time for pride, and the small green is edged by her rider to the left a bit to sear an unnoticed tangle. "Well done, m'dear...oh, another..." Isher mentally and verbally encourages her lifemate, watching out for unpredictable clumps. (Tranoth) Alexath pops in from ::between:: (Tranoth) Emerging from the icy blackness of between, the pair of Alexath and A'ly head downwards, towards the safety of the ground, shards of wingsail trailing behind them. Ouch? (Tranoth) Alexath flies toward Center Bowl Area. (Tranoth) Tranoth nips the stray Threads with pinpoint bursts, turning her head back with a whistled demand for more stone. Finding a relatively clear area of sky, she spreads her wings and climbs boldly to rejoin the rest of her wing, mission accomplished. (Tranoth) Murath rumbles honey and smoke in his mindvoice, smouldering fires of Threadfall evident as he bespeaks the wing: << Leigha says to close up your ranks, Greenth, you're getting too far out of alignment! Blueth, to the Weyr if you're scored and no questions! I'm onto that one, Broth! >> followed by the mind's equivalent of flame-belched ecstasy. (Tranoth) Coming in late to join the Telgar contingency, Lhanath and R'sha join the ranks, slipping into place neatly like the piece of a puzzle. Hurriedly swallowing a last chunk of firestone, the green only hovers a moment before spewing a small flame, hitting the edge of a clump and charring it neatly. A nearby brown catches the rest, R'sha nodding a thanks as her lifemate finishes digesting the stone and adds a new belch of full flame to the next tangle soon afterwards. (Tranoth) Astride Lirith, Sionell grimaces as Alexath and A'ly are taken out. No more of those, please. Lirith sweeps forward, breathing death to the strands. Sionell looks back quickly to the wings, taking in those upwards and lower. Formations are good, though a bit loose. A waved thanks to Murath's reminder, Lirith turns head back for firestone as she motions for Lhanath to join the Surfblaster wing where Alexath recently vacatated. (Tranoth) [*] Tranoth bugles with light confidence. << Younglings, spread out, >> motherly tone advises. << We fly well today! >> (Tranoth) Diabolith swerves to one side to avoid a tangle, as A'gel glances to see Alexath land. Its only a momentary glance as Diabolith informs him, and then another swoop to char a clump. (Tranoth) Astride Murath, Leigha signals for R'sha and her green lifemate to join her wing, pointing out the spot so recently vacated by blue Alexath on her right flank. Murath rumbles the orders to Lhanath, brown muzzle tossing towards the young green. (Tranoth) Another clump falls, this time skimming close -- almost /too/ close -- to Ysaeth and R'il. (Tranoth) Kohath, meanwhile, is tumbling with his usual reckless gusto through the thick of it, somehow managing not to get scored six ways from Seventhday. (Tranoth) Astride Ysaeth, R'il indicates the clump to his lifemate, whose lissome neck turns so that he may char it. Flames burst forth, roasting the menace, before he gets the signal to go between. It's either that or be hit by yet another clump. (Tranoth) Astride Lirith, Sionell dutifully hands her lifemate firestone, eyes checking back at the wings and riders. A warning cry and she notes R'il's proximity to the stuff, before turning back in time to direct a recalcitrant young greenrider, I'gnorant, towards the stuff looming in his range. (Tranoth) Crackdust filters on the heated Igen wind, dark black char sweeping amidst riders, mounts, bursts of flame, flying firestone between Weyrlings and Wingriders and clinging to each available surface. Goggles become blackened. Hide becomes dingy. Even the air itself is heavy with the stuff. (Tranoth) Tranoth arcs gracefully to starboard, wings beating industriously to catch the clump that Ysaeth skipped beyond. A puff of black sweeps back in the form of charr, scattered by olive wings. (Tranoth) Astride Tranoth, L'ton coughs, wiping the dust from his goggles, and tosses another bit of stone to his lifemate. Lifting the now-empty bag high, he signals to a weyrling for a replenishment, Tranoth humming with echoed urgency. (Dobber) Laih huffs in from Inner Infirmary. (Dobber) Ravyn has arrived. (Tranoth) Astride Jammoth, Skipping between as a clump comes too close for comfort, Jammoth returns to sear it with perhaps too many flames, for poor A'ccident and Pronth look a bit singed in the straps, though the pervading dust could very well create that same effect. "Caaareful," mutters Isheri, steering lifemate down to avoid yet another tangle. (Tranoth) Astride Murath, Leigha stifles the cough reflex, grimly gritting her teeth and bowing her head for a moment to clear her goggles. Murath drifts unconcernedly through the fray, turning to accept another block of firestone before he chars another fine Thread, diving to his right to save young Lhanath from certain scoring. Leigha makes a note of this, peering towards R'sha 'til the Telgarian gives her an all-clear pump of her fist. (Tranoth) Astride Ysaeth, R'il smiles as he and his lifemate returns from ::between::, only to grimace at another clump. Fire soon rids the sky of that obscenity before Ysaeth's head looms closer to R'il. More firestone, please. (Tranoth) Astride Tranoth, L'ton shouts, "We're on it, Isheri!" as Tranoth banks sharply to sweep over Jammoth's previuos position, searing heat charring the threatening tangle that their wingmate was forced to dodge. (Tranoth) The