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The Final Threadfall
Date: August 15, 2004
Places: Telgar Weyr's Living Cavern and Southern Bowl; Staging
Outside Benden Weyr; Sky Above Benden Weyr
Game: PernMUSH
Copyright Info: The World of Pern is copyright(c) to Anne McCaffrey
l967. The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.
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Kassi's Note: For all that the timing wasn't convenient for me,
there was just no question of my missing this event. The Pass has
run its course; after fifty Turns of fighting by the dragonriders of
Pern, Thread is finally about to leave the planet for two hundred
Turns more. All the northern Weyrs have gathered together to fight
in this final battle, which falls over Benden Weyr--and what that
means game-wise is that there were a *ton* of PCs participating in
an event that spanned six hours and more. If you like Fall logs,
this is perfect reading for you. If not... well, not so much, because
there's a *lot* of Fall-posing and relatively little else. ;) Still,
it was a great time. Thunderbolt fights well and escapes with only
one injury: Kassima and Lysseth take a 'scoring, and to make matters
worse, not only fight through the rest of the Fall but takes advantage
of the inattention of the Healers and Dragonhealers to fly *between*
home before getting it tended. I really enjoyed this last chance to
fight over Kassi's beloved home, and beside several old friends whom
I hadn't seen in awhile. :) Great show, everybody. Thank you.
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The Log:
You walk past the lintel and into the wide living cavern.
Pierron humphs thoughtfully as the Wingleader of Thunderbolt arrives.
Velano walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Telgar Weyr> Kassima should get a playlist set up or something. Fall music!
Hmm. 'Dancing In Heaven.' 'March of Cambreadth.' 'One-Winged Angel.' Ne me
mori facias, indeed. ;)
Telgar Weyr> Velano says, "Ride of the Valkyries. ;)"
Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "Oh, good call. ;)"
It is not a normal morning at Telgar, though the distinction could be
considered a fine line. Pierron has his hands a little more than full,
bending back to the actual labor of preparing a breakfast heartier than
sometimes, though among the offerings light, energy-boosting foods prevail.
Kitchen staff are a continual swarm between serving tables, kitchen and
hearth, putting out fresh to replenish depleted plates and making sure
there are at least two klah pots on at all times. Despite the general
hubbub of the up-paced breakfast prep, much of the Weyr seems not to
appreciate the effort yet; only the earliest risers, those with anxiety,
and the dragonriders have yet emerged, most especially those with two or
more of those traits to their names.
Kassima usually only qualifies as an early riser if she has absolutely no
choice, and displays anxiety as seldom as possible, but she is a
dragonrider, and for once fully dressed as such. Her braid is coiled around
her head and pinned in place, out of the way. Her flight leathers have even
been fresh-oiled and polished, and she carries her helmet under one arm,
slapping her gloves against her hand in rhythm with her step. The one
oddity? Her jacket of choice is not the elaborately ornamented and painted
one she usually wears, but a garment that once may have been black, but has
since been liberally splotched and streaked with a riot of colors fit to
make eyes bleed and/or vomit. "Is there steak this morning?" she calls to
Pierron. "Eggs? Fruits? Breads?" The nod she receives is harried. Sighing,
she flicks hair back from her eyes and sets her loose gear down at her
table, tucking her thumbs through the rings of her riding belt as she
investigates what breakfast of champions may be available for herself.
Player Name On For Idle Doing
Kassima 01:16 0s So Hit Me, Baby, One More Time!
18 Players logged in.
Telgar Weyr> Kassima resets her @do to go with the day's event. Sort of. ;)
Telgar Weyr> R'var waves.
Telgar Weyr> Kassima waffles to R'var.
Telgar Weyr> R'var says, "Sup."
Telgar Weyr> Kassima is having her pre-Fall Wheaties! Look for her to
appear on the box in a month or two. Wearing gold medals for the 100m
freestyle flame and 200m sack toss.
"Oh, steak," murmurs a member of a small gathering of candidates, the lone
unsearched youth at their table already looking for somewhere else to be --
for the candidate batch is practically buzzing with anticipation. The voice
is a little bit dour, as though steak is not something to be praised, but
after it a cascade of giggles erupts and a somewhat loud voice responds,
affectionately nastily, "Yeah, Velano, make like you're the only person in
the whole world who can slab a herdbeast or a bovine. Poor you." Other
giggles join Roberta's at her declaration, and the Lemos butcher's son,
abashed, nods in good spirit, accepting the jibes, before rising and
remarking, "I think I have some knocks to go take. And more klah. Excuse
me?" He departs the table and aims toward the table Kassima chose,
detouring from that path to refill his mug. Somewhere behind him Roberta's
voice carries: "That's all you need for your nerves!"
Telgar Weyr> R'var grins.
Kassima has found a skewer somewhere, and is using it to poke at the
various meat selections to test them for Faranth only knows what qualities.
"You should just see *K'nan* kill a herdbeast," she comments to the
Candidate crowd, absently. "Though he did get blood everywhere--d'you want
some?" she asks Velano, gesturing towards the slabs of meat. "Are you going
t'be on groundcrew, or whatever they're letting the Candidates do?
Groundcrews need protein. All that lugging of flamethrowers. Jays,
shouldn't that lass be off drooling over Is or something?" This is
accompanied by a roll of the eyes, exasperated, but at least somewhat
good-naturedly so.
Telgar Weyr> R'var says, "That's at 12, yea?"
Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "The pre-Fall roundup's at noon EST, yeah, I
believe. Actual Fall starts at 1pm EST."
Telgar Weyr> R'var nods.
Telgar Weyr> R'var will be here.
Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "Me, too. I plan to *try* and make the whole
six-hour stretch. On pretty much no sleep. This bodes well. ;)"
A sipping of klah makes plain as the mug is lifted the butcher's twitching
fingers, trembling hands, but his grin for the greenrider when the beverage
is lowered from his mouth is no less than beaming. "I don't think I can eat
just yet," he confesses, his free hand lingering over his stomach before
taking possession of the back of a chair. "Haven't had a chance to talk to
you since -- ah, since. Well, who knows when." Again, his smile is perhaps
carefully winning, cautiously guileless. "Yes. It's part of our training,
or our chores, depending on who you ask. What lass do you mean?" A pause,
glance back at the candidates. Lower, he realizes almost awhisper, "Oh,
Roberta." Back to Kassima, he queries, "Mind if I join you?"
One of Kassi's dark brows rises a fraction at such twitching, but she
doesn't ask--well, not immediately. She gathers a meal for herself first
that's well-balanced between too light and too heavy, not taking much time
over her choices; one might imagine she's done this before. "You'd better
eat more bread than that, Ylysse!" she yells towards her Wing table before
looking back to Velano with a rueful sort of grin. "Y'know, that might
almost make me think you've been *wanting* t'talk t'me. Is something up?
There's really naught t'be nervous about, by the by, if'n that's what's set
your bones t'rattling. The crews should be thick on the ground today. Even
most of m'children signed up for it, today. You're certes welcome t'join
us." She nods towards Thunderbolt Wing's table, partially-occupied, in
invitation; she agrees as she starts that way, "Aye, the one who gossips
almost as much as Pierron. Almost."
Telgar Weyr> R'var says, "Six hours!"
Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "Yep. One to seven PM EST. Me, I just wonder
wryly why, if they were going to make it that long, they couldn't have
started it later so there'd be some nighttime hours in there for us
vampires. ;)"
"But if we're thick on the ground -- " Velano pauses, hands worrying the
shape of his mug and the back of the chair. That, he pulls out after a
moment, continuing after the screech of its legs on the stone, "Maybe
that'll mean we'll bump into each other. Or that we make a better target.
Or that we're needed badly." Worst of all! His klah is settled onto the
table and he spurns the chair he just retracted in order to come round the
edge of the table, jostling slightly a bluerider at the next table in
order. The resulting hiss and almost-protective bend of the rider's body
over his breakfast is unnoticed by the Lemos youth, who notes, "Maybe...
I'll try to eat a little bread. Something plain."
Kassima reaches a foot out, once seated, to nudge out a chair near this new
place in offering without saying a word about the other. "There'll be
coordinators for the crews who have much experience with such things, I
don't doubt. And so many riders as 'twill be, here's *hoping* you aren't
needed so badly as that! That'd mean the Fall's awful indeed, and while I'm
*prepared* for this last dance t'be a bloody one, I'm hoping the
preparations were needless. I'm guessing you haven't crewed a'fore?" No
scorn or disbelief there; it's a casual question. She sets neatly into her
breakfast as she speaks, talking between bites--and, yes, swallowing first.
"It really would help. You don't want t'make yourself sick or feel too full
t'move fast if'n needs must, but you don't want t'be fainting or famished
out there, either. It won't be a short day."
Obediently and with a frank expression of dubiousness, the youth selects
some round, rough rolls and even dares to add a small oblong, fuzzy fruit
and a tiny slab of the aforementioned steak, inspected first with a
two-tined serving fork much the way Kassima inspected the meats with the
skewer. "Oh, I don't mean to imply we'd be ill-prepared," he replies in a
faintly apologetic rush, brows tweaking upward as he turns from the serving
area and returns to his klah and the wingleader at her table. "I know you,
and the other riders, and the other people who'll lead us take their work
seriously. I know this is all very serious." So much so it makes his hands
twitch, the plate swaying a bit in his grip while he looks from the chair
he pulled out to the one Kassima has. He blinks a few times and moves
toward the latter, grinning faintly downward at the rider's chair-pulling
foot before sliding into the offered seat. "No. I haven't crewed."
"There's an element of celebration to it, this once--and the potential for
chaos, a bit, with all six Weyrs flying. But we do take it seriously. And
we're good at what we do." Kassi's fleeting grin over her food keeps that
from sounding quite as arrogant as it might have; she clarifies, "After so
many Turns of it, we *should* be. There might be deaths and there'll almost
certainly be injuries. But in the end 'tis a Fall like all others." A
moment's pause. "Except that this one's over Benden. I confess t'being glad
of that. Well, listen, crewing really isn't a bad job. There's
danger--there always is, where there's Thread. But injuries on the ground
are few indeed as a rule, and there's a certain... adrenaline to it, that I
thought kept it from being frightening once things really get going. I've
nay crewed so often, but a few times. When 'twas pregnant. I didn't even
set *one* other crew member on fire, and if'n I can avoid that, I'm sure
you can."
Most of the wingleader's efforts at soothing succeed in inspiring nods of
assent from the butcher, who tends to organizing his miniature meal on his
plate while Kassima talks. Toward the end he catches on something, however,
and outbursts with, "Set someone on fire!" This has Velano's full
attention, robbing it entire from the roll he's finished splitting and
buttering and was just about to bite into. "Do you mean we'll have to
handle those -- the -- us?" Dark eyes glint wildly, brows one up and one
furrowed. "We haven't even been trained!" Panic, panic!
Telgar Weyr> K'ran mutters into his coffee. "Too early for Threadfall."
Telgar Weyr> R'var grins.
Telgar Weyr> Kassima snickers. Sing it, K'ran.
"Hist! 'Twas *teasing*," Kassi soothes, or attempts to, holding up one hand
in a forestalling gesture. "I've never, ever known of a crew whose members
set each other on fire. And that's simple truth. Aye, you might be given
flamethrowers--most crewers are, but you might get agenothree tanks
instead; 'twill be the discretion of whoever's leading the crews. Could be
they'll find something else entirely for you t'do. Help lay out healing
supplies, mayhaps. Either road, consider: crews often have people new to
the job in 'em, for one reason or another, and Pern isn't Threadeaten yet."
This calms the Lemos butcher somewhat, and he lifts the roll again to
nibble from it. Dry-throated after a swallow, he rasps, "Right. Of course,"
then wets the whistle with a sip of klah. At last the wobbling of his hands
seems to taper, his grip on the mug only pale-knuckled and not completely
strangling. "And we'll be taught a little, and we won't be the only ones
new, and dragons overhead will keep us from the worst of it." The look he
casts toward the greenrider is now frankly admiring, a certain awe and
affection inspired by suddenly very personal acceptance of dragonriders as
saviours. "You won't get hurt," he informs her after a quiet moment. "Or
your Lysseth. I won't make you promise, but -- " He grins; that he would
/like/ to plain in his merry eyes.
Kassima gives a firm nod to each point--though her confident composure is
slightly marred by the sheepish cast her expression takes at that look, and
the sheepish grin she answers it with. "Aye, 'tis all so. You'll be *fine*.
I'm utterly confident in that, in all of you. Ah, now--" She allows herself
a low chuckle, and pushes the emptied plate away. "I haven't yet, more than
ash-burn and char-burn; or Lyss more than the same and tailtip 'scoring.
But I'm nay even going t'tempt the powers of perversity by promising!
'Twill only say, 'twill do m'best. I don't intend t'come out the loser in
this final spin of the wheel. Nay of m'life, nor of the life of any of
those who fly with me. On *that* you have m'word."
I'sai walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Pierron twirls his moustache at the Weyrlingmaster.
Lysseth> Out in the bowl, K'ran's already busy supervising Starblaze Wing's
preparations for Fall: chiding one rider for improperly-loose riding
straps, offering another a tight smile of reassurance, barking orders for
sacks of 'stone to be brought here and there and distributed thus.
"Good enough." Emboldened to be ear to this compromise of an oath from the
Thunderbolt wingleader, Velano bolts the rest of the roll and begins
picking apart the furry little fruit with tines of a fork. "So, er. Not
that you probably have anything else on your mind but threadfall today," he
muses, "But I wanted to be sure you didn't have any... hard feelings from
our little performance." Whatever he's referring to, he seems ready to take
it for granted the rider will know what he means, his grin at the
greenrider as sheepish as her expression was at his admiration moments ago.
I'sai walks out with an easy - and still not particularly martial - stride,
helmet slung by one hand, bracketed by Maisie and H'var. The older Skyfire
riders gossip across him, and he laughs, "Don't have enough marks for
-that-. We'll see who's still around after." Maisie, meanwhile, winks at
Pierron as long as they have his attention.
Kassima sits at the head of Thunderbolt table, a decimated plate before her
and helmet and gloves off to one side; her braid's coiled around her hair,
and she's wearing the rainbow riot riding jacket of her Weyrling days.
"Should I?" she inquires of Velano, distinctly amused. "'Twas honored by
the tribute, if'n aught... and far be it from the composer of 'C'row Likes
Big Knockers' t'be chiding someone *else* for songs that aren't quite,
shall we say, traditional. Or jesting-free. I still say sometime we three
should compare notes on the songwriting; you seemed t'do it well--" The
sound of a familiar voice gets her to look about, and call over, "Do I hear
the magical mention of marks? Quick, quick, a'fore we're all too busy for
any such thing." She's rising as she says this, so that time must not be
far off.
"No, no," rushes the candidate in reply, "Of course you should be -- well,
if not honored, you should know you're well-thought-of." He frames these
words with a sterling grin, then shakes his head over another roll at the
rest of the greenrider's statement, ears even pinking a bit at the title of
her own work. "Mostly Tobay," he admits, splitting the roll with his thumbs
and dipping it into the melting remains of his butter rather than spreading
it properly. After an initial bite of it, he turns halfway in his chair,
hooking an elbow over the seat-back, to grin after the moving greenrider
and past her toward her target. "Good morning, sir."
I'sai glances over, and then shakes his head at Kassi with a laugh;
"There'll be time," he says. "And if we don't come back, hey, I've left my
marks behind, and you'll get your fair share in the Ks' names." His tone is
unconcerned, though, even when H'var elbows him in the ribs, saying, "What
about mine?" - "Yeah, yeah, left instructions for you to get a
thirty-second." I'sai does add, "'Lo, Vel. Make sure they have the wine set
out for us, hey? But I'd better get out there; stoked Tear up earlier, but
that's settled enough that he has a little more to chew."
Lysseth> Mirrath glides easily over to where the other queens are
congregating, while Tarien follows on foot, flamethrower in tow. After a
brief check-in with the other goldriders, she's off to speak to the
groundcrew leader.
"I know I'm thought of," Kassi gravely assures, reaching for her gear. One
eye closes briefly in a wink. "'Well' is usually the more debatable part.
Lysseth says K'ran's getting the Wings assembled--Thunderbolt's already
mostly in formation, but 'tis time t'go out and stoke the furnaces, I
warrant." She tugs her helmet on as she says this, and fastens the
chin-strap with a snap. "Don't even *think* about nay coming back, Is. I
don't get t'die unless you kill me, remember? If'n you think I'm going
t'live an immortal, *boring* life without you t'taunt... nay even for a
share of your marks would I be so tempted." The greenrider starts for the
door, but pauses to look back over her shoulder and ask, more impishly than
not, "...But how large *would* that share be?" No wait for the answer: she
laughs, and exits.
You walk down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
TGW-LC>> Lanisa walks here from the Inner Cavern.
TGW-LC>> "Wine set out. Got it." A little startled by the request, the
candidate nevertheless echoes it to hold it in memory, raising a hand to
wave Kassima a farewell while he does so. "Anything else I can do? I can't
eat." He gestures with abashed dismissiveness at the greenish-yellow fruit
dissected on his plate and an uncut miniature portion of flank steak.
"Much, anyway. And I've been warned off any more klah," he adds, casting a
dark gaze toward a table around which is clustered largely candidates,
including Roberta, whose attention on I'sai offers her adequate opportunity
to catch Velano's side of the conversation and giggle at it.
TGW-LC>> I'sai pulls his gloves on over his rider's ring on his left hand -
for once - and then the unusual glint of silver on his right disappears
beneath the black leather: not his usual workaday gloves, this time, but
something finer for what's said to be the final Fall. With Kassima not
waiting, he just laughs after her, the more so when H'var mutters something
about a last privy run and disappears. "What? Oh, yeah. You going
groundcrew, with some of the others? Stay off the klah, aye, take H'var's
advice - " here Maisie giggles back to Roberta and Velano, too, while she's
at it - "And remember to breathe." A last tilted grin, and he goes.
I'sai comes out of the short tunnel from the living cavern.
Kassima sets to pulling her gloves on while exiting the Caverns, neck
already craning to survey the formation of her Wing. "Right, right--looking
sharp. Lyss, tell Chymeth t'get V'dan's tail *out* here. Ylysse, remember
what we talked about--" The bluerider in question gestures her assent, and
the Wingleader lopes to fetch the last sacks of 'stone for her own dragon.
R'var walks here from the north.
K'ran continues to survey the 'Fall preparations with a critical eye,
though he can't keep the smile from his lips when he catches sight of
Tarien moving among the queens' wing and the groundcrews; he'll give
Kassima a nod as she takes charge of her own Wing, and then I'sai, too, in
passing when he makes to join Skyfire.
Firianth lumbers here from the north.
Telgar Weyr> R'var has been here the whole time, yup. ;)
Telgar Weyr> R'var says, "Unless something crazy has happened that I should
know about?"
I'sai heads over to where Skyfire's stationed - with a returned nod along
the way - Maisie skipping ahead to beat him to it; he doesn't race her,
just finishes buckling up his gloves and, once he reaches his own dragon,
triple-checks Tear's own straps before giving him the last few chunks to
tide him over with. Taralyth's in fine fettle meanwhile, eyes a-gleam,
wings flexing and shifting and altogether eager to taste the wind.
TGW-LC>> Breathing. Right. Velano does some of it, then rises from his
place at what was moments ago the Thunderbolt table, taking his half-empty
klah mug and plate with him. Both are discarded in the crewing bins while
an apologetic shrug is provided to a kitchen girl who frowns at the uneaten
food. "Now what," he asks her, but she just turns away to tend to her work,
leaving the Lemos butcher to make back toward the table of candidates. "Now
what," he repeats, arching brows at Roberta in an I-caught-that expression.
Public announcement: S'rist announces "The final fall will be starting over
Benden very shortly. All those riders flying should be traveling with the
weyrs there through between. Those wishing to work ground crew or healer
duty can hitch a rider, or @tel to #17601"
Telgar Weyr> K'ran says, "Define "crazy". I haven't been running around the
bowl with a bra on my head, if that's what you mean. :)"
Telgar Weyr> Velano says, "Anyone want to give rides, or should us who want
to do ground crew just @tel? :)"
Telgar Weyr> R'var says, "That would make an excellent tapestry."
Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "...K'ran, I dare you to ICly get drunk
post-Fall and do just that. ;)"
Telgar Weyr> Velano belatedly reads K'ran's remark and snorks coffee.
Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth spares a moment from the continual,
critical watching of Wingmates to send a sparkle of thought spinning
towards him, and share a flash of that tense, fierce excitement: once more,
once more, once more!
Telgar Weyr> Meli says, "Is the Fall going to be +watchable?"
Telgar Weyr> K'ran says, "I think @tel works, Vel -- plenty of NPC riders
who could ferry groundcrew. Dunno, Meli."
Telgar Weyr> Velano says, "Swell, thank you."
Telgar Weyr> Tobay says, "If we've a white knot signifying need for a
sitter, will an NPC one work ok or should we find a PC person?"
Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth glitters back again - once more, into
the breach! - and there's somehow something -right- about together flying,
his wing and hers. His. And anticipation rises along with the heat of
incipient flame: soon, soon -
Telgar Weyr> K'ran says, "Assume that there's an NPC Candidate Coordinator
supervising you guys, just to make things simple. :)"
Telgar Weyr> Velano says, "Hurrah!"
Telgar Weyr> Tobay says, "Thanks! :)"
TGW-LC>> Lanisa's tugging a flight jacket on as she heads on her way out
towards the bowl. She pauses on her way as she fusses with a fastening,
then glances up at those who are left in the caverns, "Anyone else going
with? I'm so not missing this."
TGW-LC>> Tobay walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Telgar Weyr> I'sai says, "A capable one. ;)"
Kassima returns the Weyrleader's nod, briskly; then she's checking straps,
calling commands, signalling for more 'stone for this rider or that. Most
of those signals are directed towards a knot of black-haired young men and
women with something of a resemblance to the greenrider, not yet gone to
the groundcrews. They assist with alacrity, some more practiced than
others; and when she's certain that all her Wingmates are ready, their
needs met and their straps tested, she turns to give her children each a
quick, warm smile before gesturing them off and tugging Lysseth's straps in
the final test.
There is some noise from the ranks of Dawnslight wing-- some roars from the
men, and cheers. Their diminutive wingleader has rattled off one of his
team-spirit speeches, and presently is pumping his fist in the air.
Firianth looks excited, so very excited he cannot stand it.
Tarien points the groundcrew to Sunstrike Wing, with a nod and a smile for
Karanya as she passes by. The same is offered to K'ran as she makes her way
back to the queen's wing, and gives the signal to mount up.
Tarien clambers up to Mirrath's neckridges, with the help of the straps.
TGW-LC>> Leeana walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth shall fly into that breach with
banners flying--but no light brigade they, to charge into death, woe the
six hundred! Thread shall die if her fire-lit mind has anything to say
about it at all, that joyful fury, the delight in flight and flame and
destruction of the destroyer. Their Wings both triumphant; as they will be,
must be. For being hers, not to mention his, they could be nothing else.
TGW-LC>> "I will, if I can figure out when and how and who -- " Velano
moves a little closer to Roberta's chair and dares wiggling fingers in her
peripheral vision, cutting short the mockery she's making of him, mimicing
his shaking hands around an invisible cup of klah. She dissolves into
giggles and begs the air-tickling to stop, which it does so the Lemos
butcher can add, "How about you all," to the table as a whole.
TGW-LC>> Tobay joins the teams who are preparing to depart, tugging his own
jacket tight on as he enters. Chipper, he joins the crew of candidates
preparing to depart. "Hullo, there, Lanisa, Vel, Berta, gang. Busy, woah,
isn't it?. Heading out? Yeah, I'm after you, just lead the way. Tobay,
Reporting for duty, and not to the latrines. Could last fall happen on a
better day?"
You place one hand on Lysseth's neck and she warbles down at you fondly.
You grin and scratch her eyeridges once before climbing up onto her lower
neckridges, using the riding straps and Lysseth's thoughtfully offered
foreleg.
<*> Satisfied, at length, with the preparations, K'ran climbs astride
patiently-waiting Indrath and lifts a hand in signal to the Flight.
<*> K'ran clambers upwards onto Indrath's back.
<*> A ripple of activity marks Skyfire's mounting, quick to follow their
cue; I'sai joins them, one among the many, Taralyth rumbling low commentary.
<*> I'sai swings up to Taralyth's neck.
<*> R'var is the last of Dawnslight to swing up into straps. For a moment
he only looks over his men, his women, his dragons. He smiles, a thin sharp
slice of a smirk. He is ready for you, Thread.
<*> R'var climbs up onto Firianth.
TGW-LC>> "I figured we'd just head out to the bowl and see who they
directed us to go with. That seems to be where everyone else has been
heading so far." Lanisa says as she finishes with her jacket, "Shall we
just check out there?"
TGW-LC>> A keen-eared rider arises from the farthest table and strides
heavily toward the candidate group. "As far as I'm concerned, you're all
going. Anyone have good excuses?" L'ret frowns at Tobay, pulling on gloves
and tossing his head to one side, cricking it, before glaring over the
whole of any candidates he can catch sight of. "Yea, lucky you," he snorts.
"All right. Everyone up and at 'em. There's young wingriders ready to move
you all out, so look lively." Leather-covered hands gesture the candidates
toward the bowl with not unkind gruffness.
<*> Indrath takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry
him aloft.
<*> Mirrath takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry
her aloft.
<*> Above, Indrath disappears into Between.
<*> Taralyth takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry
him aloft.
<*> Lysseth spreads her wings to their full extent, bringing them down with
a rush of wind as she leaps nimbly into the air.
You spring into the air and catch the thermals rising from the bowl floor
to carry you aloft.
<*> Firianth rises up from the bowl.
<*> Taralyth rises with the rest - and, with them, _disappears_.
<*> Taralyth disappears into Between.
<*> Lysseth disappears into Between.
Between
You gasp as the icy black nothingness of Between surrounds you! You hear
nothing, see nothing, and feel nothing. The trip takes five heartbeats...
Contents:
Wynith(#1892Jabels$)
Black...
Blacker...
Blackest!
You suddenly emerge...
Sky Over Benden Weyr
In the low sky above Benden Weyr, the sounds of activity filter upwards as
the bustle of the Weyr is obvious even from this height. Down below, the
light sand that covers the bowl is nearly hidden by all the activity of
dragons and humans alike as preparations take place. The lake, which covers
a good quarter of the bottom of the bowl, reflects the sun brightly, its
azure color broken only by the white and green indigenous water lilies. The
sight providing a calming effect even amidst the war waging between Pern
and Thread. Dragons of various Weyrs and wings are popping in and out of
Between all about, in the staging ground for the battleground above.
Contents:
Wynith(#1892Jabels$)
Taralyth
Melisandeth
Obvious exits:
Benden Sweeps Area Staging Area Upper Sky out
<*> Lysseth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!
<*> Mirrath emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!
<*> Mraneth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!
<*> Randoth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!
<*> Nicoith emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!
<*> Mirrath wings down and lands lightly on the ground at the staging area.
<*> Wynith flies down to land gently on the ground at the staging area.
You wing down to a quick landing on the ground at the staging area.
Staging Area Outside Benden Weyr(#17601RJ)
A well trod field just outside of Benden Weyr's caldera, this large area is
clear of tree and rock from the generations of wings using it as a staging
ground for drills. For now though it's been transformed into a staging area
for five weyrs, with tables set up for healing gear, cauldrons of boiling
water over large fires ready for healer and dragon healer alike. Along the
opposite edge of the field are sacks of firestone in piles, each ready for
riders not in the fight to ferry them up to the fighting wings above.
And then to one side of the staging grounds are the gathered ground crews,
a few smiths at the ready to tend to their gear. Others there to refill
tanks and issue out ground digging tools to go after any thread that has
gone to ground.
<*> G'rad slaps Behemoth's side and sets to getting hunks of rock down the
massive brute's gullet. The crunching of huge teeth on rock is deafening
across the horde of dragons - but fills him with a certain thrill.
<*> In the sky directly above, Taralyth banks and lands neatly on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> In the sky directly above, Mraneth wings down to a quick landing on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> Reye grasps Omfaleth's thick flying straps, using both them and her
lifemate's raised golden forelimb to slide to the ground.
<*> Delaney slips a long leg over Mraneth's lithe neck, easily sliding to
the ground along a sepia-tinged forelimb, dismounting gracefully from her
lifemate.
<*> S'rist looks over the High Reaches wings as they unload healer,
groundcrew, flamer tanks, food supplies for those that need energy during
the fall, and any myriad of other supplies. Then he shouts out towards the
wingleaders, "When your wings are unloaded, mount back up, I want us to be
ready to take to the skies as soon as possible. Go ahead and begin stoking
your mounts."
<*> On Jenryth, Matheny stays buckled in on Jenryth's neck and looks over
her flamethrower again as she lives through the anticipation. Satisfied
with the equipment for the fourth time she shifts it back and looks around
at the sea of dragons in all five colors.
<*> G'rel lands, leading the first installment of his wing to a reasonably
unoccupied spot that can contain a largish group of dragons. The riders
bring a number of firestone bags to a pile in the centre of the wing, for
easy reach. Then the firestone crunching commences.
<*> In the sky directly above, Nicoith glides to a swift landing on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> In the sky directly above, Randoth flies down to land gently on the
ground at the staging area.
TGW-LC>> "Yes, sir," Velano replies, suddenly amidst a scattering of
candidates rising from the table, some dashing to dispose properly of
plates and mugs while others stand dumbfounded, leaving their dishes on the
table while trying to find jackets and gloves left on chairs right behind
them. Slowly the assemblage begins to shuffle bowlward. The butcher follows
the line of the rider's frown and grins an accompaniment to it, tacking on,
"Tobay! Oh, it figures you'd wait to see duties before deciding to go."
<*> From high on Wynith, Lexiana gives Dra a long look. "You be careful up
there, you hear me."
<*> Nicoith banks around a couple times, as if driving around in a large
parkinglot looking for a place to park before angling toward the ground,
settling easily near Fort's Gold.
<*> G'non does one final check of the Blizzard riders, pausing to squeeze
Shalyn's shoulder. "You'll make your father proud today, I think," he
murmurs, before returning to feed Wydreth.
<*> Randoth comes to a neat landing with the rest of Fort Weyr wings.
<*> Qortenenth sits quitely, well as quite as one can chewing rocks. Th'res
is watching his DRagon chew while chewing on a long stalk of wheat.
<*> G'rad takes a sack from a resupply crew with thanks and hauls it up
Behemoth's side even as the dragon chokes down more stone. It is lashed
into place with practiced ease. The moves are automatic after so many turns.
<*> Ariane and Rhiapeth rejoin the rest of the Ista Wing, looking quite
cheerful.
<*> Sh'van nods to his wingleader and quickly lets his contingent of
passengers and supplies down to the ground. Bronze Giareth rumbles in
anticipation of their coming fight as Sh'van makes a point of tucking his
lucky red and goldish scarf back into his riding jacket, where it can't
become a target for Thread as he offers his dragon the first of many chunks
of firestone.
<*> From high between Randoth's neckridges, R'yat unbuckles himself from
Randoth's flying straps, allowing him to dismount.
<*> Rilsa comments to S'rist. "The rotational wings are prepared back at
home and the non-winged riders are prepared to deliver more supplies as
necessary." With that, she heads over to Corineth and mounts, stoking the
dragon from atop.
<*> On Psamanth, Karimina watches with wide eyes and the slides down to
stroke her dragon
<*> Josilina vaults up onto Lhiannonth's back, the dragon's sparkling eyes
watching closely.
<*> Mounted atop Randoth, R'yat unbuckles Cerin from Randoth's flying
straps, freeing him to dismount.
<*> Karimina hops down Psamanth's side to the ground, as the dragon warbles
a greeting.
<*> S'rist offers his wingsecond a clasp, "Well, once more into the breach."
<*> Teineth chews the rocks Z'vir is feeding him with absent-minded
movements of his jaws
<*> Shalyn feeds Oenoneth another piece of firestone, as the dragon chews
and swallows you can see ripples of the chunks as they make their way down
her gullet. She smiles up and G'non, "Thank you sir, we'll make you proud
of us too."
<*> S'rist vaults up onto Dzurath's back, using his straps as handholds.
<*> Divya can't obey S'rist's order, because Konnevath already has a full
belly. Instead she loads up with refill sacks, making sure they're tightly
attached within easy reach while her dragon lays very still.
<*> Indrath leads the Flight of Telgari dragons free of the void and thence
down to the staging area, where groundcrews, equipment, and spare 'stone
can be unloaded.
<*> Kyrola walks up Zaith's proffered foreleg and settles between two of
her neckridges.
<*> Delaney arrives with a contingent of fellow weyrlings and Istans, wings
landing in an area that looks to be filled with Istans, she heads over with
fellows. The familiar firestone is glanced at, and a bag seized with only
slightly shaking hands. Mraneth croons eagerly behind her as they fall into
the ranks of Ista dragons, listening to the shouted instructions for her
weyrling group, opening the bag wordlessly, a bit pale-faced, if truth be
told, and offering the first chunk of firestone to her brown.
TGW-LC>> Tobay pauses by the tables of food to add a few hard rolls to his
pockets, nodding at Lanisa's suggestion and at the rider's directives.
"That's our cue," he whispers, camoflauging nerves in jittery cheer. "Move
on, move on," he waves at the group clustered at the table. "Wouldn't want
to be left, would we? Terrible to explain that to grandkids." Thus worried,
he heads toward the bowl as quick as feet can carry.
<*> Lexiana slides down Wynith's foreleg and safely reaches the ground.
<*> From high on Wynith, Draila smiles as she hugs Lexiana. "You too Lexi.
Keep your head out there." She offers the girl a hand to dismount.
<*> From high on Randoth, R'yat truns to Cerin, offering him a small smile.
"Hurries down. The battle will begin soon, now. And watch out."
<*> Sh'yar wanders over to M'rek and Karimina, "You two will do just great,
today. S'din never let's anyone graduate unless their ready. And Melata
only picks the best."
<*> From high on Randoth, Cerin grins, "Thanks, you too. Don't wanna see
you hurt! If your dragon is hurt, bring him right to me!"
<*> Cerin climbs down Randoth's extended foreleg, using the straps to guide
them down.
<*> Reye makes an agile hop off Omfaleth's flame-kissed neck as the slender
Istan queen lands, striding toward the staging area where the dragonhealing
stations are being set up. Istan supplies are offloaded and added to the
mix, and once those are in place she nods in satisfaction and returns to
check her flamethrower once more.
<*> Rilsa calls out after Th'res. "Keep a good eye out, rider."
<*> Emilly pops open a sack o' stone and feeds it bit by bit to Sionath,
who crunches away, eyes awhirl. The sack is soon returned to a clip on the
green's gear and her rider brushes some stone dust from her gloves.
<*> Teineth chews the rocks Z'vir is feeding him with absent-minded
movements of his jaws
<*> Ariane climbs onto Rhiapeth's neck.
<*> Karimina begins to toss small bright yellow firestone into her green.
Psamanth gives her rider a croon and begins to chew loadly.
TGW-LC>> Leeana walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
<*> Teineth chews the rocks Z'vir is feeding him with absent-minded
movements of his jaws, his attention is on all the action around him. Once
in awhile he lets go with a piercing bugle and a few tail-lashings to help
dispell some of his excitement.
TGW-LC>> Tobay walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
TGW-LC>> Lanisa nods, "Yes sir. I'm as ready as I'll ever be." Then to her
fellow candidates, "Not for anything. Just think, five Weyrs will be
flying..." Nahh, she's not at all awed by that.
<*> Lexiana nods at Dra. "I will I promise. I will see you after for a ride
home right."
TGW-LC>> Lanisa walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
<*> Lysseth leads Thunderbolt Wing's descent into the ground occupied by
the Telgar contingent. They make their landing neatly, still in formation,
and their efficiency is no less in the unloading of what they carry into
this common store. "--You brought *beer*, C'row? Jays," Kassi mutters,
shaking her head. "Should've known. Remind me t'upend a mug over your head
when the dancing's done."
<*> Nich looks over the assembly with a nod of satisfaction. "We made it,"
she murmurs to Cl'rek, whose black hair is marred only by silver at his
temples. "Look, there's Ariane, I think..." she adds, gesturing to the
Istan wings and a familiar face, waving to their old clutchmate. Cl'rek
nods and grins and ruffles his long-time weyrmate's silvering blond hair.
"Let's go," the Thunderbolt wingrider says, giving Nich one last hug. The
two Bendenites move toward their dragons to fulfill their Weyrleader's orders
<*> D'va walks along the Reaches riders, almost reflexively, and inspects a
few of the dragon and rider pairs he's most familiar with, giving them
encouraging remarks or looks.
<*> In the sky directly above, Trisseth emerges from Between with a blast
of cold air!
<*> In the sky directly above, Trisseth swoops down to a landing on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> Th'res pats his brown and walks over to stand near Z'vir and gives the
Bronze rider a little elbow "Relax or you will get a stomach Cramp"
TGW-LC>> Velano walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
<*> In the sky directly above, Juliath emerges from Between with a blast of
cold air!
<*> Sria begins stocking Sruth, checking straps while he chews, before
heading down through the Snowstrike dragons of 'Reaches, sparing a glance
for the masses gathering. She hardly blinks at that bugle from Teineth as
she passes Z'vir, but smiles briefly before moving on.
<*> In the sky directly above, Juliath backwings to a neat landing on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> G'rad checks under his flight gear. The lucky belt is still in place.
The bronze is masticating with industry, and he is laden with firestone
sacks. He takes a moment to look around. He lifts a hand and waves to
riders from other weyrs who he knows. Trisseth's arrival causes Behemoth to
bugle a greeting, and then he returns to his munching.
<*> On Teineth, Z'vir leans down over Teineth's side, cupping an ear and
giving Th'res a questioning look, "Eh? What'd you say? Hard to hear you
over all this racket!" He grins, and continues checking his straps.
<*> In the sky directly above, Melisandeth flies down to land gently on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> On Lhiannonth, Josilina mounts back up, after checking everything one
last time, and straps herself back in. Then it's one last check for the
flamethrower, though she seems to spend most of the time looking over all
the assembled Weyrs, nerves and anticipation keeping her quiet.
<*> S'din climbs down from Melisandeth's back.
<*> Melisandeth leans close to the ground to allow S'din to leap from her
neck to the ground.
Dragon> Indrath bespoke Telgar dragons with << All, I'm going to be using
this for OOC instructions as well as RP that's appropriate. S'rist notes
that dragonpairs in the upper sky will be added to the emitter and thus be
'targets' for Thread. >>
<*> Trisseth lands next to the rest of the Ista dragons and she rumbles a
bit, settling her green form down neatly.
<*> Jesica climbs down from Trisseth's back with the help of one of the
green dragon's forelegs. Once there Jesica jumps down to the ground as
Trisseth gives a gentle croon.
<*> Thiana walks over to where her brother and Z'vir are, "You to nervous?"
She looks a tad bit nervous herself but hiding it.
