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Post by LyricalBlue on Dec 28, 2006 15:27:52 GMT -5
It was late in the afternoon, but all day a sense of foreboding had been settling around the Weyr. Everyone was on edge and snappish arguments in the halls were becomming a common sight. It was unusualy cold for the time of year and most of the thin-blooded Southern riders were striding about with collars turned up against the chill. Situated in the Hatching Grounds, Zhariath lay half burried in the warm sand. Her eyes glowed red and her tail flicked back and forth aggitatedly. In all appearances the Queen had made a full recovery from the illness that had plagued her when she had cluched. Her dark, coppery hide was burnished and gleamed in the fading light. Every once and awhile she would get up to rearange the eggs and to worry at them. They were far past the date they should have hatched and Zhariath knew it deep in her bones if not in her concious.
Her twin was now nursing her own clutch in the secondary cavern. Lucky that Ponaa was as large a Weyr as it was. Her tail thrashed again, sending a spray of sand across the cavern. On the first tier of steps, the Weyrwoman perched, as nervous and tightly drawn as her Queen. It seemed all her worst fears had come crashing down. The clutch wasn't hatching, had this ever happened before? Lyrai had been scouring the records and could find no sign of anything like this. It had to have been because of the poisioning, the Weyrwoman rubbed her sleep heavy eyes and wondered exactly what Zhariath would do if the clutch didn't hatch. She hoped the Queen would take it in typical dragon logic as they did with most deaths on the sands.
Things continued in this fashion for several hours untill suddenly Zhariath started buzzing her wings and began to hum. Lyrai stood up, her eyes filling with hope. The humming filled the Weyr and a brilliant ray of hope shot through the foreboding blanket that had been settling around the Weyr all day. Dragons roared and lept between, going quickly out with their riders to fetch the notables of Pern who always seemed to attend the Hatchings of Senior Queens. Rakken of course would be here shortly and Lyrai bit back a groan at having to deal with him. That awful man was a trial at the best of times. The cavern filled slowly and soon the white line of Candidates was ushered in onto the sands. They were all shifting back and forth with nerves and beacuase of the heat searing their feet. The Weyrwoman smiled slowly, remembering her own Impression day.
A bellow echoed from the entrance to the cavern as Weseaneth set down on the rim and discharged. With a groan, Lyrai went foward to meet them. Rakken stood tall and haggard next to I'slen. The Lord of Ponaa Hold always demanded that nothing less than a bronze be sent to fetch him. And as I'slen had pointed out, it really was simpler just to acceed to the demand rather than fight him on yet another point. Lyrai wondered briefly where Rakken's new wife was. Sri had been her name, if she remembered correctly. Rakken dismissed I'slen with a curt wave of his hand and the bronzerider sighed then beat a hasty retreat. She really didn't want to mince words with Rakken, not right now and not for this clutch. So as he smiled acidly at her, she led the Lord to his seating box and left as quickly as proprity would allow.
The eggs began to rock but Lyrai noticed worriedly that only a third were actually rocking. The Weyrwoman took her seat and leaned foward, kuckles white with the grip she held on her pants. Oh Faranth let the eggs be ok... but so few were rocking and a bare couple of the larger ones were. Zhariath had taken a protective stance over the eggs and wasn't letting any of the Candidates close yet. The sense of foreboding seemed to close down around the Weyrwoman and her dark eyes went wide as the first egg split and a brown came tumbling out. It was taking rapid shallow breaths and everyone could see that something was very, very wrong with the hatchling. Its head lifted up once, then flopped back down on the sands never to rise again. A keen rose from among the dragons and Lyrai franticaly touched Zhariath's mind. He was made wrong. He could not live.
