And the day came for my second Candidacy! I'd applied as a stand-only for Ista's clutch, and practically forgotten all about it until I was totally taken aback by a couple of Istan riders...... :->

Gar Hold Entry Hall

The Entry Hall of Gar Hold is roughly octagonal in shape.  Eight doors lead out of it, one is the one you just entered from.  The first thing you notice is the mural painted on the walls.  It seems to be a panoramic depiction of a orchard in the spring.  The artist took their time as everything is at nearly life size.  Lining the sides of the Hall are padded stone benches, that seem to flow freely into the mural.  Posted over the Door to the Holder's Office is the Hold Crest, A shield of Forest Green with a solitary Blue band placed diagonal across the shield.  While the center of all movement in Gar Hold, it still remains a pleasant place to stop and talk anytime with friends, and enjoy the mural.

To the southeast, you see Bezath.

On the perch is Daphne.

You see Diamond, Wynd, Ivory, A Display Case, Steel, and Tapestry here.

Obvious exits:

The Happy Harper     Dining Hall     Holder's Office     Main Hallway     Steward's Office     Gar Hold Shops     CourtYard     Spiral Staircase

E'ral strides purposefully in from the Gar Hold CourtYard.

E'ral

male Ista Weyr Firestorm Wingrider

Stout and impeccably built, this workhorse of a young man stands a good 6 feet in height and is all bulky muscle.  Calloused hands and a few scars, that mottle thick fingers and sturdy arms, reveals a man who's known hard work and plenty of it.  Sun-streaked blonde caps his head, short and neat, a veritable contrast to the bronzen glow of chiseled features.  Simple, green eyes are made brighter by darkened skin, but otherwise are fairly boring.  His nose, however, has character -- thick and straight, it falls to thin lips that are often hidden within a casual smile.

He is wearing a set of deep, reddish-brown leathers properly fitted to his tall frame and broad shoulders. The jacket is cut in a simple style, made slightly bulky by a soft, beige inner lining and a few utility pockets edged with dark thread. A white tunic laces up his chest and tucks neatly into the belted waistband of his pants. Thick, black boots complete the outfit.

Orange and black threads intertwine with one of bronze in a single loop with a long tail, marking him as a wingrider at Ista Weyr.

IC Age: 20 Turns, 9 months, and 1 day

E'ral strides in from the courtyard and is shortly met by a middle-aged woman who's been waiting for his arrival.  They exchange a few words and then the woman dashes off towards the dining hall.  Leaning a shoulder against a nearby wall, the bronzerider takes a moment to glance around the hall while he waits.

Zidon pauses on his way to the kitchen, peering at the man walking in. "Afternoon," he greets politely, "can I offer you anything?" He's ready to proceed in case his offer is taken, standing lightly as he awaits an answer.

E'ral tilts a smile at the greeting, "No, thank you -- I'm fine.   About to head out again... "  A glance slips to the dining hall, "As soon as a certain someone dashes back this way, that is."  Again, his smile turns back to the man, "Name's E'ral, btw... bronze Verjath's rider."

Zidon nods, giving the other a friendly smile. "Well met, E'ral. I'm Zidon. And be glad you're fine, the cooks are horrible around here," he states gravely. Afterall, he hasn't yet been at work today. Ahem.

E'ral chuckles, "They can't be any worse than the ones at the Weyr."  A wink, then.   Chattering suddenly erupts from the dining hall as four ladies back out of the door, dragging two large sacks into the hall.  E'ral eyes the group and then the bags as they're deposited at his feet, "Shells... anything else?"  The ladies shake their heads in unison before skittering off.  With a shrug, the bronzerider grabs one of the bags and turns a smile to Zidon, "Mind helping with the other one?  Verjath's just outside."

Zidon chuckles softly. "Oh, you don't awnt to know what I... they did to the bubblies," he smirks, grabbing one of the sacks. "Not at all. What's in 'em?" he asks, nosy as always. He /never/ gets a chance to gossip, nope.

E'ral eyes the man for a moment, but decides not to ask about the bubblies.  Instead: "I'm not exactly sure.  I thought I was coming up here to grab a sack of herbs, but..."  He nudges his bag with a toe and then peers at the second, "Looks like a lot more than that."

"It's a lot of herbs, then. You sure it's not firestone?" Zidon groans slightly, throwing the sack over his shoulder. He heads for the courtyard, slowly, politely waiting for E'ral to go first.

E'ral lifts his as well and chuckles, "Certainly feels like it."   Tipping a nod, he proceeds the holder and steps out through doors.

E'ral strides purposefully to the CourtYard.

You go to the Gar Hold CourtYard.

