--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fight 'Til Everyone Is Dead


Date:  August 12, 2004
Place:  Telgar Weyr Hot Springs
Game:  PernMUSH
Copyright Info:  The World of Pern is copyright(c) to Anne McCaffrey 
l967. The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kassi's Note:  A rather short little log, this, and one I include
primarily because of its subject-matter--it's not so unusual as that,
but it makes for a change of pace from the zany Candidate logs I've
posted so far. :)  Candidates Jaleran and Amarie catch Kassima working 
on a new song in the Springs, and it's likely the singing that leads 
Jaleran and Kassi into the discussion of families, Threadfall, and 
fatalities that follows.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Log:

Amarie walks in from outside the room.

Jaleran walks in from outside the room.

Lysseth is a dark, steam-shrouded shape in the dragon pool, floating in
tranquility with her rider tucked against the curve of her side rather than
against the rim of the pool for once. Kassi's eyes are closed, she's up to
her chin in water, and she's singing softly to herself. "Close your mind
t'stress and pain, fight 'til you're nay longer sane--let nay one damned
Thread pass by! How many of them can we make die?" Well, there's a peaceful
Springs-nap lullabye for you; but then, neither half of the pair gives any
sign of realizing there's anyone else in here.

[Editor's Note:  Credit to Heather Alexander for her version
of 'March of Cambreadth,' which Kassi is filking there. :) ]

Amarie enters the steam baths. She's fairly quiet for once and moves to sit
at the edge of the pool. Hiking up the hem of her skir to her knees she
puts her legs into the water to soak them.

Jaleran wanders towards the steam baths with Amarie, his boots carried over
one arm as he makes his way to one of the hotter pools 'downstream' from
the dragon pool. A keen nose might catch the stench of firestone setting
heavy on his clothes, even in this humid air. While Amarie sits on the edge
to soak her legs, he is removing his clothes down to his loose breeches and
sliding fully into the pool. The clothes come with him since they need a
washing just as badly, if not more so than he does.

Well, Kassi wouldn't seem to notice any firestone scent--but then, her own
clothes, laid out on the edge of the pool, are thickly dusted with the
stuff. The greenrider doesn't open her eyes yet, but she does stop singing
to address her lifemate in a voice that's just above a murmur. "Aye, I like
that part. More the rest of it I'm nay sure of. Jirel thought 'fight 'til
everyone is dead' was rather morbid and nay an *encouraging* line; I see
her point, but, y'know, the emotion--" Lysseth just curls her tail that
much tighter around her poor, tired, babbling rider, like a wherry hen
protecting a particularly demented chick.

"You know," Amarie glances at Kassima, seeing the Wingleader busy babbling
to herself, she feels safe in saying, "I thought I was just joking when I
gave you that nickname, Jacknife Jaleran. But it's not just a joke is it?"
She points to the knife scars. "You really do know how to use a blade to
fend off people."

Jaleran nods briefly, then drops underwater to get himself soaked before
working on washing his shirt as best he can. "Yes, I know how to fight. It
wasn't always me fending someone else off, but I learned how it worked
quickly enough." He listens with half an ear to the tunings from Kassima
but isn't of a mind to interrupt, especially with Lysseth being protective.
"It's not a skill I hope to need again, though." Then he grins, "But it
does mean you're going to have to get better with your scroll if you expect
to catch me off guard."

"Nay always particularly wise t'try and catch someone trained in fighting
off-guard," Kassima observes drowsily without changing position an inch.
Lysseth's head turns towards the Candidates, though, blue eyes following
their movements. "But less of a problem if'n they aren't wound up, I
imagine. And a scroll doesn't seem a very *efficient* weapon...."

"Well ma'am, I wouldn't dare use a real knife around the children," Amarie
glances over to Kassima adding a, "Good evening Kassima ma'am." Onto that.
"Whenever I tell my pirate stories I use scrolls so that they don't get the
idea to use a real knife and cut themselves playing."

"But it's her hook that she keeps getting me with." Jaleran grins broadly
at Amarie, then since he can't see Kassima he greets Lysseth with a grin
and a jaunty salute. "What was that tune you were going over before,
Kassima?" He smirks at Amarie's adding of the dreaded 'M-word'.

Kassima finally opens one eye. "This makes three times I've asked you nay
t'call me that," she observes, rather mildly. "You might want t'take heed
this time. I don't jest when I say I don't like it." Her chin dips in a
brief nod at this explanation of the scrolls. "Live steel around children's
a bad idea even if'n they're of an age t'be lessoning with it. That? Oh,
'tis a battle tune I'm trying t'polish. Putting words to it t'fit
Threadfighting--the tune itself is one m'uncle sometimes plays, at the
Holding. Seemed suitably violent."