A second egg hatched, then a third; and both little greens found thier riders. As each Impression was made in turn the slow murmor that had been rushing around the gallery stopped. Maybe, maybe it was alright; maybe it had just been that one. Lyrai though, knew better; the poisioning had affected this clutch in terrible ways. Those greens were alive, but niether of them looked as healthy as a normal dragonet should. Then another egged rocked and split and a sickly thin brown flopped out and after a few moments stood on shakey legs. A boy rushed foward, heedless of the rest and wrapped his arms about the dragonett to support him. "His name is Ruloth!" Lyrai let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. That dragonett looked more like a starved wherry than a dragon and its proportions were all wrong. The Weyrwoman bit back tears, if that youngster ever was capable of normal flight it would be a miracle.
Two more blues and a green hatched after what seemed an intermitable age and found their riders again with little mishap. Then one of the largest eggs, that had been previously still began to rock and all eyes fixed on it. After another long period the egg shattered and a bronze lay gasping in the remnants. He, like the brown before him, looked terribly thin and weak; like he was only half finished. The dragonett stood and wobbled foward, as a lad took a step towards him Zhariath let out a bellow and blocked off the child's approach. The little bronze let out a terribly weak squeek and stumbbled past his dam's forelimb. He fell into the boy's arms and the young man's voice rose in joy. "His name is Kambyseth!" Then a moment latter the boy's heart rending wail echoed about the cavern as the little bronze closed his eyes forever. It had taken all of his strength to reach the partner he wanted. The boy was pryed from the body of the little bronze, still wailing and it nearly broke the Weyrwoman's heart. Her dark eyes flicked to Zhariath, her own beloved and she couldn't even begin to imagine the pain of the young man down there.
((I'll stop this little novel here to give everyone who wants to a chance to post))
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Post by hrsegrl on Dec 30, 2006 13:11:30 GMT -5
Ruet sat near Lyrai, watching the event with growing worry. The dragonets had been damaged severely by the poisoning. At least Zhariath looked much better. Rue couldn't think of the amount of grief that would cause. Even if she was not impressed to Zhara, she still could see the loss of the Queen affecting her much more than a normal dragonrider.
Rakken was there, she noted and it sickened her to see the smug look on the man's face. If dragons were inclined at all to seriously flame someone she hoped it would be him. There were few people on Pern that Ruet could seriously say she disliked. Generally she was sweet natured and didn't have trouble forgiving other people's faults. Rakken however, could be threaded for all she cared.
Sharieth had been broken her shell only with the help of her sister. It was amazing enough that the young ones had found the strength to get out. After a few moments, Rue found herself crying softly. They needed help, so much help. If she wanted to be a dragonhealer she better go down there, as soon as she was able. All the Healers would be needed anyway, for the youth's who impressed would be suffering from symptoms brough on by their dragons. With bleary ees and a steady hand, she approached Lyrai and placed a sisterly arm around her. "We will help them... they will be alright... Remember how no one thought Sharieth would make it. Well she did and she's normal." This of course was all hopeful talk. Ruet knew these hatchlings were in a very different situation than Sharieth had been.
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Post by lastthoughts on Dec 30, 2006 17:18:51 GMT -5
Joven was still as a statue, his handsome features frozen in remorseless severity. Having only just arrived, he hadn't had much time to learn what hatchings were like. But he knew that they weren't supposed to be like this.
His stomach knotted, and his mind began to whir with the calculating mechanics of a man with too much sense and not enough soul. This will be bad for the Weyr. Not only will many of these young ones die or be unable to serve fully, but assuredly there is someone here backing them that will be unhappy.
Perhaps one of these dragonets would be his, he thought absently. He felt neither relief nor disappointment as one by one, the eggs hatched around him, the dragons finding their partners or dropping to the ground. Sometimes both.
It was queer, like being caught in the eye of a hurricane. Everything seemed to be moving too slowly, too calmly. He could see the tears on the face of a boy whose partner had left the world as soon as he had entered it, and the well of icy water within him burst open. The images of loss and frustration, the feelings of fear and longing that swept around him snapped themselves into place in his mind like peices of some horrendous puzzle. His potent desire to know what it was like to impress a dragon took on a new dimension. Joven watched, and learned, and in those moments felt as old as the sands on which he stood. For every life, a death, for every connection, a seperation.
