Who

A'lory, A'sh, Ay'den (NPCed by Zeyta), K'ane, Majel, Mayte, Selaine, Sienna, Yukie

What

The junior weyrlings graduate to senior, gaining female riders on fighting dragons for their leadership and Arroyo for mentors.

When

It is morning of the thirteenth day of the tenth month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Weyrling Training Grounds, Igen Weyr

OOC Date

 

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Weyrling Training Grounds

Here, a wide and spacious field, devoid of all but more of the glare of ubiquitous, fine white sand of Igen: not even a blade of grass dares lift its head against centuries of clumsy draconic antics. To one side, ever-present firestone bins are set, kept supplied by many a hand, while agenothree tanks line the curving angle just outside the barracks, primed and ready for use. Very often, a glimpse of classes in session or dragonets at play may be caught under the open sky under the watchful eye of diligent Weyrlingmasters and older dragons.


The weather is clear, mostly. Though sand clings to many things, the sky is clear and the breeze is light for the Weyrling Graduation ceremony. A small dais has been set up in the training grounds, with a few chairs and stairs on either side for folks to walk up. There aren't many chairs set out for the audience though. With a group this large, it's easiest if everyone stands, though some seats have been provided for the elderly. Dragons are instructed to ring the outskirts, all 40 of them, so they can participate as well. Up on the dais, Sienna is crouched beside a large box of knots, double checking her count.

Ay'den presides over the procession, of course; decked in his finest leathers in gold and black, he is a solemn figure seated towards the very center of the dais. To one side: the chairs reserved for the Weyrleadership. To to the other: Sienna, whom he gives a trusting nod. Otherwise, he scans the amassed crowd, gaze skimming along the peripheral scene where the dragons gather, his own molten-bronze Trahaeath in attendance.

Rhiscorath is large that she has to find a large enough gap in her early-arriving siblings to settle into. Mayte is with her briefly, her uniform looking quite crisp, even if the Weyrling looks a bit uncomfortable, pulling the sleeves longer. A fond look and a pat to Rhiscorath's shoulder before Mayte moves away, hurrying to gather at the base of the raised dais and from there, looking for where her fellow Weyrlings are. You can't miss them.

Indeed, those Weyrlings are the uniformed bunch, one of which is A'sh. Tokath has already settled into his place, although he's quite fidgety where he is, looking above or around other dragons close to him in order to see the comings and goings. A'sh himself moves into that position at the base of the dais as well though, smoothing down the front of his uniform occasionally.

A'lory is there, amid the spectators come to see the babies graduate to the next level. Leaning against his dragon, he slides his gaze over each young pair with a sentimental little grin for the memories stirred up from the long-distant past — and to think, he's a witness to one of his familial descendants' path to riderhood!

A healer's punctuality drives Yukie to be standing with the other weyrlings, well before the ceremony is slated to begin, with hands curled demurely at her waist. Her uniform is clean and pressed and her hair brushed to a sunlight-shine. Inayalinaeth finds whatever shadows are available to lurk within, the glow of blue-white eyes holding the ceremony with a certain intensity.

38…39…oh shards. She's short one. Sienna has a moment of panic before realizing she's holding it, and gently lays it down. Whew. Standing, she dips her head in a nod to Ay'den and takes her seat, though she fidgets a bit as she looks out at the gathering Weyrlings, and then above at the sky. Please stay clear…

Majel, in the file of blueriders, is smartly put-together for the occasion. Her first set of leathers isn't fancy, but they're fitted and terribly tidy, dark in contrast to Dyxath's new set of pale straps that gleams a well-oiled contrast to the midnight-blue's hide. Straight-backed and serious, she's been standing with her class before the stage, posture tense. She's situated a little far from Mayte to be able to glance over at the other, but A'sh's smoothing movements briefly snag her attention, for which she offers a small, terse nod before turning her attention forward once more.

Selaine has joined the others, still unable to wrap her head around the fact that they were finally graduating from being junior weyrlings. It really seemed as though it was only yesterday she was facing a small green that was no bigger than herself. Now, the only thing to really attest to the passage of time would be the sheer size of their dragons now. It was definitely not an exaggeration when they had been told how fast their dragons would grow. The younger girl was excited and yet still somewhat nervous, even though this was just one of the stepping stones.

Though his time is taken largely by Dhioth's demanding mate, K'ane makes it back to Igen — belated, but here. He lingers at the edges, a smile hinting about at his face as he examines the class, a few of which he identifies personally. Dhioth is distracted, most of his attention elsewhere, but even he looms to judge the readiness of the class, in this their first debut as adults.

