The World of Pern(tm) copyright (c) 1967 by Anne McCaffrey.
The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.
An online session, recorded by permission of the author for the benefit
of members unable to attend.
=======================================================================

November 2, 1998.  PernMUSH.  E'vrin's POV.
--
Your location's current time: 21:26 on day 6, month 12, Turn 24, of
the Tenth Pass. It is a winter evening.
Cast:  E'vrin, Aurian, Silen, Kassima, Dossa, Ro, A'ser, Sioda.

E'vrin tracks down long-lost (sort of) family at Telgar Weyr.  The
mindplay between Sharath and Lysseth is an especial treat.
=======================================================================
Telgar Weyr's Living Cavern(#750RJM$)
This huge cavern is sufficently roomy to hold a large portion of the
Weyr's population without feeling cramped. There's always a bustle of
activity here. Fragrant dishes are constantly in prepartion for
mealtimes: currently for the late meal. Drudges are always present,
either cleaning under Pierron's watchful eye, or helping fetch and
carry. A myriad of glowbaskets and many ever-lit hearths make the
cavern warm and inviting despite its size. The scents of cooking
meats, baking breads and pastries, and the pungent aroma of spices
hang mouthwateringly in the air. It is little wonder that those
seeking to relax nearly always find their way here to do it. Branches
of evergreens and glistening winter berries are ornaments of the
season.
A short tunnel jaunts northward out to the bowl and the merry sounds
of cooking, chores, and laughter echo from the kitchen at the
southeast end of the cavern near the easterly passage to the rest of
the lower caverns. Within the lower caverns is an entrance to the
infirmary weyr to care for injured dragons and riders.
Contents:
Ro
Aurian
Silen
Kassima
Dossa
Pierron
--

Aurian glances up curiously, "Telgar's duties.."

Sharath> Lysseth rumbles a cordially lackadaisical greeting to the
Igenite bronze, peering through the mist of rain with faintly glowing
blue eyes.

E'vrin looks across the cavern, distracted from swiping rain from his
crinkly leathers. "--Igen's in return," he tosses back on able harper
cadences that happily mask any uncertainty on this foreign
ground. "Don't mind me, please. I just need to warm up a moment."

Sharath> Kvasith rumbles lightly to the bronze. He stretches wings for
a long moment.

Aurian chuckles, "And you came to Telgar to do it?"

--
        Aurian stands before you quietly, a look of quick merriment
and mayhem gleaming in her grey-green eyes. She is a bit pale but that
seems typical for her. Her hair is quite rogue-ish, its short. Very
short, and slightly curly. The color is still a burnished red-gold,
even more red now if possible. It falls just at her cheekbones,
curling and waving merrily. She isn't very tall but not childlike at
all. Her pouty mouth seems to be set in a perpetual grin. She appears
to be about 20 Turns, 8 months, and 15 days old.
        She is garbed rather simply. A finely knitted sweater of soft
wool, it is a pale green that seems to go rather well with her hair
and eyes. If you look closely you would note the intricate work that
has gone into the knitting. Someone had to put a great deal of work
into such a delicate piece. The sweater is rather large and the hem
falls about midthigh on her. It just covers the top of the dark hide
pants she wears. Her jacket is almost black, the only marks of color
on that is the new patch of a Dawnslight wingrider. She has on a pair
of highly polished black boots, they come to just below her knee and
are laced tightly up the front. Peeking from the top of Aurian's right
boot, is a silver hilt. On her shoulder is the knot of a Telgar
brownrider, black and white, with the thinnest line of brown revealing
the color of her lifemate.
--

Silen nods polite greeting to the Igen rider.

--
Silen is nearly the image of his mother, though looks that on her are
merely plain become him well. His hair, walnut-brown like his
mother's, is short, cut to above his ears, and usually quite
touseled. Wide mahogany eyes take in the world around him with
rarely-dimmed enthusiasm. He's recently hit a growth spurt and put on
several inches, and his voice has started to crack. Silen wears a
sturdy, long-sleeved linen tunic, rust-red with bands of black around
the round neckline and sleeve hems. It seems to be a bit small on
him. With this he wears black linen pants of a slightly coarser weave,
and wherhide boots.
Silen is 14 Turns, 10 months, and 2 days old.
--

"Why *wouldn't* I dislike lace?" Kassi wants to know. "'Tis frilly,
'tis scratchy, 'tis rather silly-looking, 'tis impractical... spare
me, is all I can say." While grimacing, she catches sight of the Igen
visitor and smoothes out her expression to one more amiable. "Duties
to Igen and her queens, and welcome. Klah and cider are available
t'help you with your warming. Is there aught we can help you with?"

