Ista Weyr Log: Nalaieth's Maiden Flight - April 2006

Nalaieth's Maiden Flight - April 9, 2006 Ista Weyr Beach: North(#522RJMs)

The daylight washes over the black sands of this wide, glorious beach, which stretches in a semi-circle far to the south and partway to the north along the Plateau's shoreline. Off to the west, over the sparkling sea, you can see the distant dark smudges of the Ista Isles. Behind you, the huge rise of the Ista Weyr plateau looms darkly; it is a perfect backdrop for the waterfall that cascades from the top and forms a misty spray which glitters with a million rainbows. To the north is a five-meter wide stream, fed by the waterfall, and a bridge. To the south you can see the docks which seem to be under some construction, and very often a magnificent white sail as boats arrive and leave over the clear blue sea.

The wet season oppresses the island with high humidity and sweltering temperatures. To the northwest, a bridge arches over the stream. To the south, the beaches continue to where long docks stretch far into the bay.

The early afternoon light is perfect for beach side adventures, and many weyrfolk have come out to enjoy the day's gentle waves. Nolee is one of these, bathed in warm rays of sunlight, and doing her best to absorb every single one of them. Sandals off and at her side, she's stretched out on the beach, using her decorative scarf as a sunshade. A length of string is stretched between her fingers, and she plies it back and forth, tangling and unknotting it in succession. "Wherry-butted string, go the right way."

The dusky young bronze from 'Reaches takes a direct path to the beach, no wide swoops or otherwise fancy maneuvers to get him where he's going in this oppressive heat. "I'll try to be done as soon as possible," C'len is saying to Vildaeth, as he slides down the bronze's side. "We won't be here long, okay?" For his part, the rider takes in the warmth and seems to revel in it, drawing in a deep breath of humid air and letting it out slowly. A bakset comes along with him, several sets of clothing folded neatly inside it.

The Reachian bronzerider with the shaved head slides down Ulfianth's side while the bronze gives a storm-troubled rumble. M'rek pauses and gives the dragon a pat before reassuring him, "Really? Well. You know I need to drop this off if I ever want to get served again here. I know. I know! Well, how was I to know that would get me put on some list. Maybe get a drink or two. Aye, or three. Enjoy the sun." He reaches up and works on detaching a wrapped item that's been packed with great care for the trip between. Once the object is down, and the protective cloth is pulled away it looks to be a fruit basket, big enough to overfill the rider's well sized arms. M'rek struggles a little in the sand to get his footing and then heads vaguely for the Sandbar.

Nolee glances upward from her string games as the sand is distubed by the landing of visiting dragons, her brows knitting in a frown even before the gentle breezes have carried the grains inevitably toward her eyes. "Aw, shell's of Faranth's egg, can't you people see I'm not in a mood to be hospitable?" Shaking her head and donning her best Griere-taught smile, Nolee rises, watching the path of the two basket-holding men, then is distracted by brushing sand off of her legs, and looking about for her half-buried sandals. "Shards. Lost 'em already."

Before he's gone too far from his dragon, C'len remembers to remove his scarf and other assorted keep-warm items, leaving them in a bundle near Vil. The other clothing is carried carefully, his mother's warnings fast in his ear about delivering them. Spotting M'rek, C'len calls a greeting to the man before he gets too far, casting a quick look at the basket he carries. "Where'd that come from?" Comes the curious question, before he takes a few steps, squishing slowly through the sand in his boots.

M'yr trots down the path from the plateau, hands stuffed in the pockets of his shorts, shirt open in retribution against the Istan heat. Taking it all in stride, he's walking with his face tilted toward the sky, noting the descent of the Reachian dragons and their lifemates. One he knows. "C'len!" is called out to the bronzerider as M'yr approaches. "Welcome back to Ista! I've been thinking..." About then, M'rek's presence is noted, the Weyrsecond turning more formal. "Ista's duties to 'Reaches and her Queens." is tacked on quickly, a smile added for them then Nolee as his own sandaled foot kicks at the sand to reveal her missing shoes. "Those what you're looking for?" is asked before turning back to their guests curiously.

M'rek shifts his head left and right, but can't see around a spikey-topped fruit one side of his basket and a large, round melon on the other side. He knows the voice, and gets a little help from his lifemate, "C'len?" He turns around completely to step backwards a few paces, "Aye, there you are. Hello. From down south." Then he turns back around and nearly steps on a sand buried object, perhaps a rock, that sends him teetering back and forth, the uneven weight of the basket making his balance hard to find in the sand. "Whoa." He finds his center and stops to say, "Um. My duties to Ista."

Nolee wraps her scarf back round her neck, winding it to attempt to find her sense of decorum, and her toes kick at the sand, seeking the hiding place of her elusive worn sandals. "There they are!" M'yr's efforts prevail, and the blonde hurriedly stuffs her feet into the shoes, heedless of proper fit, and sets off toward the pale scarred man and the gangly lined one. "C'mon. We have guests. Those two can hardly walk on sand without falling," she generalizes, "so they're not from here. Go welcome them to Ista." Nudge nudge. "Before they hurt themselves."

K'tor slides recklessly down Albanth's hide, coming to rest safely on the ground. Albanth seems used to such antics and doesn't even bat an eyelid.

"Hey M'yr. High Reaches' duties to Ista," the other visiting 'Reachian repeats, giving a grin and wave to him. He turns back to watch M'rek, remarking, "Nice... fruit," and it's likely that he really is admiring the produce, what with his interest in cooking. "Is there some party going on that you're bringing all that for?" For now, the basket of clothing in his hands is forgotten, although Vildaeth is close enough to reach over and nudge, ever-do-gently, his rider: once his errand's done, they can return to the land of cold and ice, where Vildaeth belongs.

K'tor is flying dangerously today, without straps. What a horrible example to set for the younger generations. The seldom seen bronzerider slides down and then sends Albanth off into the surf before turning around to take a look at the beach. "Crowded. Figures." He heads M'yr-wards, which is to say, subtly drawn Nolee-wards, like a shooting star towards pern. "Never got a chance to say congratulations to you, M'yr." And it looks like he might not, for he nods to the Reaches riders. "Duties." Wow. More words than he's likely said in a turn.

A little bit down the beach, a blue settles, his rider slipping down from his neck and waving to the crowds, although Cynara doesn't seem about to approach, just yet. Wow. People. The reaction is clear on her face.