Gar Hold CourtYard

You stand on the porch of Gar Hold.  Just inside you can see the elegant, yet simple design of this burgeoning hold.  Outside, you have a beautiful view of the hold valley.  Large trees line the trail here, creating a nice canopy of shade for the weiry traveller.  A couple of paths diverge from the hold to follow their own paths.  Each path is set with red brick cobblestone.  Flower Beds line the porch creating a nice feeling of returning home.  Several rockers, a bench or two, and a swing can be found on the porch, for those who wish to come out and enjoy the beauty of nature.

  It is a winter afternoon.  The day wears on, gray and cold.  A fine mist falls.

On the perch are Daisy and Nuage.

Blue Bezath and bronze Verjath are here.

You see a wagonmaster, Rocking Chair, WindSong, and Gallesh's Trade Wagon here.

E'ral is here.

Obvious exits:

Danak's Rabbit Field     Fenced Lane     Gar Hold Entry Hall     Hold Field     Gar Stables     Orchard Path

Zidon follows E'ral, glacing around the courtyard. Only one bronze. Must be it, then, so the cok walks towards Verjath. "That him?" he asks, just to be sure. It wouldn't be good throwing sacks at someone else's dragon, would it now.

E'ral grins and nods, "That's him."  Wouldn't be good throwing sacks at Verjath either.  He doesn't play catch.  "Just set it down near his foot there..."  His own bag swings down from his shoulder and lands on stone with a muffled thud, "Verjath... this is Zidon.  Zidon... Verjath."  Shake hands?

Zidon tilts his head backwards to glance up at the dragon. His hand probably wouldn't fit in Verjath's anyway... "Oh," he nods, swinging down the sack to place it in front of a bronzen foot. "Hmm, hello Verjath," he greets then, lips quirking into a slight smile.

Verjath tilts his muzzle low... lower... and sniffs at Zidon's head.  A rumble thunders up from the depths of his throat as he returns the greeting.  Cocking his head to the side, he tips his nose at the sack and pushes it back towards the holder.

Zidon squints his eyes slightly. Ah, you gotta love when they drool at your hair. Yum. "Erm, what does he want me to do with it?" he asks, peering at E'ral with a puzzled expression.

Bezath eyes the rider and cook a little suspiciously, a bit sleepy from his afternoon nap, but goes back to half-dozing as they begin loading the other dragon.

Verjath

Shadows and light: honeyed bronzes border time-worn gold, both hugging a massive frame that ripples thick with muscle and sinew. Chiseled features are detailed in a deep russet that turns black along his short neck and headknobs to taint them with an equal depth of color. Sizable from wing's canopy-like span to the flex of youthful muscles, his abbreviated torso strains to hold such bulk. Night-touched talons stretch overlong, sharp and curled with a metallic sheen that hints of deepest blue. Feral, stoic, loyal: he is every bit the bronze.

Marbled moire are his straps; swirls of deep sapphire and black fitted snuggly against supple hide.  Thick, ebon stitches are drawn neatly and firmly along the seams of tooled leather and a protective layer of soft, gray suede lies underneath, keeping the bronze's hide safe from chaffing.  Polished, gold buckles gleam against the darkened leather, matching the ornamental 'V' that sits up high, near the rider's perch.

Verjath is 2 Turns, 6 months, and 23 days old.

He is 36 meters long, with a wingspan of 60 meters.

Verjath seems to be listening.

Bezath

Indigo streaks across a well-filled frame, in the form of glistening hide that is a myriad of shadings. Near-chubby belly washed in almost-lavendar, whitening upward into the cool, icy mists that drench headknobs and a broad, prominent muzzle. Powerful mediterranean blue frames the filigreed edges of his ultramarine sails, teased by impish darts and weaves of water's mysteries. Inkwell shades dip indigo again on legs, running in stained swirls to an ebon-navy tail and gleaming spicular talons.

Bezath is 6 Turns, 7 months, and 14 days old.

He is 26 meters long, with a wingspan of 43 meters.

Bezath seems to be listening.

E'ral nudges his own bag towards the dragon and grabs a hold of his straps, "Hmm?"  A glance slips back to Zidon and then to the bronze, "No-no... I don't think he can carry that all the way to the Weyr by himself." 

Zidon bites back a grin. "I'd rather not," comes the wry mumble, hazel eyes twinkling with laughter as they watch the bronze. "They get funny ideas sometimes, hmm?"

Verjath insists.  Really.  His lowers his muzzle further and nudges again, leveling his gaze on the cook.  E'ral sighs half way up his straps, "V... he doesn't have any straps.  We can't put it on him."  A shoulder lifts as he turns an apologetic glance to Zidon, "He does that a lot."

