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6/23/2002
Logfile from G'deon.
MOO Time: 2002-06-23 13:17:59
And on Pern ...
The time is 08:17.
It is midmorning of the sixtieth day of spring.
It is the thirty-second Turn of the Tenth Pass.
Lylia meanders in from the north.
Druseth drops in from above, landing with a light *thud*.
Lylia swiftly scales up to Druseth's neck, finding a spot to neatly slide between a pair of dark neck ridges.
Miria abandons the bowl for ground weyr's shelter.
<High Reaches Weyr> Nylanth senses that he sends a burst of chilled air across the mindlink as he and G'deon appear above the Weyr and spiral to the bowl far below. << Thread approaches >> he informs the Weyr in his mellow, no-nonsense voice.
Druseth takes off.
Vorkoroth drops in from above, landing with a light *thud*.
Miria walks in.
Sakuruth drops in from above, landing with a light *thud*.
Druseth drops in from above, landing with a light *thud*.
Sidramuntalath drops in from above, landing with a light *thud*.
Issryuith drops in from above, landing with a light *thud*.
Central Bowl
Seven spindles brush the clouds overhead, displaying a jagged, spired cotillion
grey-stoned majesty. The bowl from here is expansively large, extending a full
half-mile in both directions, and though a bit of a stretch at times, most of
the hubs of activity can be easily observed. Hard-packed ground shows the common
pathways, all of them meandering about the craggy bunch of boulders that form
a centerpiece within the middle of the otherwise vast emptiness. .
The hatching grounds and leadership weyrs are located to the north, while the
lows of herdbeasts noisily allude to the feeding pens slightly east of there.
Constant traffic marks the entrance to the westward living caverns, whereas
a glance southeast reveals the glittering, cold lake.
It is a spring midmorning.
To the northeast, you see a brown dragon and one person.
To the north, you see a gold and a blue dragon.
To the southeast, you see three dragons.
Above, you see a Green dragon.
Clinging to footholds in the boulder-mound are sixteen firelizards.
Green Kelitath, green Zoryanth, blue Lainnoth, brown Revnath, bronze Telynth,
bronze Jhanath, blue Wiranth, blue Tsulryth, blue Zylpheth, blue Vorkoroth,
blue Sakuruth, brown Druseth, brown Sidramuntalath, and green Issryuith are
here.
You see a wagonmaster, The Wagon of Death; Doom; and Ultimate Destruction, George
Dubya bush, Hanabi's Order Board, Ischoria, and Shafirah here.
Miria is here.
Obvious exits:
Pens --- Northern Bowl --- Caverns --- Ground Weyrs --- Lakeside --- Guards'
HQ
Byndareth drops in from above, landing with a light *thud*.
G'deon removes his riding helmet and glances around quickly, a rather kid-like grin on his face. "Thanks, Nyls," he says excitedly, patting his lifemate on the neck softly. "I, uh... don't suppose you guys would mind if we tagged along. We'd both love a little action today." He means the Thread, of course.
From between a pair of Sidramuntalath's starstruck, magma-touched ridges, Sii'kyn juggles strap-belt, riding helmet, goggles and random things. Gaze shifts here or there, and weyrling wingsecond allows his face to draw tight. Juggle.
Relaxing between Druseth's neckridges, "Never a problem, man." Them bronzeriders, always wanting action. Mrow. Lylia gives a cheerful nod at G'deon before turning back to her riding straps, squinting as she fidgets with a buckle. "Could use a good example for this lot, too." Definitely. Most definitely. "Y'all feeling okay? Healthy, ready?" The weyrlings are stared at, sharply. They'd /better/ be ready.
And down wings Vorkoroth, landing in his usual precise formation with regards to the rest of the weyrling wing, and already exorting Entymeth to be sure that S'titch /concentrates/. Wyn, meanwhile, is running through a pre-flight check of straps, goggled, leathers, helmet, hair, gloves... And then she does it all over again, just to be sure. Ah, anal-retentiveness. "Aye, ma'am, we're ready." she assures Lylia.
Shirasuth drops in from above, landing with a light *thud*.
G'deon's grin grows a bit wider at Lylia's words as the bronze rider nods and glances over at the mentioned 'lings. "I'll just stick with this lot, then, if that's all right. It would be fun to see how far you've all come in the last few months."
And here we have our ground crew! That's right, Miria's out with a nice knot of weyrfolk and she's carrying a flamethrower. "'Ullo... I'm here t' bring up the rear," she says to nobody in particular as she strolls out, not with one of her amiable grins, but with a determined, straight-faced look on her face as she lugs the Thread-killing apparatus over to where she needs to be.
From her seat atop Sakuruth's back, Quara is all dressed up and already bored. These leathers are a bit toasty for just lounging about. Of course, she can always do her usual greeting routine. "Ooh! Hey. G'deon! You're here!" This is, one must suppose, cause for excitement, although she quickly enough peeks around. "Lylia, darling, what would you like me to do?" she asks, sweetly, of her nearby weyrmate. Innuendo much?
Byndareth glides down to land in the bowl amongst the other weyrlings. Rana immediatly begins fussing and futzing once they're landed; with straps, helmet, gloves, goggles, and anything else she can get her hands on. It's like...a preflight double-check, except it's not really all that productive.