bronze form of Eratoth is next approached by the latest clump of Thread that gravity pulls from the sky to curl and sweep in angry waves at him and G'min. To the left and just behind the bronze's wing it aims. (Dobber) Upon her return, Laih's attention falls instantly on Shanlor, or what she can see of him through the crowd. Biting her lip for the Threadfall, she wanders in that direction. (Tranoth) Lirith heads forward, sweeping soon dust-encrusted wings upwards with an easy sweep, neck extended to send crackling flames out to the writhing mass too-near, barbeque'd Thread soon falls, harmless. (Tranoth) From Sky High Above the Center Bowl, Perched Proudly 'Pon Eratoth's bronzen neck, G'min holds tight to his lifemate, ducking and diving, skipping between to avoid a tangle, appearing ahead of it. But he doesn't see the new tangle until it passes by G'min's face. Narrowly missing the handsome face of the bronzerider, instead it starts to cut into the straps and leathers of his thigh. Gritting his teeth, G'min and Eratoth disappear quickly between, only to reappear again, ducking after another tangle, charring it. (Tranoth) Settled 'twixt Palsth's verdant neck ridges,Ever graceful, Palsth's optimism seems to have done her good; a good Fall. Neither her nor her rider appear to be scored, for all of Katry's fear, and praise can be audibly heard for those riders who are listening, although there are none. Swinging more firestone around to her, she goes for another clump. Ambitious, eh? (Tranoth) Astride Tranoth, L'ton refrains from the whoop of exhiliration that might normally accompany such a maneuver, wiping a streak of black from his jaw - or rather, smearing it further - as he settles back firmly to the task at hand. Weyrling-carried stone sack is nabbed neatly from midair and secured to his riding straps. "Ahead and right," he murmurs, but his lifemate is already on it. (Tranoth) Astride Jammoth, "Thanks," is Ish's returned shout, stifled as Thread again prevails, and Jammoth continues her flaming, catching a patch aimed right for Yuzguth's wingsail. Good dragon. (Tranoth) Astrid Murath, Leigha sucks in her breath as she notices G'min's predicament. Counting to herself, she exhales harshly as the bronze and rider return to char another clump. "Close," she mutters to herself, then is forced to duck as Murath belches flame then dives, cutting his retreat a wee bit too finely. Hot ash rains down upon the chocolate tail, banding him in black. (Dobber) Shanlor is sitting at a table with a mixture of weyrfolk. A couple of the fosterlings he's spent most of his candidacy looking after are firing questions at him, which are answered patiently, and a couple of the young weyrfolk his own age are watching with amusement. Upon seeing Laih he rises, the simpering sigh cast after him by one of the girls evidence of his reason. (Tranoth) Thread shows no mercy. Thread cares not for any rider's 'predicament'. Thread just /falls/ and fall it does: toward chocolate brown hide and the flame that rises to greet it. (Tranoth) Astride Ysaeth, R'il gives his dragon one last piece of firestone before closing the bag that sits next to his thigh. A few moments for digestion, and the silvered bronze is back in the game. Flames pour from his mouth, raining death down upon a rather large clump of Thread. (Tranoth) Murath takes this newest rain of death as a personal affront, and, releasing a huge ball of fire from his second stomach, he ensures that the Thread will cause no more riders consternation. (Tranoth) Tranoth's concave face is darkened from olive to ashen by dust, eyes glowing fiercely yellow within their mask. A long tendril is flamed neatly at the end and shrivels to ash as she sweeps through it and glares alertly for her next target. L'ton sways neatly to one side in his seat, avoiding the hot black remnants. (Tranoth) From Sky High Above the Center Bowl, As Eratoth banks sharply to avoid a nasty patch, the extend of the Thread damage from the score earlier becomes clear. G'min's brown leather is soaked black with his blood, and as Eratoth banks, the straps pull.....and then snap. (Tranoth) Astride Lirith, Sionell heads slightly to the left, taking out a viscious swath with Lirith's eager flame. Wings contract, dive downwards slightly to miss an errant flame as Brownieth again takes out the writhing mass. "Careful everyone!" she calls, well pleased with the events so far, few casualties and fewer Threads making their ways to the floor of the bowl. (Dobber) No 'sighs' from Laih's direction: she's forgiven him, but she's ever wary. And she hasn't gotten her lesson yet. Upon reaching distance enough to speak, "So, when do I get my lesson?" It's a lesson, now, yes, and Shanlor's obligated. (Tranoth) Astride Murath, Leigha catches sight of the sudden snapping of leather securing G'min to Eratoth's back, and Murath bellows in alarm, causing the wing to tighten up around them, making ready to execute rescue maneuvers if necessary. (Tranoth) [*] Kohath trumpets alarm. << Eratoth, bank quickly! >> All business when Thread falls, he is. << I will cover you! >> (Tranoth) Murath rumbles honey and smoke in his mindvoice, bass rumble alerting the wing. << Stand by, SurfBlaster! Prepare for emergency maneuvers! >> Threadfall /is/ his business. (Tranoth) Kohath dives, wings folded, and snaps back to level a length above his huge bronzen wingmate, fearlessly darting flame at the bits that dare threaten