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Over twenty turns of Thread has fallen in 12th Pass over a conservative Pern peppered liberally (pun intended) with progressive Oldtimers from 10th interval, in Harper's Tale's current iteration. The conflict of ideology between the traditionalist Nowtimers and the Oldtimers - liberal survivors of apocalyptic comets from 10th Interval that both destroyed Crom Hold and changed the face of Pern as any remembered it to be - makes life, as they say, interesting.
More than Thread challenges those that walk the many roads available in HT's setting. From dirty trader politics in Igen Weyr's in-house and eccentric bazaar, icy antics of the indigenous wildlings in Southern Barrier Hold, and the struggles of both weyrs (Igen and Southern) that rise to defend all of the above, there's a little taste for any plotline that a player may be interested in delving into. Log in and check us out for more information!
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Title | OOC Date | Summary |
2020 Q4 Threadfall | January 1, 2020 | Threadfall Summary - October-December 2020 |
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Title | Cast | Summary | ||||||||||
Hiding from the Heat Hiding from the Heat
![]() ![]() ![]() Hidden Grotto The bones of the earth curve 'round to hide this small cavern from prying eyes. Vines of Morning Glory hide the entryway, and a light trellis seals it and holds the vines out. In the cool dimness there loom three large stones, shaped and smoothed to be an ideal table and chairs. Through the vines and trellis you can see the sparkle of falling water. A few carefully tended shade-loving flowers grow here, and soft moss grows over the floor. From the west a small stream runs and spills out into the lake, chuckling merrily at the marvelous secrets it's privy to. It's hot. There's no doubt about it. Soupy too, with all the humidity. Anyone who's sane is indoors, and those sane ones that can't be? They're looking for shade, or a watering hole to wallow in. Evka is of the first group, indoors, and in one of her favorite hidey-holes. She sits in one of the stone 'chairs' and has her hidework layed out in front of her, Her hair is in the messiest of messy buns and she's got one foot pulled up on the chair, her chin resting on her knee while she reads. She's got more on her mind than hidework though and she gives it up when she reads the same sentence about a dozen times. She leans back and scrubs the tiredness from her eyes and though distracted, she at least doesn't seem unhappy about it. It's just a good day for quiet and pondering, though at some point she's wondering if she should seek some companionship and clear her mind of work for a bit. Great minds, as they say… Ginger has actually stopped for lunch at lunchtime, but the scrum in the living caverns wasn't appealing: she's brought a basket with her and taken to the tunnels in search of a cool and solitary spot. The grotto fulfils the first of those criteria, and if the company is Evka, she'll forgo the second. "Hello, Ev! You hiding from the heat too? Well, heat and weyrlings, in my case: they were flagging so much this morning that I gave them all enough time for a nap after lunch." Her gaze takes in the hidework that Evka's doing - or possibly not doing. "Mind if I join you? And talking of lunch, I've probably got enough for two if you fancy some." Evka jumps about four inches out of her skin when Ginger first speaks, she's been in the quiet long enough to adjust to it. The sudden presence of sound is startling. "Oh! Ginger! Hello!" WHile her pulse recovers, she looks Ginger over and nods, a smile bright on her lips as she clears some space. "Of course! Sit right down! I'll make room, and yes, I am escaping the heat out there. My office was so hot I couldn't stand it. I've been half tempted to go for a swim and damn the hidework." Her stomach grumbles. "Oh! You are a wonderful person! I'd love a bite if you have it to spare, I forgot all about lunch." "It's not that late, but there was a queue a mile long in the living cavern, so I asked the kitchen for a basket of stuff to take over to the barracks. There's plenty here for lunch too, and I'll use whatever's left for snacks over there - someone's always in need of a quick bite!" Ginger crosses the cavern and sets the basket on the stone 'table' in the gap that Evka's cleared for it. She removes the cloth that covers the food before she sits down, revealing that she's brought a goodly collection of meatrolls, pastries, and fruit - edibles that won't go off too quickly, or dry out in the heat. "Nothing to drink, I'm afraid, except what's in my water flask." She stands the leather bottle on the table too, but apparently cups aren't going to feature in this meal - unless Evka has one stashed away somewhere. She waves a finger over the food, indicating each item in turn. "Uh, those are meatrolls, and the half-moon-shaped ones are cheese and vegetable pasties, and I expect you can tell what the sweet ones are." Evka nods and grins. "I do appreciate it, and no worries, I have my own skin to drink from." She'd brought that much at least. SHe snags a meatroll from the basket as Ginger explains what the basket's contents are and then maybe some fruit too. "So how are you Ginger? Besides weary of Weyrlings, that is?" She takes a bite of her meatroll and chews on it while she waits for an answer. "Life treating you well?" "Just weary, mostly. The weyrlings aren't a bad set. Except nobody can sleep in this heat." Ginger settles herself on the unoccupied stone chair. "Which makes everyone a bit fractious, and you know what it's like with a three month old dragon anyway: disturbances at night and half of them were practically sleepwalking this morning. The riders, that is. The dragons thrive on sun. And I'm not much better: my ledge gets plenty of breeze but I can't sleep there, and the weyr's quite hot at night." She considers the food she's brought and circles her hand over the meat rolls before opting for a cheese and veg pasty. Evka snorts in agreement. "You got that right… I'm pretty sure Brayden and I have been playing blanket swapsies for awhile now. One of us gets too hot and throws the blankets back on the other one and so on and so forth… It's been awful with the heat. I can see why it would set people on edge." She muches on her own food for a moment and looks thoughtful. "Maybe we should start giving candidates and weyrlings fans for the heat." Evka knows she's been more than grateful for her hand fan these days. "What, the foldy sort?" Ginger gives an approving