--
        Kassima is a slender woman standing about 5'10" in height,
whom you'd guess to be around 28 Turns, 7 months, and 18 days of
age. Her midnight-black hair is pulled back in a very long braid, with
a thick forelock trimmed just above arching eyebrows; beneath these,
emerald green eyes glint with facetious good humor more often than
not. Kassi seems to be in good health and physical condition; she is
strong and fit, though remarkably slim, and her skin has a faint tan
to it. Currently, she is dressed in a peacock blue blouse and plain
black slacks. A knife, a wherry skewer, and two pouches hang from her
belt.
        Kassi often seems slightly frazzled these days despite her
natural energy, but she flashes you a wry grin when she notices your
gaze anyway. It would seem that she is fond of jewelry, for she tends
to wear plenty of it; adorning her neck is a charm necklace, from
which hang five pendants: three are of crimson-streaked eggshell,
amber, and jade respectively, another is a silver dagger, and the
fifth has the shape of a silver-and-malachite dragon. Her earrings are
loops of braided silver, with an oblong opal hanging from the bottom
of each. Rings sparkle from her ring fingers, index fingers, and left
middle finger (+detail available). Many fire-lizards can be seen
flying around her at almost any time.
        On one shoulder of her rainbow-spattered riding jacket is the
complicated black and white knot of a Telgar Wingleader, with a thin
cord of red to honor her Benden Weyr origins and a single strand of
grey-green to show the color of her lifemate, Lysseth. Two patches
decorate the other shoulder; the careworn sigil of her Weyrling Wing,
Moonrise, is sewn below the newer one that identifies her as the
leader of Thunderbolt Wing.
--

Sharath> Sharath deepens his crouch within the metal-gilt cloak of his
wings. His own eyes shimmer deep malachite through the rain,
reflecting Lysseth's color with mild mood. He chuffs back at Kvasith,
stretches a hind leg, and coils down. There. Now he can be social.

Dossa shrugs lightly, smiling. "I like it," is all she says.

"Well, no," E'vrin admits to Aurian, and he ventures further
inside. Gloves find their way into jacket pockets; his head is already
bare (and wet). "--Cider would be grand, thank you, and some
assistance, too. I'm ... looking for someone." He pauses at Dossa's
comment, looks around. "If I'm not interrupting."

--
A blooming young woman, Dossa must be around fifteen turns of
age. She's about five feet tall, with slim shoulders and a soft
frame. A smallish nose and ears, with high cheekbones and a narrow
face give her a tiny, elfin appearance. Her normally unruly mass of
auburn locks is wound tight into a bun at the back of her head, with
two painted wooden sticks jabbed through to keep it in place. Soft
klah-brown eyes often peer at the world large with innocence -- or, as
of late, surprise.
A simple ashen-grey skirt falls down to her ankles and clings to her
hips. A common grey shawl, several sizes too large for the petite
woman, is draped around her shoulders. She wears an off-white blouse,
tucked into her skirt. Womanhood is creeping up on Dossa, her clothing
hinting at a curvaceous figure underneath. Soft black slippers protect
her feet. Several pink ribbons hang from Dossa's hair, her only
femenine trapping, save the sparkling gold bracelet on her left
wrist. (+detail available)
Carrying:
Majesty
--

Aurian tilts her head, "Oh? Who?"

Dossa looks over at E'vrin, and smiles. "Looking for someone? Perhaps
I can help!" She hops up, careful to set her klah mug down, and wraps
her shawl around her shoulders.

Kassima allows diplomatically, "To each their own," as she stands and
heads for yon cider pitcher. "Quite welcome; don't mention it. I need
a refill m'self. Interrupting? Ah, nay... only a discussion on the
merits of lace, and there's naught t'be interrupting there, as there
are none. For whom d'you seek, and how may we be of aid?"

E'vrin might just edge back a step. There's hospitality, and then
there's /hospitality./ He finds a wan smile. "A wingleader," he
says. "I'd start by talking to a wingleader, if I could."

Aurian points to Kassima, "She's your victim." The redhead grins.

E'vrin obediently orients on Kassima. With big, big, innocent eyes.

Dossa taps her chin. "A'lex isn't about, no doubt with Channie and
Xach. Uhm..." Seems that she's forgotten the names of all other
wingleaders, until Aurian points out Kassima. "Oh, yes! Of course."

Kassima picks up the two mugs, ambling back over to proffer one to the
bronzerider. "Kassima, green Lysseth's rider and Wingleader of
Thunderbolt, at your service. Hopefully nay as a victim." Aurian is
shot a mock-glare before her attention swivels back to the
visitor. "How may I help you?"