Kassima adds as an amiable afterthought, "And belated g'deve t'you both,
a'course."

"Yes Kassima," That sends Amarie off into another round of ten 'Kassima's'
as she tries to drill that in her brain. "Well the hook isn't really sharp
because it's got a metal ball on the end ..it's like a hook peg to hang
things on. Very dull." She assures. "Song? Threadfighting song? How does it
go?"

Jaleran takes the time while Amarie is reciting Kassima's name to get
himself soaped up to get the firestone smell off him at least enough that
he won't be summarily banished from the barracks. "Suitably violent? I
might've heard it before, if it's ever gone south, but what changes are you
putting in?" Not that he really has any clue about music since his singing
voice is charitably described as 'harsh'.

"Good," says Kassi, and though she doesn't sound angry, she doesn't smile,
either. Just nods. "Well, that's the question. I still haven't pulled it
all together yet. I've got, 'Wingsails flash, fire flares, skies all filled
with dragonpairs; wheel about, and take your turn at making these damned
Threads all burn. Fly you true and fly you fast, 'til Pern is ours again at
last--call your challenge to the sky! How many of them can we make die?'"
Her singing voice, by contrast, is actually quite good; she's using one of
the lower registers available to her. "But I don't know. 'Tis a bit clunky.
If'n the original *had* words, I don't know 'em; 'twas taught it as an
instrumental piece."

Amarie's mouth forms a round 'o' as Kassima reveals the source of the song.
"I don't think I've ever heard it," she admits. "But I'm not one for music.
Can't sing a tune at all." She grins ruefully. "Much less do what Tobay and
Velano did." She covers a yawn with her hand. Standing up, she lets her
skirt down over her wet legs. "I'm going to go to bed now. See you tomorrow
morning Jal," Amarie waves, "Good night mmmmmKassima." Yes she can /try/ to
remember the woman's name instead of the forbidden ma'am.

Jaleran listens to the song as Kassima sings, tapping one hand against the
water's surface, "It sounds like something my brother played before. I'll
ask him about it in the next letter I send." He smiles up to Amarie as she
rises to head bedwards, "I'm not far behind you. Just need to give my vest
a good scrub, then my hair. The steam is helping my back, but it's letting
me know how tired today made me, too."

Kassima grins tiredly at Amarie. "Much of m'family is a nest of Harpers,"
she admits, "so there was nay escaping music. I'd nay dare try Moreta's
Ride, though--and so *quickly*. They've m'admiration for that almost as
much as for being so funny in the first place." If her eyes roll skyward at
the preceding 'mmmm,' at least this time she does seem amused, and she
returns a friendly, "G'night right back t'you. Ah, back--were you breaking
'stone today too, Jaleran? Or some other heinous lugging chore?"

Amarie smiles. "Good night Jaleran."

Amarie walks off towards the Inner Cavern.

"Breaking stone. I swear there's got to be more than three times more than
we'll need to ride the Weyr through what's left of the Pass." Jaleran can't
help but keep his eyes on Amarie as she heads out, even past the point
where she vanishes around a bend in the tunnel. "My brother is the only
Harper in my blood that I know of. Most of the lot have been miners,
smiths, or holders down around Honshu, with a dozen or so riders scattered
between last pass and this one."

"We'll still need it for drills and training Weyrlings," Kassi points out.
"Firestone's never obsolete. I took a turn at that m'self today. Sometimes
I like it--'tis very physical, good for when you aren't wanting t'think,
but you can bloody well overdo it... aye, that sounds sort of like m'kin.
We've got at least one member in every Craft, it seems like, though nay
often *more* than one--a couple Weavers, a couple Smiths, some Harpers. But
almost nay riders until m'generation. Three of m'cousins ride now, they
Impressed after me, and one of m'daughters rides at Ista. Makes one wonder
about whether bloodline has aught t'do with it or nay."

Jaleran smirks about bloodlines, "Well, depending on which family legend
you follow with my kin, our line either comes from a mastersmith from the
last pass or the first Lord Holder of Southern." He shrugs slightly as he
works on his hair, "If one of the dragonets on the sands decides it likes
me, it'll be the first time we've had one rider right after another. It's
always been a generation or two split before." He ducks under the water to
rinse off, then climbs out of the pool to ring his clothes out. "What color
does your daugher ride?"