nod. "Not sure how you can fan yourself and actually do anything, but it might help when they're just sitting. Though, giving a lecture to dozens of waving fans…." Ginger sounds more doubtful, but brightens. "Maybe we could rig up a huge version for the whole room, and have someone… oh, pull on a rope or something, to operate it. Or something like the wheels the spit-canines use. As long as nobody decided the canine was lunch…. You can never be totally sure they won't at that age." The problems of having a room full of hungry little dragons! "They could use the fans strictly off duty, though. That'd work. Can I put in a request? I mean, I know they've got to learn to function in the heat, but there's plenty of scope for that when they're actually working." Evka kind of giggles at the idea of lecturing a room full of waving fans. "I think that is a perfectly reasonable request and if you can get it to me in writing, I'll bring it up to F'kan at our next meeting. It'd keep the weavers busy for a seven or so, making all those fans, so it'll be good for everyone. I mean… learning how to operate in the heat is one thing, getting heatstroke is quite another." She nibbles on her food some more and jots down a note or two. "I'll get that written this afternoon," Ginger agrees, then nibbles at her pasty, not seeming terribly enthusiastic about it. Perhaps the heat's affecting her appetite. "It's the worst possible timing, actually. They're old enough that they need to be out and doing, and not old enough to fly, which is at least a bit cooler. And more heat still to come. Oh well, they're not the first class to deal with midsummer heat at this stage and they won't be the last. I've got them exercising at dawn at the moment, so they're not actually going to kill themselves at PT, at least." Evka nods. "Good idea, there's a couple of things that I got used to under R'zel that I insisted we keep when F'kan took over and one of those things is dawn drills. It's beeen a life savor during the summer months for sure." Evka is still jotting down some notes, looks like she might have intended to talk to Ginger about the Weyrlings anyhow and is getting the info she needs without even asking anything. Food is set aside for now, because even down here, the heat affects everything, including appetite. "And how is the Senior class of Weyrlings doing?" Evka nods. "Good idea, there's a couple of things that I got used to under R'zel that I insisted we keep when F'kan took over and one of those things is dawn drills. It's beeen a life savor during the summer months for sure." Evka is still jotting down some notes, looks like she might have intended to talk to Ginger about the Weyrlings anyhow and is getting the info she needs without even asking anything. Food is set aside for now, because even down here, the heat affects everything, including appetite. "I'm assuming things are a little easier now that the senior class has been tapped?" Ginger laughs. "It's not so bad in the middle of winter, either, when dawn's after breakfast. It's a shame Thread's not so obliging about when it Falls! Though I suppose, seeing as it's a mindless organism, at least it doesn't always pick the worst time of day either." She's worked her way through most of her pasty, and now picks up her bottle in an attempt to lubricate her throat for the rest. "Yes, it's easier now the seniors have gone. Though B'ric - my latest temporary helper - has gone back to his wing as well. If you spot anyone else on the convalescent list who might give a hand while they're waiting to be fully fit, I can always use another one." "This is true…" Ev says of winter mornings and threadfall. Evka too, takes a drink from her skin and begins packing away her things. She's over the hidework for now, so may as well put it away. "I'll take a look at who we have available and get back to you on that. Not as many injured or healing as usual, which is a good thing!" Don't let the universe think that was a complaint, it wasn't! "I've got to look for assistants in other places as well, so I'll keep it on my to do list." Which only gets longer and longer at this point. "I won't need another actual Assistant unless there's another clutch before these are finished," Ginger says seriously - then grins. "But babysitters are always welcome." She means someone who can help keep an eye on the youngest dragons. "Little dragons do get everywhere." The rest of the pasty vanishes, washed down by another gulp of water. She eyes the sweetrolls, but thinks better of it and picks up an apple. It looks as if it's been in store a while, but she bites into it anyway. "So how's life treating you, other than giving you piles of hidework?" Evka nods. "Noted. I'll keep that in mind." She finishes putting her things away and then getting through her own food, despite not wanting to eat much. "Life is pretty good. Been making some changes, Brayden and I are thinking about trying for a baby." Which STILL sounds odd to Evka, the decision is still new and weird. "How about you? Anything new or different?" She really does hope life is going well for her friend, who she barely sees beyond business these days. "Really? Wow!" Despite her words, Ginger seems only mildly surprised at Evka's news; her tone's if anything somewhat resigned. Perhaps there's a reason for that: "Actually, talking of babies, Ma's due to pop any day. Ready for it, too: she's been confined to bed by the healers these last few sevendays, and she swears this is really going to be the last one. Mind, she said that about Vrondo. And Lanton." She sighs. "And Tolly, come to think of it. But I think she might mean it this time. Don't suppose you're planning to have nine, though, so good luck with that." Evka is listening along, smiling at her freind's mild surprise. She may have been giving off hints that she's ready for motherhood unknowingly. However, once Ginger gets to asking her if she'll have nine, Evka is rather glad she's swallowed her water already, otherwise Ginger might be getting a bath. Her eyes go round as saucers and she shakes her head no with force. "No no no no no no no. I think trying for just the one is our plan, having had one already in this life, the second is the last, if I have much to say about it." And she knows she does. Bless Braydon. He really does understand why one would be it for her, or at least she thinks he does. Ginger laughs at Evka's reaction. "Just as well. When Da was alive, people used to tease Ma and him about trying to fill the Weyr all on their own." She shakes her head, grinning. "And then there's all Da's at Igen. Don't seem to