"Are you /sure/ there are flowers on the beach?" wonders R'dur as Alidaeth hustles him onto the beach. "Because I don't think--I don't--oh, Alidaeth!" The brown dragon ignores his rider's pleas, and R'dur eventually releases a sigh and lets himself be escorted down the beach.

M'yr had taken several steps to assist in greeting the arriving riders as Nolee nudged, when he stops in mid-step to avoid a human body in the way of the newest arrivals. "Uhm, yeah..." he mutters, finding it less dangerous to stay put and send K'tor a grin. "First congratulations I've heard, K'tor. Most of them have been condolences so far. Good seeing you! And.... hey...! R'dur!?! Nice! Shards 'n feathers! I don't think we've seen this much beach activity since Litivia and Sethar were.... uhm.. nevermind!" This grin widens, then he shoots off, "Duties to Telgar, R'dur!"

M'rek stop making progress towards the Sandbar as the number of people greeting goes up. He spins in a slow, awkward circle, head craning around the well polished looking fruit so he can see everyone in turn. He explains about his basket, "I wasn't so well behaved the last time I was here, so I'm trying to make amends." The former messenger actually looks sheepish about it and shrugs his shoulders, causing an apple to fall down and catch between his chest and the basket. "So fruit basket. No bugs though!" As he remembers previous Istan visits. He turns and takes a half step towards the Sandbar, stopping then when there's a rumble from up the beach. The rider turns then and smiles to Nolee, M'yr and K'tor..followed by Cynara. "Duties. Greetings. I come in peace."

Nolee scowls at her shoes, tripping herself over the straps that are not fitting properly on the wrong feet. "I need new shoes," she sighs, abandoning those entirely to be plucked at by the firelizards. "A party? Did he say a party?" Her smile returns, M'rek-ward. "Why, welcome to Ista, rider." K'tor gets a pleasant but vacant nod, and Nolee's peering around to try to see what's in C'len's basket. "Do you know all these people?" Nolee asks M'yr, wonder and some trace of annoyance in her voice.

K'tor smirks at M'yr. "Shoulda heard 'em at Southern when K'laarn tapped me. But that was about before you were born." He nods to the Telgari rider with a laconic repeat of 'duties', and to Cynara as well. Nolee's given an appraising glance, before he turns back and gruffly asks the Reaches riders, "You lot had a thaw up there yet?"

R'dur, wringing his hands, glances around dubiously, eyes falling on M'yr last. Beneath the confusion on his face is a good deal of suspiciousness, as he glances several times at Alidaeth, the meaning clear: what are you up to? "Ah. Um, hello, sir," the brownrider finally offers, while Alidaeth, with a satisfied croon, settles nearby. "I--I don't mean to, um, intrude--Alidaeth said--he's being..." He breaks off with a shake of his head, not finishing. Finally, strainedly: "How are you, sir? And, um. Sirs. Ma'am. Telgar's duties," he notes, glancing around the group briefly.

C'len spots Nolee standing near M'yr and gives the blonde-haired Istan a wave as well, with the hand that doesn't hold the basket. "Delivering some clothes that ma made for someone--" he breaks off, looking down to find that some of the clothes have been dusted with sand, with all the arrivals. He idly picks one of the pieces up and shakes it, allowing the sand to fall free, before placing it back in the basket. Not neatly, as it was before. Vildaeth rumbles softly and his rider responds, almost petulant, "I'd go faster if you didn't keep bothering me about hurring up, Vil."

M'rek losses some small berries as they topple off his basket and into the sand. There's an attempt to half shift the basket, but it's too large and so he just kind of turns a little and beams at everyone in a friendly fashion. "Party? Sure. Isn't there always a party at Ista? Good times, fun people, perfect weather. Um, I brought the fruit." As if he's not sure exactly what is going on, at least he could get his burden lightened some. "Help yourselves?"

Nolee hangs behind, waving to C'len with a vague sense that he ought to be familiar. "Clothes?" Her interest wanes, the fruit a more promising start to a good afternoon. Ugh, more airborne sand. He gets a stare of irritation, then her eyes fall on K'tor, returning his appraisal. "I'll have some! Uh, what've you got?" is back to M'rek upon offering the fruit.

M'yr claims mystification at all the guests, glancing from one to the other with a favor of a few seconds to spare. "Probably was, K'tor." is returned quickly, "You'd be well above me in age from what I can tell!" Said jovially and teasingly, he winks to K'tor then moves forward slowly, keeping an eye on the sky for others. "I'm doing fairly well, R'dur. How's your weyrmate?" Nolee is sent a shrug, mouthing 'I'm not sure who some of them are.' her way. "Oh, R'dur? Do you know Nolee? I think I told you about her? The Masterbeast Hall and..?" To M'rek he grins again. "Get into trouble too, eh? I have a penchant for that myself. Well met? I'm M'yr, Weyrsecond here at Ista and rider of Soldreth. You'd be?"

Cynara waves, and calls, "Duties!" across the beach, grinning at the group as she hops onto a Marsath-foreleg...the most comfortable seat around, after all. The blue just bends his head around to nuzzle his rider. "What's with the gathering? Anyone would tihnk somebody'd just found 'lizard eggs about to hatch."

Nalaieth> Albanth, Ulfianth, Alidaeth, Vildaeth, and Soldreth sense that Nalaieth rustles slowly, little breezes playing at a caress, teasing and inviting, all with an undercurrent of bloodlust.

K'tor eyes M'yr. "You think you're funny..." Still, the older bronzerider shows a glimmer of a smile at the teasing. And then he eyes M'rek. "It's only a party if you've got wine." He stays put where he is near Nolee. "Toss her a star fruit if you will, bronzerider." He directs this towards M'rek.

"Bri--Brijana is good," answers R'dur with a smile for M'yr, settling in by increments. "Thank you for asking. Ah, yes, yes, I remember--it's good to meet you, weyrwoman--the weyrsecond has, ah--" R'dur breaks off with a frown, glancing again from Nolee to M'yr, and finally settling on simply, "has mentioned you before." Way to be diplomatic. Quickly, he turns to M'rek, answering, "No, thank you, sir."

