H'rik, Doji, Ko'an, Wendryth, Raktraeth, Zodaiyath


Whirlwind practices for the T-tourney and some grey areas are identified.


It is afternoon of the seventh day of the fifth month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Weyrling Training Grounds, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 29 Jun 2018 07:00


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"Oh, and fire. There's gotta be at least one fire."


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.

With no weyrlings in Igen right now, the training grounds are temptingly empty. Someone's taken full advantage of this, and a number of tall hoops have been set up, three at each side of the grounds. Some may recognise their use: Wendryth certainly knows what's going on, as he addresses Whirlwind. « LO! The field is ours - a fine practice we shall have, to make the tourney ours! Join us at the training grounds! » Arrivals there will find the bronze and his rider ready for flight, H'rik with a sack of firestone at his feet as he stands beside his dragon, helmet under his arm. It's a warm autumn late afternoon, the light rain helping to wash away the remnants of the Threadfall fought earlier in the day.

To each their own recovery following Threadfall, and from wherever he'd tempted his return to normalcy this time, Ko'an heeds the summons with only some delay. Black tattered sails on high darken the weather-dimmed sky, a threatening display by default. Backwinging, the Black Pearl'd bronze lands in the typical manner of taking his space, only a few motivated to move out of immediate range this time. Shipwrecked beast turns his head just a little once they've settled to lay an abyssal faceted eye on the Weyrleader and sack of firestone, wingsails shuffled slightly, folded upon their masts before rested into an unnaturally still stance. Whispers of the lost come beneath the faint whisp of metallic whistle, hushed and churning over and over themselves in their lament turned curiosity, caught up in the endless rush of the final River that is he, « There is question as to who will reign? » Ko'an stays a'dragonback for an extra moment, not bothering to disembark his ghastly vessel quite yet. There's a smirk, though, evident 'neath helmet and among roguish, dark features.

« The field might be ours but aren't we supposed to have like… an opponent? » Raktraeth may be trying to insist he was only here to take advantage of the late afternoon sun that he's sprawled out in now that the rain and Thread are gone, but the behemoth brown's eyes have been unlidded for quite some time as he spies upon any activity near those hoops. Doji however is much more engaged in the activity as a whole. The brownrider is busy dragging not one, but two firestone 'sacks over from the weyrling supply. Once she gets to her lifemate's side, she drops them with a huff and gives a salute to their latest wingmate arrivals. "Everybody's going to be keeping clear of the ground area, right? No spectators to accidentally hit…" A flattened weyrbrat leads to a lot of paperwork. And not the enjoyable kind.

Wendryth rumbles verbal greetings as the Wingmates trickle in. His reply to Zodaiyath is jovial. « Ah, but we must make sure to show the true extent of our skills! » And there's Raktraeth, his brother. « T'is a practice session! We shall be one another's opponents as we hone our skills! » "I hope they have the common sense to do so," H'rik notes with a grin. "Ko'an, you can defend the hoops first, I reckon?" He calls over to the man who hasn't dismounted. In H'rik's mind, this arrangement makes sense given that both he and Doji already have firestone sacks to hand.

There is disapproval here, a subtle rise in the distant wailing of souls. A darkening of the horizon, the appearance of the ghost ship just beyond reach more vivid than its typical partial dissolution against the backdrop of the World's End. « A waste of effort if they are blind to the obvious- »The man's expression falters in some private exchange, and Zodaiyath's gnarled, uneven fangs show in an eerie, manic sort of grin. "Aye. Though this isn't quite the sport we fancy. I hope these hoops are.. well-fashioned." The chuckle intermingled with that is more good-natured than Ko'an tends to be with taining outside of their traditional norm, though undoubtably tainted by something just beneath. "If not, they'll learn." The bronzerider replies to the concern of flattened weyrbrats. Simple. Zodaiyath is already turning to take his place where indicated, tattered sails partially loose'd.

Raktraeth will not be the first dragon in the air, or even the second. Eventually however, he'll lumber on up to his feet once Doji's scrambled up to take her seat. Vines begin to climb the towering evergreens, reaching out to test at those 'opponents' closest to him as he gets into the air. « Do practice sessions come with prizes? » Raktraeth is here asking the real question while Doji's still scanning the perimeter of the training ground a bit dubiously, although not a soul but Whirlwind riders is to be seen at the moment. All those weyrbrats are probably off trying to race with flamethrowers or something. "I'm betting on at least one dislocated shoulder, a bruised wing and someone getting a concussion before the games are over." Good thing they have helmets though? Raktraeth hasn't quite commited to a full attempt yet, but the brown tries to edge in closer and closer to Zodaiyath, probing for just what sort of reaction he might receive.