have inherited that particular urge myself. Just as well, maybe! And then I think Ma and Tondo just wanted to have one of each, but the boys are - well, all boys." She eyes the rest of the food. "D'you want anything else, or shall I wrap this up?" Evka shakes her head at the offer of more food. "Go ahead and wrap it up if you like, I think the one roll was enough for me. It's too hot to eat anything too heavy." As for the baby making business… "It's not for everyone. I ceratainly didn't think I was going down this road, but with Brayden, it just seems right." She looks doe eyed for a minute, dreaming, and then she shakes herself out of it. "Anyways. You don't have to go looking to start a family Ginge, but have you ever considered dating? I never see you with anyone…" And it makes Evka want to set her friend up. Ginger frowns at the nickname, but Evka's a good enough friend that she gets some leeway so she says nothing. Instead, she shrugs at the dating question, though Evka's entirely correct in her observation. "Not my thing, I guess. Never really been interested in it. Last person who wanted to date, it spoiled a perfectly good friendship, and we're not really back to normal even now." She sounds as if she regrets that. After a moment's pause, she starts returning those food items that are on the table to the basket. Evka nods. "Ah. I get that. No judgement." And Evka notes that frown, she's not generally one to use too many nicknames, maybe she'll continue that practice. "As for the friendships thing, I get that too, though maybe not from the same view." A relationship had nearly nuked one of her friendships, and she hadn't even been dating the person! She finishes packing up her own things and happens to look at the candle she'd brought to mark the time. "Oh geez. I've completely lost track of the day. I have an afternoon meeting I need to get to. We should do lunch sometime, eh? I'm missing my friends these days, too much time behind a desk." "I know how that goes," Ginger says with feeling. "We definitely should. And I need to get back, too: they don't have class for a bit, but I need to set up for it. And I'll do that request for fans." She folds the cloth over the baked goods and fruit in the basket. "No rest for the wicked, as Ma would say. See you soon, anyway. Clear skies!" And with that she heads back into the tunnels, taking the sun-free route back to the Weyr and her afternoon's work. Hiding from the Heat has 0 comments. |
Evka and Ginger both have baby-related news, though of rather different kinds. |
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Summer Eve at the Docks Summer Eve at the Docks
![]() ![]() Docks In dark morn and dusky eve fog lies grim and humid against the still waters of Azov Sea. Only the noontime sun burns away the concealing clouds of man's height, revealing that which lies beneath the mist- an awe-inspiring stone pier that stretches far into the inland sea, to the east of the line of orderly boat-slips for the locals and larger, open spaces for transport ships. Fishermen are often as common as seagulls upon the pier's length in particular, ill-concealed and ill-clothed in the loose dun homespun of Southern's natives. V’len’s early morning run, a tradition since he’d arrived at Southern Weyr, is sometimes thwarted. Sometimes an early-morning Threadfall, or a meeting, and once a greenflight will keep him from his beloved habit. Today, the reason had been an Ocelot wingmate who had been severely wounded in a Fall; the entire Wing was taking turns sitting with the brownrider in a show of solidarity. Their dragons had, likewise, companioned the severely-scored brown dragon who even now fought for life. V’len had been so emotionally exhausted by the end of his early-morning turn, and so overwhelmed by the scent of antiseptic and redwort, that he’d opted for a swim, rather than a run. The ocean had cooled him, but not pressed him to the heart-pounding exhilaration that a fast run usually does. So V’len had eaten a light dinner, fending off R’mi’s attempts to get him to eat more, and had had Yaath drop him off at the far end of the beach, around dusk. He’d run…And run…And run, until he’d finally reached the docks - his personal ‘finish line’. He’d forced himself into a surge up the last set of stairs and then paced the planks, listening to the hollow sound of his boots on the wood, as he’d walked himself cool. Now he leans over the railing in casual hamstring-stretching pose, peering into the black depths of the ocean, and watching the water’s waves dance with the twin moon’s beams, deflecting the light right back in twinkling denial of revealing its depths. Almost as far along the pier as one can get, there’s a spot that’s currently free from moored vessels. Earlier in the day it was exposed to the burning sun and unbearably hot; now, the stone still holds some heat and the night is warm and humid, but there’s enough breeze from the land to make being here tolerable. Seated on the edge of the pier, with sandalled feet dangling, a girl in her mid-teens is sitting. She’s playing a pipe, whose quiet notes are spilling out in bursts rather than in one continuous stream. A phrase is played, then repeated several times, varied by slight adjustments, so that over time it transmutes into something quite different from the original notes, and what might have been part of a sprightly dance is now something altogether gentler. The young piper seems quite wrapped up in what she’s doing. It’s perhaps not surprising that she is wearing the knot of a harper apprentice on one shoulder; the other bears a tiny green firelizard, clearly very young but sitting upright as if listening intently. Not one of V’len’s lizards is present. They are sweeping the beaches, where the foaming surf combs the sand smooth, for evidence of spiderclaw burrows, and making a game out of the hunt, given that they are already well-fed and sleek. But a few other firelizards flit over to where the Harper youth plays, and their gradual migration attracts V’len’s attention. He watches, from where he alternately stretches each leg out, now adding in deep knee bends, with one hand on the railing to ensure that he does not accidentally tip over into the walkway of the dock. The young man’s dark regard tracks the two, then three, then six lizards who array themselves along a nearby railing. A blue, in particular, seems enthralled and he holds his wings half out, quivering them slightly as his protective lids slowly ease over the curve of his tiny eyes. V’len, intrigued by the blue’s behavior rises and pads a bit nearer, but not too near - just to where he can better see the lizards who watch the girl. Nor does he interrupt her. Only when she comes to a natural pause in her playing, will V’len clear his throat and mention, in light tone, “You could make a pretty penny, calming the lizards. For anyone who has a raucous fair.” Gilane lowers her pipe and looks to see where the voice is coming from, smiling as she notices the row of listening lizards. As she turns, her gaze settles on V’len. “I’ve heard tales that they’ll sing, but I’ve never heard them do it. Wouldn’t that be a thing to hear, though? Maybe Nettle will learn to do it. She’s been listening to music since the day she hatched, after all.” Which really can’t be very many days ago, from her size. The girl takes another look at the lizards on the rail, made more visible by their gleaming eyes. “Are some of those yours?” Speculation takes her further, and she asks in wonder, “All of them?” Nettle lets out a squeak of protest - her private recital has stopped - but then becomes interested in the older firelizards, and launches herself from Gilane’s shoulder and glides across to join them on the rails. “They do say that dragons like music too, but I’ve never heard of one singing. I suppose they haven’t got the voices for it.” “No, no. None of those is mine. Mine are out by the beach right now, hunting.” V’len grins. “I suspect these belong to the fishermen here, and have already eaten their fill. Must be a good life, being the firelizard of a fishmonger.” But he thinks about the girl’s other words for a moment, his regard settling on the little green lizard. “I suspect,” he drawls quietly, “That lizards, who do not usually chew firestone, might have a better shot at singing. But dragon throats are designed for firestone and flaming, and though they can make a considerable number of different noises - from humming to roaring - I am not sure that any of those would constitute ‘singing’ to our ears. But perhaps the humming is to them, singing. They hum when the new ones hatch, so perhaps are singing the hatchlings a welcome into the world. Firelizards do that as well. But I think that the lizards really have more vocalization skills: They hum, they trill, they chirp, they squawk, hiss and can screech when they are hurt. Kind of a shrieky noise.” HE realizes that there are probably specific Harperish vocabulary words that would describe the different variations of racket that lizards can emit, but has never paid attention. “What do you think?” His regard turns back to the girl, seeming to be interested in her opinion. V’len is clad in clothes best used for running: a shirt that appears to have been run through the wash a few too many times, and is a little threadworn, and britches that come to his knees only. He has ‘well-loved’ boots on,proof against the rocky shore that would cut up unwary bare feet too easily. Besides, he is a proponent of ‘practice how you perform’, and he does not help out in rescues, as a rule, barefoot. “V’len, rider to Yaath.” V’len flashes a quick smile with his introduction. “We’re in Ocelot wing. That is the one who flies higher tier and does Search and Rescue, sometimes. R’zel is our wingleader and we have one dragonhealer in the wing.” Those seem the salient points to V’len, and they are trotted out like someone else might recite a family lineage. “Yaath clutched a couple hatchings ago, so we’re still a bit new at the game, compared to some.” And still alive, compared to some. He grins again, to deflect the conversation away from himself and back to the girl: “How long have you been with the Harpers? And are you from around here? Blackrock?” Gilane gives conventional nods of encouragement as V’len talks about his wing - even if she’s known some of it for longer than he has. His own history is far more interesting to her, and her eyes brighten with curiosity. “Oh, right; was that Theidith’s clutch, or Zymuraith’s? I didn’t see Zymuraith’s Hatch; I didn’t get back from the Harper Hall until after Wrayth’s latest, in fact. What colour's your Yaath? And how long have you been in your Wing? Your wingleader's not a bad gitarist, did you know that?" But there are questions for her, too. “I’ve been a harper for more than two turns, but I’m from here - Southern Weyr born and raised. We're one of those complicated Weyr families. And I was training here, too, only they sent me away to the main Hall at Fort for one turn." Her tone suggests that this was not entirely pleasing to her. "But now I'm back where I belong, so that's all right." There's a flutter of wings as the blue that Nettle's trying to cuddle up to loses patience with the hatchling and takes off. “Uh, Theidith and Nokteryth. The one with all the bronzes,” V’len grins. “Yaath is one of the bronzes. My brother also Impressed bronze. We were very lucky to both Impress.” His grin of pleasure is genuine and bright. R’mi Impressed Cuth, and they’re training to be dragonhealers, which is perfect for them. Yaath is a middle-sized bronze, so we’re working to get better at the Rescue part of ‘Search and Rescue’. But he does shake his head, “No, I don’t…Really socialize much with the wing like I should. But alot of them tend to drink and …Ah…I really don’t have much experience and I’m still too new at things to have much time and I have intended to do that kind of thing, but as a younger wing member, I’m always first to be scheduled for sweeps on off days and early mornings, which we don’t mind at all, but …I don’t want to be compromised when doing anything associated with our job…Right? So I haven’t gotten to hear R’zel play a guitar or anything.” Mild discomfort comes through as V’len tries to uphold is part of the conversation, “There really are some complicated families here! For us, it’s just three of us still living - me and my two brothers. So that’s easy. But I am always afraid that I’m going to irritate someone related to someone important and that’ll come down on me.” He grins again. “This dragonriding business is a great profession and I don’t want to blow it. It seems to come natural for a lot of folks, but I’m not sure if it’s because we’re cothold bred or what, but I am always second-guessing myself.” THEN V’len tries to shift the conversation topic over, though his gaze follows the little blue lizard who fled, “What part of Harpering are you liking so far? What are you thinking of specializing in, or is that too early to tell?” He does not ask about her family ties, because she is no doubt related to some lineage who - hell, founded the whole Weyr or something. Ignorance is bliss. "You don't like drinking? You should try the