The Dragonriders of PernŽ is a trademark, Registered U.S. Patent & Trademark Office, of Anne McCaffrey. This is a recorded session, generated by Harper's Tale MOO on Friday, July 14th 2000 for the benefit of members unable to attend. Logged by Pyrene.
Stretching Wings
Training Grounds
The marks of thousands of claws give testament to the shuffling of the young dragons that have torn up what little grass once grew in this corner of the bowl. Tucked in between the feeding pens to the south and the curve of the Weyrleader's complex, the training grounds are home to daily exercises and classes, all taking place well out of the way of the hectic bustle of the rest of the bowl. Cut deep into the cliff face, the large, covered openings leading into the extensive weyrling barracks rise high over the heads of any who come near, although the height of the caldera's spindles far above cast their own reaching shadows across the hard packed earth.
It is an autumn before dawn.
Soaring high overhead is Ferren.
Blue Lainnoth, blue Trydanth, and gold Cadgwith are here.
You see Fluffernut here.
Obvious exits:
Weyrling Barracks Northern Bowl Corrals
Cadgwith
Intrepid she is, this leviathan queen, with no siren's grace to refine the monstrous length of her serpentine form. Rising like a kraken from the depths of her inky, night-black paws to the coral-strewn twilight of wings' erratic spars, a distant song of gold froths the tangled sargassum of that ill-fitting hide, and ebbs undaunted up untidy curves of neck and head. The salt-encrusted canvas of her capsizing 'sails, windthrown and weathered to palest sea-glass, brines a flotsam of shadows across the expanse of her imposing withers, and brindles the fragmented abalone that pearls her full flanks and awkward, silver-shiny tail.
Slippery lengths of leather are lashed to the mast of her neck and hang from ridges' clefts to straggle around her forelimbs. Tossed as flotsam on the waves of hide, they lie where they have been hurled, fixed, however erratic their design, by the shell-silver buckles. Spare straps fly free, lifelines for would-be passengers or cargo, yet they can but provide a hope of riding out her storm, not defying it.
Cadgwith is 11 months and 9 days old.
She is 62 feet (19m) long, with a wingspan of 103 feet (31m).
Cadgwith seems to be listening.
Cadgwith lies all sprawled out, perhaps napping, but obviously crushing at least part of that expanse of leather into the ground. One of the buckles is missing beneath that big side of hers.
Pyrene slaps one side and tugs ineffectually at her side. "Wake up, Cadge!" she urges the dragon. "C'mon, lets go flying... we've got a moment spare. We can go on our /own/. No D'renn fussing us to stay in the V." She nudges the buckles and hrms. "And stop growing."
Cadgwith rolls just a bit at that insistence. Rolls, mind you, not heaves herself to her feet. Toward Pyrene.
Pyrene sighs and steps to the gold's head, tickling the end of her nose. "C'mon... wakey wakey..." she murmurs. "We can go back to the meadows. Remember the place with all the grass? There's good sun there as well and probably a bit of snow. And I don't want to hang around here too long after those targets..." she's managed to avoid D'renn thus far, but she's not pushing it.
You sense Cadgwith laps a bit on that idea's shore, coherence stirring more boldly with each wave of thought. >> That was good, << she agrees. >> But...what's wrong with the targets? The pink looks fine to /me/...<<
Cadgwith whuffles just a bit, too, at the fingers on her nose. She's awake now.
You think to Cadgwith, >> I think D'renn may not be too happy that we're using his signature colour for target practice... <<
Pyrene smirks slightly before stepping back patiently. "OK.. OK..." she urges. "How about getting in a position where I can mount now?" Although at the rate the dragon's growing, it might be easier to tackle her lying down.
You sense Cadgwith is almost amused--a hint of frothy laughter tickles the edge of her half-aware. << He should be pleased. It's a nice color, until you flame at it. When do I get to do that? >> Of course, that first question immediately takes second place in her mind at the idea of flight. Gleeful scrambling ensues. << Oh! >>
Cadgwith pushes her limbs into worthy positions, heaving to those inky paws and stretching wings experimentally, wriggling the extra fingerlength or so she's likely gained since she fell asleep.
