Wendryth, Raktraeth, Liareth, Zodaiyath, Kazavoth


While Whirlwind's riders run PT in the Bowl, their dragons plot ways to make it more interesting.


It is noon of the first day of the second month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Central Bowl, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 28 Jan 2018 07:00


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« A challenge! »


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 may be nearing midday, but it's not warmed up much. Good thing Whirlwind are currently undertaking some PT in the central bowl to keep them warm - a mix of running, side steps, khigh knees…they'll be sweating by the time they're done. The dragons, for their part, are not taking part in such exercises. Wendryth is hanging out as Wendryth does, looking much like a metal sculpture sat smack bang in the middle of the area, eyes bright blue as he watches the group of riders going along. « VERY GOOD! » Is his comment, loud enough to be heard by other dragons, as he applauds H'rik's efforts with the Wing.

« You say that all the time… » Raktraeth is also hanging out as Trae does, which looks suspiciously like napping complete with head buried under his tawny wing to keep that midday sun out of his eyes. Snide comments towards his clutch-brother and an occasionally twitching tail only thing betraying the behemoth is actually awake. As much as her dragon might be taking it easy, Doji's out there giving it her all. Luckily it seems like she's managed not to high kick herself in the face. Probably only a matter of time.

Liareth, sitting in regal repose on a low ledge above where Whirlwind's riders are exerting themselves, watches with seemingly passive interest…though anyone who knows her knows there's more going on there, usually. The pretty green rumbles with faint amusement, the steam of her mental baths billowing gently over the edges of gently bubbling pools, limned faintly in flickering sconce-light. « I should hope it's very good by now, » her stately soprano intones, though she can't help but tease lightly in turn. « Even for the younger lot. »

Of those who are involved in the encouraging support, Zodaiyath is not. Never has been, not even to his own. Maybe a different sort of support, but that's another matter. Black Pearl'd phantasmal thing of tattered sail is run ashore upon one of the lower ledges. Perhaps it's an weyr not owned by some rider, or perhaps it is. The likelihood of either is equivalent, for the massive skeletal bronze would behave the same either way. He lays upon uneven keel, leaned to one side as if shipwreck was beached from unkind storm. Unmoving is he, save the faint motion of breath, and then a tilt of his head towards Wendryth. Faceted eyes upon haunted figurehead are less kind, though it is rare that they churn anything remotely blue-green despite whatever sea he's dredged from. That ominous sensation of Zodaiyath presence builds when he decides to become more prominent within the mindpool, as if something terrible rises o'er dark horizon and darker seas. « Any less, and they are a waste of time. »

« Because it's true! » Wendryth replies, taking no offence at all from Raktraeth's teasing. « They are most excellent, are they not? » Figures he'd be all proud of his Wing - especially as it's essentially HIS Wing. His head turns so that he can look up at Liareth, and the green gets a hearty chuckle for her comment, the mists of Wendryth's mind parting briefly to reveal rippling waters. « They are enthusiastic, no? » The next is directed to Zodaiyath, the other bronze getting Wendy's attention, now. « That is most true! Certainly, Whirlwind would not be the place for them should they not keep up! »

Wendryth might be talking, but all Raktraeth is translating it as a single tall pine tree that shines in the noon light and wind rustles the needles to cause metallic clinking, which he'll also share with the class. « They should know to run by now. » He'll agree with the ghost ship over there. « Couldn't they do anything more interesting? »

Deciding a shift of position is in order, Liareth sits up onto her haunches, the ivy-draped jade of her wings flaring as she makes a prodigious stretch and then folding neatly to her back as she resumes yet another statuesque posture of watchfulness. « Determined, certainly. Duty-bound. As they should be, » the green notes, the flames within column-mounted sconces brightening to glow upon the deep scarlet hues of rich hangings and the intricacies of carved murals upon walls made damp with warm mist. « If they do not continue running, they grow weak, boring as it may be do observe. » There's a yawn to punctuate this, though a lull in the bubbling of her pools as she considers. « We could always suggest they let us drop them in the mountains so that they can test their endurance other ways. It would be a change in scenery, at least. » Routine and the occasional changeup both have merit in her mind.

D'kan and Kazavoth are late to the training session, though not without cause. The cool of Between still clings to both hide and leathers as D'kan makes quick work of doffing his helmet so he can begin unloading the brown. After a tidy pile has been set to the side, Kaz's straps are removed, and the brown carefully stretches before moving to a stretch of wintry sunlight while D'kan begins wrapping the straps into neat loops, dark eyes watching his wingmates in their exercises.

« Then, we must make sure they do not forget how to run! » Wendryth notes, with a mental tendril of gratitude extending to Liareth for her very wise observations. Now he's stopped laughing, the mists that usually shroud his mental landscape have moved back in, concealing that water, though the faint ripple of it lapping against stoney shores can be heard. « A challenge! » He rather likes that suggestion of hers! And then Kazavoth makes an appearance, and Wendy will greet him enthusiastically. « KAZAVOTH! Shall you be joining us? » H'rik, far off with the group of runners, lifts a hand in acknowledgement of D'kan's arrival, no doubt alerted by Wendryth.