Treble Clef. Lots of music and no alcohol." There's distinct amusement on Gilane's face, especially when V'len mentions his fear of offending someone with important connections - perhaps he was right to be wary! Anyway, she's not going to allow him to remain in blissful ignorance. "You're not wrong about complicated families. My Ma has eight of us and another on the way, though we don't all have the same father, and our - my - father-by-blood had other children, though they're at Igen rather than here, because he and Ma came from there when this Weyr was founded. And you might know some of my family, if your Yaath was from that clutch, because that's the class Sevi and R'nev were in, with Danyth and Gavoth. My sister and brother. From what I hear, that class had a lot of siblings as well as a lot of bronzes. Sevi said there were some twins: harpers, though I didn't know them." She doesn't add another name that's also likely to be familiar, though she does wait expectantly for a moment or two to see if V'len does in fact know her blueriding siblings, and whether he's picked up what must have been common knowledge about them - that they were the younger brother and sister of Weyrlingmaster Ginger. "I'd stopped Standing by then. I did, a couple of times, but I think the little ones can tell when your heart isn't really in it, and I always wanted to be a harper, from when I was knee-high to a trundlebug. It's the music I love - I hope they're going to let me specialise in composition, but it might be instruments or vocals. And three of us being riders is probably enough for any family, though the younger ones aren't old enough to Stand yet, so I suppose there could be more to come." Even though many eggs hatched into many dragonets, the Weyrling class still knew each other, possibly (in some cases) far better than they ever wanted to, by the end of their time together as Weyrlings. So V’len grins over at the young Harper, “Sevi and R’nev, yeah? I always thought they were ‘naturals’ and their blues are amazing.” Blue being V’len’s second favorite color of dragon, behind bronze, he is sincere in that compliment. But he falls silent again by the time that Gilane starts speaking again. “I think I’ve heard of harpers that rode dragons, but mostly during Pass, which makes sense. I really don’t know how some of these riders are able to care for their children and their dragons and be in fighting wings. They are really impressive and I wonder when they sleep. I also think,” he confides, “That our army of Aunties and Uncles are amazing beyond words.” He punctuates that with another quick grin and an appreciative shake of his head. “So does ‘composition’ mean making the tunes, or composing songs?” A small green lizard - adult, but just on the smaller side, pops out of *between*, circles around V’len in a flutter of wings, then slips *between* again. V’len lifts a hand and points out a finger as he drops the hand, lifts and pops another finger out, and on the third lift-and-drop, a small fair of lizards pops in: Gold, bronze, blue and the original green, who takes the proprietary place on V’len’s shoulder: She found him. "We learn - oh, calm down, Nettle!" The arrival of V'len's fair has set the little green into a flap - literally - and the rest of the firelizards perching with her take off in a flurry of wings and creeling protests. Gilane holds out her hand, and the young green hops onto it and allows herself to be settled on her human's shoulder, where she lets out several enquring chirps. Gilane ignores her and tries to answer V'len over the din. "We learn how to do all of it, but some people prefer to do the music for songs without the lyrics - I mean, they might set a poem that already existed to music, or something someone else has written. And some music is purely instrumental, of course. That's what I like best, I think. It's like… painting pictures with the notes. And then, there are harpers who aren't composers as such, but do write lyrics. But we all learn a bit of everything, because you never know what you'll have to do if you're posted somewhere and you're the only harper for miles." A particularly insistent chirp has her raising her hand to her ear and telling Nettle, "Hush!" She looks despairingly at V'len. "How do you manage with four? I can't seem to keep one quiet." “I have a dragon and he helps a lot with the lizards.” V’len admits with a smile. “Ask your siblings to ask their dragons to help, if you’re not making yourself clear, maybe. But Yaath doesn’t take to too much racket, and he’ll shut them right down if he’s in a mood. I think he uses them to… Go hunting sometimes. Sometimes I wonder if they are more his lizards or mine. And my brother is very good at training animals of all sorts. If we’d have had the marks to send him to apprentice, I’m sure we’d have sent him to Beastcraft, to become an animal healer. He will make an amazing DragonHealer.” V’len’s pride is as fervent as if he were R’mi’s parent, rather than big brother. He does not to Gilane’s explanation. “My father was a Harper, sent out to journey through the jungles of Southern. We had a loose community of cotholds and he settled in to be the Harper there, and met my mother. The older I get, the more I appreciate that he was able to do. A Harper assigned to a small area really has to know much more … General skills, than someone who specializes in one or two parts of Harpering. I think.” V’len adds, evidently willing to be corrected by the actual Harper. Gilane nods emphatically. “That’s right. Not much chance to be a specialist unless you’re at the Harper Hall or somewhere else big, like this. Smaller places can’t make good use of them, usually - maybe if it’s education, but not composing. Or even instrumental music - people want to sing along. And who can blame them, to be sure! But if your father was a harper, you’ll know all about how that works.” She turns curious eyes on V’len’s fair of lizards. “I hope Nettle will learn to catch her own dinner, but I think I’d rather she left it at that. Anyway, I’ll never have a dragon for her to hunt with. My sister’s got a couple of firelizards, but I don’t know if Shokravanth helps her with them. Maybe he does: one of them was really noisy at first, but she isn’t now. Maybe I should ask, if I can keep her in the same place for long enough.” The sister rather than the lizard, presumably. Gilane looks up to the sky. “Ah, the mist’s coming in. I’m not finding inspiration here, anyway.” She tucks her small pipe into her belt pouch. “Well then,” V’len straightens, “It was lovely meeting you, Harper Apprentice Gilane.” His