Zidon laughs, fingering the strap on the sack. "Uhm..." He searches his mind for a clever retort. Can you smell the smoke? "Maybe if you take it?" he suggests, holding out the sack to E'ral.

E'ral ropes of the first sack and slides back down, "Maybe... " he replies as he heads for the second.  Verjath, however, has other plans and quickly moves his head between the two.   "V... now cut it out."

Above, Bith blinks in from ::between::!

Above, Quarith appears from ::between!:: in a burst of sunset gold!

Zidon's eyes dart around the courtyard. Thank Faranth that green of his isn't here right now... "Erm?" The cook shuffles on his feet, a little nervously, and stares into a bronzen head.

Bezath rumbles a greeting to the gold andbronze as they arrive overhead.

Bith glides in from above, and lands.

Quarith glides in from above, and lands.

Bith eases down onto the ground, D'ven quickly slipping off the dragon's back.

D'ven slides from Bith's neck and lands gently on the ground.

From Quarith's neck, Saria grins over at D'ven as the pair land, and then looks out over the courtyard in surprise to see E'ral and Verjath as well.

Saria slips from between two gleaming neckridges, down Quarith's shoulder, and finally to the ground with a nimble leap.

Verjath stares back and nudges a flared nostril at the man.  E'ral merely sighs as he pushes around the bronze muzzle, "He can be stubborn.  Roll it this way..."  He pauses to glance towards the new arrivals and smiles.  Reinforcements.

Saria slips off her riding gloves and tucks them together, stuffing them in the pocket of her leathers so the fingers hang out.  She joins stride with D'ven as he dismounts and eyes the situation with some interest.  "Good day, E'ral," she calls, moving a little closer.

D'ven pauses midstep as he recognizes first Verjath...then E'ral. He is only a half step behind Saria as he walks over.

Zidon blinks in surprise as the smallish courtyard is suddenly filled with dragons. Whoops? "Oh, of course," he nods, slowly edging to the left to try to get past the obstacle-head in front of him. Eek. Stay. Good dragon. Sack is slipped to the ground and slowly psuhed forward with a foot.

Saria glances at D'ven.  "Is this sack the item we were coming after?"

Bith rumbles curiously as he stretches out his neck to sniffle curiously at the sack. D'ven shakes his head, 'No...She said it would just be a small box, by her bed...I'll run in and get it...be right back.'

E'ral tips a nod at the weyrwoman and then D'ven, "I see I'm not the only one visiting Gar this afternoon."  A smile slips to Zidon as he stoops and reaches for the sack -- hands fall short as Verjath rolls it right back towards the cook; E'ral drops to his hands and knees and follows its progression, "Argh -- V!"

Quarith arches her neck, looking disdainfully at the humans' efforts. She snorts derisively, and then settles, while Saria steps forward and offers some help, waving D'ven off on his errand more than a little reluctantly.

Zidon takes a few steps back, as to avoid any hands, heads or anything else he could possibly step on. "Oh, I'm sorry," he gasps, looking like he'd either burst into tears or laughter anytime. "Maybe if we're more than two?" he suggests, glancing at Saria. "Ma'am?"

D'ven strides to the Gar Hold Entry Hall.

Saria addresses E'ral.  "How can I help, bronzerider?" she says firmly.

Saria (#4925)

female Ista Weyr weyrwoman/Dragonhealer

Saria's long, wavy chestnut hair glints with reddish copper highlights, plaited  neatly to the back of her head and secured with a ribbon.  A few soft, delicate  curls, like ringlets, fall from the braid at all times, framing her face, and  causing her to brush them from her chocolate brown eyes.  If you knew her before  she was searched, you will surely notice the depth and clarity her eyes have taken on since her Impression to her lifemate and love, gold Quarith.  Her smooth,  creamy skin is an almost startling contrast to her eyes and hair, and her heart-shaped mouth turns up in the slightest of smiles as she notices your gaze, a change from her usual serious demeanor. 

Her sienna leathers glow almost luminescently and seem to bring out the lustre of Saria's hair. Calf-high, sturdy wherhide boots complete the picture.

Saria wears the Orange and Black knot of Ista Weyr, threaded through with a fine, bright strand of gold for her lifemate and a rather oddly contrasting strand of purple for her healing. The knot's intricate loops show that she is a Weyrwoman.

IC Age: 41 Turns, 8 months, and 22 days

E'ral cocks a glance up at the weyrwoman and then stands, brushing the dust from his hands, "No need to trouble yourself, weyrwoman.  Verjath is just fooling around."  An elbow nudges back against the bronze's neck, "I think he's done.  Isn't that right, V?"   The bronze snorts and turns his attention back to Zidon.

