Who

Kultir, Nevik, Esanth, T'ral

What

Nevik and Kultir are hanging on the beach when Esanth sends out a distress signal! Nevik to the rescue!

When

It is afternoon of the thirteenth day of the twelfth month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Southern Weyr

OOC Date

 

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Beach

A long, narrow ledge that curves around an inner ridge of the caldera. Upslope are carved terraces. Time, rainfall and wildlife have brought greenery to this high perch and small trees and vines march up the steep terracing. A previous occupant made something of a firepit on one of the higher terraces. The ledge itself is just too narrow for a bronze or even a brown to sprawl comfortably, so it might be nice to visit, but they wouldn't want to live there. There are two large wooden structures that resemble cranes, but are not rigged as such. They serve no discernible purpose and are being used to hold a string of tiny glow baskets that dimly light the terraces. Below is the dense green canopy of the upper bowl.

It is the thirteenth day of Summer and 99 degrees. The day is clear and humid.


Kultir surfaces out in the waves and walks the rest of the way in from about waist-deep, water streaming from his slightly too long hair and his sleeveless tunic and knee-length trous. Slicking his hair back, he heads to where a thick towel is draped over a big rock to keep dry and begins scrubbing his hair dry. Leaning against the boulder for balance, the young tracker dries his face and arms off as well as he can as he stares out at the horizon where the sun lingers above the horizon.

While Kultir was busy dunking himself, Nevik wandered his way onto the beach in search of a bit of a respite from the infirmary. As an apprentice he's usually stuck doing the mundane and fairly teedious task of cleaning this and that or possibly observing a more senior healer attend a patient. So, now that he's off of his duty-shift, he's taken his two flits down to the beach to let them scout around and hunt for whatever they can find. The emergence of the hunter is a bit of a surprise as the young, rusty-haired healer approaches but a welcomed one at that. Waiving to the man he launches the bronze and the blue into the air double-snap of his fingers. Akron heads out over the water while Tweet seems curiously drawn to shiney stones upon the beach.

Kultir sees the two small forms before he sees their human but the young tracker grins at the sight of the Healer apprentice. "Hey, Nevik. How's it been going?" He hasn't been back in the Weyr for much more than a day after having been gone for nearly a seven at the new Hold. He drapes his towel over the rock again and pulls his tunic tail up and wrings it out before taking his towel up once more to coil around his neck.

Tweet, the curious blue flit that occasionally listens to Nevik, has vanished from sight within about as much time as it took Nevik to finally close the distance between him and the hunter so that he wouldn't have to shout to the man. Then, once within a good range, he starts to explain about his day and hearing about a few people he knew getting asked to stand on the sands for the new clutch. "I am being sent up to the new base in the next few days - going to be there probably a few sevens from what my Master said." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other while his eyes catch sight of his bronze flit skirting the water's surfacae. It's a great day to be out and about. "They need my…what word did he use…oh yeah…familarity with organizing things." While the two continue to speak, a low growl - like a hungry fire lizard, can be heard from behind a nearby rock near where Kultir has his pack.

A blue dragon cirles high above, tilting his head this way and that before he snaps his wings closed and dives for the deeps, making a smooth entry into the water and disappearing beneath the still waters of the Azov.

Kultir leans against the rock behind him as he listens to the youth's comments about his day and nods slightly. "Ahh, well, I might get sent up there too. I just got back so not sure if I'll be sent back or not, I've got tasks to do around here as well." He grimaces a little at the thought of Nevik ending up at the Ice Hold for so long in that bitter cold as skinny as he is. "Make sure you have plenty of warm furs if you do get sent there … you're so skinny, you're going to feel the cold worse than me or most anyone else." He ponders the possibility of him having some extra furs stored up at Kalea's weyr and figures he probably does, he'll have to have someone bring them down for him. The growl of the little firelizard draws his attention until he's turning around to look for the little thing before moving, he doesn't want to step on it after all.

Nevik ughs a bit nervously and his eyes dart up and to the side as his mind tries to seek out the answer to a question that was just raised. "I…will probably need to get some extra layers, yes. What I wore my last trip up wasn't enough - especially with me handling a lot of the deliveries and such." Turning to the water he notes the arrival and passing of a few of the dragons and then starts to look around for Tweet. This could be bad as the blue is notorious for 'finding' anything shiney and then claiming it as his own. "If you happen to know someone who had an extra tunic…possibly a thick one that would be great," he adds. The sound of a low, thrumming 'grr' can still be heard near the large stone. Tweet must have found something that will not accept being claimed.