Sidramuntalath shifts his weight back as Sii'kyn replies to Lylia. "Healthy, ready, okay -- check, check, check," he replies briskly, juggling it again to throw off a smart salute to Lylia. The young man licks his lips, and plops his helmet on his head, his belt around his waist, and slips gauntlets on to their relative positions. "/There/," he states, with much satisfaction.
Relaxing between Druseth's neckridges, "Oh, you'll be impressed. Quite sharp, this group. A little /too/ sharp." Lylia is always wary about groups like that. They tend to plan for Weyr Domination. "Well, it'll be /lovely/ to have you back." Yay. The weyrlingmaster stalks from dragon to dragon, a glance here and there to make sure they really /are/ all tidy and ready. Quara just gets a wink as she passes Saku. "Oh, I can think of some things...," is murmured before she gives a giggle. "Go lead your wing, darling? Or be in line here?" Mrow.
From her seat atop Sakuruth's back, Quara's helmet is off, of course, as are her goggles; the rest of her apparel is, though, mostly where it belongs, saving gloves. Her much-worn jacket, decorated in Inferno colours, is accompanied by a scarf in red and orange, looped casually about her neck for now. She chuckles in return, then takes a temporary hold of her loose belongings as Saku ambles off to take a spot in the center of Inferno's loose cluster. A last hand is run through her hair before she tugs the goggles and helmet on, adjusting them fussily.
G'deon resettles his helmet and goggles and tugs at Nylanth's straps a bit, though they were quite ready before they ever blinked in from between only minutes before. "I'm already impressed, Lylia," he calls over to the weyrlingmaster before giving Quara a warm wave and grin. "They've assembled quite nicely." And then the former weyrleader bends down a bit to have a quick chat with the guard in charge of the ground crews before giving him a salute and strapping himself in for Fall while attaching sacks of firestone to the bronze's straps, offered so helpfully by others of the ground crew and junior weyrlings.
Shirasuth glides into the bowl, backwinging to land amoungst the other dragons gathering here. "Hello hello!" K'nex calls out from his mount's neck. Sure, he's cheery /now/, but later...no. In fact, the brownrider is already begining to show the first signs of being fidgity: Checking and re-checking straps and riding gear over and over again. Ahem.
Experiencing Vorkoroth's forward momentum, "Sharp weyrlings tend not to become with rock walls, though," is Wyn's sweetly bland rejoinder, apparently attempting to become one with the sole of Lylia's boot. She then turns her attention to eyeing the rest of Maelstrom forming up, sticking wingsecond duties as inflexibly as ever. "S'titch." she selects. "Tighten those straps. I don't care if fashions are loose this year."
S'titch shoots Wyn a look of eye-fluttering disgust. /She/ doesn't have /any/ appreciation for style. But he tightens the straps, pouting oh-so-cutely at Entymeth's rumble. "I wouldn't fall off you, lovie. Honest. But I do hopw you won't get your straps too dirty?"
Somewhere between gold-kissed ridges, Hiza hasn't come down to join in, since her dragon's hide is quite visably glowing, but to wave the Weyr off... and mostly the weyrlings. Issryuith's tiny warbles in the direction of the male dragons stop with some effort on Hiza's part, and she gives encouraging smiles in the direction of everyone. Ah, to re-live her first real Thread fall... but then, she's got a scar on her ankle to remind her of that, doesn't she? Issryuith gives a small purr again, and this time Hiza says outloud, "Sweets, you can't distract them.. yes I know... but you'll have to wait. You know this is important."
From between a pair of Sidramuntalath's starstruck, magma-touched ridges, Sii'kyn turns around in his straps, after checking his own. "Lhana, form back up, darling," he calls. "Yes, yes, like that... V'der. If you don't stop flirting with S'am, I swear I'll mutilate you before Thread has a chance to even flitter by you." Twitch. Watching his side re-form and align, he gives a sharp nod.
Naw. Miria doesn't want a Threadscore, of course, but hopefully she'll avoid it and let the dragonriders handle the bulk of it... and she gets to mop it up. Fun. She shouts, "Good luck up there- Especially you Weyrlings! Flame flame flame!" Make her workload nonexistent! :P Lazy girl.
Sakuruth finally gets into the swing of things, shuffling about until the wing - most of them with Turns of practice - get settled in their accustomed positions. Quara adjusts her scarf, pulls on her gloves, and then surveys her wing. Soon be some additions to it.
Nylanth rumbles quietly, eyes whirling in excited swirls of color as he and G'deon finish their preparations, both turning towards the leaders as they wait for the cue to take off.
Relaxing between Druseth's neckridges, "Okay, kids. We're gonna go out in Standard V, and see what happens from there. Alright?" Or Ai'ght?, as her slight accent makes it sound. Lylia gives a sharp nod, launching from the ground, up onto Druseth's lowered neck. Tsunami scarf wrapped tight, the patch touched as a sort of talisman, she glances back at the 'lings. One glance is cast towards Inferno, though... Perhaps at a particular bluerider. "Everyone fall in and get /ready/!" Roar.
Elexia walks in.