M'rek lowers his arms so that more of the basket is both reachable and visible to more people. To Nolee he says, "Afternoon, Ma'm." Clearly going for contrite and polite with the locals least he be barred from Ista's sandbar in a serious fashion. "Apples. Redfruit. Um, I don't know what this one is.." he points sorta with his nose, "But it's good. And yellowfruit. Berries of all kinds. Hmm, I don't know what half this stuff is." Then he grins to M'yr, "Well met. I'm, um, M'*cough*. Don't eat that purple one, I'm not sure if it's safe or just garnish."

Vildaeth suddenly launches into the sky above the beach, sending more sand scattering and causing C'len to look up, somewhat bewildered. "You can't go back to 'Reaches on your *own*," he mutters under his breath before the amber-hued bronze dips his wings and lands in the corrals. And it's then that C'len suddenly makes the connection, not informed by his dragon, of what's going on.

M'rek shifts the basket a little bit, looking for the star fruit that K'tor mentions and misses his bronze slinking off towards the feeding pens.

Albanth's head lifts from the surf, its wedge turning back towards the weyr proper. Slowly his eyes turn from the blue of contentment to a darker amethyst shade. As the younger beasts take to the skies, instead he launches with an almost leisurely assurance, stretching his wings as K'tor looks after him. The surprised oath the oldest bronzerider makes is colorful to say the least, blistering to say the most.

Nolee is just about to offer words of thanks to K'tor for the starfruit suggestion when she stiffens, her back becoming more rigid, and her eyes wider than usual, terror settling in. Despite it, she dons a glazed, practiced smile, hoping maybe if she ignores any draconic intensity, it'll go away. "I haven't seen any firelizard eggs, though. Pity, that'd be a fun afternoon. Ah, perhaps we should head inside? It's quite a walk up the plateau, and I'm sure I'd enjoy the fruit more if the sun weren't right in my eyes." A likely excuse.

Nalaieth> Ista Weyr Corral(#1253RJas)

Nalaieth> The bright light of day shines down on the dirt of the corral floor. Roughly one-fourth the size of the bowl itself, herdbeasts are huddled trying to find whatever shade they can. A large grassy field to the western side of the corral bridges both side of the fence there. Beyond the fence, a large plateau can be found, looking off over the bay. Large troughs for water sit near the stables. The Bowl to the east is lazy and quiet in the heat of the daytime. The wet season oppresses the island with high humidity and sweltering temperatures.

When, abruptly, Alidaeth stretches and spreads his wings, leaping skyward after Vildaeth, R'dur blanches. "He's not about to do what I think--oh, he is." Though the latter words are resigned, the normally mild brownrider's fiercely muttered curses, perhaps a surprising turn of phrase for him, are not.

Dragon> Nalaieth senses that Vildaeth reaches out with slow tendrils, the cool of High Reaches spring coloring his thoughts and dampening the overwhelming heat of Ista: its weather, its junior queen. They stop short, rustling gentle along the edges, not bothering your slumber.

Nalaieth> Vildaeth senses that Nalaieth sends warm rivulets of honey toward those tendrils, enveloping and merging with them, until the sticky coating struggles to cling to the damp air. Another rustle, then she slumbers again.

Nalaieth> The tawny young queen is brightly lit by the rays of the afternoon sun where she sleeps outside of the corral, her tail flicking back and forth. Places along the fence and gates are scraped or bear other evidence of minor damage, and the sharp extended talons of the slumbering queen are likely responsible for terrorizing the animals in that way. The beasts within have taken to the far side of the pens, spooked enough to be wary and to offer the placidly sleeping Nalaieth maximum distance. Undisturbed by her brightening hide is a gathering of firelizards, content to use the dragon as a convenient perch until a particularly strong lash of her tail disturbs them into fluttering about, creeling and complaining loudly.

M'yr's ticking off each dragon suddenly rising and heading toward, well, he can only guess. "Oh oh!", he smiles then chuckles to himself. "I guess it might be a good idea to have all of us move, yeah." To R'dur, he nods, trying to keep a straight face. "I think he is, yes."

K'tor offers out his arm to Nolee. The cynical might say that this is likely the closest the oldest dragonrider chasing her gold is likely to get. He leans to murmur quietly in her ear, He mutters to Nolee, "... escort... the path if you... wakes." Louder he says to M'rek, "That one there, you're not sure what it is, is a star fruit." His tone suggests, 'What are they teaching these kids these days?'

Nalaieth> Unused to the Istan warmth, Vildaeth at first moves almost in slow motion, vaning his pinions to land lightly in the corral. The first swipe of onyx-tipped talons misses its target, but the bronze is too lethargic to bother with a roar of protest. Instead he lurks, like a salesman on the corner awaiting a new customer to lure in. When a wherry scatters his way after trying to avoid the arrival of another, the bronze catches it with a crack of the animal's neck, twisting as he draws it close to him. Wings stretched for balance, he dips his head down, borrowed blood to fuel this visitor's flight.

Nalaieth> Soldreth girds the air above the enclosed corral slowly, this youthful Istan bronze first banking to the right then left as he calculates the herd below, tightening his aerial belt around the frightened creatures below. Cautiously, he coils down, attentive to the beasts' opening participation in their Stampede of Fear. Drawing nearer, he singles out a plump female, diving upon her back with flexed talons extended. Crunch! Beastly bones crack audibly as her body collapses under the bronze's weight. Lowering his head, he bites at the now unresponsive neck, incising it with a butcher's skill, to begin fetching its lifeblood deeply into him.

M'rek sighs a little bit and rearranges himself around the fruitbasket, only losing that one redfruit that had already come free. "A star fruit. Hey, thanks." M'rek says to K'tor in a flat kind of tone. He moves to follow, "Lead on."

Nalaieth> Alidaeth, more at home in Ista's humidity than the chill of Telgar, is already invigorated, hardly seeming to need any blood to fuel him as he tilts in the sky, claws closing and opening reflexively as he studies the unfamiliar herds. Then, darting downward, he settles onto a young and not particular bright herdbeast, dragging it bleating several feet before he finally lands and silences it. Then, jittery anticipation barely contained, the brown lowers his jaws to clip the throat, releasing blood into his waiting mouth.

Nalaieth> Albanth :plows through the cloud of firelizards and lands on the hindquarters of a bovine as the others panic them into a frenzy, trying to escape the bronzes as well as the slumbering queen. Though it has been turns since he chased, the blood does not cool that quickly. Maw crunches down on the beast's neck, silencing it as he drinks deeply. Eyes now a brilliant violet, fix on Nalaieth, studying every line of her shining form.

