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Not a Snowball's Chance In....


Date:  February 21, 1999
Place:  Telgar Weyr's Central Bowl
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:  A bit of friendly competition is stirred up between the
three best Wings in Telgar by way of a snowball battle royale.  The
challenge:  which Wing's members are most adept at seeing through their
dragons' eyes well enough to peg the enemy team?  To say nothing of 
strategy, tactics, dirty tricks, and the utilization of the secret
Wedgie Distraction Maneuver?  Then again, maybe dirty tricks can't win
the day when pitted against dirty snow....

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The Log:

You fly downwards towards the bowl.

You backwing for a landing.

<*> Bronwynn grins, "Just fine Sas, how'er you and Rinath?" Fehuth's thick 
riding straps are slung over the girl's shoulder.

<*> Saskia smiles "I'm doing alright. And Rinath's growing rapidly."

<*> Lysseth comes to rest neatly beside a convenient snowdrift, her breath 
puffing clouds across the air as she rumbles cordial greetings to the 
young dragons and their riders. For some reason, Faranth only knows why, 
she's carrying a large basket of what looks like purple balls of fluff and 
a sack from which more purple things are streaming right behind her rider. 
"Good show, Lyss," Kassi encourages. "That drift'll do *perfectly*... hey, 
'Ling-types!"

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.

Bronwynn nods, "I'll say, she's definately got Fehuth beat." She gives 
Kassima a crisp salute, "Evening Wingleader." The young brown rumbles back 
at Lysseth, tilting his head to the side to regard her.

Kassima slides herself down from her dragon's straps, then turns to 
relieve her mount first of the giant basket of... things, then of the 
large sack of... well, more things, and finally of the youngish redheaded 
woman who was hidden behind the array. That she's carrying the 
Wingleader's son in her arms is probably why Simaeva needs the assistance. 
"Just stay with Lyss, 'Maeva, if'n 'twould; I'll take care of the snow 
fort. Muwahaha. Those Skyfireans and Dawnslighters haven't seen *aught* 
yet." Straightening, she gives Bronwynn a snappy salute in return, the 
purple cloth tied to her forearm fluttering merrily. "G'deve yourself! Nay 
interrupting a lesson, am I?"

Saskia peers up at Kassima, and salutes her "Evening Wingleader. How are 
you?"

"Good. Very good," answers Kassi, as she stoops in the snow to start 
turning the snow drift into the snow fort mentioned earlier. Yes, she's 
playing in the snow like a child. But given whom this is... well, is it so 
surprising? "Looking exceedingly forward to getting to kick rump later. 
Rump-kicking is a very entertaining pastime. Tell me, how big d'you 
think an ideal snow fort should be? And d'you think a flag would be too 
much?"

Lysseth just settles for sheltering Simaeva and Kris from the snow churned 
up by her rider's building efforts, and now and then sighing 
long-sufferingly. See what kind of rider she has to put with every day? 
Honestly.

Bronwynn shakes her head, "Nay, Wingleader, no lesson just now." Her eyes 
drift to the woman and child, then watch the Wingleader. "A flag? The 
ideal snow fort would be huge, but I think just big enough to sqeeze into 
is good..."

Saskia blinks several times, "Snow?"

Kassima leans back on her heels a moment, frowning. "Huge? Nay time for 
huge. 'Twill just have t'settle for big enough t'be hunkering behind. More 
snow, more snow... Lyss, you're *nay* being very helpful." An accusing 
look is shot towards the green. "Aye, a flag. I made one, t'help the 
team from getting confused. You've heard about the snow-fight, haven't 
you?"
Bronwynn glances at Saskia, then back to Kassima, "I've heard about it, 
but not much..."

"Well," Kassi begins, without stopping her work on making the crude snow 
wall, "'tis simple. Three Wings, three teams, facing off with the white 
balls of death... or rather, I should say purple and yellow and orange 
balls of death... as their ammo. Blindfolded. The dragons will be doing 
the seeing, you see? And the team with the most points hit-wise wins. The 
others, I believe, get t'serve as targets when you Weyrlings take your 
turn, if'n May hasn't changed her mind on that. I hope nay. I can't wait 
t'see those other Wings get pegged."

Saskia ahhhs "That's right. I'd forgotten about that. Please excuse me. 
Rinath want s to eat." and adds more softly "again." She salutes Kassima 
and waves to Bronwynn.

Rinath enters through the big entrance into the Weyrling Barracks.

Saskia walks through the entrance into the Weyrling Barracks.

Kassima straightens long enough to snowily salute Saskia in return. "Like 
fire-lizards a bit that way at this age, aren't they? M'sympathies--good 
eating t'her. Oh, feh. Missed again. Think this is near large enough?"

Bronwynn giggles, "The Weyrlingmaster said we could be involved. It sounds 
good to me Ma'-er, Wingleader." She waves to Saskia, "See ya Sas!" 
Settling against her lifemate, the young girls tugs the riding straps off 
her shoulder, a small vat of oil nearby, she starts to smear it over the 
thick leather. Glancein gup she adds, "Aye, that's a good size. Well, that 
end needs to ba little bigger." She points to the far end of the fort's 
wall.

Kassima scrambles over to that side to attend to the lack, packing the 
snow with a not exactly expert hand. "Excellent! Now, the flag... where'd 
I stick that sucker, anyway?" The sack is promptly snared and rummaged 
through. Sitting on Lysseth's foreleg, Simaeva's doing her best to keep 
from laughing at the entire spectacle. "Oh, hush, Maeva. I've seen you do 
weirder things. Those straps look pretty good, by the by," she thinks to 
mention. "For early-made ones. Good idea t'keep 'em oiled in weather like 
this. Fardles, where *is* that flag?"