Somewhere between gold-kissed ridges, Hiza gives a little wave, "All of you be brave and don't get hurt! You can do it!" Hiza's just a regular little cheerleader, even if she does eye some of the riders a little too long before flashing her smile. As Lylia gives the 'fall in', Hiza directs Issryuith up to her ledge to watch and not be in the way of the dragons who are perfectly able to fly, giving a last hurrah Inferno's way. Rah Rah Rah! Flame the Thread.. Etc!
G'deon gives the all-ready signal to Lylia as he and Nylanth maneuver a little bit closer to the back of the Weyrling wing. The better to watch them, of course. He then bends forward and begins to feed chunks of firestone to Nylanth while the rider's eyes remain trained on the Fall leaders, ready to leap into flight in a moment.
Experiencing Vorkoroth's forward momentum, Wyn's expression is now a study in focus, grey eyes sweeping intently over the dragonpairs near her as she cues Vorkoroth to adjust position and ready for takeoff. Vorkoroth tenses his hindquarters, a martial light flickering under hooded eyeridges, even if the young blue has gotten better at controlling the bursting excitement that's grabbed him. Either that, or he's just dumping more of it on Wyn. Thread. Rawr. And if he visualizes a certain unwelcome feline while he's flaming, that's just his own business, right?
Sidramuntalath falls in. He always falls in. Honestly. Sii'kyn tenses, and then relaxes, shifting to pull on his goggles. With a smirk, he pulls on the tinted riding goggles "Let's rock and roll."
Hiza is removed from Issryuith's neck, sliding down and gaining assistance from tail if need be.
Experiencing Vorkoroth's forward momentum, Wyn signalled her readiness in there somewhere too, of course. Yup.
Hiza releases Hotoeisha, who launches into the air.
From Byndareth's neck, Rana winds her fingers around the straps that hold her in after adjusting her goggles, as Byndareth shuffles, adjusting his place in formation so it's just right. Wouldn't want to flame that rear in front of him. Foamy gaze skims over what of Maelstorm she can see, her grip tightening. Notgonnadie,Notgonnadie...nerves much? Just slightly.
Hiza is helped by willowly green tail onto Issryuith's equally willowly neck.
Issryuith goes home.
Entymeth bugles a brassy note, tossing her head and looking ready to take on the R*ed Star all by herself, even as S'titch manages a somewhat shaky chirp of "Good to go, Weylingmaster Lylia, lovie!" Thread had /better/ not touch his hair!
Elexia walks to the Caverns.
Relaxing between Druseth's neckridges, Lylia giggles lightly, casting one final glance behind her. "Yehaw," she intones, a little gleam of pride in her eyes as she gives a slow nod. "Remember how we practiced." Druseth gives a low rumble of paternal pride, tail twitching as he slowly crouches, tensing. Perhaps ready to eat S'titch. And taking a breath, Lylia raises her arm and draws down, signalling. "Upwards!" Cheer.
Druseth takes off.
Sidramuntalath takes off.
Vorkoroth takes off.
Sakuruth takes off.
Hotoeisha takes off.
Nylanth takes off.
Above the Bowl
The ocean's tranquil thermals settle within the center section of the bowl's
airspace, unusually smooth and bouyant -- though oft to switch as the seasons
shift. Lingering beneath spires' constant presence, the perpetual activity of
the weyr can be observed from every direction: from the testing rustle of dragonet
wings, to the playful games sent aloft.
It is a spring midmorning.
Below, you see eleven dragons and one person.
To the east, you see four dragons.
Gliding around are three firelizards.
Green Jhiateshyrth, brown Druseth, brown Sidramuntalath, blue Vorkoroth, and
blue Sakuruth are here.
Obvious exits:
Northern Sky --- Weyrling Air --- Above the Pens --- Above the Lake --- Ledges
Wind caresses wings and pinions as you circle higher and higher up out of the caldera.
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 a spring midmorning.
Below, you see five dragons.
Gliding around are four firelizards.
Obvious exits:
Weyr --- Over The Mountains --- Star Stones --- Weyrling Air
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 a spring midmorning.
Gliding around are two firelizards.
Obvious exits:
Alpine Meadows --- Towards Tillek --- Towards the Weyr
You are shocked by the increased winds that whip around you.
Druseth soars in, large wings catching the wind as he glides in from the southwest.
Vorkoroth cruises with martial precision on comet-streaked wings in from the
southwest.
Sakuruth glides smoothly in from the southwest.
Hotoeisha flies in from the southwest.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Miria wanders on in from the lower meadows.
Byndareth flies with no great speed in from the southwest.
Sidramuntalath slices through the air in from the southwest.
From her seat atop Sakuruth's back, Quara is easy enough to find, what with being located at the point of the formation. Of course, she catches the signal and echoes it a fraction of a second later, even as Sakuruth springs into the air. And then they're off, as she leads her wing into yet another Fall. Business as usual.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Ivanova of the ground crew, and most definitely not a firelizard, checks her flamethrower once more and glances up at the skies above, waiting.
A silvery cloud is apparent in the distance above the ocean, though it is already nearing quite quickly, carried on the ever-changing spring winds. The first tendrils of silvery death begin to hiss downward towards the topmost wings in a mindless pursuit of food, be it flesh or foliage.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Miria helps to lead the ground crews out to the area where the dragons fight, and readies her flamethrower for firing. Clad in her heavy everyday guard's uniform (which she thinks might suffer a slight score or two), she affixes her eyes upon the clump of silver.
