Il'ian, Diem


Il'ian and Diem explore one of Igen's sparkly caves.


It is midmorning of the fourth day of the third month of the seventh turn of the 12th pass.


Crystal Cave, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 19 Feb 2016 05:00


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"Guess, I'd go with… blue?"


Crystal Cave

Caution is key when venturing into this fragile chamber. Each and every flicker of light, no matter how great or small, reflects dimly from the myriad long crystals that stretch their faceted fingers out from the rounded cavern walls. Ranging in hue from deep purple to pearly rose, these thousands of glinting stems spring from every inch of the walls of this medium-sized cave, lining them like one giant geode. The only plain stretch of stone to be found is the floor, coated in a fine layer of sparkling dust. While the crystals are firmly set, one good bump could send a spar or two of the precious growths tinkling to the floor.

Maybe he's not an overtly emotional man, but Il'ian does enjoy experiencing the world around him: even if it never shows in his demeanor. Thus, the bronzerider has escaped the pleasantly sunny spring day and traversed the inner confines of the intricate cave system. Perhaps, it is a day of rest for Sargaeroth's rider, though the fel-tained bronze lurks on the edges, nearest to the entrance of the cave with ill-intent, something malevolent and monstrous about his fel-colored glory. Il'ian's hand presses against the edge of rock that frames this fragile cave, coming to rest in a place of shimmering extravagance. In the corner of his mouth, a toothpick lies, limp and dragged down, as the man takes in his surroundings. A grunt escapes - a sort of 'huh' - and he steps forward, carefully. Dressed casually in dark trousers and a creamy-beige colored shirt, Il'ian is more than prepared for this day of spelunking adventure.

Outside, storm clouds loom upon the very edge of Igen's horizon, but Zsaviranth minds not as she basks in the sunlight with a few other dragons. An opening amongst a structure of weathered boulders is the beginning of a cave system that remains largely unexplored, save for a few areas that are not too difficult to find. After a short trek through pools of water and chunky paths of rock and slate, a small group of dragonriders and gemsmiths are making their way through a crystal cave and into another just beyond to retrieve samples of some luminous stones. Diem, however, is lingering amongst the purple points as she is sharing what she sees with her lifemate. "Oh, these are lovely." A single glow held in her left hand is lifted to the crystalline wall for a better look. "Wouldn't you say?" She could be having an audible conversation with her dragon, or she could be addressing the one person in the cave with her.

At first, it seems as if Il'ian isn't going to answer - surely, the newsest transfer goldrider isn't talking to him - but then realization settles in like a gust of wind. "Uh." The toothpick bobs as he carefully considers his response, "Yeah." He looks around, a hint of mild surprise held in the tropical blue of his eyes, "It is. Y'ever think - wonder how it was made?" A question posed after a moment's silence, and it breaks the cathedral-like hush that comes from such awe-inspiring formations. "Like, how this happened." His hand comes to rest on the a just of crystal the color of a sunset sky: magenta hue'd in touches of bruising purple. He sneaks a look at the goldrider, though his expression is as enigmatic as an old man in the sea's would be.

"Yes, they are miracles. Little works of art that blanket this entire wall." Diem says as she lifts the glow in her hand even higher. "Can you see the different colors?" Her free hand motions Il'ian closer and then her index finger points to a clear point with rainbow inclusions stretching along its smooth surface. "It's opalescent, yet glass-like. I wonder if the glass smiths could replicate this into a window for the council chamber…" So when the natural light shines into the room little rainbows sprinkle onto the walls and table top. The goldrider grins at the thought and then takes a small step further down to inspect another section of the wall.

Hesitation limns Il'ian's movements, but he does, actually, move closer to the goldrider to see what she's indicating. "Huh." He shoots her a look and then reaches out to touch the iridescent-hued crystal. "Maybe…" But the bronzerider knows nothing of glass-smithing, and it shows in the stark pensiveness of his features. That toothpick rolls across his lower lip to settle into the other corner of his mouth, so that as Diem moves on, he uses his other hand to try and knock off a sliver. The main jut, itself, is firmly adhered, but he does manage to get a small piece from the base for his efforts. "Here," he holds out his hand after catching up to her, "give 'em this." What is it? It's an example!

Diem is very much focused on the crystalline wall that it takes her a moment to realize that Il'ian is handing her a sample of the point they were just admiring. "Ohhh. Thank you!" A smile curves her lips and she steps closer to collect the small point, lifting it for emphasis after she speaks. "I'll have an entire satchel full of these if I'm not careful. Zsaviranth insists that I bring her back one of everything." Hopefully she didn't mean one in every color — Diem would have to take two dragon loads out of here! "There are some even smaller points over there." Il'ian's crystal isn't slipped into the satchel yet, but held in her hand as she very carefully steps over to another section of the wall. "Do you have a favorite color, Il'ian?" See? She remembers this bronzerider's name.

Il'ian looks a little uncomfortable, but that's only because he's under Diem's scrutiny - he is not the best at social interactions, see. "'Welcome." Yet his smile is endearingly boyish despite his serious mien. "That's when you use your weyrwoman-y powers and have people haul out your treasures." The deadpan delivery is possibly mistaken as a serious response, yet if one is astute, the glint of humor is the hint of the man's underlying tease that lies within. "I don't know." For a moment, Il'ian looks truly perplexed. "Never thought about it." A quick look around the cave has the man's brows furrowing inward. "Grew up with browns and more browns in the bazaar, outside of the stuff they sell." Igen is very sand-colored, see. "Guess, I'd go with… blue?" Even he seems hesitant about this choice, as if committment rests on unstable ground. "Or green… purple… Sargaeroth colors. Those are my favorite." That is a safe response before he turns the tide of conversation back to Diem with, "What's your favorite color?"

