Main Living Cavern (#551J)
Grey stone arches a vast vault overhead, details of the ceiling all but disappearing in the shadows cast by warm, human-height glowsconces and the night hearth's flames; tapestries texture the smooth walls, looking down upon the raised dais, the expanse of tables, the flagstones left cleared for impromptu dancing.
A single broad archway, its carved pattern worn soft with time and passersby's touch, leads west into the bowl; two more, narrower but just as tall, give access to the bustle of living caverns in the south. Predominant looms the builders' masterpiece: the imposing staircase that twines up along the northern wall, leading to the weyr's huge kitchens.
Vintner Harry busies himself behind the 'bar'; nearby hangs the day's 'menu'.
You see Sinaqui and Veran here.
Shava, Wullan, Celae, and X'in are here.
Obvious exits:
Bowl Lower Caverns Stairs Weyr Tunnel
Llynth> Feeding Pens
Llynth> The feeding pens of Fort Weyr contain various herds of well-tended herdbeasts and clipped wherries, many eyeing you with definite caution. Against the rim of the bowl, sturdy shelters provide refuge from the weather; separate pens nearby provide space for breeding or, more rarely, ill animals to be cared for away from the main herd. A heavy fence surrounds the whole conglomeration, wandering a little way into the Weyr lake to provide water for the animals. Often, a proddy dragon terrorizes the beasts, feeding before taking 'flight' to taunt her chasers.
Llynth> The weyrling barracks lie to the northeast, and the center bowl to the east.
Llynth> It is a winter evening. Bitter gusts wrack the snowy skies.
Llynth> You see Emmath and Isabeth here.
Llynth> Obvious exits:
Llynth> Center Bowl Weyrling Area
Wullan's smile broadens pleasurably at the answer X'in gives her, as she flutters her eyelashes coyly. "Indeed, indeed," she murmurs, then turns her head as K'rill arrives suddenly. "Ahhhh, K'rill, good of you to join us. Care for some Benden red?" Her eyes unfocus slightly, then she sucks in her breath sharply, gulping at the goblet before trying to regain her composure.
Llynth> Dobryth looks about through the dust as he enters from the bowl's center.
K'rill makes his way into the caverns. Apparently the current gossip is that Wullan is in here, and looking fine as ever. Naturally, such a juicy tid-bit of information is more than enough to tempt this bronzer into appearing. Gloves are plucked off and tucked into the pockets of his riding jacket, hands coming up to dust of the flakes of snow that have accumulated on his shoulders. "Evening," he greets, gaze flickering to the side at the voice and request. "Sure," he eases, grin growing.
Zephre has connected.
P'kan nods at the Wingleader's comment. "On a delivery mission, actually. I'm here ferrying two harper to the HarperCraft hall. They seem to be taking longer than they planned, so I"m looking at staying here a while yet." He sees K'rill enter, and nods in his direction too. Lots of bronzers gathering, a very INTERESTING goldrider...oh, this was well timed...
X'in chuckles over his now full glass of Benden, thank you Wullan. "Welcome to Fort then." Again, not exactly heart felt, but he's a bit well, centered. "Evening K'rill." That just as warm as what P'kar got. "Bit chilly out there, don't you think Wullan?" As if he wasn't just out there and able to figure out what the weather is like all on his own.
Wullan sways slightly in her seat, a feral gleam emananating from her dark eyes. She doesn't speak, instead allowing the red wine to stain her mouth crimson as she consumes the drink with passionate sips, mirroring her dragon's behaviour in the pens. "Actually, I think it's quite warm, really. Or is that just /me/?" she responds to X'in's question, baring her neck rapaciously.
K'rill bobs his head to the others assembled, giving a bit of a double-take to P'kan that could almost be termed as comical. A couple of blinks ensue as he peers over to the rider's knot, "My duties, rider." Hand lifts tap two fingers to his forehead and bringing them away in some sort of salutary greeting. Instead of opting for a seat as most would do, he instead hitches a hip up against the side of the table. He reaches over for the wine skin, helping himself by pouring the burgandy liquid into a free glass. Nah, Wullan isn't warm... she is hott. "Aren't coming down with something, are you?" he inquires softly.
Llynth> Bronze Pyanth settles down near the gleaming gold, and slowly licks the blood from his reddish muzzle. He watches her with utter attention, and readyness.
