Who

T'ral, R'mar

What

T'ral and R'mar discuss the recent losses and what changes might be made to address them.

Backscened like a mug.

When

It is afternoon of the twenty-second day of the seventh month of the ninth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr

OOC Date 22 Dec 2016 08:00

 

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"Not everyone here will appreciate hearing about weaknesses in the Wings."


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Council Chamber

However disheveled the corridor outside might lie, THIS room - the sole dominion of the Weyr's upper elite - is always sparkling, ever swept, ever dusted, its walls scrubbed free of the grime of ages. A certain spartan grandeur fills the Council Chamber, with its foreboding stonework and heavy wooden door. A round table fills the bulk of the space, an ancient creation of fire-hardened wood, carved with the three dune'd symbol of Igen Weyr. Chairs surround: hard-backed things (with thin cushions) for the most part, but two grandiose chairs, on opposite sides of the table, that seat Weyrwoman and Weyrleader. The walls are lined with elegant old tapestries, depicting scenes of ancient Igen glories.

It is the eighty-second day of Summer and 120 degrees. Overnight, the temperatures plummet to a reasonable heat. Sand coats everything.


The council room is full of chatter, clusters of riders and holders and crafters speaking here and there. One rider is T'ral, weyrsecond and resident Weyr representative this fine sandy day. "Oh?" he says, brows climbing. He's standing, hipshot, with a thumb tucked into a pocket as he nods along, listening as patiently as he is able to the long-winded description of a Herdcrafter who is describing in detail the merits of stacked stone fencing versus split-rail. In truth, it had been interesting… a quarter candle ago. There are pockets of similar conversations around the room as a meeting has broken up into cocktails. Dark eyes flick to the shelf that sports the lovingly created models of Igen's dragonry where minature Rhiscorath and miniature Abraxath menace a sandtimer. His brow furrows slightly, a grin twitching, Who posed them like that? He turns attenion to the 'crafter, "A twenty percent increase, really? That's impressive."

Doors open, and slide shut as the large ginger haired brownrider slips in, a bundle of hides rolled under his arms. He frowns, obviously annoyed at the amount of people present in the chambers. "Shard it." he mutters, and moves through the crowds, eyes passing over the faces and knots present. He nods to a couple of familiar faces but doesn't speak out to any of them in greeting. Obviously he's got something important on his mind. Finally, he spots the bluerider talking to a crafter and approaches, holding short a few feet, standing at attention and clearing his throat loudly.

The weyrsecond gives a laugh, genuine amusement at some play on words or jest, and bleeding that off when he spies R'mar standing close. Brows twitch together, taking in the man's posture and the bundle of hides and the cleared throat. He ducks his head to the crafter, "Excuse me a moment, Journeyman. Thank you again for coming." He shakes the man's hand and then turns to the brownrider, giving him a nod, no salute required with arms full like that, T'ral looks with curious composure at the bundled hides, "Good afternoon, R'mar. At ease." He gestures at the table, "What can I do for you?"

R'mar gives a sort of grunt as he moves towards the table. "I've done my analysis of the drills the other wings are performing T'ral. I'm not overly impressed with many of them." The hides land on the table with a thud and the brownrider separates them into various piles before stepping back. "As you can see, I've taken extensive notes on each wing, their strengths and weaknesses, and composition." He taps a finger on one pile. "This is a complete listing of each and every injured rider, broken down by wing and WingLeader, since the beginning of the Pass." He pauses for a second and clears his throat again. "And, I've also come up with some new drills for various wings that I feel would be useful for them. Those are…" Looking through the piles he frowns.

"R'mar, this sounds very interesting." He leans over to the brownrider under the guise of flipping open one of folios, murmuring very quietly for R'mar's ears alone, "Not everyone here will appreciate hearing about weaknesses in the Wings." He scans the contents of a page and flips the folio closed, "Particularly now. Come back in…" he straightens and looks at the sand timer. It's half past Rhiscorath's elbow. "…no. Tell you what, meet me for dinner along the north rim. Are you any good with your hands, R'mar?" Along the north rim are a set of ground-accessible weyrs called the Ghostweyrs by many. A figurative fancy for the way wind blows across the hollows of the rock, moaning lament. Darker tones, these days, given the number of Hogback riders and their families who used to occupy them.

The brownrider glances around and nods to the WeyrSecond. Gathering up the scattered hides and tucking them back under his arm. "Dinner at the north rim. I can do that T'ral. You know I have always been good with my hands sir. Why do you ask?"

"I didn't know." T'ral straightens, giving R'mar a mild look, curious. "I'm doing some work on one of the weyrs and I could use a hand." You've just been conscripted, R'mar. "I'll see you there." He nods and excuses himself to make his way around the room, offering courtesies to those present and then, making his way out. He has other stops before the bowl, and it's a half-candle or so before he tramps up the rocky slopes to the weyrs in the bowl wall. The angle of the sun has just hit the spot where light turns gold and lumimous. Wind moaning across the mouths of the weyrs lifts a mournful song in contrast.


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Lake Shore — Ghostweyrs
Sprawled out beyond the Weyr proper's hustling activity and ambling roads, the cool, blue paradise of the Weyr lake promises escape from the oppressive hammer of Igen summer's cruel climes; the asymmetrical, sandy white shores hook delicately around the deceptively still waters running deep and sure, greedy peninsulas reaching white fingers stretching in crooked lines towards its center. A sturdy shack, weather-beaten and brown as cured leather, resides in isolated splendor upon one such finger, screened shelving offering a variety of brushes and fragrant oils housed in colorful tureens. Out beyond a small and dusty paddock ringed by a white fence, a long rocky pier stabs out into the lake, providing a panoramic view of the Weyr itself, while the southern shores provide varied shrubs and grassed for the massed herds in their pens.