Bronwynn grins, "Thanks, it's really Fehuth's idea. He says he likes when 
they're shiny. He prefers to think of the straps as his clothes, like a 
decoration." She reaches her hand up behind her to give the brown a pat, 
his eyes whirling with curiosity and amusement as he watches the 
Wingleader scramble about.

T'saren walks here from the south.

Solarith lumbers here from the south.

"Good thing he doesn't have E'vis's taste in clothes, then," Kassima 
thinks to remark. "Or you'd be forever sewing glass beads on those 
things... ah! Here!" Beaming triumphantly, she brings forth the flag on 
its thin wooden pole and sticks it in the ground. Amazingly, she's stuck 
to a simple painted Thunderbolt sigil--black dragon against bronze 
thunderbolt on purple horizon--rather than any emblems of enemy death. 
Sometimes miracles do happen. "I considered a skull and crossbones," she 
explains, "but I couldn't figure out how t'be drawing it. Hey, Tas! About 
ready for serious rump-kickage?"

Sitting against Fehuth, Bronwynn giggles at Kassima, "Don't give him 
ideas..." she replies at the mention of beads. She gives T'saren a salute, 
"G'deve Sir."

M'rgan walks here from the south.

T'saren nods a greeting to Kassi and chuckles dryly in reply to her 
question as he returns the weyrling's salute. "Honestly? I'd rather be 
holed up in my weyr contemplating what to do about Dawnslight and our 
performance in that minor threadfall this afternoon. We looked like 
weyrlings up there. No offense, Bronwynn."

M'rgan tugs his fur-lined gloves on as he pauses to inspect Skyfire's pile 
of snowballs. "That should be plenty," he says to the riders forming the 
ammo.
Bronwynn continues oiling Fehuth's straps, the rich leather aquiring a 
glossy shine. As she hears M'rgan's voice her head pops up, along with her 
hand, giving him the usual salute, "Evening Sir."

Kassima straightens from her snow fort of doom to note primly, "Things 
like this *will* improve performance, though. Or should. Y'know what I 
think about exercises in simple concepts like this... too often, we let 
the simple become rote until we're operating on instinct rather than 
knowledge. You need both t'save your skin in Fall. But now I'm getting 
pedantic... hey, brownie."

M'rgan returns all salutes and waves crisply after he finishes tugging on 
his left glove. "Pedantic?" he asks as he moves towards the others, his 
tongue twisting around the unfamiliar word. What do you expect from 
someone who dreads reading. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

T'saren waves to M'rgan, then gives a half-smile at Kassi's words, moving 
off to inspect Dawnslight's barricade. "I hope so," he calls over his 
shoulder to the greenrider. "If it doesn't, I'm going to be begging M'hryn 
and Maylia to give me some of the older weyrlings real soon, and I'd 
rather they were fully trained before needing them." He scoops up a 
handful of snow and tamps it in place on the wall.

Kassima straightens, clasps her hands behind her back, and recites, 
"Pedantic. Adjective. Meaning: to be lecturing, to be taking on the tone 
of one who is lecturing. Also see 'incredible bore.'" A grin, and then she 
turns to investigate how her own purple-armbanded Wingmates are preparing. 
"Let's start with three purple balls of death per rider. V'dan, you stay 
as back guard, and--what? Nay, you don't have t'salute the flag. Don't be 
silly. T'saren, is it *that* bad? You're a good Wingleader, and your Wing 
has excellent riders in it. If'n you ask me, you can't possibly be doing 
as badly as you always claim. Try looking at what you're doing right for a 
change, mayhaps?"

M'rgan fingers the ties on his jacket as he looks down at his chest, 
making sure that every fastening is tightly closed. No snow is going in 
there today. "Oh. I thought it meant someone who is about to get their 
rump kicked," he says innocently. As he listens to T'saren he lifts his 
gaze away from his jacket to look over at Bronwynn. "You had Fehuth aren't 
*betweening* yet, are you?"

Kassima shakes her head vehemently, braid wagging to and fro. "Uh-uh. The 
word for that is 'M'rgan.' Noun. Meaning: someone who's about t'be getting 
their rump kicked. See also 'perpetual victim.' Pay heed t'this, Bronwynn, 
in case May's nay doing justice t'your torment training."

Bronwynn shakes her head, "No sir, not yet, Just had out first manned 
flight last night," she adds proudly.

T'saren snorts lightly, setting his share of the snowballs aside while 
more of the Dawnslight riders do the same or put the finishing touches on 
their wall. "Easier said than done, Kassi, though I do thank you for 
complimenting me and my Wing." He gives a slight shrug of his shoulder 
without looking up at his fellow wingleaders. "At least I'm prepared for 
the worst, and not getting my hopes up," he mutters softly.

The corner of M'rgan's mouth quirks upwards in a smirk as his head whips 
around to look at Kassima again. "Care to put your marks where your big 
mouth is, Thunderbolt Wingleader?"

Kassima informs T'saren crisply, "You're also insulting your Wingmates. 
D'you think their knowing--and believe me, word spreads like wildfire in a 
Weyr, as you know--that you lack confidence in them is going t'help?" 
Another head-shake, this one grave, before she sets her hands to her hips 
and tilts up her chin. "Maaaybe," she drawls. "Depends on how many marks 
Kena's left you t'be wagering, Skyfire Wingleader."