The trader boy was not given to 'dwelling' consciously, but as he watched the young man cradling the head of his life's partner, he was aware that he was only a few years of restraint away from seeing himself beside the bed of his younger brother. But as usual, he felt nothing any longer. There wasn't even a hollowness, he just skipped over that part of the thought process. He learned, recognized, sorted, and moved on. He knew what was happening to the boy at some level, but empathy was beyond him at this point. A better, a more human man would have gone to the boy and comforted him immediately, but Joven stood for a moment longer. When he did go, he went because he knew it was what people would want to see someone doing. They couldn't stand the sounds of wailing.
He knelt behind the boy and put a firm hand on his shoulder, prepared for either the violent reactions of hysteria or the hopeless stillness of despair.
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Post by Memorie on Jan 2, 2007 23:48:26 GMT -5
Tujal watched, utterly irritated. She moved and found her seat next to I'slen. She had gradually been making her claim on him more and more assured, in the hopes that other women would lose hope of ever having him. "I can't believe whatI'm seeing," she told him, all acerbity gone from her voice and replaced by bitterness. She glanced over at the man I'slen himself had brought in. "And it's all his fault. Did you see the little boy lose his bronze? Love complete found, then lost? Rakken should be murdered. It's the Hold way." She smiled viciously. "And I know the Hold way." She shot a look of pure hatred and disgust at the Holder. Briefly, she wondered if she could arrange something...unfortunate. But she sighed; such things were supposed to be below her station in life. Instead, she scooted closer to I'slen. She couldn't resist brushing a hand over his, though she knew that it would only cause trouble for them if they came out and told the world of their relationship. After all, she was still a weyrling, and only a Mating Flight would change that condition. She had to talk to Amenth about that.
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brimstone81
Stalker of Bubbly Pies
The Sweetheart
I dream in high definition
Posts: 338
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Post by brimstone81 on Jan 3, 2007 0:13:18 GMT -5
The eggs had been long over due, and when the candidates were first rounded up, there was a very stong excitment in the air of the candidate barracks. Since there was no gold announced, Panthea had sat out this round. Panthea was even envious of some of the kids going to potentially Impress a lifemate. She wanted that so badly she had contemplated just going out there despite her intentions of waiting for a gold egg. Yet, with the first hatchling, she was almost glad she didn't have to go through what some of her commrades were taking. Panthea was in the stands, but just watching the hatching was breaking her heart. The dragonets were so fragile and weak and it just wasn't right. She saw the bronze tumble to a boy that she had known and she had some hope. But when she saw him wailing as his lifemate died, she trembled. The gold candidate never wanted that burden of being Impressed for mere seconds then loosing apart of you. It was tough, but she realized it was a chance she was willing to take.
It was then she felt new pity for Jennah, her friend whom she found out lost a green. (which, by the way, "creep" by Radiohead just came on the radio. I've still always liked this song.) She sighed, knowing that seeing this would especially hurt him, being that he had the same emptyness of that forsaken boy. Panthea bit her lip, and despite her compassion would not let herself cry. One of her friends, Byrda, was down there too, and Panthea hoped her friend would be okay. Yet, it just wasn't fair! Not fair! To be so young and full of hope, to Impress a bronze, any dragon at that, and then in an instant have your life and potential as a rider taken away from you. All the girl could do was to watch silently. That was perhaps one of the worst aspects. She was helpless in this plight.
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Post by jennah on Jan 7, 2007 23:42:09 GMT -5
Jennah. Hated. Hatchings. By Faranth he hated every sharding thing about them. He hated the easy feeling of lust and love that fell over the Weyr whenever one of the sharding golds went into estrus. He hated the glut of inept candidates (and the glut of inept apprentices that came after a hatching). He hated watching them all so bright and beautiful on the hatching sounds of the Weyr. He hated most of all watching the new dragonriders wobble off together. Every bright and bubbly face he saw was an echo of his own. It made him sick. Unfortunately, he had no choice but to sit in the sidelines and watch.