Aurian smiles impishly at Kassima. She takes a redfruit from a bowl
and starts slicing it up.

E'vrin clutches his mug, muttering a 'thanks' then extending it to
Aurian and Dossa for their help. Still blinking away moisture that
cracks down his face like marble's fissures, he tries, "You could help
me find one of your riders, Wingleader. --Oh. Should we sit down?
Pardon me, please; it's been a long day."

"But of course. Which rider? If'n 'tis one of mine, and I know nay
where he or she is, Lyss can find out straight away." Gesturing
towards a pair of empty seats near the hearth, Kassi invites, "Shall
we sit? Nay pardons are needed, but you look as though you could use
the chance t'be drying out."

Dossa smiles politely at E'vrin and settles back down into her
seat. She watches shyly, interested in the visitor, yet constantly
looking down and away when her interest is even the slightest bit
noticed.

Aurian nibbles on a slice of fruit as she watches.

E'vrin scoots after her. "Better," he agrees once he's within the
circle of warmth. A sip, a glance at the others (shy? He can be shy,
too, and is), then he continues. "A brown rider. V'bor." He leans
forward, led by hooded, eager green eyes. "Do you know...?"

"V'bor," Kassi repeats slowly, nodding at the name. "Nay one of mine,
but I know him, certes. Brown Skereth's rider, aye? He rides with
K'ira in Duskfire."

E'vrin's spine straightens; his hands tighten on his mug. "K'ira, in
Duskfire," he repeats, slow. "Thank you, Wingleader. Very much."

Dossa watches the Igen dragonrider curiously, sipping her mug in
contemplation.

Kassima curls her own fingers around her mug, content to savor the
warmth of it while the liquid within is still too hot for comfortable
drinking. "None needed... ah... I don't believe you gave me your name?
Though you seem familiar t'me. Would you like me to inquire of Azath
just where his rider's sent V'bor now?"

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath's mind brushes brief, roseate
fire against green. << He's nervous, you know, >> he comments
casually. << Your rider is not helping. >>

"E'vrin," the Igen rider trips out quickly. "Sorry. It's been so long
-- and you /know/ of him -- after all this time--" Drink, boy. He
does. (And peeks back at Dossa.) "...No, no, I can find him another
time. /Tonight/ -- can't do it tonight. But thank you." Drink again.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth replies with a flicker of
green--surprise--that arcs between cool blue spires of crystal, <<
Nervous? I do not believe Kassima means to put him ill at ease.... >>
Slight uncertainty registers there for a moment, before a check with
her rider deepens the colors with assurance.

Aurian tilts her head, "Why is it so important you find him?" Her
voice queries gently.

"E'vrin," Kassima muses, brow furrowing a touch. "Bronze Sharath's
rider, I know, but where... were you a Harper, a'fore?" Tilting her
head, she observes, "I take it that V'bor is someone important
t'you...? There's certes nay need t'be apologizing for aught."

Dossa shies away from E'vrin again, picking imaginary specks from her
shawl. No doubt after a few moments, though, she's watching the
bronzerider again.

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath scatters flame-shot amusement
through the spires, cascaded from his own mental facets, gold and
rose, rose and gold. << I should hope not. He has waited long for
this. >>

E'vrin buries his nose in cider and steam until his composure's
congealed again. Then he sits back, forcing relaxation, and nods to
both riders. "A harper, yes," he answers Kassima first. "And V'bor is
my father." His mouth crooks self-deprecation. "It must sound inane,
not to mention silly, but I ... well, I wanted to meet him. So, I came
looking."

Aurian smiles a touch, "I can understand that."

Sharath> Above, Azeth leaps from Azeth's Ledge and flies into the air.
Sharath> Above, Azeth flies up and out of the bowl.
Sharath> Above, Azeth disappears into Between.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth whimsically illuminates the spires
to glow in cool contrast, sapphire, emerald, and amethyst undercut by
a river of blood-red that at the moment is buried deeply. << Well, I
will instruct my rider to stop making people nervous. I am not certain
she *can*, but it is worth a try. >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath indulges in a flash of probing
light, tickling curiosity. Youthful sparks, caught in crystal walls,
bob along the river, seeking its source. << Surely she can. Make
her. You can, can't you? >>

E'vrin dips his head. "Well, it /sounds/ silly to say aloud, I have to
say, but thank you."