M'yr gives one of those combination hey-what-r-ya-doing-there and don't-ya-touch-just-look sort of expressions that darken his welcoming mood when K'tor gets close to Nolee. "She knows the way." is sparked by whatever's within him, a glower sent to the fellow Istan, old fogey or not.

"Escort, yes." Nolee mumbles, her voice straining in pitch and coming out thin and airy. "It's slippery. We replanted it last turn, the cliff. You know that volcano." Her chattering about inane matters continues, a struggle to maintain coherence while her lifemate begins to stir. Her hands outstretch, one catching the end of her scarf where the edges are ragged, and she uses it to blot at her glistening forehead before reaching for both the older rider and the familiar figure of M'yr, who is leaping to her defense. "It's just up to the top of the plateau, you see. Then, not far."

"Someday I'm going to--going to--oh, you!" R'dur divides his words between answering M'yr and retorting to his now-absent dragon, shaking his head. Flushing, he rubs at the back of his neck and offers the Istan another strained, not particularly happy smile before glancing expectantly to Nolee, subsiding into sulky silence.

Distracted, even more so then usual, C'len seems lost in place but remembers previous steps, and begins shuffling along toward plateau as the group begins its movement. The basket of clothing, now mussed and sand-covered, is still carried with him, but the scarf and other items deposited near Vil are all but forgotten.

Nalaieth> Ulfianth hovers above the area for a bit, watching the other males first and the gilded Nalaieth last and most lingeringly. Then with only the leathery flap of wings to announce him he falls upon the beasts in the pens, taking a buck quickly. As he drains he keeps his purple-whirling eyes moving from one member of the group to another, making a study of them.

Cynara frowns a little bit. "Don't even think it, Marsath. Stick to the greens." He rumbles something, but does not move as the goldrider and the knot of males departs, although her eyes flick over the various forgotten items. "Eggs soon, then," she murmurs.

K'tor rolls his eyes faintly at M'yr before politely leading Nolee up the path. "Come on you lot. Need everything spelled out for you, do ya?" He gives a wink to Cynara. "Maybe I'll see you afterwards. Have some wine ready for this lot, will you, lass?"

What a climb! You manage to trudge your way *all* the way up to the top of the plateau, up the long winding trail. You realize again why this beach visit is always so tiring.

You walk into the large opening of the guest weyr.

Large Guest Weyr This large weyr is big enough to hold a bronze, and is of the number of 'empty' weyrs that serve as places for wing-injured dragons to rest out of the elements. A wide cot is off to one side, and the dragon-couch fills most of the high-ceilinged Weyr. Several low tables and benches line the southwestern wall. Indirect daylight streams through the huge cavern opening to the northeast.

Nalaieth> With a rush of motion, Nalaieth is the young lioness on her feet, warily shifting her weight from limb to limb, then stilling completely, her eyes whirling crimson. A muscle in her neck right beneath a cinder-tinged marking twitches. One powerful spring and she's over the fence, hissing a warning to those nearby, Albanth who would disturb her protected, favored fair, and Alidaeth, who hints at her beloved games with the animals in dragging on a pace. Her warning is at once protective of 'her' sustenance and daring them to steal a bite. One lone beast is caught off-guard and has run directly toward her, and she downs it with a swipe of her broad paw, splitting its throat and suckling from the spray.

M'yr feels somewhat compensated by Nolee's offer of her other arm, though now he has a much better reason to show slitted sable eyes toward K'tor. "Someone make you the boss?" is shot to him as M'yr nods politely to Nolee, forcing a smile when he releases Nolee's arm. Not without a light squeeze. "You can leave now, K'tor." is slung, his words harsh as a flush takes over his cheeks. "Easy, Sol!" is muttered, then he looks for a place. Close but not too far.

Dragon> Nalaieth senses that Vildaeth begins to warm to the climate, sticky honey mixing with a hint of bright spice to bring it all together and drive the flight with sweetened energy.

Nalaieth> Soldreth adjusts his bulk to where he can keep track of Nalaieth while depleting the carcass to a shallow form. Flicking it away with a dismissive thrust of his foreleg, he lifts his head high, momentarily enraptured by the darker, smokey gold at the base of Nala's wings that seems to glisten in the light. A lucky herdbeast gallops by the distracted bronze, though the one at its rear is not quite so charmed. A shake of his head precedes the beasts terror-filled squeal, soon silenced as a strong foreleg thwaks it over the head rigorously. Soldreth croons to the Magnificent Queen, before settling in to drink and grow stronger. Finding Alidaeth and Ulfianth much too close, he departs a hiss in-between gulps, marking his turf.

The basket is dropped, forgotten for now, in a corner, as C'len slips into the guest weyr, boots and the hem of his pants sandy from the beach. He follows, though not too closely, so as not to crowd into the group, instead lingering at the edges.

Nalaieth> Albanth hisses at the gold. Hey. Those midgets where in his way! In compensation, he launches for the tightly packed herd, dragging the carcass with him and depositing it where it would be most likely to trip up another suitor. He circles, cutting off three beasts. Two are driven towards Nalaieth in apologetic tribute. The third is brought down as sacrifice to her honor and his mating lust. He makes quick work of it and then brings down a small wherry as well. An after blooding snack, as it were.

Along the way, Nolee clings to her two Istan guides gratefully, heedless of M'yr's irritation. "And here is our bowl. It's lovely in the sunset. See how the skies are beginning to turn blood red? And just beyond, our guest facilities." Her charade of offering them a nice tour continues until arrival. The large weyr has been preset with a selection of sugared goodies, just the thing to keep an anxious or distracted stomach sure to remain so for several hours. Soothing baskets of glows are high on the walls, and fresh linens decorate the wide cot.

Nalaieth> Alidaeth's answer to Nalaieth's awakening is to rumble a deep, pleased note without ever raising his head from that first creature until it's entirely exsanguinated. Then, then he straightens, whirling violet-red eyes resting on the gold, and then, comtemptably, on Soldreth. The Telgar brown remains where he is just long enough to demonstrate his lack of intimidation, then flaps his wings strongly and circles the pen before culling another too-slow creature.

Nalaieth> Vildaeth's talons tangle with a second beast, a young buck that he surges after and takes down with little effort. His long tail snaps behind him, back and forth, making a trail in the dirt of the corral. Those prominent, front-top fangs serve him well, slicing across the beast's throat before his darkened maw fastens tightly on the carcass. Fuel for him and his desire, melting the laziness away in spite of the heat and humidity.