He could only hope for something terrible to happen. He found some sort of sick triumph when he saw a face contorted with pain and confusion, bloody from the claws of an equally confused dragonet. He could bellow orders and work quickly, and everybody would be okay. Eventually. Jennah’s feelings for Zhariath’s most recent clutch were only a little bit different than his feelings towards every other clutch that had been squeezed from a queen since the day he lost Deleriath. Utter disgust mixed with something like anger. The only difference now was the fear. Part of him hated himself for taking delight in the fact that the possibility of tragedy was so much closer than it had ever been before.
He was no dragonhealer, but he had been called upon to look at the eggs, his observations were as inconclusive as the dragonhealer’s. The eggs weren’t exactly the paradigm of good health, they weren’t rotting as far as he could tell. In his opinion the Weyr should’ve just been happy that the queen hadn’t been lost. Even if the entire clutch turned sulfurous and died on the sands, they’d still have Zhariath. He was mildly surprised when the humming of dragons began. He hated that sound, but he had no choice other than to gather up a few choice members of his staff, buckets of numbweed and bandages, and take his place with the other “honored” guests. It was stupid really. He would sit with the lord holders and the Weyrwomen and all of those lovely people. As soon as the hatching was over he would leap over the other people and bark orders at the healers on the sand. He would help them haul all of those unfortunate enough to be mauled out of the sands and try to patch up their wounds. The system was completely imperfect and he hated it. He wished that he could be on the sands ready to tend every wound as it occurred. He was a healer, not some sort of politician. He didn’t see why he needed to be honored like one. He wished that tradition could be ignored and he could help.
Jennah was unable to watch the actual rocking of the eggs, he focused on his hands and the texture of the fabric of the collar of the man in front of him. He tried to remove himself from the situation but he couldn’t. The first egg hatched, he could hear sounds of fear and grief, but they didn’t touch him he said with a half-hearted shrug to no one in particular, “ It’s better that way. Faranth hope that the rest of the clutch go /between/ if they’re all like that.”
He raised his eyes briefly and saw the outline of the wretched creature on the sands. It was a beautiful day.
He knew that provided no /people/ were hurt he had no job. Two sickly greens (sickly, but they looked alive. Deleriath had been a sickly hatchling…no…it was Diarchwaelth. Not her…no…) . A brown…It didn’t matter that some boy impressed to a brown that would probably be crippled. At least the boy had the touch of his brown in his head. If Deleriath had only been crippled…he remembered being told that her injuries would’ve rendered her incapable for flight. It wouldn’t have mattered. He would’ve gladly been a leach to the Weyr than the beast he was…lucky boy. Bed**ned hatchings. He turned to the two goldriders near him and said, “It won’t be alright. The situation is completely different than with your queen. The Weyr will be fine, but they won’t. Faranth I sharding hate sitting here. My staff is a bunch of incompetent blethering dimglows.”
Then came the bronze. Jennah found his world slowly narrowing to the sight of the young boy and his young partner. Everything was moving so fast and slowly. Something like cold rage filled his blood as he saw his men pry the poor boy from the body of his partner. Faranth d**n them. Slowly an animal-like groan broke out of his throat and he stood up, “LET THE BOY BE! LET HIM HOLD HIM BY FARANTH! I’LL RIP YOU FOR THIS!”
He was about to leap out of his seat and demonstrate to the healers on the sand exactly how he felt about the situation (it seemed so blasphemous. Let the poor boy hold the wretched creature and know him….) but he then noticed the humorless glance of the Lord Holder. He had been criticized by the man before, and was had been openly accused of being unsuited for his post. He smiled humorlessly, and sat down, before turning to the man and explaining through clenched teeth, “I’m sorry you had to see that. Such matters. Bother me. A lot.”