him. (Tranoth) From Sky High Above the Center Bowl, Perched Proudly 'Pon Eratoth's bronzen neck, G'min comes flying off of Eratoth's neck. Not a naturally tenable position for a dragonrider, wouldn't you agree? Barely heard in the whipping of the wind is G'min's exclaimation of, "Eratoth!" What broke were the straps securing G'min to Eratoth. The wide main strap is still intact. Eratoth executes a manuever to make agile greens jealous, turning on his tail and diving after G'min. And in the time it takes for a rider to blink, G'min desparately catches hold of his lifemate's straps, holding onto the footholds that help him vault to the saddle. (Tranoth) A weyrling, barely cleared to fly firestone sack duty, blinks in. Right in the path of a tangle of thread. (Tranoth) Astride Jammoth, Isheri breaths a sigh of relief, likely echoed by anyone who had a split-second eye on the bronze pair. But now that mortal danger has passed, there's a clump sailing just past Jammoth's nose that is quickly charred by the green, and life resumes. (Tranoth) Settled 'twixt Palsth's verdant neck ridges,In a split second, Palsth's sharp senses veer her in the direction of the weyrling, and she just barely gets out the flame to char the clump and dive - straight for another. And char. And march! (Tranoth) Murath releases the wing with another bellow, and SurfBlaster once again fans outwards, in optimal condition to meet Fall. "Good work," shouts Leigha, and her words are relayed to the wingriders by Murath. (Tranoth) Astride Lirith, Sionell catches sight of some unlucky individual's straps breaking. Second look, and the hapless man is noted as G'min. As he recovers in time, she catches sight of the weyrling N'ew heading for a mass. >>Flyeth! Go!<< Lirith's quick relay spurs him to move as Palsth takes out the mass, a sigh of relief. (Tranoth) Astride Tranoth, L'ton scowls with concentrated concern at the aerial acrobatics taking place across the sky from him, and lets out a sigh of relief as the bronzerider catches himself. "Too close," he agrees with his lifemate's silent comment. "Down there," he starts to point out another unattended clump, but Tranoth's sudden bugle of alarm alerts him to the careless Weyrling to their left. "Tell him to skip!" he bellows, leaning low against green neck as Tranoth powerdives to the rescue. (Dobber) Shanlor does smile then, if a small twitch at the corner of his mouth counts, and he gesutres her to proceed im to a less crowded corner of the cavern, not easy to fined, during Fall. "Now, if you want." (Tranoth) From Sky High Above the Center Bowl, Perched Proudly 'Pon Eratoth's bronzen neck, G'min is still holding on for dear life, his arm muscles bulging out of his leathers as he tries to fight off the draining of adrenaline from his system. He's safe, but not out of hot water yet. Even as Eratoth begins to descend slowly to the bowl, G'min begins to haul himself up the straps. (Tranoth) The clump that Tranoth had been descending headfirst toward remains, burning and crackling in the air as the edges break off char from a missed blast from another direction. The dragon was too far and the clump too large for it to be effective. It still falls, plummeting to the Weyr below. The Weyr that hold's Tranoth's rider's daughter and other family members. (Tranoth) Tranoth lets out a fierce, fearless trumpet and swoops between Weyrling and Thread, flame billowing from her mouth to meet in a tangle of smoke and charr. The young blue regains his wits and flashes /between/ just in time, safe, as a piercing shriek of pain rips forth from his rescuer's olive throat, emerald wings laced by overwhelming odds. L'ton's echoing shout of alarm and mixed pain is cut off abruptly as the pair pops out of existance. (Tranoth) Astride Jammoth, Isheri espies the falling clump. "Got it!" she bellows, dragon twisting lithely to dive afterthe thread, neatly searing it...she hopes. (Dobber) Dobber sits up suddenly, a querying chirr buzzing from his throat as his eyes shade alarmingly orange. (Tranoth) ....And as Tranoth and his rider slip into the black cold nothingness of *between*, Thread begins to dissipate slowly, trickling off as if it's goal is accomplished. Rider and Lifemate are gone. But Thread's menace is not. (Tranoth) Astride Murath, Leigha twists her neck about to peer towards the spot where just a moment before Tranoth existed. She bites her lip, waiting for the pair to blink back into existence. "Murath!" she shouts, mentally requesting a report from her lifemate. The brown doesn't answer, merely worries at the next batch of Thread as though it were something personal. (Dobber) Well, that was unexpected - but, Laih got herself into it, so she follows Shanlor to the corner a bit meekly. Show the whole Weyr how bad she does, yup. (Tranoth) Tranoth reappears several lengths below, her form blackened, wings laced with the bright green of oozing ichor, her rider slumped apparently senselessly over her neck, held in place only by his riding straps. A guttural shriek of disoriented pain trickles forth from her throat as she spirals downward swiftly. (Tranoth) Center Bowl Area (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Settled 'twixt Palsth's verdant neck ridges,Relief indeed; Katry could not bear to see a weyrling go to waste in the horror of Threadfall. Too much for the girl, rather meek as she is, for a 'rider. Palsth simply moves on; save weyrlings, protect Pern from disaster. All in a day's work - but now Katry's distracted, for the falling pair, yet it is not her job to help. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Murath bugles in challenge at the last vestiges of Thread, a bit disconcerted at the sight of the black-laced emerald wings of Tranoth. Leigha checks the wing's position, automatically, seeking out the largest concentration of Thread and urging the riders onwards. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Eratoth has arrived. (Tranoth) Eratoth has arrived. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Tirelth has arrived. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Jammoth definately got that clump, got it good, and yet work goes on, for another looms near. Flame, breath, flame, breath. Only her rider notes the falling green pair. Or, Jammoth did notice, but couldn't bear to acknowledge. Igen weathering pales to ivory on Ish's face as eyes fallow the fallen, but then she turns away. Not her job to take care of these, she reminds herself. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Radar zeroes in and Lirith is the next target for a ragged lump of Thread caught loosely amidst itself. A little high. A little to the front. A little out of touch but if they /streeeetch/.... (Tranoth) Tranoth crashes ungracefully to earth, tripping over her forelegs and chin sliding along the ground, wings limp in the dust. (Dobber) Quinta saunters in from Lower Caverns. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Tirelth sweeps in from the bowl below, taken out of action when his rider had gotten sick. A'zri's better, and now the blue's come in to take some of his own against the evil thread. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Astride Murath, Leigha wearily leans towards A'zri, pumping her arm in the signal for her wingsecond to close the gap between them. "Had enough yet?" she shouts, somewhat tiredly, and Murath dips his wings in the signal for the wing to close ranks, in order to catch the thinly falling Thread. (Tranoth) [*] Tranoth shrieks with impotent pain and fury. << My rider hurts! >> Forget her own injuries, he's all that matters right now. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Lirith cranes, flame faltering as she extends farther than she should. Threads score into neck and writhing up into rider's calf before the green gives a shrill cry, blinking between. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Lirith flicks sage wings with a restless twitch, then melts goes ::between::. (Tranoth) G'min dismounts gracefully from Eratoth, getting a gentle croon and nuzzle in passing. (Dobber) Dobber screeches and darts in a brown streak of alarm for the bowl. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Lirith pops meltingly in from ::between::, giving a restless twitch of saged wings as she appears. (Tranoth) Dobber flitters in from NorthWest Bowl. (Tranoth) G'min slips to the ground, kissing it, on his knees. Then his lifemate croons in alarm at the green's crash. "What?" The bronzerider gets painfully to his feet, favoring his right leg. Then he starts limping quickly towards Tranoth. (Tranoth) [*] Aharoth :awakens from his sleep, drawn by the green's voice. << What has happened? >> Bronze is immediately alert. (Tranoth) [*] Tyranoth glistens, pinpricks of painful crimson sparking, showering. <> For another reason, perhaps: neverless, dribbles of soothing cerulean comfort as best they can. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Astride Murath, Leigha swings 'round just in time to both hand Murath a chunk of firestone, and to see Sionell getting seared by Thread. She motions to the other wingleader to head towards the ground, surging to the forefront of the deadly rain with her wing to assume the lead position. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Astride Ysaeth, R'il makes sure his section of the wing is steady before allowing himself a look around. Wincing at the gaps in the wings, he turns back to his lifemate, point out another clump. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Astride Lirith, Sionell grimaces as the Thread is flaked off in the cold of between, sending Lirith spiralling down, wing unable to sustain the gliding. "R'il! Take over wingleading!" is her call as she nods to Lirith's relay for Murath to take the lead. (Tranoth) Lirith has arrived. (Tranoth) Dobber squeals and zips toward the wreckage that is his pet's dragon, adding his own shrieking alarm to the chorus of her rasping breathing. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Astride Ysaeth, R'il pumps his fist. Heard and understood. Prodding Ysaeth into flying forward, he sends out a few commands, and soon the wing is tightened. Clumps are scored, flames devouring them. (Tranoth) [*] Tranoth emanates terrified alarm, her normally rocksteady comforting tone scattered in splintered shards. << Healer! Help him! >> (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Tirelth gives a sharp note, startling his rider into action. " Tire?" 'Zri whispers, words torn from her lips. But blue is close to ground, and spiral-drops suddenly. He can do nothing in the air, but there are those 'pon the ground who could use help. