Azrith, Iskanzivoth, Ivaenth, Kyprioth, Raktraeth


… must come down. Ivaenth takes to the skies in a heated, fast paced flight!


It is sunset of the twenty-fifth day of the eighth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Crater Lake, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 07 Apr 2018 04:00




Crater Lake

Four centuries ago, a chunk of the very comet that drove some Oldtimers forward crashed to the desert near Igen Weyr, collapsing the original inner caverns and breaking through to a new spring that now feeds into Igen’s underground aquifer. The result? Beauty from destruction - a long, crystalline lake of brilliant sapphire blue. Sharp sandstone rings the water in jagged peaks, where sparse desert shrubs cling to steep, sandy slopes and reflect darkly on the pristine, mirror-like surface. Out in the midst of the lake, a small island pierces the glassy plane, umber from azure in a near-perfect cone. A startling break in the stark desert and savannah surrounding the Weyr, the crater lake sits like a jewel in the rough - a picturesque, inviting respite from the rough, dry terrain beyond.

Summer continues to hold Igen under its crushing grip. Even now, with the sun beginning to set and the sky fading to another clear night, the air remains stifling hot and dry. No wind rises, either and despite the heat, the night is perfect. Perfect for flying, that is! And not just any sort of flying either. That Ivaenth was approaching her time to rise was of no surprise. Naturally bright to start with, the green had been growing increasingly restless. She’d begun to take careful note of the males, taunting some and flirting with others and even going as far as to rough house with some of the bolder ones. « It’s been real sweet, boys but practice time is over! » Her call of challenge is echoed out from the feeding pens, where she stands out vividly in lime green hue, gossamer wings spread at-ready. « Time to show who’s the fastest, toughest and bravest of you lot! Don’t disappoint me… I want this to be worth my time! »

From then on, the flight progresses at a fast pace, as Ivaenth waits for NO ONE! Her flights are of pure instinct and drive, along with a heavy dose of adrenaline and recklessness. It always promises to be short and sweet and this one proves no different. Laser-like, she shoots off through Igen’s skies, drawing her would-be suitors out towards the Crater Lake. Up and up (and up), does she soar, only to begin pulling stunts befitting her size and agility. She will put those who follow her through their paces, no shy creature and taking risks as she plummets back into the fray to taunt the ‘boys’ by weaving in and out of the pack. Below, Miel is well aware of what is about to occur and had already begun to lead the riders away from the pens and towards her ground-level weyr (handy, that!). It’ll be cramped, but likely the least of anyone’s thoughts. The greenrider is much like her dragon counterpart; Miel’s flights tend to be charged and she is no meek woman afraid of physical touch — all those who find themselves within her private quarters will be subjected to some form of taunt. Call it… “sampling”!

Above and away, it may have started off straightforward, but Ivaenth will keep up with her tricks until, predictably, she reaches the end of her stamina. With the last of her strength, she will catch a thermal and dart higher, as high as she can manage. Then, with exhaustion looming and the end in sight, her wings dip and fold as she twists mid air and begins to allow gravity to take hold. « Come ‘n get me, boys! » Ivaenth’s call is mixed with riotous mental-laughter, as she allows herself to plummet down and down … Whoever catches her better hold on tight because the collision is going to STING!

Lethargy and languor seem to be the theme of the day when the heat is so overpowering it practically crushes any living thing. Raktraeth has sought solace in the relatively cool waters of the lake, but now that the night is beginning to fall and with it the temperatures, attention can stir… elsewhere. And of course, Ivaenth’s call should be the first thing to catch his wandering attention? It takes work to get his behemoth of a frame out of the water and moving again, but the glowing green’s taunts are persuasive enough that he’ll do battle against inertia. Let the smaller dragons dart of, overeager and expending energy quickly. Raktraeth is in no hurry as slow and steady may indeed win the race and he’s been conserving energy for days now. Once she begins to falter, up he shoots. Who needs words at a time like this? There’s a sudden explosion of rampant growth of vines as thoughts mirror action when the ruddy giant will try to both block out his competition and ensnare his prize. Life will find a way, surely, although nature’s selection can be surprising.

All through the day, the heat has left Kyprioth somnolent; somnolent, and lazy. Even the invitation to play has gained only the faintest edge of his attention, for the brown much prefers his vantage point on a high ledge where he might doze in the sun, keeping watch over Ivaenth and her antics with a certain, almost wry amusement. And then night begins to fall, and her playfulness turns to desire.