grin is quick and maybe a little lopsided, though he reaches to draw fingers over the hide of the green on his shoulder, absently. “Perhaps we will see you - or hear you - around sometime.” Then he thinks, “Also, if you really struggle with your Nettle, look up R’mi. He’s really really good with animals of all sorts. He’s the reason I got my first lizard at all. He found a wild hatching and he impressed two browns, and I only got one lizard, by accident I think.” V’len chuckles. “Though maybe I was luckier, because he had to figure out how to take care of two of them, while I only had the one to deal with. But he knows a lot about how to train things. Anyway.” V’len realizes he might rightly accused of babbling, and he steps back smartly and waves, “Good luck!” “Maybe I’ll do that. Or perhaps the pipe will work its wonders! But it’s early days yet: she’s only little.” Nettle is indeed very young: she can’t have been hatched more than a couple of sevendays, if that. Gilane also takes a step backwards, taking care not to go over the edge of the pier. “It was good to meet you, too, bronzerider. Perhaps I’ll play for you sometime! But I should be getting back now before it’s any darker. Clear skies to you and yours.” With that and a bright smile, she turns away and heads along the dock, prior to making the trek back to the Weyr. Summer Eve at the Docks has 0 comments. |
Two young folks run into each other on the dock and conversation ranges from occupations to relatives to firelizard management. |
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The Winter of Brotherly Love The Winter of Brotherly Love
![]() ![]() “Dead. My dad’s dead.” ![]() Central Bowl Cradled childlike in an easterly mountainous embrace, the steppes of the central bowl nestle cozily between lake and weyr. The latticework of dusty adobe paths spider out from the southerly Weyr Road, wagon-ruts of which curve lazily to the adobe sprawl of the northeastern bazaar. A small footpath, just as abused, ambles away from the lake's shore, travelling over rock and hill to the northern dragonet complex and branching itself due west to end at the entrance of the blessedly cool inner caverns. The abandoned caverns of Igen-that-was lie at the end of one disused tracking. All around, the dizzying heights of the caldera's sharp-sloped sides are pocked here and there with ledges, the weyrs' draconic occupants needing no path to guide their way. It’s freaking freezing in Igen, and yet, there stands Sofia, outside in the bowl, very obviously waiting for someone, what with the way her arms are crossed, though that may be for warmth, and her eyes aimed skywards, as if willing someone out of them. There are very few people that she’s willing to put up with the cold of Igen’s afternoons for, and so whoever she’s waiting for, they must be special and they must be worth it. Puffs of breath are seen from time to time as she sighs, lips pursing together as part of her whole attitude of unamusedness (that’s a word, right?). Regardless, there Sofia stands, bouncing her knees to keep at least some warmth coursing through her body as she waits. And waits. And waits. From the incredible heat and humidity of Southern to the freezing temperatures of Igen is quite the shock to the system, especially with *between* in there for good measure, but the twilight blue Vindryth handles it with ease, appearing high above the weyr and beginning the slow circle downwards. Perched upon his neck, bundled up in his riding furs, is L’denn (of course, who else would it be?) The little blue backwings to land a length away from Sofia, mindful of his wingbeats and the wind it kicks up, and not wanting to freeze Sofia any more than she already is. Unbuckling, L’denn dismounts and lifts his goggles and removes his helmet, smiling warmly at his young half-sister. “Shards and shells it’s cold!” he laments, rubbing Vindryth’s shoulder before walking forward. Dark eyes that are so much like their mothers may just roll ever so slightly at his announcement of the temperature, like yeah no duh, but that really doesn’t need to be said, now does it? She’s only been waiting for him out in it for like forever. Once he’s on the ground, Sofia wastes no time in unfolding her arms and walking towards him, her expression shifting to annoyance to its usual smoothness, a grin lifting up the corners of her mouth just so, not wanting to give away just how excited she is at her half-brother’s visit. “Took you long enough,” is Sofia’s greeting for him before pressing up on the tips of her toes to place a kiss against his cheek. “Did you bring your bikini or do you want to go get some klah?” That grin turns more into a smirk, feeling proud of her sass, and without waiting for his answer, Sofia starts leading them towards the Living Caverns. L’denn blanches a bit, looking down at himself. “No bikini,” he mutters with a half smile, though the very idea is amusing. He quickly follows after a parting nod to his blue. With a happy chrrr, Vindryth pushes into the sky and finds a sunny spot to rest, sheltered from the breeze, until his rider is ready to go somewhere else. The blue is content wherever he is. Down below, L’denn’s long strides catch up with Sofia and he tries to ruffle her hair. “How’s it going, little sis?” There’s an immediate elbow shot to L’denn as Sofia reaches up to smooth out her hair. “Stop it,” she snaps, but there’s no bark in her bite whatsoever, and as a matter of fact, she’s got a big smile on her face as she puts her hair back into place. Whatever place she had it in in the first place. Soon enough, she smothers the smile, clearing her throat before she speaks. “Oh, you know. Livin’ the dream.” But just what the dream is, she doesn’t say. “You? Aside from off being a big, bad dragonrider, of course.” Once inside the Living Cavern, Sofia quickly shrugs out of all of her winter accoutrements, dropping them on a table as they walk by it on their way to klah. L’denn grins and lets his arm drop after the hair ruffle, giving her her space as he follows. “What dream is that?” he teases. “Me?” he asks with a low laugh. “Just working. Not much special.” Thread is routine now? “Saving Pern and all that.” He too shrugs out of his outerwear and follows along after her, eyes scanning the room with a gentle smile curving his lips. “Wouldn’t call us big or bad though. Can’t last a whole Fall but Vin is one of the fastest of the Wing.” Gentle pride colors his words. “Oooooh,” comes out of Sofia as she glances back at her brother, waggling her eyebrows. “Remind me to give my regards to Vindryth when I see him again.” Ever a