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, The Fall slowly trickles off, not quite as thick but still falling. Now they fall across desert landscape, a safe distance from the Weyr and surrounding area. (Tranoth) Tirelth has arrived. (Tranoth) Quinta saunters in from NorthWest Bowl. (Tranoth) Tirelth extends a forearm, pasively watching as A'zri slides from his back. (Tranoth) G'min looks around for a healer, and spying none, still limps towards the green. "Help!" He calls, with Eratoth adding his own ground shaking roar. G'min's scored thigh is ignored. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Astride Murath, Leigha surveys the understrength wings, Murath flying high to allow her time to assess the situation. She notes the defection of A'zri and Tirelth towards the ground, nodding in agreement as she pumps her arm for the wing to close ranks. Noting the trickling off of Fall, she gives the signal for the upper most wings to fall back, holding her own wing high until the others fall back. Once the wings have reassembled over the Weyr, Murath bellows the order to land. Fall is over! (Tranoth) Murath has arrived. (Tranoth) Astride Tranoth, L'ton lies slumped in his straps, face pressed against the dry, ash-scorched hide of his lifemate's neck, one arm entwined in her harness, the other dangling limply beneath. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Astride Ysaeth, R'il sends out the message via his lifemate. WindScorchers, land! Admist a flurry of wings, the remnants of the wing descend in an orderly fashion to the ground. (Tranoth) Ysaeth has arrived. (Tranoth) R'il tries to dismount the beast of bronze that is Ysaeth, but the bronze wiggles his neck just enough to make a slide down unsafe. He looses interest in the prank soon enough, though, finally permitting his passenger to dismount. (Tranoth) A'zri slips from Tirelth's neck, awkwardly, and runs over to the green, ignoring G'min. Harper-rider kneels next to the beast's body, scrambling to reach L'ton as Tirelth croons melodically, trying to curb the dragon's panic. (Tranoth) G'min groans as he hoists himself up the green next to L'ton. Eratoth helpfully identifying the man. "L'ton...can you hear me" First thing to ask. (Part of the Turn he spent in the infirmary was while watching the Healers.) (Tranoth) Leigha dismounts from Murath. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Astride Jammoth, Isheri follows her wing, landing still in perfect...or good enough...formation as the group heads for their part of the bowl floor.. (Tranoth) Tranoth's eyes whirl with bright orange terror, her slim frame shivering with panic as much as pain, as ichor slowly drips from the lacing scores on her wings and sides. (Tranoth) Jammoth has arrived. (Tranoth) Astride Tranoth, L'ton manages not a reply to G'min's query, but a faint shudder of attempted cough wracks his frame. (Tranoth) Laih huffs in from NorthWest Bowl. (Tranoth) [-] Tirelth sends soft silvery spirals to enclose your mind, singing with soft, soothing notes. No words are spoken, but the veil is lifted for this one in need. Clear in the music, the melody, the soothing tones that mean: Calm. Help is on the way. (Tranoth) Jammoth lands. Isheri avoids looking towards the injured, and the pair takes off again, for weyr, for home, for clean clothes and exploring. New places always put worries out of mind. (Tranoth) Leigha quickly assesses Tranoth's injuries, and nods to A'zri and the others. "We need to get her some numbweed right away!" she says, motioning towards a nearby knot of healers and apprentices standing with tubs of numbweed and paddles. "Can you folks take care of L'ton? I'll start on Tranoth." (Tranoth) Jammoth flies toward Sky Above the Central Bowl. (Tranoth) From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Jammoth flies toward Sky High Above the Center Bowl. (Tranoth) Tranoth emits a thin keening wail as Tirelth attempts to sooth. Her shivering slows, stops, but her eyes lose none of their bright fear. (Tranoth) A'zri places a hand on G'min's shoulder. " Hold still," murmurs the harper-rider, reaching upwards for the straps. " We've got to get him out of here... he's got to be supported!" Hastily she looks around. " We need help here!" (Tranoth) G'min is already working on L'ton, his hands going to the man's waist, undoing the straps that bind him to the green's neck. "Eratoth.....call....someone. I don't care who." He looks up at A'zri. "I think I've got him." At least to hand him down to someone. R'il just tries to stay out of the way, as healers run to and fro. He pulls his own lifemate from the fray, then reports to a healer the last few injuries sustained by his own wing. Once the call for help is registered though, he's off and running. "Just tell me what I need to do," he informs the bluerider as he approaches. Tirelth whistles through his teeth, shifting closer and stretching out his neck to the injured green. Crooning continues, a gentle lulliby pouring from his throat. Long tail twitches restlessly as he struggles to control the green's panic, to quench it. Suddenly forgetting about Shanlor, Laih rushes to the central bowl, worry outlined in the nooks and crannies of her face. Wincing, she wanders up closer to the dragon's paw, about to rest her hand upon it in an attempt to soothe. A'zri moves to help support L'ton's body, to lower it to the ground. "Careful, G'min! You're hurt yourself." A'zri's just pregnant. " C'mon," she murmurs. " L'ton, can you hear me?" Palsth has arrived. One of the weyrhealers nods curtly towards Leigha, rushing over to assist G'min in caring for the rider. Leigha grabs a paddle and begins slathering numbweed