Nylanth easily rises behind the weyrling wing and gives out a challenging trumpet to the Thread beyond, daring it to come closer.
Sidramuntalath settles into his position, relying mental commands to his side of the wing, checking and rechecking his position to stay in perfect precision. Ike throws the open maw another hunk of firestone, watching with cool detatchment as Thread looms closer... and closer.. and closer..
Wyn is holding down the right wingsecond's slot of her own formation, eyes a steelier version of the grey of the cloud awaiting death at their hands, a private murmur passing between herself and Vorkoroth as she feeds him a last few chunks of firestone while waiting to engage. Vorkoroth matches Nylath's trumpet with a brassy bellow of his own, before he, too, focuses on the business at hand, relaying orders with a silver-tinged edge of anticipation.
Relaxing between Druseth's neckridges, Lylia has about ten Turns on her dragon's back under Threadfall, and the Thread scars to prove it. A grim line is set on her expression as Druseth carries her upwards, his own mental thought one of brooding acceptance and knightly determination. An occasional glance is given around at the weyrlings from her spot in the wing. Yes. It's all okay, it's all good. Just waiting, and loading up Druseth with rock. Like a rock, baby.
The Thread will wait no longer as it clashes with the very front of the dragon flights, lines of fire shooting out to meet the ancient enemy. Let the games begin.
Sakuruth moves with the calm precision of Turns' practice, as does his rider. A last few pieces of stone, a pat on the neck, and she settles in, glancing over her shoulder to ascertain her wing's readiness. But then, too soon - as it always is - Thread arrives, and there is no time for any thought but flaming.
G'deon gives a soft smile as yet another Thread fall begins, he and his lifemate holding back more to study the wings before and above them than to actually flame Thread, though bit by bit, a little begins to trickle through the ranks to the gold and weyrlings wings.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Testing her flamethrower, Miria shoots out a long stream of fire skyward, about six or seven feet in length, and surveys the dragons in action. She jogs up a little bit to keep up in case she needs to flame and gestures for a few other ground crew members to spread out and prepare to flame in case any Thread falls to the ground.
Experiencing Vorkoroth's forward momentum, Wyn's gaze is darting about, marking the sky above her and her position in her own wing. But mostly upwards, tracking the silver-grey coils wriggling in their mindless hunger. Someone's well aware of just how she got splotched during dye training, and doesn't care for a repeat in a live-fire excercise.
From her seat atop Sakuruth's back, Quara has changed quite a bit since her own weyrlinghood, so very many Turns ago. She's moved past discussing vomiting while everyone's in the air. Also, she's quite attuned to her dragon. Even as he turns back for more firestone, she tosses the piece she's got waiting, smoothly. It's hard to tell under her garb, but she might even have an expression as she catches occasional glimpses of the weyrlings' work.
Indeed, as the dragons head into the thick of the Thread, clumps and silvery strands begin to shoot through the flights, aided by the random gusts of wind as they skip about and dodge both flames and dragons as they continue downward towards the ground.
Flamey! Flameyflamey! Fire is spewed forth as Druseth cautiously glides, hyperaware of every moment, snagging a slender silver strand in his flame. Rawr! Lylia's leaning forward, trying to keep herself focused both on her dragon /and/ on all her little minio--er, weyrlings. Yes.
Nylanth gives an almost giddy flutter of wings as the bronze rises to emit a short blast of fire, charring a small group of Thread to a nicely charred burst of dust which falls harmlessly to the ground below.
Entymeth dives downwards after a piece of Thread that seems to be making an escape, turning on a wingtip and displaying that famous Green agility as she hunts down the silvern rope and crisps it with a satisfied burst of flame, ignoring the green-grey face of S'titch, who still isn't quite over his little fear of heights.
From Byndareth's neck, Rana holds the last chunk of firestone out to Byndareth, the stone grinding between the browns teeth harshly. Once up here, in the sky, her nerves are betrayed only by the lack of expression on her usually animated face, though it's really covered by goggles and helmet anyway. From behind her goggles, her gaze follows the strands and tangles of Thread, keeping a sharp eye on the area around her.
From between a pair of Sidramuntalath's starstruck, magma-touched ridges, Sii'kyn is quietly confident in his and Sidramuntalath's abilities, and it shows by the way he directs his portion of the wing. Visual tools are employed to tighten his part, as Thread begins to fall on the upper layers of the dragonriders. Sidramuntalath shifts sideways to char the errant Thread that's slipped from the upper layers, and Ike looks in absolute contentedment at the floating ash. ha. Take that.
Vorkoroth banks to the starboard after a clump drifting near to him, jaws working one last time before he reduces the small tangle to cinders with a massive gout of flame. "Oh, good shot love!" is Wyn's congratulation, whipped to pale and faint echoes by the wind. Now just to work on matching the size of the flame to the zise of the clump...
As the cloud of Thread continues to thicken, dragons begin skipping between now and then to avoid the silvery tangles, though so far so good as that hideous sound of a dragon (or rider) is as of yet unheard.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Miria meets a fallng clump of Thread with agenothree flame, charring it so it falls to the ground in a little pile of dust. "Hyah! Yer not getting past /myyyyy/ fire, now!" the guard recruit haughtily laughs as she sees the Thread incinerate. She scrambles around within an area about a dragonlength in diameter to char the evil silver strands.