Beneath the waves, Esanth is chasing a snack, darting serpentine after schools of silvery fish, glittering in shafts of filtered sunlight. He dives and runs smack into… Uh oh.

Kultir finding that the little lizard isn't anywhere near his feet, he turns so that he can peer behind the rock and laughs softly at what he sees there. "I think I might have some extra furs up in our weyr … I'll have to see what's there though to see if I have anything you can use there." His tone is a bit absent as he bends to reach carefully for his pack and tugs the offending item loose though he doesn't relinquish it to the little blue. "Now, you need to let that go, Tweet … you are Tweet, aren't you?" Lifting the firelizard by what he's clamped onto, his other broad hand beneath the little blue in case it falls, out from behind the rock. "One of these is yours, the other is mine and I need it so … make him let go, please, Nevik?"

"Tweet." The name is more of a command than a request as Nevik snaps at the blue. Still holding on for all his might, the blue's eyes peer back at the human and you'd swear that the little fire lizard's mood shifts from playful exploration to one of petulance. Eyes narrow and he extends his wings to catch himself mid-drop and with a few pumps of the third set of back muscles is now up in the air churping something close to 'I didnt want it anyway'. "Sorry," the healer appologizes and then adds, "Yes…that was Tweet. He is just about as curious as I have bad luck. I keep finding silver bits of jewelry, spoons and forks and things around where he likes to perch near by bunk." Bending to a crouch, perhaps in preparation to sit, the healer hangs his head a little and releases a bit of a sigh before rocking back and thunking onto the sand with his rump. Yup, he's down.

Is it a kerfuffle? A kersplashle. THAT. That bluedragon breaches in a dramatic way water beat to foam flying. Near the shore, making the strangest sounds. He thrashes shoreward and… it's… not exactly a bugle… but more a Mmmnnnngle. "MMMMMMMmmmmmmmnnnnnnggglee," says the blue dragon. He's whipping his head back and forth, mmmngling, eyes squeezed shut. He stills all at once, faceted eyes unlidding, lidding, lidding, whirling yellow. Fast. He's looking RIGHT AT Kultir and Nevik. Head low, the stocky little blue slinks along the sand towards the young men making the most piteous mmmrrrrnnngling sounds. His heavy jaw is entirely snared in a tangle of weed and what looks like netting. He slows as he approaches, flattened along his length as low as he can possibly be without lying down. He looks between the two young men and groans. Where is his rider?!

There are a few things that can grab someone's attention more than a white cord - especially after a clutch has been laid. That being said, Nevik is apparently completely blind to the fact that Kultir has been asked to stand. Glancing more at the hunter than the pack, he initially doesn't put two and two together. Leaning back against the sand with a hand under his head as a pillow, he was almost oblivious until after the man spoke. Then, as if his brain finally caught what his eyes were seeing, he springs back up and splutters, "You…you're a candidate?" How did he not hear? How did he not now? … and that's when the Blue Dragon decides to breach free of the water in the magnificant spray and with the bugling and mmngling and such. Well, the only thing to draw one's attention from a candidate's not is a Blue slinking its way along the beach straight at you. "Shards…" the healer exclaims and startles to his feet. "What's wrong with him?" he asks and half-gestures to the oncoming azure, mmmrring…dragon.

Kultir laughs at the slow uptake of his young friend and nods. "Yeah, I am … again. I just got back yesterday but Weyrwoman Hannah asked me when I was still working up at the new Hold." He snaps his mouth closed as the dragon he'd seen playing in the water starts acting rather oddly and frowns as the blue slinks toward them making those strange sounds. "Not sure … never heard a sound like that from a dragon before." Pushing himself to his feet, the young tracker moves toward the blue as his eyes try to pick out which one it might be. "I think this is Esanth … T'ral's blue. Wonder where he is?" Oh well, he's not going to leave the dragon tangled up in whatever it is wrapped around his muzzle. Approaching slowly, he holds out his hand toward the blue, familiar with but still careful around dragons since one never knows what they'll do.

