Ilare - Thursday, January 11, 2001, 21:15 PM -------------------------------------------- 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 a winter midmorning. The snow begins to lighten into a gentle fall, but the land is already well covered with a heavy blanket of snow from last night's storm. The sky seems to be totally white. Soaring high overhead are Shugogetten, Ripper, and Harme. Blue Lainnoth is here. Obvious exits: Weyrling Barracks Northern Bowl Corrals Chanticoth pads with enviable grace in from the Weyrling Barracks. Mzadith hugs the ground and watches placidly as Cayl clambers down the straps-'ladder' and lands easily upon the ground. Sasha strides confidently in from the Weyrling Barracks. Branwyth moves with the youthful grace of an adolescent in from the Weyrling Barracks. Above, Niamhyth loop-de-loops in from the Northern part of the bowl. Above, Niamhyth drops towards the ground. Niamhyth glides in from above. Up, up, up you go, settling yourself between Chanticoth's neckridges. Chanticoth [Training Grounds] Oh what sweet, sweet treacle flavours his slimly elongated curves, lightening the glimmering patina of burnt pinewood; oh what bright, bright ridges carol along his snow and mistletoe back, kissing the gingerbread surface below. But it is the patterned decadence of brandy-butter that defines this rogue: toasted to perfection from the ruddy nubs that cap his head to the festive curve of that spoon-shaped tail candycane-striped with russet, his sweetly blunted snout is fairy-dusted with holly-crimson, which also reddens freckled cheeks. His chestnut hide roasts in the open air of winter's breath wings, along which a darker brown tracery gaily hunts for perfection. Smouldering embers of evening's end warm his underbelly, stretching dusky shadows except where disturbed by the rare sunburst of flames, breathing life into the whole of his enchanting body. Richest green, the shade of deep summer foliage and wintertime evergreen has been dyed carefully into the leather, giving the impression of mottled shadows and multiple overlapping leaves. Lined with suede and wollybeast skin to prevent chaffing, these well oiled leather straps are doubled over to allow for growth. Positioned between the forth and fifth ridges, they have been sewn with dedicated care, made to last and not fall prey to wear and tear. Polished shiny buckles glint, kept bright with care. Chanticoth seems to be listening. Sasha wraps her cloak more tightly around her and grins as she see's her friends. "Branwy finally woke up!" Mzadith hugs the ground and watches quietly as Cayl clambers the straps-'ladder' and settles delicately between two neckridges. From Atop Niamhyth's mint splashed 'ridges Lyri looks about, giving a slight grin to Sasha before waving toward the others. "Mount up and strap in. Make sure you double check those straps because, if you fall this time, it's going to be life or limb.. and if you're dumb enough to go up with bad straps, you deserve for it to be your life." Kind and encouraging, isn't she? "Now get moving." Ilare shivers faintly, readjusting her head band to keep her short hair from her eyes. Since she's already mounted, she simply straps herself in, giving Chanticoth's hide near his ridges a gently affectionate slap. "Here we go.." She murmurs, glad to see Luxonth and D'argo are no where near. Sasha circles Branwyth slowly, checking that all her straps are in place, and tight before mounting. Branwy noses her with interest, watching her ascend. Clambering up Branwyth's misty green flank, Sasha settles as comfortably as possible between her sharply spiked, mistletoe hued neckridges. From Mzadith's neck, Thrusting out of the air and in for a bumpy landing, wizardly blue quickly backwings and graps for the ground with moon-dipped talons. Cayl can be seen as that large dot clinging to the ridge before her, pale as a rustle. "good...good.." She starts, clearing her throat as she unglues her hands from the ridge and wipes at the sweaty palms. "Good landing.." Or not. As Mzadith folds his wings gregariously to his back, tail lashing behind him in excitement, the girl glances around the fields. A wave is given to all before she hears Lyri and pales even more. "Mount up? Strap in?" Oh shards, not again. Mzadith has learned some new tricks in the air over the past few days: None of them any fun for his weyrling. She pre-wraps her arms back around the ridge, just so she's ready. Ready? Ilare is! Lets go! Taking hold of the straps tightly, she giggles.. From Atop Niamhyth's mint splashed 'ridges Lyri gives the signal to take off seconds before Niamhyth bursts into the air, silver touched wings causing a sudden windstorm about her as she moves. Niamhyth coils and then bursts upwards into flight. Above, Niamhyth bursts up from the bowl below. 