Sakuruth flies, flames, and chars. His rider, meanwhile, keeps a lookout for stray pieces of Thread, but also swivels about in her seat, legs clamped to keep her securely in place even as she makes brief contact with her 'seconds. Acceptability of the wing's performance assured for the moment, she takes a bit of time to observe the fall's pattern before shifting over to meet a heavier clump.
A sheeting ribbon of Thread sinks in deadly silence, just ahead of Druseth.
Byndareth whisks scallopped wings through the air, speed not being necissary yet, luckily. Maw gaping, a flash of flame darts out as he turns to the right slightly, turning a threatening tangle to mere hot ash, thats quickly picked up and taken by the wind. "Fabulous Byn..." Is Rana's murmured, by thrilled praise as they straighten smoothly back into formation.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Iqe wanders on in from the lower meadows.
Tangled into a convoluted knot, a clump of Thread races by Byndareth, as if to elude his dragonfire by its speedy descent.
<Local> Nylanth senses that Druseth gives a rumble to the wing, mental voice tense with a faint tinge of gray. << Watch formation, we can't let it get through. Watch the left side! >> And mental thoughts are cut off by a flame. Puff.
Sidramuntalath swerves, skipping /between/ to avoid a clump falling directly for Ike. When he comes back, he dives a level, and issues out a long, powerful, reddened flame telling of his ticked-off nature. How dare it! The thread chars, burns, and ashes, and the brown pulls back into formation, re-aligning his wing once more. Ike looks up, worriment showing - if one could see his eyes through tinted 'glasses. Thread is getting through the upper layers quite easily... very scary.
Sidramuntalath skips ::between::!
Sidramuntalath appears from the black hole that is ::between::, a sudden celestial
presence in the sky.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Elexia wanders on in from the lower meadows.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Ralos wanders on in from the lower meadows.
As all the flights engage in flaming the deadly Thread, tiny strands continue to slip through, a couple hissing towards the meadows far below. Yessssss, preeeciousssss grasssssss.
Druseth gives a roar, flame escaping as another bit of Thread is left to touch the ground in ashes. Swerving suddenly to avoid his tail being scored, the dragon immediately flows back into his position, Lylia still giving a few quiet mental commands, readying another hunk of firestone as he turns his head.
Byndareth leans to the side, a lick of flame catching at least part of the rapidly passing clump and leaving only ash behind in it's wake. A soft rumble builds in his throat, even as he accepts another chunk of stone from Rana, whose gaze has turned sharp, watching to all sides for the silvery threat.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Miria sees potential ground crew straggling in, and throws a fist towards the pile of flamethrowers still unused, yelling, "Over there!" as she goes to flame tiny strands of the Thread slipping through the dragons' grasp, her flamethrower shooting out a seven-foot stream of flame.
A tumbling ball of Thread descends above Sakuruth.
A delicate spiderweb of Thread looms before Nylanth, waiting to ensnare him.
Vorkoroth suddenly screeches to almost vertical flight, dodging a clump descending in front of him, but far enough in front that he can dodge in realspace, under a quick order from Wyn. Blue and bluerider then dive after the offending clump, and with a WHOOOM, that particular bit of Thread is no more. They then return to holding formation and scanning for the next interloper in their space, Wyn lifting her arm to signal those weyrlings on her side of the wing to mind their spacing, after a report from Vorkoroth.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Elexia makes her way quickly into the alpine meadow, eyes trained on the dragons and deadly Thread in the sky. Spotting people in the meadow, she shifts her gaze towards them and her eyes hold a look of fear. She quickly nods to the young woman and moves towards the flamethrowers.
<Local> Nylanth senses that Sakuruth's thoughts are kept, mostly, to himself. Just as well. 'If I can hear Quara's thoughts... she thinks, therefore I am.' << Huh. >> Every now and then, a comment slips through with more of Quara's tone in it, as relay. << Hendrixth, pick it up a bit. Backstreeth, tell your rider he can watch the girls /after/ Fall. Now we flame. >>
Gollum-thread. Very scary. Ram blasts out another flame at one, but misses it; the brown twists his head back and Ike tosses him a few more chunks. "Make sure it goes down right, love," he murmurs. "Come-on, come-on, come--back into line, V'der... Shardit! Ram! Tell Darth to reform on your wing!" Anxious, the brownling resists craning his neck back. "Get.. /that/ one, Ram," he points out one heading on a diagonal, towards Wyn, nearly directly above the brown pair. Ram checks, and then blasts straight up. Oh, great. Thread-ash sprinkles on Ike, and the browner sneezes. Sneeze.
Nylanth doesn't wait for G'deon's command, but shoots a wide arc of flame towards the web trying to engulf the bronze and his rider, ending with a tiny spit of fire as if to damn the silvery nuisance to OOC Hell.
A tangled mass of Thread falls near Vorkoroth, fanning out as if to ensnare him.
From her seat atop Sakuruth's back, Quara is running a consistent mental line of suggestions, and occasionally evinces a bit of them herself. She tilts to her right, and less than a breath later, Saku follows her lead, rolling out of the way of danger, even as J'mi and his bronze swing over to take care of the threat.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Ivanova continues to survey the area with a grim expression, now and then giving an extra spurt from her flamethrower to make sure the few bits reaching the ground are dead. Or... as dead as Thread can be.