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brimstone81
Stalker of Bubbly Pies
The Sweetheart
I dream in high definition
Posts: 338
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Post by brimstone81 on Jan 10, 2007 21:48:04 GMT -5
Venaru was sitting not too far away from Panthea, and the woman, who once considered Panthea her rival for the Headwoman's assistant spot, was scowling again. This always brought back the pain of what could have been. Venaru could have been a rider. Green, blue, maybe even gold. But now Venaru played the part of a mother and a lower cavrens woman. It suited her, some one once told her. Venaru almost slapped them because the 'compliment' did not help her the emptiness she had felt after being pulled from the sands because she had gotten herself knocked up. She was sooo stupid. Stupid men. Stupid D'lon. Shards, why didn't she just date women? Venaru smiled slightly at that thought. That would make things easier. Not like she needed another whelp, one was enough. And her son was with his father today so she was free to watch the hatching with some of her friends, fellow lower cavrens women. No drudges among them. She smirked, that word bothered her, so woe is he who ever calls her a drudge.
Venaru, despite the pain those candidates were going through down there, was still jealous of them because they were down there. Those kids all had the courage, and deep down Venaru knew that she was scared of being killed by a raging dragonet. The young woman sighed and leaned forward, placing her head in her hands.
She wondered about these dragonets. If they were crippled and could not fly in normal wings and flights, she wondered if she would be able to keep her position under the Headwoman and have a dragon to come back to. She knew it was a selfish thought, but she couldn't help it. She liked where she was, but still dreamt of being a rider.
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Post by Memorie on Jan 12, 2007 15:54:26 GMT -5
Rakken almost squealed, he was so delighted. Okay, so the poison hadn't had the desired effect of killing the beastly Queen and therefore her moronic rider, but the clutch had been severely affected. Deformed, sickly dragons everywhere. Some of the little beasts won't even fly, he thought, eyeing one that had severe wing deformities. Then he spotted one die right after being Impressed by a young lad. By Faranth, that was a bronze! He carefully schooled his expression, fully aware that many dragonriders were turning hateful gazes upon him, most particularly the goldrider he'd almost killed almost a year prior.
Suddenly, the Weyrhealer jumped out of his seat. The man had always been a bit insane, Rakken thought, but after losing his green, he went absolutely crazy. He was not a man Rakken liked, simply because insanity of that level unnerved him. And frightened him a bit. The Lord would never admit that. The ex-rider was screaming now, threatening the dragonhealers who were attempting to drag the boy away from his dead dragon. He realized who was behind him, just as Rakken dredged up his most disgusted look. What sort of man lost it in public like that? "Utter craziness. The man is a loon, I've always said it," Rakken said to his manservant, who was standing next to him." The Weyrhealer apologized. "Yes. Everything bothers you, my dear Jennah. Rather unstable, aye? More than unsuitable for your position, I would think." The Lord smiled evilly at him, and turned back to the hatching, which was progressing as dreadfully as it had started. And it looked like the vast majority of the eggs might not even hatch.
Lord Rakken could've giggled. He only wished he had his idiot wife sitting next to him to witness all of the destruction. He thought about her for a moment. A beautiful blonde, just the way he liked his women. If only she hadn't given him a useless female for a child. Oh well. He turned his thoughts to other, more pleasant thoughts. The plan he had with...well, the plan he had for Ponaa next would top all the others. He smiled to himself, but quickly put on his characteristic scowl. Really, he hated being back in the Weyr. But he did so love for his plans to work, in some fashion or another.
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Post by jennah on Jan 12, 2007 20:30:27 GMT -5
Jennah expected a certain level of coarseness from individuals in the Weyr (why in the name of the Red Star hadn’t he killed himself, or at least left the Weyr?). He expected an even higher level of misunderstanding from individuals in the hold. That was an important aspect in his decision to remain at the Weyr. Weyrfolk, particularly riders would understand that he was a broken and incomplete man. However, if any holder should have a basic understanding of his condition it should’ve been the Lord Holder. Jennah wasn’t an idiot. He knew that his outburst would’ve elicited a reaction, and thus he watched Rakken carefully to see what sort of damage had been done.