<*> Perched atop Zaith, Kyrola arrived with the Istan wings, and she spends
her time checking over her flamethrower, each check made as meticulously as
the one before, and she looks to S'dar and Reye to check for additional
instructions if need be.
<*> S'din grabs some extra firestone sacks. He makes them fast to his
straps, then remounts, feeding Melisandeth 'stones all the while.
<*> S'din climbs up onto Melisandeth.
<*> Melisandeth lowers her neck and gives S'din a little boost up with one
foreleg.
<*> Astride Nicoith, D're glances around at all the unfamilar riding pairs
and shakes his head before stoking his blue with 'stone. The blue eagerly
chomps as his feet move restlessly beneath him. When they think they're
ready, D're pats his lifemate's hide and sits up, waiting for orders.
<*> Sh'yar jumps up onto Gyreventh's back, the dragon's sparkling eyes
watching closely.
<*> Taralyth settles with Skyfire in the Telgar area - I'sai takes a moment
to wave to Brynn, over with Dawnslight, and some others - and looks and
looks, faceted eyes that brilliant diamondine blue that's further lit with
anticipation. And then all at once his bugle rings out, traded with one
verging toward bass as Nioth flaunts those even broader wings overhead.
I'sai returns his clutchmate's wave, too, standing in his straps and only
at length settle down to compulsively check his buckles, one last time.
<*> Shalyn jumps up onto Oenoneth's back, as the dragon rumbles softly.
<*> Nadia pats Maigreth who croons at her rider.
<*> Though her Weyrleader is not much for speeches, Chayil is, and stands
before the assembled Igenites to offer them some words of inspiration. "Now
all the youth of Pern are on fire, and silken dalliance in the wardrobe
lies. Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more; or close the wall
up with Pernese dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a person as
modest stillness and humility. But when the call to threadfighting sounds
in our ears, then imitate the action of the wild feline. Stiffen the
sinews, summon up the blood, disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage;
then lend the eye a terrible aspect. I see you stand like hunting canines
in the slips, straining upon the start. The game's afoot! Follow your
wingleaders; and, upon this charge cry 'All for wing, Weyr, and Pern!'"
<*> Psamanth rumbles at Teineth as she continues to chew on her stone. She
gives him a loving nuzzle.
<*> Perched atop Melisandeth, S'din settles easily into his straps, looking
for all the world completely unperturbed still, evn though Thread is coming
soon.
<*> Firianth swings out of the sky and into a jolt of a landing. A hulking
brute, possessed of unusual, mis-matched features, the blue stands out as
the leader of Telgar's Dawnslight wing. All in yellow straps of varying
shades-- from dark gold to striking saffron-- these dragons are mostly
bronzes and browns, the larger males, with a dash of blues and greens. They
seem a spirited lot, these northerners.
<*> G'rad clambers up onto Behemoth's back, as the dragon warbles a greeting.
<*> Mraneth rumbles a greeting to fellow dragons, noting his clutch-dam
Omfalenth already in the hubbub of things, as well as several other Istan,
but unfamiliar dragons, bronze, green, blue alike. Delaney is mutely
offering firestone to him, the brown ingesting for all he's worth. "Thank
Faranth we've practiced this at least a little," she murmurs to lifemate,
smoothing a slightly sweaty hand over his forelimb of sepia. Brown rumbles
his satisfaction. Of course he won't unneccessarily burst forth some flame.
He's /much/ to skilled to do that. Still, Del knows the majority of their
job today will be refilling firestone sacks, tossing them to riders during
the fall. All those weyrling drills they do /are/ useful, just like K'tdan
says. Shells.
<*> On Behemoth, G'rad vaults onto his lifemate's back and straps himself
in. He seems ready. Behemoth is a furnace with wings now. beware, ye
spores, for retribution is night!
<*> G'non hoists himself up onto Wydreth's back lightly.
<*> Amilin keeps quietly stoking Das in between pausing to check she her
other sacks securely fastened in place. The green, for her part rumbles
greetings while she injects stone after stone in preparation. When Ami's
satisfied, she turns to mount once again.
<*> Amilin hops up onto Dasmareth's back, the dragon's sparkling eyes
watching closely.
<*> In the sky directly above, Seyenth emerges from Between with a blast of
cold air!
<*> Divya looks around and spies a familiar green and her rider. "Kassima!
Did I hear you say something about beer? Got enough to share with thirsty
High Reaches Riders when this is over?"
<*> Claia clambers down Typsyth's side to the ground, as the dragon rumbles
softly.
<*> In the sky directly above, Seyenth banks and lands neatly on the ground
at the staging area.
<*> Melisandeth rumbles contentedly, peering around at all the dragons
she's never seen before. Then she gets distracted by a passing bird. Oh
well, you can't win them all.
<*> On Teineth, Z'vir grins at Thiana, shaking his head. "Not nervous," he
calls down to her, "just excited." He buckles himself tightly in the
fighting straps and bounces in his spot a few times.
<*> D'va leaves the Reaches riders and starts to take stock of the first
few grounds crews who have reported in. "Good, good," he mutters to himself
and absently picks up an agenothree sprayer, checking it over.
<*> Emilly looks about at the massed wings, takes a deep breath and gives
Sionath another pat, before clambering back aboard and clipping in.
<*> Th'res shakes his head at Thiana "I would lying if I said I wasn't." he
gives his sister a hug and runs off to Qort
<*> Emilly jumps up onto Sionath's back, using her straps as handholds.
<*> Sionath shifts slightly as her rider mounts.
<*> Wynith's talons claw at the ground as her rider checks over a
flamethrower. Both appear nervous as eyes make contact with friends and
unheard messages of luck are exchanged. Draila makes sure each Fortian is
accounted for and offers them an encouraging smile.
Dragon> Indrath bespoke Telgar dragons with << I'd ask that everybody try
to employ hatching-level pose etiquette, as the spam is likely to be
*worse* than a hatching: by all means burn Thread, but try to avoid short,
extraneous poses and so forth. >>
<*> Lexiana moves over to the rest of the groundcrew "Okay Fort over here."
<*> Karimina climbs up onto Psamanth's back, using her straps as handholds.
<*> Th'res snags a thick strap and hoists himself up Qortenenth's side to a
spot between two of the brown's neckridges.
<*> Perched atop Melisandeth, S'din leans back against the roll right
behind him in the straps and seems almost bored as he watches all the
younger riders scrambling around him.
Kassima spends some time looking for certain faces, herself--she brightens
at spying this familiar Benden rider or that, waving where appropriate,
beaming to her cousin K'star across the way. Lysseth's tail swishes in edgy
impatience: she's eager to fight. "--Divya! You'll have to apply t'C'row,
the beer's his, but I have a *hunch* he'll be pleased t'share."
<*> In the sky directly above, Djarith emerges from Between with a blast of
cold air!
<*> Thiana hugs Th'tres back and nods at Z'vir giving the bronzerider and
wave, "Well good luck the both of you, come back safe or I'm um kick you."
She winks and heads back to the groundcrew.
<*> In the sky directly above, Djarith wings down and lands lightly on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> In the sky directly above, Kerilinth emerges from Between with a blast
of cold air!
<*> In the sky directly above, Wilanth emerges from Between with a blast of
cold air!
<*> Mounted on Wydreth, G'non snugs his goggles down into position, then
looks around once more before focusing his attention on S'rist and Dzurath.
<*> In the sky directly above, Wilanth wings down and lands lightly on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> In the sky directly above, Kerilinth glides to a swift landing on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> Nadia climbs up onto Maigreth's back, as the dragon warbles a greeting.
<*> Jesica feeds Trisseth firetone quickly, her nose wrinkling up a bit as
she smells the stuff, her helmet still on as she adjusts her gear and
checks Trisseth's straps. Oncew she's sure everything's fitting right, she
secures more bags of firestone to the straps.
<*> B'rel slides down Seyenth's side to the ground, giving him an
affectionate pat.
Telgar Weyr> I'sai says, "Hey, one of you guys staying down in the staging
area for a while, could you please log? I hear there might be an official
one, but backups area always good. <g>"
<*> Joshi dismounts from Wilanth using her offered leg to do so.
<*> Sria glances over her Wing once more, as they begin to set up and strap
in. She pauses to eye one bejewelled bluerider, who catches the glance in
time to shed the assortment of rings and bracelets. "You're gloves'll fit
better," Sri calls - smiling, now, and she signals the rest of her Wing as
she vaults to Sruth's neck.
<*> In the sky directly above, Cyameth emerges from Between with a blast of
cold air!
<*> Sria climbs up onto Sruth's back, as the dragon warbles a greeting.
<*> Chayil carefully climbs into place between Qeturath's neck ridges. The
slender gold gives Chayil a loving burble as her eyes flicker bluish.
<*> Mounted atop Qeturath, Chayil continues her speech. "We that shall live
this day, and see old age, will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors,
and say, 'Tomorrow is the anniversary:' Then will he strip his sleeve and
show his scars, And say, 'These wounds I had on threadfall's last day.'
This story shall the good person teach his progeny; and this anniversary
shall never go by, but we in it shall be remembered: We few, we happy few,
we band of brothers; for he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my
brother. And those now safe a-bed shall think themselves accursed they were
not here, and hold their character cheap, while any speaks that fought with
us upon this final threadfall day." With that, Igen's weyrleader (perhaps
tiring of his senior weyrwoman's long-windedness) calls for all Igenites to
mount at Benden's signal.
<*> Divya shouts back her agreement to this plan to Kassima, giving her a
thumbs up. Then she gives her sacks one last check before remounting.
<*> Corineth sits atop her dragon, watching the 'Reachian wings mount up to
ready for launch when the cry comes. She checks the straps and the
firestone sacks once more before settling to wait.
<*> B'rel gets firestone into Seyenth, keeping an eye on Chayil and her
speechifying, and looks to Benden for the signal as instructed.
<*> Divya vaults up onto Konnevath's back, using his straps as handholds.
<*> Reye's not the sort for big speeches prior to Fall; not the sort, and,
Istan riders likely are eager to get this last Fall of their lifetimes
underway. She does, however, move from rider to rider, wing to wing,
speaking softly to wingleaders and doublechecking status; and when S'dar
signals for Istan riders to mount up, she does as well.
<*> Rilsa climbs up Corineth's foreleg and settles down between two neck
ridges.
<*> K'ran's not one for inspirational speeches and such: as the riders in
his charge make their final preparations, he simply allows an approving
half-smile for their professionalism, and calls, "One more time, everybody;
good luck, fly careful, remember your drills, and we'll see you -- all of
you -- on the other side."
<*> On Psamanth, Karimina gives Sam's straps one last good look along with
the sacks. "Flame well my love. We shall show that tread that they can't
harm us."
<*> A Benden rider stationed at the edge of the staging area turns as a
message is relayed to his lifemate from a distant watchrider. "Thread in
the Sky! Thread in the sky! Thread in the sky!" Then he's off on the wing
to join his own weyr in the sky.
<*> From atop Konnevath, Divya pulls her face mask back on, as well as
helmet and gloves. At least after today she won't have to worry about
protecting her throat from ash for a long time to come.
<*> Delaney follows the leaders, at the signal from the weyrling
wingleader, passed down from S'dar, she eagerly clambers aboard Mraneth,
checking straps again and again, ensuring the large load of firestone she
and her brown hold are secured.
<*> On Teineth, Z'vir listens to the Igen Weyrwoman's speech, but keeps an
eye upon his Wingleader, awaiting her signal to rise.
<*> Delaney climbs easily, with an eagerly proffered lithe forelimb, to
settle herself on Mraneth's tarred mahogany neckridges.
Dragon> Telgar dragons sense that Indrath, at the Benden Weyrleader's
signal, conveys terse instruction from his lifemate: << To the sky. >>
<*> Astride Juliath, Meli checks over her straps one more time, then tugs
her gloves and helmet to ensure they are secure. Her expression grim, she
glances up at the command to fly and gives a nod.
<*> Perched atop Melisandeth, S'din pulls his helmet and goggles on once
more, visibly glad all the speechifying is finally over and he can *do*
something!
<*> Atop Kerilinth, K'nder softly pats Kerilinth's green neckridge and
looks towards his weyrmates, and finally his wingleader. "One last time,
Keri."
<*> On Gyreventh, Sh'yar crams her own head into her helmet adjusting her
goggles and closing her jacket rubbing a little spot before taking a deep
breath.
<*> Mounted atop Nicoith, D're looks around, offering a sly grin then a
wink to his sister mounted atop Wynith. He says naught then draws his
goggles into place and doublechecks his buckles and firestone sacks.
<*> Djarith bugles, night-cloaked wings flaring as he and his rider hear
the call. A'ley, pulling straps for one final redundant check turns a quick
look towards S'dar and Chezroth at their position near him, before watching
Ista's wings twitch at the ready.
<*> Behemoth turns his head and rumbles readiness to Behemoth, then sends
out a pleased little croon. Aha! The battle will be joined. His favourite
part. Burn, baby, burn!
<*> B'rel zips his jacket and buckles it securely after tugging his gloves
on. Helmet and mask are settled into place and he goes over Seyenth's
supple straps one more time before clambering into place on the red-brown's
ridges.
<*> On Psamanth, Karimina pulls on her goggles and helmet, she gives the
sky a long look.
<*> On Dzurath, S'rist gives a shout, "To the sky High Reaches!" And he
adds the arm signal as well, so that all of his wingleaders can see it in
the din of the preparations.
<*> Randoth straightens, lifts his head up and emits a loud bugle. On his
back, Rey tries to steady his nervous lifemate. Glancing over his
shoulders, he casts a quick glance at all the Fortian riders. D're and
Draila gets an extra kind of smile before he concentrates on the upcoming
threat.
<*> Atop Mirrath, Tarien is likewise quiet, foregoing flowery speech for
matters at hand: attending to her flamethrower, and the rest of her wing
behind her. Once the signal's given, she turns and nods to the rest of the
Telgari queens -- they are ready.
Telgar Weyr> Velano is logging.
<*> Mounted on Wydreth, G'non echoes S'rist's signal to Blizzard, as
Wydreth once again takes to the air.
<*> Corineth launches into the sky.
<*> Melisandeth launches into the sky.
<*> Kerilinth bugles eagerly as she takes to the skies, her eyes scanning
for the ancient enemy.
<*> Dzurath rises up into the sky.
<*> Wydreth leaps into the sky.
Telgar Weyr> Lanisa is too :)
<*> Kerilinth rises up into the sky.
Kassima gives a sharp nod to acknowledge K'ran's words; a sharp nod, and a
small smile. She turns just enough to salute the Wing behind her, and then
echoes the signal: raising her arm, then dropping it, the age-old cue to rise.
<*> Juliath launches into the sky.
<*> Oenoneth launches into the sky.
<*> Konnevath leaps into the sky.
<*> B'rel scrambles up Seyenth forelimb and settles comfortably between his
neckridges.
<*> Lhiannonth springs powerfully into the sky.
<*> Joshi climbs up Wilanth's left foreleg and sits between her neckridges.
<*> Taralyth stirs, wings indulging in one lavish stretch in this crowded
area - and his rider double-checks helmet and tugs down goggles, running a
finger inside their band before leaning forward along the neckridge before
him, his dragon's haunches flexing in preparation to follow wing and Weyr
_up_.
<*> Gyreventh rises effortlessly into the sky.
<*> At the Benden Weyrleader's signal, Indrath vaults skywards; seizes the
wind and ascends sharply.
<*> Lysseth spreads her wings to their full extent, bringing them down with
a rush of wind as she leaps nimbly into the air.
You spring powerfully into the air.
<*> On the staging area below, Jesica looks up at the call and she pats
Trisseth a final time and shecks the green's load one last time. Thankfully
the green is full of firestone so Jesi swings up on her back at S'dar's
orders are apssed along.
<*> On the staging area below, Jesica climbs up onto Trisseth's back with a
gentle boost from the green dragon.
You climb higher into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Qortenenth flies up into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Juliath rises higher into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Oenoneth flies up into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Taralyth wings upward into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Cyameth flies up into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Melisandeth flies up into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Kerilinth climbs higher into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Wydreth rises up into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Corineth flies up into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Dasmareth climbs higher into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Konnevath flies up into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Mraneth leaps into the sky from the
staging area outside Benden.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Trisseth rises up into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Zaith rises higher into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Behemoth rises higher into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Wynith flies higher into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Randoth flies higher into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Nicoith flies higher into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Keth wings upward into the upper sky.
<*> Trisseth alines herself beside Maigreth, a low, deep hiss coming fom
her as she looks at the thread starting to fall. Her eyes whirl a deep ruby
shade and she readies herself to meet the menace.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Sionath flies up into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Sruth rises up into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Psamanth wings upward into the upper sky.
Dragon> Dzurath bespoke all dragons with << Just a reminder, please try to
avoid extraneous poses, as we have a huge crowd. There will be specific
poses to each dragon in the sky about threadfall to respond to, try to keep
responses from going over 7 lines in length to keep everyone sane. Thanks
and everyone have fun! >>
<*> Pern's threat appears very visibly as a thick cloud of dark
greyish-silver to the east, rolling in like one of harsh winter blizzards
over the mountains where it falls over the rocky terrain. The steady wind
billows the thread out irregularly, updrafts causing the calm leading edge
to roil angrily as it approaches the forefront.
<*> Trecherous thermals twist a pair of Thread clumps and push them toward
the fighting wings. Bright colours of flame colour the sky and punch holes
through the mass of writhing strands but another gust of wind blows the
reamining uncharred thread directly at Psamanth.
Dragon> Gyreventh bespoke all dragons with << W00t! >>
<*> Corineth roars to the oncoming Thread, signalling his towering rage at
the menace that dares to invade their world. He fluidly settles into his
position in the Glacier Wing. Rilsa, giving her dragon a reassuring thump,
takes a deep breath and yells out her own defiance before joining the battle.
<*> Cyameth bugles his readiness and his Wing's as Igen's Sandstorm wing
wings up from below, taking their place among the massed dragons.
<*> Melisandeth roars defiantly as her ultimate test approaches! Bring what
you may, she and hers will win the day once more!
Dragon> All dragons sense that Trisseth gives a rumble of eagerness.
<*> Zaith spirals downward into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> Swerving quickly to avoid a clump of Thread that has been upswept by a
thermal, a bronze avoids a harrowing injury. However, the clump twists past
and targets Psamanth.
<*> Behemoth holds in formation and prepares to fight in his usual style:
he can't be agile and dodge, that is what the greens and blues are for. He
bulldozes his way through thread with massive flame. Come to
Behemoth...time to BURN!
Dragon> All dragons sense that Randoth is ready!
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Adevath flies up into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Teineth wings steadily in formation, but
when thread begins to fall, he surges ahead briefly. He is curbed by Z'vir
and falls back into formation, eyes whirling redly.
Dragon> Telgar dragons sense that Indrath's thoughts taut with
anticipation, he relays, << The leading edge seems less ragged than we have
seen recently. Be careful. >>
<*> Oenoneth Bugles a challenge to the thread as it starts to fall, she is
ready!
<*> Dzurath bugles his defiance at the thread, ready and able to go after it.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Wilanth follows where Cyameth leads
sending her own trumpet back, almost like 'bring it on'. She waits for him
to give the signal to start flaming.
<*> A thick clump of Thread is split neatly as a green lets forth a burst
of powerful flame. One part is charred into black ash while the unmarred
half twists, zooming toward Sionath.
<*> Adevath roars mightily. Better late than never, he is. Bring it on!
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Mraneth rides the colder thermals of
Benden warily, following in the weyrling formation Starblaze of Ista,
taking a lower sweep zone than other wings. Faceted eyes whirl a fast
orange-yellow of excitement, and the elegantly wedged head cranes to see
the first clump of Thread. "There!" Delaney is ecstatic, if not remotely in
the way of it. Still, she and her lifemate fly in the skies with Thread, as
dragonriders were always meant to do, busy enough and ready to pass
firestone to any that need it.
Dragon> Dzurath bespoke all dragons with << Just a reminder, we're fighting
thread in the upper of the two air rooms. >>
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Maigreth wings upward into the upper sky.
<*> Randoth echoes Adevath's bugle, adding his deep own one.
<*> Wydreth holds position in the lead of Blizzard, eyes whirling read. He
does not roar or bellow, for such is not his way...instead, he almost
STALKS the thread, hunting it with silent intensity.
Dragon> Maigreth bespoke all dragons with << Thanks >>
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Wilanth rises higher into the upper sky.
<*> Qortenenth is keeping formation, but his rider is aware of all that are
bout him as he watches the skies.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Djarith rises up into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Giareth rises up into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Seyenth rises higher into the upper sky.
<*> Sionath trumpets as Thread comes! Emilly ducks as Sionath wings to one
side, twists and belches flame at the oncoming silver menace.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Ulfianth flies higher into the upper sky.
<*> Five strands of Thread are bound together by the winds to form a thick,
evil looking rope. Almost mesmerizing in its movements, the rope falls to
the left of Wynith.
<*> Psamanth bulges a challenge to the thread that is heading towards her
she quickly raise to met it and gives a nice short flame and burns it to ash.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Mraneth rises up into the upper sky.
<*> Trisseth bellows out a roar, her wings beating and holding steady in
her asigned position as she waits for her chance to sear a clump of threat
as it comes nearer with each passing moment.
<*> Melisandeth guies the left flank of High Reaches' Blizzard Wing up and
around, bringing the more maneuverable dragons to play where they are most
likely to do good and least likely to get singed by larger dragons.
<*> The flash of red and orange before the bugle of frustration of a green
announces the miss. The Thread is left to fall freely, twisting in the
winds, at Keth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Teineth flies higher into the upper sky.
<*> Nicoith would bugle but he's holding something back, perhaps his first
gout of flame -- oh, is it building. D're watches from the blue's neck as
Wynith is advanced on by Thread on the left.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, High atop Qeturath, Chayil signals the
Igen goldriders to follow Benden's senior queenrider, forming perhaps the
largest merged gold wing that anyone now alive has ever seen: some forty
queens, spread out along the massed fighting wings' underside, covering the
points at which one Weyr's wings join another's. It's a pretty impressive
sight, even with the youngest, oldest, and recently injured on the ground
acting as dragonhealers or ground crew members.
<*> A thick clump of Thread is split neatly as a green lets forth a burst
of powerful flame. One part is charred into black ash while the unmarred
half twists, zooming toward Sruth.
<*> Lysseth raises her voice in her characteristic ringing trumpet,
promptly echoed by many of her Wingmates. There is Thread here, and they're
going to kill it, and end the day covered in ash and glory. The first licks
of their flame appear as the leading edge descends.
<*> Wynith wings into formation and croons a welcome to Adevath when he's
spotted but she's not able to socialize for long as thread heads her way.
Draila swings about her flame thrower and releases an arc of fire the
catches the evil rope and burns it to a harmless ash. "Keep your mind on
the task Wyn."
<*> Giareth holds his position in the wing assigned to him, wings extended
to keep himself aloft, head swinging back and forth to scan for Thread in
his assigned sector. Sh'van grimaces, but he doesn't quail. They've done
this before, and neither one seems too keen on buying the cothold on this
adventure.
<*> Mraneth stays lower, relegated by Weyrlingmaster to keep low altitude
in the fight, ebon talons clenching and unclenching in obvious
restlessness. Thread. Just send it to him! Delaney soothes him, adjusting
her helmet with a slight tug, the gear not yet that comfortable to
weyrling. She and her copious amounts of firestone hold ready, brown
Mraneth sweeping with the Starblaze wing farther below, keeping wary eyes
upwards, slightly sweating hands grasping the tarred neckridge
occassionally for reassurance-sake.
<*> With many of the frontline dragonic pairs focusing their attention on
clearing the skies of the Thread clumps, it is not surprising that a few
patches of the silvery-grey Thread make their way dangerously close to
Konnevath.
<*> Keth rises slightly in the currents, aiming for just the -right-
approach path. Then a small swoop, and *FLAME*. The old bronze bugles, as
he chars the first thread into very fine dust, and then turns his neck to
his rider for *more stone*.
Dragon> Dzurath bespoke all dragons with << If you need to leave the fall,
or rejoin, just page S'rist and he'll remove/add you from the emitter. >>
<*> Psamanth disappears as the next thread comes falling on top of her.
Reappearing on top of it, she dives for the thread gives a good hot flame.
<*> Sruth is ready and waiting, and with a controlled burst of flame and a
roar to boot, the split clump splits again, smolders and breaks, and falls
as ash.
<*> Juliath's slightly deeper bugle joins and complements Lysseth's, as the
greens brace for their first action. This one is for all those lost over
the course of the Pass.
<*> Five strands of Thread are bound together by the winds to form a thick,
evil looking rope. Almost mesmerizing in its movements, the rope falls to
the left of Mraneth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Rhiapeth flies higher into the upper sky.
<*> It's a lucky thing Adevath's weyrlings are so old now, otherwise his
rider would not allow them to fly such a big fall. As he takes point, he
rumbles excitedly to Wynith -- don't worry, he'll protect her, and all the
rest of the queens! A few blue weyrlings veer off, and he watches them
carefully, but they've been well trained and they eliminate the thread neatly.
<*> In the skies directly above a small blue is more Thread. Before he can
react, the clump is split into two grey patches by an uncooperative
thermal. The reaction to flame these patches must be taken by Zaith.
<*> Teineth flaps in time with many other wings, eyes alert for falling
THINGS. Whatever falls, he's ready to flame, so don't fall off your dragon,
Riders, you'll never reach the ground without first being toasted.
<*> Konnevath is more than ready for the patches of Thread headed his way.
Nonchalantly he opens his maw and belches out a jet of pure flame. A quick
shake of his head from side to side ensures all tiny remnants are singed
into harmless ash, floating down onto the groundcrew far below.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Firianth flies higher into the upper sky.
<*> A small brown and large blue veer downward toward a patch of Thread at
the same moment. Swerving to avoid the collision that is looming, the patch
of thread flies past untouched and heads at Sionath.
<*> Djarith lingers as Chezroth's wingmate, so many other dragons around
that A'ley keeps him in tight, not allowing much break of formation to
chase after tantalizing clumps. Plenty to do, as the canny younger bronze
watches the way it all falls, lending his flame to anothers as Thread
passes between them.
<*> Oenoneth is almost awestruck at the sight of so many dragons in the
air, everywhere she turns she sees dragons and riders in her search for
thread.
<*> On Psamanth, Karimina moves back into formation every watching..
<*> Suddenly, a large clump of Thread is ripped asunder by a gust of wind
that forms four patches of the silvery menace which proceeds to target a
large brown. While he is able to deal with two of the strands with precise
flaming, the second pair of Thread patches are coming too fast. With a roar
of warning, the brown blinks between to let flaming commence by Djarith.
<*> Psamanth moves back into formation every watching..
<*> Mraneth turns with more agility than most browns, his still growing
size lending him more twistiness than most, heading for a patch of Thread
that falls close. Evil Thread! It is time to Burn! A heavy belch of fiery
death is expelled, perhaps a bit more exhuberant flame than was needed to
char the thick rope, but success is measured by the fine black dust that
falls below, spread by the draft of wings. Delaney, a finger having been
extended to point in horror at the silvery mass, shrieks her delight,
slapping affectionate triumph on brown neck. "Good job!" is shouted to her
dragon, despite the less than perfect control of flame. Istan
weyrlingmaster, having noted the same, shouts a caution to the pair.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Zaith shifts her wings slightly as she
spies some Thread that missed the upper-level wings. Not falling out of
their position amongst the Istan queens' wing, Zaith roars her vast
disapproval of the Thread, while Kyrola is quick to thumb the button on her
flamethrower, sweeping the burst in a controlled fashion. This early in the
Fall, she gets it fairly easily, leaving nothing but char to flutter below
all nice and pretty. "Take that," Kyrola mutters and continues looking for
more errant Thread.
<*> An angry tangle of Thread writhes, slipping between the attention of a
bronze and brown dragon who are busy flaming heavier patches. The Thread
hurtles downard, moving with surprising speed at Omfaleth.
<*> On Behemoth, G'rad refills his dragon's mouth with a touch more stone.
mm. Mid flight snack!
<*> On Maigreth, Nadia sytays in her formation and reasures her green
dragon who seems a tad restless with all these riders in the sky.
<*> From Keth's neck, G'rel motions with his arm, pointing to one side, and
the riders in his wing follow, adjusting their position slightly for that
just-right coverage.
<*> A flank is threatened by a patch of silvery-grey as the winds turn a
sheet of thread into the formation of dragons. A patch manages to get
through the initial defensive flaming line and head towards Wilanth.
<*> Randoth keeps banking from left to right, closely followed by the rest
of the Stormshadow riders. Not roaring anymore, he gives Pern ancient foe
all what it deserve : Flame.
<*> Teineth chars his first tangle of Thread with a brief blast. A roar of
satisfaction follows the flame and his eyes follow the blackened motes as
they tumble down--but only for a moment. He's alert and looking for more.
That was nice, but more would be better.
<*> The falling silvery-grey patches of Thread form a swirling pattern in
the gusts of wind that carry the meance through the skies. Charring as best
as they can, patches of the ropey death make their way past the dragons and
end up splitting to head toward the Queen wing while the other appear in
front of Oenoneth.
<*> Cl'rek's brown Orrith maneuvers out of the way of a clump of Thread
that they're not able to get in time, leaving it to a more agile blue
behind them in the Benden formation. Across the wings, Nich's blue Aelyth
hops between briefly shortly thereafter, a green picking up the ball that
time. Then both dragons continue their flaming of Thread they can get safely.
<*> From atop Mraneth, Delaney returns her breathing to a more normal
state, offering another chunk of stone for Mraneth as he turns the mahogany
head back for another piece. Another Istan brown swoops lower, shouting his
desire for a firestone refill, the heavy activity of Thread in the higher
levels having depleted him. Delaney, now thankful for all those
sack-tossing drills K'tdan enforces, heaves a sack his way, the rock making
it to him in spades. And that's why it pays to be a tall, strong lass...
<*> Adevath is satisfied that his charges can do their job. Now it's time
for his trademark fancy flying. With an excited whoop given from his
daredevil rider, the bronze barrel-rolls off to the side to tackle a
wayward clump that the wing above him has missed. Weyrlings, don't try this
at hime.
<*> Djarith's smaller size compared to some bronze allows the Istan
Weyrsecond pair to twist powerfully in midair, ducking his head low to
angle that saving gout of flame towards the second, speedy patch the brown
left. Expelling air at the same time he does flame, Djarith roars out as
those strands meet their end. And then some - a nearby blue adjusts his
course to avoid the overlarge flame gout.
<*> Trecherous thermals twist a pair of Thread clumps and push them toward
the fighting wings. Bright colours of flame colour the sky and punch holes
through the mass of writhing strands but another gust of wind blows the
reamining uncharred thread directly at Sionath.
<*> Indrath keys Telgar's Starblaze Wing in a loose but classic wedge
formation: bronzes and browns to meet the Fall's leading edge headlong,
with quicker and more agile greens and blues spread wider, but further
back, to char Thread scattered by larger dragons' assault.
<*> Oenoneth issues forth a mightly belch releasing a massive gout of flame
that quickly encompases the clump of thread in front of her, quickly she
dodges around the burning mass as it disolves into harmless ash.
<*> Writhing in mortal-seeking anguish, a sheet of Thread cascades through
the upper tier of flaming dragons and heads without hesitation towards
Dasmareth.
<*> Ulfianth breathes out a russet plume of flame that blossoms into death
for a sinister curl of thread. Another, much smaller, flicker of fire
catches the bottom end of the stand and then the Reachian bronze is turning
his head to catch more firestone.
<*> Wilanth is very alert this early into the Fall. She's been flaming
while Joshi has readied the firestone sacks. The pair work together as
Wilanth opens up and flames that thread. Another one bites the dust!
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Omfaleth gives a brassy bugle,
flame-bright wings fanning to angle her rider with a good view of that
patch. Reye is a small, helmeted figure on her neck, the flamethrower still
smaller; but a bright gout of flame emits from the end of that wand,
engulfing the silvery strands. The roiling patch of Thread is turned to so
much ash, and greyish streaks adorn Omfaleth's bright hide as the wind
blows those remenants about her.
<*> On Gyreventh, Sh'yar holds his breath as he watches his daughter flame
and dodge, then with a smile he turns back to the job at hand.
<*> A loud cry erupts from the lips of a rider of a bronze that is clipped
on the wing by a swiftly descending clump of Thread. It continues to writhe
and fall, heading directly for Seyenth.
<*> Firianth with fearsome exuberance leads Dawnslight into battle. The
browns and bronzes are possessed of steady flame and strong wings, while
their smaller cousins wheel and dive with unmatched agility. Vim and vigor
characterize the Telgari wing, as they fight this last fight.
<*> Swerving quickly to avoid a clump of Thread that has been upswept by a
thermal, a bronze avoids a harrowing injury. However, the clump twists past
and targets Firianth.
<*> Sionath flickers in and out of Between as Thread comes too near. She
reappears and twists about, proof of the acrobatic prowess of greens and
chars the lot to ash.
<*> As a green from the upper formations starts to go into a dive to get a
missed patch of Thread, the bugle of her wingleader's dragon makes her
return into position. The patch continues on its way to Qortenenth.
<*> One of V'yse's Fortian weyrlings swerves off to chase after some thread
that really isn't theirs to target. The result is the brown and his rider
vanishing between to avoid a collision with an Igen rider. Clearly the two
are mentally reprimanded, because they return to their position in the wing
slouching.
<*> Dasmareth is ever the quick one to respond to threats heading her way.
It takes less than a moment for her to find the right angle and then let
out a gout a flame at the threat heading for her. But with so much there,
she betweens, just to be sure to miss any that might have been overlooked
in the sheet that would mark her. Those below can clear up the rest, and
she returns. ready for more.
<*> Trisseth fights what thread falls near her, her green form darting and
twisting as she dives after the thread that falls near enough for her to
sear. The green isn't making a sound now, aside from belchings of flame and
the beat of her wings in the air.
<*> A thick sheet of Thread falls from the sky, forcing dragons that are
somewhat near the silvery strands to speed up to deal with the menace.
Among the red-orange bursts of flame, a tangle of Thread falls through,
heading amazingly fast towards Randoth.
<*> Teineth bugles! What? Does Thread fear him or what? It isn't coming
near him, so it must! Aha!
<*> Seyenth rumbles his challenge at the clump of thread, popping quickly
/between/ and back to have a better angle. His neck extends, eyes whirling
red, as his flame erupts, searing the clump to harmless ash, falling to the
wings and ground below. B'rel gives the red-brown a reassuring pat before
turning attention to the next patch that may be falling.
<*> On Psamanth, Karimina bulges to Qort as the tread is going straight for
him.
<*> Qortenenth lets out his controled but a little over done burst of flame
as he turns the Thread into ash, while his rider grins "bout time" he calls
out the menache.
<*> Several greyish-silver patches drop from the skies at one time. Those
that have not been flamed by the vigilant dragons in the forefront fall
closer and closer to Juliath.
<*> Lysseth twists in the air, cutting to the right to catch a tangle
fallen just into her range. The brilliance of her fire is matched by the
brilliance of her red eyes, and her rider's fierce green ones, as Kassi
yells encouragement to her lifemate and the quick, efficient,
well-practiced Thunderbolt pairs who fly with them.
<*> Firianth growls a deep shuddering growl, sucking in then a sharp breath
through his teeth. His eyes whirling, he forces out a breath that leaving
his jaws transforms into flame. The clump of thread, charred, blows by in
harmless ash.
<*> On Behemoth, G'rad pumps his arm in signal to a wingmate and gestures
to an encroaching clump. The returned signal indicates agreement, and
flames flicker and fly. Snowstrike score goes up by one, Thread fails to
make any points.
<*> Blocked by a sheet of writhing masses of Thread, three dragons blink
between quickly to avoid scoring. This, however, lets the sheet fall
uncharred to intercept Lhiannonth.
<*> Cyameth is flying point for Igen's Sandstorm, the wing spreading back
with bronzes and browns in front, then the rest of the smaller blues, then
the agile greens, veering in and out to catch the Thread the others missed.
Dragonpairs vanish and return, there and not and back again in points of
bright hide and bright flame.
<*> Randoth focuses all his strength towards that nasty clump. He won't
break as it has to be destroy. Meeting the menace, he angles his body at
the very last moment, arching his neck to reduce the silver tangle into a
cloud of black dust, his falme describing a large semi-circle in the sky
over Benden Weyr.
<*> Juliath's eyes whirl faster as she and her rider angle down and forward
to catch a small patch of Thread that passed the larger dragons. A
well-controlled spurt of flame, a sharper bank, and the pair are back in
formation leaving only ash... and the faintest sounds of singing?... on the
wind.
<*> The crosswinds swirling around the fighting wings continue to pose a
challenge to the dragons. Ragged from the gust of wind, a thick clump
tumbles near Dzurath.
<*> Another thermal that refuses to cooperate with the fighting wings turns
a clump from one heading into a another. This mass of Thread heads right at
Mirrath.
<*> Mraneth continues to beat powerful umber wings, sweeping along with
regular strokes. An occasional burst of flame is small, charring a
not-quite-decimated piece of Thread every now and again as it falls past.
Not nearly charred enough, for his tastes. Delaney, face and torso
blanketed in a fine layer of dust and phosphoric smell already, keeps keen
copper eyes flashing behind her goggles, watching for errant strands of the
lacy-silver doom. Another extra sack of firestone is dispensed to a
flagging blue as he rolls past on her right, tossing the heavy sack from
long arms to the blue's rider, the woman catching it agiley.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Lhiannonth rumbles, banking sharply so
there's room for Josilina to aim. Twisting in her seat, Jos turns to aim
the wand of her flamethrower, expelling a thick tongue of flame, moving the
wand so as to get rid of the whole patch.
<*> Dzurath is ready for the thread though, and he opens up a flame that
lasts from the first part through to the last ragged edge of the clump of
thread headed his way. After he finishes his flame, he shifts up to avoid
the hot ash while S'rist tosses tow more rocks of firestone up for the
bronze to chew upon.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Atop Mirrath, "Mind the outside flank!"
Tarien shouts to one of the other Telgari queens, while Mirrath turns her
head, presumably to offer the same instruction. The wind-tossed clump
headed the way of her wing is charred by gouts of flame from either side,
prompting a curt but pleased nod from the Weyrwoman, who rubs ash away from
her goggles and resumes that watchful pose.
<*> Coming down with the same merciless intent as a harsh winter blizzard,
the Thread writhes through an unprotected air space. A nasty clump of
silvery strands falls just above and ahead of Typsyth.
<*> Taralyth _hunts_, chasing down the echoes of his trumpet in the thin,
cold sky; perhaps it's the rider leaning forward along his neck that helps
restrain him from escaping formation, or his brown wingmate who draws him
into the same one-two flaming that they learned together twenty-odd Turns
ago in the core of this same wing: efficient, by now all but instinctive,
and _fierce_. Through wispy clouds they fly, and out the other side.