T'saren raises a brow at Kassi's words, straightening up from his 
organizing. "As a matter of fact, I have the utmost respect for my riders, 
Kassi, and I'm sure they know this no matter what I may say. Looking at 
the bad side of things is just one of my petty foibles and helps me figure 
out just who I need to put where for what reason." A frown flashes across 
his face for a brief moment before he shakes it off and goes back to the 
task at hand.

M'rgan reaches under the waist of his jacket and pulls out his marks pouch 
after several seconds of tugging. The pouch is noticably thinner than 
usual but it still clunks quite nicely. "I still have a few marks left 
from that sucker bet I did with a few holders last month. Let's say a full 
mark on the outcome?"

Kassima considers this a moment, weighing a purple-dyed snowball in her 
hand. "You have t'be acknowledging the bad," she finally agrees. "But I've 
heard you say more bad things about your Wing than good, and that worries 
me. Allow yourself some pride in them. Allow them some pride in 
themselves. But there I go lecturing again, when I should by rights be 
doing a jig and singing the 'I'm going t'kick your butts' song right about 
now." V'dan, overhearing this, elbows one of the other Thunderbolt riders 
and hisses, "We don't all have to do that, do we? I don't *know* any 'I'm 
going to kick your butts' song."

Kassima unhooks her own mark-pouch from her belt, hefting the rather plump 
and weighty thing. Good guess is that she's not had much to spend marks on 
lately. "Fair deal. And if'n Dawnslight wins, we both keep our marks, 
though we all know good and well that purple shall win the day."

Telgar Weyr> M'rgan says, "Skyfire is the orange snowballs, right?"

Telgar Weyr> Neliea sniffles and cries. I wanna come out, but I have to 
study.

Telgar Weyr> D'ton would come too, but should go sleep soon.

Telgar Weyr> Kassima nodnods.

T'saren just shakes his head at the two betting Wingleaders and continues 
on getting set up, mind probably wandering off on other tangents, like 
concentrating on whipping the pants off both opposing groups. 
Figuratively, of course.

Telgar Weyr> Kassima has a sudden mental picture of T'saren as an 
underpants gnome in disguise.

Poet settles down from where she's been napping in the bowl, sapphire eyes 
whirling at all of the /humans/.

M'rgan shakes his marks pouch firmly before hiding it away again. "Orange 
will come out on top. It always does." He turns partially around to look 
back at his wingmates as he pumps his fist and gives them a thumb's up. 
Loud cheering and a few catcalls rise up from behind the Skyfire 
barricade.

Telgar Weyr> T'saren grins. Tas is in an odd mood tonight, as is his 
player. ;)

Telgar Weyr> Aurian says, "Hey all"

"Only if'n you're color-blind," Kassi shoots back, accompanied by similar 
fanfare and jeering from her own side. Three households, all alike in 
dignity, in fair Telgar's Bowl, where we lay our scene, from ancient 
grudge break forth new mutiny, and civil snow makes civil hands... well, 
probably not unclean. Numb might be a better word. "Purple is the color of 
victory! Of triumph! Of the dye I once slipped into A'lex's drink!" Stop. 
Pause. "Ewww. Forget I said that. We're *still* going t'kick your rumps!"

Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "Aurian! Come out here and get your butt 
kicked! ;)"

Telgar Weyr> T'saren waviesnugs Aurian and attempts to drag her down to 
the snowball fight. :)

Telgar Weyr> Aurian erks, "But it wet and its cold..."

Telgar Weyr> Neliea grins at Aurian. "Yep."

"And maybe Dawnslight will wait till you two run out of 'balls and take 
you both out!" T'saren calls at the top of his lungs, getting into the 
mood of things. Of course, not that that phrasing was probably the best, 
but it's doubtful that he really cares.

A single orange snowball soars over M'rgan's head, only to land in 
splattering burst of color, like a firey explosion, at Kassima's feet. The 
brownrider quickly spins around to see who tossed it but no heads are 
visible above the Skyfire barrier. He is openly smirking as he turns back 
around, nearly posturing like a male dragon. "Consider that Skyfire's 
final thoughts on the matter."

Kassima opens her mouth to start to reply to that remark by Tas, but then 
stops, considering. Should she take the bait, or be good and say nothing? 
Fortunately, L'cher spares her the decision by hollering, "Our Wingleader 
ain't got an Emasculator for nothing, you know!" This of course means that 
Kassi's trying to repress the snickers that some of her own Wingmates are 
giving outright as she yells to Mart, "We know better'n t'waste ammo in 
reply, brownie, or you'd be a purple snowman right about now!"

Aurian walks here from the south.

Aurian stretches as she enters clearly not remember any of the plans for 
the evening.

"We're so good that we can afford to waste ammo," M'rgan replies back, 
continuing to smirk insufferably. He starts to retreat to the safety of 
the Skyfire barricade as Ularrith tromps in from the south.

Ularrith lumbers here from the south.

Bronwynn decides to move to the other side of her lifemate, she doesn't 
want to end up a colorful piile of snow... SHe clambers up his side, 
dragging the straps after her and finding a comfortable seat on Fehuth. 
Both of them take to watching the pending war.

T'saren peeks over Dawnslight's barricade and rolls his eyes at L'cher. 
"And that's the only way she'd get any of them, isn't it?" he jeers back, 
the grin on his face showing how much he appreciates being able to get in 
jabs like that occasionally when they're all in fun. "Aurian, get your 
rear over here and grab a 'ball!"

Bronwynn gives her mentor a quick salute.