Jennah looked wildly at the manservant, slightly outraged with the Lord Holder’s reaction. He kept himself delicately restrained at the end of his seat. He was unsure what was causing him more grief, Rakken or the hatching itself. Then he started to laugh. Had Rakken been paying more attention to the Weyrhealer he might’ve thought he was having a seizure. Jennah had gripped the edge of his seat with all of his might and was currently clutching it so hard that all of his muscles were getting shaky.
Oh dear Faranth this wasn’t going to end well. Jennah hadn’t felt like this for ages. He could tell that he was losing control of himself, his vision had adopted a strange sort of double-haze. The only thing he could compare it too was the double-vision that came with flight. The last time that he was like this he had taken a pair of scissors to his hair and turned his hair into the subject of many jokes.
It wasn’t until a few seconds after it happened that he was even aware that he was out of his chair, but there he stood, in front of the entire Weyr, shaking like he was about to fall over with a mixture of rage and weakness. His fist had been tightly clenched…and dear Faranth, he was more than pretty sure that he had just flung a powerful left-hook in the general direction of the Lord Holder’s face. He snarled, “You’re right m’lord. I believe idiocy sets it off.”
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Post by Memorie on Jan 12, 2007 21:20:26 GMT -5
Rakken had seen it coming in slow motion. It was the same vision people get right before falling off of a ledge or their dragon. One moment, the fist wasn't there, and the next, it was. He even got a second to mumble to himself, "Shards..." before the left fist connected with his jaw. Rakken was completely unnerved now, but only for a second, until the entirety of what had just happened occurred to him. He'd goaded an unstable man into socking him a good one. And his manservant hadn't even had time to react, which told Rakken how fast the wily Weyrhealer had moved.
Blood dripped from the right side of his lips. Rakken used a knuckle to wipe it off, and he looked at it. The crazy man had actually caused bleeding. He pulled a hankerchief out and wiped his hand, and folded it and put it back. After a long time, he looked up with the most snobbish, disgusted look on his face he could manage. "Well, you've done it now, Jennah. Trust me, your weyrleader will hear about this. Oh, yes." Rakken himself could be quite a scrapper, but right now, he was far too surprised to think about fighting. And they were in crowded stands, and Rakken was much wider than was Jennah. Oh well. Vengeance would be served at its best: cold and sweet. Rakken began to laugh, loudly and much. It was the same maniacal laughter which was the stuff of legend. He could only imagine Jennah's surprise at his next plot...and then Rakken would come for him personally.
It was a very, very bad thing when Rakken began to plot the individual person's downfall. Generally speaking, if he wanted to do something, he did it on a larger scale, like poisoning the entire weyr. But now he would focus all of his mental energy on Jennah's obliteration. Obliteration is a weak word. Death. No, murder. He genuinely smiled, and it was scary. A joyful Rakken was much, much worse than an angry Rakken.
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Post by hrsegrl on Jan 13, 2007 9:03:14 GMT -5
Ruet had heard the conversation without wanting to, but had no choice to walk closer to Holder and Healer. When Rakken spoke of going to the Weyrleader she answered, "That won't be necessary." She eyed his wound a moment but wasn't about to help him. Her gaze then fell on Jennah. "Weyrhealer, if you wouldn't mind, I would like for you go down and see to the newly impressed." Rue held a steady voice, though she was scared of Rakken. He gave her the creeps. She wasn't worried that he would do anything out in the open like this but she was worried he would start some sort of plot whilst here.
"Was there something funny Lord Rakken?" She asked, her voice hinting that there should be nothing funny at all about this Hatching or his encounter with the Weyrhealer. Rue hoped that she could settle this without getting any of the Bronze riders involved. Some men, like Rakken, did not respond the way they should to women in powerful positions.
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Post by Memorie on Jan 13, 2007 14:56:10 GMT -5
The mean smirk quickly disappeared from Rakken's face. "How dare you address me? Like an equal?" He snorted. Women of the weyr were uppity, for sure. Is there something funny? Absolutely. This entire thing is a farce. And I love it. "Send a man to talk to me, or no one. Now get you away from me." As he said so, he pushed her. When she still did not comply to his order, he raised a hand to backhand slap her. Jennah, he had been to shocked to hit. But Ruet....