<*> Near a bronze, a burst of flame temporarily blinds the eyes of the
bronze and his rider right at the moment a patch of Thread reaches him. A
shout of pain from the rider is cut short as the dragon and rider disappear
between only to reappear seconds later farther ahead. The clump of Thread
continues on its way, heading to intercept Indrath.
<*> On Teineth, Z'vir flies smoothly, neck flexing as he searches the skies
in his vicinity for the menace. A rumble of threat rolls about in his hcest
for the stuff. Fear Me!
<*> Astride Adevath, V'yse's keen eyes are forever on the sky, watching for
anything threatening to him or his weyrlings. He realizes one of his green
charges is heading at the wrong angle for a few stray stands of thread and
Adevath quickly flips over, flying upside-down over the rest of the wing,
then righting himself as he reaches the back. He dives, neatly searing the
thread before it can cause harm to the young pair.
<*> Several greyish-silver patches drop from the skies at one time. Those
that have not been flamed by the vigilant dragons in the forefront fall
closer and closer to Dzurath.
<*> Giareth opens his maw, and flame belches forth as a strong tangle comes
veering their way out of a cloud. The 'Reaches bronze roasts the Thread in
his path, and he seems inordinately pleased that none of it escaped him.
"Don't get cocky," Sh'van mutters through his scarf.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Astride golden Qeturath, Chayil minds her
spot in the line, not at the very tip, but somewhere along the left-hand
end of the line, on the border between one Weyr's wings and the next Weyr's
wings further out. Her body twists and bends as she shoots short bursts of
agenothree at clumps, sheets, and individual strands of thread, barely able
to cope -- not with the thread, but with so many other goldriders in her
line, everywhere she looks.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Jalepeth rises up into the upper sky.
<*> Teineth flies smoothly, neck flexing as he searches the skies in his
vicinity for the menace. A rumble of threat rolls about in his hcest for
the stuff. Fear Me!
<*> An angry tangle of Thread writhes, slipping between the attention of a
bronze and brown dragon who are busy flaming heavier patches. The Thread
hurtles downard, moving with surprising speed at Gyreventh.
<*> Indrath's lean frame lends agile uncommon for one his size: he dips a
wingtip scant meters shy of a stray tendril then consumed by a brown
wingmate before skipping three dragonlengths northward to batter the threat
with cleansing fire, and *again* to burn cinders to dross, for both
thoroughness and vengeance's sake.
<*> On Dzurath, S'rist gives a shout, "Here come some more!" as he leans in
over his bronze's neck. The big dragon lets loose a thin stream of flame,
almost licking the little patches of straggling thread from the sky in
precise strokes.
<*> Psamanth darts her and there having a uncanny knack of been where she
need to be at the right moment giving flame where it is need.
<*> A thick clump of Thread is split neatly as a green lets forth a burst
of powerful flame. One part is charred into black ash while the unmarred
half twists, zooming toward Taralyth.
<*> Behemoth flies in his usual straightforwards manner, charging through
large patches with massive flames, relying on others to watch his back from
the curling threads that suddenly swish his way
<*> Qortenenth rumbles over to Teineth -stay frosty-. He tilts abit to
avoid the darting Green.
<*> Blocked by a sheet of writhing masses of Thread, three dragons blink
between quickly to avoid scoring. This, however, lets the sheet fall
uncharred to intercept Randoth.
<*> Gyreventh with all the exuberance built into his kind, rises to meet
the writhing thread his chest bellows as he inhales and promptly issues
forth a bright orange gout of flame that reaches out to encompass his
ancient enemy, for a moment all that can be seen is a black cloud of smoke
and ash before the large brown emerges from the other side triumphant.
<*> Konnevath notices an especially long twisty rope of Thread falling
toward one of the greens in his wing. He adjusts his position so the two of
them take out the deadly attack with a well-timed dual burst of flame.
Within seconds nothing but a memory is left of that particular enemy.
<*> Swerving quickly to avoid a clump of Thread that has been upswept by a
thermal, a bronze avoids a harrowing injury. However, the clump twists past
and targets Maigreth.
<*> Five strands of Thread are bound together by the winds to form a thick,
evil looking rope. Almost mesmerizing in its movements, the rope falls to
the left of Trisseth.
<*> Jalepeth flies straight, though she has to dart quickly away from a
brown barreling through the sky. Rumbling with irritation the green flames
a small piece of thread that goes her way, turing her head for B'nian to
feed her more stone.
<*> Ulfianth seems to have barely swallowed his last mouthful of firestone
when twin twists of thread come into his range. A deep rumble escapes him
and then comes the flame, bright and vibrant as it envelopes the darkly
hued thread.
<*> A loud cry erupts from the lips of a rider of a bronze that is clipped
on the wing by a swiftly descending clump of Thread. It continues to writhe
and fall, heading directly for Lysseth.
<*> Stilgrath, J'od's blue from Fort, suddenly leaves Randoth's side to
chase after a spiraling clump. The bronze roars but it doesn't last long as
he has to face the danger. Unfortunately, he doesn't have time for a trick
move and only a rather wide flaming belch saves him from being scored. The
Thread reduced to ashes, he's safe but Rey's dust covered helmet betrays
that it was close.
<*> The falling silvery-grey patches of Thread form a swirling pattern in
the gusts of wind that carry the meance through the skies. Charring as best
as they can, patches of the ropey death make their way past the dragons and
end up splitting to head toward the Queen wing while the other appear in
front of Seyenth.
<*> Trisseth gives a :raor and she tilts over, her whole body arcing int a
tight spin as she spies the five stranded rope falling to her left. She
signals she's on it before flaming it from below, ash and sinders spreading
outward into a powdery dust that is blown in all directions by the wind of
so many dragons flying together.
<*> Taralyth meets that zooming Thread head-on, hot and precise and burning
it all the way up, till the last silvery bits writhe into ash barely past
his muzzle - and he flashes *between* just for an instant, that the
smoldering cloud might pass harmlessly by and fall as blackened dust.
<*> Near a bronze, a burst of flame temporarily blinds the eyes of the
bronze and his rider right at the moment a patch of Thread reaches him. A
shout of pain from the rider is cut short as the dragon and rider disappear
between only to reappear seconds later farther ahead. The clump of Thread
continues on its way, heading to intercept Dzurath.
<*> Cyameth flames strongly at a twisting clump blown toward him, charring
a good bit of it before he has to blink *between* to avoid the scattering
ribbons that remain. His bellow of warning to the rest of Sandstorm Wing is
cut off as he disappears, reappearing a heartbeat later to flame again.
<*> The crosswinds swirling around the fighting wings continue to pose a
challenge to the dragons. Ragged from the gust of wind, a thick clump
tumbles near Seyenth.
Kassima's muttered curse at the bronzerider's cry is cut off rather
abruptly as Lysseth snaps her wings to full extension, beating them once,
twice, to take her straight towards that Thread. Golden fire ignites it. It
crisps, turning to black and the orange of ember, and passes harmlessly
over the pair's head, for a quick furl-and-drop ensures they are no longer
there to be hit. Lysseth slides back into formation with a rumble of dark
satisfaction.
<*> Dzurath moves forwards to take bronze vengeance on the clump of Thread
that would so harm on of his bretheren. A gout of flame is issued forth,
perhaps a bit more than is needed for the size of the clump, turning it
into hot ash that he cuts to port to avoid.
Dragon> Juliath bespoke Lysseth with << That was Very Well. >>
<*> Teineth blinks out to avoid a burning clump of Thread falling by. He
reappears a beat ahead, rumbling annoyance at Thread's scarcity.
<*> Seyenth belches flame at the patch of thread before him, ah ha, take
THAT, you, you MENACE. The brown bugles as the ash falls, darting out of
the way of some of it as the wind gusts.
<*> Wynith wings around as Draila was better prepared for this one. The two
work as one, well trained with the flame thrower held firming between her
hands. As the flame coughs it engulfs the thread leaving the pair to
continue the sweep with the rest of the Queen wing. From time to time a
quick check taken of the dragons about them, looking for any tiring or
scoring.
<*> Another thermal that refuses to cooperate with the fighting wings turns
a clump from one heading into a another. This mass of Thread heads right at
Sionath.
<*> Wilanth goes after a batch of thread just as one of those betweeing
bronzes suddenly cuts in front her trying to get it as well. Two flames
meet that batch of thread, killing it but Wilanth's flame lasts a little
longer than necessary and as the bronze goes by, his poor tail catches the
end of it. See what you get for killing /her/ prey?
<*> Atop tiny green Morgaith, Fiena, V'yse's wingsecond, is overwhelmed by
the amount of thread falling at her. Two weyrlings come to back her up and
V'yse tosses them a thumbs-up for their bravery as Adevath turns to rip off
another chunk of stone. *CRUNCH!*
Lysseth> Juliath senses that Lysseth's mindvoice is a thing of black and
orange-red, fire and charcoal that somehow manages to be at once fierce and
very satisfied. << It died, >> she agrees. << You, too, fly well. >> Pause.
<< Especially for a Lard-Legs. >>
<*> Writhing in mortal-seeking anguish, a sheet of Thread cascades through
the upper tier of flaming dragons and heads without hesitation towards Wynith.
<*> A thick sheet of Thread falls from the sky, forcing dragons that are
somewhat near the silvery strands to speed up to deal with the menace.
Among the red-orange bursts of flame, a tangle of Thread falls through,
heading amazingly fast towards Lysseth.
<*> Teineth dissappears Between on an errand of some sort. He reappears
below a green who has sprained her wing somehow. He adds his wingstrength
to help her home.
<*> Teineth disappears into Between.
<*> Qortenenth rumbles as he crews more stone, Th'res is watching the sky
carefuly but does glance to see how is former wing is holding up under the
new commands.
<*> A small brown and large blue veer downward toward a patch of Thread at
the same moment. Swerving to avoid the collision that is looming, the patch
of thread flies past untouched and heads at Juliath.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Madieth rises up into the upper sky.
<*> Coming down with the same merciless intent as a harsh winter blizzard,
the Thread writhes through an unprotected air space. A nasty clump of
silvery strands falls just above and ahead of Behemoth.
<*> Psamanth moves to flame a patch of thread that is falling down on one
of her fellow wingmates that is too busy to flaming one of his own. With a
good hot flame, she chars it to ash that falls harmlessly on top of the
brown and his rider. The brown gives the green a friendly and thankful croon.
<*> Sionath cruises upward battling uncooperative thermals, neck strains,
extending forward and she belches flame. The Thread crisps up, twisting
aside to make a clear path for the green to zoom through. A few scattered
Threads continue on downward though. The green turns on a wingtip in pursuit.
<*> Suddenly, a large clump of Thread is ripped asunder by a gust of wind
that forms four patches of the silvery menace which proceeds to target a
large brown. While he is able to deal with two of the strands with precise
flaming, the second pair of Thread patches are coming too fast. With a roar
of warning, the brown blinks between to let flaming commence by Keth.
<*> Lysseth barely had time to resettle into place when the new menace
threatens. She's not complaining, mind you. She matches amazing speed for
amazing speed, banking sharply at the last possible moment to greet the
Thread with the double kiss of flame and death, then repeats Taralyth's
earlier maneuver in vanishing *between* long enough for it to pass. She
roars encouragement upon returning to her likewise beleaguered Wingmates.
<*> Wynith bugles out a warning as another comes her way. "I see it...
can't get past... oh no..." the pair blink *between* just in time leaving
the thread unflamed and continuing its course downwards. When the two pop
back they try again and ash is all that falls as the pair return to their
formation.
<*> With many of the frontline dragonic pairs focusing their attention on
clearing the skies of the Thread clumps, it is not surprising that a few
patches of the silvery-grey Thread make their way dangerously close to
Qeturath.
<*> Astride Juliath, Meli *thumps* the green's side, as they find
themselves suddenly upon a patch that passed another pair. *Whooosh* spurts
the red-gold of flame, shimmering and reflecting a moment off the moisture
in the air. Those close enough might see the furrows deep in Meli's brow as
she concentrates. "... Weyr ... Bowl ... brown ... green ... seen ...
unseen" floats along the wind.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Zaith veers off as a clump of Thread
escapes the upper-level wings and comes tumbling down out of the sky.
Tracking it with the flamethrower wand, Kyrola gives it some lead space and
then lets loose. Once more, the enemy is charred to a crisp as the young
Istan queen tilts on her better wing to return to her position behind and
to the side of Omfaleth.
<*> In the skies directly above a small blue is more Thread. Before he can
react, the clump is split into two grey patches by an uncooperative
thermal. The reaction to flame these patches must be taken by Lhiannonth.
<*> Behemoth is ever alert, and never misses his mark. With a massive
eructation, the bronze belches out the searing flame from his maw. It clips
the base of the thread, and with a twist of his tail he changes his angle
of ascent, angling the flame up through the clump of spores. With a flurry
of ash and glowing char the thread meets its inevitable doom. Behemoth,
with skill that comes from turns of flying Fall, flickers between and
apears the other side of the scalding ash, and lunges out for the next
invasive clump.
<*> The flash of red and orange before the bugle of frustration of a green
announces the miss. The Thread is left to fall freely, twisting in the
winds, at Sruth.
<*> Keth suddenly backwings, as the thread suddenly becomes /his/ to deal
with. The sudden slowdown sends Keth slightly above his wing, where he
sends a large gush of flame slightly upward, right at his target. Then,
with a few mightly waves, the large bronze efficiently takes back his place
in the formation.
<*> A flank is threatened by a patch of silvery-grey as the winds turn a
sheet of thread into the formation of dragons. A patch manages to get
through the initial defensive flaming line and head towards Mirrath.
Dragon> All dragons sense that Wynith's mindvoice is felt sisal soft and
with an outer edging of deep sapphires as it touches the other dragon's
minds. << We Golds would appreciate a fighter formation please. Too much
thread is getting through your lines. >>
<*> Sionath continues her long dive after Thread and at last catches those
wayward strands that escaped her before. She pulls up sharply, and wings
back into formation.
<*> Sruth drops a shoulder and veers left, angling against the missed twist
until it's close, closer, and with another flash, gone - and Sruth's
careful position allows him to avoid the thermal carrying the ash away,
even as Sria glances around, marks her Wingmates.
<*> As a green from the upper formations starts to go into a dive to get a
missed patch of Thread, the bugle of her wingleader's dragon makes her
return into position. The patch continues on its way to Randoth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, On Lhiannonth, Josilina leans forward over
Lhiannonth's neck, the gold dipping lower to allow for easier access. And
with a point and a click, flame shoots from the 'thrower's wand, turning
the Thread to hot ash, and the gold pulls up hastily to avoid it being
blown in her face.
<*> Trecherous thermals twist a pair of Thread clumps and push them toward
the fighting wings. Bright colours of flame colour the sky and punch holes
through the mass of writhing strands but another gust of wind blows the
reamining uncharred thread directly at Psamanth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Ayannath rises higher into the upper sky.
<*> On Bewitchingly Dangerous Green Wilanth, Joshi feeds Wilanth more
firestone as the green turns her head to accept it between flame spouts.
The green from Igen turns just in time to catch a sheet with her flame,
betweening through and back from it so she doesn't get touched. Out comes a
bright yellow flame charring to dust. Joshi checks their position and
Wilanth tightens up closer to her wing to keep the formation upon request.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Jenryth glides forward, neck arched and
then lowered at just the right moment so that Matheny can use her
flamethrower on the slenderest of threads, likely just a splinter that
escaped the firefight above.
<*> Inexperience is a weyrling's worst enemy -- and what causes most
weyrlingmasters to quit after a few turns. A horrible shriek fills the air
as a Fortian green weyrling's wing is hit with a large mass of thread. She
vanishes between to rid herself of the burning stuff, but when she returns,
it is too late and her wing is destroyed. In a daring move, Adevath blinks
between and reappears just underneath her, catching her in her plummet. The
bronze and his rider temporarily leave the wing to ease the green to safety
on the ground.
<*> As a green from the upper formations starts to go into a dive to get a
missed patch of Thread, the bugle of her wingleader's dragon makes her
return into position. The patch continues on its way to Lhiannonth.
<*> Randoth's deadly flaming breath hits the patch directly but the size of
the flame didn't neutralize everything. Bugling once, the bronze sharply
banks to the left, leaving J'od's Stilgrath to finish the work. Bending to
give Randoth some more 'stones, Rey gives the bluerider a thumb-up sign.
That's how it should be.
<*> A thick sheet of Thread falls from the sky, forcing dragons that are
somewhat near the silvery strands to speed up to deal with the menace.
Among the red-orange bursts of flame, a tangle of Thread falls through,
heading amazingly fast towards Lhiannonth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Mirrath increases speed to catch up with
this latest clump of thread to slip past the fighting lines above.
Flamethrower at the ready, Tarien triggers another gout of flame, then
ducks rather abruptly as a gust of wind sends the ash her way.
<*> Maigreth croons as she sees the thread head towards her and twists in
the sky to flame it persisly and quickly moves back to her formation.
<*> The flash of red and orange before the bugle of frustration of a green
announces the miss. The Thread is left to fall freely, twisting in the
winds, at Nicoith.
<*> Cyameth flames to his right, trusting A'dren and his brown to guard his
left flank as another clump threatens from that direction. A moment later,
the blue returns the favor, flaming again as the brown disappears *between*
to avoid a plummeting sheet of Thread.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Semirath climbs higher into the upper sky.
<*> Mraneth bugles dismay as dragons, tiring from the fight, are 'scored
nearby, a few badly enough to be grounded. Determination spins his faceted
eyes a roiling tangerine-orange, and he flames a passing Thread with enough
force to send black charred bits right at a fellow weyrling across the
formation. Delaney passes up another few chunks of rock for her brown, who
crunches them viciously before returning attention to wings, bugling
greeting to Ayannath nearby as he dips back down into his former place near
her.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Djarith rises up into the upper sky.
<*> Near a bronze, a burst of flame temporarily blinds the eyes of the
bronze and his rider right at the moment a patch of Thread reaches him. A
shout of pain from the rider is cut short as the dragon and rider disappear
between only to reappear seconds later farther ahead. The clump of Thread
continues on its way, heading to intercept Psamanth.
<*> Djarith confers quickly, thought passing between dragons and resulting
in an elder blue pair moving up to the easy position in the Weyrleader's
wake, as the Weyrsecond slides back in the lines to provide his bulk in
more support, and everyone tightens up in to a close diamond fighting
formation. The queen's request, the wings best respond!
<*> From high between Nicoith's neckridges, D're calls out, "Ours!" as he
gives brown Onth and M'ert a warning look while Nicoith moves to finally
let go a burst of flame that is impressive for a blue. At the same time the
brown offers a little 'puff' in the tendrel's direction. "Stoke him!" the
bluerider tells his wingmate. The gesture offered back by M'ert may have
been obscene but D're didn't see it while he takes his own advise.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Lhiannonth wings sideways a bit and Jos
leans back a little, overcompensating for a patch she feels got a little
too close. But quickly enough she leans forward again, spraying after it to
burn it before it falls too low. The second, amazingly fast tangle, gets
wide eyes as she notices it and the gold skips between to avoid it. Jos
sprays after it and gets most of it, the rest escapes for another queen or
groundcrew to catch.
<*> Five strands of Thread are bound together by the winds to form a thick,
evil looking rope. Almost mesmerizing in its movements, the rope falls to
the left of Taralyth.
<*> Jalepeth flames a clump of thread near her, twisting then to avoid
another so a blue can finish off one that's just too close to her. B'nian
keeps a tight grip on his riding straps while using one hand to signal for
a weyrling to bring him more firestone.
<*> Psamanth moves quickly as the thread patch is blow towards her side.
Dropping below the strand, she reaches her muzzle up and flames it as it
flies by.. It is fly by flaming, however a tiny piece get untouched and
drops down to touch Sam's flank. Screaming the green disappears to kill the
pain and reappearing above where she was. Karimina signals that they are fine.
<*> The falling silvery-grey patches of Thread form a swirling pattern in
the gusts of wind that carry the meance through the skies. Charring as best
as they can, patches of the ropey death make their way past the dragons and
end up splitting to head toward the Queen wing while the other appear in
front of Semirath.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Faorath emerges from Between with a blast
of cold air!
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Qeturath takes her chance to cover
Lhiannonth's arse, so to speak, swerving slightly closer to her fellow
goldrider at the joining of Igen's gold wing with the Reachian gold wing.
Atop her back, Chayil aims a concentrated blast of agenothree at that last
clump, then directs Qeturath back to her appointed spot within the
formation, waving once towards Josilina.
<*> A flank is threatened by a patch of silvery-grey as the winds turn a
sheet of thread into the formation of dragons. A patch manages to get
through the initial defensive flaming line and head towards Taralyth.
<*> On Oenoneth, Shalyn stokes up Oenoneth again and catches another sack
from an Istan weyrling, fastening it securely to her green's straps.
<*> Semirath emits a clean flame that neatly sears the threads before her,
folding her right wing against her body as she quickly manuevers to be sure
no possible remnants that have spun off will be able to reach her hide.
<*> Writhing in mortal-seeking anguish, a sheet of Thread cascades through
the upper tier of flaming dragons and heads without hesitation towards
Jalepeth.
<*> A small brown and large blue veer downward toward a patch of Thread at
the same moment. Swerving to avoid the collision that is looming, the patch
of thread flies past untouched and heads at Qeturath.
<*> On Psamanth, However there is no rest for the green, as another patch
falls on Psamanth from above. Diving down to keep a head of the thread, she
flips around on her wingtip and flames the thread from above. Sending a ash
rain on her rider.
<*> Coming down with the same merciless intent as a harsh winter blizzard,
the Thread writhes through an unprotected air space. A nasty clump of
silvery strands falls just above and ahead of Omfaleth.
<*> Ayannath slips back into the lower weyrling formation after a firestone
run with a minimum of fuss. Her answering trumpet to Mraneth is
significantly lighter than the brown's, but no less of a greeting. When
Ellery's finished shifting sacks about the riding gear, a wave of one arm
accompanies some mental order, and soon the petite green is winging her way
up through the tiers to approach Djarith. Her rider holds a sack at the
ready, but waits to be sure A'ley has seen her for the throw.
<*> A thick clump of Thread is split neatly as a green lets forth a burst
of powerful flame. One part is charred into black ash while the unmarred
half twists, zooming toward Madieth.
<*> Maigreth continues her barage of flames at any that come about her and
her rider. Nadia feeds the firestone to her lifemate when need but a refill
is soon signaled for.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Chezroth emerges from Between with a blast
of cold air!
<*> Taralyth gives that rope of Thread enough air to hang itself by,
veering to allow the brown with whom he's tag-teaming greater room so they
can flame as one while the rope falls helplessly into char between and
beyond them; there's so much there that even when the second patch comes
his way, he doesn't break off, instead signaling to Geoth to intercept:
trust there, between longtime on- and off-again wingmates, even as the
speedy green roars into action and has her way with that patch until it's
_gone_.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, The queen's wing stays to tight formation,
bright wings darting and dancing on the cold Benden air to catch clumps
missed by the larger wings above. Omfaleth's wings pump once to accellerate
and fan to pause, letting Reye sear a thick clump out of the air overhead.
Some are just missed and Reye tracks it as the queen folds her wings,
catching that last elusive strand. The slender Weyrwoman brings one arm up
over her face to protect herself from the hot ash that blows past her.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Qeturath ducks lower in the sky, giving
Chayil a bit more room to manoeuver her long sprayer wand. The tiny
goldrider shoots almost straight up into the air, spritzing the falling
strands, which then fall -- along with the spent agenothree acid --
directly downward. This, the gold and rider avoid by the simple expedient
of going *between* and reappearing right where they were, then rising back
up to their proper position. Though the wind is too strong to hear her
snarky "HAH" of triumph, the look on her face is unmistakable to those who
happen to glance her way: gotcha, you sorry sack of...
<*> Konnevath flames a stray wisp of Thread attempting to slip between the
ranks of massed dragons with a puny little jet. He belches again, and all
that comes out is stinky air. Quickly Divya signals one of the weyrlings
for a fresh supply of firestone.
<*> Trecherous thermals twist a pair of Thread clumps and push them toward
the fighting wings. Bright colours of flame colour the sky and punch holes
through the mass of writhing strands but another gust of wind blows the
reamining uncharred thread directly at Psamanth.
<*> Djarith churfs a quick alert to his rider, head forward to watch the
sky and guard the young green as A'ley looks over his shoulder and sees
Ellery and Ayannath coming in for a much-needed toss. A hand waves up into
the air, signalling readiness, grinning white teeth bright against a
char-smeared face.
<*> Astride Cyameth, Terrilia tosses firestone to Cyameth between clumps,
frowning as she reaches the bottom of a sack. She signals for a resupply as
Cyameth suddenly drops half a dragonlength to flame yet another ribbon,
testing the strength of his rider's straps--and stomach.
<*> In the skies directly above a small blue is more Thread. Before he can
react, the clump is split into two grey patches by an uncooperative
thermal. The reaction to flame these patches must be taken by Typsyth.
<*> Mounted on Trisseth, Jesica gives a signal to the wing that hse's
heading back to Ista to deal with getting ready there iwth the dragon
healers and she and Trisseth between back to Ista.
<*> With many of the frontline dragonic pairs focusing their attention on
clearing the skies of the Thread clumps, it is not surprising that a few
patches of the silvery-grey Thread make their way dangerously close to
Dzurath.
<*> Rhiapeth maintains her position with the Istan contingent, all business
now as she and her rider respond with the precision learned through decades
of fighting thread. So far, luck seems to favor the green as no Thread come
near her.
<*> Psamanth quickly chews the stone that Karimina just threw into her
mouth just as another patch becomes there target. Sallowing, she rumbles at
it as she fly up spiralling up to flame the thread. Once that is done, she
graceful drops back down into formation.
<*> Jalepeth is fed firestone by B'nian, once he gets it. After a few
moments of flying, it is indeed again as thread comes towards them from
above, craning her neck upwards the green dragon lets out a short quick
blast of flame, effectivly searing the stuff out of the sky.
Kassima turns her head slightly as a gust of wind carries Meli's song to
her. She gives an abrupt laugh, shakes her head once--and starts singing
along, not breaking from the melody even when Lysseth takes a shallow dive
to intercept a silver snarl before it can fall to the queens.
<*> Suddenly, a large clump of Thread is ripped asunder by a gust of wind
that forms four patches of the silvery menace which proceeds to target a
large brown. While he is able to deal with two of the strands with precise
flaming, the second pair of Thread patches are coming too fast. With a roar
of warning, the brown blinks between to let flaming commence by Wynith.
Dragon> Psamanth bespoke all dragons with << I need some more firstone.. >>
Dragon> Gyreventh bespoke all dragons with << As do I! >>
<*> Dzurath gives a quick flame to take out some of the thread, then has to
jump between as the angle grows too severe and the thread threatens his
wings. A moment later he appears two dragonlengths behind where he left,
resuming his flaming to finish off the rest of the tangle.
<*> Swerving quickly to avoid a clump of Thread that has been upswept by a
thermal, a bronze avoids a harrowing injury. However, the clump twists past
and targets Behemoth.
<*> Kerilinth watches the wings flaming thread efficiently, adding a burst
of her own now and then as silvery death streaks near.
<*> Blocked by a sheet of writhing masses of Thread, three dragons blink
between quickly to avoid scoring. This, however, lets the sheet fall
uncharred to intercept Mraneth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Faorath flames a stray bit of thread that
falls towards the back of the Istan Weyrling Wing, the action seeming to
show a the bronze's annoyance at being so far back from the lead of the
formation. K'tdan feeds Faorath more firestone, then gives the weyrling
just before him a thumbs up as his green flames a tumbling clump. "Good
job!" He then has Faorath glide over to the other line of the Wing to check
on their status.
<*> From atop Konnevath, Divya catches two sacks of fresh firestone tossed
to her by a weyrling. Quickly she tosses several handfuls in Konn's mouth,
which he commences to chew thoroughly. An empty sack falls to the ground
after his 'meal', and the second one is kept handy. With one quick belch
Konnevath proves he's ready to flame again.
<*> Nicoith wings forward and down toward his clutchsister, lining up with
the other Fortian dragons as a clump nears them. With the remainder of his
energy, he belches out a flame with the group before disappearing *between*.
<*> A loud cry erupts from the lips of a rider of a bronze that is clipped
on the wing by a swiftly descending clump of Thread. It continues to writhe
and fall, heading directly for Kerilinth.
<*> Wynith wings up to join the Fortian wing, flying slightly below them as
her rider's flame catches the bits of flame that escapes their detection.
Confidence is placed well as the Fortian wing moves as one through the
thread cleared sky yet to avoid the hot ash she blinks between.
<*> Nicoith disappears into Between.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Chezroth leads the Istan diamond formation
forward to close up the gap that earlier was letting Thread drift through
toward the Queen's Wing. Atop the bronze, S'dar's head swivels back and
forth as he tries to determine where the next batch might slip through any
cracks. When the diamond reaches its destination it widens only slightly,
patrolling the area with diligence.
<*> Wynith disappears into Between.
<*> Ayannath's rapidly whirling eyes settle somewhat as she seems to notice
the huge bronze watching out for her. They still have a battle light in
them, the ancient hatred for Thread, but are no longer quite so yellow and
anxious. Astride her, Ellery returns A'ley's grin with one of her own,
through a mask less covered in char - they've gotten a significantly
smaller rain of Thread in the lower Weyrling wing. With a smooth motion
born of much practice, the weyrling tosses the sack just as Ayannath brings
her beside Djarith.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Wynith flies up into the upper sky.
<*> Randoth folds his wings and suddenly plummets to meet the same clump.
Spreading his wings again at the very last moment, he too is forced to
*between* to avoid burnt and ashes...
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Nicoith swoops down to a landing on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> Randoth disappears into Between.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Randoth rises higher into the upper sky.
<*> Several greyish-silver patches drop from the skies at one time. Those
that have not been flamed by the vigilant dragons in the forefront fall
closer and closer to Konnevath.
<*> Indrath tandems again with brown Listeth as a wild thermal fashions a
deadly silver lattice from a mundane clump: dusk-hued bronze kisses the
tapestry with fire, while his wingmate veers wide, and with another gout of
flame scatters it to cinders.
<*> Behemoth isn't going to let any thread past him, however. With a flick
of his neck he sends out a searing blast of flame. His neck flick makes the
fire act in an almost whiplicke manner, taking the thread along the side
and tracing up the full length, until only harmless black ash drifts to the
ground below, where it merely fertilises the earth.
<*> Astride Juliath, "The March of the Wings" continues in chorus from
amidst the Telgar greens, as breath and wing permits, in fierce defiance of
this ancient enemy. Once more in their lifetimes, once more with their
lifemates, once more for those lost through the Turns.
<*> Kerilinth looks up at her rider's direction, spotting the falling
thread coming down on top of her. She snaps a wing closed, rolling in a
tight spiral as K'nder grabs the straps for dear life, and while inverted
she bathes the deadly fall with flame, sending harmless ash filtering down
in her wake.
<*> Mraneth follows the line of weyrling dragons before him, tilting head
back to receive another morsel of flame-fuel, the dark chunk of firestone
placed in his open maw, and chewed rapidly. A resultingly rapid expelling
of a flaming gout, flickering with determined death towards a sheet of
pewter-colored strands. Folding wings in swift dive, he follows the
writhing mass to burn it till completion. Hot black ash streams back over
Delaney, leaving her coughing and sputtering as they rise up to fall back
in with Istan weyrlings.
<*> An angry tangle of Thread writhes, slipping between the attention of a
bronze and brown dragon who are busy flaming heavier patches. The Thread
hurtles downard, moving with surprising speed at Seyenth.
<*> On Bewitchingly Dangerous Green Wilanth, Joshi plays nice with the
dragons in her wing again, but the thread is not so nice and she keeps
burning a path through them. Her rider wipes off her goggles which are
rapidly covered in the ash and smoke left behind by so many dragons.
Firestone is replaced and lost as the two use up their resources.
<*> Wilanth plays nice with the dragons in her wing again, but the thread
is not so nice and she keeps burning a path through them. Her rider wipes
off her goggles which are rapidly covered in the ash and smoke left behind
by so many dragons. Firestone is replaced and lost as the two use up their
resources.
<*> Blue Aelyth backwings sharply as a tangle of Thread plummets in front
of him. His greying muzzle turns to align with his mortal enemy, and the
small blue darts out of formation long enough to sear it neatly. Nich
quickly directs him back into formation before they yet yelled at by their
wingleader. In another of the so few Benden wings, brown Orrith powers
through his own flight pattern, belching flame at a patch of Thread that
made the mistake of sailing into his range. Nothing but ash and char remains.
<*> Another thermal that refuses to cooperate with the fighting wings turns
a clump from one heading into a another. This mass of Thread heads right at
Indrath.
<*> Konnevath is more than ready to attack. With a loud, huge belch that
rivals Behemoth's best efforts in the past he bursts forth a jet of flame,
searing the attacking Thread patches into hot ash. The wind blows most
toward the ground, but a small amound lands on his flank. The pain is
enough to make him roar angrily, but not enough to make him leave his wing
for dragonhealer help.
<*> Maigreth finally get her refill of firestone after a bit of cursing
from Nadia herself. Grinning the pregnant rider pats her dragon and says,
"There you go love. They'll keep it coming now."
<*> The crosswinds swirling around the fighting wings continue to pose a
challenge to the dragons. Ragged from the gust of wind, a thick clump
tumbles near Qortenenth.
<*> Kerilinth and K'nder slowly spiral out of formation, as the older green
is ordered back to High Reaches for a rest.
<*> With many of the frontline dragonic pairs focusing their attention on
clearing the skies of the Thread clumps, it is not surprising that a few
patches of the silvery-grey Thread make their way dangerously close to
Semirath.
<*> Astride Adevath, V'yse lets fly a long string of sailor's curses as he
catches one of his weyrlings trying to between down to the ground. Not that
he wouldn't have done it himself in an emergancy, but this is no emergancy.
Thankfully, most of the foul words are lost on the wind.
<*> Kerilinth wings down into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> Seyenth screams with fury as he pops in and out of between, a sustained
belch of flame singeing the errant patch of thread that escpaed the other
dragons' attention. The patch chars to ash and the brown turns his head for
more firestone.
<*> Qortenenth roars as he catches the crosswind and *blinks* out. only to
return behind the Silvery devil and send it to an hot ashy demise.
<*> Near a bronze, a burst of flame temporarily blinds the eyes of the
bronze and his rider right at the moment a patch of Thread reaches him. A
shout of pain from the rider is cut short as the dragon and rider disappear
between only to reappear seconds later farther ahead. The clump of Thread
continues on its way, heading to intercept Lysseth.
<*> Indrath vanes wings to slow his flight that he might meet this clump
with strength; Listeth still at his flank, the bronze and brown sear the
threat from the skies, though both, and their riders, are ghosted with hot
ash for their efforts.
<*> Mraneth turns head back for more firestone, finding Delaney's hand
empty. "We're off for firestone run!" she shouts towards K'tdan, their
wingleader, as they wing lower for resupply.
<*> Mraneth wings down into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> On Psamanth, Karimina notices the Ista weyrling hovering just above
her. She deftly catches the bag that is thrown to her. A thankful nod is
given to the greenrider.
<*> Djarith unbalances for a moment to make things easier on the weyrling,
keeping one wing low and out of the way. A'ley's strong arms catch up the
sack, and signal a quick salute as he swings it around to fasten into a
harness in the fighting straps. S'dar can yell at them later, but the
bronze pair slides out of formation significantly to cover Ayanneth's
retreat, noting the tension in the inexperienced pair.
<*> Trecherous thermals twist a pair of Thread clumps and push them toward
the fighting wings. Bright colours of flame colour the sky and punch holes
through the mass of writhing strands but another gust of wind blows the
reamining uncharred thread directly at Djarith.
<*> Semirath is forces to make a sharp leftward dive so as to avoid flaming
herself as a result of the winds. While turning, her head angles so that
her flame makes quick work of the silvery thread, while protecting herself
and her rider from anything beyond a cloud of ash. Immediately thereafter,
as Semirath returns to her position in the Blizzard wing formation, Caritha
passes more stone into the greens maw.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Typsyth springs powerfully into the sky
from the staging area outside Benden.
<*> Writhing in mortal-seeking anguish, a sheet of Thread cascades through
the upper tier of flaming dragons and heads without hesitation towards
Rhiapeth.
<*> Ulfianth spots a thin wisp of thread that evades the older eyes of the
bronze he shadows in his first and only threadfall as a full rider. Sinew
and muscle strain as he takes after the sliver, chasing it only a moment
before the burst of ignited gases leaves his maw. The thread succumbs and
then Ulfianth turns to rejoin the wing only to be surprised by a sneaky
patch behind him. A speedy green let's the bronze know her intent just in
time for him to slip between and get out of her way.
<*> Ulfianth disappears into Between.
<*> Psamanth turns her head toward her rider opening her mouth to receive
more stone. Her eyes seems to be still locked on the sky.
<*> Sionath falls to the rear of the formation. Emilly leans forward on the
green's neck and nods. A moment later, they wink out of sight into Between
and are replaced with an incoming relief green.
<*> A loud cry erupts from the lips of a rider of a bronze that is clipped
on the wing by a swiftly descending clump of Thread. It continues to writhe
and fall, heading directly for Cyameth.
<*> Another thermal that refuses to cooperate with the fighting wings turns
a clump from one heading into a another. This mass of Thread heads right at
Djarith.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Chezroth doesn't seem to mind Djarith's
covering Ayanneth's retreat - rather, his rider quickly signals to a nearby
brownrider to fill the gap left and then nods to A'ley. Meanwhile the Istan
diamond spreads out even further, Thread on each side of the front of the
formation quickly charred as it drizzles through the sky.
"Shardit, C'row! Watch it!" Kassi yells towards her Wingmate--but he's not
the bronze who missed that clump, no; that comes from left field, yet the
green pair is not caught unawares. Lysseth almost lunges forward, rattling
her rider's bones in the movement, and blackens the Thread into death and
beyond with a cascade of heat and light. Kassi wipes chardust from her
goggles with one hand, and uses the other to clout her lifemate's shoulder
in grim affection.
<*> Five strands of Thread are bound together by the winds to form a thick,
evil looking rope. Almost mesmerizing in its movements, the rope falls to
the left of Mirrath.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Chezroth climbs higher into the upper sky.
<*> Seyenth circles lower into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> Cyameth moves slightly back and down to receive the firestone sack a
weyrling tosses, then blinks back into formation, flaming again while his
rider ducks low and secures the new sack. Just in time--Cyameth bugles a
warning back to his rider as he lifts his head and belches fire that
consumes the clump, turning it to ash that streams back on the wind.
Immediately, the blue turns his head back for more firestone, which his
rider quickly supplies.
<*> A good bunch of V'yse's weyrlings are tiring visibly. He gestures for
them to return to the weyr, and they wink out of sight, soon replaced by
some of their fresh classmates.
<*> On Oenoneth, Shalyn rises to meet a clump that was bound for the back
of one of her wingmates quickly she burns it to ash and dissappears between
to avoid the burning mass. She remerges above it and takes her place back
in formation.