Kassima snorts, settling herself in a crouch behind the Thunderbolt 
barricade, near the proudly flying purple flag. She's probably wishing 
she'd known how to draw a skull and crossbones after all right about now. 
"You're so *lucky*, y'mean. But your luck's about to run out, brownie-boy. 
Everyone, don your blindfolds!" She follows her own command, which means 
she's fortunately preoccupied when Miryenne catcalls back to T'saren, "Bet 
she's got more than you, though!"

Lysseth briefly hides her eyes with the wing that's not engaged in 
sheltering Simaeva and Kris from any wayward snowballs. What did she ever 
do to deserve such a doofus for a rider?

Aurian blinks and jogs towards T'saren, "I knew there was a reason I 
should have stayed in bed."

Ularrith takes up a position far behind the Skyfire barricade with the 
rest of his wingmates. The dragons are easily outside of snowball range. 
As the human members of Skyfire wing put on orange cloths to hide their 
eyes, the brown dragon raises his head high, craning his neck around to 
get a long look at Lysseth. A sweet rumble is sent her way.

T'saren leers briefly at Miryenne, since his weyrmate's not here yet to 
scold him, then lets one of the weyrlings blindfold him, scooping up a 
snowball and assuming the position for the upcoming battle. Solarith just 
gives a draconic snort and takes up his own spot behind Dawnslight's line, 
warbling softly.

Aurian murmurs, "Blindfolds?"

T'saren nods in Aurian's direction, since he can't see her now. "Aye, 
we're using our lifemates' eyes tonight. We need the practice."

Lysseth's sweet-voiced warble of reply elicits a snort from her now-
blindfolded rider, who's crouched behind her team's defensive lines, 
purple balls of death at the ready. Paying her lifemate no heed 
whatsoever, Lyss climbs up to her haunches to get a better view of... the 
battlefield. Yes, of course. And if that also means a better look at 
certain dragons of certain opposing teams, well, what's wrong with that? 
"Are you ready to meet purple death?" Kassi yells towards the enemy 
camps.

Poet sails south.

Aurian groans, "Some of you do.. let me wake Kvasith."

Kvasith backwings for a landing.

M'rgan lifts his blindfold a couple of inches as he straightens up from 
behind his wing's barricade. Scooping up a handful of snow from the fort 
and quickly packing it into a ball, he spins around and launches it 
towards his lifemate, hitting the dragon on the leg. "Pay attention!" he 
calls out to Ularrith, ignoring the dragon's warbled rebuke. Nonetheless 
as M'rgan slides his blindfold back into place the dragon turns his 
glittering eyes back to the battlefield.

Kvasith lands near the other dawnslight dragons, he looks slightly peeved 
that he had to be woken and removed from his nice toasty weyr.

Aurian is blindfolded, she waves her hand in front of her face and scowls. 
"Up to you Kvasith."

"Ready as we'll ever be," T'saren calls back at Kassi, adding, "But you'll 
reap your own yellow death before we go down fighting!" He pokes his head 
over the wall just long enough to sneer at the others, for no obvious 
reason since everyone is blindfolded, then ducks back down before he can 
present too nice of a target. "Dawnslight ready!" he shouts, warning his 
wingmates to be on their guards as well as let the other teams know to 
expect firing from that direction.

Someone behind the Thunderbolt lines, probably V'dan, had the bright idea 
of bringing a drum. An attempt at a battle tune rat-a-tat-tats out over 
the battlefield. Of course, given that this is V'dan, 'attempt' is the key 
word.

Kassima shouts back to T'saren, "Nay a soul on *my* team will be eating 
yellow snow!" Another pause, and then, quieter, "Eww. Thunderbolt, ready! 
And Lysseth, remember what I told you about nay trip t'Boll this 
sevenday!" This time, the disgruntled snort comes from dragon, not rider.

Telgar Weyr> T'saren snerks at Kassi. Nice. I'm a bit slow tonight not to 
come up with that one first.

Aurian leans below the wall, she is not pleased but she is already busily 
packing a tight snowball in her small gloved hands.

M'rgan ducks back down behind the barricade and huddles with his 
wingmates. He murmurs to them, in a very quiet voice that is unlikely to 
be heard outside their immediate. "On three. Get set." He shouts a quick, 
"Ready!" before returning to that quiet voice again. "One. Two." And then 
shouted, "Three!" A handful of Skyfire riders let loose with snowballs, 
evenly divided between the other two barricades, before ducking back down 
again.

There's a shout of "Fire!" from the Thunderbolt barricade at about the 
same time, and a hail of purple balls goes sailing towards enemy 
territory--some with considerably better aim than others. The dragons 
behind the lines crane their heads like periscopes as they try and scout 
out attack targets for their lifemates. It's purely coincidence that one 
ball goes sailing awry enough to smack the back of the drummer's head, 
getting him to shut up... sure it is. "Death to the infidel! We shall do 
the jig of triumph around their corpses and see that their funeral shrouds 
are made of pink lace!" Guess whose rallying cry *that* was?

T'saren, expecting some sort of move like that from either of the 
opponents, hisses a warning that's quickly carried down the Dawnslight 
lines. An echoing rumble from Solarith passes the word down through the 
dragon ranks, before turning into complete silence from that camp. 
Suddenly a barrage of yellow balls arc up into the air from behind the 
barricade, going high into the sky before falling with precision towards 
both opposing forts.

After their initial volley all is silent in the Skyfire camp. Apart from 
the grumblings of a few riders who unluckily felt wetness on their skin. 
Each looks to the mind's eye of his or her lifemate to determine whether 
they were actually hit. The dragon's themselves bob and weave in place, 
eyes searching the other two forts.