That sound, gents, is what a bugle sounds like through jaws held shut by sea detritus. Poor Esanth has tangled his whole head in a mess of netting and sea weed. There's a little fish wriggling in the bits that flops to the sand. Snack for later. So… not a total loss for the blue's fishing expedition. He shudders, wings shedding water in a fine spray, tail lashing to and fro, dashing on the sand. Dashing sand in a fan that arcs for the tracker's face. It couldn't sink any lower, this blue's head he turns, eyes wheeling anxiously from Kultir to Nevik. A low grating croon rumbles forth.

proem nevik =A strange sense of floating… crooked. All is not right. A thrumming, oddly timed, irregular, resonates in the chest, a sense or lurching, listing from decks far below out of sight. Outside the portals, killing cold, the vastness of the Void and sparks, like hope, stars against the blackness. A klaxon wails, red light splashing and spinning. Tinny voices call out on the PA, echoing down the passageways, calling for damage reports and engaging emergency protocols. Sending out the distress signal. « … - … … - … »

Nevik approaches the blue but is looking around for the rider as well. Perhaps the rider is injured? But if so - why wouldn't the dragon just go to him? Is he caught in something? Is he injured? The Apprentice Healer swallows a bit and charges forth to investigate the oddly-sounding Blue. "Tweet…Akron…" he calls but doesn't seem to be looking in any particular direction. Fire lizards, at least the ones that have been trained enough to return to their feeder's side when they feel they are needed, need not have a vocal call but it helps convey the urgency - at least to Nevik. Within a few feet of the blue the rusty-haired lad staggers to one side and then to the other in his course as though he were hit up-side the head with a board or was suddenly drunk and unsure of his steps. "By the Queen…" he rasps and continues to stagger until he's all but next to the blue. "He's in trouble…" Pulling at the weeds and kelpy-bits, he adds, "Get 'em free…"

Kultir wasn't paying attention for once with his focus on the distressed blue instead of what the dragon was doing. For his pains, he gets a faceful of sand as that fan of sand from the lashing tail washes over him like a tidal wave. Sputtering and stumbling away from where the blue still rumbles and makes other muffled sounds so he doesn't get stepped on. The sand is scraped from his face though he's managed to get a few grains of the rough stuff in his eyes. Hearing that Nevik has the thing under control, he works on getting the grit from his mouth as he bends over to cough and spit as his eyes stream with tears as his eyes try to wash out the sand.

The big lug has managed to shove his face through a mass of netting that normally wouldn't pose any sort of trouble, but has settled in just the right place and in just such a way as to render his mandibles well and truly snared SHUT. Kultir, with all that sand in his face is of No Use. The blue's eyes roll towards Nevik and the dragon goes very still. The dragon's chest rumbles, so low that it's felt more than heard. Seaweed removed, there's a thick bunching of netting, twisted into a huge cable that's wedged up onto Esanth's snout.

Nevik assumes, perhaps incorrectly, that the Blue's odd sound and distress was because it was unable to breathe or something. Covered in sea-gick and all manner of watery plant bits, there's no concern for his clothing or for his hair - which is now covered in something green and slimey. His two flits, eager to help out, are both attempting to pull off small strands of the kelpy bits and, to someone who wasn't in the middle of the scene, it might appear cute. With a deep breath, Nevik pulls the last of the weed off and spies the netting that's wedged up into the dragon's nostril cavity. How … did… on, nevermind. He tried pulling and got nothing. He tries tugging…and got less. With one foot placed against the blue's jaws and both hands on the net he heaves for all his slight frame can muster.

Shaking his head, Kultir manages to get most of the sand off his face and out of his hair though his eyes continue to stream as a few grains of sand still irritate those tender membranes. Squinting and trying not to roll his eyes or blink too much, he makes his way to his pack to pull out his bota of water and comes across his sheathed dagger. He wonders briefly if he should trust the accident-prone apprentice with something sharp and sets it aside so that he can wash out his eyes with the water from the small skin bottle he pulled from his pack.

It's definitely best to keep sharp things away from a distressed dragon. Good call. The netting, well slicked with sea-gick, cannot stand up to the lateral forces that Nevik can apply that poor Esanth can't. The whole slithery, ropy mess - maybe a bit extra slithery for having been lodged in Esanth's nose - comes free. Rather abruptly. There's nothing resisting Nevik's full-frame pull. Whoops.