haphazardly over Tranoth's injuries. An apprentice joins her, and together they work grimly and quietly, allowing the others to get to L'ton's injuries. L'ton slips without a struggle limply into G'min's hands, a cough finally escaping his throat, a thin trickle of blood accompanying at the corner of his mouth. Nasty welts of Threadscore lace his face and leave his riding leathers in ribbons. Recieving no instructions, R'il makes himself helpful by helping to move a tub of numbweed closer to the injured dragon. "Here you go, Leigha.." Settled 'twixt Palsth's verdant neck ridges,Latecomer, indeed, is Palsth, spiraling down slowly as to avoid the the injured dragon. Katry slips slowly down her lifemate's side and rushes closer to the other green, eyes ablaze with pain as she attempts to imagine how painful it must be; Palsth simply sidles up with Tirelth. Soothe, yes. G'min shakes his head. "Don't worry, A'zri. It's only my thigh." And not that deep. Thank Faranth for tough leather. "I got him, if you can get people for me to pass him down too." He rolls the greenrider back and winces at the sight of his face. "Sweet Faranth." Claudio wakes up from his nap. Tranoth extends her neck weakly to touch her lifemate with the tip of her nose, crooning frantic support. L'ton stirs weakly, fingers brushing the end of green muzzle, and a whispered word escapes his throat: "Lynnea..." Shanlor steps silently in from NorthWest Bowl. (Tranoth) [-] Tirelth continues to soothe your mind, filling it with dancing blues, and just the hint of rose that shows the icy boundry has been breeched. Blue struggles, melody after melody playing in your mind, each one designed to soothe, to calm, and to hold. Leigha nods in thanks towards R'il, shoving a paddle towards him as she begins the task of assisting the healers in getting the wing lacing under control. "If you don't mind, R'il, she's got a lot of hide that's been scored - can't have her going insane from the pain combined with L'ton's injuries - would you please?" Mute appeal shines in her grey eyes. Lynnea? What about Lynnea? Now L'ton has Laih's interest, as well as worry, for Lynnea is a fellow candidate, no? On a note, she's completely forgotten about Shanlor, huddled about one of the injured dragon's paw. R'il takes the paddle with a nod, then digs the shovelling end into the tub before slathering it over the green's hide. Shovelling and slathering...Miner work that Miner R'il can do. Three riders dash to G'min's side to help A'zri ease the rider down. " Take it easy," she murmurs, voice clear and soft though face is filled with shared pain. " We've got you." She doesn't look around for Lynnea, doesnt' send someone for her. " Everything's gonna be okay." Hopeless words, but filled with harper's eternal skill of acting. Tarilane walks in from NorthWest Bowl. (Tranoth) Tranoth telepathically projects an angry snap. << Heal him! I am not hurt! >> Leigha lopsidedly smiles at R'il, weariness pervading her bones as she clambers up on a table brought to begin work on the scored 'sails by the healer's apprentices. She bends, finds a reed and holds it into place as the healer begins to realign the torn 'sail onto a scaffold of reed and cloth. From Sky Above the Central Bowl, Diabolic goes ::between:: Astrea glides with lithe grace in from Northeastern Bowl. (Tranoth) Murath rumbles honey and smoke in his mindvoice, in soothing tones: << The healers help him. The healers must help you, so that you can be strong for him. Do you not wish that? >> Tirelth whistles again and croons his heart out, so large a job upon his small shoulders. The snap in his mind does nothing to sway him from Tranoth's side. Blue sidles closer still, wrapping her mind in a gentle, caring caress. L'ton whispers insistently, "Lynn..." another weak cough shakes him. "Tell her.... I love her..." R'il shovels more numbweed onto the wounds of the green, murmuring reassurances. "It'll be alright.." He hopes. For one of the few times in his life, he doesn't mind the smell of numbweed. Today itcomforts as he spreads the painkiller. Taera has arrived. Leigha waves towards the Master Healer. "Over here!" A'zri folds the words in her heart, placing one hand on L'ton's, heedless of the blood. " I will," she murmurs; harper's promise. " But I won't need to. You'll tell her yourself." She knows better, but... she can but say as she needs to. G'min growls as he slips to L'ton's side, just in time to hear his words. "Hold on, man. Just hold on. You'll be fine." L'ton won't stay if he doesn't have the will. Taera strides quickly towards the group, a huddle of wide-eyed apprentices scurrying after her. Her eyes flick over the scene and she grimaces for just a moment before her face settles into a near blank, businesslike expression. Her question is addressed to the group at large. "What, /exactly/ happened, and what's been done. The dragonhealer pauses in his work to nod towards the Master Healer from his position on the table below Tranoth's badly scored wing. He continues his reconstructive efforts, redwort stained hands stitching cloth to 'sails in a steady rhythm. Leigha continues to hand the man reeds, needles, thread - whatever is needed. Apprentice she may not be, but adept at what's necessary is she. Tarilane attempts to hang back out of the way, being drawn by the commotion and unsure where she would be of use. Silent shadow watches...trying not to get in anyone's way. L'ton lets out a simple