<*> Blocked by a sheet of writhing masses of Thread, three dragons blink
between quickly to avoid scoring. This, however, lets the sheet fall
uncharred to intercept Lhiannonth.
<*> Oenoneth rises to meet a clump that was bound for the back of one of
her wingmates quickly she burns it to ash and dissappears between to avoid
the burning mass. She remerges above it and takes her place back in formation.
<*> Rhiapeth bugles in challenge at the sheet of Thread that slips past the
uppper tier of dragons. She flips a wing and turns to flame the thread with
precision.
<*> The falling silvery-grey patches of Thread form a swirling pattern in
the gusts of wind that carry the meance through the skies. Charring as best
as they can, patches of the ropey death make their way past the dragons and
end up splitting to head toward the Queen wing while the other appear in
front of Semirath.
<*> A small brown and large blue veer downward toward a patch of Thread at
the same moment. Swerving to avoid the collision that is looming, the patch
of thread flies past untouched and heads at Seyenth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Lhiannonth slides quickly to the side to
avoid running into the Thread head-on. On her neck, Josilina leans out,
aiming and the flamethrower wand to eliminate the Thread. She ducks down
lower against Lhia's neck to avoid the ash as the gold rumbles and moves
back into position.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Atop Mirrath, Tarien turns to target a
burst of flame toward the clump as it passes by her. She succeeds in
getting a majority of the clump, and while one of the other Telgari queens
chars some of the remainder into ash, the wind carries one tendril away
before they're able to contain it all.
<*> From atop Ayannath, Ellery returns A'ley's salute just as the green
whirls to make way back to the lower levels. The young dragon's polite
croon of thanks may be lost admist the noise of battle, but her rider's
soon urging her on to the next task, fitting back into the form of the
ever-changing weyrling wing, which might seem to have less stability as one
weyrling pair after another wings upwards to resupply.
<*> The flash of red and orange before the bugle of frustration of a green
announces the miss. The Thread is left to fall freely, twisting in the
winds, at Qortenenth.
<*> Semirath's flame is strong thanks to the additional stone she had
recently digested. She makes quick work of the thread, nimbly angling her
way upwards to avoid the worst of the resulting ash. The green immediately
drops back down to her place in formation while her rider reaches up an
arms to wipe the ash dust from her goggles.
<*> An angry tangle of Thread writhes, slipping between the attention of a
bronze and brown dragon who are busy flaming heavier patches. The Thread
hurtles downard, moving with surprising speed at Rhiapeth.
<*> Djarith knows the danger of an unruly wind from his home turf, but as a
treacherous thermal tosses a half-charred clump, and a second thermal
throws another mass his way, the situation becomes slightly more
challenging. A'ley gestures insistantly at the departing weyrling pair they
were covering, seeing Ellery and Ayannath slip clear. Bugling with the
thrill, Djarith wheels to take out the larger mass of thread, meeting it
face-on with a full gout of rock-borne fire. But only one of the clumps is
caught, and as the second blows right across Djarith's side, the pair flash
*between* and leave the rest tumbling towards Typsyth.
<*> A thick clump of Thread is split neatly as a green lets forth a burst
of powerful flame. One part is charred into black ash while the unmarred
half twists, zooming toward Giareth.
<*> Qortenenth rumbles as one of the younger blues moves away from
formation, Th'res on the other hand refocuses his brown to watch the skies.
Seeing the Silvery Threat fly at him, Qortenenth chars it with a blast of
flame. All seem right till he blinks into between and then with a roar he
spirals down to the ground, landing and bugling for help.
<*> Qortenenth circles lower into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Qortenenth banks and lands neatly on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> Several greyish-silver patches drop from the skies at one time. Those
that have not been flamed by the vigilant dragons in the forefront fall
closer and closer to Cyameth.
<*> On Behemoth, G'rad winces and shakes his head as Qortenenth flees.
<*> A thick sheet of Thread falls from the sky, forcing dragons that are
somewhat near the silvery strands to speed up to deal with the menace.
Among the red-orange bursts of flame, a tangle of Thread falls through,
heading amazingly fast towards Giareth.
<*> Rhiapeth is returning to her position in the wing after flaming the
previous sheet of Thread. After such a long time with no Thread coming her
way, she is taken by surprise at the angry tangle suddenly hurtling toward
her. Diving and banking to escape the searing death, she aims what is left
of flame from the last batch of firestone at the tangle. Some Thread
escape, falling onward to the ground.
<*> One strand breaks free from a incompletely charred tangle above, all
but invisible in the bright light but no less vicious, and it writhes along
a gust of wind towards Taralyth as he and his clutchmate continue their
deadly pursuit; at the last moment Kyrath shrieks warning and the younger
dragon reflexively swerves hard to the left even as he vanishes into
nothingness - but there's nothing left behind for the aging green to sear.
<*> Fiena's little Morgaith is tired. She turns to make a few quick
communications with V'yse and then vanishes, replaced by the old AWLM
G'dalf and his brown Greyeth.
<*> The crosswinds swirling around the fighting wings continue to pose a
challenge to the dragons. Ragged from the gust of wind, a thick clump
tumbles near Wynith.
<*> Giareth was busy getting restoked with firestone when a shout rings
out, Sh'van nearly dropping the rock in question. The bronzerider holds the
stone close as his dragon shifts his attention to the Thread twists toward
them. Giareth has enough flame left in him to sear this patch of Thread,
but it's a near thing, the hot char striking the bronze's wing. The pair
blink through between easily enough, just in time for another tangle to be
inbound. Sh'van tosses a couple of rocks into Giareth's maw, and the bronze
crunches them quickly, flaming in time to catch the second bit of Thread
with moments to spare. Sh'van says a few bad words he never learned at High
Reaches Weyr as the hot ash gets him. Another quick hop between, and the
pair comes through all right, still on the hunt.
<*> Coming down with the same merciless intent as a harsh winter blizzard,
the Thread writhes through an unprotected air space. A nasty clump of
silvery strands falls just above and ahead of Qeturath.
<*> Cyameth bellows at the approaching clumps of Thread and surges forward
to meet them, though he is starting to move more sluggishly. One to the
right, one straight ahead, flamed with a turn of his head and an arc of
bright orange fire. The rest of the Wing follows suit, meeting the
challenge as the clumps of Thread are charred into ribbons and fragments,
smaller and smaller as they blow back to the rest of the Wing.
<*> Taralyth swiftly reappears, his rider reaching to his right to brush
frozen Thread from his thigh and the soft hide beyond; the two charge back
into action with teeth bared, running on adrenaline despite the narrow
green-red-green line that crosses them, vengefully flaming yet another
clump that threatens Ralgeth to ash and gone in a single brilliant gout -
but then as Taralyth twists at speed to claim further prey, all at once the
leather straps part, leaving I'sai clutching at a neckridge, cursing. A
last look 'round - and they're forced to leave what remains of the battle,
even the war, to their wingmates.
<*> Taralyth disappears into Between.
<*> A flank is threatened by a patch of silvery-grey as the winds turn a
sheet of thread into the formation of dragons. A patch manages to get
through the initial defensive flaming line and head towards Adevath.
Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth darts a lancet of thought made sharp
by battle and quick by wordless concern: Taralyth!
<*> On Maigreth, Nadia is quickly replaced by a freah green rider as she
heads between and back for a quick rest at the weyr.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Taralyth reappears far below the queens'
wing, as close as he safely may to the ground - there, there, with unusual
care to land.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Taralyth flies down to land gently on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> As a green from the upper formations starts to go into a dive to get a
missed patch of Thread, the bugle of her wingleader's dragon makes her
return into position. The patch continues on its way to Mirrath.
<*> Wilanth sweeps fast and furious through the wing picking up little
clumps here and there to char. She's good at her job, she's doing what
she's supposed to do. Nothing but cleanup, catching what those bronzes and
browns didn't get the first time around.
Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth's glitter _cuts_ - not so much her but
his attention, not so much for him but his lifemate - and, oh yes, they live.
Dragon> Rhiapeth bespoke Threadfall Comm with << I need more firestone. >>
<*> Rhiapeth dives into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> In the skies directly above a small blue is more Thread. Before he can
react, the clump is split into two grey patches by an uncooperative
thermal. The reaction to flame these patches must be taken by Zaith.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Rhiapeth backwings to a neat landing on
the ground at the staging area.
<*> Wynith folds in a wing to tumble after the thread, her descent carrying
her armed rider's flame closer. Half the thread is burnt as the pair circle
about leaving the rest to fall towards the ground. Her neck cranes as she
moves back into position, once again checking on the progress of the other
dragons she came with.
<*> Maigreth disappears into Between.
Kassima twists on her dragon's neck as Lysseth abruptly hisses, looking to
where I'sai and his bronze were, and now are not; some fluent cursing
follows in the injured pair's honor, and Lysseth's next spear of flame, and
the next, are that much sharper and that much more vengefully-wielded.
<*> Psamanth rumbles to the other in her wing. She takes a quick look to
the ground but then turns her eyes to watch the sky again.
<*> Swerving quickly to avoid a clump of Thread that has been upswept by a
thermal, a bronze avoids a harrowing injury. However, the clump twists past
and targets Semirath.
<*> Adevath again veers of to handle what his weyrlings can't. He neatly
chars away the thread endangering them, ever the protective one. A young
bronzerider in dire danger is quickly spared, but now Adevath is put in
danger. He swerves right into a sheet of thread and it grazes his left
side, scoring he and his rider. V'yse's curse and Adevath's cry are heard
loud and clear as the pair disappears between to rid themselves of their
assailants before spiraling down to the ground.
<*> Adevath disappears into Between.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Adevath flies down to land gently on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> Suddenly, a large clump of Thread is ripped asunder by a gust of wind
that forms four patches of the silvery menace which proceeds to target a
large brown. While he is able to deal with two of the strands with precise
flaming, the second pair of Thread patches are coming too fast. With a roar
of warning, the brown blinks between to let flaming commence by Juliath.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Zaith and her rider spot the clump of
Thread bearing down upon their area at the same time. With little strain on
the Istan gold's once-broken wing, they change direction to get into a
better position. Zaith bellows her rage at the Thread, which of course
can't hear her, whilst Kyrola takes care of business, tabbing the button on
her flamethrower twice, one for each clump.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Astride golden Qeturath, Chayil sits up
atop her dragoon's neck, leaning far forward as she points her agenothree
wand towards the thread. Wind being what it is, however, she does not
squirt that thread clump right away, but follows it until it's well below
Qeturath's head, so as not to spray her own dragon. Once it's safely below
her, then she gives it a shot of juice, and watches in satisfaction as the
thread whithers to icky wet ash, to fall towards the ground and probably
splat on or near one of the ground-bound crew.
<*> A thick sheet of Thread falls from the sky, forcing dragons that are
somewhat near the silvery strands to speed up to deal with the menace.
Among the red-orange bursts of flame, a tangle of Thread falls through,
heading amazingly fast towards Psamanth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Atop Mirrath, Tarien's shouted curses are
lost among the general chaos of the fight, but Mirrath banks to meet this
latest clump missed by the wings above, and this time, it's all charred to
ash before it hits the ground. She's quick to return to her spot in the
formation, and a quick set of hand signals relay instructions to her riders.
<*> This time, Juliath and Meli cannot react quite quickly enough to the
sudden disappearance of the brown. half the remaining Thread is seared
before the pair must skip *between*, leaving the rest to fall through the
rest of Thunderbolt wing toward Lysseth.
<*> Semirath reaches the clumb with only two wingstrokes, flaming upwards
into the spot just vacated by her bronze wingmate. Clumps of charred ash,
still hot, rain downwards in her direction and she takes to between,
re-emerging seconds later a dragon length above her previous position
before she dives back down to her place in the wing. Caritha takes this
opportunity to toss more stone into the green's open mouth, emptying her
sack and signalig her need for a refill.
<*> Randoth didn't miss Adevath's move and bugles once. The rest is
mentally relayed as he *has* to maintain his leading position in the wing...
<*> Coming down with the same merciless intent as a harsh winter blizzard,
the Thread writhes through an unprotected air space. A nasty clump of
silvery strands falls just above and ahead of Cyameth.
<*> Juliath disappears into Between.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Juliath rises higher into the upper sky.
Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth seems to take the edge in stride; she
wraps it, briefly, in ribbons of flame as soft and supple as silk for all
their power to burn in other circumstance, only warming now. The
well-wishing sent is forged of crystal and stained glass in tandem, before
she gently disengages to let him attend his own.
<*> Writhing in mortal-seeking anguish, a sheet of Thread cascades through
the upper tier of flaming dragons and heads without hesitation towards
Chezroth.
<*> Psamanth bulges a challenge at the first thread that fall in her
sights. She flames the thread with red eyes that seem to match the color of
her flame.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Typsyth sears at a patch of thread
threatening a just re-emerging weyrling pair, while her rider's scream of
warning is ripped from throat. The pale green bugles angrily as another
clump descends quickly down towards them just narrowly missing Djarith as
he disappears between. The dragon rises up to meet the thread, flame
erupting from her mouth to disintergrate the silver mass into dust.
<*> From high between Wynith's neckridges, Draila winces as V'yse and
Adevath go down. She moves to follow but sees that the pair land safely and
Wynith shares with her a quick report from the bronze. So instead her
position is held and the skies are watched again.
<*> Trecherous thermals twist a pair of Thread clumps and push them toward
the fighting wings. Bright colours of flame colour the sky and punch holes
through the mass of writhing strands but another gust of wind blows the
reamining uncharred thread directly at Chezroth.
Kassima grimaces at seeing the miss, as she always does, but it's a grimace
of concentration more than anything. Her green doesn't really need her
signal to meet the Thread: Lyss does so eagerly, clashing gold flame
against silver death; and rather than gold going to the victor, in this
case, the victory goes to gold.
<*> A small brown and large blue veer downward toward a patch of Thread at
the same moment. Swerving to avoid the collision that is looming, the patch
of thread flies past untouched and heads at Indrath.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Dowanth rises up into the upper sky.
<*> Djarith hears the bellow of rage of a familiar Istan gold below, and a
certain hesitation in the wingbeats settles, determinating forged with the
bronze's own disregard for what should be done for what needs to be done.
With a snap of jaws and a hiss towards a pair offering some unseen
reprimand, he slides into formation close behind Chezroth, his left flank
almost hidden from view. As Thread flies towards the weyrleader pair, A'ley
and Djarith shout out together to announce their presence.
<*> Another thermal that refuses to cooperate with the fighting wings turns
a clump from one heading into a another. This mass of Thread heads right at
Zaith.
<*> A wingmate bugles a warning, and Cyameth quickly rises to meet the
twisting clump, flaming strongly. Still, there's too much Thread and too
little time, and the blue disappears *between* mid-flame, letting his
wingmates behind and below him get the rest.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Acevedath immediately checks for nearby
dragons then beats her powerful wings, soaring up to join Sirroco Wing's edge.
<*> A loud cry erupts from the lips of a rider of a bronze that is clipped
on the wing by a swiftly descending clump of Thread. It continues to writhe
and fall, heading directly for Zaith.
<*> On Semirath, Caritha catches the fresh sack of stone that was tossed to
her by one of the weyrlings, quickly fastening it to Semirath's straps even
as she keeps an eye for more thread clumps heading in Semirath's direction.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Acevedath climbs higher into the upper sky.
<*> Ayannath follows her weyrling's quick direction and sweeps up once
more, this time to a nearby green from High Reaches. Again, as her dragon
wings into place beside Oenoneth, Ellery performs something between a wave
and a salute to Shalyn, making sure she has her attention as she readies
another firestone sack for throwing.
<*> A flank is threatened by a patch of silvery-grey as the winds turn a
sheet of thread into the formation of dragons. A patch manages to get
through the initial defensive flaming line and head towards Sruth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Perched atop Zaith, Kyrola checks over her
flamethrower during a brief pause in the fighting, but then a soft warning
from her dragon makes her look up. The bad word that escapes Kyrola might
be one picked up at Ista Hold, or from a seacrafter, but the pair continue
to do their duty. The agenothree is doled out quickly and efficiently.
Fortunately, none of the Thread escapes below except in the form of dust
and ash.
<*> Blocked by a sheet of writhing masses of Thread, three dragons blink
between quickly to avoid scoring. This, however, lets the sheet fall
uncharred to intercept Sruth.
<*> On Gyreventh, Sh'yar waves back signaling her readiness to accept the
heavy incoming package. There is a smile of recognition and exhilaration on
her face.
<*> On Oenoneth, Shalyn waves back signaling her readiness to accept the
heavy incoming package. There is a smile of recognition and exhilaration on
her face.
<*> Wilanth tires, as all greens do after a few hours of fall. She is
replaced soon enough by Janine and Acevedath also of Sandstorm. Before
leaving she betweens back to help Cyameth take care of that awful mess,
flaming part of it. There really /is/ too much of the strands and part of
it lands across her neck, flank and knee, touching there in a squirmy mass.
Wilanth bugles and goes between to get rid of the mess.
<*> Suddenly, a large clump of Thread is ripped asunder by a gust of wind
that forms four patches of the silvery menace which proceeds to target a
large brown. While he is able to deal with two of the strands with precise
flaming, the second pair of Thread patches are coming too fast. With a roar
of warning, the brown blinks between to let flaming commence by Giareth.
<*> Wilanth disappears into Between.
<*> Acevedath angles sharply to Wilanth's position, climbing to the same
level. She slips into place in the wing formation as Wilenth departs.
<*> From Indrath's neck K'ran bellows imprecations -- thankfully lost on
the wind -- up at the brown and blue; his lifemate swerves as well, but the
elegant turn's to gain position on the patch of Thread that he might burn
it, and then sling his dusk-kissed frame through the void to leave the
resultant cloud of roiling cinders in his wake.
<*> Snowstrike's lines ripple, positions switching, a set of greens and
blues cycling out and down as another retakes to formation - the injured,
weary, and spent for the eager and determined. The shift takes browns and
bronzes forward, peaks the formation. Sruth's flaming to one side, then,
and as it fades and draws away, his rider spares a glance through her
Wingmates as she collects and stocks further 'stone. The new sheet prompts
a call from Sria and the pair disappears, leaving the tangle to blue
Tellifath below them.
<*> As a green from the upper formations starts to go into a dive to get a
missed patch of Thread, the bugle of her wingleader's dragon makes her
return into position. The patch continues on its way to Wynith.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Wilanth appears several hundred feet below
the fighting wings. Her descent is sharp, almost too sharp, as she banks
down towards the ground. Her landing, if she makes it won't be pretty.
<*> Giareth once more slips from his assigned position to engage the enemy,
willing to pay whatever cost to ensure those below do not suffer. Since
getting double-shotted earlier, Sh'van's been much more quick to ensure the
bronze has enough flame for his work. This time, the Thread is soon
destroyed with a satisfactory belching of flame, and the resulting ash is
wiped off his goggles with a grimy gloved hand.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Wilanth wings down to a quick landing on
the ground at the staging area.
<*> Near a bronze, a burst of flame temporarily blinds the eyes of the
bronze and his rider right at the moment a patch of Thread reaches him. A
shout of pain from the rider is cut short as the dragon and rider disappear
between only to reappear seconds later farther ahead. The clump of Thread
continues on its way, heading to intercept Giareth.
<*> Chezroth arches his eyeridges as two clumps of Thread bear down upon
him, one from the front, and the other from the side. Atop Chezroth, S'dar
points the Thread atop the group out to A'ley, newly on his flank, making
sure that the other bronzerider is aware of the oncoming tendrils. He then
waves his arm upwards, and the front of the diamond begins to tilt from on
the horizontal to a diagonal. The two bronzes are now in a position to take
care of the Thread. Chezroth himself emits a roaring gush of flame straight
forward and sweeps his searing just a bit to the left to take care of the
first patch of deadly Thread.
<*> Several greyish-silver patches drop from the skies at one time. Those
that have not been flamed by the vigilant dragons in the forefront fall
closer and closer to Behemoth.
<*> Psamanth is not showing any signs of weakness, even though this pair
has been here from the beginning. Her rider on the other hand is looking at
her green with concern. "Only a little bit longer, then Sam. I know what he
said."
<*> Dowanth swoops in closer to Cyameth to help sear that which was missed
by Wilanth. He stays carefully back away from the newly arrived green.
Steadying his wings, he continues to ride through the fall.
<*> Acevedath darts to the left, burping a short gout of flame at a single
tendril of thread, the aim was good and only ash remains as she rises back
into formation.
<*> Ayannath pulls duly forward, the smaller green having a little trouble
keeping up with the speed of the wing beside her. Some encouragement from
Ellery pushes her the last needed distance, and the weyrling hefts the
firesone-filled sack across the gap to Shalyn. Another salute, underlined
by a broad smile, and then Ayannath's wingbeats slow and she falls behind,
dropping back down to the weyrlings' level.
<*> On Giareth, Sh'van remains grim-faced as yet more Thread targets
himself and the bronze. The young rider grips his flying straps tightly as
they veer in their flight path to intercept this latest incursion. The
clump seems to be falling like a rock, so the bronze matches speed long
enough to roast it like a wherry, then resumes his position in their wing's
formation.
<*> Atop Cyameth, Terrilia takes advantage of a momentary lull to glance
back at her Wing, concerned as Wilanth drops and Acevedath takes her place.
She mutters something that's unintelligible to all but Cyameth, and signals
for the Wing to drop lower, then for the rotation of the tired greens and
blues. Fresh bodies arrive to take their place, including that of Cyameth
himself--one of the Wingseconds moves forward to take point.
<*> The crosswinds swirling around the fighting wings continue to pose a
challenge to the dragons. Ragged from the gust of wind, a thick clump
tumbles near Dowanth.
<*> Behemoth sees the threads that may escape if not for his valiant
action! At oince he beats his wangs faster and veers downwards catching the
evil threads from above and consigning them to the realms of dust and ash!
That done, he requires more stone, and flickers away to fetch some,
allowing a wingmate to close the gap and take his position
<*> Behemoth wings down into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Behemoth glides to a swift landing on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> Wynith isn't prepared as she exchanges thoughts with her ground Fortian
dragons but Draila was watching and spots the thread heading towards them.
"Left Wyn.. to the left.. a bit closer..." As an arc of flame shoots out
the thread is no more, leaving the pair able to return to their formation
and continue with the rest of the wing.
<*> Five strands of Thread are bound together by the winds to form a thick,
evil looking rope. Almost mesmerizing in its movements, the rope falls to
the left of Gyreventh.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Rhiapeth rises up into the upper sky.
<*> Djarith was timely in his arrival at the older bronze's flank, and the
chance to assist is met with unexpected enthusiam. Fire gushes safely above
Chezroth's rear, providing a firey curtain to catch the thread falling from
that angle.
<*> Cyameth wings down into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> With many of the frontline dragonic pairs focusing their attention on
clearing the skies of the Thread clumps, it is not surprising that a few
patches of the silvery-grey Thread make their way dangerously close to Keth.
<*> Swerving quickly to avoid a clump of Thread that has been upswept by a
thermal, a bronze avoids a harrowing injury. However, the clump twists past
and targets Madieth.
<*> Acevedath drops precipitously then banks right to cover Dowanth's left
flank
<*> In the skies directly above a small blue is more Thread. Before he can
react, the clump is split into two grey patches by an uncooperative
thermal. The reaction to flame these patches must be taken by Mirrath.
<*> Gyreventh with a exultant bugle rises to meet the enemy that would harm
him and the ones he loves. With a mighty effort the brown exhales a stream
of fire that travels up and down the silvery writhing rope. Banking around
he corkscrews around the long rope burning it from all sides and chasing
after it until all that's left is harmless ash.
<*> A thick clump of Thread is split neatly as a green lets forth a burst
of powerful flame. One part is charred into black ash while the unmarred
half twists, zooming toward Dowanth.
Telgar Weyr> K'ran checks: how are things going with the groundcrews?
<*> The flash of red and orange before the bugle of frustration of a green
announces the miss. The Thread is left to fall freely, twisting in the
winds, at Mirrath.
Telgar Weyr> Velano says, "Insane in Triage Central, but mostly okay. I
think I'sai's stubbornness got Threadscored."
Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "Oh, was that it? It's okay, then. *That's*
indestructable. ;) *Ducks.*"
<*> Madieth lets out a bugle as the thread comes toward her. The green
twists her head darting forward to meet it with a controlled burst of flame
that sears the thread down to ash. Brees pats the green's shoulder with a
soft "good job" as Madieth lets out a little more flame to make sure all
that ash is dead.
Telgar Weyr> Lanisa snickers :)
<*> The falling silvery-grey patches of Thread form a swirling pattern in
the gusts of wind that carry the meance through the skies. Charring as best
as they can, patches of the ropey death make their way past the dragons and
end up splitting to head toward the Queen wing while the other appear in
front of Zaith.
<*> From Rhiapeth's neck, Ariane climbs into the air, taking up her
position on Chezroth's left side where she and her rider resume scanning
the skies for more Thread.
<*> Rhiapeth climbs into the air, taking up her position on Chezroth's left
side where she and her rider resume scanning the skies for more Thread.
Telgar Weyr> Meli says, "I dunno, that could be bad. Won't it be even less
flexible once it scars?"
<*> Dowanth soars up to meet the Thread, letting loost a burst of flame to
char the half twists as it falls. The rest is consumed by flame, and P'wert
and Dowanth fall back. A moment later a weyrling arrives to ferry in a bag
of firestone. Catching it, P'wert begins to restock the dragon with the stone.
Telgar Weyr> I'sai -heys-. Okay, so I can't argue. ;)
<*> Although its numbers have been depleted due to events during the Pass,
Benden riders still continue their ancient fight with as much gusto as if
they'd never lost a one. Aelyth returns to the fight after a brief rest,
his smaller size unable to keep up with the larger dragons. Nich had paced
the ground below as she waited for her dragon to take a breather. She then
took him back aloft, resuming their place in formation, whilst Orrith took
a break to get more firestone into his second gullet. Both Nich and Cl'rek
have Thread-ash over them, and the dusty Benden blue dragon seems dirtier
than usual, as if he'd gone to play in some mud somewhere. On brown Orrith,
the ash simply made his hide appear darker only by a few shades.
<*> An angry tangle of Thread writhes, slipping between the attention of a
bronze and brown dragon who are busy flaming heavier patches. The Thread
hurtles downard, moving with surprising speed at Dowanth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, With one easy, graceful dip of a wing,
Mirrath carries herself toward this latest clump of thread falling her way.
Two short bursts of the flamethrower render the silvery menace harmless --
but she's not ready for the next clump that falls her way, announcing that
fact to the other queens, the better to let someone else take the lead.
<*> Another thermal that refuses to cooperate with the fighting wings turns
a clump from one heading into a another. This mass of Thread heads right at
Oenoneth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Zaith backwings slightly in surprise,
since the Thread appeared suddenly in front of her. However, turns of
training pay off as Kyrola signals another queen to get half of the clump,
while she and Zaith deal with the rest of it. Zaith resumes her interrupted
flight only once the Thread has been eliminated with extreme prejudice.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Adevath wings upward into the upper sky.
<*> A thick clump of Thread is split neatly as a green lets forth a burst
of powerful flame. One part is charred into black ash while the unmarred
half twists, zooming toward Gyreventh.
<*> Madieth turns her head to look towards Chezroth for a moment before the
green moves out of formation to take up a position beside Djarith sending
the much bigger bronze an animated bugle before she turns her attention to
scanning the sky for thread, as well as keeping a lookout for Djarith.
<*> Dowanth tries to flame the angry tangle as it heads towards him. A loud
warble marks his failure
<*> Dowanth tries to flame the angry tangle as it heads towards him. A loud
warble marks his failure. He ducks between just narrowly missing the tangle.
<*> Oenoneth dissappears between only to remerge above the wriggling mass
already breathing her gout of flame that quickly encompases the thread
killing it in a massive fireball that blows away on the wind.
<*> Several greyish-silver patches drop from the skies at one time. Those
that have not been flamed by the vigilant dragons in the forefront fall
closer and closer to Psamanth.
<*> A flank is threatened by a patch of silvery-grey as the winds turn a
sheet of thread into the formation of dragons. A patch manages to get
through the initial defensive flaming line and head towards Qeturath.
<*> Acevedath banks hard left, spouting a plume of flame at the clump
Dowanth had to avoid. The flame barely licks the middle of the tangle,
letting the lower half continue down. A moment's hesitation and she dives,
but her rider cauntermands her and she resumes her place.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Verenth rises higher into the upper sky.
<*> Verenth leads up a replacement subwing of Avalanche.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Svaroth climbs higher into the upper sky.
<*> A loud cry erupts from the lips of a rider of a bronze that is clipped
on the wing by a swiftly descending clump of Thread. It continues to writhe
and fall, heading directly for Zaith.
<*> Keth rises his nuzzle high in the air, letting a challenging bugle.
Then *wfooooooosh*, and with a final large gush of flame, he takes out all
the remaining strands. Then G'rel, and several other riders from his wing
descend, as the replacements come from *between*.
<*> Wynith is hot on Qeturath's tail, offering her assistance along with
some flame to end that missed trail of thread. She warbles to the other
gold once the menace is past then returns to her former spot in the wing
with praise coming from Draila.
<*> Keth wings down into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Keth banks and lands neatly on the ground
at the staging area.
<*> Dowanth returns as Acevedath clears the clump, reassume his position in
Sandstorm wing. P'wert heaves a relieved sigh, checking Dowanth over for
any hits. Relieved that there is none, the bronze prepares for the next wave.
<*> Gyreventh almost gets hit by the half charred thread closing down on
him as his rider is distracted by his daughters safety rather than his own.
Just in time though they too blink between to avoid a collision and dive
after the silver writhing menace. With a mighty belch, akin to a turnover
banquet, the strong brown burns the deadly mass into so much dust in the wind.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Mounted atop Qeturath, Chayil's attention
is elsewhere at the time that the thread comes towards her, so while
Qeturath does swerve to avoid injury by that tangle of threads, Chayil
herself fails to flame it. It continues towards the ground, hissing nastily
towards a hapless ground crew member.
<*> The flash of red and orange before the bugle of frustration of a green
announces the miss. The Thread is left to fall freely, twisting in the
winds, at Giareth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Zaith hasn't the time to see if her
rider's last attack on Thread is successful, for another tangle is headed
their way. Kyrola frowns as the flamethrower doesn't perform as it's
supposed to. A swift mid-air check reveals the fault, and it's corrected,
just in time to have a wee bit of an Istan Thread barbeque, leaving nothing
behind to fall below.
<*> With many of the frontline dragonic pairs focusing their attention on
clearing the skies of the Thread clumps, it is not surprising that a few
patches of the silvery-grey Thread make their way dangerously close to
Gyreventh.
<*> Adevath is either very tough or very stubborn. Perhaps both. In any
case, he's back to leading his wing and protecting his weyrlings, some of
who scatter away to deliver firestone to other Fortian riders. A small
clump tumbles near and the bronze obliterates it with an overzealous burst
of flame. That'll teach it to try and hurt his lifemate!
<*> Wynith is hot on Zaith's tail that is and offering her assistance along
with some flame to end that missed trail of thread. She warbles to the
other gold once the menace is past then returns to her former spot in the
wing with praise coming from Draila.
<*> The falling silvery-grey patches of Thread form a swirling pattern in
the gusts of wind that carry the meance through the skies. Charring as best
as they can, patches of the ropey death make their way past the dragons and
end up splitting to head toward the Queen wing while the other appear in
front of Giareth.
<*> Acevedath drifts aside to give Dowanth more wing room and drops a wing
span lower so she might be in better position for any strays.
<*> Djarith arches his neck to scan the sky, making a show of activity and
steady wingbeats as his former weyrlingmaster flies up behind them
watchfully. After enough of a show, and a small gout of flame at some
impotent crackdust, the bronze offers a curt welcoming sound to Madeith.
<*> Gyreventh just finishes ingesting another chuck of firestone so as
another patch of thread makes it way too close to him the fire that licks
out to encompass it seems to be burn extra bright, as orange as the eyes of
the dragon it comes from.
<*> Lysseth continues her conservative flying pattern, flaming the Thread
when it's near her, occasionally rising or falling some small distance to
meet it; but when patches tumble too far from range, she rumbles to a
Wingmate-pair for the catch. And when a tangle approaches at too sharp and
poor an angle, as now, she blinks *between*. Blue Alymbrith eradicates it
neatly, and the leading green bugles thanks to him upon her return.
<*> Coming down with the same merciless intent as a harsh winter blizzard,
the Thread writhes through an unprotected air space. A nasty clump of
silvery strands falls just above and ahead of Ayannath.
<*> Psamanth flies up to meet the thread that is falling down on top of
her. She seems to stop in mid-air as she unfolds stops her upwards rise as
she flames the thread. However hot flamed char rains down on her and her
rider causing her to go *between* reappearing just above her wing.
<*> Giareth doesn't make a sound this time. The Thread stalking him and his
rider is a tricky little beast. Unfortunately, a gust of wind causes a tiny
bit of it to evade his flame at the last second. It slams into the leading
edge of his wing, and the bronze flashes between long enough for it to
crack off. Upon their return in the air, Sh'van checks Giareth over, but
the injury is far too minor to merit leaving the Fall. In fact, the pair
take on a second patch of Threadfalll with an inordinate amount of gusto,
as if to say 'so there!'
<*> Konnevath runs of out flame again, and at a particularly bad time. A
twist of Thread floats down his way at full speed, and he has to go
*between* to avoid it. Right away!
<*> Konnevath disappears into Between.
<*> Near a bronze, a burst of flame temporarily blinds the eyes of the
bronze and his rider right at the moment a patch of Thread reaches him. A
shout of pain from the rider is cut short as the dragon and rider disappear
between only to reappear seconds later farther ahead. The clump of Thread
continues on its way, heading to intercept Juliath.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Perched atop Zaith, Kyrola turns and gives
Draila of Fort a gesture of thanks and a brief grin for their efforts to
assist, but she continues watching for more Thread.
<*> Svaroth slides neatly into the place Konnevath vacates. One brown for
one brown as the wing rotates in replacements.
<*> Writhing in mortal-seeking anguish, a sheet of Thread cascades through
the upper tier of flaming dragons and heads without hesitation towards
Lysseth.
<*> Randoth throws all his strength in this ultimate battle. Veering
sharply he keeps emitting his lethal breath, tho his flames aren't as large
now.
<*> From atop Ayannath, Ellery uses the few moments' respite from running
supply to restoke the green, who turns her head with a dainty warble, a
strange sound among the bugles and bursts of flame. When the dragon's head
turns back, she emits a trumpet of surprise, and, luckily, a gout of flame.
Just enough, in fact, to char that clump completely. Ellery's cheers
accompany the drifting, harmless remains downwards.
<*> Blocked by a sheet of writhing masses of Thread, three dragons blink
between quickly to avoid scoring. This, however, lets the sheet fall
uncharred to intercept Acevedath.
<*> Swerving quickly to avoid a clump of Thread that has been upswept by a
thermal, a bronze avoids a harrowing injury. However, the clump twists past
and targets Wynith.
<*> Juliath lets out a loud bugle, its strength in contrast to her own
waning efforts. The clump of thread twists in the wind as if in some
strange dance with the green. But these are the skies of Juliath's birth
and youth and she knows them all too well. With a twist of her own, she
tucks her wings in to dive under the clump even as she lifts her head and
sears it thoroughly to ash. Wings snap back out a moment later, and Meli
cracks a rueful smile.
<*> Astride Adevath, V'yse shouts from Adevath's back, his voice loud
enough to be heard by those close enough by. He's caught two weyrlings
nearly colliding with three from Telgar and he's not happy. "Didn't you
learn anything?! Back in line! S'orda, to your six! Y'oh, back up Lomiath!"
<*> A thick sheet of Thread falls from the sky, forcing dragons that are
somewhat near the silvery strands to speed up to deal with the menace.
Among the red-orange bursts of flame, a tangle of Thread falls through,
heading amazingly fast towards Rhiapeth.
<*> Acevedath says "Acevedtah's rider peers about and signals a weyrling
for more firestone. With a grunt, Acevedath surges upwards to meet the
threat, her jaws gaping as her last burst of flame strikes the mass from
below. The green flashes from view moments before hitting the burning
tangle, to reemerge below."
<*> An angry tangle of Thread writhes, slipping between the attention of a
bronze and brown dragon who are busy flaming heavier patches. The Thread
hurtles downard, moving with surprising speed at Acevedath.
<*> Lysseth is certainly glad to put that mortal-seeking anguish out of its
misery. In fact, few jobs would likely give her greater pleasure. Her jaw
gapes wide, baring fangs a moment before it bares fire to the severe
detriment of that sheet--yet the sheet is wide, and Lyss is nearing the
last of her flame, so that it gutters before the Thread is entirely
vanquished. It's something the pair might not even have noticed, lost as
the half-strand is in a cloud of black... if that cloud weren't blown back
towards them, towards dragon's neck and rider's leg. The startled and
synchronized yelp from both parties might be comical in other
circumstances. It's less so, preceding a brief flick *between*.
<*> In the skies directly above a small blue is more Thread. Before he can
react, the clump is split into two grey patches by an uncooperative
thermal. The reaction to flame these patches must be taken by Semirath.
<*> Acevedath instantly has to evade, twisting her head to one side to
spout a tiny burst of flame in a futile attempt to do her work.
<*> A small brown and large blue veer downward toward a patch of Thread at
the same moment. Swerving to avoid the collision that is looming, the patch
of thread flies past untouched and heads at Zaith.
<*> Juliath lets loose another bugle, as her clutchmate is seared. She
holds her position, however, even as Meli scans the skies looking for
Lysseth and Kassi to reappear.
<*> Rhiapeth is experienced, but perhaps not quite as fast as she once was.
Though she releases a burst of searching flame towards the sheet of Thread,
this time she is not able to get them all. Diving aside, she still cannot
prevent the last remnant of Thread from scoring the side of her neck.
<*> Trecherous thermals twist a pair of Thread clumps and push them toward
the fighting wings. Bright colours of flame colour the sky and punch holes
through the mass of writhing strands but another gust of wind blows the
reamining uncharred thread directly at Randoth.
<*> Dowanth soars in towards as Acevedath, shooting a flame towards the
twisted tangle. With a full flame, he chars the thread, following it until
it's out of range and black.
<*> Rhiapeth disappears into Between.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Rhiapeth backwings to a neat landing on
the ground at the staging area.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Perched atop Zaith, Kyrola shakes her head
as a bit of sloppiness means she's got some more work to do. Calling dibs
on that errant bit of thread, she directs Zaith to intercept. The queen's
wings creak as they change vectors, but the result is the same. Ista: 149,
Thread: nil.
<*> As a green from the upper formations starts to go into a dive to get a
missed patch of Thread, the bugle of her wingleader's dragon makes her
return into position. The patch continues on its way to Lysseth.
<*> Acevedath says "Jannine catches a tossed firestone bag from the
weyrling she'd signaled, too old a hand at threadfighting to rail against
what can't be helped. She feeds chunks of the rock to her mount as they
both rise back to position. Janine calls 'Well done!' to Dowanth and Pwert
before resuming her scanning.""