Kassima grins, abruptly, as the pieces fall into place. "A
Harper. Aye. You performed at a dance for Benden's Nut Festival, did
you nay? A song about the Hold and the Weyr? I'm better at remembering
names than faces." Dark green eyes widen, black brows arching upwards
above. "Truly? Nay, 'tis neither inane or silly. I've a rider in
m'Wing who has offspring coming t'seek him out and meet him about
every other sevenday; naught along that route can surprise me,
anymore." Tilting her head, she is silent for a moment. "He is riding
watch at Campbell's Field at the moment, 'twould seem."

Dossa actually pipes up. "Why is it silly to want to know who your
father is? To meet him? I love my Papa dearly." She smiles shyly, then
looks away.

E'vrin's boot scuffs at the floor until he stops it, stills back into
statuary. "It /sounds/ silly," he repeats softly, "but maybe that's
only my interpretation. I never knew him, you see, or my sister, and
to cross Pern on a quest -- well, it /is/ a bit harper-fare. Then
again, so is much of life." He chews on that, then shakes his
head. "--Oh! My song, yes. You were there, Wingleader? And you
remember?"

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth underlights the river with a faint
glow of gold, the better to pick it out amongst the spires; the
source, however, is difficult to determine. It winds through the sharp
forest of color like the path of a labyrinth--and yet, at the same
time, flows straight. There and not-there, eluding definition. << Have
you ever tried to displace the top of a mountain? >> she asks
conversationally. << It can be done, but it is difficult. Making my
rider do anything is much the same. >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath twists agilely around the
heart's-blood bends, and his thoughts course swift and cool above: <<
Not the top. Shift the fundament -- a pace, a length, the mountain
entire if possible. The top will follow. >>

Kassima chuckles under her breath, seeming amused--and
agreeing. "'Songs wouldn't be written about things if'n they never
happened,' as Da would say. Believe me when I tell you that I--and
probably everyone in here--have done things much sillier. 'Twas there,
certes." Her eyes twinkle, alluding to mirth. "But I doubt even
m'friends would have well recognized me, dressed as Lady for the
evening."

E'vrin finds diplomacy. "You, a Lady? I can well believe it,
Wingleader." He glances at the others to gauge: is that proper?

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth accords, silver lightning sparking
between the spires for a moment, << Yes, it will, but the mountain
will resist... and perhaps resent the movement. I save force for when
it is needed. She does the same for me. Mountains that clashed
constantly against each other would be reduced to rubble shortly. >>
Another silver bolt cracks briefly through the darkness above the
mindscape, sending sparks showering.

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath's seeking aspect writhes in
pleasure amid the crashing, cracking light. << Still, >> he projects,
still calm and crystal-cool on some level, << from rubble one can
rebuild, build anew, build better. Sometimes mountains /must/ be
destroyed to be preserved. >>

Ro sighs and returns to reading her scrolls.

Kassima snorts, decidedly amused by that. "Amazing," she replies. "I
certainly can't. Many words can be used t'describe me; 'Lady' is nay
one of them. But 'twas fun t'be one temporarily, in its fashion."
Tilting her head speculatively, she inquires, "Did I nay also give you
a ride to Leilanth's last Hatching? It interrupted another dance, if'n
I recall aright."

A slow chuckle runs surprise through E'vrin's mien. "Well ... yes. You
/do/ have quite the memory, Wingleader. Were you harper-trained, too,
once upon a time?"

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth sends the sparks that have not yet
faded spinning along the river's edge, a wind comprised of silver
fire. << What must be shall be, >> and there's a certain text, << but
destruction should be reserved for when it is needed. Never on a
whim. A shattering of will is as hard on the breaker as on the one
broken, especially when the two *are* one. >>

Kassima shakes her head, mouth curving in a smile. "Nay precisely,
unless you count the lessons given to a child. Harper-blooded, but
Chaeth picked me up ere m'wanderings could get that far. Just as well
that I decided t'see Pern a'fore choosing a life's-path, at that."
More candidly, she adds, "Besides, a good memory is helpful in
gambling. Would you nay say so, Aurian?"

Aurian sticks her tounge out at Kassima, "And in Healing."

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath rides the wind, rides the fire,
and his aspect bleeds rosy warmth into silver: alchemy, and pensive,
reflective gold. << Are you one, then, you and she? >> He pursues the
river deeper -- does it branch into soul and soul, spirits separated?

Sharath> Above, Yasinth leaps from Yasinth's Ledge and flies into the
air.

E'vrin blinks rain-tangled lashes. "Healing /and/ gambling. Can't say
I've heard those two ... ah, occupations put together in the same
thought."

Sharath> Yasinth backwings for a landing.

Sharath> A'ser has arrived.
A'ser walks in from the bowl.

Sharath> Kvasith stretches his wings and curls up again.