sigh, then, and relaxes with the Harper's words still lingering in the air. His eyes flutter shut; the shivering stops. ...and from Tranoth's throat rips a shriek that deafens every dragon in the Weyr with its mental anguish. Heedless of ribboned wings and Threadscored hide, she struggles to her feet and leaps to the air. "Master Healer!" A'zri's shout is urgent. " Here! This man needs help!" More than any other. In her arms, her arms and G'min's and those of other riders, the ruin of L'ton's body still lives. " Just hold on, L'ton," she urges. If there are tears on her face, chalk it up to her pregnancy. " L'ton?" No. " L'TON!" And Laih turns deathly pale; she can not stand a dragon's death. (Tranoth) [*] Tranoth screams in uncontestable pain. << NO!!! >> ... and is gone. Tirelth's head is thrown back, and from his throat is torn the first sound many have ever heard him utter. Deep bass echoes through the air, shaking the very foundation as he keens for the death of the green. Icy hide turns deathly grey, and he spreads his wings, mourning the death of a friend. One hand touches Tarilane on the shoulder. Astrea touches her one face as Tranoth launches upwards. "No," she whispers, face stricken. Astrea glides with lithe grace toward West Entrance. (Tranoth) [*] Feilath screams, her mind filled with chaotic colors, fading to grey as she takes up the keens of the dragons, the loss of one of their own so hard to bear. The dragonhealer is thrown to the ground from the table as the green attempts to launch herself into the air. Leigha's face, grimy though it may be from Threadfall turns pale and she gasps. Murath rises on his haunches, muzzle sadly following the progress of the green as she rises, and then winks out of existence forever. Brown head is thrown back and an exquisite note of agony keens from his throat, doing tribute to the lives that were L'ton and Tranoth. Astrea glides with lithe grace in from West Entrance. (Tranoth) [*] Aharoth echos the screams from the weyrs, hearing them in mind and giving them voice, his very keen shaking the walls around him. It echos through the minds; uncontestable loss for a fellow dragon. G'min falls to his knees again, color gone from his face as it's all in vain. His bronzen Eratoth, colored a more grey shade now, lifts his perfect throat up to keen in the way of all dragons at one of their passing, the eerie note raising the hairs on his rider's neck. "No..." G'min unconciously repeats Astrea. Taera stops short, a gasp escaping her. She acts quickly though, perhaps not as burdened down by the grief of a lifemate as others. Her eyes go to L'ton. Her few words are very quiet. "Do I try and bring him back?" A'zri bends over L'ton's lifeless body, heedless of blood, heedless of anything as she clutches at him. Her soft cries of denial turn to sobs as she crouches over the lifeless greenrider, shaking with uncontrolable grief. Tarilane turns away from watching the scene, eyes shutting as she hears that scream rip through the air. Astrea's hand is felt on her shoulder, Tarilane shakes her head and looks at her friend's stricken face. "No...oh no, Lynnea..." her eyes wander toward the Candidate Barracks. Dobber echos the scream from his own tiny throat, tumbling from the air himself to land on the ribbons of his pet's jacketed chest. Dwindling to a whining keen, he cuddles for futile support under L'ton's chin, his trembling throat trailing off, finally, to silence. Leigha stumbles across the bowl towards A'zri, offering her presence to soothe her dear friend and wingsecond, not certain of what to say. Behind her, Murath's hide fades to a dingy brown as the dragon mourns the passing of the green. "A'zri?" whispers Leigha, conscious of the words as they stick in her throat, question unspoken yet hanging in the very air. From Sky Above the Central Bowl, As the darkness of Thread fully passes the horizon, hesitant sunlight attempts to peek through the morning sky. A beam here, a slant of golden light there, and before long the pink and reds of bursting morning are in full bloom as the clouds dissipate. Chaddyth has arrived. O'no descends from Chaddyth's neck, steps off bent foreleg to land with a *thump* on the ground. "No," A'zri whimpers, hearing Leigha's voice. " He can't be gone." Arms still cradle the greenrider, though the other riders have stepped back. She rocks back and forth, covered in greenrider's blood and uncaring. " Don't tell me he's gone." It may be the way of a rider, but it's not something borne easily. Not when it was to you he last spoke; not when it's in your arms he died. One trembling hand held to her mouth, Astrea's wiede eyes are fixed upon the pitiful figure of the brown fire lizard. "So small," she mutters dazedly. "So small." G'min struggles to his feet, reopening the score on his thigh, what more blood that flows out not bothering him. "L'ton..." He whispers softly. He didn't know the man, but now...he never will. "Lynnea." He swallows against a suddenly dry throat and wet face. "Someone needs to find Lynn." R'il wipes a hand across his brow, too stunned to speak. After eons of moments go by, he wanders closer towards the bluerider, only too look hollowly at Leigha. "You'll make sure she's alright, Leigha?" he asks in a hushed voice. A'zri's a friend and he is concerned, but...someone else calls. A'zri lifts her face suddenly. " I promised him I would tell her," she whispers to the bronzerider. O'no stumbles from