Vorkoroth snorts as he's sprinkled with a fine layer of ash from Sidramuntalath's burst, shakes his wings twice to rid himself of the heated embers and then... trumpets and skips between at a near-panicked order from Wyn, who's spotted the tangle heading for them.
Vorkoroth skips ::between::!
Vorkoroth reverts to three-space from the wormhole of ::between::.
Cadgwith sweeps on the rush of her wings in from the southwest.
G'deon leans forward as Nylanth hovers for a moment, reaching his head far back to take some more firestone before the pair dive a little to avoid a single strand, then flaming it from above to send it's charred ashes into the wind.
Twirling around like some spiraling child's toy, a group of Threads spin dizzyingly down past Cadgwith.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Ralos walks out.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Elexia stares up at the dragons and their riders as they fight the Thread. Snapping into the realization of what is going on, she grabs a flamethrower and waits until Thread reaches within her aim.
Byndareth dodges a small tangle with relative ease, size considered, just moving to one side, able then to rid the sky of said tangle. Ash is picked up by the wind, but paid little heed by the brown pair, who slide back into place, Rana leaning low over Byndareth's neck.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, "Well! This's more Thread than should be /allowed/ to go to the ground..." Miria dashes for another clump of Thread that's about to hit the ground and incinerates it, singing a bit of the ground itself as well, then shoots for another. Her shoulder is very nearly hit by some Thread falling past, and she whirls to shoot that too. "Crackdust... I /swear/ this is some heavy Threadfall..."
Clinging to the crags of Cadgwith's neck, Pyrene is privately thinking it most inconsiderate of Thread to fall on a sunny morning, as opposed to a morning with nice heavy rain that might let her sleep in. Fortunately, while she's fretting about that, Cadge is keeping her eyes open and she angles sweepingly past that clump of Threads letting Pyrene char it into nothingness without a break in her grumpiness.
As the flights of dragons near the end of a pass through the Thread, a freakish blast of wind clashes with the gusts from the mountain spires, swirling the deadly silver Thread in dangerous tangles.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, It doesn't take long until Elexia is dashing about, aiming at the clumps of Thread that come shooting down. The ball of fear in the pit of her stomach is forgotten and replaced by determination to destroy the blasted Thread!
Vorkoroth snaps back in from ::between:: with a profoundly relieved Wyn who's now assured that history didn't repeat itself, and is now pasting a look of mild bravura on her face as she signals Vorkoroth to chase the next straggler that breaks through the upper line of defence. In this case, one off to starboard that's falling too close to Taesha and Ngeth's noses to be permitted a continued existance.
Druseth slides again, careful manuvers planned as the weyrling wing continues the fight. Hey. They're actually his size now, too. Funny, that. "C'mon, kitten," Lylia murmurs, a soft, encouraging croon to her dragon. "That's it, sugah." A soft caress to the neckridge, and she ducks down a little as the dragon makes an abrupt drop of a few feet, before spilling more flame to char a wily piece into oblivious. A hiss is heard, either eminating from N'zgul or Thread. One of the two. The brownrider glances over to see Ringwraith blast some Thread, then skip between.
As the ever unpredictable spring winds pick up, Thread goes shooting across the sky in webbed tangles while single strands whip about and shoot downwards towards the wings below.
From between a pair of Sidramuntalath's starstruck, magma-touched ridges, Sii'kyn receives a slight score on the shoulder!
Sidramuntalath wasn't dallying -- a shoot of single strands of Thread managed past Urzketh, and before Ram could honestly react, struck Sii'kyn about the right shoulder. The brown roars in absolute pain, and skips :: between :: with speed not thought of being possible.
Sidramuntalath skips ::between::!
Sidramuntalath appears from the black hole that is ::between::, a sudden celestial
presence in the sky.
Sakuruth flames with his usual accuracy, ruthlessly eliminating the destructive, mindless stuff. Quara, as controller, directs him with a calm perhaps not well-suited to the tension of the moment. Then again, it's old hat by now; just going through the motions. The shoot of pain that traditionally accompanies a score, conveyed through dragons, certainly penetrates her heart, and she winces in sympathy before resuming her duties.
From Byndareth's neck, Rana tightens her grip around Byndareths straps, murmuring a hurried warning as a wind tossed twist of Thread approaches rapidly. With a flick of caramel touched wings, the brown skips ::between::, reappearing when the silvery strands are out of the way. Hearing Sidramuntalath, Rana glances towards her wingmate, but her attentions quickly retaken as Byn swerves to meet and flame another strand.
Byndareth skips ::between::!
G'deon winces in empathic pain as Sii'kyn is scored, mentally spurring Nylanth on to catch a stray clump of the murderous stuff as if to compensate.
Byndareth appears, molasses and caramel hide touched with the chill of ::between::!
A group of Threads fall past Druseth, one after another, plodding downward with mindless determination.