A'ser chews absently at a stick of some sticky treat as he walk>
Transfer interrupted!
 is the sole surviver of a family wiped away by the gentle
assassins of natural life. A'ser, hair as dark as a raven's blue-black
wing, and with pale skin one would never expect to see on any child
born and raised in Southern Boll, is the exception that proves the
rule. A rough storm gray tunic with a high collar shows beneath his
brown hide jacket. thick gloves, of the type that might even withstand
dragonflame are tucked beneath the black belt around his waist. Darker
brown leather slacks are tucked into the tops of boots that are run
over and buckled a hundred times by little black straps. His eyes, set
evenly above a childlike and almost pugish nose are the deep, calm
green that one finds at the bottom of a forest pool. His black baby's
down hair has been cut short, and wisps about his oval face, and
rustles lightly in breeze of any sort. He is the sort of man who's
graced with more than his fair share of beauty. Not a person you would
refer to as 'handsome'. But maybe 'winsome', or possibly 'pretty', or
even 'beautiful', if he is behaving himself, and not opening his
mouth. A'ser wears a pendant about his neck, sometimes over, or
sometimes under his shirt. (+detail) On his left hand, he wears a
simple silver ring on his lithe finger.
--

Dossa blinks. "Oh dear. That sounds quite twisted!" She looks over at
A'ser's entrance, and smiles.

Sharath> Yasinth deliberately thumps a talon down on Kvasith's tail.

Aurian grins at E'vrin, "Ahhh then you haven't been in Telgar long
enough." She smiles a little towards A'ser.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth, admiring the resultant platinum,
borders each crystal with a thin limning of the molten metal that
seems to crackle with energy. Platinum, or electrum? << We are one,
and we are two, >> is her cryptic response. << Without her, I could
not be; without me, she would not. >> Brief elucidation follows: the
river which is there and not-there shows the pattern. Straight and
true for Lysseth. Winding, complex, and labyrinthine for her
lifemate. Two aspects of the same whole.

Silen wakes up with a start. "Pardon me," he says around a yawn, and
heads off to bed.

E'vrin tips a grin. "No doubt, no doubt." He glances towards the
entrance, too, offers a little, vague salute, and then turns
back. "When I was at Harper, I did visit our sister Hall now and
again, but /never/ did the healers discuss gambling. Especially in
earshot of their patients, I daresay."

Aurian giggles, "We were more inclined to plotting a theivery of
harper food. It was better than what we got." Aurian pushes her hair
out of her eyes.

"Gambling can Heal wounds of the belt-pouch, but 'tis more likely
t'cause 'em," Kassi has to confess. "And as life is a gamble, and
Healing concerns life... perhaps they're more connected than one would
admit? The gambling I prefer is more along the line of the marks,
however."

E'vrin nods after Silen, too. "--Better? Was it really? I never
noticed ... oh, shells." He gives Aurian a woeful look. "I've
forgotten your name. I'm sorry."

"Aurian, brown Kvasith's rider." She slides back in her seat.

Silen walks towards the inner cavern.

Ro sets her scrolls aside and stands in a single fluid movement,
heading for the klah pot. She soon returns, mug in hand, paying more
attention to the conversation, and to the strange bronzerider.

Kassima advises both Aurian and E'vrin, "Whatever you got was bound
t'be better than what m'mother cooks, or me, for that matter--so
consider yourselves fortunate. Actually, E'vrin, if'n you're hungry,
you really should consider grabbing a bite while you're here. Nay many
Weyrs have the advantage of a Baker Craftmaster ruling their
kitchens. Ro, did you see any cheese-bread over near the klah?"

E'vrin nods as if to capture the identification and keep it, and
continues. "I always thought Harper had good food, Aurian, but was it
/that/ much better?" A glance marks Ro, too, nervous and
appraising. "...I'm fine, Wingleader, thank you. This cider is
perfect, although -- a Craftmaster, did you say?"

[Forgot to look at Ro.]

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath stretches his thoughts through
electric, electrum aether: his mind is crystalline fire, flaming
facets, rose and gold; but it twines around a partner of tarnished
bronze, cool and dull malachite, acrid bitterness. No river here, but
ropes of mind and plaits of kind. << They were someone before us, >>
he imparts in quick pulses, << and they may be someone after us. We
are transient, however deep we go into them. Therefore ... why not
adjust? Why not change? Why not shift the mountain? >>

Ro shakes her head "I didn't, but I saw one of the baker apprentices
putting bread in the oven not to long ago. I could make you some if
you like."

Aurian grins at E'vrin, "Did you ever eat in the healer hall? It was
enough to tear a hole in your stomach."

You say "But you had healers there to fix the holes, hmm?"