"Blue?" Diem sounds surprised while noting Il'ian's hesitation on the matter. Hazel eyes regard the bronzerider only briefly and flick back to the wall when his discomfort is sensed. She can read body language very well, though the glint of humor might be felt more than seen in the dimly lit area. Zsaviranth assists with reading this bronzerider while sending wisps of smoky sage along the very edges of Sargaeroth's mindscape, to which Diem simply nods. "Ah, yes. Purple, lovely color. I was thinking that you're a periwinkle gent." A small, thin crystal point no bigger than her pinky finger is plucked from the wall and lifted for a closer look. Its surface is an iridescent purple, a lighter shade that glints a darker hue when the glowlight casts over it just so. "This would make a lovely pendant… should you wish to make it into one." Her hand extends to the bronzerider with the point upon her palm. "My favorite color is green. A rich, vibrant emerald."

"Peri-what?" Il'ian blinks at Diem when she starts using chick-words, though he does reach out and take the bit of crystal from her hands, the rough calloused fingertips brushing her palm in the act. "S'pretty." This is given when he lifts the shard up, making use of her glow-lantern, to eye it citically. "Green. S'good color too." In response to Zsaviranth's wisps, Sargaeroth's crumbled world opens easily, expanding out around them. Bruised, mottled purple saturates a sky laden with putrid green clouds of an infernal storm. Fel-tainted green - brilliant, glowing - spills from twisted rocks of a broken world, torn asunder by the birth of this strange and dark bronze. The essence of Sargaeroth seems to hold a key of acceptance, though malevolence is woven throughout - not specific to any one thing or person, but as an attribute to his overall persona. "Thank you," he murmurs, the toothpick bobbing with each word. "For… this." He pockets the shard, and looks around.

Diem crouches down to get a better look at the larger crystals at the very bottom of the wall, her boots grating against the a gravel patch upon the cave's floor. "Periwinkle." she repeats with a grin. "Zsaviranth says she senses your purple, but thinks it's more of a lighter shade. That," Diem lifts her chin toward the crystal Il'ian just pocketed. "Is what she describes as your color, Il'ian." Her shoulders lift into a shrug and she returns her attention back to the glass-like sheen of the stones in front of her. "And you're welcome. They make wonderful accessories, these crystals. For straps, clothing, baskets… anything, really. Although you might not think so." She grins once again while trying to mask the humor in her tone, which inspires Zsaviranth to send another wisp of sage further into Sargaeroth's 'scape. Curious, she is. And silent.

Il'ian has plans for his little bit of frosting, but given the way his face screws up in confusion, it is likely not to adhere to straps and clothing. "Uhhh…" He reaches up to scratch the side of his face, thumbnail scraping against a hint of blond stubble. "You should take more," is the suggestion that Il'ian finally lands on, which seems to be safe and sturdy territory. Sargaeroth's mindscape only gets more twisted and weirder the further Zsaviranth reaches: the purple bruising into deepest indigo as the long fall through void-stars can be seen beneath the broken shards of a world in purple-dusk hues. The bronze is both absent and all around, but at the back lies a strange building that rises up to crest the putrid-green skies. "So, uh…" Eloquence, thy name is not Il'ian. "Youuuuuu liking it here in Igen?" Bazaar-born and raised, home-grown a stone's throw from the weyr, Il'ian gives Diem a squinted look - though it could easily be from the lack of light. Or curiosity. Seriously, he kind of sucks at social awareness.

The bronze's mindscape isn't like any other that Zsaviranth has visited and she lingers where she is, that thin plume gathering into a haze until she moves forward again to regard the coloring around her. Hints of dark azure remain deep within the purple tones of a labradorite crystal that's birthed from the smokey sage and left for Sargaeroth as a token for allowing her to visit. It's a stone the reminds her of the bronze, one that she'll also keep in her own crystal garden when she wishes call upon his memory. Very quietly does she withdraw from the 'scape when Diem stands and finally pockets the crystal Il'ian had given her. "Igen takes some getting used to, but I was born here and it's not so… difficult to adjust. I am reminded of the sandstorms that our lovely Weyr withstands, though." Which might be what Zsaviranth is projecting to her at this moment — storm clouds are starting to form in the area. "Do you suppose we should gather the others?"

Sargaeroth exists: he is, so her gift is noted though his reaction is slip except for the griding of destroyed tectonic plates drifting in an endless sea of the expansive universe. Perhaps, he list in interstitial space betwee then and now, and yet, the bronze has appreciation for what makes up the gold's presence: crystals. As she drifts away, however, so does he until the link is closed with a last consumption of air. And yet, there might be a hint of fel-taste lingering on the back of the tongue: sulphur rich and rotten. "Right." Il'ian regards her for a moment, but then that boy's grin flashes again, "Allow me?" A little bow and the offering of his arm: he can be somewhat of a charmer when he needs be. "We've enough time if Sargaeroth can be trusted." And then? He will help her gather the others so they don't end up trapped in the underground caves.

Diem pivots toward the entryway and can hear some voices from the other chamber growing louder as members of their group become excited for some gemstone treasure they must've found. Their excitement brings another smile to her lips and she hitches the leather strap of her satchel over her shoulder again for better comfort. "Thank you." She slips her arm within Il'ian's and is careful not to bump into him with her pointy leather satchel — the crystals are poking into its side and it wouldn't feel good against certain places! "Can your Sargaeroth be trusted?" She'll find out when they finally emerge with the others from their spelunking adventure. Until then, they'll peruse the crystal cave together and perhaps pluck a few more treasures to satisfy a very curious crystalline queen.

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