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 smell of the Weyrs' youngest riders. It is a winter midmorning. The snow begins to lighten into a gentle fall, but the land is already well covered with a heavy blanket of snow from last night's storm. The sky seems to be totally white. Green Niamhyth is here. From the training grounds, Branwyth coils and then bursts upwards into flight. Branwyth bursts up from the bowl below. From the training grounds, Mzadith coils and then bursts upwards into flight. Mzadith bursts up from the bowl below. Mzadith purrrrrrs musically. They're going to get to do it all over again! This time a bit more prepared, and still with the ever watchful eyes of a monitor, and there'd be no aerial acrobats to spoil Cayl with, but they were going up! Excitedly the blue checks to make sure his shadow's well, then his muscles tense sharply and he leaps into the air, downstroking as he follows after the other dragons. Cayl.../clings/. From the training grounds, Vespurath coils and then bursts upwards into flight. Vespurath bursts up from the bowl below. Chanticoth senses that Niamhyth bursts a happy bubble of sparkly blue enthusiasm about her words. <> Images of dragons linked to eachother throughout a threadfall are shared. <> Niamhyth banks a bit to the right, giving the weyrlings enough room to manuver but not enough to get into trouble. One might even see an apprehensive smile on Lyri's face, though the rider is hidden well within riding gear that seems to dwarf her. Ilare clings also, but in a good way. Hmm, no braid flying behind, either: perhaps her haircut WAS a good thing. Grinning so broadly, her face might crack, Ilare searches with her eyes, relaxing with her dragon's movements. And NOT letting go of the straps. Not yet anyway. Praise is streamed mentally to her dragon as gold-amber eyes sweep the skies, and a nod is offered Lyri. You think to Chanticoth, >> this is FUN! Oh my! << Absolute joy. >> Now I know what fun it is for you to fly aloft! << From Branwyth's neck, Sasha grips the flying straps tightly...she's flown with other dragons before, but this is different - this is her beautiful Branwyth....gasping she realises she has forgotten to breath, and that her body is as tense as a coiled spring. As the huge wings beat rhythmically just behind her she, flashes a grin at the others flying around her....can they be feeling the same fabulous exhilaration that she is? Luckily she tied back her hair again and pulled a tight fitting woollen cap over her ears before leaving...but the cold is a distant memory fading into nothingness compared with her excitement. You sense Chanticoth encircles you with happy thoughts. >> It is good. And fun. Very fun. << Vespurath shoves off from the ground with a powerful burst upward, exploding into the air. On her back, Tatia clings, though there's no way the broad smile on her face could be taken as anything but absolute joy. Her lips part in some remark that's lost in the wind, and Vespurath responds with a trilling bugle in time to the quick downstroke of her wings. /This/ is the way it should be... Chanticoth senses that Ilare cannot do anything but agree. Even the gear she wears doesn't seem to fully block out the chill that dives into Cayl's bones. As gloved hands cling to the sooty ridge, the woman glances towards Lyri and lifts one arm, giving the 'ok' signal before Mzadith decides that they need to go lower. Her stomach is soon way above her head as wing sails tuck and the blue bombs towards the ground. It's only a few feet before sails spread again and grip the air, but it's enough to cause Cayl's eyes to squeeze shut. Gee, thanks Mad. Funny: Before she'd taken a trip on her own dragon, she'd never been