K'tor is unfailingly polite on the journey, and even manages to lightly chat about the weather and the 'tour', in between murmured reassurances to Nolee of 'not far now'. He hands her into the weyr, merely lifts an eyebrow at M'yr's presumption. "Oh look. Snacks for the boys." He ignores them, instead moving around to lounge against one of the other tables, coiled intensity in his frame as he watches Nolee.

Nalaieth> Ulfianth is seeking subsistence on the life of yet another beast when the gold takes her kill. His watchful attendance is broken momentarily when another bronze shoulders him, causing him to hiss out a warning noise before he pushes back and dips his head back to his carcass. There's a violent undertone to every movement the sun-touched bronze makes, the heat of the queen making him seethe with desire.

Nalaieth> I bespoke Vildaeth with A husky croon is sent to echo in the visitor's head, the drops from energy burst collected and controlled by the heady queen. << You're chill. I am all heat. I will rend you this way if you approach. >>

M'rek actually carries his own basket up to the guest weyr, though all the fruit doesn't make it. What once was a festive display is now just another basket of edibles. The bald bronzerider sighs and leans against one of the walls, slowly sinking to a seat on the floor until the basket is able to sit before him. Once his hands are free he rubs one over the top of his head and picks out Nolee with slightly narrowed eyes.

Nalaieth> Nalaieth turns an abrupt circle, all this frenzied motion in the feeding grounds baffling to her mind, still lost in the throes of heated draconic slumber. Her tail whirls, whiplike and course, behind her, and she fells a beast driven her way by reddish bronze Albanth, a tangle of legs forming simultaneous to the crackling sounds of the animal's breaking bones. Each gathered male receives a stop on the stare-around, the queen's neck twisting to try to keep them all in sight, from sleek Soldreth to dusky amber Vildaeth. Instinct prevails, her head dipping to rend and consume her catch: here the struggle is palpable, Nalaieth quivering, and the bright queen roars her disapproval before springing upward, along the way smacking one of the feed troughs with her foreleg, sending it flipping over and its contents flying through the air.

Nalaieth> Ista Weyr Lower Bowl Sky(#1265RLes) Nalaieth> The bright Istan daylight glimmers from flecks of mica in the black stone of the Weyr walls. Here, only thirty meters above the bowl floor, you can see the dark spires of the Weyr loom high above you to the east, like five dragon-claws clutching toward the sky. The blue water of the bay glimmers brightly beyond the verdant plateau to the west, and you can see firelizards riding the infamous Istan updrafts against the sky. To the east, you see the great gaping opening of the Hatching Grounds, and to the southeast is constant activity near the entrance to Lower Caverns.

Nalaieth> Soldreth sidesteps, attempting to block Albanth's view of Nala. After scoping a clear visual, the Istan bronze locates himself directly in front of the other Istan bronze. Quite proud of his accomplishment, a warble transcends the chaos of the corral, directed to Nala. Adding a touch of 'cute' for good measure, he lowers his muzzle to the ground, beckoning her with whirling eyes. What? She's leaving him? What? Can this be true?? Not a good thing. Well, if she prefers to tease, so can he! Giving a backside wiggle before lowering, Sol projects himself with deep-set action of those wings, taking off after the glistening object of his desires.

Nalaieth> The sweep of Nalaieth's wings catches Vildaeth by suprise and he's not able to finish off his most recent catch. Powerful hindquarters tense and then release, springing him into the air, beast still caught in his talons. His forepaws shake, like a person trying to get something sticky off their hands, and it's not long before the buck slips from his grasp, falling to the ground with an impact that sends blood splattering, and perhaps fouling some other dragon's path as it drops. Cinnamon-hued wings spread wide, catching the blood-scented air and pushing through it to follow the yellow-gold queen with the fast energy of youth.

Nalaieth> Ulfianth follows towards the back of the pack and works on getting above as many of them as he can while still keeping from entangling wings with his breathren. While the summer bronze can't actually see the object of his desire, he can sense Nalaieth and he hones in upon her, his sense narrowing until she is his whole world. Droplets of blood cool in the air and then speckle down over the elder Reachian's wide spread wings from one above him giving the look of warpaint.

Dragon> Nalaieth senses that Vildaeth shies away, if briefly, from the thoughts of himself, sliced end-to-end with razor-sharp talons. And then the chase is on, and he's following: whatever may come, surely the pain is worth it, with the promise of being soothed later by tawny sugar.

Nalaieth> Albanth is, surprisingly, one of the first in the air after Nalaieth. Up so quickly that he manages to cut off some of the themral that Soldreth takes. See, two can play at that game, youngster, and he's been doing this before your dam was shelled. Comet-streaked wings rush him upwards, soaring above the pack and casting around for the gold. she took his tribute, what else of his will she take? His bloodlust burns hot though he allows the cooler head on the ground to direct him. Let the younglings move fast and expend their energy. Instead he will use the winds to air him until he catches Nalaieth's trail.

Nalaieth> Alidaeth, in the midst of his third kill, breaks off suddenly with a displeased screech at interruption, even from Nalaieth. The brown snaps his teeth with a metallic click prior to tensing, crouching down and then launching himself upward in the pursuit of the gold who is now attempting her getaway.

Unfocused, C'len's light brown eyes look left, right, around, as if seeking to find something. But it's not there, yet--and he reaches a hand out to steady himself against the wall, then leans there, long legs crossed in front of him to aid in his balance.

M'yr avoids the area where K'tor places himself, preferring a perpendicular wall that holds a few benches. Sporting a charming smile for Nolee, sable eyes belie a calmness that may infer, though a careful watch is kept on C'len, M'rek and R'dur, despite his friendship with two of the three. "Can I get you something, Nolee?" is asked to complement that smile.

Nolee turns her back on the gentlemen, heading instead for the table of sugary items. "Lovely, these are. The Istan kitchens have a wonderful reputation for--oh!" That coinciding with the sour face, then hungry expression as Nala tastes blood. Her fingers clench on the table's cloth, the struggle warring powerfully while the blonde clenches her eyes. "I'll strangle you," she hisses, more likely to Nalaieth, though it comes rather suddenly after M'yr's offer.