<*> Semirath darts to her right to flame the first patch of thread, cleanly
charring it to ash. Nimbly she twists while diving downwards to her left,
changing directions on the fly so as to remove the second clump. As hot ash
falls onto her and her rider, they dart in between and reappear moments
later back in formation.
<*> The crosswinds swirling around the fighting wings continue to pose a
challenge to the dragons. Ragged from the gust of wind, a thick clump
tumbles near Svaroth.
<*> Dasmareth would fight all day if Ami let her, but as on of the smaller
greens around, even her determination can make up for being tired. So it's
with a final burst of flame at an offending clump that the green sinks
below the wings, dropping out to rest.
<*> Dasmareth wings down into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> On Verenth, Melata steadies her Wing and shouts it back into formation
as it spreads out.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Dasmareth wings down and lands lightly on
the ground at the staging area.
<*> Five strands of Thread are bound together by the winds to form a thick,
evil looking rope. Almost mesmerizing in its movements, the rope falls to
the left of Psamanth.
<*> Randoth's attention wasn't focused correctly as the bronze keeps
arching his neck to watch the Weyrling wing or Adevath, to be more precise.
A bugle among Stormshadow makes Rey wince and the pair have only time
enough to blink *between to avoid what could have certainly been a
disaster. It's a pride scratched Randoth that still chases after the
missing clump, reducing it to black ashes...
Kassima manages somehow to be swearing up a storm even as she and her
lifemate re-emerge from *between*. That takes talent, no? Lysseth's hissing
like an overheated kettle, but less with pain than a decided, near-blinding
rage. 'Near' is a key qualifier, though. That tangle of Thread is spied in
time to lash out and sear half of it to dust, but another trip *between*
must follow, and the second half is left to Meli and Juliath. More cursing
occurs when the lead pair reappear, as well as much crunching of fresh
firestone.
<*> Suddenly, a large clump of Thread is ripped asunder by a gust of wind
that forms four patches of the silvery menace which proceeds to target a
large brown. While he is able to deal with two of the strands with precise
flaming, the second pair of Thread patches are coming too fast. With a roar
of warning, the brown blinks between to let flaming commence by Svaroth.
<*> Five strands of Thread are bound together by the winds to form a thick,
evil looking rope. Almost mesmerizing in its movements, the rope falls to
the left of Giareth.
<*> Several greyish-silver patches drop from the skies at one time. Those
that have not been flamed by the vigilant dragons in the forefront fall
closer and closer to Giareth.
<*> Svaroth's never silent about such matters, and so when he sees a clump
carried to him on a gust of wind, he bugles after searing it. Or maybe it
was a reply to his fellow brown as another patch finds it's self in his
path. Well, he can make quick work of that too. A gout of flame is issued
and another threat taken care of.
<*> Astride Juliath, Meli lets fly a curse of her own, a very rare
occurrence. The good: Kassi and Lysseth seem ok. The bad: that clump of
thread heading her way. Juliath coughs out a last spurt of flame, just
managing to sear it but forcing Meli to duck low over her neck to avoid the
ash. She straightens and quickly signals to a weyrling for more 'stone.
<*> A flank is threatened by a patch of silvery-grey as the winds turn a
sheet of thread into the formation of dragons. A patch manages to get
through the initial defensive flaming line and head towards Mirrath.
<*> Giareth seems almost to have been mesmerized by that evil looking rope.
His head swings back and forth rhythmically, like a drunken line-dance at
the Lava Lounge. It's only when he opens his jaws and flame erupts from
them that give any indication that he was simply playing along, tracking
the Thread so as to be able to nail it. As more Thread comes within his
sector, he continues efficiently flaming, not wasting a bit of his flame.
The last bit of Thread gets roasted by a mere snort from the bronze, and
Sh'van is quick to take a fresh bag of firestone and feed it to his dragon.
<*> Telgar's Starblaze wing continues to scour the sky: back behind
Indrath, speedy blue Marcoth closes up slack in formation behind Listeth,
and the two team to char still another tangle of Thread. Meanwhile, the
lean-framed brone himself is dropping back for resupply, his flame having
begun to gutter after the last assault on the skyborne enemy.
<*> Djarith chews firestone, A'ley stoking his flame as he saw a lack in
the bronze's last gout. With Rhiapeth down and out - and off of Chezroth's
left flank - a small shift occurs in the wing ranks. O'nan's little green
comes in to offer her strength, filling in the spot Rhiapeth vacated for
now. Djarith looks alert, a concerned rumble for the old green's departure,
playing the protector with a glance behind towards Madeith.
<*> An angry tangle of Thread writhes, slipping between the attention of a
bronze and brown dragon who are busy flaming heavier patches. The Thread
hurtles downard, moving with surprising speed at Svaroth.
Telgar Weyr> K'ran says, "On that note... I'm going to sneak out. :) Take
care, y'all -- I'll try to be back this evening."
<*> Psamanth dives as the tread falls down to the left of her. She isn't as
fast as she was at the beginning of the fall but she still lets out a nice
short burst of flame at it, just enough to kill the thread not letting any
go to waste. However, her raise back up to her wing comes slower than before.
<*> Blocked by a sheet of writhing masses of Thread, three dragons blink
between quickly to avoid scoring. This, however, lets the sheet fall
uncharred to intercept Oenoneth.
<*> Adevath tumbles off to go chase a full sheet of thread, and though he
chars it neatly, his movements grow sluggish. His tricks aren't as agile as
they once were and now he's a bit clumsy in the sky. Regardless, at least
for now, he continues to fight, torching a few stray strands on his way
back to his wing.
<*> Swerving quickly to avoid a clump of Thread that has been upswept by a
thermal, a bronze avoids a harrowing injury. However, the clump twists past
and targets Semirath.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Atop Mirrath, Tarien aims her 'thrower
again, all business this time, to incinerate the clump that's come her way
most recently. Mirrath tucks in a wing to avoid adding a new ash burn to
her collection and, at the gold's left, one of the other Telgari queens
adds some insurance: one last burst from above.
Dragon> Juliath bespoke Lysseth with << You and your lifemate are
*wellness*?? >>
<*> Suddenly, a large clump of Thread is ripped asunder by a gust of wind
that forms four patches of the silvery menace which proceeds to target a
large brown. While he is able to deal with two of the strands with precise
flaming, the second pair of Thread patches are coming too fast. With a roar
of warning, the brown blinks between to let flaming commence by Acevedath.
<*> Verenth tosses his head back for a new mouthful of firestone, which he
gets.
<*> With many of the frontline dragonic pairs focusing their attention on
clearing the skies of the Thread clumps, it is not surprising that a few
patches of the silvery-grey Thread make their way dangerously close to
Dowanth.
Lysseth> Juliath senses that Lysseth's thought is edged and blackened, but
steady enough and sure as she sends, << Good catch. Yes--well, no, not as
much as I would like. Her leg is Threadscored. >> And probably some part of
Lysseth, since not all the pain in her undertone is phantom. << But we can
continue to fight as we must. >>
<*> From atop Ayannath, Ellery, emboldened by a few fair flamings from her
lifemate, urges the mossy green upwards when she sees so much Thread
sheeting towards Oenoneth. Called sharply back into place by an assistant
weyrlingmaster, Ayannath can do nothing but trumpet a warning upwards to
Shalyn and hers.
<*> The crosswinds swirling around the fighting wings continue to pose a
challenge to the dragons. Ragged from the gust of wind, a thick clump
tumbles near Qeturath.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Larileth flies higher into the upper sky.
<*> Semirath had been in the middle of chewing stone when the bronze
disappears *between*. She too disappears *between* while swallowing,
reappearing a few meters higher so as to be perfectly positioned to sear
the clump of silvery thread. As the ash falls downwards, she dives to her
left to resume her spot in the Blizzard wing formation.
<*> Svaroth's attention is quickly pulled to task as R'sel spots what his
dragon wasn't seeing. With a rumble Svar flames again, catching the
speeding Thread with gusto. Only when it's passed does he turn for more
'stone.
<*> Oenoneth bubles as the tri dissappear makeing way for her flame. She
rises high er and higher sprays her flame across the decending sheet then
blinks between to avoid getting burned on it's way to oblivion.
<*> Acevedath zooms upwards, her maw widen as a bolus of flame shoots
forwards to the closest clump. It catches it neat, the flames rippling up
along the thread. She dodges to the right for another blast but is too high
to catch the lowest end, only igniting the middle.
<*> A small brown and large blue veer downward toward a patch of Thread at
the same moment. Swerving to avoid the collision that is looming, the patch
of thread flies past untouched and heads at Semirath.
<*> On Semirath, Caritha signals to the weyrling wings for a refill of
stone again as she empties the last of her sack into Semirath's maw.
<*> Near a bronze, a burst of flame temporarily blinds the eyes of the
bronze and his rider right at the moment a patch of Thread reaches him. A
shout of pain from the rider is cut short as the dragon and rider disappear
between only to reappear seconds later farther ahead. The clump of Thread
continues on its way, heading to intercept Semirath.
<*> Dowanth clears the first patch to head his way with a wide swath of
flame. The next gets only gets half charred as it falls,. He banks quickly
to avoid the rest of it, right into the way of the last patch. Trumpetting
anxiously, the bronze ducks between the threads hitting the air space he
occupied not but a moment before. When its clear, the bronze reemerges.
P'wert signals anxiously for more firestone, scanning anxiously asd they wait.
<*> Madieth turns an eye to the changes in the wing before she goes back to
her duty in place, stoking up with more firestone from Brees, flaming
thread, and keeping a protective eye out for Djarith beside her.
<*> The flash of red and orange before the bugle of frustration of a green
announces the miss. The Thread is left to fall freely, twisting in the
winds, at Sruth.
<*> Semirath emits a pure clean burst of flame towards the patch, even as
her riders eyes follow the disappearing pair, Caritha sighing with relief
to see them reappear. Caritha signals more urgently for a refill of stone,
some of the ash from the seared thread falling onto her sleeve.
<*> Sruth leans into a newly-favored thermal, and when Thread targets, he
aims - the escaped tangle gets close, and his rider's oath's unheard before
it's all burning dust and a moment Between before the pair retakes formation.
<*> A thick sheet of Thread falls from the sky, forcing dragons that are
somewhat near the silvery strands to speed up to deal with the menace.
Among the red-orange bursts of flame, a tangle of Thread falls through,
heading amazingly fast towards Juliath.
<*> Acevedath says "Her strength waining, Acevedath drops lower, making
room in the formation for her replacement."
<*> Larileth rises, iron-bound crystal wings carrying him momentarily out
of the formation of weyrlings, Lorany astride him with firestone at the
ready. In a moment of wonderful timing, blue and weyrling are near P'wert
and Dowanth and Lor tosses what she carries the Igenite's way. Even for a
tiny rider, her aim is true.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Riolth pops out of the formation above
down to a resupply, grabbing it and heading back for his wing without much
of a halt.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Riolth climbs higher into the upper sky.
<*> Stilgrath and J'od seem to improve with each wingbeats and the pair
does a great job flaming and covering Randoth's back.
<*> Acevedath circles lower into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> Coming down with the same merciless intent as a harsh winter blizzard,
the Thread writhes through an unprotected air space. A nasty clump of
silvery strands falls just above and ahead of Gyreventh.
<*> Riolth rejoins Oasis, having just popped down for a resupply; M'val is
still fastening the sack on by the time Riolth's back in position.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Acevedath swoops down to a landing on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> Writhing in mortal-seeking anguish, a sheet of Thread cascades through
the upper tier of flaming dragons and heads without hesitation towards Wynith.
<*> G'dalf and his mount swerve off to intercept a group of six or so
weyrlings who decide to go adventuring on their own. They drop and climb,
pulling moves they're not yet ready for that will likely strain their
dragons. As he herds them back into place, he can be heard shouting, "Fly,
you fools!"
<*> Trecherous thermals twist a pair of Thread clumps and push them toward
the fighting wings. Bright colours of flame colour the sky and punch holes
through the mass of writhing strands but another gust of wind blows the
reamining uncharred thread directly at Madieth.
<*> Juliath is barely through chewing and swallowing her new supply of
stone when she is called back into action. Her first attempt at flame
produces only a small cough of smoke, and Meli lets out a startled yelp.
The green drops straight down to avoid the clump, then turns on the Mark
the way only the smallest greens can, to let loose a massive burst of fire
and flame the thread from upwind. Good thing the green behind her has kept
her distance.
<*> Psamanth calls out for more stone to the nearest weyrling. Karimina
looks up and catches the bag just in time. As the green has to pop between
to avoid a patch of thread that falls on top of her. The weyrling smartly
falls the thread instead.
<*> A loud cry erupts from the lips of a rider of a bronze that is clipped
on the wing by a swiftly descending clump of Thread. It continues to writhe
and fall, heading directly for Riolth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Mounted atop Qeturath, Chayil motions for
the other Igen queenriders to cover her as she switches out her empty
agenothree cannister for a full one attached to Qeturath's straps. Once the
refill is firmly attached, she thanks her wingmates with a thumbs-up and
returns to vigilance.
<*> Gyreventh and his rider are 'in the zone' as it were. No sooner does a
clump of thread make it's way towards them as they are on their way up to
destroy it. Closer and closer the pair get, and just when it seem that a
collision is inevitable a bright spurt of orange flame erupts from the
brown's maw and encompass it so completely that it will never harm anything
ever. The pair blink between to avoid getting burnt by the flaming mess and
emerge bugling a victorious clarion call.
<*> The falling silvery-grey patches of Thread form a swirling pattern in
the gusts of wind that carry the meance through the skies. Charring as best
as they can, patches of the ropey death make their way past the dragons and
end up splitting to head toward the Queen wing while the other appear in
front of Djarith.
<*> In the skies directly above a small blue is more Thread. Before he can
react, the clump is split into two grey patches by an uncooperative
thermal. The reaction to flame these patches must be taken by Verenth.
Telgar Weyr> Tarien likewise scoots out, movie time.:)
<*> From high on Wynith, Draila beats her wings to meet the threat headed
in her direction while Draila readies the thrower. Thankfully M'ert and
Onth appear at her side and together they make ash that continues to drift
downwards. "Thanks M'ert."
<*> As a green from the upper formations starts to go into a dive to get a
missed patch of Thread, the bugle of her wingleader's dragon makes her
return into position. The patch continues on its way to Mirrath.
<*> Another thermal that refuses to cooperate with the fighting wings turns
a clump from one heading into a another. This mass of Thread heads right at
Larileth.
<*> Verenth surges upwards from his formation, mouth agape. He easily
flames one patch, and manages to get part of the second before needing to
go between. The partially charred second patch continues downward to the
lower parts of the formation and the ground as Verenth returns to his place.
<*> A thick clump of Thread is split neatly as a green lets forth a burst
of powerful flame. One part is charred into black ash while the unmarred
half twists, zooming toward Mirrath.
<*> Ayannath slows her beating wings to fall back in the ranks when another
weyrling returns from resupply, until Ellery notices a gesture from another
rider up above. With a bugle both to aid her failing strength and attract
Semirath's attention, the petite green speeds forward. Her rider, after a
salute and a whistle to bolster the bugle, awaits Caritha's readiness as
the pair pulls into position.
<*> Riolth flares his wings out and curves them to brake, arching his neck
to let out a burst of flame at the remnant of the Thread that clipped his
fellow bronze. It looks like M'val isn't paying attention, since he's still
fiddling with the sack of firestone he just retrieved, but he sways to one
side, then back, just right to not have to grab at anything or cling hard.
<*> A loud cry erupts from the lips of a rider of a bronze that is clipped
on the wing by a swiftly descending clump of Thread. It continues to writhe
and fall, heading directly for Gyreventh.
<*> On Semirath, Caritha signals her readiness for the receipt and catches
the sack with practiced ease. She waves her thanks to Ellery and Ayannath
right after having attached the sack to Semirath's straps. Immediately she
digs a hand inside, tossing another piece of stone into the green's waiting
open mouth.
<*> Larileth is a victim of traitorous wind currents, the target of
merciless forces... and he isn't falling prey without a fair challenge
first. Lorany's squeak of surprise is cut off midway to formation as she
notices what careens toward them--thankfully for her Larileth is far less
nervous. A controlled burst of yellow and amber flame incinerates what
would have pelted into them, and the pair backwing a second later to avoid
the ash.
<*> Lysseth now has her flame entirely restored to her, and takes to
mopping the skies in her immediate vicinity--but not much farther, since if
she was flying with care before, that's only become more the case now--with
a vengeance that borders on overkill and occasionally crosses the line
altogether. Kassima rubs her lifemate's neck and murmurs encouragement,
while casting looks back over her Wing's formation.
<*> Gyreventh heeds the call and no sooner is the thread coming his way
than he chars it out of the sky.
<*> A small brown and large blue veer downward toward a patch of Thread at
the same moment. Swerving to avoid the collision that is looming, the patch
of thread flies past untouched and heads at Acevedath.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Omfaleth lets out a chuff of annoyance:
MUST the Threadfall split off in bits so she and hers don't get to sear it
all? But, share and share alike, one supposes. The fiery queen arches
upward, bright red-gold wings fanning the air to angle directly below and
to the right of the clump; and while the first part of that is Djarith's --
maybe he'll leave some extra, for fun -- a gout of flame streams from
Reye's flamethrower to char that second clump to ash.
<*> The crosswinds swirling around the fighting wings continue to pose a
challenge to the dragons. Ragged from the gust of wind, a thick clump
tumbles near Gyreventh.
<*> Oenoneth disappears into Between.
<*> Djarith is practically sandwiched between Chezroth at his left flank,
and Madieth behind him. But Madeith's watchful eye is busy with her own
target, and Djarith trumpets ebullently at the chance to meet the enemy.
Ropey death is it? Not yet. Curling slightly to protect his left side, the
bronze not only lets out a flame to incinerate the clump before him, but
follows it downward slightly to combust it fully. No extra for Omfaleth there.
<*> With many of the frontline dragonic pairs focusing their attention on
clearing the skies of the Thread clumps, it is not surprising that a few
patches of the silvery-grey Thread make their way dangerously close to
Svaroth.
<*> The tail end of Fort's weyrling wing scatters as an unfortituitious
gust of wind tosses thread all around them. Many wink between, leaving
their wingmates in front to turn around and take care of what they missed
before it can drop any farther.
<*> Suddenly, a large clump of Thread is ripped asunder by a gust of wind
that forms four patches of the silvery menace which proceeds to target a
large brown. While he is able to deal with two of the strands with precise
flaming, the second pair of Thread patches are coming too fast. With a roar
of warning, the brown blinks between to let flaming commence by Giareth.
<*> Gyreventh goes from one clump to another burning thread from the skies.
Just after he swallows another chunk of stone a thick clump comes his way.
Quickly he burns it from the skies leaving narry a trace but ash behind.
<*> A black cloud of dust steams from Randoth's maw right after his last
flame is emitted. Swiftly turning his head to one side, he bugles for Rey
to feed him. Looks like the pair is gonna run out of 'stone anytime soon now.
<*> The Thread heading for Acevedath falls through a hole as she pops
between, along with a few other greens and a few blues from her wing. Her
replacement comes in almost too close, and the new green's turns a rather
sickly pale as Riolth bellows a warning. The Thread continues onwards, down
towards the queens' level.
<*> Writhing in mortal-seeking anguish, a sheet of Thread cascades through
the upper tier of flaming dragons and heads without hesitation towards
Verenth.
<*> Psamanth bulges again as she turns her head to receive more stone. Ever
watchful of the sky, she takes a refill on her fire in her belly.
<*> A brown weyrling pair from Fort glides over towards R'yat, waving to
him in a signal that they're going to toss him more stone.
<*> Giareth is quick to take action, upon warning from his fellow High
Reaches dragon. Two patches. Thus, the ingenuous pottery bronze changes
course, tilting his angle of attack to allow for the best position on both
patches. The first one is caught on the upswing of the swoop, whilst the
second is nailed in passing as they resume their position in formation.
<*> Madieth finishes searing though a patch of thread and moves forward to
help Djarith, only to fall back into place beside him when she sees that
the bronze has gotten it all. Madieth bugles over proudly to the bronze for
that before she swings part of her attention out again.
<*> Ayannath slips down to join the weyrling wing once more, crooning worry
not for Larileth, but his squeaky rider. Ellery picks up on the concern and
waves a few times in an exaggerated gesture to Lorany. "Doing alright,
Lor?" Her words are swept away, of course, between heavy winds and fleet
flying on Ayannath's part to dodge flame that gushes by them, belched by
another weyrling who wasn't watching his position.
<*> Svaroth has prepared himself for the next wave in the battle. Restoked
with more 'stone he makes short work of the patch or two that aim for him.
One burst of flame to slide from patch to patch, leaving only a trail of
ash to trickle down.
<*> In the skies directly above a small blue is more Thread. Before he can
react, the clump is split into two grey patches by an uncooperative
thermal. The reaction to flame these patches must be taken by Madieth.
<*> Five strands of Thread are bound together by the winds to form a thick,
evil looking rope. Almost mesmerizing in its movements, the rope falls to
the left of Wynith.
<*> From atop Chezroth, S'dar waves his arm in a circle and the diamond
widens a bit more as clumps of Thread seem to be spreading apart slightly
above the Istan formation. He pushes forward a bit, looping the diamond
back around over the Queen's Wing. Those Wingriders at the rear of the
diamond lag behind a bit to offer added coverage.
<*> Larileth holds his position in the weyrling formation of Ista's
Starblaze, crystallized flame glittering all the more brightly over
wingsails and spars as he remains steady to his rider's skittishness.
"Yeah!" Lor shouts across the turbulent distance, though words may not
carry in the chaotic dance of search and defy, "great! Close *cough* call."
<*> Another thermal that refuses to cooperate with the fighting wings turns
a clump from one heading into a another. This mass of Thread heads right at
Randoth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Qeturath curls her path so as to intercept
the falling strands that Acevedath has missed. As her rider aims, wind
works with her for once, shoving four strands into one another to make two
twists, which Chayil incinerates with quick bursts of agenothree acid. Take
that!
<*> Coming down with the same merciless intent as a harsh winter blizzard,
the Thread writhes through an unprotected air space. A nasty clump of
silvery strands falls just above and ahead of Dowanth.
<*> Verenth seems to be happier that this clump of Thread is all in one
group. He wings over and moves the short distance needed to flame this
Thread. The strands disappear in one gigantic *whoosh!*
<*> The flash of red and orange before the bugle of frustration of a green
announces the miss. The Thread is left to fall freely, twisting in the
winds, at Omfaleth.
<*> Dowanth is freshly stocked by P'wert as the clump heads down in front.
He swings towards it, letting loose a large, fresh flame. P'wert cheers as
a large majority blackens, leaving only part of the clump to continue to
fall. They pursue it within their range, then abandon the chase as they
come closer to another wing's airspace.
<*> An angry tangle of Thread writhes, slipping between the attention of a
bronze and brown dragon who are busy flaming heavier patches. The Thread
hurtles downard, moving with surprising speed at Svaroth.
<*> Randoth was on his way down for resupply as the deadly mass furiously
heads his way. Making an audacious roll to his right, he ends up flying
upside down long enough to emits his last flame. Luckily for Fort's
Weyrsecond, it was larger enough to burn the danger. Once on his way down,
he takes some time to look at Wynith to see if she needs any help.
<*> Adevath spirals off to char another nasty clump, but his breath comes
out short and his wingbeats are now labored. The bronze moves to return to
the head of his wing, but this time, V'yse seems to stop him. They glide
for a while, then finally wink between.
<*> Astride Wynith, Draila warbles as if sharing a joke as she dashes
towards the ropes of thread coming her way. Her rider winces at the rush of
movement that leaves her stomach behind though she is ever ready to face
this next threat. A smile appears as flame shoots out from her flamer,
rendering the rope thick thread to dust. "Take that." She murmurs as the
two head back towards the wing and take up where they formerly were.
Dragon> Adevath bespoke all dragons with << My rider is hurting worse than
he thought, and I grow tired. Please fight for us. >>
<*> Near a bronze, a burst of flame temporarily blinds the eyes of the
bronze and his rider right at the moment a patch of Thread reaches him. A
shout of pain from the rider is cut short as the dragon and rider disappear
between only to reappear seconds later farther ahead. The clump of Thread
continues on its way, heading to intercept Gyreventh.
<*> Adevath disappears into Between.
<*> Several greyish-silver patches drop from the skies at one time. Those
that have not been flamed by the vigilant dragons in the forefront fall
closer and closer to Zaith.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Farlioth rises higher into the upper sky.
<*> Gyreventh with turns of experience goes to intercept the errant thread,
with a belch and an exhale he issues forth a tongue of flame that
incinerates the ancient foe from the skies.
<*> Randoth spirals downward into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> Blocked by a sheet of writhing masses of Thread, three dragons blink
between quickly to avoid scoring. This, however, lets the sheet fall
uncharred to intercept Svaroth.
<*> Ayannath's concern as Thread fast approaches her queen is evident in
swiftly yellowed eyes, flashing tail, and the all-too-audible bugle. Ellery
hushes her usually less demonstrative green quickly, and redirects her to
the occasional seerings and more frequent resupplyings they're supposed to
be focused on.
<*> A thick sheet of Thread falls from the sky, forcing dragons that are
somewhat near the silvery strands to speed up to deal with the menace.
Among the red-orange bursts of flame, a tangle of Thread falls through,
heading amazingly fast towards Omfaleth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, As they are warned of an incursion of
their ancient enemy in their airspace, the Harvest Moon gold Zaith banks
out of formation, Kyrola swiftly completing a tank-swap in midair. A quick
check of the flamethrower to ensure it's still good to go, and she sets to,
searing the various patches of Thread that seem to have taken that wrong
turn at Benden Weyr. Before her assigned area remains undefended before too
long, Zaith reverses her sweeping flight and returns to where she's
supposed to be, once more scanning the skies.
<*> The falling silvery-grey patches of Thread form a swirling pattern in
the gusts of wind that carry the meance through the skies. Charring as best
as they can, patches of the ropey death make their way past the dragons and
end up splitting to head toward the Queen wing while the other appear in
front of Juliath.
<*> Larileth allows himself a concerned warble as a second tangle of the
ancient silvered enemy targets the Istan senior, but swiftly silences
himself as a mised strand gives him cause for action. No sooner is this
done than a Dawnsflame bluerider signals her need and away the serene
forged weyrling and dragon go, adapting to the dance by experience.
<*> Farlioth joins his usual wing, his rider waving at the others in a
usual motion before she settles back, eyes already scanning. They flick
once towards the Igen contingent, and she flashes a sudden smile before
turning back.
<*> Swerving quickly to avoid a clump of Thread that has been upswept by a
thermal, a bronze avoids a harrowing injury. However, the clump twists past
and targets Wynith.
<*> Svaroth battles on, one more clump here and another one there. A quick
trip between between them as he avoids the ash from the first that nearly
caught him in between. And then it's time to demand more stone again. That
offered up quickly by R'sel.
<*> Astride Juliath, Meli waves for assistance in catching the errant
swirls of Thread before they can fall to the Queens waiting below. Veering
slightly left out of formation, her wingmate veers slightly right, both
greens angling inward then to catch the clump in a crossfire.
<*> A flank is threatened by a patch of silvery-grey as the winds turn a
sheet of thread into the formation of dragons. A patch manages to get
through the initial defensive flaming line and head towards Faorath.
<*> On Verenth, Melata shouts for her Wing to close up again! All are
getting too spread out again, especially the younger, newly tapped riders
who haven't the experience o the older ones.
<*> As a green from the upper formations starts to go into a dive to get a
missed patch of Thread, the bugle of her wingleader's dragon makes her
return into position. The patch continues on its way to Semirath.
<*> Dowanth steadily flies into the fall, falling back into place in the
Sandstorm wing, where he continues to fly.
<*> Dowanth disappears into Between.
<*> A thick clump of Thread is split neatly as a green lets forth a burst
of powerful flame. One part is charred into black ash while the unmarred
half twists, zooming toward Verenth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Amazingly fast? Omfaleth reacts to a
warning from one of the dragons below, making Reye clutch fast to her
straps as she banks and carves the air with broad sunlit wings. A warning
bugle for Reye is unneccessary; she's already readied her flamethrower, and
chars the thread to ash. It's a moment before the air clears enough to see;
and from the mess a single silvery strand emerges, brushing against a
wingtip. The pair disappear between, re-emerging again seconds later, while
that single strand falls toward the groundcrew.
<*> Lysseth gives an approving trumpet to her two green Wingmates, only
slightly sharp. It's cut short: she has her own clump to deal with, a
legacy from R'huen and Siuenth who found its angle of descent too steep.
The tangle dies in a blaze of glory. It's more honor than Thread deserves.
<*> From high between Wynith's neckridges, Draila sucks in a breath as yet
another clump twists her way. Though the flamer grows heavy she doesn't
utter a word of complaint. She prepares to flame it but has to gasp as she
misses half and it's left to continue its downwards twist towards the
groundcrew far below. "Ok.. that wasn't good... must keep my head clear..."
<*> Trecherous thermals twist a pair of Thread clumps and push them toward
the fighting wings. Bright colours of flame colour the sky and punch holes
through the mass of writhing strands but another gust of wind blows the
reamining uncharred thread directly at Faorath.
<*> Verenth opens his mouth and gives one of his silent hisses. As the hiss
ends, just enough flame emerges to flash burn the remainer of the clump
from the green. The ash floats away in the wind as the blue arcs his head
backwards for another chunk of firestone.
<*> Trecherous thermals twist a pair of Thread clumps and push them toward
the fighting wings. Bright colours of flame colour the sky and punch holes
through the mass of writhing strands but another gust of wind blows the
reamining uncharred thread directly at Giareth.
<*> Riolth catches another Thread, a single strand that sneaks towards him,
and chars it without effort. M'val, by this time, is looking around again,
checking on the Igen wings, but abruptly he stops watching the Fall around
him and stares at the Fort wings, with a panicky, or perhaps stricken, look
on his face.
<*> As a green from the upper formations starts to go into a dive to get a
missed patch of Thread, the bugle of her wingleader's dragon makes her
return into position. The patch continues on its way to Giareth.
<*> Djarith is high up in the sky, wings above the queens who offer the
last line of defense from the falling spores. But the Weyrsecond still
keeps watch best he can, and as two clumps head towards Ista's senior
queen, a concerned trumpet sounds. The bronze bespeaks one of Belior's
riders on maternity with the queen's wing, and Omfaleth might notice a
bluerider wing closer to offer backup as pop out of *between*.
<*> Semirath soars upwards to issue forth a stream of flame in the
direction of the silvery patch, the young green's wingbeats still steady
though not as eager as when she was first brought in as a replacement. She
folds her left wing against her side to ensure no remnants of the thread
can touch her, as she returns to her place in formation. Caritha supplies
her with more stone, even as her head turns to check her position in her
wing - being tapped only days before the fall, she doesn't have an
instinctive feel yet for this group.
<*> An angry tangle of Thread writhes, slipping between the attention of a
bronze and brown dragon who are busy flaming heavier patches. The Thread
hurtles downard, moving with surprising speed at Wynith.
<*> Giareth has no eyes for the pretty colors of the flame above him. His
bulk eases up slightly as he asks more of his fragile-looking wings,
tracking the Thread that evaded the other dragons. Mindful of the freaky
thermals, he picks his spot and how much flame, and then he lets loose. The
hot ash whips back into Sh'van, but the young bronzerider is quick to brush
it off. More firestone is delivered by a weyrling, and Sh'van gives an
inaudible thanks as he secures the new sack just in time for Giareth to
nail the clump that the upper-level green missed.
<*> Swerving quickly to avoid a clump of Thread that has been upswept by a
thermal, a bronze avoids a harrowing injury. However, the clump twists past
and targets Semirath.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Backup's always nice, especially when one
is shaking the sting from one's wingtip. Dratit, shardit, by Faranth's
flaming- oh wait, that's Reye swearing. Omfaleth bugles a determined reply
Djarith's way, and together she and the blue rid the sky of that next clump
of Thread.
<*> The crosswinds swirling around the fighting wings continue to pose a
challenge to the dragons. Ragged from the gust of wind, a thick clump
tumbles near Seyenth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Mounted atop Qeturath, Chayil gives a
signal, which is no doubt expounded upon by draconic orders. Igen's queens'
wing is soon much less filled-out, as the pregnant and injured Igen riders
are sent out of the threadfall. With a queens' wing comprised of some forty
goldriders, apparently she considers the pregnant and injured riders
entirely superfluous, and takes initiative to thin the ranks a bit.
<*> In the skies directly above a small blue is more Thread. Before he can
react, the clump is split into two grey patches by an uncooperative
thermal. The reaction to flame these patches must be taken by Mirrath.
<*> Semirath is forced to turn sharply towards her left in order to avoid
being scored, even as her head turns towards the silvery clump, flame
spewing forth to char it. As hot ash falls donwards onto Caritha and her
green, they blink *between*, reapparing moments later a dragonlength
behind, and quickly they move forward to resume their position.
<*> Writhing in mortal-seeking anguish, a sheet of Thread cascades through
the upper tier of flaming dragons and heads without hesitation towards Riolth.
<*> Wynith's speed is quick as well as she wings about and Draila's arc of
lame hits the second clump dead on. A satisfied nod follows as the pair can
now head back towards the group and join the other gold riders. She never
realized just how high her flight had took her.
<*> Gyreventh disappears into Between.
<*> A thick clump of Thread is split neatly as a green lets forth a burst
of powerful flame. One part is charred into black ash while the unmarred
half twists, zooming toward Verenth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Ilandrith rises up into the upper sky.
<*> A flank is threatened by a patch of silvery-grey as the winds turn a
sheet of thread into the formation of dragons. A patch manages to get
through the initial defensive flaming line and head towards Farlioth.
<*> Farlioth ducks a Thread by banking hard, it being too close and behind
him; a green wingmate catches it. The banking gives Miritha a different
angle, and when Farlioth straightens out, the very old rider is glaring not
at Thread but at the Igen Weyrleader. She waves at him vigorously, neither
a usual rider-communication gestures nor a polite greeting - more of a
shoo-get-over-yourself gesture.
<*> With many of the frontline dragonic pairs focusing their attention on
clearing the skies of the Thread clumps, it is not surprising that a few
patches of the silvery-grey Thread make their way dangerously close to
Djarith.
<*> Verenth is just done finished chewing firestone. As he swings his head
arund to aim at the Thread, he only gets part of the charred clump. The
Thread spins away in the wind, flames slowly creeping up its length.
Verenth would like to follow, but he does not dare.
<*> Wynith spirals downward into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> Riolth is still soaring easily when his rider is chastised by gestures;
M'val whips around, red to his helmet-line, just in time to see the Thread
heading for him and his dragon. Riolth takes this one and throws far too
much flame at it, overdoing it as he almost never does.
<*> Blocked by a sheet of writhing masses of Thread, three dragons blink
between quickly to avoid scoring. This, however, lets the sheet fall
uncharred to intercept Semirath.
<*> Farlioth catches the newest Thread heading for him as Miritha slaps her
forehead, then digs out another stone for him.
<*> Another thermal that refuses to cooperate with the fighting wings turns
a clump from one heading into a another. This mass of Thread heads right at
Ilandrith.
<*> Semirath is forced to dart *between*, reappearing a dragonlenth behind
her former position, perfectly situated to flame the sheet of thread. Her
flame is clean and sure but even so, she is a green and this is a huge
sheet and some threads manage to escape downards towards the queen's wing.
<*> The falling silvery-grey patches of Thread form a swirling pattern in
the gusts of wind that carry the meance through the skies. Charring as best
as they can, patches of the ropey death make their way past the dragons and
end up splitting to head toward the Queen wing while the other appear in
front of Semirath.
<*> A loud cry erupts from the lips of a rider of a bronze that is clipped
on the wing by a swiftly descending clump of Thread. It continues to writhe
and fall, heading directly for Omfaleth.
<*> Ilandrith was almost caught surprise by the Thread's change of
direction, but turns in time to avoid collision. But that won't stop him
from going after it, he turns and sorches it to ash before it can get out
of range. He then repositions himself
<*> Five strands of Thread are bound together by the winds to form a thick,
evil looking rope. Almost mesmerizing in its movements, the rope falls to
the left of Seyenth.
<*> On Semirath, Caritha is busy feeding more stone to Semirath even as the
next patch of silvery rope heads their way. The young green manages to
swallow her stone just in time to aim perfectly for the thread while
banking sharply to her right in order to avoid falling ash from one of the
wings above, forcing her rider to grab more tightly to her flying straps.
<*> Ilandrith was almost caught surprise by the Thread's change of
direction, but turns in time to avoid collision. But that won't stop him
from going after it, he turns and sorches it to ash before it can get out
of range. He then repositions himself, he won't be surprised again.
<*> Ayannath's diminutive size turns from handicap, in her difficulty
keeping up with the pace of the Fall, to advantage, when she's able to
swing about practically on a wingtip as one weyrling attempts to take her
position in the wing without checking first. Ellery has a few sharp words
for that weyrling, thankfully drowned out by the lichenous green's
apologetic sounds.
<*> Several greyish-silver patches drop from the skies at one time. Those
that have not been flamed by the vigilant dragons in the forefront fall
closer and closer to Ayannath.
<*> Riolth slides right to catch something dropping past Sandstorm wing, up
above him and his own. His rider's apparently paying attention again,
because he waves down at Qeturath with a broad gesture of approval. The red
in his face, on the other hand, has not subsided.
<*> Near a bronze, a burst of flame temporarily blinds the eyes of the
bronze and his rider right at the moment a patch of Thread reaches him. A
shout of pain from the rider is cut short as the dragon and rider disappear
between only to reappear seconds later farther ahead. The clump of Thread
continues on its way, heading to intercept Djarith.
<*> Larileth was *not* that uncertain weyrling, keeping as he is to the
formation at the rear of Starblaze weyrling wing. Lor is ever vigilant,
eyes continuously searching the skies and ranks of Istan and outweyr wings,
seeking anyone in need of firestone... or anything menacingly silver
tumbling their way.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Omfaleth cranes her neck upward at that
cry from the bronze, her own voice answering in a low growl. Bright wings
fan and pull her from formation, and soon the clump is charred to ash,
streaking her head with dirty grey lines.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Zaith catches a glimpse of the patch of
Thread that passed by Semirath. Following it with her swiftly-whirling
eyes, she directs a silent note to her rider. Two in their path, one nearly
out of reach. "Let's get 'em both. Reye's got one incoming and she can't
help us." Together, the pair set up their plan of attack. The first clump
meets its doom by fire as Zaith swings in closer to Omfaleth's position. It
leaves her almost out of position to get the second clump much further
away. However, a trick maneuver learned from turns of flying around Ista,
and the queen gets into position for her rider to nail the second patch
with only moderate ease.
<*> A thick sheet of Thread falls from the sky, forcing dragons that are
somewhat near the silvery strands to speed up to deal with the menace.
Among the red-orange bursts of flame, a tangle of Thread falls through,
heading amazingly fast towards Ayannath.