terribly weary of flying. The blue quickly flaps darkened wings as he heads up to rejoin the group. A trill of enthusiasm echos in a deep baritone towards his clutchsibs. Chanticoth senses that Niamhyth couldn't be prouder, and her mindvoice shows it. Bright, flailing ribbons of sunset splendor wrap every elaited word. <> Reassurance is interjected. <> Images of foolish young dragons and equally foolish riders are projected, along with the feeling of helplessness and pain. <> Chanticoth is definitely very happy, rumbling to himself and rider, the noise lost to the air. Wings move like this, and Chanti stays aloft. With Ilare. This is fun! Chanticoth senses that Branwyth sends curls of satisfied woodsmoke glittering with firey sparks.<> Her bugles echo the others. Niamhyth tips just a bit, long enough for her rider to take a head count and then follows her own instructions. Another bank allows her to glide easily in a circle about the training grounds before she begins a slow, steady spiral downward. For Lyri's part, relief. They survived this part.. now, if they can just survive their landings..... Niamhyth drops towards the ground. From the training grounds, Niamhyth glides in from above. Ilare utterly agrees with her dragon's feelings, and she too raises her arm as she's had it instructed, and badgered and reminded and drilled into her by D'argo.. The 'All's Well/OK' signal. Giggling, she shifts a little, eyes scowering the snow-laden ground. Landing will be a little hazardous.. Perhaps. As Chanticoth follows, she sighs. She doesn't WANT to stop flying yet.. Chanticoth checks to make sure no one else is in the way (it most certainly would not be a good idea to clunk heads with another dragon) and follows in the circling movement. The earth really /is/ flat after all. At least the ground you drop towards. 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 a winter midmorning. The snow begins to lighten into a gentle fall, but the land is already well covered with a heavy blanket of snow from last night's storm. The sky seems to be totally white. Soaring high overhead are Shugogetten, Ripper, and Harme. Blue Lainnoth and green Niamhyth are here. Above, Branwyth smoothly banks in the same direction as Niamhyth, relishing the feeling as the air slips coldly past her purest white wings....as white as the treacherous snow beneath, coming in to land soon....taking care.... Lyri slides from Niamhyth's neck and lands gently on the ground. Above, Branwyth drops towards the ground. Branwyth glides in from above. You think to Chanticoth, >> Time to land.. *sigh* Mind now! That's snow's deep! << Lyri walks to the Weyrling Barracks. Chanticoth backwings a little as he descends to the ground, taking great care not to jostle Ilare too much. He wants her to be comfortable after all. After landing, he cranes his neck to look at her. We rule. And fly. That too. Oh look, his tail got covered in snow... Sasha slides with great care down Branwyth's extended forearm, landing on the ground. Above, Mzadith obeys, curving his wings as he starts to circle the bowl. But this time he has a bit more practice at this flight thing then before, so his moves are a tad bit slower (less hectic) and more elegant. And however wary Cayl may be about the onrushing ground, the blue appears in perfect ease as he dives towards it, wings spreading wide at the last moment and giving a few quick snaps to backwing and bring him in for the usual bumpy, bone jaring landing. And Cayl still clings. And clings. And ouches. And clings. Blue's muzzle stretches around, whuffling softly, as if to assure her that they've landed safely. Sasha runs around to Branwy's head and flings her arms around her neck...."Oh that was terrific! You clever girl you! Now we can do it all the time!" Above, Mzadith drops towards the ground. Mzadith glides in from above. Above, From Vespurath's neck, Tatia tenses, muscles tightening automatically as vast green wings tilt just enough to send them circling to the right. A short glide later and Vespurath's going upward again, wings stroking in rhythm to carry them up, up... and as Vespurath's glance catches the flash of a diving Mzadith, a glint of determination appears. "Vesp, nooo..." The rest of Tatia's sentance is lost as the green