K'tor's tone is amused. "I'd keep your distance, if I were you, M'yr. The lady seems to have things well under control." That coiled tension is still evident in the set of his head, though for all the world, he looks as though it were a gather day, or he were getting ready to take a nap in the sun. Grey eyes, now darkened to a silver that is the threatening color of approaching 'Fall clouds, remain on Nolee, using any cue of her body to figure out what Nala might echo up in the sky.

Nalaieth> The Istan aircurrents are tricky, playful hidey holes and air pockets even the familiar can struggle to navigate. Dangerous crosswinds wait to lure the unwary, and Nalaieth makes her upward motion, leaving the war-painted Ulfianth and even her adoring wiggler Soldreth behind, intent enough to bypass them all. Her muzzle red-tainted, the brilliantly lit queen fans her wings, twisting her large though serpentine of motion form to ring the spindles of the Istan Star Stones, stilling, hovering there for a long moment, a tense hide and seek where the glowiness of her hide reveals her location, her expansive, diaphanous sails slapping loudly at the air, ready to dart any direction should they near.

Nalaieth> Ista Weyr Upper Sky(#1280RLMaes) Nalaieth> The light seems to be absorbed into the ebon spires of the Spindles that circle the eastern side of the upper bowl wall, clawing at the sky like a dragon's foot. Beyond the spindles to the east, you can see the lush green hills and mountains of Ista Isle, and far beyond that, the glimmering of the eastern sea. To the west, you can see the plateau, several hundred meters below westwards, and the vast, sparkling blue ocean beyond. Around you, dragons and firelizards sail on the dangerous air currents for which Ista is infamous. Here, high above the black caldera, the updrafts are less treacherous than they are further down in the bowl, but still dangerous to the unwary. The bright daylight fills the bowl, and the huge openings to the lower caverns are smudged shadows below and to the southeast. The wet season oppresses the island with high humidity and sweltering temperatures.

R'dur, having taken up a hovering post in the guest weyr, keeps his head down, eyes on the floor, rather than give any unwanted challenge to the other bronze- and brownriders. Despite his avoidance of the maleriders' gazes, however, he can't resist quick peeks at Nolee, brows worriedly knitting every time.

M'rek tilts his head, first one way and then another, making a crunching kind of noise. The mantle of friendly contrition seems to have fallen from him, and as he melts into his dragon he watches Nolee, and Nolee alone, with a light in his eyes that is at once more beastial and more proud. "How about a nice redfruit?" He rumbles an offer and reaches to pluck the item from the basket he brought.

Recovering momentarily, the blonde is steady of legs again, though playing the perfect hostess. Traces of her usual clumsiness are absent as she's melding with her much more graceful lifemate. "Gentlemen, won't you please help yourself to a delicious--" gasp, Nolee's demonstrative indication of the plethora of pleasures table-ward interrupted by suspicious glances at each of those who have, willing or not, undertaken her 'tour.' "What does that mean, a redfruit?"

Nalaieth> Vildaeth's dusky amber hues brighten in the afternoon sun, but never so bright as the queen he follows. He tucks his forepaws under, using any advantage he can to make himself smaller to reduce drag as he wings his way through these largely unknown currents. A flash of the lion catches his eye and draws him on as the weyr falls into a hazy, humid shadow below, wingbeats strengthening, attempting to bring him closer with each thrust down.

Nalaieth> Soldreth is leveling off after his projectile style of removing his dusty, blood spattered patina self from the confines of terra to a golden chase this day. Hefty wingbeats drive him to an accelerated speed, placing him about mid-pack. Cautiously, he browses those before him and to each side, occasionally snarling, hissing or snapping his tail toward a competitor. Self confidence and conviction dominate this bronze's attitude for now as he's driven by the mingling of blood and ichor within his veins. Vildaeth has his attention for now, distracted when he carefully notes the Reachian bronze's position. Bugling defiance to the dragon, he edges him out when they turn around the 'Stones in a tight curve.

Nalaieth> Vildaeth senses that Nalaieth Honey blends into a deep, dark amber trail, which slips downward from the starstones and blends with the rushing waterfall far below, then trails along its surface out to a resplendent sea.

Nalaieth> Ulfianth is well marked in blood by the time he comes fully out from under most of the other dragons, slightly to the southeast of the queen. For the moment he chases on, trying to subdue the winds with his wings so that he can obtain the glowing creature that ignited him. Precious breath is wasted, but not on a roar to the Istan bronze that seems to be outpacing him..no..he spends his wealth of lungair in a sultry croon towards the gold.

Nalaieth> And from above, Albanth watches it all. Let her flirt with rock and lure the unwary. Instead he slips from current to current, paralleling her course through the spires and on the outside of the bowl wall, without having to waste energy and cunning slipping through the rocks. Here the hazy, humid air is clear thanks to the jungle below, and she'll soon discover that his wide, star-kiss'd wings make a far more comfortable embrace than those of the spires. He spares a look for his competition, but only a single look, instead turning violent violet eyes on Nalaieth, keeping careful track of her.

Nalaieth> Dogged, despite the unfamiliar difficulty of Ista's air, Alidaeth gamely follows the queen, sharp wingbeats keeping him in the chase as he uses his comparatively smaller size to wend around the slowest, bulkiest bronzes. Silent now, his large eyes searching, he focuses on that patch of glowy gold with all his powers of concentration and jockeys for positions within the confines of the pack, tilting his wings left and right toward every tiny opening.

Dragon> Nalaieth senses that Vildaeth scents the trail with his pointed muzzle, and attempts to follow it to the source. Where there's smoke--smokey gold?--there's fire, to warm the mixture of honey and spice.

Nalaieth> Nalaieth watches from around the Star Stones, darting to and fro, and expending precious, precious energy in her imitation of her more acrobatic clutchmates. Finding pursuers to the southeast, below, between the spires of the stones, and beyond, Nalaieth, in an act of desperation, goes up and over the 'stones. In the distance, the waterfall awaits, thundering down on the rocks below, and it is there that Nalaieth flies, her long tail swishing through the air behind her, offering direction and balance in her reckless flight, straight down the cliffs that create the waterfall, then banking dangerously low toward the ocean.

Nalaieth> Soldreth dives through the wave of waterfall and ocean currents Nala leaves in her wake, as well as those of the other potential suitors about him. Jostled when a brown's wingtip smacks against his, Sol's response is a fervent snap of his maw and a swish of his tail that's meant for Lumarth. Instead, his action propels himself off center, barely dodging an impact with Albanth, though the thought of it must have given him satisfaction should that have occurred. A smack to his ego from the ill-timed behavior, the Istan dragon significantly re-focuses to the task at paw: snaring the golden ring at the final turn of the carousel.