lady, she pours out a mug for herself and then one for L’denn, handing it to him so he can doctor it how he likes it. She definitely needs some sweetener in hers. Not quite “adult” enough yet to drink it black. Or maybe she just hasn’t burned off all of her tastebuds yet. Whatever the case, Sofia stirs it all together before bringing her mug back with her to the table where they dropped their stuff. “Yeah, life here has been pretty boring as of late. Nothing really new to report there.” There’s a lazy shrug for that news, Sofia hasn’t gotten into nearly half of the trouble their mother did by the time she was her age, and let’s all thank Faranth for that. After all, by nineteen, Linny had had Roslin, and there’s no way Sofia is ready for a kid. Or a family. Or a boyfriend. Not that anyone is asking or interested. “How’s your dad?” she asks once she’s finally sitting down, carefully lifting the mug to her lips after her question to blow on it. L’denn could comfortably be called a “grown up” and he still can’t take his klah black. Sweetener and some cinnamon are added to his. “He’ll appreciate the praise,” L’denn says genuinely. “He laps up attention like a starving man at a feast, despite all I give him.” He sits at the table, again looking around the cavern and taking in the sights. “Hmm? D’ren?” He looks a little surprised she’d ask. “He’s alright. I think he’s happy being back at High Reaches.” Then, since she asked, he figures he should return the favor. “How’s your dad?” Mental note made: compliment the crap out of the blue. Got it. Sofia nods gently along with his words, taking a testing sip of her klah when he asks his question, and he’s lucky that she’s able to keep it in her mouth and not spray it all over him. She chokes a little bit as she hurries to swallow, coughing and laughing at the same time. “Dead. My dad’s dead.” But this sort of thing happens all of the time around the Weyr, with people who don’t know her parentage and so she’s used to it, giving her brother a teasing smirk before going back in on her klah. “Probably should’ve come to you this time, huh? Then we really could have brought our bikinis.” Not necessarily such a good time visiting Igen in the winter, nope. But with Sofia slightly terrified (read: petrified) of going between, and L’denn having a dragon, well, him coming to her always makes the most sense. L’denn looks horrified at that slip of his memory, shaking his head rapidly. “Shit, I’m sorry. I knew that.” Of course he did. “Well, I’m not one to brag but…it’s a lot warmer right now at Southern.” Too warm, really. “You’d enjoy it more. If you’d just let me…” Take her between. He trails off though, knowing that’s a dead-end conversation and really not wanting to push her about it. “I’ll think about it,” is Sofia’s standard, go to answer when it comes to his offer, giving him the same little smile she always does. But this time, well, it feels like there’s more to it, and so she adds more. “Sometimes I do…think about it. Coming to Southern. Moving to Southern. To be closer to you and Roslin, but….” She trails off with a sigh, looking down at her mug of klah that her hands are currently wrapped around, as if the answer is in there somewhere. Another sigh for good measure and then she picks back up where she left off. “But it feels wrong to leave. Something about it just…” But this is where Sofia lacks the right words, and she seems to end it there with a shrug. Then, as it usually does when the two of them get together, she is brought into the conversation. “Did mom like it here?” Sofia asks in a softer, more somber tone, flicking Linny-eyes over to her half-brother. L’denn tilts his head a bit, listening attentively as she tries to work out her feelings. “But…?” he prompts gently. “What keeps you here?” His eyes flick around again, lips tightening lightly. He would certainly never live here. He’s not quite sure why anyone would live here, to be frank. “I don’t know, L’denn….” But she does; that’s just said as a placeholder as Sofia mulls over her feelings to try to put them into actual words. It’s hard when making decisions solely based on emotions to try to describe why you are doing things to someone else. Lips purse and move from side to side for a few seconds before there’s yet another sigh. “This is where they were.” They, of course, being Linny and F’dan. “This is where they worked and fought and…lived.” Things should be starting to look a little clearer, and Sofia shoots her brother an almost apologetic, sheepish look. It’s embarrassing to be caught up in the past. “”I guess I just…don’t want to leave them.” With Sofia only being a few Turns old, and with few memories of her mother, and even fewer of her father, being where they chose to serve is her only link to them. L’denn looks around and then looks into his klah cup, measuring his words and tone carefully. “But…they’re not here anymore,” he says gently. “So why stay somewhere you don’t like? You’re just chasing shadows, Sofi.” She’s not expecting him to understand, but there’s still a somber shake of her head as she looks back down at her mug. “You don’t get it. You still have your dad, and you had mom for many Turns. You got to know her, all the good, all the bad. You knew her.” With an exasperated sound, Sofia throws herself back into her chair, folding arms over her chest. “It’s not easy, you know. Not knowing your parents. Only knowing them through stories. Only remembering glimpses of them.” Could that potentially be a tear forming in one of her eyes? No, surely not. Sofia’s quick to sit back up straight, waving a hand to dismiss everything. She’s not one for a showing of emotions: it’s a weakness, and she doesn’t want to be weak. “I’ll think about coming to Southern next time, deal?” L’denn isn’t going to let her off the hook that easily, though his tone is still gentle and soft. Big brother-esque. “Knew her…a bit I guess,” he admits with a shrug. “She was tough to know. As for D’ren…” There’s another shrug, and then a headshake. “Doesn’t matter, it’s not a competition. Listen, Sofia, languishing here just because they were here - were - means you’re not living your own life. You’re going to have to grieve and let them go.” Harsh, perhaps, but L’denn had to let Linny go. He knows. The problem with siblings, family in general for that matter, is that they always seem to know when to call you out on your stuff. Sofia knows this. It doesn’t mean she has to like it, but she at least acknowledges that he’s right in a very teenagery way: with a shrug. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m meant to fulfill whatever they were meant to do here.” With her klah considerably cooler than it was, she indulges in a few longer sips before attention goes back to her brother. “And maybe, in some messed up way, I do like it here. It’s the only home I’ve ever known. For all that the weather sucks, it is home.” Lips curl into a crooked smile directed to him before hands raise to push her hair back out of her face with a sound of annoyance. “You should’ve brought your bikini.” So that they wouldn’t have to talk about all of this. For being a girl, Sofia doesn’t like being so in touch with her feelings. L’denn shakes his head. “Sofi, you are your own person. They didn’t leave any unfinished business that you now need to take up.” Then he straightens, content that he’s said what he needs to say. “If you like it here, then stay, that’s different,” he teases. “So what are your plans?” “Plans for today or plans for my life?” Because those are two very different questions, but, in typical Sofia fashion, both questions can be answered with a shrug and with generally the same answer. “I don’t know.” Another very teenagery answer. So much teenager out of this one today. But because he’s big brother, and therefore his opinion matters, she opts to consult him. “What do you think I should do?” Today and in life. L’denn chuckles. “Plans for life. Or at least the next step, since…” he gestures, “you hardly seem passionate about whatever you’re doing right now.” Then he looks surprised. “What do /I/ think? I have no idea, Sofi. What do you like?” He doesn’t know her /that/ well. Hands scrub at her face lightly. This must be what it’s like to have a father. And it’s actually refreshing. One could almost call it nice. But Sofia can’t let him see that. Instead, she acts annoyed with his answer and line of questioning, if only because it makes her think and thinking is bad. “I don’t know. I like being useful. Helpful. I don’t know.” Deja vu. “I guess I’ll have to go talk to someone about it. What to do. Maybe someone needs some help around here, like an assistant of some kind.” One thing is for sure, she’s too late to get in on a craft, but there was nothing that really excited her anyway. L’denn nods. “I could see you being a good assistant. You’re good at helping out and doing what needs to be done. Know anyone in any position of power that might need help with something like that?” Time to get the resume updated, right? The theme of today: shrugging. It happens again, and it will likely keep happening. “I can ask around.” She can, but will she? Hard to say. But the spotlight being on her for so long has gotten too hot, and so Sofia throws back the rest of her klah before putting palms on the table, ready to push herself to stand. “How about we go give that dragon of yours the love and attention that he so desperately needs, huh?” Time to go back out and brave the winter if only to stop talking about herself. L’denn drains the rest of his klah and stands with a laugh, grabbing his jacket, scarf, and goggles. “Sure, if you’d like to,” he agrees without protest. Returning his mug, he bundles up before following her out into the stinging cold once more. The Winter of Brotherly Love has 0 comments. |
L'denn braves the cold of Igen to visit his little (half) sis and give her a strong dose of reality. Sofia repays him with teenage angst and attitude. |
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Intersections (Vig) Intersections (Vig)
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Various Locations Somewhere above and ground level in depths of Igen's Bazaar… Wintery nights are better spent indoors, but restlessness spurs one to seek out the rooftops. Divale prowls among the familiar heights until she comes upon a preferred vantage point. Settled in shadow, her one hand holds an old family 'token', worn from countless Turns of use woven between fingers. Here she allows her mind to numbly reflect on recent pasts and current days, compounded by the knot she wears. One that isn't currently present on her shoulder but the ghost of its absence is enough. It's not the weight of it that nags but how it doesn't sit so heavily when pinned there. She tries to feel something at this revelation — disturbed, unsettled, anything — but yields nothing. Neither can she explain why, in a proverbial sense, this raises her hackles. Her thoughts are interrupted by voices below, argumentative in that not-quite hushed way. She lingers, waiting to see if they move on, but when one voice begins to rise, decides to seek elsewhere to brood … "Don't look at me like that!" His exasperated voice, to his enjoyment and growing dismay, echoes abrasively against the narrow alley walls. Threat and warning, both, to the one holding their ground against him. I'dre's daggered glare is for them too and not the shadow drifting away above and unnoticed. A string of bad injuries and a recent loss crowd his mind. Preventable? It doesn't matter. He's past his limit, feels the tension and the tenebrous thread of patience that figure barring him holds. It infuriates him and worries him. He feels sick, uncomfortable in his skin and desires only to sink to his vices — but they won't let him. I'dre loves them and hates them for it. He wants to spit venom, to lash out and let fists and poor choices solve what he can't articulate. Instead, he breaks (again and again), allowing them to approach at last and guide him away… Va'os is humming brokenly under his breath, detouring around what he assumes is a lover's tiff. He's gone on the hunt for something or someone (preferably both) to shake off this sense of disconnect. Anything to take his mind off the rotten luck and pure happenstance that fell into his lap. Could be fate just playing a huge cruel trick on him too! Catching that glimpse of ghosts from the past. As beautiful as ever, but it was the youth with them and the jarring sense of looking into a mirror as his heart sank. Then the bitterness that coated his tongue, when another joined them — it should've been him standing there with them too! Instead he took the fall. Va'os tried to convince himself it was for the best. It doesn't stop the sting of a betrayal never quite healed. Even if none involved were truly guilty. He has to convince himself all over again that that part of his life is nothing but ash and dust. His life is here, as Va'os. He just needs to find his stride again, that's all. Intersections (Vig) has 0 comments. |
Three random people briefly intersect and unknowingly pass one another. Vignette snippet compilation of Divale, I'dre and Va'os~ |
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