As everyone assembles, Yukie's attention swings from the Assistant Weyrlingmasters to her fellow weyrlings to the spectators, noting K'ane and A'lory as well as Mayte and Majel and Selaine. Surely there are others lost to the crowd. But then her eyes find the weyrlingmasters unerringly. She takes a deep breath and waits. Maybe eagerly.

Ay'den inspects the early birds and latecomers alike, scrutinizing the formals they wear. "Ma'am," he murmurs in an aside to Sienna, marshaling her attention, "If we're ready." Rising, he steps forward on the platform, hands folded behind his back. Drill-sergeant ready, he summons his voice from the depths of his diaphragm, bellowing, "WEYRLINGS." He waits for total silence, Trahaeath echoing the chain of command in a flash of forge-fire traveling along the mind-link. "Attention." Then: more quietude from the stoic Weyrlingmaster, as he waits for the weyrlings to organize themselves into rank and file formation.

Sienna straightens up and nods her head, standing at attention once Ay'den begins to speak, though her eyes travel out over the Weyrling class with fondness and pride.

A'sh straightens up a bit when the call for attention is made. Even Tokath manages to still himself from all of his restless movement. There's a quick glance cast around though..just to make sure that the young man has found himself in the /proper/ place to stand before returning his attention upward again.

Dhioth is the fortress upon the cliffs, sere and bleak and guarded… but there is a warmth to the ground-jewel sands far below, a greeting of the tossing froth of the pounding sea, resurging again and again in benediction. « Younglings, » his voice rumbles as chained thunder, deep and dark and serene in strident glory. « Congratulations. »


It's time. Mayte takes in a breath and looks around at everyone. They get a quick-silver grin, even if there's a bit of tightness at the corner of Mayte's lips. A few people are even more eager than her, so Mayte lets them go by before moving into formation. Between two really tall weyrlings. Go figure.

Even the infamous triplets from Nabol know better than to giggle among themselves when the weyrlingmaster calls them to order: they straighten simultaneously, standing together with good posture among the other greenriders. They've survived thus far without too many mishaps; never mind that they're covertly sneaking peeks around their classmates to look over the audience as they move into formation.

Moving efficiently into her assigned position, Majel has a fraction of a moment to catch a glimpse of Yukie and Selaine; there's a quick nod given to both before she stiffens again, chin lifting so that she can better narrow an alert gaze at the weyrlingmasters on the dais. Dyxath shifts slightly from where he watches with the other dragons, eyes gradually picking up speed to whirl a curious green.

At last, the ceremony has begun and Yukie is quick to move in line with the rest of them. She's got a healer's precision and perfection in everything she does, while Inayalinaeth lurks within the patch of shade she's found, the glassy-jade of her hide glittering prettily in Rukbat's fair light.

The shaded mountains, the roar of a tempestuous waterfall, and the brilliance of greens shaded in azure blues; all of these ideals collect to make up an eerie landscape that's cloaked in fog. Where light is muted except where it shatters against the glitter of water. Dhioth's congratulations is consumed, absorbed; it's fed to the well of eternity as the fey green's only response. In the distance a lone cricket wails a mournful song. (Inayalinaeth)

Dyxath's reply is a curled puff of earthy cigar smoke that floats forth amid muted lights, at once both assured and a little sheepish. They've come far, this group, but their investigations have only begun. He pulls his attention back to the ceremony at hand, withdrawing with a tiny crinkle of paper.


Once they are sorted, Ay'den commences with the issuing of names. One by one they approach the dais when summoned, their knot to be handed to them by Sienna as they proceed down the line of full-fledged dragonriders gathered on stage, pausing to shake the hand of each. A traditionalist broadcasting in his calm, reverberating voice, the Weyrlingmaster begins with Mayte, lone goldrider, and then starts to call the brownriders. And so they will come forward in order according to the color of their lifemates.

Getting called out from between her two tall book ends, Mayte moves forward at Ay'den's summons, standing stiffly at attention. Rhiscorath watches from her perch, nearly vibrating in excitement as Mayte collects her knot and salutes.

Sienna hands out the knots one at a time, with a warm smile and a soft word for each of them. One after another.

Whatever her opinion of Igen's youngest goldrider, Majel's expression lightens a tad as the younger woman is the first of their forty-strong group to obtain her knot upgrade. While the brownriders file across the stage one by one, she sobers steadily; as they come upon the tail end of that group, the blueriders begin moving to the side to prepare for their own walk.