Kassima corrects amiably, "Kassima or Kassi, if'n you please. I don't
stand on formality much. Aye, Craftmaster Ofira--have you heard of
her? She has a truly mean hand with a frying pan. I believe there's
also been a new shipment of Benden baklava in recently." To Ro, she
shakes her head at once. "Oh, nay, Ro--'twouldn't wish t'be a
bother. 'Twas but an idle thought."

A'ser waves his sticky fingers, the candy stick stuck right to them,
in silent hello. Then he looms like a little dragon-riding spectre
near the foods table, trying to figure out how to get himself
something to eat without becoming permanently part of the table's
fixtures.

E'vrin gives another nod. "Kassima. And yes, of course: we had to know
all the Craftmasters and their 'seconds. Good little harpers, you
know."

Aurian peers at A'ser, "What are you eating?"

A'ser glances at Aurian, fussing with a cup that's attached itself to
his palm. "Candy, Aurie."

Ro smiles slightly "I would be no trouble, really....an excuse to get
away from those scrolls, if anything."

Aurian wrinkles her nose, "Don't call me that. And what sort of
candy..."

E'vrin inserts, "Oh, don't, on my behalf, really." He lifts his mug;
cider sloshes. "This is enough. If you start me on goodies, I won't
fit my clothes."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth investigates the bitter twining
with a plait of her own, cool silver and soothing sapphire:
curiousity. << They were, >> she agrees. << Someone. But not who they
are now; they were someone else then, and they would not be as they
are without us. >> A brief image coalesces, faded with time but
clearly a warm-held memory: a skinny, stripling Holder girl in skirts,
black hair worn loose and eyes wide and innocent. Hardly her lifemate
of the here-and-now. << The changes we make are bone-deep. I have
shifted her considerably, and she, me... but without strong need, I
would not see her--us--topple. >>

A'ser turns about then, holding both hands out to her. "The good
kind. Wan' some?"

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath strips his reply to simplicity,
sly and winsome and so, so young. << Toppling might be fun. >>

Aurian wrinkles her nose, "I'm not going to take it off your
hands. Don't you have any pieces that are dry?"

"Indeed. I recall m'grandsire and uncle saying as much." Kassi finally
lifts her mug to sip from it, satisfied with its cooled
temperature. "You fly under Aellya, don't you?"

E'vrin keeps an eye on the candy, but answers the green rider
readily. "I do, yes. A fine wingleader. A good woman, good rider." In
case a report is being logged somewhere: no fool, he.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth returns surprise for a moment,
then a vague puzzlement that clouds crystal... to be replaced by the
bright glow of laughter. << There is toppling, and then there is
toppling, >> is her simple observation, mirth-tinged.

[She'll be proddy soon, although Sharath doesn't know that.  No
 double-entendres here.]

A'ser looks at his thin-fingered hands in contemplation,
serious. "why....no, I just don't...." Why would he have one of those?
If you've got candy, start eatin' it. That makes lots of sense.

Aurian raises her eyebrows, "A'ser... I would think you would want to
stretch it out some.

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath floats free amid the mirth a
moment. Then his thoughts crystallize again, condensing like sunset
rain to patter red into red river. << E'vrin is toppled. Tonight has
toppled him, a little. Laurene topples him. And yet the mountain
always rebuilds. >>

Kassima's eyes crinkle at the corners, and her grin is
mischievous. Belatedly, she wiggles her fingers A'ser-wards in absent
greeting. "I believe it," she assures the bronzerider, "but that's a
sight different than what I imagine my Wingriders would say, save for
the newest. Still... it's a good attitude to have. Riderdom is suiting
you well, I hope?"

A'ser gives Aurian one of Those Sorts of Looks. Looney brownrider. "I
think I shall just get myself something to drink instead," he
suggests, dark brows lifted in a haughty manner. Spin, nose up, find
juice. Darn. Unstick hand. Darn. Unstick thumb. Darn Unstick wrist....

Aurian watches A'ser with more than a little amusement. Nope. No offer
of help from her.

"Well enough, thank you," is E'vrin's carefully constructed
reply. "Every day, a new challenge, a new lesson. What else can one
desire from life?" And he sips cider, eyes idle on A'ser.

Ro sips at her klah, then sets her mug down and slips silently into
the kitchen.
Ro walks off towards the kitchen.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth lets a pattern of ice-paled
pastels ripple across the starless sky, an aurora borealis constructed
of pure whimsy. << Is the proper analogy a mountain so much as it
would be a pendulum? Riders can move and adapt, when pushed--but when
movement stops, they are still themselves, as they ever were. >>

A'ser is actually quite good at this juice thing, these days. You
should see him when he's really in one of those Prime Juice Moods. The
tablecloth seems to have taken a shine to his left hand, so he shakes
it like a feline tries to discard sticky paper from a paw. That
doesn't work. That's OK. He can do that later. Best to get on with the
juice. He's already got a cup. Now all he has to do is get it
off. 'Fardles' can be heard as the stick of candy which has
mysteriously rotated to the back of his hand clentches ahold of a
tuber that happened to pass by.