Nalaieth> Albanth cuts across the rim, dropping his shoulderjoint and forcing air over his wings, which screams in protest. Narrowly cutting across the pack and almost clipping Soldreth, he then makes a more gradual turn, shooting out of the 'melted' end of the bowl - and likely panicing a few residents taking an afternoon siesta on the plateau. He does not follow Nala's course directly, instead taking this oblique line to avoid the pack and stay hidden from her view. Thus he puts himself into a good position - still above, but coming in on Nalaieth's right side, hopefully in her blind spot. His star still burns brightly in the afternoon sky, ready to take the final plummet to earth, hopefully with Nalaieth welded to him.

Nalaieth> Ulfianth pounds past the star stones and half-folds his wings so that he can take the plunge after Nalaieth. He's close enough to feel, what he hopes, is waterfall spray cool minute places over his back before he curves to follow. As several dragons move against each other, the pattern of the pack ripples and Ulfianth rumbles deeply, frustrated. As the vapors of the falls trail behind him and his shadow bends towards the ocean, Ulfianth focuses and doubles his efforts, again cutting to one side in hopes of boxing the maiden Nalaieth in.

M'rek grins, all teeth and promise of wicked fun, he answers Nolee in a smooth voice, throated much deeper than any speaking tone usually heard from him, "Would you like to find out?"

Nalaieth> Still caught in the water-filled air, Vildaeth's wings push hard to displace it and move him onward, out toward the salty ocean. Previous close run-ins with cliff walls causes Vildaeth to shoot past the waterfall before angling down, his path attempting to intercept Nalaieth's movement. He skims down toward the water, clear and warm unlike those of his home, his shadow growing larger as he flies lower. He doesn't bother with the snapping and attacks, though does try to counter the jostling of a brown next to him, attempting to move past him in the pack.

Nalaieth> Alidaeth, like a smaller, darker, and distant shadow of Nalaieth, mimics her actions, a flurry of wingbeats increasing his altitude further as he slips along an updraft, just enough to clear around the Star Stones and into the relatively clear sky beyond. Then, dipping around another flagging suitor, Telgar's entrant lashes his tail impatiently and takes up a position drafting off the wake of a second, conserving his energy for a final rush.

K'tor smirks, calling lightly, "I don't think your core's gonna be big enough to satisfy her, Reaches. You know everything grows bigger and better at Ista." He's still tense as a bowstring, lounging lightly, eyes glued to Nolee. Without taking his eyes from her he shoots at M'yr, "Watch your bronze, man. If you can't win without blooding your competition, you're no dragonrider."

Clenched fingers open and glazed eyes follow, taking in M'rek's scars and for once not blanching away at such a sight. "Could be," Nolee flirts openly, panting, turning her heated gaze on each of the men, be they attentive or trying to look away.

C'len still stays on the fringes, not ready to delve into the fray just yet. His gaze sharpens some, finding the dark pink-clad weyrwoman before he murmurs, perhaps loud enough to be heard by those nearby, "She needs more of a meal than fruit, I'd think," his voice a soft drawl.

Nalaieth> Nalaieth streamlines, pushing for sheer distance as she pulls free of the cool damp spray of the falls, although her exhaustion is clear in each labored beating of her wide, hazy sunlit wings. Yet more energy is lost in the taunt back and to the side, a low-throaty husky jazz-siren's call for the hopeless to give up up the fight and give in to the blues. To dissuade the nearest, including that rascal Lumarth, she cants her body to one side, and then the other, her taut wingtips dipping into the water just enough to send up jets of water to spray behind her and toward any who would box her in. Unfortunately, this slows her enough that the pack gains, and as she's beginning to tire, she can't keep up the maneuvers of her agile blue or green siblings. Exhausted, she has to make a choice: will she pull up of a sudden, or will she dive? And who will be in the right place to take her home?

M'rek doesn't turn his wolfen gaze away from Nolee but he drawls out a reply for K'tor, "Having a mountain doesn't do you any good if it's made of softstone." and then for C'len, "Aye, that's only the start." And there's something in the bald bronzerider's bearing that indicates that the heated blood that earned him his scars might not be completely trained out of him by regulated and carefully watched weyr life. He flashes his teeth to Nolee again, devil charming, "Any time you like, Lovely."

M'yr rolls his eyes, a flashing gesture that hints at preoccupation, lips angling into a disgusted frown at his fellow Istan. Not seeming to care to waste the expense of a retort to K'tor, he hazards a mock-smile toward Nolee. "She needs me..." he mutters, cheeks flushed scarlet with that deep desire within him.

R'dur, quiet, resists any temptation for posturing in favor of murmuring, "It's not about /you/." Who is /is/ about he doesn't make clear: perhaps he means dragons, whom his thoughts are with; but perhaps it's Nolee, whom he favors with another glance. The flush that creeps up his neck is not entirely embarrassment at this time in the game.

Nalaieth> Vildaeth senses that Nalaieth blankets Vildaeth in a thick syrup, waiting for the chill air he brings to turn it to a fragrant steam, to see if he'll escape. Flicks of sunlight, bright against whirling eyes, then of trees in the distance, mingle in a cacophony, all directed uncontrolably outward.

Nalaieth> Ulfianth gains with the others as Nalaieth tires, so close now that his maw waters for the keen, sweet taste of her. The bronze stretches his neck and first rises up on in warm Istan air and then arrows in, seeking to plunge through the others and capture the siren-prize. Time seems to linger long in the eddying flight and the bronze rumbles to the wind in promise of comfort, safety..and deepest delight.

Nalaieth> Soldreth neatly tips his wing for the final attempt, his oceanic shadowed reflection mingling below with...was it hers?? Adding a smidgen of forward thrust, his body strains with the effort of draconic mind over matter as bronze being flattens out to fashion the final surge toward Nalaieth. Were it not for his wing spread hiding the view, it might be clear how that hide ripples with anticipation: eagerness to mate with the Glorious Gold who comes closer and closer as he slides in from her left. Desire, flaming deeply within, forms a deep rumbling bugle as he calls out to her, a verbal bridged connection between himself and The One, as he presses to bond quickly enough to call her his own.