And, onto the blueriders. "Majel." Strident, but congratulatory, Ay'den sounds this name among others, ushering his newly graduated senior weyrlings up the stage and down to their seats once more. "A'sh" is called too. Soon, the greenriders approach, among them: "Selaine." A while later, "Yukie." Still standing, the ceremony appears complete, with all the weyrlings having received their knots. Yet, no leadership has been announced for their senior weyrling wing yet. Interesting.

Yukie is serenity incarnate, flowing forwards as a leaf upon the grace of a waterfall. The greenling watches with calm eyes as those in front of her receive their knots, accepts her own with a regal nod and a salute as crisp as the first bite of a fresh autumn apple. Her cheeks flush with an unusual glow, her light eyes flickering briefly over to Inayalinaeth.

The closer it got to her getting handed her new knot, the more nervous Selaine seemed to get. But when she finally makes it across that stage, new knot in hand, she only gazes at it momentarily before letting out a bated breath of air, aiming a smile toward where Akitith watches as she returns to her place in the formation.

They don't get leadership! Surprise! No, no really. Once the Weyrlings have taken their knots and returned to place, Sienna steps forward with a small glance to Ay'den. "Brownrider Tasna," she says, gesturing for the brownrider to come up for a second time. "You'll be exchanging your knot for the knot of Wingsecond of the Senior Weyrling wing, congratulations." She exchanges the knot, winks, and turns back to the crowd. "Bluerider Majel. You'll be exchanging your knot for that of Senior Weyrling Wingleader. Congratulations. Riders," she calls, "your leadership!" Then she steps back, nodding to Ay'den to announce the mentor wing.

There's a momentary flash of disbelief on Mayte's face but she doesn't frown. Perhaps her eyebrows rise a trifle but at least one drops back down. Rhiscorath, down the way, lets out an airy 'uph' that has Mayte applauding for Tasna and Majel as long as is appropriate, then letting her hands fall to her sides again, watching Sienna curiously, then Ay'den expectantly.

Majel's stride back up to the stage for this second knot exchange is as brisk and sharp as her first, much like the salute she gives to both Sienna and Ay'den. Dyxath can't help a pleased rumble as his rider returns to rejoin her wing, her expression unreadable. Is Majel astonished? Gladdened? Confused? It's hard to tell, but hazel eyes glitter down at that slightly-more complex twine of cords before she precisely affixes it to her shoulder, cheeks lightly flushed.

A serene smile is sent towards Majel and Tasna, though thoughts are already starting to drift. Yukie's eyes pulled away from the new wing leadership to the green who's draw in impossible to resist. A quietly whispered, "Congratulations," is given to drift along the breeze for them to hear or not as it is willed.

Sienna doesn't make eye contact with anyone else once the leadership is announced. It's always hard, and always awkward…and she always has people come talk to her afterwards asking their 'whys', and always gives her reasonings.

K'ane smirks a bit from the back where he's at: he has a whistle for Majel's naming, and a polite clap for Tasna. But his attention truly is for Sienna, familiarity curling his lips upwards. Some things he knows to be true. Gaze shifts towards Ay'den, eyebrows tilted in something of expectation.

Ay'den is not a man given to oratory, not unless it involves barking orders to frantic weyrlings during drills and lessons. As such, he cuts the applause after sufficient time lapses to congratulate the new leaders of the weyrling wing, stepping forward to reclaim his position as master of ceremonies. Clearing his throat, "And now, we announce this clutch's mentor wing: Arroyo!" With a curt nod, he directs his attention to their wingleadership in acknowledgement. "Let them tutor well and instruct this group on how to become right and proper dragonriders."

K'ane leads in with the applause: his are heavy hands, large and capable, calloused and congratulatory. The big man's expresion is fond and softly irrascible, lost in a remniscence that transcends the here-and-now, though his eyes drift from weyrling to weyrling to catch all the responses.

Majel raises an eyebrow as Arroyo is announced as the mentor wing for their class, but her subsequent applause and slow nod seem to be given in thoughtful approval. At any rate, there's a long look for that wing's leadership before she turns her attention back to the remainder of the ceremonies. There are perhaps afternoon chores to consider after a congratulatory lunch in the living cavern, meetings to be arranged and careful planning to be done. For the moment, however, there's simply the here and the now to experience as a participant.
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