Pyrene giggles and rolls her eyes. "You don't get to flame, dearest. Remember?" And she mounts swiftly, still talking. "The others will learn to chew firestone in a few weeks though. You're as well off without it, it smells so bad, I can't imagine how it would taste."
Don't worry, there's plenty of handholds. Just don't look down.
Cadgwith [Training Grounds]
Intrepid she is, this leviathan queen, with no siren's grace to refine the monstrous length of her serpentine form. Rising like a kraken from the depths of her inky, night-black paws to the coral-strewn twilight of wings' erratic spars, a distant song of gold froths the tangled sargassum of that ill-fitting hide, and ebbs undaunted up untidy curves of neck and head. The salt-encrusted canvas of her capsizing 'sails, windthrown and weathered to palest sea-glass, brines a flotsam of shadows across the expanse of her imposing withers, and brindles the fragmented abalone that pearls her full flanks and awkward, silver-shiny tail.
Slippery lengths of leather are lashed to the mast of her neck and hang from ridges' clefts to straggle around her forelimbs. Tossed as flotsam on the waves of hide, they lie where they have been hurled, fixed, however erratic their design, by the shell-silver buckles. Spare straps fly free, lifelines for would-be passengers or cargo, yet they can but provide a hope of riding out her storm, not defying it.
Cadgwith seems to be listening.
You sense Cadgwith is only vaguely moody, in the excitement of air--flying--fun--joy! that young mind focuses squarly on. << They don't get to do stuff I can do, do they? >> she wonders briefly.
Pyrene buckles herself, and rubs at the ridge in front of her with one affectionate hand. "Oh no... You can lay eggs and stuff so you're /much/ more important than any of them!" she declares confidently, opting not to think about her own role in all this. Hot sands... oosh. "When you're ready?" She braces herself for take-off.
Cadgwith's neck arches as she swivels head around the ground. Watch her! She has /rider/. There's a runner-like stomp of one big paw, and she shifts in place. Can we go now? /Pleeeease/. Yes!
You sense Cadgwith waxes smug. << Eggs. I can lay eggs. >> She likes the idea. << Will my offspring be as cute as your dam's offspring was? >> Treneere's image surfaces briefly, then air whistles through her thoughts in take-off rush.
Cadgwith leans her weight back, stretches wings, and all that jazz: takeoff!
New wings or old, they work because suddenly you are airborne.
Above the Training Grounds
Weyrling pairs have trampled the ground below into the hard-packed training grounds: ash pits near the pens, targets on the walls, the occasional loose Weyrling out of control here in the gentle thermals. The Weyr curves north towards large ledges and the Hatching Grounds beyond, and south towards pens and lake. What ledges are occupied here are high above the noise and smel of the Weyrs' youngest riders.
It is an autumn before dawn.
Obvious exits:
Up Training Grounds Central Bowl Northern Sky Ledges
Pyrene lets out her usual exuberant laugh as they hit the air. One of these days, she'll get used to flying on her own dragon but not yet. "We're going to meadows, right?" she checks. "No cheating and heading for the lake. You've been bathed once already."
Cadgwith senses that Pyrene is confident, if defensively so. << Your children will be /gorgeous/. No matter what Lis says. >>
Cadgwith strains wings, pushes the air down. The natural reaction? She's wafted higher.
Past ledge and rock to Star Stones and higher still, you circle up past even the Spires themselves.
Above High Reaches
Quite, quite high, nothing braves these heights but stone and dragon and cloud; the Star Stones jut dutifully above the Weyr proper, flayed by the mountain winds that are consistant at this altitude whilst the rest spreads below, protected by its crown of jagged stone spires'-teeth.
It is an autumn before dawn.
Green Yshanth and brown Druseth are here.