Llynth> Isabeth curves her head over the carcass of a freshly-killed herdbeast, crowing her defiance of her weyrwoman's order to blood her kill before she sinks her long fangs into the fleshy throat, sucking the beast dry.
Zephre kicks up her feet by the hearth and ignores the goings-on, for the most part. She's unilaterally disinterested - at least until later in the evening when the poor, unfulfilled, unpartnered extras come trickling back in to drown their sorrows. Then she'll take an interest.
Llynth> Llynth was here well before the others arrived, surveying the herds before picking out just what lucky herdbeast will be sent its way down his gullet. Maybe the spotted one? Or the brindled? Or what of that temptingly plump buck over -Aw, just feed, will you? Bronze pounces over the fencing without a warning, only to drop with a resounding *thud* and completely miss the 'beast he was eyeing, instead landing upon a rather scraggly creature.
Llynth> Dobryth's nostrils flare at the scent of blood and he is torn between letting the 'lady' dine first and bowing to his own needs. Finally the raw instinct wins, and with a bellow of hunger he lazily reaches out and swipes a herdbeat scared by Llynth. Talons swipe the neck of the beast and he leans over to lap up the warm elixir, orbs still watching Isabeth's every move.
Llynth> Pyanth decides to opt for one more beast before the air, so he snags himself a fat wherry, which he pulls down to the ground and drains quickly, eyes turning violet, focused on the gold.
Llynth> Isabeth is a real Southern lady, born and raised on Ista Island before she came to Atlanta - er, /Fort Weyr/ - to escape the wars of oppression... ahem... well, anyway, the lady raises her golden head to regard her suitors contemptuously before she dances a reel on the head of a hapless herdbeast, taking it down and gorging herself on the lovely hot blooded thing, finally raising her head and pulsing more golden than ever. Launching herself skyward, she spreads her formidable wingspan and takes off.
Llynth> Isabeth leaps powerfully aloft in a cloud of dust.
Llynth> You leap aloft in a flurry of dust, leaving the fretful cries of the beasts far behind.
Llynth> Lower Western Sky
Llynth> You soar above Fort Weyr's large lake, gliding from thermal to thermal. From the southwest, a light breeze dribbles over the portion of the bowl which collapsed long ago, flowing northeast down the mile and a half length of Fort's immense bowl. From below, the happy bugling of dragons can be heard splashing about in the lake, as their riders and the weyr firelizards bathe them.
Llynth> The western curve of the bowl lies to the north, where the feeding pens access a little of the lake for water, and the Bowl proper is northeastward.
Llynth> Various 'ledges' dot the cliffside.
Llynth> It is a winter evening. Bitter gusts wrack the snowy skies.
Llynth> You see Flim, Ciriaco, Eowyn, Leaf, and Isabeth here.
Llynth> Obvious exits:
Llynth> Eastern Airspace Central Bowl Beach Lake Feeding Pens Weyrling Area
Wullan rises suddenly, unevenly, from her seat at the table, moving her way towards the exit to the bowl and the ground weyrs.
Wullan heads out into the immense bowl.
Llynth> Dobryth soars up from the feeding pens in a cloud of dust, carrying the scent of frightened beasts.
[-FortLC-] P'kan's youth shows in the flush in his cheeks. "Well, it is certainly warmer here then back in the Reaches..." He never finishes his thought, and the moment of take-off overcomes him. He follows Wullan,
You head into the first available ground-level weyr.
Ground Level Weyr
This room, protected by a large curved corridor, provides a resting place for an injured dragon and rider. Like all the other weyrs in the infirmary, this weyr follows a sterile and spartan style, and a faint smell of numbweed as well as other medicinal herbs pervades the air. Towards the rear of the weyr, away from its unevenly arched stone entrance, a stone couch is indented for that unfortunate dragon that has taken injury or ill; not so far away is a cot for that worried and anxious rider. It is sparsely decorated, as most of its inhabitants never bother to furnish it too completely--they all hope for a short stay.
Thick curtains close off the dragon-sized exit to the bowl, as well as the smaller one to the infirmary, and generally keep things windfree and secure.
Wullan is here.
Obvious exits:
Infirmary Bowl
Llynth> Dobryth soars over from the bowl's center.
X'in enters from the Bowl.