<*> Larileth was seeking a summons, and received one as a Reachian green's
signal is heeded. Rising with the grace of the large blue he has become,
Larileth positions himself near Semirath and Caritha, his rider signaling
an impending throw.
<*> Coming down with the same merciless intent as a harsh winter blizzard,
the Thread writhes through an unprotected air space. A nasty clump of
silvery strands falls just above and ahead of Mirrath.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, High between Qeturath's neck ridges,
Chayil catches sight of M'val's gesture of approval and sends him back a
jaunty salute, in a moment of rare respite from attack. It's a good day.
<*> On Semirath, Caritha signals her readiness to receive, relieved at the
appearance of the Istan blue. Arms out, she catches the sack without any
signs of tiredness, though Semirath's pace is starting to slow just the
tiniest bit after the hours of fall she has flow.
<*> Chezroth cranes his neck downward from his spot at the head of the
formation to trumpet to the dragons below, and is relieved to see Zaith and
Omfaleth take care of the incoming Thread. With a blurt from the bronze,
the formation of Istan fighting dragons tightens, though it fans out at the
rear of the group to sweep for any tendrils that might get by.
<*> A small brown and large blue veer downward toward a patch of Thread at
the same moment. Swerving to avoid the collision that is looming, the patch
of thread flies past untouched and heads at Omfaleth.
<*> Ayannath is one of those in need of Larileth's assistance, as first
one, then another tangle approaches her from opposite ends. She's able to
sear the first, scattered approach with just the right amount of flame, but
that leaves another clump off to her right, and waaay out of the little
green's reach. Ellery calls for assistance, and when that proves not loud
enough, gestures with one arm while Ayannath adds her bugle of warning.
<*> The flash of red and orange before the bugle of frustration of a green
announces the miss. The Thread is left to fall freely, twisting in the
winds, at Lysseth.
<*> Suddenly, a large clump of Thread is ripped asunder by a gust of wind
that forms four patches of the silvery menace which proceeds to target a
large brown. While he is able to deal with two of the strands with precise
flaming, the second pair of Thread patches are coming too fast. With a roar
of warning, the brown blinks between to let flaming commence by Madieth.
<*> A scream rings out amongst the Benden riders, a brown that gets scored.
Nich quickly looks toward the wing in question, her heart pounding in her
chest as she counts the beats until the brown is able to return from
between. It's clear the brown's flying days are numbered. In the meantime,
Aelyth receives a message from Orrith. It wasn't them. The old bluerider
mutters something as she sighs with relief, even as she's angry at herself
for being relieved it wasn't Cl'rek and Orrith who got hit. "Keep flaming!"
she directs her blue after feeding him some more firestone.
<*> From Larileth's neck, Lorany notices the cleanly caught firestone sack
as she and Larileth backwing and descend, returning to the Istan weyrling
formation with only a moment's finger-wiggled wave of understanding toward
Caritha and hers. Duty calls, after all.
<*> As a green from the upper formations starts to go into a dive to get a
missed patch of Thread, the bugle of her wingleader's dragon makes her
return into position. The patch continues on its way to Riolth.
<*> Djarith hasn't been left with much room to manuever, as close as he is
flying with Chezroth and Madeith. But that also means he has support this
time when a clump of Thread makes it through the wings in his direction.
Fire bursts out, catching most of the stray silvery tendrils of the first
bunch, leaving a strand to twist past the shoulder Chezroth is guarding.
But as a wingmate flashes between with a cry of pain, leaving their Thread
for the Weyrsecond pair, the bronze has no choice but to ignore that
tendril and go for the larger clump. He twists midair, practically folding
back over himself in the small space, and lets out a second burst of fire.
Kassima signals to Jirel and Joiryth that she has this one even as
Lysseth's sweeping her wings towards a confrontation with that Thread
that's slowly twisting in the wind; twisting, twisting in the wind. She
can't really be said to blow out its pilot light so much as ignite it,
however, but the death-rain meets its own ending all the same, and
Lysseth's cry of triumph is more than half defiant scream.
<*> Blocked by a sheet of writhing masses of Thread, three dragons blink
between quickly to avoid scoring. This, however, lets the sheet fall
uncharred to intercept Larileth.
<*> Larileth returned at the right moment! Indeed, as the lichen green
Ayannath is the target of unpleasant and writhing enemies. When in doubt,
fire back! Steel and iron twists with innate feline grace, a forge's
product bending to the will of flight and willful destruction as the second
clump of assaulting Thread is dealt with, charred to swirling ash in a
single burst of saffron flame. And nevermind the ash cloud.
<*> Several greyish-silver patches drop from the skies at one time. Those
that have not been flamed by the vigilant dragons in the forefront fall
closer and closer to Larileth.
<*> Riolth bellows, too, echoing the Sandrose wingleader; M'val's sudden
glare at the green promises a bit of possible bellowing from him, too,
later. Riolth banks just a little to get a better angle on the Thread, and
lets out a burst of flame - this one his usual, precise,
no-longer-than-needed control. Perhaps rider and dragon have gotten over
their earlier distraction.
<*> Coming down with the same merciless intent as a harsh winter blizzard,
the Thread writhes through an unprotected air space. A nasty clump of
silvery strands falls just above and ahead of Seyenth.
<*> Larileth anticipated the first, but not the second. Forces will attack
in greater numbers, will they? Undeterred, a second burst of flame erupts
from the weyrling blue's jaws, a slight waver the only difference from the
first attempt. This too ends in success, as the serpentine adversary meets
its crumbling, firelit demise. You cannot have the legendary weyr as your
own, Larileth remains to protect and serve.
<*> With many of the frontline dragonic pairs focusing their attention on
clearing the skies of the Thread clumps, it is not surprising that a few
patches of the silvery-grey Thread make their way dangerously close to Riolth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Aisheth emerges from Between with a blast
of cold air!
<*> The flash of red and orange before the bugle of frustration of a green
announces the miss. The Thread is left to fall freely, twisting in the
winds, at Mirrath.
<*> From atop Ayannath, Ellery ducks her head to avoid that ash cloud from
Larileth's neat flaming, which nonetheless manages to streak her helmet and
jacket harmlessly. Her resultant posture's meaning is pretty clear, though
- Shells, I just cleaned this, too. Ayannath maneuvers into position
without direction below her blue clutchmate in case there's mopping up to
be done, but her pleased sound indicates she's unneeded.
<*> Psamanth floats around her wing giving help where it is needed always
there right above the dragon that needs help.. She seems to have an uncanny
sense of where a lager patch is going to fall or when a dragon is going to
run out of flame.
<*> Chezroth maneuvers to a spot below Djarith so that any tendrils that
fall through the cracks are taken care of. Careful to make sure that
Djarith is not in his way, Chezroth lets loose a sheet of flame that takes
care of the sneaky strand that his wormed its way through the Istan
formation. Wings stretch outward as Chezroth soars back upward to wedge
back within the group.
<*> In the skies directly above a small blue is more Thread. Before he can
react, the clump is split into two grey patches by an uncooperative
thermal. The reaction to flame these patches must be taken by Verenth.
<*> Riolth drops one wing and raises the other, going into a dangerous tilt
in order to avoid one patch of Thread while getting the other. He manages
the dodge and the flame both, and behind him, V'lien's Jakenath takes care
of the second patch. Riolth straightens out and banks the other direction,
much more gently, in order to get back into his proper position.
<*> Larileth banks sharply, the turn avoiding the careening of the third
and last immediate threat to his life. Crystal and iron wings hold steady
as a controlled burst of flame lays waste to what once danced discordent
silver doom toward the hallowed lands below. Take that, and remember it well.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Omfaleth finds herself twisting in midair
again, neck arching 'round to espy another large clump of Thread headed her
way. Are the wings up there getting tired or what? A chuff of air escapes
her muzzle as she arcs upward, and with quick action from Reye the Thread
is seared from the sky. After a moment or three to regain her bearing,
Omfaleth returns to the queen's wing.
<*> Suddenly, a large clump of Thread is ripped asunder by a gust of wind
that forms four patches of the silvery menace which proceeds to target a
large brown. While he is able to deal with two of the strands with precise
flaming, the second pair of Thread patches are coming too fast. With a roar
of warning, the brown blinks between to let flaming commence by Riolth.
<*> On Verenth, Melata looks up as she sees /another/ splitting of patches.
She urges her blue forward, and for once, these patches do not swing apart
of each other. Verenth is able to get both in one large exhail of flame!
The Thread chars, curling up into little strings that turn into hot ash,
pelting rider and dragon harmlessly.
<*> Writhing in mortal-seeking anguish, a sheet of Thread cascades through
the upper tier of flaming dragons and heads without hesitation towards
Madieth.
<*> The crosswinds swirling around the fighting wings continue to pose a
challenge to the dragons. Ragged from the gust of wind, a thick clump
tumbles near Lysseth.
<*> Riolth has, it seems, turned back just in time, for he catches one of
the two new patches heading at him. There's not enough time for him to get
the final one, but five much smaller flames sprout suddenly, several times,
and the last of the Thread immediately heading for him is destroyed without
his intervention.
<*> An angry tangle of Thread writhes, slipping between the attention of a
bronze and brown dragon who are busy flaming heavier patches. The Thread
hurtles downard, moving with surprising speed at Ayannath.
<*> A thick clump of Thread is split neatly as a green lets forth a burst
of powerful flame. One part is charred into black ash while the unmarred
half twists, zooming toward Lysseth.
<*> Another thermal that refuses to cooperate with the fighting wings turns
a clump from one heading into a another. This mass of Thread heads right at
Lysseth.
<*> Lysseth is clearly still furious at the Thread, for simply being and
for hurting herself and her rider so--but perhaps as much as that, for
tarnishing the skies *here*. She was born to these skies, to fly in and
defend them. How dare Thread think to appear here again? How *dare* it? And
so a roar escapes her, full-voiced and angry, as she sprays fire out in a
shining arc towards the first thick clump, and the second. Three is a bit
much for anyone to deal with, though. A last hiss and she jumps *between*,
with Kassi hastily signalling to Meli that this one is all hers.
<*> Swerving quickly to avoid a clump of Thread that has been upswept by a
thermal, a bronze avoids a harrowing injury. However, the clump twists past
and targets Juliath.
<*> Madieth swoops in to sear the last of Djarith's thread. The little
green turns agilely to sear a patch coming straight for her as Brees sounds
the alarm. Madieth lets out a burst of flame even as she straightens out,
using her small size to her advantage in maneuvering.
<*> A loud cry erupts from the lips of a rider of a bronze that is clipped
on the wing by a swiftly descending clump of Thread. It continues to writhe
and fall, heading directly for Djarith.
<*> Ayannath is again startled when the speeding Thread bears down on her.
When her jaws part this time, however, the surprised warble comes out
without the flame. She seems ready to signal for another to get what she
missed, but a few words from Ellery have her angled downwards and after the
escaping Thread. The green dispatches it with just a touch of flame, barely
enough to attract notice. It does, though, and the weyrling is called back
into position with a curt reprimand from the nearest assistant weyrlingmaster.
<*> A flank is threatened by a patch of silvery-grey as the winds turn a
sheet of thread into the formation of dragons. A patch manages to get
through the initial defensive flaming line and head towards Ilandrith.
<*> Juliath finds herself slightly out of position even as two clumps aim
toward the greens of Thunderbolt. Lysseth catches one, she and Meli catch
the other. Struggling to get back into position, they narrowly avoid a
third surprise clump. Somehow, with a mighty effort, they green lets loose
a large gust of flame, catching most of that Thread. The rest continues to
fall, and the near-exhausted pair spiral down after it.
<*> Juliath glides downward into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> The falling silvery-grey patches of Thread form a swirling pattern in
the gusts of wind that carry the meance through the skies. Charring as best
as they can, patches of the ropey death make their way past the dragons and
end up splitting to head toward the Queen wing while the other appear in
front of Psamanth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Astride Wynith, Draila smiles as she
catches sight of Lexiana below then scans the skies to account for Fort's
other personnel. When everyone is accounted for she then returns her
attention to the skies. "Thankfully less thread is getting through the
fighting lines now." She murmurs to the rider next to her. "Lets hope this
is a means to the end."
<*> Five strands of Thread are bound together by the winds to form a thick,
evil looking rope. Almost mesmerizing in its movements, the rope falls to
the left of Wynith.
Lysseth> Juliath senses that Lysseth sends out a thought that's almost
terse, but levened with concern. << Do you and yours fare well? If you have
tired, you should retire to the ground, and we will call Riatth and her
rider to come in. >>
<*> Ilandrith uses his smaller size to quickly dip down and get the patch
of Thread into his sights. He flames it and *betweens* so his forward
motion won't bring him into the blinding path of the ashes that are all
that are left of the clump. A moment later he is back and returns to his
position in the formation.
<*> Near a bronze, a burst of flame temporarily blinds the eyes of the
bronze and his rider right at the moment a patch of Thread reaches him. A
shout of pain from the rider is cut short as the dragon and rider disappear
between only to reappear seconds later farther ahead. The clump of Thread
continues on its way, heading to intercept Farlioth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Juliath spirals down from above, following
an errant patch of Thread. With a final whooosh, they char the remaining
bits just in time to avoid the Queens' wings. Meli slumps over the green's
neck as they straighten into a glide. It's obvious the pair is spent, and
they soon head down to the ground.
Dragon> Lysseth senses that Juliath's projection is gray-tinged with
exhaustion. << We are well, but we are done. All honor to Riath. >>
<*> A thick sheet of Thread falls from the sky, forcing dragons that are
somewhat near the silvery strands to speed up to deal with the menace.
Among the red-orange bursts of flame, a tangle of Thread falls through,
heading amazingly fast towards Zaith.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Qeturath rises up to meet the threadfall,
and as Chayil readies her sprayer, her lifemate trumpets out a challenge.
Normally Qeturath is silent during threadfall, but apparently some of the
excitement of the day is rubbing off on her. Chayil pulls her trigger,
squirting the thread clump in the middle. Most of it chars immediately, but
two half-strands escape her reach, separate, and fall threateningly towards
the ground crew.
<*> Trecherous thermals twist a pair of Thread clumps and push them toward
the fighting wings. Bright colours of flame colour the sky and punch holes
through the mass of writhing strands but another gust of wind blows the
reamining uncharred thread directly at Larileth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Juliath wings down to a quick landing on
the ground at the staging area.
<*> Farlioth takes the patch heading towards him with an easy burst of
flame, turning his head slightly to make sure he chars the whole batch of it.
Lysseth> Juliath senses that Lysseth sends a flicker of understanding,
mellower grey against the charcoal of her thought. << You flew and fought
excellently tonight. Honor to you and your Meli; we will meet you,
doubtless, when the Fall is ended. >>
<*> Djarith loosens up his position in the fore of the diamond formation,
letting Madieth deal with her own clump as a fellow bronze is clipped.
Djarith rumbles angrily for his comrade, and rolls to pick up the wayward
strands. Got your back. The fire lashes out, charring deeply.
<*> A small brown and large blue veer downward toward a patch of Thread at
the same moment. Swerving to avoid the collision that is looming, the patch
of thread flies past untouched and heads at Svaroth.
<*> Larileth backwings swiftly, an attempt to avoid the rapidly descending
net of glittering doom lowered toward him. Too late and also too near, and
the young pair skip *between*, reappearing to the opposite flank of the
weyrling wing, allowing Doryth and Kaylanne and several others to dispatch
with the common enemy.
<*> Ayannath has been giving her all, without question, to clear the skies
of the deadly silver stuff, but now at last the small, still growing green
begins to falter noticeably. When she can no longer keep pace with the
weyrlings before her, Ellery is forced to signal to the Wingleader that
they're out for the Fall. As she drops to lower levels, another green
follows, wings drooping. Time for replacements.
<*> Another thermal that refuses to cooperate with the fighting wings turns
a clump from one heading into a another. This mass of Thread heads right at
Psamanth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Zaith doesn't bother telling the other
queens or their visitors that she's got this clump. This one's mean and
fast and it's heading right for them. Kyrola focuses on the clump, trusting
Zaith to keep them on target. She aims her flamethrower, tabbing the button
to fire. The stream of flame impacts upon the tangle of Thread, and Kyrola
doesn't let up on the button until she's satisfied it's all well and truly
toasted, the ash floating in their wake harmlessly.
<*> Ayannath spirals downward into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> Several greyish-silver patches drop from the skies at one time. Those
that have not been flamed by the vigilant dragons in the forefront fall
closer and closer to Wynith.
<*> A thick clump of Thread is split neatly as a green lets forth a burst
of powerful flame. One part is charred into black ash while the unmarred
half twists, zooming toward Wynith.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Wynith warbles as her rider misses the
fact that another bout of thread heads their way. All the pair can do is
blink *between* but thankfully Fort's dragons watch over her, for one comes
to her aid in the form of Aisheth. Yet another is bound for the pair when
they blink back so again Wynith and Draila escape leaving the second thread
in the hands of the groundcrew below.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Aisheth comes back into formation after
having gone between to dodge thread. Randoth and R'yat fractionally adjust
formation to compensate and the fight goes on. P'ter feeds Aisheth more
stone from the last sack that he is carrying and calls back for resupply.
Flickering down via *between* to a lower level to catch more firestone. No
sooner there than Aisheth warns his rider of a threat to Wynith. Already
there and in the right place at the right time, the bronze sears the great
majority of the danger that falls towards the young gold. A roar of
approval issues from his maw as he and rider fly though the ash, then they
wink *between* back to a higher level.
<*> In the skies directly above a small blue is more Thread. Before he can
react, the clump is split into two grey patches by an uncooperative
thermal. The reaction to flame these patches must be taken by Qeturath.
<*> Five strands of Thread are bound together by the winds to form a thick,
evil looking rope. Almost mesmerizing in its movements, the rope falls to
the left of Djarith.
<*> Farlioth arches his neck to watch his wingleader's reappearance down
below to help Wynith. He warbles as the gold is rescued, and Miritha
flashes a grin at P'ter when he reappears, not that he can likely see it
with her behind him in the formation.
<*> Blocked by a sheet of writhing masses of Thread, three dragons blink
between quickly to avoid scoring. This, however, lets the sheet fall
uncharred to intercept Djarith.
<*> Svaroth waits with 'baited breath', or something along those lines,
until the patch heading his way is in the perfect position. He almost seems
to take his time over dispatching it. Not that it matters, it's still the
same result. A patch of char is left to drift down in it's place.
<*> Trecherous thermals twist a pair of Thread clumps and push them toward
the fighting wings. Bright colours of flame colour the sky and punch holes
through the mass of writhing strands but another gust of wind blows the
reamining uncharred thread directly at Djarith.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Qeturath swoops forward, putting her rider
into advantageous position. Atop her back, Chayil primes her pump, sitting
taller on her knees as her modified straps allow her to do, expression gone
serious as she takes aim and fires. No more strands will escape her, or so
this game-face vows. And they don't. With one long squirt, she gets the
entire tangle of thread, which falls in a clump of gooey wet ash to splat
harmlessly to the ground. Or on someone's head.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Aisheth flies higher into the upper sky.
<*> Suddenly, a large clump of Thread is ripped asunder by a gust of wind
that forms four patches of the silvery menace which proceeds to target a
large brown. While he is able to deal with two of the strands with precise
flaming, the second pair of Thread patches are coming too fast. With a roar
of warning, the brown blinks between to let flaming commence by Farlioth.
<*> Psamanth *blinks* as the thermal tosses a massive clump of thread
towards her. Reappearing above the huge clump, she fold her wings and dives
toward it giving it a long blast of flame killing it neatly. However,
graceful was her dive, her raise back up seems to be slower than before,
her wings working hard in the wing.
<*> As a green from the upper formations starts to go into a dive to get a
missed patch of Thread, the bugle of her wingleader's dragon makes her
return into position. The patch continues on its way to Qeturath.
<*> Farlioth lets out a burst of flame at one patch, while several - a
number not easily counted by eye - small flames from her firelizards take
out about half of the second one. He whips his head around enough to get
the rest of it, while Miritha ducks the ash suddenly surrounding her.
<*> An angry tangle of Thread writhes, slipping between the attention of a
bronze and brown dragon who are busy flaming heavier patches. The Thread
hurtles downard, moving with surprising speed at Zaith.
<*> Larileth and Lorany shift position within the weyrling formation, only
slightly yet significantly on a tilt of icebound steel sails. Veneth and
Ayannath's weariness have turned sixteen to fourteen, and the blue and
rider are ever vigilant.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Astride golden Qeturath, Chayil frowns. No
sooner has she gotten one clump than here comes another. Of all the...
Well, no time for irritation. The teensy weyrwoman focuses her annoyance
and gives that next patch a good what-for, squirting it to sticky, soggy
oblivion.
<*> A thick sheet of Thread falls from the sky, forcing dragons that are
somewhat near the silvery strands to speed up to deal with the menace.
Among the red-orange bursts of flame, a tangle of Thread falls through,
heading amazingly fast towards Larileth.
<*> Semirath looks to be starting to tire, even as she keeps her percise
position in the Blizzard wing formation. Her wingstrokes are more labored
than earlier but she continues her vigilent watch for silvery threads in
her range.
<*> A loud cry erupts from the lips of a rider of a bronze that is clipped
on the wing by a swiftly descending clump of Thread. It continues to writhe
and fall, heading directly for Farlioth.
<*> Djarith is hardly mesmerized by the twining threads falling towards
him. The bronze dragon is usually quick to pick up on patterns of Thread,
but that doesn't help when the pattern is converging on himself and his
rider. Trumpeting an alarm, the younger bronze turns awkwardly on a
wingtip, verbally admitting he needs help. His fire sweeps out, going for
that first twisting mass and sweeping over his left shoulder towards the
untouched sheet. Great lungs continue to force air, pushing the flame out
further than it would usually reach. But that doesn't stretch it long
enough to quite finish the sheet, or reach the third clump of half-charred
thread tossed towards his tail-end.
<*> Swerving quickly to avoid a clump of Thread that has been upswept by a
thermal, a bronze avoids a harrowing injury. However, the clump twists past
and targets Madieth.
<*> Larileth has reason to be vigilant, as his own eyes and those of his
rider notice the wildly zooming threat almost at once. "Watch it Lari,
watch--" Lor's shout of warning is lost on dragon-created breezes as the
uproar of wings and wind currents allows for little sound. Further drowning
her shrill soprano is the crackle of the imposing Thread strands, charred
to ebony-dusted oblivion by a controlled burst of sunstream fire.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Perched atop Zaith, Kyrola sweeps her gaze
once more through her assigned area. When Zaith alerts her to more incoming
Thread, she directs her lifemate up into danger. The threat is duly
assessed, its rate of descent judged by dead reckoning, and the pair play a
dangerous game of chicken until Kyrola lets the flamethrower do the work it
was created to. Once more, nothing remains but glowing cinders, this patch
getting the queenrider near her goggles, but a very brief hop between sorts
that right out.
Telgar Weyr> A'lex says, "Did we miss it?"
Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "'Lexicon!"
Telgar Weyr> Lanisa says, "Still going :)"
<*> A flank is threatened by a patch of silvery-grey as the winds turn a
sheet of thread into the formation of dragons. A patch manages to get
through the initial defensive flaming line and head towards Ilandrith.
Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "No; there's still an hour and fifteen minutes
left."
Telgar Weyr> Meli says, "Woo! No, 'lex, come on in and do some relief work.
Jul and I just went down to the ground for a rest, Kassi's still hanging on."
Telgar Weyr> J'lyn YAY!
Telgar Weyr> A'lex says, "Where are we headed?"
<*> Farlioth recovers from his most recent Thread only to have another
batch falling at him. This one's coming at a more reasonable pace, and
hasn't split yet, so he's able to take a little more time to aim, almost a
leisurely flaming rather than the hurried bursts that disposed of the last
that headed towards him.
Telgar Weyr> Meli says, "SMOOOOCHies her favorite guys. :)"
Telgar Weyr> Kassima beams. Dtu btw Bendenweyr.
<*> Psamanth continues to work hard at moving higher but gets back into
formation and begins to hover with a little more ease not that she has a
working altitude.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Daianth climbs higher into the upper sky.
Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "And up from there."
Telgar Weyr> Meli says, "Then up, and let s'rist know to add you to the
emitter."
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Nraith wings upward into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Lorieth climbs higher into the upper sky.
<*> The falling silvery-grey patches of Thread form a swirling pattern in
the gusts of wind that carry the meance through the skies. Charring as best
as they can, patches of the ropey death make their way past the dragons and
end up splitting to head toward the Queen wing while the other appear in
front of Farlioth.
<*> Nraith trumpets his (late) arrival and wings into a relief position. He
may be old, but he's not dead.
<*> A small brown and large blue veer downward toward a patch of Thread at
the same moment. Swerving to avoid the collision that is looming, the patch
of thread flies past untouched and heads at Riolth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Michenth rises up into the upper sky.
Dragon> Cyrath bespoke Lysseth with << Your clutchmate says you have had a
score. Is all well? >>
<*> Coming down with the same merciless intent as a harsh winter blizzard,
the Thread writhes through an unprotected air space. A nasty clump of
silvery strands falls just above and ahead of Omfaleth.
<*> Farlioth bugles a derisive sound at Nraith's intimation of age in *his*
greeting, then switches from bugling to flaming without a pause. Miritha
ducks again, rubbing one hand over her goggles and then giving A'lex a grin
and a wave.
<*> Ilandrith folds his wings close to his sides to pick up speed as he
dives down towards a clump of thread racing towards the ground. He chars
the Thread to dust and opens his wings up fully at the last moment to bank
out of the way and back to formation. His head twists from side to side to
anticipate the next threat.
<*> Lorieth bugles as she arrives, graying but not out of this yet.
Fighting since her hatching, she's not about to go out without seeing the
last of this. She swerves her way in to take the place of others who are
tiring.
<*> Lysseth is still focused on watching over and directing her Wingmates,
not surprisingly, when not actively charring Thread herself, but she still
spares a bugle to Nraith and Lorieth. It may be shortened by the need to
chase down a tendril escaped from a half-charred tangle, but it's surely
the thought that counts.
<*> Near a bronze, a burst of flame temporarily blinds the eyes of the
bronze and his rider right at the moment a patch of Thread reaches him. A
shout of pain from the rider is cut short as the dragon and rider disappear
between only to reappear seconds later farther ahead. The clump of Thread
continues on its way, heading to intercept Riolth.
<*> Mounted atop Daianth, R'din angles into position, weaving between
dragons with a bugle, replacing another one as he seamlessly integrates
into Igen Weyr's Sandstorm Wing.
Telgar Weyr> J'lyn says, "Great googly moogly, I feel old."
<*> Daianth angles into position, weaving between dragons with a bugle,
replacing another one as he seamlessly integrates into Igen Weyr's
Sandstorm Wing.
<*> With many of the frontline dragonic pairs focusing their attention on
clearing the skies of the Thread clumps, it is not surprising that a few
patches of the silvery-grey Thread make their way dangerously close to
Qeturath.
<*> Michenth flies in to position to replace a green that had dropped out
in Fort's Dawnguard wing.
Lysseth> Cyrath senses that Lysseth's response is touched with a tired grey
and a pained edge of black, but comes clear and steady for all of that. <<
I am clipped only. My rider's leg took the brunt of it, but it is minor,
she says; we can still fight and lead. >>
Telgar Weyr> Meli says, "You ARE old, Jaly. Meli's nearly 60, how old does
that make you?"
Telgar Weyr> J'lyn is 72. Lorieth is 50.
<*> Riolth lets out a quick burst of flame, while M'val gestures at the
blue and brown. The blue gives a warble of dismay, but goes out as ordered,
calling in his relief; the brown gets into position again while Riolth
takes the Thread that clipped the bronze in the same wing. That gets
another glower from M'val. "*Cactus*," he yells, and points at the Cactus
wingleader, who looks back and then scrunches up his shoulders. The wing
tightens up a little as M'val rolls his eyes.
<*> Writhing in mortal-seeking anguish, a sheet of Thread cascades through
the upper tier of flaming dragons and heads without hesitation towards
Ilandrith.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Omfaleth's lithe frame twists in the air,
her rider grasping for straps with a startled reprimand as the Istan queen
stretches toward that newest clump heading toward them. But tricks and
maneuvers this late into Fall might not be so wise; for just as that first
clump is seared from the sky, the second catches them unawares. The silvery
strands fall onto rider and dragon, and a cry is cut short as the pair
disappear between, Thread now falling toward Zaith in a sticky tangle. A
heartbeat passes, another, another, and the pair re-emerge to bank toward
the ground: not serious, but out for now.
Telgar Weyr> A'lex says, "Cripes, A'lex is 47. I started playing him at 16."
Dragon> Lysseth senses that Cyrath takes that in and, after a long moment,
says << Were you from Igen, I would have you land to have both wounds
cleaned and wrapped before returning. You are Telgar, and Sarai says I can
not boss you around. I will offer advice instead. It would be a moral
killer if a wingleader died. Use caution. >>
<*> The flash of red and orange before the bugle of frustration of a green
announces the miss. The Thread is left to fall freely, twisting in the
winds, at Psamanth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Omfaleth wings down to a quick landing on
the ground at the staging area.
<*> On Verenth, Melata twists his wings and spirals down after another blue
who has dropped out of Avalanche Wing due to wing scores. His rider wants
to make sure the dragon and rider are okay...oh, the joys of being a
Wingleader.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, High between Qeturath's neck ridges,
Chayil snarls, "Oh, no you di'n't," though the sound is probably swallowed
up in the flapping of wings all around her. With a few quick pumps of her
sprayer, she's primed and ready to soak, and takes great apparent pleasure
in doing so as Qeturath stretches herself out towards the thread, striving
to get Chayil into position just in time. Once the thread is drowned in the
liquid and charred by the acid, both at once, both relax a little, looking
grimly satisfied.
<*> The crosswinds swirling around the fighting wings continue to pose a
challenge to the dragons. Ragged from the gust of wind, a thick clump
tumbles near Qeturath.
<*> Verenth dives into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> Aisheth relays directions from P'ter. With the arrival of
reinforcements and refreshed dragons from Fort the wings get rearranged
somewhat, the fresher dragons taking the brunt.
<*> Ilandrith sees the Thread coming at him in time to *between* out of
harms way. But the Thread is not going to get off so easily, he twists in
the air and burns away most of the clump, while the rest continues down.
Luckily a wingmate is able to take care of the rest, and the clump is
destroyed completely with their teamwork.
<*> Several greyish-silver patches drop from the skies at one time. Those
that have not been flamed by the vigilant dragons in the forefront fall
closer and closer to Qeturath.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Hicerth flies higher into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Perched atop Zaith, Kyrola swears once
more as Reye and Omfaleth take a scoring. The swearing is quite inventive
for someone who wasn't actually in the seacraft. Zaith immediately surges
forward, leaving Kyrola precious little time to roast the Thread left over
by their senior. A quick signal, both visible from rider and silent from
dragon, and the Istan queens tighten up their formation, shifting to
account for their missing wingleader. However, Kyrola leaves no Thread for
the groundcrews to play with later.
<*> Madieth closes in towards Djarith to assist the bronze with all the
thread coming towards him. The green darts around the larger dragon to help
catch what is missed, especially any that would have hit the bronze on the
way down. Apparently she's taking her watching Djarith duty quite seriously.
<*> Coming down with the same merciless intent as a harsh winter blizzard,
the Thread writhes through an unprotected air space. A nasty clump of
silvery strands falls just above and ahead of Michenth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Qeturath squeals, yes squeals, as the gold
and her rider tense yet again. No relaxation for them yet. As she swerves
off towards the right, Chayil aims left, squirting one clump, then another,
in a series of quick spurts of agenothree acid. She can only get one,
however, and calls out to the next nearest goldrider, "Cover me!"
<*> Lorieth sideslips to catch a patch that's been caught by a gust of
wind. Belching fire, the green sears it, bottom to top, leaving nothing but
that nasty black ash. Her rider coughs as some of it hits him in the face.
<*> Larileth twists with inborn agility, blazing crystal wings angling him
away from the green he and his rider supplied with firestone not three
seconds before. Oh , ohdear, there's a reason to his routine and a method
to his madness as Djarith seems to be the target of unwanted trailers. The
patch of Thread falling toward the Weyrseconding's dusk bronze tail is
dispatched in a single breath, amber tendrils of flame creating clear sky
and order where there had been writhing chaos.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Hosozoth rises up into the upper sky.
<*> Writhing in mortal-seeking anguish, a sheet of Thread cascades through
the upper tier of flaming dragons and heads without hesitation towards
Psamanth.
<*> Larileth returns to Starblaze, one among the remaining Istan weyrlin
formation. Search and rescue, the legendary weyr below... search and defy
the ancient enemy descending.
<*> Hosozoth falls into position with Mistral Wing of Igen Weyr, fresh
firestone sacks strapped over her withers.
<*> Larileth dives into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> A small brown and large blue veer downward toward a patch of Thread at
the same moment. Swerving to avoid the collision that is looming, the patch
of thread flies past untouched and heads at Djarith.
Lysseth> Cyrath senses that Lysseth gives this long if distracted
consideration, measuring it between flickers of thought sent to this and
that Wingmate. << We do not wish to miss this last fight, >> she admits, <<
if we can possibly help it. But I agree fully with this advice; I have no
interest in the death of my own. We duck more than we flame now. I will
have her before Healers when this is done if I must drag her by the shirt. >>
<*> Daianth issues a belch, a fireball exploding forth before his maw as he
spots a clump coming his way, watching with blantant satsification as their
first clump of the Fall is reduced to ash and cinder, drifting away
harmlessly beneath them.
<*> Psamanth raises a bit to met the thread as it falling towards her in
the wind. Using a short flame, she chars the thread to hot ash that falls
all over her and her rider. She moves lightly fall back down into her wing,
however her wings are starting to feel the fall and she drops lower thank
excepted.
<*> Swerving quickly to avoid a clump of Thread that has been upswept by a
thermal, a bronze avoids a harrowing injury. However, the clump twists past
and targets Daianth.
<*> The crosswinds swirling around the fighting wings continue to pose a
challenge to the dragons. Ragged from the gust of wind, a thick clump
tumbles near Svaroth.
<*> Michenth surges forward, nimbly flaming the thread to ash. Vrisalka
whoops before giving Michenth a slap to his neck and returning to her
position.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Wynith warbles again as Draila leans to
one side to aid in the request of help. The pair head to the right side of
Qeturath, her thrower aimed and fires. In moments she backs off giving the
other Gold room to move and hopes the threat is past. Lifting a hand in a
wave gives her cause to gasp as a bit of ash heats her glove. "Too close
for comfort but all is well."
<*> Lysseth takes a skip *between* to dodge the Thread menacing her right
wing, calling a warning to Miryenne and Guarith, fresh-arrived from
Thunderbolt's reserves and in good position to catch. The blue pair perform
admirably, a snarl falling through their own temporarily-vacated position
caught with equal neatness by green Riatth.
<*> With many of the frontline dragonic pairs focusing their attention on
clearing the skies of the Thread clumps, it is not surprising that a few
patches of the silvery-grey Thread make their way dangerously close to Nraith.
<*> Daianth's rider warns Daianth just as the clump targets his dragon,
turning the blue's wedged head, letting out another fireball aimed directly
into the midst of the runaway clump, spreading the flame out into the air
in an arc from the clump before it to this one.
<*> As a green from the upper formations starts to go into a dive to get a
missed patch of Thread, the bugle of her wingleader's dragon makes her
return into position. The patch continues on its way to Qeturath.
<*> Djarith bugles appreciation to the young blue, but the sound is barely
lost from the fire-filled skies before Larileth is hopped *between* to
safety, and yet another patch of untouched thread is flying within the
Weyrsecond's sphere of attention. "Flames and death," A'ley curses, leaning
forward against the bronze neck and clinging tightly to the fighting straps
as Djarith swings suddenly again. Flame spurts and flares, and then
sputters. But only ash is left, and A'ley loosens his grip to offer more
firestone.
<*> Svaroth swerves as the tumbling clump comes his way. He flames at it,
but only catches half before he's driven between to prevent a score with a
rumble of protest. When they return, they resume their place in formation
as if they had never left.
<*> Nraith may not have home court advantage at Benden anymore, shards,
it's been nearly 30 years since he flew with Dawnchaser, but the sturdy,
threadscored Bronze protects his birth Weyr with a tenacity that belies his
age. A gout of gold-orange flame burst forth from his lightning traced maw
and envelopes the errant clump that makes his way towards him.
<*> A thick clump of Thread is split neatly as a green lets forth a burst
of powerful flame. One part is charred into black ash while the unmarred
half twists, zooming toward Madieth.
<*> On Psamanth, Roaring, Psamanth see the next clump that is coming for
her. In spite all the rage that she is filling right now, she still keeps a
clear head choosing her flame and path careful. She moves to the right just
a bit and flames it as it falls next to her. The only thing that falls from
her flame is ash.
<*> Hosozoth angles her wings a bit to maintain position just above her
wingleader, Hicerth.
<*> An angry tangle of Thread writhes, slipping between the attention of a
bronze and brown dragon who are busy flaming heavier patches. The Thread
hurtles downard, moving with surprising speed at Seyenth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, High atop Qeturath, Chayil barely gets out
from under one piece of danger before another one's heading her way. It's a
good thing no one can hear the stream of language hissing out of Chayil's
mouth as she shoots a blast of agenothree towards this latest thread,
straight up. One can only imagine the draconic messages she's having
Qeturath send towards the Weyrleader in charge of the greenrider and
brownrider who keep missing theirs and letting her deal with their missed
shots.
<*> Hicerth falls back in formation, allowing one of the slightly larger
bronzes to take point briefly, while he and his lifemate assess their
ranks. There are a few shouts and the random hand gesture as she gets her
crew in line after rotating out the blues and greens again. The quick
rotation schedule seems to be very effective, as it gives the smaller
dragons plenty of opportunity to rest.
<*> Near a bronze, a burst of flame temporarily blinds the eyes of the
bronze and his rider right at the moment a patch of Thread reaches him. A
shout of pain from the rider is cut short as the dragon and rider disappear
between only to reappear seconds later farther ahead. The clump of Thread
continues on its way, heading to intercept Michenth.
<*> Semirath's exhaustion starts to show more clearly, just as the Blizzard
wingleader signals that they should drop out for a fresher replacement to
take their place. Semirath disappears *between* just before the
<*> Semirath disappears into Between.
<*> A flank is threatened by a patch of silvery-grey as the winds turn a
sheet of thread into the formation of dragons. A patch manages to get
through the initial defensive flaming line and head towards Hosozoth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Semirath wings down to a quick landing on
the ground at the staging area.
<*> The falling silvery-grey patches of Thread form a swirling pattern in
the gusts of wind that carry the meance through the skies. Charring as best
as they can, patches of the ropey death make their way past the dragons and
end up splitting to head toward the Queen wing while the other appear in
front of Michenth.
<*> Trecherous thermals twist a pair of Thread clumps and push them toward
the fighting wings. Bright colours of flame colour the sky and punch holes
through the mass of writhing strands but another gust of wind blows the
reamining uncharred thread directly at Lorieth.