takes off on an echoing dive. See? She can do it too.. she allows the fall just a few feet longer than the blue before wings snap out to slow their progress and turn the dive into a leisurely glide downwards. Evidently the leisurely glide is still a bit too fast for Vespurath's taste, however.. Either that or she's still landing-shy, because she's already tensing to dig those talons into the poor dirt (and snow) of the training ground. Tatia tenses, eyes squeezing shut as she anticipates... and suddenly, with a rather large bump, they're on the ground. Above, Vespurath drops towards the ground. Vespurath glides in from above. Ilare giggles, and minding the ridge, somehow manages to hug her dragon. "Oh, well done! A most excellent landing!" Beam. Did you guys see? Was that landing not amazing? *happy sigh* Unbuckling, she swings a leg over his neck and slides off... Wait.. isn't that.. *OOoof!* Ilare is lost in the snow drift below! Carefully, you slide down Chanticoth's shoulder, landing neatly beside him. Chanticoth blinks with all three lids. Where'd Ilare go?? Chanti scrapes at the snow, careful to make sure that talons will not come into contact with hidden rider. Oooh... snow-Ilare. **splutter** NOT the perfect dismount there, now was it. Regardless, Ilare is once again snowcovered, although her giggles drift out across the bowl. "Thanks, Chan, love. I'm okay.." Sweeping off the clefts of snow, the chunks and flakes, she wiggles slightly as some gets down her collar. COLD! From Vespurath's neck, "Amazing?" Tatia questions doubtfully as she allows one eye to blink open. "I could think of better terms..." She pats Vespurath's neck affectionatly, as if to take the sting away from her words as the green twists her neck in an effort to peer at her rider. From Mzadith's neck, Cayl just...blinks a few times, her eyes open in time to see Ilare's classic dismount. Oh that's just /awesome/! The woman bursts into laughter even as she undoes her straps. "Finally got you back, Ilare!" Or maybe not, but Cayl'll take satisfaction in seeing a Ilare-cicle for now. She grabs the handhold as she swings her leg off and beings to dismount. Surprisingly it's more graceful then normal. Well, if Ilare's alright, why has she changed colour? She's all white now. Chanticoth snuffles at his rider. It's Ilare, alright, even if she did hide under the snow. Mzadith hugs the ground and watches placidly as Cayl clambers down the straps-'ladder' and lands easily upon the ground. Ilare shakes off her hair, much much shorter, and she's beginning to see how much more practical. "Liar. You'd nothing to do with that, Cayl.." she calls back, gold eyes twinkling. Chanticoth'ss nose is rubbed, the warmth of a whuffle enjoyed.. Even as it melts the snow on her body. Eeek! Cold! Shaking herself, she sighs. "It's alright, Chan.. Are you giggling?" A grin touches her lips. "Thought so. Silly dragon.." From Vespurath's neck, Tatia opens her other eye after a moment, reassured by Vespurath's doubtful glance her way that they are, indeed, on the ground.. and still safe. One by one, muscles untense, and eventually the greenrider swings around to slide to the ground. She quickly moves to loop her arms around Vespurath's neck. "That was wonderful. Perfect." Across shades of pine and sage, Tatia slides down Vespurath's side, landing on the ground with a slight bounce. Cayl snorts and shrugs her shoulders. "Still worth it though. Though I don't think that fashion statement would work very well back at the Isle." She remarks, staring at the melting, white snow covering Ilare. She grins and reaches up to check Mzadith's straps to make sure they're alright and gives the lug a soft pat on the side. "Yes, you did wonderful, as always." Beam. Sasha strides confidently to the Weyrling Barracks. Ilare bahs, and with a final dusting, rids herself of being.. White. Yup. All non-snowy. "There IS no snow at the Isle - thus, it would never be a fashion statement there." Ignoring the bluelings, Ilare hugs Chanticoth's neck, beaming. "You did wonderfully, love. Thank you for a most excellent flight." Lyri walks in from the Weyrling Barracks. Tatia turns a bit, leaving one arm draped over Vespurath's neck as the other drops to her side. "I know.. it's wonderful that we have