X'in slips in, sipping slowly on his wine glass, jacket forgotten in the Living Cavern. Don't you love the snow in his hair, doesn't it make him look distinguished, older perhaps? With a nod to the others, he finds himself a bit of wall and slides down to watch Wullan.
Wullan, for her part, is standing poised in one corner of the room, writhing sensually as she emulates the flight of the dragon, yet still human, warily noting the riders present as she folds her arms around herself and shivers.
Llynth> Dobryth quickly drops the herdbeast. One must rise when a lady leaves the table! A bugle is given, more as an announcement of her beauty, than a gauntlet to be thrown at the other possible suitors. Wings bellow outwards, cupping the chilled night air and thrusting him after her, with lazy but powerful strokes. He knows this will be a long dance, and has kept his card clear, just for her.
Llynth> Llynth drains the last drop from the beast, leaving it a paltry and worn shade of confederate grey. Bronze hoods wings, the metallics shimmering with war-won metals along burnished chest to briefly out-dazzled the pinks inherent. Talons slip into the snow-dusted earth, haunches bunch, and he is launching through the wind-torn South, extending for the flighting lines with a higher calling -or something like that. Bronze arches his wings, straining and lifting, climbing and ascending to the vault above.
The High Reaches Wingleader follows the Fortians into the ground weyrs, and casts about himself for a stool or something. Pyanth is young, but he's fast. P'kan finds the sought after stool, and watches the dance unfold.
K'rill trails in after the others, sans riding jacket and wing glass both. He didn't even have the presence of mind to keep a grip on the fortifying alcohol. For shame. Bronzer flashes an uneasy glance to Wullan, before managing to tear his gaze away and find solace against the wall.
Llynth> Pyanth was waiting for this, and pulls himself effortlessly into the air. His confidence is clear, and his manner dashing. This lady has set the pace of the dance fast, and that suits him fine. He shoots throught the air like a bronze bullet, towards the golden lady.
X'in continues to sip his wine, relaxed and calm, except for his eyes. They can't quite seem to stay anywhere for more than a moment. Darting to Wullan, then to P'kar, over to K'rill, then the door, but always returning to watch the gold rider for a moment. You get the picture.
Llynth> Isabeth disdains the puny soldiers of fortune who rise to follow her, flying higher and higher in ever-increasing spirals of joy as she tests her confederate freedom in the skies. Her golden muzzle snakes around once to eye the damned Yankees behind her, and she crows her dixie-born superiority before diving low to escape their clutches. Fiddle-dee-dee!
Llynth> Llynth is best fit to court upon more sturdy substances and grand vistas. Allowing gentlemanly croons and dashing actions best define the suitor within, as compared to the heat and raw desire allowed to possess and enflame in the midst of a flight. And yet, enthralled he is, swept ever after with the epic of southern sweetness that shall catch more than any vinegar. Pinions extend wide, tempting the very wind to cast him up, courting the currents and thermals as eagerly as any beau would court his belle.
Llynth> Dobryth will convince her of his carpetbagging ways. Just you wait my pretty! Oops, wrong movie. Wings continue to lazily cut through the air, his own arrogance and self assuredness, letting him slip to the back of the pack. Better to watch your enemies that way, and your own back in the process. Smoldering eyes and sleek hide, only echo that dapper dan appearance, too bad that cigarette was lost. Low call is wafted on the air, soft and sultry as he tries to wiggle his way into the psyche of the vixen, after all we know that's often led to her downfall.
Llynth> Pyanth watches the other bronzes jockey for position, and sees there's a distinct pattern there. With a trumpeting that could almost be roguish laughter, he moves towards the opening that presents itself. He's clear that his icy savanna training will serve him well, since it's clear that this little lady is a rebel herself, for all her finery. His wings beat the air with ever faster strokes, using his youth and charm to good effect.
K'rill presses his back flush against the wall, seeking the coolness of the stone to help in drawing out the heat he seems to be feeling. Head lolls forward so that his chin rests against chest, blond bangs cascading forwards to shadow his eyes as he looks onto the ground. Arms cross of his chest as he works with the lifemate despite the obvious physical separation. He simply cannot look at Wullan at this point, temptation far too close.