"Huh," says Kassi. "More exalted than we can claim, historically at
least--we're connected to the Greystones Blood, distantly; me on both
sides, most of m'kin on one or the other, but naught t'qualify us as
noble-born. Only enough for Da t'have a Holding in the first place. The
Greystones Lords haven't been so known for interesting doings as the first
Lord of Southern." There's a dry amusement there. "There are first times
for all things. But nay knowing until the day, more's the pity; would you
rather break the tradition? Or are you here more for the sake of Candidacy
itself?" She casts a considering glance towards her own clothes--but no,
they're still dust-covered, and it's easier to stay in the water. "A brown,
brown Pheirth. Second brownrider in the family. The other three riders have
all been green." With pride, she adds, "She was Wingleader, too, for awhile."

Jaleran shrugs slightly, "I don't know that I credit either claim, really."
He shakes his shirt, vest, and trous out and lays them over his arm. Her
question about tradition catches him off guard, though. "I ran away from
Honshu because I didn't want to risk getting searched and maybe end up with
injuries like my father's. But when Dianneth insisted I stand, I'd already
decided not to run again if a dragon looked my way. So if tradition must be
broken, then it must be. However," he slips his feet into his boots and
lets out a sigh, "that's not really something I have a say in once I'm on
the sands, and if there's not a dragon for me in this clutch, then there's
not. I can always stick around and break more of that never-obsolete
firestone."

Kassima admits readily enough, "Hard t'be certain of things after... what,
nigh three hundred Turns? Sometimes I can scarce remember what happened
after twenty." She flicks damp bangs back away from her eyes. "Mmm. I'm nay
one t'speak from experience on this topic, nay really. Lyss and I have
avoided all serious injury of that type. But... 'tis worth it, for what
'tis worth. I firmly believe that, nor have I ever known an injured or
crippled rider who thought otherwise. They make everything worth it. But
m'second daughter might understand better: she dreamed of being a rider
when she was little, but never spoke so much of it after Thread killed her
father." One pale shoulder lifts in a shrug at fate. "A'course you could,
if'n you wanted. There's always a place here for those who've Stood, and
your view of it seems pragmatic, at least--I feel worst for those who have
their heart set. Half the time it seems they end up alone at Hatching's end
and nay knowing what t'do at all."

Jaleran's expression shows he can understand what Kassi's second daughter
feels like, "Mother was killed in a Fall the first time she flew with her
wing after I was born. But father kept going, filled his duty as wingleader
until he and Rhevanth were simply too old to keep up anymore." As to him
being pragmatic about Standing, he smiles wryly, "Well, I think most
weyrbred at least think they can be logical about Standing. Can't say I'll
see things the same if I don't Impress, but at least I've seen what happens
before."

Kassima only nods, her expression sympathetic, but not particularly
surprised. "Kaylira's father and Kharisma's were both killed," she says,
"and Keveris's badly injured. It happens. Which eases the loss in it little
if'n at all. T'me, the relief and joy of the Interval won't come in nay
fighting anymore--'twill miss that--but in so many fewer deaths, especially
among those I'm responsible for." This next observation gets a quiet laugh,
however. "Talk t'Kisai sometime. Or Kaylira, ere she did Impress--both are
or were dead certain of their own fates. Kyjain, too. Kay was right; I hope
for Kiss and Ky's sakes that they are, too. I do imagine that being left
Standing would have t'be hard however you prepare yourself for it. But that
is one plus the Weyrbred have--knowing rather than just hearing, usually,
that people *do* Impress on the second or third or sixth try, that being
left doesn't mean being left forever."

Jaleran nods with a bit of a smile, "Aye, father Stood twice, at Fort then
at Benden, before he Impressed at High Reaches. He went back to Healer Hall
after Fort, but stayed on at Benden afterwards." And while he doesn't
pretend to understand the idea of missing fighting Thread, he has an
observer's understanding of feeling responsible for those in a wing. "And
on these notes, I think I should find my way to my cots. There's enough
firestone off my clothes that I won't get tossed out of the barracks, and
if I oversleep again, M'hon will likely hang me from a tree limb." He grins
as he says this but he seems unwilling to test the theory. "Have a pleasant
evening, Kassima. You, too, Lysseth." He waves to dragon and rider, then
starts his way down the tunnel towards bed.

Kassima nods agreeably to this. "Impressed m'first time out m'self, but
plenty of m'friends didn't, and Kay did on her third. You just never know.
G'luck in nay being tossed--though I'd like t'see someone try and toss
you!--and in finding the sleep; a g'deve likewise t'you." She waves after
him, then sinks back into the water, to soak her battered muscles awhile
longer before sleep.