"Here's hoping," H'rik replies to Ko'an, a flicker of confusion in his face at what the pair might have in store for the hoops. Let's not even think about squashing Weyrbrats! He climbs to hsi seat on Wendryth's neck, and the pair are aloft. « Alas, no. There would not be enough prizes! » A few other riders are practising at the other set of hoops, getting to grips with the game. Wendy takes the other flank, seeking out any hole he can spot in Zodaiyath's defence, hoping the older bronze will be tied up with fending off Raktraeth. H'rik is poised with a firestone sack, but he's not in a good enough position to try and throw it yet. He's also keeping half an eye on the ground for any errant children.

"You're quite optimistic, lass." To Doji, Ko'an replies before there's distance put between them on the ground. There are good sportsmen and sports..dragons, and there is this pair. Whatever was said to bribe Zodaiyath into playing along couldn't have been benign. The hoops are now his, and Darkness does not share. Nor does It have 'fun' for all intents and purposes. Winning is an all out war. Haunted figurehead tilts upwards, and then limb'r limbs vault him upwards to join the flurry of wings that have spread across the dragonball field. His reach is vast, though big dragon does not equate to quick movements. In straight lines, the risen shipwreck has impressive speed for size. In a small area, less so. Intrusion closer into his space garners little response just yet, for Raktraeth wouldn't dare, would he? Long verdigris-touched tail sways, balancing the hover in place. A spaded anchor bidding only small amounts of friction amidst seas meant to change quickly. A curled hiss-creel intermixed with a chuff is the beast's laughter of sorts, most of the pair's focus on H'rik who has the treasure in hand.

Sports aren't usually Raktraeth's idea of fun and games, but once he's got his bulk moving in a single direction, the momentum is kind of hard to stop. And winning is definitely better than losing. And indeed, Raktraeth would dare to take on the ghost-ship head on or well… slightly above on? The ruddy brown giant aims a course slightly above Zodaiyath, hoping that weight and gravity will be enough to keep the goalkeeper from said goals. Doji meanwhile stands up in the straps and tries to hurl her own sack at the left-most goal. The center one is just impossible. "Oh, and fire. There's gotta be at least one fire." This is an optimistic Doji. At least the healers are well equipped to deal with burns and broken bones!

Doji seems to be on the case, hurling a sack. Wendryth gives an approving bugle, before a more concerned bugle comes from the other end of the 'pitch'. The thud of a firestone sack comes not long after, and H'rik turns in his seat to peer in that direction. "C'mon," the man mutters under his breath, before he directs Wendy to take him that way, to see what's going on with the other practising pairs. No injuries, by the looks of things, but they need some pointers on throwing at the hoops and not at each other.

Not a fan of further infringement from topside, Zodaiyath backwings until he's at risk of striking those already battle-beaten sails against the hoops themselves. Given his wingspan, there's still space- just not quite the dragonslength there had been. But the real purpose here is to upend the vessel encroaching on his waters. Cannons may not be involved here, but there's other ways to redirect the brown. It's familiar for those in Whirlwind, the creepy, hair-raising 'presence' of Zodaiyath's mindtouch. The chill, the weight, the burden of weakness and wasting away of that Touch. The ghost ship's altitude rises by degrees, as if rising on an unseen wave, the current picking him up to meet the leg of Raktraeth.. which he curls those pentagrade, corroded digits around and…. shoves. Meaning to throw him off, and Doji's aim. And if those talons prick a little… well, oops.

Time and working relationships has at least given Raktraeth more than enough exposure to the wasting chill and malaise that comes with the older dragon's mindtouch, so not nearly as shocking as it might be to strangers! With a shake of his head, the brown gives a snort and the trees shudder out of the frost of winter, life stubbornly finding a way even as his tail thrashes out to hit at Zodaiyath's side. He's not resorting to using his own talons… yet. The prickling on his own foreleg gets a grunt. Doji's aim was suitably thrown off during the tussle, with her throw hitting the pole a few feet below where the hoop actually starts. "Good thing I brought two!" And the other sack is quickly unfastened and she tries to aim towards the center hoop now!