« As long as they are proper mountains. » Raktraeth doesn't have a high opinion of the barren desert ridges Igen might call mountains, preferring to paint a picture of the snow covered fir forests up North. Doji probably wouldn't thank him for that suggestion of adding snow to impromptu endurance challenge. The arrival of the other brown does catch the younger dragon's attention and he brings his head out from under his wing to stretch towards the package set next to the new arrival, sniffing cautiously. « Did they send you on a beer run? »

The rush of the last River is slow, languid, unhurried 'neath the vast leagues to Davy Jone's locker. There may even be a whistling of metal that falls past, so faint, so far. So hoarded amidst other blood money that exists never to be found by another's eyes once the final price is paid. « There are other… ways. » The Stygian waters claim, some amusement risen from the lost depths. It comes in wake of Liareth's comment. An agreement, or probably as close as he would get to one. Though it sounds as though his ideas for training would be far less kosher with the quiet wailings of the dead following each word in some lamenting purgatorial echo. « But as entertaining as that could be, it is.. » A curl of lip from the Ghost Ship must be some sort of draconic grin in light of whatever thought may have came of dropping riders into the untouched wild, « Inefficient. » Zodaiyath's unearthly still form finally moves slightly, adjusting dark corroded forepaws to cross over themselves in deliberate leisure, spoken for by a psychopomp's eternal time.

Kazavoth makes settles in comfortably, his brown hide soaking in the desert's sunlight. His mindvoice extends to those nearby, unusually subdued for the normally boisterous dragon. « Join, my dear Wendryth? » he asks, his voice a dry tenor spiked with some spiced and pungent spirit. « You imply I ever left. » It's most definitely amusement colouring his words, tendrils of pink-tipped orange dancing along the link as a dash of something like cocoa joins the spice. « Is not camaraderie a constant condition? » For D'kan's part, he's just going to continue making his gear and luggage ship shape, jacket hanging open as he acclimates.

Why is everyone giving Wendryth (and, by extension, H'rik) such cruel ideas for Whirlwind exercises! The snowy firs of Raktraeth's mind are considered with great interest. « A trek through the snow! Most difficult terrain, but t'would be a challenge worthy of our riders! » Since his brown clutchmate is quizzing Kazavoth on what he's brought to the 'bowl, Wendy will instead turn his focus to Zodaiyath, the lanquid bronze intriguing him, as ever. « Oh ho! What quest have you to give our fine men and women, Zodaiyath? »

Liareth utters a trill of greeting at Kazavoth's arrival before turning her attention back to the other gents present. « The mountains above the secret cave are quite proper, » she notes. « Endurance, strength, navigation, tracking - a number of things could be accomplished by it. » She's quite pleased with her own idea herself! Now her attention turns to Kazavoth in turn, though she doesn't join in the interrogation just yet, letting her wingmates' questions stand on their own.

As long as Raktraeth can roll around in a pile of pine needles, he's all for it. Even if he does have to knock down a few trees in order to get such a large quantity of needles. Surely those cotholders on whatever random mountain slop they end up on won't mind too much, right? « Can there be a feast afterwards? You like feasts, Wendryth. » Although he's thinking a lot more simpler than a full court meal after a tourney. More just a lot of roasted porcine. And as for the older brown… « You still didn't answer the question of what you got there… » And inquiring minds want to know.

For quite some time, there is little response from the otherworldly vessel, as if he simply wouldn't give one. However, the foreboding touch of that unforgiving something has yet to fall with the ominous tides. That sense of weakness, draining, fading is still there right at the fingertips of the mindtouch, where Zodaiyath lingers in vague given curiosity of the content of these suggestions. The lost souls rise in despairing chorus off in the distance, slowly, as if they too draw closer from o'er Worlds End amidst the dense, dark, deadly mist which brings with it He. The River lulls, the befouled Waters continuing eternal, crafting the base of the speech of the Darkness, « There are many of those. » Quests, that is. Oh, does Wendryth now speak his language. But at the end of a quest, there should be a reward, aye? Something to be had. « However, I would imagine you would wish most of them to come back intact. »

Wendryth likes all this, veeeery much. « Ah, but we do not have to carry them all the way there! Perhaps scaling the mountains to reach their destination would be a hearty workout? » Rolling in pine needles doesn't appeal, but Raktraeth is bang on with his feasts comment, and the bronze's mindvoice gets loud as he whole-heartedly approves that idea. « A FEAST! » The sizzling of roasting meats, the bustle of chatter, the whining of a dog begging for scraps; his mind is painting an image of a grand occasion. « Would not the promise of a feast be promise enough for their return? Or to return to their lovers, who await them? » Zodaiyath does pose a good point, but Wendy has a suggestion for it.

« Strength, as I said. » Liareth's way of agreeing with Wendryth about some rock climbing to take place. The hissing of steam upon hot coals thickens the misty baths of her mind as the bronze gets louder, though there is a ripple of quiet laughter that drifts from some unseen corner beyond them. « I believe we would be promise enough. But all of that would only sweeten matters, of course. » Again, agreeing.

Raktraeth's tawny wings stretch out, the behemoth brown enjoying the midday sun and the fact that he's not the one having to do drills at the moment. This lazy lounging and plotting is just his speed, although he'll provide a foresty maze of trees perhaps for this quest, verdant undergrowth sprouting up before their eyes, vines trying to take over everything and everyone. « Cunning as well. Although, if they can't do it, we can always save them. » Bravado of youth. Barely a turn out of weyrlinghood and the young brown hasn't yet encountered a situation that couldn't be overcome. At least not one he can remember.

« They shall not need saving! » Wendryth says proudly. The bronze's head turns then, away from his fellows, as he reacts to some personal conversation. « Alas, I am called away. I must take my leave of you all, my brothers and sisters in arms! » Those metallic wings open with only the faintest creaking of shoulder joints, and in a few heavy wingbeats he's aloft, soaring off to whatever duty it is that he has been called to.

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