The silence after the wailing klaxons is stark. Unnerving in its own way. Emergency lighting flickers off as generators resume normal function and lights flicker-flack-flick-flicker into brightness. A hoarse cry of relief from an unseen crew filters down to the cargo bay, now full of crates, neatly stacked, marked 'Perishible.' The thrumming resumes its normal cadence and the floating sense is gone. Down is down again. Up is up. Life support systems operational.

It's not a splat. It's not a splot. It's more of a splorsh. The sound of nasal-infused netting coming to land on and over Nevik is nothing short of gross. However, the Blue is free. Lying there, in a heap of sea-gick and dragon-snot netting, is the young healer's apprentice now trying to free himself from the mess. Staggering this way and that he sheds it like an old wet blanket and eventually pitches forward onto the sand a few feet away from it and the Blue. Then, realizing that he can't breath face-down in sand, rolls over onto his back where Akron, the brave bronze firelizard, swoops in to remove one, single piece of kelp from his provider and bugles a victory to all. "Got it!," Nevik finally calls.

Kultir blinks as the last grain of sand washes out of his eyes with one last splash of that water. Shaking his head again, he blinks and turns to look toward the dragon and sighs softly as he can now see and his eyes aren't burning anymore. Standing, he approaches Nevik and Esanth as he inspects both of them. "Good job, Nevik … you didn't break anything, did you?" He's really not sure how the kid ended up laying on the ground since he hadn't seen it and wasn't able to interpret the sounds while he couldn't see and he's not looking forward to having to carry the boy back up to the Weyr either.

Esanth throws his head back and bugles properly. Much easier to do without his jaws bound shut by netting. It's ear-rattling, bone-rattling, at this proximity. He lowers his muzzle to snorffle at the be-gicked healer, eyes slowing from their anxious churn and resuming a more steady blue-green hue. Abruptly the blue looks up, just in time to see T'ral beating feet on the beach, half-staggering and falling, pitching sand everywhichway in his haste to get to his dragon. He skids to a halt, blinking at the mess and Nevik's prone form. "Are you… is…" he's panting, eyes wide and worried, breathing ragged. He looks up at Esanth, "Stars and Stones," pant, pant, "Esanth. Why do I," pant, "let you go out unsupervised?" He stands there, squinting at his dragon. Panting. Nodding. "Mmmmmhmm." He blinks at Nevik and folds over to put hands on his knees. More panting. More nodding. "All right. You're sure." He straightens, settling his breath and holds a hand out to help Nevik up. He grins down at the healer, "Our thanks… Candidate." Once Nevik's upright, T'ral will hand over a knot (watch out to not get that shiny white knot all gick-y) and make PROPER introductions all around. "Good to meet you, Nevik." He shakes his head and flat-lips a deadpan look at Kultir, sooooo disappointed, "And you just sat there, Kultir?" Tsk, tsk. He puts a hand on Esanth's chest, eyes closing briefly in relief at his bonded's well-being, grinning at the tracker, ahem, FORMER-tracker-now-Candidate.

Nevik is covered with the dragon slime that was covering the net as well as whatever sea-weed bits that still remained tattered here and there over him when he's helped up to his feet. Again, he's none-to-swift and doesn't exactly catch the word 'candidate' that was tossed out there. Was he talking to Kultir? Yeah - had to be. Wait…no, he wasn't looking at Kul…BY THE QUEEN?! The rusty-haired boy's eyes bloom in surprise and near-panic. "I…uh," his hands gesture frantically from Kultir to the Blue behind him, then to the rider and finally back to himself, "…Candidate?" he asks to just be certain what has just happened…in fact did. As if in answer to the question, Akron, the boy's bronze, lands on his left shoulder and splays out his wings to proudly proclaim that -his- food-bringer is now a potential friend-to-dragons. Yup.

Kultir bends to tug the non-natural netting from the seaweed strands and frowns, glad that he'd not gotten stuck in this since he dives regularly in this area. Maybe he'll have to take it to the Seacrafters and let them know where it had been found. The bluerider's words startle him as the older man helps Nevik to his feet, his gaze going from one to the other with a growing smile curling his lips. "Hey! Congratulations, Nevik!" He shakes his head at the teasing from the bluerider, his eyes red-rimmed and still practically coated in sand, and laughs softly. "Of course I just stood around. After Esanth kicked up a sand-wave that slapped me in the face I didn't have much choice since I couldn't see!" The humor in his tone indicates that he's taking this all pretty easily since the distressed blue couldn't really control the panic he was feeling. His eyes sparkle with mirth as he grins at the bluerider and then beams at the EX-Healer apprentice.