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath extends doubt. << They shift like
water; there's no stable, permanent self, only change, /always/
change. >>

Sioda walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Sioda waves to everyone as she enters.
Sioda walks off towards the kitchen.

"Amusement," Kassima promptly replies. "Enjoyment, laughter,
excitement, adventure... various things. A'course, many of those
aren't incompatible with the learning and the challenge. Take that
greenrider over there." She nods discreetly towards A'ser. "He is
learning, in a challenging fashion that provides great entertainment,
the perils of dealing with too many sticky foods at once. And we are
learning, through amusing observation, that he is a total nutcase."

A'ser waves cheerfully to Sioda, rippling the table cloth that is
attached to both his hand and the table.

E'vrin frowns his doubt. "It's a mess," he observes. "Should he be
doing that?"

From the kitchen, Sioda waves back at A'ser, only pausing a second to
wonder what's up with the tablecloth . . . Then deciding not to
ask. =)
From the kitchen, Sioda pushes her way past scurrying kitchen girls
and into the storeroom passageway.
From the kitchen, Sioda walks out of the passageway that leads down to
the storerooms.

Ro walks in from the kitchen.
Sioda walks in from the kitchen.

Pierron tosses some dough into the air to make it as thin as a sheet
to make baklava.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth asks at once, << Is there not?
They are formed of layers and layers, these humans. However they
change, they are still someone we love--how could it be
otherwise?--and thus, there is at least one constant. Water in a
whirlpool, perhaps. Flowing, changing, chaotic--but at the center
rests a place of calm. >> The red-gold river begins to swirl in
demonstration, flickers of light drawn into its depths to spin and,
spinning, dazzle.

Sioda stands in one place for a second . . . Hmmmm . . .

Ro returns from the kitchen, humming some nameless old tune to
herself, a plate of steaming hot bread covered with cheese melted just
to the point of gooeyness in her hands.

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath is diplomatic, his thoughts
thinned out to bland reflection of the display. << Perhaps yours is,
then. I haven't tasted her to know. Every human is different. >>

Kassima shrugs philosophically. "Probably nay, but Rhiallya will take
it out of his hide in due course. Stranger things happen regularly in
here." The cheese-bread draws her eyes, naturally, and she gives a
good-natured groan. "Ro, you're marvelous, but y'know I've nay wish
t'put you at any trouble!"

E'vrin considers the gooey goody. "It does look interesting...."

Ro smiles lopsidedly, setting the plate down in front of Kassi. "You
can make it up to me someday, I'm sure."

A'ser makes a passing grab at a wineskin, dragging the table cloth
forward and upending a few spiceshakes. Swiftly, you have to admit, he
rights them, and even has the presence of mind to *whooof* away the
spilled spices with a breath. That results in a sniffly-sounding
sneeze. Wriggling his nose, he runs the back of his hand across his
face, leaving the tuber on his cheek for just a precarious moment
before it falls free and rolls off of the table. He has the wineskin
now, and, like any good gentleman would, turns, (taking the entire
table-top with him), and asks, "Anyone else want some?"

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth allows the whirlpool to fade; the
mindscape resumes its lit-dark tranquility. << Riders are different,
>> she agrees easily enough. << The only thing they seem to have in
common is that almost all are hard to understand, at times. >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath pulses quiet, smug carmine. <<
Yours may be, >> he reiterates. << I understand mine. >> Young. So, so
young.

"At this rate, 'twill be having t'make you a Baker's feast," is
Kassima's rueful observation. Nevertheless, she picks up the bread
with a flashed smile of gratitude and blows lightly across the
steaming surface. "Hot, hot, hot... would any of you like some?
E'vrin? Aurian?" she offers, since A'ser seems a bit preoccupied.

"I would have some," E'vrin answers with real regret, split between
Kassima and Ro, "but it's late, and I have morning sweeps. Another
time?"

Sioda goes over to the hearth and puts some stew in a bowl for
herself. After pouring herself a mug of Cider, she goes over and
whomps down tiredly into a seat, carefully setting down her food items
in fromt of her.