Obvious exits:
Weyr Over The Mountains Star Stones
You sense Cadgwith is high on life, in that giddy, giddy manner. << Beautiful babies! >> A pause. << How long do I have to wait? I forget, if we learned that...>> She sounds mildly upset, though loses that edge over the course of the next minute's flight.
You rise up and cross over the weyr wall, moving out over the open land.
Above the Mountains
Swirling air flows buffet you from all sides, a culmination of the threads of many different weather patterns as you soar high above the Alpine Meadows, a rippling, shimmering sea of green beckoning from below. The blackness of volcanic rock cuts off your view of the weyr, though the Star Stones remain as a reference point, forever reaching for the stars.
Clean, cold, crisp air takes your breath away, flavoured with the tang of a myrriad of different aromas.
It is an autumn before dawn.
Below, you see Dianth.
To the southwest, you see Yshanth and Druseth.
Obvious exits:
Alpine Meadows Sky Over Glaciers Towards the Weyr
You are shocked by the increased wins that wip around you.
Cadgwith senses that Pyrene stretches her own thoughts against the rush of the breeze, exultant, elated. << Another turn... at least another turn. >> And as far as she's concerned, it can't come late enough.
You sense Cadgwith stretches toward that welcoming meadow below. << A whole turn? Why? I can fly now. Which means they can chase now. Which means all that egg-making stuff can happen. And I can have babies! >> She thinks this through, then, proud of deduction, turns to rider for confirmation. << Right? >>
You drop down through buffeting thermals.
Upper Alpine Meadows
A vast alpine meadow stretches to the foot a glacier, flanked by the flat reach of a dozen more peaks; snow lurks at the higher elevations, capping the valleys in thick, endless layers of ice and new-fallen flakes. In contrast, during the spring and summer months a carpet of wildflowers spreads over a base of springy green turf, perfect for picnics and days outdoors. A small stream runs off towards the distant weyr, running cool and clear from out of the nearby blue-toned glacier.
It is an autumn before dawn.
Draped for sunning on the large volcanic rocks is Kaitou.
Blue Dianth is here.
Obvious exits:
Ice Caves Glacier Stream
You land on a rolling slope, dotted by volcanic rocks.
Cadgwith senses that Pyrene considers that, thoughts jolting slightly as they land. << I don't think it's a good idea to try it. You're not even fully grown yet! >> Hard as that may be to believe. << And... you'll know when you're ready. >> And so will Pyrene.
Oy.
You sense Cadgwith sends image after image of green grass and wildflowers. Is she happy? Yeeeees. << I will? Are you sure? Okay. >> She's satisfied...for now. << How long can we stay here? Forever? >>
Cadgwith embraces the ground in a more-or-less smooth landing. She's not quite polished yet, so there's no doubt a jolt as she gets there.
Green grass and wildflowers aren't quite what springs to Pyrene's mind when she ventures to look ahead to Cadgwith going into heat--and probably not what everybody else thinks of either. But it's nice that at least one creature is content about it. << As long as you like... >> she allows absently. It's more likely to be until she gets bored. But...
Upper Alpine Meadows
A vast alpine meadow stretches to the foot a glacier, flanked by the flat reach of a dozen more peaks; snow lurks at the higher elevations, capping the valleys in thick, endless layers of ice and new-fallen flakes. In contrast, during the spring and summer months a carpet of wildflowers spreads over a base of springy green turf, perfect for picnics and days outdoors. A small stream runs off towards the distant weyr, running cool and clear from out of the nearby blue-toned glacier.
It is an autumn before dawn.
Draped for sunning on the large volcanic rocks is Kaitou.
Blue Dianth and gold Cadgwith are here.
Obvious exits:
Ice Caves Glacier Stream
Careful as you go... It's a /long/ way down.
Pyrene slides recklessly down Cadgwith in a way that would get her told off if a weyrlingmaster was around. She escapes broken limbs though and instead flops happily on the grass with a huge sigh. "Bliss... Although I wish it were warmer. Oh well, next year we'll be able to go to Southern if we've a mind to be warm."
<< You sense that Cadgwith falls asleep. >>