T'ral casts about looking for something, breath still coming pretty fast, but fading now that it's clear Esanth is okay. Nevik's goggling is registered in periphery. Hmm? "Yes, Candidate. If you're interested. It's not compulsory." T'ral straightens, drawing himself up. Assistant Weyrlingmaster and all. The knot feels weird on his shoulder still. Froofy. Too… too. T'ral shakes his head at Esanth who manages, despite the grave indignities of the past few minutes, to look smug. He sits back on his haunches, tails snaking slowly through the sand to wrap about his feet, wings, settling all cockeyed as he peers down that (now free, thanks Nevik!) great-jawed head.

Nevik just shakes his head up in down in a motion that would look near comical to everyone else. The boy is basically speechless. Akron, his bronze, however, is not. Oh, to hear the small bronze you would think that he's just fought thread, taken a gold and sired a cluch of a fair-and-twenty eggs. Tweet, however, is all about trying to take the new white knot out of the healer's hand. Akron decides that Tweet, the blue, should be elsewhere and launches himself into the air to drive 'the sly one' away. "I would," the boy answers dryly, using his sleeve to wipe some of the gick from his face - though he simply manages to smear more of it around.

Kultir chuckles softly as Nevik assumes that shocked-and-speechless state that many who are asked to Stand for a Clutch experience in those first few moments. The young man turns to sling his pack over his shoulder and shake out his towel figuring he may as well walk back with T'ral and his new fellow Candidate since he's going that way anyhow. His smile widens when the youngster agrees, his eyes flicking to that white knot as his own remains on his pack. The sand in his hair makes him itch and he longs for a chance to hit the baths and get clean again as his hand scrubs through the sandy strands sending a shower of black grains over his shoulders.

T'ral grins at the crowing little bronze and is about to clap the Candidate on the shoulder when the sheer amount and (astonishing) diversity of slime makes him check the motion just shy of contact. "Welcome to it, Nevik. Go take a rinse," he tosses a chin at the ocean, "And then we'll head back." Esanth rumbles and shifts and T'ral's lips twitch. Whatever passed between them remains a mystery, but for T'ral's comment, "Oh! I'm certain of that." He grins, tipping a look up at the dragon and then turning a mischievous look on the two Candidates.

Nevik quickly unlaces his belt to drop his pouch and such to the beach before pulling off his shirt to head to the water. Once out and with his rusty-colored hair slicked back now with just water rather than sea-gick, the young healer's pale complexion becomes even more apparent. Stars and Stones does this boy never get out in the sun…like…ever? Once back up with others, he tosses his shirt over one shoulder and grabs up his belt and pouch to carry with him. The knot, however, is safely stored within the pouch until he gets into some new, dry clothes.

Kultir grins as the youth strips out of his filthy shirt and moves into the shallows, the pale skin making him catch his lower lip between his teeth before he laughs out loud. "Shells, Nevik … haven't you taken your shirt of since you've been down here? Like … ever?" The young man holds a hand up as if to sheild his eyes from the glare off the pale flesh of the kid, his eyes sparkling with a teasing glint. His gaze goes to T'ral, the mirth turning to curiosity since he's seen that look before but only once from the Assistant Weyrlingmaster … and that ended in a little bit of restriction and extra chores if he remembered correctly.

A SHORT TIME LATER…

T'ral and the Candidates pile into the Training ground. The run back to the barracks, at double time, with T'ral singing marching cadences as they go pausing if needed, uncertain of Nevik's fitness level, but keeping an eye on him and the excited chittering firelizards.


My Searchrider said to me,
Hey, kid, wanna ride green?
I want a dragon that's fast and lean,
I wanna ride a hide that's green!

Green, kid? What about blue?
I want a dragon that smart and true,
I wanna ride a hide that's blue!

Blue, kid? What about brown?
I want a dragon that won't back down,
I wanna ride a hide that's brown!

Brown, kid? What about bronze?
I want a dragon bright as dawns,
Best I got, nothing rhymes with bronze!


Welcome to Candidacy, Nevik!

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