Llynth> Isabeth swerves to avoid the cocky Pyanth, slipping almost lazily but for her forward momentum around the belly of the young bronze, then cannily fouling the wings of an overeager blockade runner into the body of yet another suitor, then warbling her prowess in tones too strident for a true lady. Beating her wings to regain her height, she begins to tire slightly, curving her neck sinuously around to peer at the remaining flight behind her. Let them work to earn her love!
Young P'kan blinks as sweat trickles down from his short black hair. He's sitting on his stool, but his musculature says that he is also standing and flying, all at the same time. He wipes a drop of perpiration from his upper lip and swallows.
Wullan shivers violently, convulsively; a quick pleading glance towards K'rill is quelled by his avoidance of her gaze. She looks sharply at the others present, seeking comfort and not finding it. A goldrider is alone, yet never alone, and the truth of it almost overwhelms her.
Llynth> Dobryth narrows his gaze on the tawdry prize jostling her suitors about like candy. He knew she was like he was, willing to do whatever it took. There's fire in that belly fellas! He can sense it. Quickly he swerves out of the way of the downcast and strives to continue to shadow the leaders. He works well in the near darkness, watching, waiting for his moment to step forth and capture the lass. Someone needs to teach her a thing or two and he's just the one for the job. At least, that's what his audition card said.
Llynth> Llynth is no man's rogue, no blockade-running privateer, no gambler of the fair. But a Fortian gentleman who may just have to resort to a little chancy escapades to get exactly what he wants, and that spunky, impertinent belle shimmering and climbing just out of his reach is exactly that -but only if she wants him. Spars strain against the forces of will and society, propriety and desire, to cut the very winds, leaving tensile sails to cape his every intention.
X'in finally abandons his empty glass with a soft clatter as it rests on the stone floor. With a sigh, more akin to a growl, he pulls himself up from the ground and moves closer to Wullan. "Admit it. She's tiring. I can tell." That's it, push the poor girl into a corner why don't you. Or rather circle her, as his own lifemate is doing, trying to find that weakness he knows is there.
Llynth> Pyanth watches Isabeth effortlessly foul up the wings of several of his rivals. He pulls away, ever so slightly, to allow the lady to survey her suitors. Ah, such elegance there, mixed in with such an indomitable spirit. Intoxicating. He know that she'll chose who she likes, despite all thier efforts, so he moves into a direct line of sight with the queen. She sails this way, that, teasing, tormenting, but there is singlemindedness that is remarkable to the foreign bronze. He watches, though, ready to swoop in and carry her to safety amidst the flames of passion.
K'rill remains as is, allowing the wall to brace him in ways and cool him in others. He refuses to look at her. He simply can't. It would be too much. Chest rises and falls with a deep breath, arms releasing their hold upon each other. He drags fingers through his hair, raking it back away from his face to briefly show a face of tense lines, dictated by the emotions of lifemate, of his own.
P'kan remains seated, but his eyes are faraway, with Pyanth. He can feel the air whipping past him, the scent of the gold and her other suitors filling his senses. He doesn't know it, but he rises to his feet, a bundle of coiled steel, ready, passion now only held at bay by iron willpower.
Llynth> Isabeth feels the call of the south beating in her veins, heating her passions almost to the unbearable point as she begins to give herself over to the flaming glory of passion; the belle prepared for her wedding night, her wings spread as wide as a veil above her arching neck. Wedge-shaped head snakes around again, this time in a come-hither expression inviting them closer.
Llynth> Dobryth smirks to himself, that come hither expression just what he's been waiting for. A wing sail dips here and one little extra push and he's near her, close enough to see the gorgeous beauty for all that she is. You ask, I came, this time. A warble is tossed out, soft on the cold air, almost lifelike as it tries to entwine her, ensnare her and make her his for the moment. Because that's all they ever have, isn't it? The moment.
Wullan isn't conscious of X'in's intimidation tactics, and she stands coldly to her full height, in complete accord with her lifemate now, her upper lip curled. The moment of vulnerability has passed and the weyrwoman is entirely in control of herself. "She's about to choose her mate, X'in," she notes crisply, every ounce of strength she has keeping her there instead of soaring above. "What makes you think Dobryth has any chance at all?" The curled lip sneers at the bronzerider, then the weyrwoman laughs derisively.
