A'kehm, Jaymes


Jaymes is out on a field study and A'kehm just happens to be hunting nearby.

Occurs just before Rhiscorath goes up. Also, mild profanity.


It is the twenty-fifth day of the eleventh month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th


Fields, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 06 May 2018 04:00


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"A pat on the back. Better than a kick in the ass."



Terraced over the rolling mountains of Southern's wilds, crops fight against the encroaching jungle that must be held at bay by diligent farmers. Guards are stationed at intervals across the hills, where the trees growth is thick enough to allow the lurking predator to hide. It's not Thread that threatens the luscious crops that cling to the side of the mountain, it's the felines and wherries larger than life that would partake of the feast that awaits the courageous. Each terrace lays claim to a large swathe of arable land; the fields themselves cover a vast portion of the hilly slopes. To cross the fields, from one end to the other, without runner or wagon, would take several candlemarks.

The deed is done. A juvenile wherry, domestic-born, was savaged but not killed, what predator who precipitaed the process frighted off by a feeding Ahiardhath. Dispatched with a knife, the half-grown wherry is stared at. The moral thing to do would be to deliver it to the kitchens for immediate process, but since when does this rider flourish morals. Rather than field dress it here, the rider gives pause to summon his dragon closer for backup.

A silver mare with blackened legs is tethered to a nearby stone wall and grazing as Jaymes writes in his leather bound journal. Leaning against the craggy stone, the Herder scrawls a few notes onto the open page of the book that lay flat upon the gritty surface when the runnerbeast whuffles. Naturally, his attention is directed toward the bronze and its rider not far off. The dead wherry, of course, is noted as well. "A beast around every corner." His half grin, wry.
For a large dragon, take-offs are very energy expensive. As a product of Oldtimer dragons, Ahiardhath would expend more than most, so he roves on foot through the field, tail held almost level. A'kehm, through the haze of southern sun, squints at the herder and tries to read into his meaning. He smiles with too much teeth and points with his knife. "You lost one." Lost in several ways: a deduction from the Weyr's stock, and the fact he's keeping it.

That wry grin forms into something of a smirk right before Jaymes returns his focus on the journal to finish the sentence he started. It takes a moment to pen his thought to parchment and after he does, the stylus is slid into the spine of the book and the pages are promptly closed. He straightens and makes his way to the saddled mare. "Aye. Good thing I care more about feline sightings than wherry." A leather satchel is opened and the journal slipped inside before it's closed again. "Is the humidity always this brutal?" Hands pat various trous pockets for a bandana he stored somewhere.

A'kehm slides his bottom jaw to the side as the other man acquiesces to the loss of the wherry, kind of sorry there wasn't more resistence. Grasping one of the wherry's hocks, he drags it to some filtered shade, a trail of emerald ichor following on the grass. Wildling voice at a coarse grouse, "'cept when its snowing. Whoever thought of founding a Weyr in this location should be ass-kicked ::between::." As the gold-sized bronze, features clubby and heavy as a gargoyle, steps closer, his shadow soon swallows them both, making quick work of the sun. His nostrils heave and take in the scent of the dead wherry. "I saw a feline before, what'll that get me?" Extorting the herder on principle.

Jaymes retrieves a handkerchief from his back trous pocket and uses it to wipe his brow, his gaze casting skyward toward the massive bronze dragon as he does. The shade is much appreciated as the Journeyman is still learning what he really should be wearing out in these parts — a hat, for example. Alas, he stuffs the cloth back into his pocket and then adjusts the leather saddle bag. "A pat on the back. Better than a kick in the ass." His tone is etched with hints of amusement, though he doesn't linger on detail. "I assume you saw it from a higher vantage point, eh?"

A'kehm flicks the straight blade at the bronze in a lazy, circular fashion. "No, you can't have it. The gut pile? I guess. I don't feel like curing it." The digestive tract is teased out and flung to the bronze, who plucks it up and catches it a few feet from the ground. Hardly a snack. "…depends on if they really deserve a kick in the ass or not." Insects attracted to the copper and salts in the ichor, start busying themselves around the rider's face. He swings at the air by his face with the same hand the knife's in, surprisingly not lobbing off the end of his nose or gauging an eye. "Sometimes when we're on sweeps we'll spot a pair or lone animal, but I've killed four, five. Their pelts feed all sorts of my habits." And he laughs, just a small sound that's more like self-praise. "What do you want with 'em? Study them from the inside out? Heh heh." A change in the demeanor of his dragon gives A'kehm pause, a look toward the Weyr.

The wherry's innards tossed toward the bronze and caught by jaw mid air diverts Jaymes' attention for the moment. Not Weyr bred or born, dragons still amaze him on a daily basis, especially when he sees such fluid interaction between bonded. "In a way… yes. Based my entire Journeyman's project on them, actually." The segue is a prime opportunity to introduce himself to the Southern rider, so he does just that. "Jaymes, from Keroon Hold." The knot on his left shoulder should be enough to reveal rank and position. The silver mare paws at the ground and doesn't seem fazed by the bronze's presence, though her ears swivel and clearly keep track of him. "Just transferred from the Hall to the Weyr."

"I was gonna ask the name of the guy who cares about felines," sounding utterly convincing in being sociable. With his hands slick from ichor, he approaches to properly greet the herder. "A'kehm, I ride him," a glance blinked to the bronze. If the two can accomplish shaking hands, Jaymes is near enough to mark the herder with some ichor residue on either side of his face. "Welcome to the jungles, a little a'this will help them find ya." He laughs like a thane on the eve of battle, casting another glance back to Ahiardhath. "We got somethin' astir back at the Weyr." Hoisting the small carcass on his back, Akehm scales the bronze with it, laying it cross ways in front of him. "Get the big one!"

"Well met, A'kehm." They do, in fact, shake (grimy) hands for a well and good introduction. A little ichor never hurt anyone, especially a Herder who's been covered in all sorts of effluence throughout his crafting career. "And thanks. I'll have no trouble spotting a pride of felines now." That familiar wry grin returns and he glances Weyr-ward over his shoulder as the rider scales leather straps 'tween bronzen neckridges. "Aye, so you do." It's as if he can feel the tingle of gold lust beneath his skin as the words are spoken. Jaymes returns his focus on the rider and gives a nod of farewell to both he and Ahiardhath. "Clear skies to you both." And 'good luck' should they decide to chase, although that goes unsaid. The silver mare whuffles her own au revoir and soon they're both headed back to the safety of the road.

Ahiardhath hadn't the chance to maximize his saiety as he rotates away from the herder and his runner, gathering strength for a standing take-off. Grass stalks bend from a new temporary wind as the bronze heads post haste to a pack of dragonkin.

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