Like a shock of lightning in the sky, K'leren was suddenly there. His cocoa eyes crackled with anger, and the hair on the back of his neck stood exactly on end. Nemenath trumpeted from the heights of the cavern, and growled, reflecting his rider's emotions. The bronzerider grabbed the man's wrist fit to break it. "Lord Rakken," he said through gritted teeth, "I think you had better sit...DOWN!" He forced the man back into his seat, coming very close to breaking his forearm. K'leren leaned in close. "I may not be able to prove your guilt in the Poisonings, but if I ever see you raise a hand to a woman, ever again, I will see to it that you never raise that hand again. Do you understand me? Lord?" he said, dirtying the title.
"Get off me, Dragonwoman." But Rakken didn't taunt anymore. He knew better, at least for this moment. The best tactical maneuver is the one which gains the most benefit at the least cost. Sometimes, retreat is the best tactical maneuver, he remembered from his studies. K'leren backed off and lead Ruet back to a seat further away from the Lord Holder. Rakken resumed thoughts of anti-Jennah plots, but did not smile.
(A Joint-Post by HG and Memorie)
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Post by hrsegrl on Jan 13, 2007 15:12:36 GMT -5
He responded with such hatred that she knew he was about something completely evil. Rue wasn't as strong physically as say a greenrider, so when the man shoved her, she was moved several feet. She was insuch a state of shock that she did not move. Then a hand came to her face, leaving a red welt. Her eye teared on the side of her face that was struck. How dare he? At the Weyr even.
Ruet was no fighter but she was lucky in her love. K'leren saw the event and had come to her aid. She felt relief at his presence. After being led away she sat quietly stunned still. No man had ever actually hit her. Even tempered as her father was, it was no suprise where she got her calmness from. F'sen had yelled once or twice but he would never have hurt her. Ruet knew that K'leren would never want to hurt her either. No wonder Rakken's wife was missing.
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brimstone81
Stalker of Bubbly Pies
The Sweetheart
I dream in high definition
Posts: 338
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Post by brimstone81 on Jan 14, 2007 20:49:31 GMT -5
It was then that Venaru glanced up at the box, where all the guests of honor sat. Her jaw dropped at the beauty of one man in there, no it was not K'leren, and no, it was not Jennah. Venaru always prided herself in her good sense, though she had been known to have a lapse time to time, remember D'lon? Well, Lord Rakken, whom she assumed must be, was simply the most lovely man she had set her eyes on. And her ambitious heart sent her to actually move from her seat to venture closer. Venaru had heard that the man's wife had run off, and that was quite a blow to a man's reputation. No doubt he'd be rid of her soon. He could even have the marriage anulled, if need be. Rakken was a Lord Holder after all. But how could one make a case against a runaway wife? She'd be marked as an adultress and vegabond, no doubt. Perhaps even Venaru could persuade the man to do it.
Yes, the more she thought about it, the more it made sense, she would be a much better wife than Sri. Venaru was young, very womanly and feminine, already had started her track record for sons, was educated, a good dancer, a competant flirt, and most importantly: a decent actress. Venaru had decided to perhaps try to catch Rakken's eye. Already this woman's eyes were glittering at the mere thought of being a lady. Her only chance would be to marry a lord, and this one was right before her, glorious and beautiful, and with wife problems. Competitive Venaru was sure that she could seduce him at the very least. He'd want her sons. The other woman only produced the poor man a daughter, a girl that would only be worth his trouble if she made a profitable marriage. Of course, Rakken's other sons would prove to be a problem one day. . . But that could be amended if the time called for it.
Venaru quickly had an idea. She entered the box, and bowed deeply, "Bronzerider K'leren, Goldrider Ruet," She paused, and decided that should be sufficient. "The Headwoman would like to know if any of you would like refreshments during this most. . . lovely day."