some here," she notes promptly, turning her gaze to Ilare just in time to jump randomly into the conversation. "So much fun... and so.. becoming." The last is said with a slight smirk - she really can't resist. Chanticoth's eyes whirl happily as he gets hugged. Flights are fuuun... Cayl gives another dismissing shrug of her shoulders. "It's the thought that counts. You could always hang out in the coolers." Now that might be interesting to see. The woman walks over to her dragon's wings, silently asking him to outstretch it and running a hand across it's length. (Which takes a little while to say the least) She pays particularly close attention to the tendens and bone joints, then examines the sails. Lips purse as she consentrates on -this-, and tries to ignore the laughter that keeps sneeking in at the thought of Ilare plunging into that drift. Akilth strides smoothly in from the Weyrling Barracks. Sraine is led in by Akilth. Lyri motions for the group of weyrlings to join her in the lee of the training ground. "Come on you lot, your lifemates too.. this concerns them." Not that they'll remember, but it's the thought that counts. Ilare gives an amused snort. "Oh, I'm sure you'd know of such becoming things, wouldn't you?" Cayl certainly would - was she not a recipient of a dragon boulder? Lyri is nodded to - *snigger, she's still purple! - and Chanticoth motioned to. "Lets go in, love. Away from those who've yet to enjoy bonding with snow." Better than mud, neh? You go to the Weyrling Barracks. Weyrling Barracks The large covered entryways open into two immense U-shaped caverns that stretch back deep into the rock of the cliffside. Glow baskets lining the cavern walls cast a soft light dispelling the shadows and illuminating the home of all High Reaches weyrlings. Stone couches, some smaller for the greens and blues and some, for bronzes and the occasional gold, so large they have to be climbed into, rise up to loom over the walkways of well-packed dirt. Along the walls nearest the entrances, shelves and pegs sport several sets of leathers and various books and tools needed when teaching and practicing; crates and supplies also take up residence in various nooks and crannies. Toward the back, a large, man-dug pool for use by the dragonets and their lifemates and several large containers kept full of fresh meat serve as conveniences for the busy residents of these barracks. Sasha is here. Sasha scritches Branwy's eyeridges gently as she indicates Lyri. "Come on lovely....more lessons!" Sasha strides confidently to the Bowl. Chanticoth> Sasha strides confidently in from the Weyrling Barracks. Chanticoth> Sraine had just stepped into a listening area, Akilth following closely on her heels as usual. Barely catching Lyri's instruction, she hurries her pace. It's a good thing she decided to come out when she did. Phew. "Hey everyone." she calls in a light greeting, accented by an equally light smile. Akilth rumbles his own greeting to the group, although remaining more reserved. "What's going on?" Chanticoth> Sasha scritches Branwy's eyeridges gently as she indicates Lyri. "Come on lovely....more lessons!" Chanticoth> Tatia hopes that comment wasn't directed toward her... It'd require a glare if it were, and Tat's really not up to glaring at the moment. She's much too busy running quick hands along the length of Vespurath's shoulder, then across her wings, eyes narrowed in focused concentration. "Feel fine?" she murmurs absently as she continues her check, moving to step toward Lyri only once she's satisfied. Chanticoth's Couch of Cuddles Cozy, if a bit roomy for its current occupants, this dragon couch was designed to fit the future needs of the pair sharing it. Rushes have been piled deep on the raised couch, their scent and appearance indicating them to be newly laid down. Arranged so they lie flat, the area has been swept clean and dust-free. Upon one end of the couch, several quilts cover them, each one in brightest royal blue and deepest darkest black, patchwork colors of the Weyr. The smell of clean rushes and aired quilts waft about here, carrying with it the scent of freshly oiled dragon hide. Curled about the couch is Bay. You see Tilarekna's Candie Sock-Puppet here. Obvious exits: Barracks *** Disconnected ***