--
        As you scan the room, your eyes settle on a young girl. You
might have heard her name somewhere, or seen her slip quietly from one
place to another; she is Sioda. Her friends cal her Sid. About 14
Turns, 3 months, and 29 days, she stands at 5' 8 ", and still growing,
not unusual for one at her age. Her body is long, thin, and lanky, in
the final stages of shaping itself; it sort of looks like it can't
make up its mind. As she smiles, her mouth curls up slightly at the
edges, her thin, expressive eyebrows lifting subtly. Under her high
brow, her tempest cloud blue-grey eyes seem to chuckle, calm for the
moment. Her thick, extremely curly, russet-brown hair is cut evenly to
the bottom tips of her earlobes, and tends to fall into her face and
eyes. She has a light olive complexion, and for an adolescent, her
face is relatively clear.
        At times, Sioda seems shy, perhaps a bit remote, but she is
truly a kind person who loves the company of others. She loves to
listen to others' conversations, and is quick to laugh, eager to talk,
when spoken to. She is, however, also somewhat quick to take offense
and right herself by it, having a bit of a fiery temperament. Sid also
loves having her solitude, it is the best surrounding for thinking,
and she will often escape to a quiet Hot Spring pool or empty corner
or storage room to clear her mind. Her only close friends are Jinx,
her blue Flit, whom she loves dearly and tells all her secrets to, and
Gobo, her Brown, who loves to cuddle, no matter what.
        Young Sioda is normally clothed in a green or grey vest made
of heavy fabric, over a light colored, long-sleeved tunic. She usually
wears long, warm baggy pants underneath of grey or blue fabric, and
once in a while, she will attempt a modest grey skirt, usually just
for Gathers. Her feet are clad in worn, wherhide boots. On her
shoulder is the simple knot of a scribe in the black and white that
tells you she hails from Telgar Weyr. She wears no ornaments (except
for Jinx and Gobo, who often adorn her neck and shoulders).
Carrying:
Jinx
Gobo
--

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth rumblechuckles with amusement. She
is not young, though certainly not old. << If you understand him
always, at all times, >> she replies in a weave of cool azure and
verdant tanzanite, << then you will be truly fortunate. I could wish
it were so with mine. She is... complex. >> And that's stating it
mildly.

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath twists palely back, << Of
course. She is yours, is she not? >> Like to like, and a compliment to
sweeten the night.

A'ser slumps a little when he sees that the rest of the cavern in bent
on pretending that they never, in fact, picked him up out of Keroon,
and that his is, in fact, quite Absent. The nerve. Him? Absent? He's
as sharp as.....something really sharding sharp. The greenrider turns
back to the serving table, detirmined to brood about this and name it
an Incedent at a later date.

Kassima dips her head in a nod, answering, "A'course; by all
means. You'll be returning t'see V'bor, I assume? I wish you good luck
in that meeting, by the by."

E'vrin sets down his mug. Climbs to his feet. Nods. And smiles. "I'll
be back, yes. Thank you for that, Wingl -- Kassima, and good night. To
all of you," he adds. "I've always enjoyed Telgar's hospitality."

Ro considers thoughtfully "I'll settle for a trip to the Lava Lounge
and those nice beaches at boll, someday when it is especially cold
out."

Sioda nods politely to the dragonrider as he goes.

Aurian waves to the Igen rider before snatching a chunk of bread from
Kassima, "A'ser wine would be nice."

Dossa has disconnected.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth's laughter chimes silver and
crystal, darkness and light. << As it should be. Yes. And thank you
kindly for that. >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath shimmers commendably muted
modesty through her chiaroscuro. << You are welcome. --We leave. I may
speak with you again? >>

Ro smiles politely at the bronzerider "Clear skies, sir."

Kassima smiles, tilting her head to one side. "Clear skies, fair
winds, g'night, and our duty to Ista and her queens. Did I forget
aught? I'm certain the Weyr would welcome you back any time."

E'vrin bobs his head to her, to the group, and takes himself out.

A'ser makes a whimpery sound, shoulders slumping as he looks back down
to the disheveled table. He mutters at Aurian, "I lost the
wineskin....Next time speak up before it trots off....."

You walk down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
--
Southern Bowl(#396RJL$)
Rain falls lightly around you, making a soft pattering sound.
Contents:
Yasinth(#253QVaepqs)
Sharath(#9757aps)
Tierth(#7707JQaems$)
Kvasith
Lysseth
--

You scramble up to rest between two fire-bright neckridges.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth's reply is equanimable,
iridescent. << Of course. Trading words with you has been a
pleasure. >>

--> Sharath waits a beat for his rider to settle, shifts a bright
glance -- chiaro -- through the night -- scuro -- at Lysseth, and then
launches.

[And goes home.  Log ends.]