She had toyed with the idea of saying 'delightful event' but figured she might get into a little trouble with the metallics and did not want to jeopardize her standings at the Weyr if everything fell through. Then, ever the actress, bowed even deeper to Rakken, and she looked as if she delighted in his presence, with a soft, demure voice, "Ah, excuse me for not mentioning you first, milord, you must be the great Lord Rakken of Ponaa." She managed to look up from him under her eyelashes. "Might I have the pleasure of serving you milord?"
((actually started to remind me of Anne Boleyn. . . ))
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Post by LyricalBlue on Jan 16, 2007 15:20:19 GMT -5
The collective whole of humanity in the cavern that day focused on the scene between Rakken and the Weyrfolk and silence ensued, at least from the humans. The hatching dragons however, would wait for no one. Politics of any sort simply did not matter to the babies who were struggling for life and breath; searching desperately for the missing halves of themselves. The Weyrwoman stood, tense with fury and the scene opening before her. How... dare he.... Lyrai knew he was behind the poisoning even if they had no real proof. And now, now he had the nerve to insult hers in Her Weyr. There were however, hatchlings to care for and it looked like between Ruet, K’leren and Jennah they had the obnoxious Lord in line. Lyrai left N’mos standing stoically in their box and made her way down to the sands as quickly as possible. Another egg hatched and the little green that spilled out was in remarkably good condition, at least compared to the rest of the clutch. She found hers in short order, a young man as lean and gangly as she herself was. The Weyrwoman sighed darkly, at least there would be some dragons out of the clutch that would be fighting fit. They couldn’t afford to lose any of them. Her heart sank even further and she vowed to find out exactly what had happened. Rakken would pay yet…
A second brown made his way out of the shell along with two more of his blue brothers, who looked a sight better than he did by far. The two blues impressed, finding theirs among the host of scared and crying children. Azenth and Xlanth had their names announced to the world for the first time, but eyes remained trained on the brown. While he looked half starved, there were no obvious defects in the little creature. He was a bare hand span larger than his blue brothers and the Weyrwoman doubted he would ever grow into the full height expected of browns. He laid still on the sands, sides heaving while he tried to catch his breath, for many long moments everyone feared he would go the same way as the previous bronze.
Breaking all decorum, a young man rushed forward and scooped up the brown’s head. With a foolishly large grin and a half frown from the Weyrwoman, he crowed up to the crowd. “He calls himself Sosanth!” Another green had hatched in the interim and found her own, Lyrai nodded thankfully that she seemed relatively healthy as well. But then one of the large eggs which had been previously still made one last valiant effort and a little bronze spilled out in a wet heap onto the sands. Zhariath mantled, not letting the healers near. He will live or he will not. She announced firmly and Lyrai paled. The only other bronze that had actually hatched had not made it. The Weyrwoman stared at her Queen for many long moments, almost pleading with her. The little bronze lay on the sands listlessly as he dried. He appeared to be a true bronze color, but he was tiny and looked half starved. His wings were so rumpled and pressed against his little body that it was hard to tell if they were deformed or not. A young man stepped from the crowd and walked slowly forward, Lyrai turned as he approached. He was Darion of Monaco Bay if she remembered correctly. Zhariath remained mantled, but the young man come forward. The little bronze wobbled to his feet and Darion reached out to steady him. Many long moments passed and the young man turned to look calmly up at Lyrai. “His name is Aerulth, he’s hungry.”
The Weyrwoman personally escorted the pair back to the rest of the waiting Weyrlings, helping him steady the little bronze. Tears welled in her eyes and she wasn’t sure if it was a curse or a blessing that the young man had Impressed. Three more greens hatched and Impressed and after several minutes it was clear no more of the eggs were going to hatch. Thirteen eggs lay unhatched on the sands and the Weyrwoman felt herself sinking into despair. Zhariath stood up and shook herself off then walked out of the cavern. With that signal the rest of the crowd too began to leave and the Weyrlings who survived were ushered off. Lyrai hung her head and sat at the base of the sands, staring at the eggs for a long while. How could something like this happen, who could ever do such a thing… It just shouldn’t be possible, they had lost so many in the poisoning and still, many months later, the effect was still felt.
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