Having left the Council Chamber mere footfalls behind the younger rider, R'mar was met outside in the bowl by Jerelloth. Mounting, the pair took to the air and quickly angled back to their own large weyr ledge. The hides are quickly added to with more hides, and with as much grace as the large brown can muster, they drop to the lower caverns. R'mar once again runs inside and returns with a sack of food, and a skin of wine. Slinging those over his shoulder, he mounts and by the time that T'ral arrives at the indicated weyr, R'mar and Jerelloth are already there, the brownrider looking through the hides carefully and the dragon rubbing his body back and forth on the old couch.

Esanth lands loping gamely on three legs, right rear haunch tucked tight, tail whipping around in counterbalance. T'ral lets himself down carefully from straps and spends a bit unbuckling bags and baskets from the stocky blue's rig. The blue, largely undeterred by his injury, save collecting the injured limb, hops to where Jerelloth is rollwing head run out to knock into the brown's in greeting. "He once spent the better part of a season pretending to have three legs." T'ral ambles up to R'mar, surveying the spread of hides. They've multiplied. "You might ask for an apprentice Harper to help you with all this." He laughs. "Okay. Where should I start?" T'ral winces as his own wound bites with the shift of bundles to the ground. "I brought my own analysis which I did when I first transferred." There's a set of hides he offers to R'mar, "Trade ya."

R'mar takes the offered hides and frowns. "A harper, unless a rider, wouldn't understand half of what is here T'ral." He glances quickly over the first in the hides that the bluerider handed over and nods. "If you want you can take a look over my summaries, there. Then you might be better prepared to look over the new drills. I know that doing this doesn't really fall into my duties as a rider, but, old habits are hard to break. You are aware that during my last stint at High Reaches I covered roles in weyrling training, and as a WingSecond, yes?"

T'ral is already reading some of the analysis, his voice distracted as he threads a bit to speech for a reply, "Balderdash. Do you think the archivists-" he pauses, eyes tracking briefly to look for something to sit on; he winces, as he lowers himself down, "-Understand everything they responsibile for organizing? Also…" he blinks, looking up at R'mar. "It was a jest." The best kind have to be explained, right? He's still reading, absorbed. "I did a similar analysis from injuries up. Just there," he nods to the folios placed on a nearby rock. "We're all responsible for thinking like this. We're not all responsible for the repercussions of implementing change." That falls to Leadership. T'ral pauses in the reading squints into the middle distance, recalling something that has been rattling around. "You analyzed the 'other wings.' Does Whirlwind not have any room for improvement?" He smiles up at R'mar.

At this, the brown snorts in the direction of the riders. R'mar chuckles at the brown and shakes his head. "I never said that us Whirlies don't have room for improvement T'ral. But as part of my duty as a wingrider with Whirlwind, I didn't have the same opportunity to watch our drills from a distance." A smile as he looks over the reports from T'ral's findings and he frowns. Reaching into the sack beside him, he pulls out a meatroll and takes a large bite. Swallowing, and after a short pause, he continues. "As an outside observer, it's easier to make an unbiased evaluation." Another snort from the brown gets a quick glare. "Even when it came to watching over wings that we have personal ties to."

"Try inferring it from injury reports." Some might have said T'ral was reaching. Really, he had been bored. He fishes up another stack, opening to somewhere in the middle, "Mmmhhm. To your question-" he's lost in another report or, wait, this one is a drill. "This is interesting." T'ral points at a diagram. He doesn't get around to answering R'mar's question… except that, "Is that something you ran weyrlings through? Back at the Reaches." So he was aware.

R'mar glances over at the drill diagram and chuckles. "Ah, yes, the double arrow. Never ran that one. In theory it should help out Arroyo. Keep the larger browns and bronzes in the middle, and the numerous smaller dragons front and back. Came up with that one last night in fact. Daze called in a few of his friends and they seemed to understand it well enough." Reaching to go through another pile of hides, he pulls out one more drill diagram and hands it over. "This proved to be quite successful at High Reaches. Could be something we could look at using with Whirlwind."

"This is all really," T'ral lowers the packet and gestures with it at everything assembled, "Impressive. Consider yourself excused from drills to observe Whirlwind." He looks back to the documents, the light falling on his face highlights planes that cast his face in sudden gravity, weariness. He shifts, wincing as his wound catches, but stretching forward, "This one — tell me about this one." It's something like a circle with riders above and below, as if they were all Pern's equator and poles.

R'mar looks up from the hide he was studying with a touch of surprise. "I will have a report ready for you and V'ard within a sevenday." A smile falls over the brownrider's face. He returns to the hide and nods lightly. As the new formation is slid his way, R'mar takes it and looks it over. "This is one of the originals I worked on up at the Reaches." He stands and moves towards his brown as a bronze fire lizard appears overhead, chattering away in annoyance. "Daze, call your friends please. T'ral wishes a demonstration." Jerelloth gives a huff of firestone scented breath as two fairs of fire lizards appear slightly higher up in the air, each expressing annoyance with the call. "Daze, if you would." The bronze cocks his head at the rider and chirps once, moving to join the fair. The fire lizards receive quick instructions, backed from the brown, and for the next candlemark or so, demonstrate each and every formation to the WeyrSecond below.

T'ral's brows knit at the fair's aerobatics. There aren't quite enough in the fair to fill out the whole formation, but T'ral gets the gist and nods, squinting at the swooping firelizards, considering the application in full formation. "I look forward to the report. Now," he nods up to the weyr entrance above, a low crooning hum is the wind's eerie voice over and through the stones, "There's some simpler work to be done."

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