<*> Hosozoth rises with great sweeps of her bright green wings to meet
Thread. An errant gust of wind swirls the patch toward her left shoulder,
so she flits between just long enough to emerge on the opposite side and
then pursues the patch downward, flaming, with Miralin leaning backward in
her straps riding out the descent.
<*> Blocked by a sheet of writhing masses of Thread, three dragons blink
between quickly to avoid scoring. This, however, lets the sheet fall
uncharred to intercept Djarith.
<*> A Mistral brown somehow manages to blunder into a clump of Thread,
which clips his wingsails and sends him careening out of formation. The
brown crashes into Ryeth, Mistral's Wingsecond, fouling her. The brown
vanishes in mid-bellow as Ryeth drops, falling out of control. The moment
she sorts herself out again, K'than notices a partial clump of Thread slip
through the gap they left in the formation. He flings his arms up to ward
it off - a futile gesture that probably saves him from a more serious
injury as the Thread impacts with his forearm and shoulder just as Ryeth
takes them *between*.
<*> Michenth dives after the thread that escaped the bronze, only to head
right into another patch! He pops between and reappears to the side of the
first patch. He turns, flames it, and heads for the second bundle. Vrisalka
appears to be brushing at her right sleeve, but otherwise appears fine.
<*> A thick sheet of Thread falls from the sky, forcing dragons that are
somewhat near the silvery strands to speed up to deal with the menace.
Among the red-orange bursts of flame, a tangle of Thread falls through,
heading amazingly fast towards Nraith.
<*> Corineth disappears into Between.
<*> Lorieth sees it! It's comin' right for her! She backwings slightly,
pulls her head back and lets fly a long, steady stream of Flaming Death! As
the dreaded Thread disappears on the ash-laden wind, the green bellows
greetings and defiance to her -- HER!! -- ancient foe, age notwithstanding.
She's still here, it's not!
<*> Five strands of Thread are bound together by the winds to form a thick,
evil looking rope. Almost mesmerizing in its movements, the rope falls to
the left of Qeturath.
<*> Nraith snaps his wings out a bit too fast for his sunbaked muscles to
adjust to, and he trumpets with a bit of pain. That doesn't stop him from
belching forth a plume of flame far larger than needed to sear this clump
out of the sky. When the flame clears, all that's left is ash. Yes, he is
the ashmaster.
Telgar Weyr> J'lyn CACKLES!
<*> Suddenly, a large clump of Thread is ripped asunder by a gust of wind
that forms four patches of the silvery menace which proceeds to target a
large brown. While he is able to deal with two of the strands with precise
flaming, the second pair of Thread patches are coming too fast. With a roar
of warning, the brown blinks between to let flaming commence by Psamanth.
Telgar Weyr> A'lex says, "I try."
<*> Mounted between Hicerth's neck ridges, Livia rather vehamently says
something, which probably no one else hears, but from the look on her face,
she's said some sort of a curse. Scowling now, she gestures for Miralin and
Hosozoth to fill in the gap left by Ryeth and K'than.
<*> The flash of red and orange before the bugle of frustration of a green
announces the miss. The Thread is left to fall freely, twisting in the
winds, at Wynith.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Zaith and her rider react to both an
audible and inaudible shout from further back in the Istan queens' wing.
Looking up, both spot yet another clump heading their way. The menace is
catalogued as the Harvest Moon gold once more falls out of formation, this
time rising above the others to meet the Thread head-on. Kyrola curses as
the flamethrower seems to jam for a moment, and they quickly veer off,
letting one of their fellow Istan queens grab the Thread for them.
Meanwhile, as they resume their places in formation with the other Weyrs'
queens, Kyrola works to clear the clog in her flamethrower as Zaith keeps
alerrt for more incoming Thread.
<*> Another thermal that refuses to cooperate with the fighting wings turns
a clump from one heading into a another. This mass of Thread heads right at
Madieth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Qeturath has had quite a bit of bad luck,
or rather, the two or three dragonpairs above her have let quite a bit
through to the Igen senior gold. Thus, even as the thread heads towards
her, Qeturath is sinking down below the ranks so that Chayil can change her
agenothree cannister for a fresh one. Seeing her plight, a Benden goldrider
swoops in and chars the clump of thread that's menacing Qeturath and
Chayil. When she looks up and realizes what nearly happened, Chayil's face
turns while, but she does get her sprayer in order much more quickly, and
resume her place in formation.
<*> Lysseth summons a measure of her remaining grace to cut under a billow
of soot and cinder, aiming her terrible, swift sword of flame towards her
most ancient and least honorable foe. The grapes of wrath are terribly
bitter for Thread, as it dies with not a bang, but a sizzle.
<*> A loud cry erupts from the lips of a rider of a bronze that is clipped
on the wing by a swiftly descending clump of Thread. It continues to writhe
and fall, heading directly for Psamanth.
<*> Psamanth waits while a blue comes to take her place before starting to
head towards the ground. She starts to spiral towards the ground when the
warning of the brown is giving causing her to *blink*. However it is a
little to late as a slight scream of pain is heard before the pair goes
*between* reappearing just above the blue.
<*> In the skies directly above a small blue is more Thread. Before he can
react, the clump is split into two grey patches by an uncooperative
thermal. The reaction to flame these patches must be taken by Nraith.
<*> Djarith sees the crash of Igen riders close below, a sharp eye watching
with concern that the riders involved in that accident all arrive safely
out of *between* again. Ryeth may not be familiar, but she was flying well.
Distracted, the bronze isn't looking at the incoming sheet of Thread, and
A'ley on his back offers his eyes and shouts out to his lifemate. "Djar,
ahead!" The pair slides out of formation, taking out the wayward sheet with
a good flame. But as the do so, the left side they had been favoring, that
Chezroth had been flying so close to, catches some of the daylight. The
dark hide doesn't show color to the odd wet slick, but the hide looks...
torn. Djarith quickly returns to formation.
<*> Riolth's rider is obviously paying attention to many more things than
he was before, because he's leaned out, and Riolth has banked to help out,
in order to let him make sure Qeturath and Chayil are really all right. He
gives a grateful wave to the Benden goldrider, himself a little paler,
before turning back to watch the other wings and his own airspace.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Wynith beats her wings trying to keep pace
though this is the longest threadfall she's flown as yet and it's affecting
her rider who's arms grow heavy with the lifting and aiming of the flame
thrower. Yet the pair still manage to turn half the falling thread to ash
dust but the burst from the thrower has them turning quickly to leave the
remainder untouched and just as deadly.
<*> Near a bronze, a burst of flame temporarily blinds the eyes of the
bronze and his rider right at the moment a patch of Thread reaches him. A
shout of pain from the rider is cut short as the dragon and rider disappear
between only to reappear seconds later farther ahead. The clump of Thread
continues on its way, heading to intercept Mirrath.
<*> A flank is threatened by a patch of silvery-grey as the winds turn a
sheet of thread into the formation of dragons. A patch manages to get
through the initial defensive flaming line and head towards Psamanth.
<*> On Psamanth, However, Psamanth just as Sam reappears another patch of
thread falls on top of her. This time she is ready for this one. With the
last of her flame, she chars it to ash and head towards the ground
<*> Nraith buglesnorts. Try to fool HIM, will they. NOT! Craning his neck
far to the left, he lashes his tail in the opposite direction putting
himself into a tailspin. When he lets loose with flame, he becomes a giant
sprinkler of flame in the sky, searing first one, then another clump as it
passes. It takes him a little longer than usual to recover, but eventually
he does. No, that's not a little bit of vomit from his rider on the
bronze's neck. Really.
<*> Hosozoth swings into the gap left by Ryeth and snakes her head back
toward Miralin for more firestone.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Astride golden Qeturath, Chayil waves
towards M'val during a split-second of respite from the fight, letting her
weyrleader know that she's still alive and still unharmed, but for a few
minor frights.
<*> A thick sheet of Thread falls from the sky, forcing dragons that are
somewhat near the silvery strands to speed up to deal with the menace.
Among the red-orange bursts of flame, a tangle of Thread falls through,
heading amazingly fast towards Mirrath.
<*> Psamanth dives into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> A loud cry erupts from the lips of a rider of a bronze that is clipped
on the wing by a swiftly descending clump of Thread. It continues to writhe
and fall, heading directly for Mirrath.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Decarath wings upward into the upper sky.
<*> Daianth is so absorbed into flaming Thread here and there, refusing to
let a single one pass him, swinging his head back to recieve more firestone
from R'din as in the momentary respite a clump slips past him unnoticed.
But not for long as soon as Daianth's head is back out, a mighty roar and
belch of flames licking the air explodes out of him, rectifying the miss.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, On Psamanth, Karimina heads towards the
ground as the blue that took her place flames the thread that is falling on
top of her.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Psamanth :heads towards the ground as the
blue that took her place flames the thread that is falling on top of her.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Psamanth wings down to a quick landing on
the ground at the staging area.
<*> In the skies directly above a small blue is more Thread. Before he can
react, the clump is split into two grey patches by an uncooperative
thermal. The reaction to flame these patches must be taken by Farlioth.
<*> A ripple through the Benden wings can be heard as Cl'rek notes one of
their queens going to the aid of one of the Igen queens. He tosses a shrug
over to where Nich's astride Aelyth. "It could've been Merla or Amberyl or
anyone," he says aloud as Orrith gives the message back to Aelyth. Nich
shrugs amiably and continues scanning for more Thread. Aelyth abruptly
dives after a nasty tangle that should have been left for the queens, but
they'll pay the price for that stunt later, judging by their wingleader's
furious expression.
<*> Atop Hicerth, Livia is slightly appeased when Hosozoth fills the gap,
but she's cupping her hands about her mouth and hollering, "Tighten up that
line! Tighten up! P'can, you're leading! Next person who goes and gets
themselves hurt is going to get extra exercises for the next three months
while everybody else is celebrating. Hear me? Pay attention!" Hicerth
rumbles his own grumpy second to his riders words before he belches out a
burst of flame at a rather unpleasant looking clump of Thread.
<*> Five strands of Thread are bound together by the winds to form a thick,
evil looking rope. Almost mesmerizing in its movements, the rope falls to
the left of Giareth.
Telgar Weyr> Gevra says, "Is it too late to join the Candidate groundcrew?"
Telgar Weyr> Lanisa says, "Nope :)"
Telgar Weyr> Velano says, "Nope. @tel #17601. There's healery stuff there,
or you can go down the path from there to do the agenothree and digging and
stuff. :)"
<*> Suddenly, a large clump of Thread is ripped asunder by a gust of wind
that forms four patches of the silvery menace which proceeds to target a
large brown. While he is able to deal with two of the strands with precise
flaming, the second pair of Thread patches are coming too fast. With a roar
of warning, the brown blinks between to let flaming commence by Lysseth.
<*> Atop slender green Hosozoth, Miralin looks a tad alarmed at Livia's
exhortations and places a hand on Hosozoth's neck as the green streaks to
intercept a wayward clump of Thread.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Chaedanth flies up into the upper sky.
<*> Farlioth banks again, taking the Thread heading at him with a quick
burst, just as Miritha waves at Cl'rek and Nich. She ought to have had to
grab at the straps, but simply sways instead. Fifty-five turns together
does make for easy predictions of how your dragon will move.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Arlyth rises up into the upper sky.
<*> Blocked by a sheet of writhing masses of Thread, three dragons blink
between quickly to avoid scoring. This, however, lets the sheet fall
uncharred to intercept Svaroth.
Telgar Weyr> Gevra says, "Death and destruction, that's me. Path it is."
Telgar Weyr> Velano says, "Hm, there's been plenty of that here too. ;)"
<*> A small brown and large blue veer downward toward a patch of Thread at
the same moment. Swerving to avoid the collision that is looming, the patch
of thread flies past untouched and heads at Madieth.
<*> Giareth has been having far too easy of a time for awhile now,
practically loafing as the Thread has more or less ignored him and his
rider. That all changes in a heartbeat. Crunching on a new bit of
firestone, he swivels his muzzle unerringly, giving the Thread a bit of
lead before exhaling with the dragonbreath that's worse than the the kind
his rider wakes up with in the morning.
Kassima spares a moment of relative peace to watch the Benden Wings in
action, a proud and slightly wistful grin stealing across her ash-streaked
face. Naturally, that's just when the Thread shows up. Lysseth gets her
rider's attention quite effectively by jerking forward and letting out a
roar of her own, tired at this late hour but still defiant. Fire billows
forth to wrap the Thread in a funeral shroud. Ashes to ashes; dust to dust.
<*> With many of the frontline dragonic pairs focusing their attention on
clearing the skies of the Thread clumps, it is not surprising that a few
patches of the silvery-grey Thread make their way dangerously close to
Ilandrith.
<*> Arlyth :dips downwards slightly letting loose a small gout to char the
remained of a patch, just a few strands really, to harmless ash. A moment
later she has returned to her place in her wing.
<*> Swerving quickly to avoid a clump of Thread that has been upswept by a
thermal, a bronze avoids a harrowing injury. However, the clump twists past
and targets Ilandrith.
<*> Svaroth gives off a rumble of warning to his rider as he shifts
slightly in place to find the right angle to sear the unrelenting sheet
that heads his way. A blast of flame is all it takes before he's realigning
himself and searching for the next treat ho head his way.
<*> Decarath holds steady in his position in his wing; he hasn't been
straining himself overly much, though that's nothing new for the arrogant
brown. This would, after all, but a very bad time for a fatal injury.
<*> A thick clump of Thread is split neatly as a green lets forth a burst
of powerful flame. One part is charred into black ash while the unmarred
half twists, zooming toward Hosozoth.
<*> While Nich's busy getting a promise of a tongue-lashing later on,
Cl'rek spies a wave from an old acquaintance, giving Miritha a salute
through the wings. After a moment, Nich peers through the wings herself and
waves to the fort brown's rider as well. But then there is more work to do,
and the pair continue it, showing no signs of slowing down despite their
advancing turns.
<*> As a green from the upper formations starts to go into a dive to get a
missed patch of Thread, the bugle of her wingleader's dragon makes her
return into position. The patch continues on its way to Ilandrith.
<*> Ilandrith would laugh in the face of danger if dragons really laugh,
except that suddenly there are two clumps of thread attacking him (did he
make them angry?). They are coming from two different directions, and there
isn't enough time to take care of both. He goes *between* before he can get
clobbered, but is back a moment later in a new, better possition, taking
care of as much of the clumps as possible. Some, though, continue down
towards the lower flying dragons.
<*> A Dawnfire wingrider among Ista's wings calls for a resupply, and one
of Ista's weyrlings heads in to toss the needed sacks. Gazgarth levels next
to the greenrider, but just as H'rven launches the sacks in the air, a
nearby clump of Thread startles the pair. The sack falls, dropped in favor
of a quick escape *between* for the weyrlings, but gaining speed as it
plummets through gravity's pull.
<*> Another thermal that refuses to cooperate with the fighting wings turns
a clump from one heading into a another. This mass of Thread heads right at
Decarath.
<*> Settled firmly in HRW's Blizzard wind, Chaedanth keeps to his formation
till the chance to flame comes along. A gout of flame issues forth and then
the dragon blinks *between* to avoid the hot ash. A moment later he returns
to his place in the Fall.
<*> Several greyish-silver patches drop from the skies at one time. Those
that have not been flamed by the vigilant dragons in the forefront fall
closer and closer to Giareth.
Telgar Weyr> Amarie says, "Are you having fun playing thread dodge?"
<*> Mounted on Decarath, Yashira shouts, lobbing another chunk of firestone
into Decarath's maw so he's properly armed to flame down the clump of
thread, charring the majority of it. Several strands make it past him,
however, for another dragon to flame.
<*> Hosozoth flits upward light as you please, arrow-sleek with eyes a
blazing red to meet Thread with a sort of fierce joy, born and bred to do
exactly what she's doing. She flames the clump with a snarl and makes a
satisfied curlicue of her tail as she descends back into position with
Mistral wing.
<*> An angry tangle of Thread writhes, slipping between the attention of a
bronze and brown dragon who are busy flaming heavier patches. The Thread
hurtles downard, moving with surprising speed at Hicerth.
<*> On beautiful green Hosozoth's neck, Miralin gestures wildly and yells
something to Livia, but undoubtedly she's already seen what Miralin's
pointing at.
<*> Ilandrith had just gotten away from the last threats to his and his
rider's safety, when another clump races towards him. He almost didn't see
it in time, having just gotten away from the last two clumps. But just in
time he turns himself over in the air until he's out of the Thread's path
and chars it to bits. He let some through before, but not this time.
<*> The crosswinds swirling around the fighting wings continue to pose a
challenge to the dragons. Ragged from the gust of wind, a thick clump
tumbles near Michenth.
<*> The flash of red and orange before the bugle of frustration of a green
announces the miss. The Thread is left to fall freely, twisting in the
winds, at Seyenth.
<*> Hicerth recoils his neck back slightly and sends a great hulking breath
of flame towards the quick tangle of Thread. He gets most of it with that
first burst of fire, his rider giving a thumbs up to her wingmate. Then he
chases the last little bits downward a short distance until its all gone.
<*> Giareth snorts indignantly as more Thread comes his way. Sh'van shoots
a quick look to either side. No, no one's deliberately giving them more
work to do. The blue and brown on his wingtips are both otherwise engaged,
so the bronze takes on these bits of Thread, choosing to do a strafing run
that's almost pretty in its complexity. It's almost surprising that the big
fat bronze was able to move his butt that agilely, but he manages it,
belching a limited amount of flame at each patch, one after another. Foosh,
foosh, foosh, fooooosh! And in their wake, nothing but ash and char and
those pretty fluttery bits of ash that go wafting below like snow. Only
dirtier.
<*> Djarith is trying to keep to his own business, to stay in formation,
but the bronze has an eye for the bigger picture. Ilandrith's plight is
noted, the escape cheered silently as another comrade beats their tireless
enemy. But the as the remains of the clump fall downward, both dragon and
rider suddenly become aware of the pregnant rider - stubbornly still flying
Fall - in it's path below. Escape *between* is not an option, and both
Djarith and another Istan green break formation to fly to the rescue. The
greenrider pops *between*, appearing just above the endangered weyrmate as
a living shield, while Djarith opts for a steep stoop, flame preceeding as
he tries to catch what he can from above.
<*> Aisheth flames at another clump of thread, takes half of it but is
unable to cope with the quantity. A moment before his head and neck would
be enveloped in thread, he goes between.
<*> Aisheth disappears into Between.
<*> Coming down with the same merciless intent as a harsh winter blizzard,
the Thread writhes through an unprotected air space. A nasty clump of
silvery strands falls just above and ahead of Djarith.
Kassima yells an encouragement to her Wingsecond, though the words of it
are quite likely lost in the wind. Amelyssan and Gromnith don't need any
signal to move to eradicate some of those strands, though one or two may
slip through regardless; Kassi faces forward again, and leans in to reduce
the drag on Lysseth as the green pursues a tangle not far distant.
Telgar Weyr> Metri says, "Oh, shaffit. We're supposed to dodge?"
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Astride Wynith, Draila scans the skies
again while lifting a hand to shade her eyes from floating ash dust. Slowly
she manages to pick out familiar forms and a sigh of relief escapes her.
Then her gaze travels below to do the same. Checking the groundcrew and the
healer areas.
Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "Metri, did you get yourself killed down there?"
Telgar Weyr> Amarie grins.
<*> Writhing in mortal-seeking anguish, a sheet of Thread cascades through
the upper tier of flaming dragons and heads without hesitation towards
Daianth.
<*> The falling silvery-grey patches of Thread form a swirling pattern in
the gusts of wind that carry the meance through the skies. Charring as best
as they can, patches of the ropey death make their way past the dragons and
end up splitting to head toward the Queen wing while the other appear in
front of Qeturath.
<*> Madieth keeps an eye on Djarith as he swoops down. The green bugles out
a warning as she spots a clump of thread falling straight for the bronze.
<*> Trecherous thermals twist a pair of Thread clumps and push them toward
the fighting wings. Bright colours of flame colour the sky and punch holes
through the mass of writhing strands but another gust of wind blows the
reamining uncharred thread directly at Lysseth.
<*> Michenth darts foreward toward the tumbling thread and flames it as he
moves. Before his rider can be engulfed in dust, he dives then tumbles,
ending up stroking upward again, in the opposite direction. Vrisalka's grin
is wide enough to be seen several dragons away.
<*> Swerving quickly to avoid a clump of Thread that has been upswept by a
thermal, a bronze avoids a harrowing injury. However, the clump twists past
and targets Madieth.
<*> An angry tangle of Thread writhes, slipping between the attention of a
bronze and brown dragon who are busy flaming heavier patches. The Thread
hurtles downard, moving with surprising speed at Seyenth.
<*> Daianth is warned by another dragon above him as the sheet descends to
his level, causing his head to swerve upwards, opening his inky maw as
hissing flames bursts serpentine-like into the Thread, closing it again to
burp out another fireball to the rest he missed as the ash floats into
R'din's face, quickly shielding himself from it with a forearm.
<*> Djarith bugles his apologies to the weyrmate pair below as a blizzard
of deadly spores tucks ahead of him in his sudden stoop. He's out of
formation, and Madieth's warning reminds him no one is at hand to watch his
back. Wings snap wide, braking mid-air, slowing himself so that his
momentum doesn't carry him into the silvery strands. Or into his flame, as
the throat opens wide and heat lashes forth, clearing his path. Distracted,
the Weyrsecond can't see what happened with the pair below, and directs his
lifemate to power back to Belior's ranks.
<*> Lysseth abandons roaring for simply snarling at the Thread that
approaches. This doesn't stop it in its tracks either, for some reason, and
so she needs must introduce it to the glories of fire--trusting that it is
no phoenix, to ever arise from *these* ashes. With that complete she and
Kassi drop a bit below the rest of the Wing's formation, the better to have
peace while Kassi empties her last sack of resupply stone down her dragon's
throat.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Juliath wings upward into the upper sky.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Qeturath stretches her lean body out,
pushing herself to reach for the falling twined threads, as her itsy bitsy
rider leans forward with sprayer wand outstretched. As they come close
enough, the thread is a bit below straight-on, so Chayil adjusts her aim to
compensate for where the thread will be when her agenothree meets it in the
air. One, two, three short squirts, and the thread is no more, soaked and
acide-burned to gloppy wads of ash which splorp harmlessly on the soil.
<*> The flash of red and orange before the bugle of frustration of a green
announces the miss. The Thread is left to fall freely, twisting in the
winds, at Daianth.
<*> Madieth nearly misses the clump as she swings back from checking on
Djarith. She lets out a startled burst of flame before a longer more
controlled one does the job of searing through the last of the thread
sending hot ash raining down below the pairl.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Zaith shifts on the fly as yet more Thread
escapes the wings higher up. Kyrola directs a frown upwards, with a mental
note to advise S'dar about what she saw and let him deal with it.
Meanwhile, at the head of the Istan formation, Zaith turns slightly to get
slightly nearer to the Igen queens, having spotted a bit of Thread that's
begging to be flamed. Kyrola directs her flamethrower's wand in the correct
direction and directs the burst toward the Thread. When it's burning quite
prettily, she releases the button on her flamethrower before there's any
danger to her colleagues. Kyrola offers a salute to Chayil aboard Qeturath
before returning to her position with the Istans.
<*> Hicerth meets up with a resupply dragon on his way back. He focuses on
staying steady while his rider opens her arms to catch the sack. The pair
miss noticing a wayward clump start drifting their direction. An older
Mistral bluerider spots it and the pair spur into action to cover their
Wingleader. By the time the blue can reach them, Hicerth has spotted it and
both realize they're too close to one another to flame without hitting the
other. The blue collides with the clump and takes it *between* with them
while Hicerth keens woefully.
Telgar Weyr> A'lex erks and rebootidles.
<*> A small brown and large blue veer downward toward a patch of Thread at
the same moment. Swerving to avoid the collision that is looming, the patch
of thread flies past untouched and heads at Svaroth.
Lysseth> Juliath senses that Lysseth sends a thrum of welcome, but
questions, because she must, << You and your rider have rested enough? >>
<*> Juliath rejoins the Telgar contingent, somewhat rested and her rider
somewhat fed. They keep behind the fresher greens, however, so as not to
interfere in these final moments of Fall.
<*> Arlyth swerves and flames a stray few strands threatening an unaware
weyrlings. Across the distance between them she yells angrily at the youth
then returns to her position.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, High between Qeturath's neck ridges,
Chayil makes certain there's no more thread headed her way for a second,
then casts a winking salute back towards Kyrola, appreciation and respect
beneath the stress-concealing humor. Sisterhood is powerful.
<*> A thick clump of Thread is split neatly as a green lets forth a burst
of powerful flame. One part is charred into black ash while the unmarred
half twists, zooming toward Decarath.
Dragon> Juliath bespoke Lysseth with << We are *less weariness.* My rider
wished to finish the Fall. >>
<*> Another thermal that refuses to cooperate with the fighting wings turns
a clump from one heading into a another. This mass of Thread heads right at
Giareth.
<*> Daianth, warned yet again by another dragon, lets out a roar. How dare
Thread target /him/? He targets /them/, not the other way around. The
terrible judgment is quickly stifled right, a correcting mushroom of flame
sprouting out.
Lysseth> Juliath senses that Lysseth agrees, << We understand this. We did
not wish to miss it, either... it is good to fight, and good to fight over
*Benden* again. >>
<*> Blocked by a sheet of writhing masses of Thread, three dragons blink
between quickly to avoid scoring. This, however, lets the sheet fall
uncharred to intercept Lysseth.
<*> Chaedanth dips downward slightly and flames at a clump, but only
manages to hit half of it. With a bugle of annoyance he returns to his
position letting quicker greens finish the job.
<*> Near a bronze, a burst of flame temporarily blinds the eyes of the
bronze and his rider right at the moment a patch of Thread reaches him. A
shout of pain from the rider is cut short as the dragon and rider disappear
between only to reappear seconds later farther ahead. The clump of Thread
continues on its way, heading to intercept Farlioth.
Telgar Weyr> A'lex says, "I am back, are you thrilled?"
<*> Svaroth's just finished off another firestone snack. But he's just in
time to swing his head about to front and then let loose with a gout of hot
flame to be rid of the pesky menace that dares to get in his way. With a
rumble of satisfaction he look for another target to claim.
<*> Giareth is fine with large masses of Thread coming at him. He's a large
mass of bronze dragon, and he's got a nice toasty efficient flame just for
that large mass of Thread. Sh'van mutters, "Don't get cute," as the pair
deal with it in their not-very-fancy manner.
<*> Decarath dips lower to manuver himself better to take on the other half
of the thread charred by the green; a few quick gulps of firestone prepare
him to sufficiently reduce the thread to so much black dust blurring the
front of Yashira's flight goggles. She raises an arm to wipe them clear
with a hoot.
<*> Lysseth is downright terse in her treatment of this sheet. One blast to
take out a great swath of it. Another, quickly, to catch some of those
ragged edges that remain. But for the safety of her left wing, she's forced
to jump *between* and leave the rest to Wingmates.
<*> Writhing in mortal-seeking anguish, a sheet of Thread cascades through
the upper tier of flaming dragons and heads without hesitation towards Zaith.
Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "You just know I was waiting for you with bated
breath, ashmaster."
Telgar Weyr> Meli's breath is a bit minty, rather than bated, but she
missed you too. ;)
<*> Suddenly, a large clump of Thread is ripped asunder by a gust of wind
that forms four patches of the silvery menace which proceeds to target a
large brown. While he is able to deal with two of the strands with precise
flaming, the second pair of Thread patches are coming too fast. With a roar
of warning, the brown blinks between to let flaming commence by Decarath.
<*> Farlioth tilts his wings just the tiniest bit, to flame at the thread
heading towards him. Miritha has not yet touched her straps at all, not
grabbed or clung - every little movement of Farlioth's has been met with
her own counter-movement to stay balanced.
<*> Trecherous thermals twist a pair of Thread clumps and push them toward
the fighting wings. Bright colours of flame colour the sky and punch holes
through the mass of writhing strands but another gust of wind blows the
reamining uncharred thread directly at Seyenth.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Perched atop Zaith, Kyrola checks over her
shoulder at a shout from behind her, but a message passed through the Istan
queens advises her not to worry about it for now, so she doesn't. As Zaith
gives her an update, she raises her flamethrower wand once more. "Don't you
dare ask me if we're there yet," she mutters to her lifemate as she takes
care of that writhing sheet of Thread, a long tongue of flame reaching out
to run through the sheet, the Thread quickly incinerating to a crisp. "Or
I'll turn this wing around right now and go home..."
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Gherith rises up into the upper sky.
<*> In the skies directly above a small blue is more Thread. Before he can
react, the clump is split into two grey patches by an uncooperative
thermal. The reaction to flame these patches must be taken by Michenth.
<*> Decarath snarls at the other brown as it blips *between* and flaps his
shadowy wings more quickly to get a decent angle on the first of the two
small patches left for him to deal with. Yashira's eyes narrow behind her
goggles, and the brown veers to the left to flame the other clump in the
nick of time.
<*> Upon the creamy neck of Daianth, R'din clears his blackened goggles and
face with a hand as the ash passes him, shaking his head with laughter,
thumping his blue's neck in merriment at the dragon's obvious thirst for
vegeance against Thread.
<*> A flank is threatened by a patch of silvery-grey as the winds turn a
sheet of thread into the formation of dragons. A patch manages to get
through the initial defensive flaming line and head towards Decarath.
<*> Djarith is twitchy as a newly-strapped Weyrling when he returns to his
place in Ista's wings. His dive may not have been the best chosen action,
but as one side effect of it, he's noted Zaith's position in the queens
wing - and the absence of Omfaleth from the flying ranks. A deep rumble
echoes in the bronze's chest, one that has a note of concern. A'ley quickly
gives it direction by looking over to Brees, a hand waving to check if
she's alright from her own quick escape.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Typhenth flies higher into the upper sky.
<*> Coming down with the same merciless intent as a harsh winter blizzard,
the Thread writhes through an unprotected air space. A nasty clump of
silvery strands falls just above and ahead of Gherith.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Qeturath seems a little more comfortable
with the number of golds in the sky, now that a good third of them have
landed, either from injury or in order to act as dragonhealers for others.
Less worried now that one gold will crash into another, she motions for the
Igenite queens to spread out a tad, covering the weak points of the upper
lines where one Weyr's dragons meet another Weyr's dragons, and where
individual wings meet up as well.
<*> Mounted on Decarath, Yashira deposits more firestone into her brown's
maw, eyes narrowing at the newest patch to threaten them. Decarath crunches
away on the stone and gulps it down, quickly ascending with a few
wing-flaps so he's in a position above the Thread and can char it as it
goes past.
<*> With many of the frontline dragonic pairs focusing their attention on
clearing the skies of the Thread clumps, it is not surprising that a few
patches of the silvery-grey Thread make their way dangerously close to
Lysseth.
<*> From Madieth's back, Brees reaches up to her face to wipe away a layer
of stinging ash clearing her goggles with one glove before she waves back
to A'ley. Madieth is lagging though, tired from her time in the Fall so
Brees motions downward to A'ley before the pair descend for some much
needed rest.
<*> Madieth spirals downward into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> Several greyish-silver patches drop from the skies at one time. Those
that have not been flamed by the vigilant dragons in the forefront fall
closer and closer to Seyenth.
<*> Gherith lifts her head to angle to the clump ahead of her, bellowing
her indignation at having Thread so close to her and flaming quickly and
effectively to reduce it to ash.
<*> The weyrlings of Fort Weyr move out amongst the Fortian riders once
more, passing out firestone bags to those in need. Then they return to
their formation as Danielle and Arly, along with the other AWLM's, watch
out for threatening thread. A gout of flame from Arlyth counts another
clump burned to ash.
<*> A thick sheet of Thread falls from the sky, forcing dragons that are
somewhat near the silvery strands to speed up to deal with the menace.
Among the red-orange bursts of flame, a tangle of Thread falls through,
heading amazingly fast towards Riolth.
Kassima swipes the back of a gloved hand across the front of her goggles,
and never mind that gloves and goggles alike are so filthy with ash at this
point that she's accomplishing more of a smearing than anything else. It's
enough to let her see those patches coming, and urge Lysseth with a shout
to turn--just so--just enough--and sear them all, flicking her tail at the
ashes drifting away after as though in scorn and mockery.
<*> As the trailing edge of the Fall reaches the rocky terrain of the
mountains, a shout is passed along from rider to rider, from wing to wing.
"All clear!" is heard in a weary but resounding voice. This Fall is over.
<*> Once again, Pern has faced threadfall -- not separately as individuals,
not in sub-groups such as wings, flights, Holds, Halls, or Weyrs -- but
together, as one, unified in purpose and effort. Thanks to fifty turns of
blood, sweat, and tears; thanks to the lives dedicated to the protection of
others; thanks most of all to the deaths of family, friends, and lovers of
nearly every human being across both continents, thread is vanquished for
the tenth time in Pernese history. Once again, their planet is safe... for
the next two hundred turns.
After the battles, we're still around
Everything once up in the air has settled down
Sweep the ashes, let the silence find us
An Interval's peace is worth every 'fall behind us
Telgar Weyr> Meli says, "Sniff. Sniff."
<*> Nraith trumpets triumphantly.
<*> Riolth whips his head around - M'val was apparently looking directly at
it, though Riolth wasn't - and lets out a huge burst of flame, catching the
entire patch, overkill though it ends up being - the last Thread, it
appears, for he catches that just as the all-clear sounds.
Telgar Weyr> A'lex says, "YAY!"
<*> Juliath adds her bugle to the growing chorus. On her back, Meli raises
a fist in the air.
<*> Giareth coughs out the last bit of flame, having timed things fairly
well. Nothing remains now except to join his fellow dragons in bugling
joyously. Sh'van's there, shouting himself hoarse, a fist in the air.
<*> Hosozoth is too tired to bugle. Miralin looks to her wingleader as her
green begins to descend over Benden Weyr.
Telgar Weyr> Amarie says, "Good bye cruel thread."
<*> Daianth joins in the growing cheers of dragons and riders alike,
sounding out his loudest bugle as of yet.
<*> On Dzurath, S'rist waits for the calls of all clear to be echoed all
around before he gives out a shout of exhausted exultation. His big bronze
joins in with a bellow that then burns up the last of the flame in his belly.
Telgar Weyr> Meli says, "Where's the paaaartay?"
<*> Arlyth lets out a ringing trumpet and soon the weyrlings follow suit.
Astride the green's back Danielle smiles and shoots her fist up in the air
giving a resounding, "HAZZAH!"
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Once again, Pern has faced threadfall --
not separately as individuals, not in sub-groups such as wings, flights,
Holds, Halls, or Weyrs -- but together, as one, unified in purpose and
effort. Thanks to fifty turns of blood, sweat, and tears, thanks to the
lives dedicated to the protection of others, thanks most of all to the
deaths of family, friends, and lovers of nearly every human being across
both continents, thread is vanquished for the tenth time in Pernese
history. Once again, their planet is safe... for the next two hundred
turns. After the battles, we're still around Everything once up in the air
has settled down Sweep the ashes, let the silence find us An Interval's
peace is worth every 'fall behind us
<*> Riolth flares his wings out and slows into a hover, with all of Oasis
slowing with hi - thirty dragons hovering in perfect formation. M'val snaps
loose his thigh straps, so he can stand in his straps, even before he can
be sure Fall is over. His voice raises in a shout that carries extremely
well, once it's clear there's no more Thread. "*Cactus*! *Gullywasher*!
*Arroyo*! *Heatwave*!" He points at each of the wingleaders as he yells
their names. "*Post-Falls sweep*. And report to me - ALL your wingriders -
when you're done!" His eyes, usually lit by laughter or at least amusement,
are blazing now - no amusement there. It's not often anyone has seen *any*
anger on him. He turns back to wave at his own wing. "Oasis! Dismissed!"
V'lien casts him a surprised look - Oasis almost always is assigned to
post-Fall sweeps over the territory covered by the Fall - but obediently
takes the rest of the wing back to Igen. "All other Igen wings, dismissed!"
<*> High atop Nraith, A'lex wipes away what might be a tear of relief. Now,
they can rest.
Kassima slumps on her dragon's neck for just a bare moment, she and her
green both clearly exhausted. But they shove that aside, as the moment
makes easy, and the greenrider pulls the goggles off so that she can see
the clear sky and Benden beneath it, and laugh, and shout her joy in a
great lung-straining call.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, From high between Wynith's neckridges,
Draila slumps forward as the skies clear. She leaves Wynith to glide
downwards and land as her flame thrower is turned off and swung back into
its resting place on her back. "Is it really over?" She murmurs in thankful
yet disbelief.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Wynith wings down and lands lightly on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> Nraith spirals downward into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> Mounted on Decarath, Yashira pumps her fist into the air and hoots long
and hard, proudly. Decarath, in the meantime, looks smug.
<*> Juliath dives into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, High atop Qeturath, Chayil glances around
swiftly, then more slowly as it occurs to her that thread has stopped
falling. "That's it?" she wonders, taken aback. "That's... it?" It takes
her quite a while of circling around in the air before she's ready to admit
that it's really over, but finally she does land.
<*> Below you, in the lower sky, Qeturath wings down to a quick landing on
the ground at the staging area.
<*> Typhenth bugles loudly, his voice joining the throng while Lyse cries
with relief, sooty streaks down her face drip across a broad smile.
<*> Hosozoth wings down into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> Atop Hicerth, Livia sits back in her straps, looking up and then down
the lines. She even leans far over to each side of Hicerth to look
downward. For a moment, she seems hesitant to accept the all clear as it's
given, but at M'val's call, she motions her approval to Miralin and the
rest of the wing to land.
<*> In and amongst the Benden wings, a certain pair had Impressed in the
early stages of the Pass. They'd survived the losses of leaders such as
D'vin, Krystlin, Ambar, others too many to name. Yet they remain. On blue
Aelyth, Nich searches through the wings, and her smile is matched by the
one on Cl'rek's face aboard brown Orrith. Falling out of their wings'
formations, the weyrmated pair, both with tears on their faces making dirty
streaks in the ash, fly off into the sunset, Benden riders until the end.
<*> Hicerth glides downward into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
Telgar Weyr> J'lyn grr. Did I miss the end?
Telgar Weyr> A'lex says, "Just by about 2 minutes."
Telgar Weyr> Meli snugs.
<*> From the silk-smooth neck of Daianth, R'din takes off his goggles,
whirling them about over his head as Daianth suddenly swoops into a dive
towards the ground below, joining the other dragons landing.
Telgar Weyr> J'lyn says a LOT of pottymouth words, mostly aimed at his
computer.
<*> Daianth circles lower into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> Lorieth glides downward into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> Djarith is just shifting his position to cover the tired green's decent
when the word spreads. No need to cover for a tired ally anymore, everyone
can rest. The chorus of dragonvoices is incredible, and the night-dark
bronze flares his wings for a personal shimmer of bronze starlight. A deep
rumble rises from the depths of his chest, eventually building to a
resonating bugle, repeated as it echos with everyone else's voice off the
mountains. A'ley rises up as much as the safety straps will let him. "Ista!