Cadgwith roars, the sound whipped by the winds but clearly audible. Less noticeable is Pyrene's wince from the dragon's back. "Oh, who was that...?" she mutters edgily, peering upwards and wiping soot out of her flying goggles. "Nothing bad? We don't have to catch do we?" No orders are relayed to her and she's soon distracted enough by another tangle that escapes the dragons. "Give the ground-crews a break!" she snaps at it.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Ivanova's head whips up to study the dragons above as a pained roar is easily heard, even on the meadows before. "Look lively now!" she barks out, moving to another section of the meadows in anticipation.
Relaxing between Druseth's neckridges, Lylia glances back, giving a little 'eep' as she sees Sii'kyn. "Aw, shardit..." Unfortunately, Druseth abruptly turns as Thread heads towards him, and her words are cut off as he skips into the coldness of between.
Druseth skips ::between::!
Druseth appears from ::between:: in a rush of brown wings and cold air, a shadow
once more dreaming.
From her seat atop Sakuruth's back, Quara's pause was just enough of a distraction, unfortunately, and a few tangles whip their way towards her too quickly for much to be done about it. A gasp, a tightening of muscle, and she and her blue disappear ::between::, reappearing shortly thereafter, with the immediate danger over.
Sakuruth skips ::between::!
Sakuruth appears silently from ::between::, as if a part of that icy place arrived.
Experiencing Vorkoroth's forward momentum, Wyn hisses, her wince a pale echo of the flare of pain echoed over the mindlink from Vorkoroth, and some facet of her brain already entertaining thoughts of numbweed and minor things medical, even as the ex-Healer directs herself and the blue towards another tangle that's escaped those above. "Oh good shards, and flying with the Queen's wing is supposed to be easy..." she grumbles, although the triumphant little smirk as that clump meets its doom is unchanged.
A silvery tendril of Thread drops alongside Vorkoroth.
A school of silvery Threads surround Byndareth, darting this way and that as the wind buffets them.
<Local> Nylanth senses that Sidramuntalath bursts out a data-stream at Byndareth. << Take my spot, >> he commands. << I am taking my Kyn to the meadows for treatment. >>
<Local> Nylanth senses that Druseth gives a comforting touch. << Be well, both of you. >> And turns back to fighting.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Nonsense! That's what the ground-crews are /for/. Miria does her part by scurrying and hurrying about to FlameFlameFlame her way through the Thread. Hearing Sidramuntalath's roar, she winces. "Shards, not Ram!" she mutters to herself as she blasts two clumps in succession with her flame. Her hair is singed a bit at the side by some Thread skimming past, and she curses rather loudly as she goes to incinerate more.
Sidramuntalath hisses off, and breaks formation, blasting random threads that attempt to weave past him on his vector. Exit stragies play part as he dives to the meadows.
Sidramuntalath drops down through the heavy winds to land in Alpine Meadows.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Sidramuntalath lands gently despite the buffeting winds above.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Elexia winces as she hears the yell of pain from where she stands on the ground. She directs her gaze towards the ever-busy dragons and their riders, before dodging Thread which is moving towards her shoulder. She ducks, blasting it quickly and then turning to destroy more nearby Thread.
Byndareth lashes out with a stream of flame, reducing the surrounding thread to nothing but ash. Once satisfied all is gone, he obeys orders, flitting out of formation briefly to take the departed browns place, fitting back in seamlessly.
<Local> Nylanth senses that Vorkoroth directs a silvery stream of orders as the wing reorganizes. <<Akashath, switch to the other side of the formation to assist them.>> And then the blue's mind is whirling away on another tangent, tracking Thread. And inserting the figure of Jack the Schitzophrenic Feline into each clump.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Sidramuntalath watches as Sii'kyn dismounts, himself. "It's not that bad," the brownling protests, wincing as he tries to move his shoulder. "Um... y'know. Comparitively." A healer ushers him off, however, and Ram positions himself somewhere relative to Miria, blasting every thread that moves close to the meadows. See? He's still in action.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Sii'kyn slides down the black hole -- that is, slithers down Sidramuntalath's neck to thud lightly on the ground.
Cadgwith screels as a half-charred clump comes in at an awkward angle--pretty much right on top of her. Tilting wildly, she angles Pyrene at it so that the rider can char Thread without charring dragon--and at that they have to skip between half a second /before/ inevitable injury.
While the thickest part of Fall has passed, the relentless, mindless Thread continues to fall, still whipped about by the careless wind.
From her seat atop Sakuruth's back, Quara looks about, evaluating the situation, even as she gives Sakuruth another chunk of firestone. "Not bad, not bad at all," she applauds, noting the Fall's relative ease. "Worst part over with. Let's clean this up!" And now, with a renewed energy level, she and the blue attack the Thread.
G'deon takes a quick moment to clear his goggles and wipes a sooty arm across his likewise sooty face. "So far, not too bad," he comments, though more than likely, Nylanth was the only one to hear as the rider's voice is carried away by the same wind sending that deadly stuff towards them.
Vorkoroth consigns another clump to a firey grave, before spiralling upwards to intercept a tumbling tangle 'ere it can threaten the groundcrews or add another notch to Ram's tally of clumps flamed. Wyn brushes soot from the lenses of her flight goggles, swiping a lovely rakish streak across her cheek in the process, and then leans close to Vorkoroth's neck, murmuring urgings and encouragement to him.