And with that turn comes a shift in Kyprioth, from sleepy puppy to focused scenthound, alert to the hunt and perhaps the prize at the end of a well-laid, complicated trail. Once she's airborne, he's after her, slinking from cover to cover, dashing between other, more inattentive chasers, finding the holes in their plans and subverting them in order to gain precious lengths in the chase, her mindlinked taunts ever a beacon drawing him on. False trails or no, he's on to her, and will not be turned aside; indeed, he's conserved a good deal of energy just by avoiding the rough and tumble in favor of a good stalk. When, at the end, she begins to falter, she will find him looming near to her, circling closely, seeking to snare wings and limbs and mind in a haze of brimstone-tinged lemongrass.

Long has Iskanzivoth been in tune with Ivaenth, a dragon of his crew and Impressed to one of the people his rider actually likes almost as much as him. He's watched as her hide slowly shifted, kept at least one eye open and attuned, and while he rarely chases, for her he makes an exception — she is a dragon already loved, not one he would need to get to know or puzzle out. A dragon known to be deserving of his attention. And the challenge of the speed of her flights — Well, he was also happy for the challenge of the rough-housing. « You know it's me, already, » is murmured through the gears of his clockwork and steam contraptions, « Even if you sometimes let others have a go.» Does that matter? No. He is definitively rising to the challenge, knowing to pace himself just long enough that he weaves outside her path at times, meeting up with the group again when a smaller twist is over, saving his burst of energy for the very end: she tires, as do most of her pursuers, but could he have been angling in wait in just the right direction?

Being a new transfer to the Weyr, having barely been there three months, Azrith has been biding his time in wait, getting to know the lay of the land and all the pretty greens before he decides he wants to chase. But this fine sunset, after noticing Ivaenth and her antics earlier in the day, the large blue has been casually keeping an eye on her with mounting interest from a distance, not engaging in the rough housing himself, much preferring to let others tire themselves out before the fun begins in earnest. So when the gives her taunting call from the feeding pens, Azrith is fresh as a daisy and ready, willing and eager to fly. « And don’t you settle for any less my lady green. » His voice is as smooth as the silk that ripples in with his mindvoice, colored a bright lime green to match Ivaenth’s hide, accompanied by the a softly sensual graze of fingertips trailing along skin. One the green takes off, Azrith is quick in his pursuit, for all his long and lithe lines are made for speed and his larger size giving him a slight edge in stamina compared to others of his color.

The fast pace thrills Azrith as he lets his long narrow wings carry him after her in long,desperate strokes. Following the pack for most of the way, he is biding his time, his blue green eyes riveted on the green’s athletic form, trumpeting his approval of the aerial acrobatics that she achieves so effortlessly when she weaves through her pursuers. « Well done lovely! You show them! » He encourages with a warm chuckle as his voice ripples the silky sheet of his mind sending it dancing with a soft undulation. Ever further and higher, his silver and iris swirled wingsails keep him in line with the pack until a moment when the large blue notices the green may be showing signs of flagging reserves, As soon as that is observed, he stalls his strokes just enough fall to the end of the pack, where he waits patiently, watching for the signs…There! When she folds and twists and then lets herself fall, Azrith coils and just as she falls past him, he springs forward with a powerful thrust of his wings, rippling lime-green silk of his mind now bunches and wrinkles, as if clutched by fists at the height of passion as he calls to his green beauty, wings and silvered talons readied to entwine her.

Wind roars by as Ivaenth falls and falls, cavorting in her own way as she gives over to the rush and leaves it to the boys to pick each other off to claim her. Down and down… Azrith’s charm did not go unnoticed by the green, but newcomers luck won’t play in his favour. « Next time! » She crows, triumphant as she evades his grasp. What? Did they think she would make it easy? No, she will try to squirm her way out of things still, to keep them all on their toes! Something Iskanzivoth would’ve known to prepare for but alas, she snubs him too. « No hard feelings! » It won’t be his time, this time as she twists away from his hopeful grasp. Suitor after suitor she spurns and not always by her own wiles! Some take themselves out of the running and it’s through this gap that Kyprioth earns his chance, but like teasing a dog with a bone, Ivaenth will skirt past him too by the tiniest of margins. « Oooh! So close! » Ivaenth’s taunting to the very end and it’s through that distraction that she misses the quiet one. He may have been lethargic to start but slow and steady wins this —race— flight! Those rampant vines will act as a safety net, but it’ll be the massive browns actual talons that snare the real prize here — and then all the rest of Ivaenth too, as she all but collides with him. Another flight comes to as abrupt an end as it started!

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