Llynth> Llynth draws forth, as he will court no more. But a gentleman to the very end, bronze draws in sails, furling them close to his sides as fingersails crumple in upon themselves. He gave her every chance, and this last and final one. Or he shall merge with the mists, never to be seen from again. Salmon-imbued bronzes lay dormant in the evening skies, although the dragon cast with the dashing shades bursts with a final and daring reach. Lithe and svelte body angles and twists, extending to catch her should she fall... swoon. And remain there ever after.
X'in doesn't reach out for her, nope, his hands stop shy from their intended. "I know he has a chance.." the lad hisses and lies to the weyrwoman. "Soon..soon I'll have my dinner." Eyes sparkle slightly at the thought, "Though I feel sorry for your dress."
Llynth> Pyanth sees the invitation, and watches his opening occur again. He leaves the safety of distance, and pulls in along side the golden lady. Matching her wingbeats with his own, he deliberately flaps against her, trying to foul her wings. He's ready to join her, this golden dressed up lady from the south, to let her be herself, despite herself. He inches closer, closer...
K'rill frowns at the discussion, lips turning into a thin line as his head remains angled down at the floor. Palms press back against the wall, touching the uneven surface before pressing /hard/. He lurches away from the wall, boot-falls heady against the flooring. It is only now when he glances up, silence reigning, to watch Wullan.
P'kan is panting, marvelling at how X'in is able to speak right now. He can barely breath, his eyes blazing and bright. He turns his eyes on Wullan, and blinks many times. He is so close, Pyanth, so close. The rider is inching forward unconsciously now...
Llynth> Isabeth manages to escape the smirking bronze by flying crosswise, away from the younger bronze as well, swooning into the warm embrace of Llynth, her own wings extending even as she twines necks with him to fall together into the setting sun, bound for Tara and bliss incarnate.
Wullan gives a cry, stepping forward into K'rill's embrace as she neatly avoids the leering X'in, burying her face in the bronzerider's shoulder as their dragons fall in divine dance.
Llynth> Dobryth is slighted. That smirking vixen. Bah. With a cry of anger and rejection, he dives down, down to perch on the star stones.
Llynth> Dobryth banks off a thermal towards the center of the bowl.
Llynth> Llynth catches and claims with a smoothness not often evident. Tail and neck twines with hers, wings extend wide to bolster the pair. She shan't be in a swoon for long. His Southern Belle. His very own.
X'in grits his teeth as his fingers brush over the fabric of Wullan's dress. "Your loss.." he hisses, but was that to the WW or his lifemate? Everyone deals differently. Glass is abandoned on the floor as he stalks out of the weyr.
X'in heads quietly out of the weyr, and back to the bowl.
Llynth> Pyanth sees Llynth fall with Isabeth, and blinks as his rider was. With a flip of his wings, he turns on a wingtip, and glides back to the Weyr, exhausted, numb...
K'rill draws in a ragged gasp, eyes flashing open from their half-lidded gaze. All others are a blur, not granted even a thought as he reaches for her, doing his best to keep from shaking. "Wullan..." he just manages to mutter before tugging her away and into their own moment.
P'kan continues to blink, as the scene is relayed to him across the link. He starts to back away, slowly regaining use of his limbs. With a nod, he turns and heads out towards the Bowl.
Message 56 on *Fort Weyr (#3978):
Date: Tue Mar 12 00:25:16 2002 EST
From: Wullan (#16213)
To: *Fort Weyr (#3978) and *Gossip (#678)
Subject: Flight!
Even as crimson-gowned Wullan was seductively drinking her way through Fort Weyr's store of the finest Benden red, the teakwood gold, Isabeth, was preparing her suitors for the most frantic skirmish of the civil war. And when that mistress of the plantation rose, she had several following her, including K'rill's Llynth, X'in's Dobryth, and P'kan's Pyanth (NPC played by Celae).
The teakwood gold evaded the grasping claws of the lesser blockade runners, finally swooning into the gentlemanly embrace of K'rill's Llynth as she avoided the clutching claws of Dobryth and the inexperienced grasp of Pyanth.
OOC: I would like to thank the participants in Isabeth's first flight at Fort Weyr! Y'all are totally /awesome/! The resulting clutch will be NPC, perhaps even displayed on the Sands for RP sake (hasn't been decided yet!). And K'rill has fallen into the clutches of the mischevious Wullan....look out weyr!
Isabeth Regina and her Court Jester Wullan.
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