With yelps of consternation and dismay, Thunderbolt's riders drop to their 
bellies behind the protection of the fort, which has quickly become 
plastered with splotches of orange and yellow. Ooh, pretty. One man now 
sports a crown of orange snow on his head; another rider, caught in the 
shoulder by the yellow snow, pantomimes 'death' with much twitching and 
thrashing until someone has the sense to kick him. Still, for the most 
part, the riders are unmarked... and their dragons--those not watching the 
twitching rider with bemusement and disgust--loom over the Wing territory 
to scout out that of the enemy.

Aurian pushes her hands through her hair, then quietly reaches into the 
bin of snowballs near her, she is very careful as she takes up preparing 
for the next volley.

Like a sniper picking the perfect shot for his target, T'saren holds a 
snowball at the ready, waiting for his lifemate's word on when to launch 
it. The bronze shifts first one way then the other, as most of the other 
Dawnslight dragons do, occasionally giving a snort when a target presents 
itself. When the timing is right and the picture he receives from his 
lifemate is good, Tas heaves the ball forward towards the Thunderbolt 
side, sliding down the inside of the snow wall to avoid becoming a target. 
Several riders behind the wall are already marked with purple and even a 
small amount of orange.

Telgar Weyr> M'rgan heys. "Are riders hit by the snowballs out of the 
game?"

Telgar Weyr> Kassima hrms. "Don't think so, since points are scored by 
gaining the most hits on any enemy target, not on who has the most riders 
left standing. Of course, it might be more fun to have to fake death." ;)

Telgar Weyr> M'rgan hmms. Riders left standing would be easier to count 
though.

Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "This is true. Tas? Auri? Thoughts?"

Telgar Weyr> Aurian says, "Yeah but that cuts down the fun. number of 
hits"

Telgar Weyr> T'saren agrees with M'rgan. Ooo, good point, Auri.

Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "Not if you assume we've each got about thirty 
NPCs or so to 'kill'. ;)"

Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "Per team, I mean. I actually like the idea of 
death cries ringing across the battlefield, but then, I'm a sadistic 
little bugger...."

Telgar Weyr> M'rgan grins at Kassima. Lots of folks to 'croak' off. ;)

Kassima slowly raises her blindfolded head above the barricade, the better 
to have enough clear space to aim with. "For the honor of Slithereth!" she 
shouts *after* heaving the snowball towards--surprise, surprise--the 
Dawnslight barricade. This seems to signal the start of another 
Thunderbolt volley, one much better-aimed than the last as the riders get 
down to business. Under cover of the assault, V'dan drops to his stomach 
to attempt to sneak his way over to enemy territory... what *could* he 
have in mind? His teammates do plenty to try and help distract the others 
from his manuever--mainly, yelling, "Die! Die! Die!" to the enemy. Such a 
cheerfully bloodthirsty lot, they are.

As a few of Skyfire's 'dead' riders retreat to the safety of their 
lifemates, a small band of men and women slither out from both sides of 
the barricade, one group heading towards the Thunderbolt fort and the 
other towards Dawnslight's. With their blindfolds still in place, the 
riders are forced to rely on their lifemate's view of the battlefield and 
a couple get a bit confused until the calls of their wingmates redirect 
them. The slither quickly along the snow-covered ground, a snowball held 
in each hand.

A stray yellow snowball is flung badly by a Dawnslight rider, ending up 
headed in the direction of the watching weyrlings. The rider that tossed 
it doesn't have time to find out where his shot went, as he is pegged by 
several purple snowballs in turn and drops with a shriek. Other Dawnslight 
riders have much better aim though, and yellow 'balls go flying towards 
Skyfire and Thunderbolt's lines, some of the riders performing 'suicide' 
runs by standing up fully before throwing their 'balls and ducking back 
down again if they aren't hit.

Kvasith watches this all for a moment, he blinks all his lids at the 
slithering tunnel-snake like riders, his rider suddenly yells to T'saren, 
"Tas we got incoming! not the ball variety either."

Telgar Weyr> M'rgan used to play paintball. I'm very glad that blindfolds 
weren't required for it. ;)

Out from behind Thunderbolt's barrier bursts a sizeable flock of fire-
lizards in what's clearly a directed manuever, chittering and screeching 
and dive-bombing for all they're worth. A few cackles of glee can be heard 
from the fire-lizard owners--still, minds remain on business. Namely, on 
protecting the fort. A 'dead' woman, pegged with yellow snow (much to her 
probable disgust), does another dramatic 'death' scene--but hers sends her 
tumbling out of the fort, into a perfect position for her idly-watching 
lifemate to note the stealth fighters. "Attaaack!" howls Kassi, and more 
purple balls go flying--a few more riders joining V'dan in his own 
assault, though they're headed for the Dawnslight barricade. Being hit by 
orange snow may be bad, but being hit by yellow snow is just too 
disgusting: it *must* be stopped. "Eat purple horror, you porcine-
cousined buffoons from the depths of a moldy bowl of cheddar!" Kassi's 
almost as good at coming up with slanderous encouragements to her team as 
she is at throwing those snowballs. There are times when it pays to have 
good aim.

T'saren whips his head in Aurian's direction, then calls out his 
acknowledgement before going silent to listen to his lifemate's mental 
warnings. Finally he yells out to his lines, "Right four, out halfway." A 
volley of a dozen yellow snowballs are quickly whipped in the direction of 
the sneaking Thunderbolt riders, while perhaps a dozen more are flung 
toward the headquarters of the other teams.