Chaddyth, nearly falling on her face as her lifemate rumbles unsettlingly behind her. Muttering to herself in the wake of the cries. Leigha stays beside the harper turned 'rider, nodding at A'zri's words, solemn, sad, still. She glances up at R'il and nods to his words as well, unable to speak herself. "I will come with you, A'zri," she offers, holding out a hand to assist her wingsecond, waiting quietly beside her. G'min nods slowly to A'zri. "Do...do you want me to go with you?" He asks. "Lynn's....my friend, too." Not that he wants too. He'd rather not have had this happen at all. A hand lifts, finding bronzen muzzle to comfort. R'il nods solemnly, too hesistant to wipe any of the blood from his visage before he moves away from the body and the group of riders. He has no business being there, not with that processional. R'il walks toward NorthWest Bowl. A'zri's face lifts, smeared with tears and blood. But her gaze is resolute. " Someone," she murmurs. " Take him... he shouldn't lie here on the cold stone." She leans over, heedless of the ruin Thread made of his face, and kisses L'ton's forehead, before rising. Whether she'd known him or not matters not to her. He was a rider. That made him a friend. " Please," she whispers to Leigha and G'min. " I need you." One hand clutches at her stomach as she releases L'ton and staggers to her feet. Leigha nods towards the healer apprentices, who somberly step forward to assist in transporting the still rider towards the caverns. "Follow us," she says simply, and hovers about A'zri, holding out her hand still in case the wingsecond needs it. G'min nods, moving to A'zri's side, slipping a supporting arm about her shoulders. "I'm here, for you, A'zri." Clutchmate. Friend. A'zri's fingers grip for Leigha's, her body leans against G'min's. " Where?" she asks, softly. " Where is Lynn?" Where is A'zri's favorite Candidate? Squaring her shoulders, she averts her eyes from the apprentices carrying off L'ton, instead focusing ahead. Shanlor is silent, pale, as he edges around the group to Tarilane's side. A stark lesson for the candidates, of just what it is that they're all dreaming and hoping for. Leigha returns A'zri's grip with a reassuring squeeze, nodding her head towards the living caverns. "Where she always is, I think, A'zri," she says, glancing for comfort at her lifemate doing vigil over the lacings of ichor and blood which pool together on the floor of the Bowl - silent testimony to the two lives which ended as Thread dwindled and Rukbat rose. O'no rests back against the dark leg of her lifemate, silent and stoic as wide eyes pass from one pereson to the next...body needing that physical comfort from touching Chaddyth for th e moment. Tarilane looks at Shanlor, very pale as she watches the riders go to inform Lynnea. Eyes are still large and disbelieving...she doesn't even want to think of what this will do to Lynnea. Hand takes Shanlor's and squeezes it for comfort. Astrea reaches for Tari's hand herself, the one not being taken by Shanlor. "Who is he?" she asks in a soft tone. Shanlor's fingers wraps aroudn Tari's quickly, the candidate still quiet. He answers Astrea softly, and quickly. "Lynnea's father." Expression is balnk, as always, but something threatens to break through as it twitches slightly. A'zri's fingers close tightly 'round Leigha's own. Head up, back straight, she moves with the two riders for the caverns. Though streaked with tears, her face is resolute... and emotionless. She won't break down. Not now. Not when Lynnea will need her... and all. " Then let's find her," she replies softly. " She needs to know." She needs to hear his last words. Shiana walks in from Northeastern Bowl. G'min nods slowly. "She does." Then he's offering A'zri what support he can until they get there. Tarilane nods as Shanlor speaks, not trusting her own voice except to whisper "Lynnea...poor Lynnea..." hoarsely. She shakes her head, looking between Astrea and Shanlor. Shiana walks in quietly, her eyes slowly gazing from person to person. She seems hesitant to say anything, rather listening to learn. "Her /father/?" comes from Astrea, eyes still stricken. "Oh...Lynnea." The name is exhaled on a sigh of regret. Shiana blinks at Astrea, "Was that Lynnea's father? Just lost?" she asks quietly. Eyes not having their normal spirit about them. Taera sighs softly, standing back as the weyrfolk depart. Grief is something she can't help heal, at least not so soon. A sad salute goes to those around er, and the Masterhealer departs, wiping away seomething suspiciously like a tear. Astrea nods mutely. "Her father," she repeats tonelessly. "And after all that I - " She chokes off and thrusts her chin out firmly, telling herself not to cry. Shiana ooh's at Astrea, then stops. Unsure of what to say. Leigha moves with military precision toward NorthWest Bowl. Astrea glides with lithe grace toward West Entrance. Shiana watches folks start to disappear, eyes following scattered movements. She walks a distance from the group with arms folded over chest. (Tranoth) [*] Tyranoth slips in, quietly; a spark of color brightens the dismal gray, and his proud thoughts weave: <> And so, life begins anew. (Tranoth) [*] Tirelth encircles all with gentle grey-tinged threads, hearing Tyranoth's words like a prayer. << Yours is blessed. >> His words, in rusty bass so rarely used, are filled with pride, marred not by sorrow. << Life must go on. >> Especially for dragonkind.