The lethargy and avascular coolness drifts, fades slightly but not by much as life proves stubborn. The immensity of Zodaiyath lingers there, a dense incorporeal fog at the brink of that treeline, creating wilt, grey and ash where they might meet. The second sack is unexpected, but it earns a sort of approval from the bronzerider, a huff of a breath unlikely to be heard amidst the churning of air and wingbeats. Ko'an isn't entirely sure of the rules of the game- he never really bothered to find out- but that never really matterd anyway. And while he seems relatively subdued on the back of his dragon, wordless save the cocky expression that suits him all too well, there is likely a sound reason for that, hazy bond and all. Ghost Ship's breech of space to anchor to Raktraeth's limb isn't broken when thrashed at, the large beastie heaving leeward to avoid his bow being struck. There's not quite any way in which the Black Pearl'd wreckage could turn to make up the space he'd lost, the hole in his defenses where Doji now targets. But if he can't keep the goals, Raktraeth and his can't have them either. Limb'r and timbre bronze turns, being just above the hoop and, for all intents and purposes, pulls on the brown and feigns 'catching' himself by landing and heaving against the hoop itself. If it isn't enough to knock it down and squish whoever is brave (stupid) enough to be on the ground right now, it will surely tilt it askew at some awkward angle in avoidance of the sack's trajectory.

Not having as much time as she'd like to aim, plus the whole rocking and rolling of a dragon tussling, ends up with Doji's sack at least hitting the hoop, even if it doesn't make it through completely. Like Schrodinger's firestone sack, it's neither in nor out of the goal, hanging in the limbo in between. Raktraeth's sun shines just a bit brighter on the edge of the meadow as the bronze gives weigh. Young enough and foolish enough, the ruddy brown will take that as a victory and let out a bugle of his own, but then the hoop is threatened from below! From the air, the brown will try his best to right the pole in a sort of tug of war, however the advantage is definitely towards the dragon on the ground since Trae's also distracted with that whole business of trying to stay in the air.

Malicious unshaken confidence remains in Death's proximity to the green of Raktraeth's sunny field. A presence undauntable, one that finds itself far too impregnable to be brought down by this game he's already misshapen for his own means. The hoop shudders and cringes beneath the weight, unlikely to stay in once piece all too much longer with the massive bronze's weight not yet off of it. Hind paws don't let go of it now that the firestone sack teeters on the precipice of a score, but he does release the brown- making that effort of staying airborn significantly less difficult. Massive maw reaches for the sack instead, prodigious fang tearing at the thick fabric. Clumps of firestone tumbles through the hoop as it's torn, while the rest of it is thrown behind the bronze- scattering large chunks of rock through the air to rain down on heads below as it's vaulted across the field. Something went through the now-broken hoop that then gives way beneath Zodaiyath as he struggles to gain altitude from near stand-still and falling structure. The Stygian River is a bit faster than usual, tumbling against the rotten shores of the purgatorial plains. « Terrible game, this. » Likely only because it isn't by his rules, « If they want battle to prove our dominance, there are much more permanent means. »

« Those sound like the words of a sore loser to me! » Raktraeth's smugness is abundantly clear of the gleam of light that just keeps growing brighter, even tossing in a forest stream to reflect it. Doji's too busy shaking her head at the destruction that happened not even an hour into practice. If it weren't for the helmet, she'd probably be facepalming. "We're gonna need some clearer rules…" And once the wreckage of the hoop is seen to, the brownrider will tuck herself on her ledge to overlook the rest of practice while she drafts up a more detailed proposal of 'rules'.

There is no response initially to Raktraeth, though the touch of Death still hasn't left him. Bolstered by thickening faceless forms amidst the disarming mists. There's amusement there, akin to the sensation of the curl of a skeletal smirk upon the psychopomp captain. Tap.. tap. Rapping on the wooden ore. Thinking drowned by the backdrop of the lost souls that make up the endless, eternal waters. « I don't lose, mate. » He doesn't seem to mean the game, the massive skeletal bronze ominously pleased by.. something. "The only rules that matter," Ko'an is there as Doji prepares to go off to work on the proposal, "Are what we can do, and what we can't do, aye? Try not to make them too tight, or else where's the fun." Especially if he has to compete in this with the rest of the wing. That grey zone is what adhered the piratical pair's combined… interests. He's still a'dragonback, as if he has some place to go. But he's taken off his helmet for a moment, a sort of bow of his head and a wink given to her as he often does in parting if he has some comment to make before he goes. Never a fan of women in the Whirlwind wing, and always a womanizer by fault, there's a bit of condescension easily tasted in the exchange. As soon as she's gone to her ledge, the Black Pearl'd dragon takes high to the evening sky, and vanishes in a blink Between.

[OOC:] Ko'an says "Who needs rules."
[OOC:] Doji says "Ohhh… Zodaiyath… Raktraeth… Tuanjhaliteth… Lukoith…"
[OOC:] Doji says "Basically everybody but Wendy."

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