Telgar Weyr> Bronwynn erps, Now that's what I call spam, Kassi.

Telgar Weyr> Kassima hands Bronwynn a yellow-and-blue Hormel tin. "No, 
this is what you call Spam...."

Telgar Weyr> T'saren nods belatedly to M'rgan. I've never had the dubious 
joy of playing paintball, but yeah, it would be, umm, interesting with 
blindfolds.

Aurian jumps at the firelizards, "Shards!" She whips some more of the 
snowbals towards a few of the firelizards to distract them.

There are shrieks as three of the Thunderbolt sneak-fighters are pegged by 
the yellow snow, and fall to their rest on the battlefield of clashing 
color horror. V'dan, with the same uncanny luck that protects his geeky 
hide every Fall, continues on his merry way. Almost there... almost within 
range... of course, the fact that he isn't carrying any snowballs is 
rather interesting.

Telgar Weyr> M'rgan asks, "Are the firelizards dropping snowballs?"

Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "Nah. Figured that'd be cheating; they're just 
serving as distraction. :)"

Telgar Weyr> Rikanda wrinkles her nose. "Like Seagulls do M'rgan? ;)

Telgar Weyr> T'saren grins. Wouldn't that be seagulls' doo? ;)

Telgar Weyr> Rikanda says, "Hey, they're little white balls. ;) Does it 
matter what they're made of? ;)"

Telgar Weyr> T'saren nodnods. One's much easier to get off your car's 
paint job. ;)

Telgar Weyr> Rikanda snickers. ;)

Telgar Weyr> Kassima thinks the yellow snow is sick enough, thanks. ;)

The shout of "Three!" is heard again from the Skyfire barrier, sending the 
wing's wayward sneak-attack bands scuttling along the snow at a quicker 
pace. Heads pop up from behind the Skyfire line and in a quick action arms 
whip snowballs towards the other two barriers. Under the cover of this 
latest volley more groups are sent out from behind the barrier, though 
this time they run towards the other forts rather than crawl. There is a 
great deal of tripping, stumbling, and falling as the blindfolded riders 
hurry across the ground, but a couple do make it near to the Dawnslight 
fort.

"Ready... fire!" is called from the Thunderbolt fort, and two riders pop 
up briefly, an improvised slingshot--someone's mauve argyle sock, 
actually--stretched between them. Using this weapon, they rapid-fire three 
quick purple snowballs towards the exposed Skyfireans before ducking back 
to safety. Kassima, still crouched near her Wing's flag, lobbies snowballs 
out with great gusto and much shouting. Silence? What good is silence with 
all these people indulging in hammy death cries?

T'saren ignores the firelizards, more intent on trying to figure out 
exactly where the sneak attacks are progressing. During an almost neglible 
lull in the shouting, sounds of snow sqeeking beneath boots can be heard, 
which aids in lining up targets. A flurry of yellow snow makes itself 
known in every direction, but a lot of it is directed towards where the 
Skyfire riders dash across the no man's land.

Meanwhile, V'dan has managed to get behind the Dawnslight lines through 
much application of stealth and just plain dumb luck. A wild grin gracing 
his nerdishly attractive features, he reaches for the waistband of 
Aurian's pants. Yes! He's actually trying the dreaded Wedgie Distraction 
Maneuver! It's a brave, glorious, and ultimately suicidal act!

Kvasith bugles a short alarm, there comes a moment in every man's life 
where he supremely pisses off a woman. Though V'dan manages to tug on the 
pants that garb Aurian's cute rear. It does have a stamp aproval from 
bronzedragons even you know. V'dan suddenly finds himself on the ground 
being beaten most oddly. His is pinned down while Aurian straddles him, 
she sits on him dropping snowball after snowball onto his frail form.

Screams and curses from the Skyfire riders accompany every hit and a few 
of the more distrustful souls peak out of their blindfold to confirm their 
death, not quite trusting in their lifemate's vision. About half of 
Skyfire's members is now collected back with the dragons, variously 
arrayed in yellow and purple snow. One Skyfire rider tries to make it over 
the Dawnslight barrier while another tries to sneak behind the Thunderbolt 
one. No barrages come from the Skyfire barrier anymore and that area falls 
very silent.

Solarith whips his head out of the way of an errant orange ball, then 
trumpets a warning to the entire line. Brief seconds later, a mass of 
yellow snowballs is lobbed in the sneaking riders' direction, as the 
Dawnslight riders try a blanketing maneuver. P'cee is above the barricade 
just a fraction of a moment too long, taking a purple snowball smack in 
the chest. T'saren is also clipped, much to his disgust. He sighs and 
steps back, calling a last rallying battle cry to his 'troops'.

A few fire-lizards are whapped by snowballs, of course, and some even fall 
down onto no-man's-land... onto the heads or bodies of the 'deceased,' 
even. Much to *their* indubitable delight. And also to the delight of the 
Thunderbolters whom they look to--any waste of ammo is a goodness! Now the 
extraneous, the vainglory, the foolish have been weeded out of 
Thunderbolt's ranks, and all that's left are the wary and dedicated few 
who also happen to be very lucky. A brief murmur can be heard, and there's 
a flash of orange... and moments later, one of the more nondescript riders 
sneaks forth from the fort wearing an *orange* armband. Actually, it's a 
woman's very tacky scarf, but he's probably hoping the Skyfireans won't 
notice that. The rest of the Thunderbolters sit tight in a defensive 
circle, occasional lobs from the dread sock-weapon attempting to keep the 
enemy at bay.