Cadgwith catches herself back on balance again, still uninjured if a little disorientated from the aerobatics that she's not really designed for. She regains her position in the wing, eyes watching Thread, wingmates, weyrlings et cetera et cetera et cetera.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Miria waves Sii'kyn over. "Get a flamethrower and start flamin'!" calls the guard recruit as she sees Sii'kyn dismount his dragon. "The Thread's falling past the dragon flight line!" And with that, she chars several more strands.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Sii'kyn... is currently being detained by the Healers, thanks to a scored shoulder. But Ram's doing well, sometimes hopping up into the air to nab a particularly dangerous strand. A rider, grounded thanks to a threadscored dragon, feeds him firestone with the utmost of satisfaction. Aw.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Ivanova glances at Miria with a puzzled look, then waves Ike away. "Let him see the Healers, woman," the ground crew woman calls over in purely IC irritation. "Good luck with that shoulder, man!" to Sii'kyn. Ivanova must not be very good with names.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Elexia grasps her flamethrower as she trains her eyes on the skies and the continually falling Thread. She continues to move about nimbly, dashing here and there to incinerate the Thread.
Small holes in the swirling clouds begin to give riders and dragons alike a needed break as the groups of Thread begin to thin, nearing the end of this Fall.
Byndareth banks to the left, the heat of the flame that spills from his maw ridding the sky of another tangle, Rana's eyes flicking across the sky for any other nearing clumps as they fall back into place in the formation. Sooty goggles are swiped at, and she seems to relax, marginally, as the Thread thins.
Sakuruth does his level best to keep Thread from getting through, of course, and the rest of Inferno is right behind. Well, not /directly/ behind, as that would probably result in a lot of charred tails. Also they're flying V and not straight. But in the sense of all doing work, and Sakuruth being in the foremost position, it was right. At any rate, he shows little sign of exhaustion - his rider is another story - thanks to a flight style designed to conserve energy. Gotta have one, when you're flying the whole Fall.
Clinging to the crags of Cadgwith's neck, Pyrene's shoulders relax slightly as she sees the breaks coming. She and Cadge are tired and are both looking forward to the end of the Fall. A reprimand passed mentally makes them straighten up and fly right however.... Fall's not over yet. Darn.
Nylanth sends out another fan of fire as the last few strands of Thread trickling through begin to vanish into clouds of charred dust, much to the satisfaction of his rider.
Experiencing Vorkoroth's forward momentum, Wyn leans forward to feed Vorkoroth more firestone, directing the blue to chew before she'll let him back in the fray. He busies himself in the meantime by running a diagnostic on the status of the weyrling wing.
<Local> Nylanth senses that Vorkoroth sends a steadying spiral of deep Harper blue towards one of his wingmates. <<Entymeth, you begin to tire. Be sure to retire if you need to, before you get yourself into trouble.>> He suggests, relyaing a concern of Wyn's. <<Also, your rider looks as though he is about to lose his last meal.>>
Slowly but surely, the Thread begins to diminish until the last straggling strands are burnt to a crisp, a swirling cloud of char the only sign that Thread had fallen at all, mingling with the stench of sulfur. Another Fall met and conquered, and with minimal damage.
Trydanth appears from ::between:: like a bolt of blue lightning.
Trydanth was of course here all the time, flaming Thread quite nicely - and now it's time to marshal the troops back home.
G'deon peers about him, removing his goggles for a moment to see more clearly as a silly grin appears in whitest white against the sooty face below the goggle line. Then, to follow with tradition, he gives out a triumphant whoop! echoed by his lifemate.
Trydanth zings ::between::!
Clinging to the crags of Cadgwith's neck, Pyrene lets out a cheer, waves her arms in suitably ridiculous fashion and then has Cadge turn about and head back to home. Big wings hurt. Need oil. Later all.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Miria gets a nice hole in her jacket, just barely getting her skin- all that the thread leaves is a nick at her shoulder. But shards, is it irritating. "Hey! Cold water, anyone?" She shoves off her jacket, and revealed is a rather nice tear in the fabric of her guard's tunic where the Thread just barely nicked her. The guard jogs briskly towards the healer.
Experiencing Vorkoroth's forward momentum, "Kyiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeee!!" Was that Wyn? It was indeed. Petite, bland little blueriders can make a surprising amount of noise when they're coming off an adrenaline high. Vorkoroth adds a baritone bugle, before the 'ling pair descend to either assist the ground crew or so that Wyn can go make appropriate clucking noises at Sii'kyn. Whatever seems good at the time.
From her seat atop Sakuruth's back, Quara would cheer, but she's getting old. Almost thirty. Horror. So, see, she's going to go back, get all cleaned up, and get nicely toasted before graduation. Also change clothes, as these leathers are far too warm.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Elexia sits down on the ground in the middle of the meadow. She sets down her flamethrower and blinks at the sky, finally devoid of newly fallen Thread. After a moment, she stands and slips away to get indoors and change her clothes.
On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Elexia heads back down the trail towards the weyr.
Vorkoroth goes home.
From Byndareth's neck, Rana lets out a whoop as the Fall is over, a fist raising in the air, her cheer echoed by Byndareths excited bugle. After a quick glance over her fellow weyrlings, the brownpair head down. Definatly time to get cleaned up.
Byndareth drops down through the heavy winds to land in Alpine Meadows.
Sakuruth battles through the whipping winds, intent on reaching the weyr.
[End of log]