Dragon> Nalaieth senses that Albanth has kept himself aloof during the flight, unwilling to let his naked desire to be seen or felt. And now, in this final gambit, he throws all caution to the wind, lays bare his soul, his need and his rider's need pouring out for you to feel. perhaps still calculating, perhaps trying to surprise a move out of you. Or perhaps very, very real, burning and searing his comet to ash.

Nalaieth> She must pull up. She /must/! Albanth has staked everything on this last gambit. She is too close to the water to mate before crashing into it. That is his split second assessment. The oldest bronze makes his move, cutting upwards with a deft twist of his spars, and angling in from her left. The burst catches an eddy coming off the water, giving him an unexpected surge forward to where he hopes to intercept her in her flight. Pull up, pull up! And Albanth will be there to see her home, as he has others before her. Experience is always the best teacher, and teach her he surely can. Even as she reawakens the fire in him and reminds him of what it is to be young again. Flashing out of her blind spot he is suddenly *there*, limbs and tail extended to grab for her if she makes - as she must, she simply /MUST/ - an upward break for freedom.

Nalaieth> Vildaeth heeds the siren's call, but will the water pull him under? The bronze follows Nalaieth's long flight over the ocean with an arrow-straight path, saving his acrobatics for when he's closer--and he is, suddenly, as she slows. Penned in by a brown on one side and a bronze on the other, he dips lower, barely avoiding the cresting waves as he powers forward to try to escape the pack and attempt to catch what they all are trying for. Once past one of them, he pulls himself up again and tries to twist past another dragon and spiral into the path of the lion, an offering of cinnamon seasoning to spice things up for the dragon who is a cub no more.

Nalaieth> Alidaeth breaks his own silence with a croon, enticement to Nalaieth to soar back upward, where he waits. What hope is there for a clutch sired so low? the gesture declared. Though tired himself, the brown maintains the jittery energy of earlier, strength wasted in tail-lashings and talon-curlings while he hovers in the wake of a larger bronze. Finally, tensing, he makes his move, darting out and around the slower dragon, one smooth move that makes to send him toward Nalaieth, dipping just far enough downward to meet her expected rise.

K'tor pushes off the table, silvery-grey eyes blazing fiercely. He takes a single step towards the goldrider, ignoring the other males in the room. Last call. Now or never. Go for broke. None of the cliches are accurate enough to describe the intensity in the older man's face. It is easy to see now how this man could lead two weyrs down south in the height of the Pass. Surly shield has been put aside for sheer, blind charisma. He may be old, but he ain't broke yet!

Dragon> Nalaieth senses that Vildaeth's chill has dissipated, warmed in the heat of Ista and the exertion of following the lioness. Now he is fiery warm, red cayenne glittering through his bright thoughts: piquant to offset the sweet.

M'yr isn't about to let this go, this.. this.. curmudgeon of a rider who dares to infer that Nolee could be his! He too rises from his space within this weyr, to stride toward the goldrider. "No you don't.." he mutters, then.. *bump* Intended or not, his shoulder finds an Istan contact, shoulder to shoulder, man to man, a stumble within the process sending him swaying at the loss of balance.

Nalaieth> The shadows: Nalaieth can see them all around her, nearing. Her water-tossing ploy only worked for a moment, and has cost her lead, so she rises a few meters, but they are there, there waiting, too. Frothing, she gasps for breath, the folds of her hide catching air and slowing her further as they ripple. A mingling of hedonism and horror overtakes Ista's youngest queen, and she folds her wings forward, dropping down close enough for her underbelly to slide against the ocean's waves, and she falls back immediately, cannonballing backward and to the right, passing a bronze and a brown and ending up, with some force, in the embrace of Vildaeth, the long-snouted dusky amber Reachian visitor.

Nolee wails, her arms outstretched in a different direction entirely. "No no no," she tantrums loudly. "No fighting! Can't you see, I want you all! I at least want M'yr!" But by then, Nalaieth has made her choice, and the gangly baker boy from Reaches doesn't look so unappetizing after all. Even through startled tears, she is already reaching trembling arms his way.

K'tor isn't fighting. He's instructing. He grabs a handful of M'yr's tunic, steadying the younger bronzerider. "It's over," he announces gruffly. "Out, you. If you hadn't been so intent on /me/, maybe you would have caught her." The 'wherry-brain' is unvoiced, but loud in the aftermath of the catch. He heads for the entrance, dragging tunic behind him. Hopefully it's still attached to the Weyrsecond.

M'rek rises to his feet as contact is made between the other men, but in the space of time between when he steps through the fruit basket the world changes. Just like that. "ARGH!" M'rek screams in frustration, bends and punches the fruit with the spikey top and then stands and shakes himself as he moves to clear the weyr. "Now comes the drinking part."

Nalaieth> Albanth bellows his frustration, peeling off and back towards the weyr. The inexperience of a young queen finally bested him. Next time, perhaps, she will go up. And he will be waiting. Meanwhile, there has to be a green back there that needs some attention.

The relief that floods R'dur's face is immediate, as he scrambles out of the guest weyr pale and sweaty.

Nalaieth> Shadow to match the light, piquant for the sweet, cold for the warm: it all mingles together as bronze tangles with gold, wings sweeping wide to support the pair from up above. Despite the lack of energy, Vildaeth pushes, lifting them up in defense from the ocean's attack, helped by the warm ocean breeze.

Nalaieth> Alidaeth slices past Nalaieth, snapping once in a fit of pique. Then, dipping his wings, he turns silently and soars back to meet his distraught rider.

M'yr walks out into the bowl.

Nalaieth> Ulfianth misses. Clearly he misses. And he's left cutting through the air, wings shivering as the storm that swept him up into bloodlust the moment Nalaieth edged into his awareness leaves just as suddenly. He lowers and flies out towards the beaches, to burn off the cold in the Istan sun.

Nalaieth> Alidaeth glides lower into the bowl, his huge size dwarfed by the immensity of the bowl around him.

K'tor walks out into the bowl.

Nalaieth> Soldreth has definitely overshot his mark, the young bronze certainly unhappy at this outcome. Down he goes, circling his way through the warm air.

The gangly 'Reachian slips through the departures, toward the broad-hipped weyrwoman. One hand stretches up to try to wipe away the tears even as the other curves around her waist, seeking to be as close to Nolee as his Vil is to her Nala. The wide cot will have to serve for now, as clothing is shed in the Istan warmth that he enjoys and, now, his dragon does as well.