Telgar Weyr> T'saren has to scoot offline due to MiL grumping. *le sigh* 
Thanks for the fun RP, and see you all tomorrow! *snugs*

The wails of V'dan as he's snowed to death cut out across the battlefield. 
"Hey! Ow! Stop it! Cut it out!" he shouts, probably to no avail.

Kassima cackles with glee as Lysseth informs her of the falling of 
Dawnslight's leader. "Die, die, the yellows must die! Death to the yellow 
snow! Death, death, death!" This message has been brought to you by the 
Death Council.

Skyfire knows it's own as is made apparent quickly by the warbled warning 
that goes up and down the line of Skyfire dragons. One of the few Skyfire 
riders still in the no man's land twists around towards the Thunderbolter. 
He hesitates for a second or two until he's confident of his lifemate's 
view and he lets fly with a snowball that nonetheless misses the man. 
Another snowball is sent soaring towards the Thunderbolter again about 
five seconds later, this one with more accuracy.

Aurian hums happily as she drops another yellow snowball onto V'dan, she 
shoves a couple into his britches. This man is going to win the day for 
Dawnslight.

As V'dan's shriek of extreme horror at getting snow down the pants rings 
out, valiant Wingmates seeking to avenge their fallen one rear up long 
enough to send a volley directly towards Aurian. Of course, the Wing is 
probably running out of ammunition at this point, not to mention orange 
scarves, wedgie suicide-attackers, and other dirty tricks. A straggle of 
snowballs is aimed for the man who hosed the imposter, but after that, all 
is silence. Waiting.

As one, all of the remaining Skyfire riders stand up from behind the 
barrier, M'rgan among them. None move very much as the concentrate on 
seeing what their lifemate sees. Only when they are confident of a target 
do they let loose with a well-directed snowball. Those Skyfire riders that 
run out of ammo quickly duck back down again while their fellows remain 
standing and searching for new targets.

Dawnslight riders whip the last of the yellow balls at Kassima and the 
rest of her ilk, with battle cries something out of a rebel night mare.

Curses can be heard from behind the Thunderbolt lines as one or two of 
those well-aimed snowballs find their targets. More cursing is heard as 
yellow ones do likewise, though most of them splatter against the snow 
fort and proudly flying flag. Miryenne, Ylysse, and C'row, all 
untouched, spring out of their crouches to run wildly from one end of the 
barricade to another in what's either insanity or an attempt to foster 
confusion enough to let them shoot off a couple of snowballs each before 
dropping back to the ground. One way or another, it's surely almost 
over.

"We're out of ammo," M'rgan shouts over the protection of the barrier 
after he doesn't hear the whistle and splat of a snowball for about a 
minute.

Aurian hauls up her prize, V'dan the polka-dotted, "Kassima come and 
collect your wing rider." She pushes the yellow spotted rider towards 
Kassima, "And if he touches my rear again I gut him."

"I don't want him! You can keep him!" Kassi yells over to Auri, much to 
V'dan's dismay. One last purple snowball is thrown in the direction Mart's 
yell came from before Thunderbolt's Wingleader helpfully calls back, "Now 
so are we!"

M'rgan's head pops back above the barrier, coated quite nicely in purple 
snow. Straightening with dignity, the man walks towards the 'dead' Skyfire 
riders at a carefully measured pace.

Bronwynn giggles from Fehuth's back, watching the riders. She rubs her 
hands together in anticipation for her part in all this...

There's a cackle of glee from the lucky Thunderbolt assailant. One which, 
it might be noted, has a distinct brogue. "Time to count the survivors?" 
Kassi suggests from the sanctity of her very colorful snow fort.

One by one the Skyfire riders leave the safety of their Fort. Their 
numbers are quite small.

Kassima stands warily herself, and signals for her surviving Wingmates to 
do likewise. It becomes apparent that, yes, most of their number is 
helping provide the background noise of death moans. L'cher, sprawled just 
a few feet from the fort, is moaning the loudest. He seems to have taken a 
snowball between the legs, of all appropriate places. "It's not *fair*," 
he can be heard to periodically wail.

M'rgan sadly shakes his head as he silently counts his remaining 
wingmates. Some of his fellow carrion are apparently doing the same as 
groaning and cursing can be heard. He offers a few words of encouragement 
and promises of a day spent on bright Istan beaches as his blue eyes 
turn towards the other wings and he resumes the silent counting once 
more.

Overhead, in the sky, some of the fire-lizards who didn't get 
snowballed circle the carrion like vultures. All in all, it's a very 
tragic sight.

Aurian sits there counting, a slow and slight smile on her face growing 
steadily.

Bronwynn cups her hands to her mouth, "Looks like Dawnslight is 
winning..." She grins to her mentor.

Kassima starts to smile as she counts off her remaining Wingmates verses 
the other Wings, then stills a moment, frowns, and counts the Dawnslight 
riders again. Disbelief flashes in her green eyes, and there are groans of 
dismay as carcasses and living Thunderbolters alike perceive their 
Wingleader's expression. "Awww, *shardit*!" Kassi yells. "Nay the *yellow* 
snow!"

One of the dawnlight greenriders can be overheard to mutter to a wingmate, 
"At least they're on ice already.." with a gesture to L'cher and his 
pain.

Aurian tosses a fist into the air, "Aye victory to the yellow!"

"Come on now," M'rgan says cheerfully to his wingmates as they hear of 
Dawnslight's victory. "We've all eaten yellow snow before. It's not that 
bad." Head held high he marches over towards the Dawnslight barrier, 
extending his hand as he gets close.