Clear skies!" The Weyrsecond calls with a laugh, S'dar having given the
signal to decent, but appearing too overwhelmed to speak.
<*> From Michenth's neck, Vrisalka doesn't shout and doesn't scream, but
looks up at the sky as if expecting more. Michenth hovers, waiting for his
wing's dismissal.
<*> Gherith wings down into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
Telgar Weyr> Tobay has latrine duty, cleans up after J'lyn.
<*> Lysseth's trumpet is fit to drown out Kassi's call--little wonder she
left it until her rider had said her piece, given that. On her neck,
Kassima gestures to give her Wingmates permission to descend. She does not
descend herself, despite her injury; not immediately. Instead she signals
Lysseth to begin one long circle to let her get a good look at the land
below, and take it all in, before they quit this final battleground. The
departing Benden riders are noticed, and she snaps a salute in their wake.
<*> Riolth resumes flying, gliding, eventually heading towards the nearest
of the other Weyrleaders.
<*> Chaedanth scans the horizon as does his rider. Kandri's expression
beneath soot an almost sad one. With a sigh that is likely relief her and
Chaedanth await the word to return home.
<*> Chaedanth dives into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
You dive into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> On a field in the sweeps area, Lexiana smiles as she starts to gather
the tanks into one pile.
<*> On the staging area below, Miralin gives her lifemate a loving pat
before swinging a leg easily over Hosozoth's dappled neck and jumping
lightly to the ground.
<*> On the staging area below, Miralin leans against Hosozoth's neck.
<*> On the staging area below, "And mine," Velano grins at the rider, but
now that his attention's drawn to the merriment exploding, he too looks
upward. "So it's over? And they know that for sure?" Somewhat doubting, he
shakes his head, then returns his attention to Joshi's goal. "Well, unless
you'll be riding home to find a privacy there -- "
<*> Above you, Decarath flies lower into the sky, towards Benden Weyr.
<*> On a field in the sweeps area, Gevra sighs and shakes her head. "So
that's it," she says and puts her tank with the rest.
You bank and land neatly on the ground at the staging area.
Telgar Weyr> Meli says, "Do we land or go home?"
<*> Rulana slides down Gherith's side to the ground.
<*> In the sky directly above, Dzurath flies down to land gently on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> In the sky directly above, Decarath wings down and lands lightly on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> In the sky directly above, Chaedanth wings down to a quick landing on
the ground at the staging area.
<*> In the sky directly above, Zaith remains aloft as the news spreads.
Kyrola relaxes against her dearest lifemate, one hand on the queen's oiled
hide. "We did it," she murmurs softly, tears shining and quickly drying on
her face, even as her eyes track skyward once more. Not for Thread, but for
a certain rider of her acquaintance, a slight smile appearing on her face
as she realizes he had survived as well. "Perhaps now is the time," Kyrola
says as she then directs Zaith in passing along Chezroth's orders to the
rest of the Istan queens. "Go see to the wounded," she says aloud.
Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "Up to you, I think. :)"
<*> S'rist climbs down Dzurath's side to the ground, using his foreleg as a
step.
<*> In the sky directly above, Arlyth glides to a swift landing on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> Livia takes a moment to quickly look Hicerth over, and then she's on
the move, starting with Miralin. She heads towards the greenrider, grinning
as she pulls off her goggles, "Oy! Miralin! You and Hosozoth alright?
<*> Joshi shakes her head. "I'll take it from here." Now that she's on her
feet, she can walk, ever so slow releasing Velano's arm from her left arm.
Her right arm is bound and splint to her and she sowly makes her way
towards the weyr.
<*> Sarai moves around, helping all the various injuried dragons get where
they need to be.
<*> In the sky directly above, Nraith disappears into Between.
<*> In the sky directly above, Riolth flies down to land gently on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> In the sky directly above, Lorieth wearily winds her way down, long
lazy spirals described by the jade lady, her wings scarcely moving. She
won't live long enough to fight again, though her life has been dedicated
to it. a warbling thrum starts deep in her throat, the sound echoing off
landscape the closer she gets to the ground. Her rider, himself old and
weary, pats her on the neck, feeling his own age as well.
<*> Mounted on Decarath, Yashira pries her helmet and gloves off with
another cheer.
<*> Yashira dismounts Decarath.
<*> In the sky directly above, Giareth glides to a swift landing on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> In the sky directly above, Djarith wings down and lands lightly on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> In the sky directly above, Juliath disappears into Between.
<*> In the sky directly above, Lorieth backwings to a neat landing on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> Miralin nods. "Just tired. You know." She grins, but the grin is a
little bit crooked. Could she possibly look... wistful?
<*> The Telgar butcher-candidate watches Joshi several steps off, as though
uncertain she might make it, but soon enough her stride proves that a
broken arm indeed does not stop one from walking. Satisfied, Velano turns
about several circles, staring blankly as dragons fairly rain from the sky
in landing.
<*> S'rist slides onot the ground and looks around, too weary to be
stunned, but too relieved not to recognize the event. He reaches into the
straps of his bronze and takes out something that isn't standard fall
flying gear, a skin of wine, that he opens up, takes a swig from, then
passes to the nearest rider passing by.
<*> J'lyn slides down Lorieth's shoulder to her forelimb, then jumps to the
ground.
<*> Kandri slides down Chaedanth's side, with a helpful forepaw, to the
ground.
<*> In the sky directly above, Michenth flies down to land gently on the
ground at the staging area.
<*> Karimina winces a couple of times as the healer cleans up her arm. "Ami
can you look at her wings for me, too. I am worried that she may have
strain them." a look of guilt comes across her eyes.
<*> Kandri slides down Chaedanth's side and turns to pat the brown on the
shoulder. "You did good, Chae. We both did," She says softly and then
begins to check him and her straps over, seeming to take some sort of
comfort in the familiar task.
<*> Lysseth makes a landing that isn't half so graceful as it might
normally be. Of course, it isn't the heavy landing she usually makes after
Falls, either--and not because she isn't grey with exhaustion, because she
is. She's being careful not to jostle her rider's right leg. "Lyss, I'm nay
going t'*break*; I'm more worried about your neck--" Kassi remonstrates,
pulling off her helmet and working at the straps holding her on.
<*> From Riolth's back, M'val stays on Riolth for a while, unsnapping the
rest of his straps and then just surveying the area. Above, four Igen wings
have headed back to where Leading Edge appeared; M'val spares them not a
single glance before he slides down Riolth's side, heading for S'rist
immediately.
<*> M'val slides down Riolth's leg.
<*> Danielle slips off of Arlyth's back using straps and the green's
offered forelimb.
<*> R'din jumps down, promptly striding to Daianth's head, wrapping as much
of his arms around the blue as he can, thumping the side of it with a hand,
"Beautiful!" He tells the blue before taking off his helmet to peer abou.
<*> Claret Comes into the staging area along a footpath from one of the
outer fields.
<*> The dragonhealers' work, which began shortly after fall, continues.
Most of the walking (or flying) wounded are being shipped home, while some
are being helped along. Most of the dragons that were too injured to fly
went directly home or died. Benden Weyr has taken up as many dragons as
needed. All that's left now are people who can fly home, though many will
be flying a long, straight flight.
<*> "Ma'am," comes Velano's voice to Sarai a final time. "Thank you? I
mean, for teaching me so I could help. I need to find the rest of the
candidates -- and, er, L'ret." A frown downcurves the butcher's mouth, and
in the craze he entirely misses Lysseth's landing and Kassima's dismount.
"Do you still need me, or may I -- ?"
<*> Th'res is laying next to his dragon as he is not allowed to move much,
But he does take a an offered drink of wine.
<*> Danielle clambers down Arlyth's side and pats the green heavily on the
neck but with affection. There's a moment where she looks up at the sky
whistfully and then turns to check Arlyth over. The green is unharmed and
now comes the fun part, Danielle moves on to check the Weyrlings...
<*> Metri Comes into the staging area along a footpath from one of the
outer fields.
<*> Sh'van jumps down Giareth's side to the ground, using his foreleg as a
step.
You slide off of Lysseth's neck to land beside her easily. She rumbles,
cocking her head down at you, and you rub her eyeridges gratefully.
Gevra Comes into the staging area along a footpath from one of the outer
fields.
Livia gives Miralin another grin, then it fades a bit, "Good. You flew well
today. You should be proud." She continues down the line to check on the
remainder of her riders, checking with each to be sure no one is hurt that
she isn't aware of. Some riders even get hugs.
Lexiana Comes into the staging area along a footpath from one of the outer
fields.
Astride Wynith, Draila swings a leg over and hip slides down Wynith's side.
She takes a moment to check out the other Fortian dragons in hopes that no
extra injuries have been found.
Draila slides down Wynith's offered foreleg. Wynith croons softly when her
lifemate reaches the ground.
J'lyn pulls off his helmet, goggles and gloves and leans against his
lifemate. So many new faces, so many -young- faces. How many wouldn't be
here had he and his comrades not have been there fifty Turns ago when all
this started? How many more new faces will take up the mantle of
dragonrider after he and his are gone? He absently pats the large green's
muscled thigh, a slight smile on his face, and for once, he looks all of
his seventy-odd Turns.
Miralin unbuckles her helmet, loosening her hair, and watches M'val
curiously from under her overgrown bangs.
Vrisalka climbs down from Michenth's neck.
Sarai ehs at the candidate at her elbow. "Oh, yes, you're welcome, Velano.
You did good. If Telgar doesn't pan out, Igen has less snow." Sarai smiles
at the boy. "Go join your friends. You did well." Sarai limps her waty
around the various people she knows, checking friends and strangers alike
for dragonhealing needs. After a moment, she realizes a horrifying fact.
Everything's under control now. Another moment passes and Sarai winds her
way towards the Igen delegation.
"I'll look them over, Karimina." Ami assures. Though she finishes with the
scores and checks the burns before she moves on to look the green over more
carefully, "The numbweed helping now?"
Sh'van immediately takes off his helmet and loosens his jacket after
alighting on the ground, tugging the ends of his scarf out of the jacket
now that it's safe to do so. "Safe," he murmurs audibly, and then his face
splits in a grin. "Giareth, you seen Des?" Upon being given direction, the
young High Reaches bronzerider slips through the crowd, passing by J'lyn
and pausing long enough to direct a look of respect to the much older
rider. "Sir," he says and continues on his way to find Des.
Lexiana walks out towards the dragon stopping and giving the all a long
look. A joyful look comes to her face, however there is some sorrow too.
Looking for those that she knows, she keeps to the background.
In the sky directly above, Zaith swoops down to a landing on the ground at
the staging area.
Kyrola slithers down Zaith's side to the ground.
Luni cleans up her mess, including her arms, before pattering off to see
who else she can tend to. As she moves through the crowd she looks
searchingly about, hunting through the riders until she spots Livia at last
and doesn't so much smile as look relieved. Still peeking for Mistral
riders, she does stop by Rulana though and ask, "You both are well? I hope
you are well!"
Gevra deposits the tanks she's carrying with the smiths, then looks around
the field. Her eyes widen as they pass over a particular dragon, and she
edges out of the way behind a Telgar dragon.
S'rist takes a long look over Dzurath, making his way around to check him
out completely, before he comes back to his muzzle and gives him a pat on
the neck, "Good flying, you brought me through once again..."
In the sky directly above, Typhenth flies down to land gently on the ground
at the staging area.
Joshi comes back out of the weyr several minutes later amidst all the
celebrations and healing going on. She makes her way to Wilanth's side once
more and leans against the green dragon for her support. She looks tired
and drained from her little trip to the privy.
A few blinks come from the Lemos butcher, but after a moment he grins
gratefully at the senior Dragonhealer, his expression turning greatly
pleased at her something-like-an-invitation. "Thank you," he manages.
"Again." Ah, wit. And then Velano's off, hunting out among the milling
crowd his Telgari peers.
M'val fetches up next to S'rist. The fury of a little while ago has drained
out, leaving him looking a little lost. Or perhaps that's just what he
looks like when he's thoroughly relieved, tired, and facing the fact that
the last Fall is over.
Kassima does manage to dismount, but the action finishes blanching her face
to white beneath the ash. "So many Turns," she mutters into Lysseth's
shoulder. "Nay a mark. Last time out--" She laughs under her breath. "Ach,
should've *known*. But 'twere lucky, weren't we? Just rest a moment,
lady-love, then we can get back." Lysseth hums softly, curving her neck to
nose at her rider's helmet and cheek.
Karimina nods "Yes, she says that the pain is better now." With a nod to
the healer as her wraps arm in bandages. "Thank you very much."
Rulana stays right where she is, there being so many dragons and riders
about, as she answers Luni with a nod. "We're both fine, just fine. Does
anyone else need any help do you know?"
R'din's expression suddenly turns somber as he surveys the amount of
injured, "Didn't realize..." Eyes then turn up to the four remaining Igen
wings in the sky with a soft sigh, watching M'val for several moments
before turning away to search for other Igenites.
Livia finishes up with the Mistral ranks, then heads towards Wilanth and
Joshi. She eyes the greenrider and tsks, "You alright?" She pulls her
helmet off finally, tucking it under her arm.
Lanisa Comes into the staging area along a footpath from one of the outer
fields.
Kyrola practically jumps down from Zaith's back as the pair alight,
immediately going in search of Reye and Omfaleth to check on them.
Meanwhile, Zaith checks with Chezroth to see how their dragons and riders
fared, the Istan gold letting out a soft sigh when she gets the report of
how many didn't return, or may never fly again. "Everyone else all right,
though?" Kyrola asks distractedly as she automatically checks out the other
Istan riders for injuries on her way.
S'rist offers M'val his arm, "Not the cleanest fall I've flown M'val, the
winds out there were rough. But it looks like we've made it through."
Luni looks that much more relieved, and she breathes, "I'm ever so glad. I
haven't spotted anyone else, yet," though she does turn to look. She
whispers to Rula, then, "Sarai had me do stitching! I do hope nothing rips
out, or scars horribly, or anything like that. I just tried to keep
thinking of porcine feet, you must know how it is. How was it up there? How
does it feel, your last one?"
Sarai limps up to M'val and S'rist, catching the High Reachians comment.
"It didn't look that bad from here," she points out to the Weyrleaders.
Amilin nods as she continues her inspection of Sam, "Have her flex her
wings then, does that bother her at all?" She asks of Karimina, "They look
to be fine otherwise."
Vrisalka thanks the healer who bandaged up her arm, and hops back up onto
Michenth.
Vrisalka climbs up to Michenth's neck.
Michenth rises up into the sky.
Djarith doesn't land with everyone else, just circles low, until a signal
confirms a communication with S'dar, and the Weyrsecond takes off with some
of the riders to help fly a post-Fall Sweep. Overkill, yes, but some need
the finality. And A'ley and Djarith seem to be among them.
Metri bounds from the adjoined field, just as quick to join Velano and the
rest of his fellow candidates. He's got that goofy grin (not that he ever
grins /ungoofy/), covered in ash and dirt, among other things. "Brilliant!"
he exclaims as he bounces to a halt with the rest of his peers.
M'val grips S'rist's forearm, the greeting of equals, and shakes his head.
"Sloppiest Fall I've ever seen, except this one time...though we had a lot
of crosswinds. But...but... It's over." He rubs his eyes, which mostly
succeeds in getting more ash smeared over his forehead, and says to Sarai,
"You missed all the near-collisions - or did you see K'than? That *was* a
collision. I hope Ryeth's all right, I couldn't see if she got hit too. He
got scored 'cause they were out of control because of the collision. More
wingtips than we should have - you wouldn't see those either, most of ours
at least will take care of those." He stops suddenly. "I haven't babbled
like that in, in, in a long time."
Velano, searching for familiar voices and faces, makes a wide path around a
green's haunch only to find that the dragon's rider is familiar. "Kassima!"
He darts looks either way, as if lurkfully uncertain whether or not he
might be overheard referring to the rider by name, and whether anyone else
will care. Then, taking in the rider more carefully, he notes with
disapproval, "You're hurt." The butcher's lips thin into a narrow line, but
he exhales after a second and adds, "I guess I can't complain. I didn't
make you swear." A beat. "I should have."
Karimina sighs as her dragon is starting to feel better. Sam does flex her
wing with a happy rumble. "She says they feel fine." She looks around the
fall. "She says that I should go and help the other's now." and loving look
is given to her green. "Do you mind if I help you with the other dragons."
In the sky directly above, Mirrath banks and lands neatly on the ground at
the staging area.
Tarien slides down from Mirrath's neckridges, landing with a quiet thump.
Yashira just leans against Decarath, lips curved in a faint smile.
Joshi looks at Livia and down at her arm in the splint. "They had to
re-break it to put it back where it was." She tenses up as she says that.
"I broke the damn thing when Wilanth landed and bellyflopped to the ground.
Her knee gave out from her injury and the straps broke. I would have been
thrown off if my arm hadn't gotten tangled in the straps and when she was
drug across the ground, she drug me with her."
Typhenth launches into the sky.
Sarai looks amused at M'val and kisses his cheek, rather impulsively,
before handing him (and S'rist) damp clothes to wipe their faces with.
"Given how many dragons were in the sky, I think it went well. Less
injuries than I expected." Then again, Sarai was probably thinking up in
the two hundreds.
R'din approaches Rulana and Luni, stretching out his arms while swinging
them, "All right there, Rulana, Gherith?" The bluerider calls out, noticing
Luni, "You too, Luni?"
Chayil dismounts Qeturath's neck ridges with ease, hopping the last few
feet down and giving her lifemate a loving pat on the forelimb.
Miralin has a seat on Hosozoth's forearm and rubs her temples.
Gevra waits with her fellow Telgar Candidates, doing her best to stay out
of the way.
Livia grimaces at Joshi, "Oy. Shells. Well, then I imagine you'll
appreciate the drinks we'll have..later, not now. They'll numb the pair a
bit. Glad to see you still standing, as it were."
Kassima shifts on her good leg to give Velano a look that has some actual
amusement in it. "Nay," she drawls, voice somewhat hoarse from yelling
commands over the wind, "you shouldn't have, since then I'd have broken
m'word. *Stupid* accident. We'd seared it, I swear we had, but a
piece--well, never mind. Is there any numbweed left? I want her neck
numbed, at least, a'fore we try getting back."
S'rist nods a bit as he holds the grip with M'val a bit longer, then
releases. "I know, these warm spots in winter are always the worst for
winds." He takes the cloth from Sarai and wipes down his face, "Thank you
Sarai, it could have been a lot worse, I didn't see any lost at least from
where 'reaches was flying."
Rulana watches thoughtfully as Typhenth leaves, nodding again to Luni. 'I'm
sure that they were grateful for the repairs anyway, You're good, they'll
hold I'm sure." and another nod to R'din as he approaches, "We're fine. You?"
Public announcement: Ryglenn announces "The Dalegards have commemorative
EoP shirts available. Get yours today, while supplies last. We've different
colors now which include, Gold, Bronze, Brown, Blue and Green."
"Glad to see they're all alive," Joshi murmurs. She smiles at Livia and
says, "Now's the time for celebration." She glances around and says, "So
why do I want to go home and sleep?"
Telgar Weyr> Amarie says, "Are they opening the tacky tourist shop?"
Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "I hope so. I want some ceramic thimbles. ;)"
Livia reaches to touch Joshi's not broken arm, and nods, "It was a long
day. We can celebrate tomorrow. You ought to go rest. And I'll think about
writing my wing report..."
Telgar Weyr> Meli could use an ashtray for her pocket change.
Draila quietly listens as words are exchanged between a few known riders.
Her brow worries as she hears the reports on the latest batch of Fort's
Weyrling. But each detail is taken in then she turns about to scan the
crowd curiously.
Luni murmurs, "Oh, thank you, I hope so. There is more to it, but... I am
so glad you are safe!" and impulsively reaches out to hug her friend, those
streaks of redwort that got through the oil now dry instead of fresh. She
does turn as R'din says her name, and exclaims, "Thank goodness! Joshi, I
did hear she and Wilanth had a hard time of it, the poor dear, but she's
talking so she cannot be too badly hurt, can she?"
"You still haven't had it seen?" Now, Velano is faintly irate, though it's
an affectionate sort of rage for the Telgari wingleader. "Hey, Metri," he
announces as greeting to the pale-eyed candidate, "Your husband's lifemate
still needs numbweed. I'll get it, if you want to scold her nicely while I
do," and with a grin and a nod, he's off into the supplies he's spend most
of the day using. As such, it does not take long for him to turn up a jar
with some of the stuff still in it.
Telgar Weyr> A'lex has spoons from Benden, Telgar, Bitra and Fort so far. I
need the rest.
Telgar Weyr> Meli says, "You mean you don't have one from southern?"
M'val puts his fingers to his cheek where Sarai kissed it, opens his mouth,
shuts it, and then wipes at his other cheek and his forehead with the
cloth. "I'm glad. With so many dragons up there it was a little, well,
overwhelming to keep track of."
Telgar Weyr> A'lex says, "We don't use spoons there. It's sort of Barbaric,
but it's retirement, ya know?"
Metri grins at Kassi and Lysseth before letting it drop to concern.
"Toughy, aren't you Lysseth?" he inquires of the green dragon, and then
with a scolding look at Kassi, adds, "I'm supposed to scold. Here I go.
Scold scold scold I'm glad you're okay scold scold."
Telgar Weyr> Meli says, "Ah, right. You can't trust you retiree types with
implements, even not-sharp ones."
Sarai nods at S'rist, rather marked up with ichor and redwort, "You
should've been down here. Half the capable dragonhealers were in the sky or
at their Weyrs." M'vel gets a faintly sheepish expression. "I know I keep
asking this, but ... we're sure? This is it? I mean, if we wake up a
sevenday and some Weyr has thread, we're gonna look like fools."
Chayil finally sees a badly injured dragon being helped back to the Benden
infirmary, where he and his rider will remain until they're cleared to fly
to their own Weyr again in a few sevendays. Once he's safe, she takes a
long look around to find others to heal, but they all seem to be in good
hands. No more emergencies. No more threadscores. Ever. She stands stock
still, looking whelmed and a little shell-shocked.
Miralin heaves herself off of Hosozoth's forearm, gives the green a loving
caress, and pads over to where Sarai and M'val stand. "M'val," she asks,
"did you still want the wingriders to check in with you?"
M'val tilts his head at Sarai's question, then looks sidelong at S'rist
before he says, "Mother's sure." Just why his mother being sure might be
relevant does not look like something he particularly wants to explain.
Lanisa doesn't bound herself. She's still a bit more subdued than that. But
she makes a quiet shadow in Metri's wake. At least until they get close
enough she can look about for any sign of her father, most likely, from the
way she peers about.
R'din nods at Rulana, "You did good, at least from what I saw." He replies,
"We're good, too. I'm pleased with Daianth's performance, we didn't want to
get scored. Nobody deserves that..." He blinks at Luni, looking over at
Joshi for a moment. "Yeah, she'll be fine." A nod.
Having checked for herself how bad Reye and Omfaleth's injuries were,
blessedly minor, Kyrola nods to herself, meandering through the crowd once
more. Someone hands her something wet to clean her face off, and she
murmurs a grateful reply as she finally tugs off her helmet and goggles,
her face looking like she'd fallen face-first into an ashpit. The wet rag
isn't nearly enough to take care of the mess, but it'll do for now as she
shrugs out of her flamethrower's straps and leaves it near Zaith to keep an
eye on. Then she makes her way through the press toward where M'val, Sarai,
and S'rist are, pausing near Chayil. "You okay?" she asks with concern in
her voice.
Joshi nods to Livia. "I have to go check with the dragonhealers to see if
we can make it between home." She explains that to Livia. However she
doesn't attempt to move yet, still looking tired from her walk into the
weyr and back.
S'rist gives a bit of a nod, "We're as sure as we were sure it'd fall here
today... so hopefully the charts haven't shown us wrong from last pass." He
turns and looks about, just looking for all the familiar faces, each one
seen one less person to worry about having made it through safe.
Telgar Weyr> A'lex says, "You should try chopping down wood with a coconut
sometime. Not fun."
"The Fall just ended," Kassi points out dryly, as if this is the most
reasonable reason in the world for not having had it seen to. "And I don't
think 'tis that bad, poor love, naught like Tear took--and Is--how're they?
D'you know? Did they get back t'Telgar; will they be all right?" Not that
she stops caressing her lifemate's neck and shoulder for a moment to go
look or anything. Same reason she hasn't said a thing about her leg.
Proirities. Lysseth gives Metri a very, very tired rumble in answer.
"Toughest wench you ever met," says Kassi, with pride. "And I appreciate
your, err, concern. Thankee, Velano." She holds out her hand for the jar.
Amilin nods, "Alright then. I want you both to rest here for a while
though, Karimina. And check with me before leaving. We need to get you two
back to the weyr once you've had enough rest."
Janine quietly cleans some minor lacing on Ace's left wingtip, humming
softly to herself.
Livia nods her head and tells Joshi, "If you need help, Hicerth and I will
be happy to back you up. If you don't mind waiting, that is..I have a few
more rounds to make before we should rightly head back." Her gloves come
off, tucking away into her belt.
Sarai seems to take M'val's statement as better than Chayil's mathematical
proofs. "That's good. Your fellow, Th'res? He won't be flying for a while
yet, S'rist. Thread almost took his head off. Still, he's better than a lot
of them."
Chayil is still dirty-faced, dirty all over, reeking of ash, sweat, and the
thin mist of agenothree that she collected upon her leathers and face
shield. "Huh?" she says a bit slowly, turning to blink owlishly at Kyrola
before snapping back into the here and now. "Oh! Yes. Just fine. I was just
thinking it's going to be a long haul to rebuild and really realize that
it's gone."
Helpers are running around with wash cloths and soap for riders.
Psamanth is much happier now that the numbweed is working and goes over to
nuzzle with Qortenenth. She lays down next to the brown. Karimina nods to
Amilin, as she watches her dragon and follows her to Th'res.
M'val waves at Chayil - it's amazing that he saw the short goldrider
standing still, but then, Riolth does seem to be looking in Chayil's
direction. "Ugh. Glad I didn't see that one. Th'res. I'm sorry I abandoned
you on the dragonhealing thing, Sarai, but I had to be up there for this one."
Telgar Weyr> Meli imagines this sequence for the rest of the evening. Meli
hangs out in the LC drinking toasts to all the dead riders and dragons
she's known, most particularly T'lar and Nicoth, and has to be dragged back
to her weyr by her son later. :-p
In the sky directly above, Liorth wings down to a quick landing on the
ground at the staging area.
Liorth wings down after a handful of Avalanche dragons, his rider quick to
slide to the ground.
Telgar Weyr> Kassima awwws and snugsaMeli.
R'dus climbs down Liorth's side to the ground, using his foreleg as a step.
Th'res is well, laying down on the job you might say. He has his head
proped up on ther Browns tale. He grins at Psamanth as Qort croons and
nuzzles her neck.
Telgar Weyr> A'lex grins. That's about it for all us oldies now. :) Except
for Kassi... she's got Candidates to fleece--- err gamble with!
Sarai waves a hand, "Irony of ironies, I actually could have flown today,
you know." Sarai shrugs. "But I thought today would be a remarkably bad
time to return to threadfall. Last sevenday, maybe. Last month, for sure.
Not today."
Claret follows in Metri and Lani's wake, the bright smile on her face
fading slightly as she takes in the number of injured dragons and riders,
though it doesn't banish completely. Lingering by her fellow candidates she
continues her inspection of all those nearby.
Telgar Weyr> Meli says, "Shh, 'lex, don't let the Candidates know she's a
card sharp..."
The Bendenites bring out bree, wine, juice and water for everyone. They're
so nice. People make jokes about Benden's water, though.
Kyrola looks from the Igen goldrider to the mess around them, dragons and
riders still being dealt with by the dragon and human healers, and she
nods. "Yes, but we'll get it done more quickly now than we would have when
we had to fight Thread every few days," she replies reasonably. "I'll lay
odds that there'll be any number of us waking up early on the days we
/know/ there's supposed to be Thread." As Riolth looks in her direction as
he's looking toward Chayil, she offers the Igen bronze a slight tilt of her
head, a gesture of respect, and M'val himself is given a second nod as
well. "Clear skies will mean something now," she murmurs to Chayil with a
growing smile on her face.
Telgar Weyr> Kassima snickers! And a leg to get patched and stuff first,
but yeah, I have a feeling the second that's over she'll be looking for
people to get drunk and play poker with. ;)
S'rist nods a bit, "Yes, I saw him go down. I should check in with my wings
now, see what the overall is... " and then with an emphasis and a grin,
"Clear skies, M'val."
Joshi nods at Livia. "I'd appreciate that." She nods the Wingleader on to
go find and report on injuries and the like. Her eyes search out the
dragonhealer from earlier and she walks over to talk with him.
Karimina smiles down on Th'res, her eyes taking in his injuries. "How bad
is it, Th'res." She says softly, trying to hide her arm.
Telgar Weyr> A'lex laughs and remembers talking about this day when he was
still a Weyrling, OOCly.
The jar in question is placed in Kassima's hand, after which the butcher's
son casts a glance off toward the last spot he saw Taralyth and her rider.
"They came down scored, but Taralyth took the worst of it. I'm not sure
about I'sai -- he was hurt, but I think he may have been more shocked than
seriously wounded. He took a lot of wine, ate a bit, and started a nap,"
Velano reports.
Telgar Weyr> A'lex says, ""What's going to happen?""
Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "Sure you won't drink and play too, 'Lex? You
can teach the Candidates how to do that trick where they lay under the keg
and you pour wine in their mouths. ;)"
Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "Well, or juice, since wine's out. Drat."
Rulana glances over her shoulder to Gherith for a moment, then back to Luni
and R'din. "I know there's a lot of celebrating to do here, but you know, I
think that i need the relative quiet of Igen for a little while at least.
You'll keep an eye on K'than and the others who were hurt, Luni?"
Telgar Weyr> A'lex laughs.
M'val, who almost never uses the phrase, says, with feeling, "Clear skies,
S'rist." He gives Kyrola a smile and a nod to return hers. He touches his
cheek again where Sarai kissed it, then reluctantly starts rubbing at that
cheek too with the not-very-clean cloth. He says to his former senior, "We
got the last one. Riolth and me."
Th'res grins up at Karimina "feels like Beaf kicked me in the chest. how is
the arm? yes I saw it." he says patting the brown who is crooning over
Psam's injuries.
Livia nods to Joshi, turning away from her. She pauses as she turns,
looking across the open area with a peculiar expression. She takes two
quick steps forward, then her head ducks and she turns again, this time to
her left. She quickly walks in that direction, rubbing the back of her
neck. She spots Luni and the two riders near her, and starts that way with
a quick step. Even quicker when she hears K'than's name from their direction.
R'dus unbundles a bit, checking his riders briefly as he moves through the
groups of riders. The wingsecond might be looking for Melata, but... With a
shrug, figuring he'll speak with her later, he makes his way toward
Qortenenth's rider. "Really?" he asks as he overhears the boy's words to
Karimina.
Chayil gives Kyrola a smile, now that she's really paying attention to her
surroundings again. A glance around -- towards her Weyrleader, her mentors,
her friends, her wingmates -- assures her of exactly who's still alive,
who's harmed and unharmed. With the sound of satisfaction in her voice,
despite all the pain, deaths, and uncertainty that she and most riders have
known all their lives, she says, "Then clear skies, to you and to Ista.
Igen appreciated Ista's presence today. I'm glad you were all hear."
Lanisa blanches some all over again at Velano's report on Taralyth and her
father to Kassi, but for her part remains quiet still. Not drawing
attention to herself as she attempts to see through the jumble of riders.
As if she could.
Draila seems quite content to remain quiet though she begins to smile
brightly as calls of Clear skies are heard. "How strange those words
suddenly sound." She thanks a passing helper with damp cloths and begins
wiping down her face and neck.
Metri turns around at all this mention of Is and Tear, to the shadow that
is Lani. He's not grinning anymore. Draping one arm around her shoulders,
Metri leans in to ask, "Want to find him?"
Kassima opens the jar and sets to rubbing numbweed on Lysseth's neck at
once, never mind oiling her fingers first: there's a thin, shallow 'score
in need of tending. The dragon bears this stoically and keeps nudging her
rider's shoulder. "*After* you," the greenrider mutters. "Stay still for
me, love. --We saw the 'scoring, and Lyss said Tear said 'twere *alive*,
but that's nay much diagnosis. I'm glad if'n Is isn't bad off, but
Tear...." She blows out a breath. "Well. Can't have been too catastrophic
if'n he was able t'nap. Hey, Yash, you hear of any injuries in the Wing?
None have been reported t'me besides a couple of wingtips, a tailtip, a
half-score of ash burns."
Karimina smiles down at Th'res. "I can imagine that. Are you sure that you
will be okay?" and salute is given to R'dus.
Luni has begun to murmur to R'din, "I am glad he did well al..." and then
she just fails to say anything more, eyes very wide on Rulana. When she
speaks again it is to say simply, as if it were plain fact, "He could not
have been hurt. He isn't here. I would have seen, seen Ryeth at least. At
the very least."
Yashira shakes her head, calling back to Kassi, "Nothing new, no."
R'din quickly rejects as one of the helpers come his way with soap and wet
cloths, shaking his head, "Give 'em to someone else, I'll be fine." He
casts Rulana a studying eye, "Enjoy the quiet. You deserve it." He
comments, looking around as he goes silent, raising an eyebrow in surprise
at Luni's words to him. "He went *between*, I don't know where he is.
Probably back at Igen."
Kyrola grins and offers her hand to Chayil in the formal way. "Ista would
never have shirked her duty to her friends," she replies. "We were proud to
fight alongside Igen," and then she nods to S'rist, "High Reaches, Fort,"
and she nods toward Draila and P'ter and those folks, "Telgar," she adds,
her gaze taking in K'ran and Tarien, "and of course Benden." This time, the
nod goes to the Benden Weyrleaders, a pair she doesn't know well, but
clearly respects. "Quite honored indeed. Thanks for having us."
Th'res salutes lefthandly as his right arm is tucked away at his side. Well
more like tied there, "sir" "Yes I will be fine. how is PSam, and that arm
of yours?"
Sarai nods, indulgently, at M'val, "I watched. Looked up just in time too."
The butcher eyes Kassima's tending, then turns away to get a cloth and some
redwort. Rubbing the latter into the former at the wingleader's side, he
remarks, "When you're done, take this and wash up. Don't want to get that
in your eyes or something." But then, his shoulder is tapped by a different
greenrider, a younger one but no less cocky, who remarks a bit raucously in
Velano's ear, "Ever going to come hear up L'ret and get aboard? Benden's
not responsible to bring you home!"
Psamanth croons at the brownrider. "We are fine, thank you. I am just a
little tried and even though she won't emit it, so is Sam."
Joshi turns away from the dragonhealer, the expression on her face almost
thunderous. She walks back to Wilanth and strokes the green's dark obsidian
hide. Someone must have been told something she didn't want to hear. She's
sulking.
Lanisa gives a small nod as she leans against Metri for a moment, then says
quietly, "Not sure if we can in all this mess. Especially if Tear is
asleep." She glances then to Kassi as if for confirmation, "I heard them
say they'd be alright. But I couldn't get over there before either, so I
don't know how bad, or how long."
Chayil lays her hand over Kyrola's, accepting the dignified salute and
returning it, then passing it around to everyone else, greeting each nearby
leader by Weyr name and ending with, "Igen was honored to fight with you all."
After an extended once-over of the Telgari queens wing, Tarien pulls off
the last of her flight gear and grabs one of the passing flasks of wine and
a wet cloth with which to wipe her face. "A pleasure to fly with all of
you, as well," she raises her voice to reply, with a smile and a nod for
Kyrola. Then, her attention shifting to the ground crew, she calls out,
"Candidates! Anyone who's ready to go home may come with us, we're leaving
now."
Rulana waves half a wave to Livia as she notices her approaching, delaying
her dparture for a couple of moments at least. R'din seems to have cleared
up Luni's questions, a little bit.. either that or given her more. "I'm
sure that he's fine, Luni."
S'rist makes his way around, checking on riders and wings, pausing by a
young weyrwoman from Fort, "So, pretty close to the charts, don't you think
Draila?"
Kassima smiles wanly at that, and murmurs assent. "Going blind would be a
bad way t'be ending the day." Way to state the obvious, Kassi. When she's
satisfied with Lysseth's neck and has wiped off her hands, she takes a
couple of deep breaths. "Okay, Lyss, if'n 'twill nay hurt you--" But
Lysseth hastens to lay her neck down on the ground, bringing her rider's
accustomed seat as close as she may. Kassi slides into the perch with a set
jaw. "Methinks he is," she tells Lanisa. "'Twill look for them, when we get
back. Which is where I'm for now--Yash, meet you later t'do the report thing?"
Metri sighs, gives a small squeeze on Lani's shoulders. "He'll be fine, if
they say he'll be." Tarien's call earns his attention, and he says, "I
don't want to leave you here, but that's my escort. I'll see you back at
the weyr." And he trots to Tarien.
M'val gives Chayil a bright proud smile, then echoes her, "An honor and
pleasure for us all." He accepts a waterskin handed him - not from a
Bendenite, or he might not do the next thing, which is to take off his
helmet and dump the water over his head. Wouldn't waste Benden water that
way, based on the way he drinks from the next skin of water, which *is*
handed him by a Bendenite.
Yashira nods back at Kassima with a grunt. "Right."
That's two callouts for the Telgar candidates, and Velano gives Kassima an
apologetic grin before darting after the greenrider toward those ready to
take off near the Weyrwoman.
Livia comes up towards Luni, Rulana, and R'din, nodding to the riders, as
she voices confidently, "Oh, K'than and Ryeth will indeed be just fine.
Don't worry. Just a scratch, I'm sure of it." She adds to the riders, "And
you two flew well up there today. You did Igen proud." She gives Luni what
she surely intends as a reassuring smile, although it's tired and worn, and
just a tad strained.
Draila's return nod is cast back to Kyrola as Fort's Weyrleader addresses
Benden and their leaders. "Ditto from Fort." Which brings about Draila's
giggles. "Oh sorry? what?" she blinks as she turns about when addressed by
S'rist. "Oh yes Sir. I'll never forget this."
In the sky directly above, Nepenth emerges from Between with a blast of
cold air!
In the sky directly above, Nepenth glides to a swift landing on the ground
at the staging area.
Janine leads Ace over to Lyse then murmers to the wingsecond.
Kassima nods agreement, takes one last look around with shining
eyes--"We'll visit soon, lady-love"--and buckles herself in, the pair
launching moments later.
You place one hand on Lysseth's neck and she warbles down at you fondly.
You grin and scratch her eyeridges once before climbing up onto her lower
neckridges, using the riding straps and Lysseth's thoughtfully offered
foreleg.
<*> Lysseth spreads her wings to their full extent, bringing them down with
a rush of wind as she leaps nimbly into the air.
You rise effortlessly into the air.