Aurian extends her hand but does look a touch trepidatious as M'rgan comes 
near, after all he is Kassima's adversary who knows what he might be up 
too.

Kassima gives M'rgan a disbelieving look, then leans towards her own 
living Wingmates. "This is nay a shared experience," she murmurs. Clapping 
her hands sharply, she gestures for her Wingmates to get up, and 
approaches Dawnslight's barrier likewise, sparing only a moment to give a 
bemused 'What were you *thinking*?' look to the still-hostage V'dan. "We 
may nay have had luck," she tells Auri as she holds out her hand also, 
"but at least Mart can't claim he had skill, either, and for that I thank 
you yellow-snow people."

Aurian grins with amusement at Kassima, "Don't worry the yellow dye will 
come out of V'dan sometime."

Kassima nods dubiously, glancing at V'dan's pants. "I'm sure he'll 
appreciate that," she remarks. The greenrider's blush is mostly lost 
beneath his face-mask of yellow snow.

M'rgan is remarkably responsible and innocent looking as he takes Aurian's 
hand. "Congratulations to Dawnslight," he says without malice and he waves 
his hand to motion the rest of Skyfire over. "Of course, next winter we'll 
have to challenge Dawnslight again. To prove that it *is* all skill."

Aurian chuckles, "I'm sure T'saren will have drilled the wing well in 
tactics again."

From the sidelines, Bronwynn and Fehuth cheer for the winnign team, the 
weyrlign clapping and the brown letting out an amused wuffle.

"Felicitations to Dawnslight," Kassi echoes with a sincere-enough seeming 
grin. "You showed a great deal of luck today. A'course, if'n *'tis* skill, 
then you've just proven that we have less than you." She can apparently 
live with this; watching Mart lose at something is entertainment enough 
for her. "Okay, Weyrlings," she then calls over her shoulder. "Come take 
pot-shots at the man with the purple hair."

Aurian shakes her head as she wanders towards Kvasith, "I believe Kassima 
you are to be one of the victims as well."

M'rgan straightens his shoulders again as he hears Bronwynn's cheer. His 
eyes go to Kassima's face and he opens his mouth to snap a retort to her 
but Aurian beats him to it. Instead he spins around on his heel and calls 
back to his wing, "Skyfire, form a line."

"But who'd want to hit me with a snowball when they could hit Mart?" asks 
Kassi, quite logically. Her grin to the Skyfire Wingleader is completely 
unrepentant, even as she snaps her fingers at her revived Wingmates. 
"Thunderbolt, do likewise. And remember: we may have lost today, and we 
may be destined t'be walking Weyrling targets, but there's always tomorrow 
to do much prolifigate kicking of rump."

Bronwynn slides off her lifemate with a giggle and scoops up a handful of 
snow. As she pats it into a ball in her hands, her eyes bounce between the 
wingleaders. Which one first.... *POW* And the first snowball hits M'rgan 
squarely in the chest. After, a barrage of snowballs fly at both lines of 
riders. Bronwynn claps and hops up and down with delight, "Oh, this is 
fun!" A brownling to her left lobs a goodsized ball towards Kassima, 
exploding in a powdery *poof* against her arm.

Lysseth settles herself back on the ground, watching this display with a 
great deal of amusement. She's not one to be upset by the idea of her 
rider having to eat crow... or snow, as it were.

M'rgan finds a place in the middle of Skyfire's line and he lifts his chin 
as he looks proudly over at the weyrlings. He makes no attempt to duck the 
snowball that comes at him. In fact none of Skyfire does except when the 
snowballs connect with their faces. In all other instances the riders 
remain motionless, taking their lumps with good humor.

Kassima awaits her turn at the firing squad with great dignity, but when 
the snowball hits her arm, she clutches the 'wound' and spins on her heel 
in a death scene exaggerated enough to put even L'cher's to shame. 
"Good-bye, cruel world," she cries. "Kris, you must grow up to avenge me!" 
And then she falls to the ground, twitching, thrashing, groaning, 
etcetera. A few of her Wingmates offer droll applause.

Aurian ducks under Kvasith's wing, watching with bright and amused eyes.

A stray snowball whips through the air, smacking the 'dead' Kassima in the 
rump.

"You can dish it out but you can't take it, eh, Kassi?!?" M'rgan shouts 
over to the Thunderbolt wingleader as he sees her fall out of the corner 
of his eye. *Whomp* Another snowball strikes him, this time in the 
shoulder.

"Hey!" yelps the 'dying' Kassi as she's whapped in the butt by snow. "Nay 
fair, doing that to a poor, defenseless dead woman!" Not too defenseless, 
though, to keep her from answering Mart's query with a well-launched 
missile of her own. "Take *that*, enemy mine!"

Skyfire's neat and solemn line is instantly broken as Kassima's snowball 
whistles past M'rgan. Now all of the riders are scrambling around in the 
snow, scooping it up as fast as they can and whipping snowballs towards 
the Thunderbolt ranks.

Oh, lovely. With gleeful whoops and battle cries, Thunderbolt's riders are 
quite happy to resume the now-familiar war against Skyfire's, and soon the 
air is white with snow. O, say can you see, by the yellow snow's 
light....

As the air around him turns white from the flurry of snowballs, M'rgan 
wisely beats a retreat.

Ularrith lumbers south.

M'rgan walks south.

Kassima stays through a bit more of the battle, but soon cuts out herself, 
muttering something about needing to scrape this snow off of her rear end.

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 spring into the air and catch the thermals rising from the bowl floor 
to carry you aloft.