D'ven strides in from the Gar Hold Entry Hall.

Smile. It always helps. Though it does come out like a strangled grimace as Zidon is eyed by the bronze. "Sir?" the cook squeaks, quickly clearing his throat. "Think he'll, uhm, take it now?"

D'ven strides back out,holding a small box...his gaze amused as he considers the scene. A few steps later he stands by Saria again.

Saria looks up at the bronze, and then quirks a grin, one brow raised, at E'ral.  "Want me to have Quarith tell him to behave?"  She winks.

Saria glances over at the unassuming box now in D'ven's grasp.  "This was it?  And do we know what it is, out of curiousity?"

D'ven shrugs as he slips the box into an inner pocket on his coat, "Something she couldn't live without apparently."

Saria chuckles, shaking her head and heaving a sigh.  "Well, we'll see.  Who was it?"

Verjath shuffles over a few steps at that suggestion and snakes his head around Zidon.  He'll protect him.  Sure.  E'ral chuckles and leans over to pat bronzen hide, but only finds air, "I... don't think that'll be necessary.  Although, I'll keep it in mind."  A warning glance slips to Verjath as he reaches for the sack -- and snags it!  Victory!

D'ven snickers as he watches the interplay...offering a shrug to Saria,'One of the candidates...female, I think.' Details details.

Zidon freezes on the spot as he's suddenly tangled up in bronze dragon. Oh. My. "Oh, finally," he sighs, watching E'ral take the sack. Good riddance. Next problem. "I think I'll just slip out of here," he tells Verjath, attempting to slide under the bronze's neck.

Saria glances over at the young bronzerider, eyeing him.  Details indeed.  "Candidate and female I knew," she says, just a bit tartly, but doesn't press him for more, since he doesn't seem to want to share.

Bith rumbles curiously to his clutchsib, eying Zidon with whirling eyes.

Verjath snorts at his rider.  He has a better sack now -- his name is Zidon.   As the cook moves, so does the neck... followed closely by a pair of quivering nostrils that are in search of any loose flaps of clothing.   His head cocks, glance turning towards Bith as he attempts to herd the man that-a-way.

Quarith rumbles warningly at Verjath, ensuring that Zidon isn't squished. These brutes don't know their own strength, she seems to be saying.

D'ven glances a bit blankly at Saria, 'Wha?' He asks in puzzlement. Bith seems to take a hint from Verjath and presents the broad side of himself as a block.

Saria just pats D'ven's forearm.  "Never you mind, dear," she says, chuckling.  She sidles a bit closer to him, very subtly.

Zidon stops, then, realizing that tactic doesn't work. And another one now! Eek! Thank Faranth he didn't offer the, ahem, strange bubblies to E'ral then. Never know what might have happened to him. "Ah, sir? I really shouldn't stay away from my duties for too long..."

D'ven smiles, looking a bit relieved, but then his gaze turns towards Zidon...an eyebrow raising in question.

E'ral is busy with the last sack and finally manages to secure it to the bronze's straps.  With a mumbled oath, he clambers back down and eyes the whole lot of them.  Verjath is still coiled around the cook and doesn't look the least bit worried about his duties.  "Hmm... might be a while there, Zidon.   --D'ven... what do you think?  Verjath seems convinced.  Bith?"

Bith rumbles his agreement with Verjath, snout reacing out to gently whuffle the cook. D'ven just chuckles,'I think they are convinced'

Zidon squirms in the dragon-mass. "Convinced? Convinced about what?" he inquires, hands trying to brush away his ruffled hair.

E'ral thumps a hand against Verjath's leg, "You win, buddy.  D'ven and Bith will take good care of him... er..."  He rolls his eyes, "Yes... your sack.   Speaking of sacks ... let's get these back to the Weyr."  A broad grin tilts at the cook, "Thanks for all your help, Zidon."  The bronze reluctantly backs away as his rider clambers up the straps.

Bith does his best to keep undoing the straightening...a sing-song quality to his rumbles.

"Erm, anytime," Zidon replies, his expression still as confused as ever. He's a sack now? Oh great.

Saria chuckles, thumping D'ven on the arm playfully.  "Why is it this always happens when I'm around you?"  she asks brightly, grinning.

E'ral hauls himself up Verjath's shoulder and receives a helpful nudge from a bronze foreleg as he nears the top.

From Verjath's neck, E'ral straps himself in and waves to the others, "Clear skies weyrwoman... D'ven."  And then they're off.

Saria raises a hand in farewell.

Saria glances at Zidon and smiles encouragingly.  "Don't mind them," she says.  "They just get a bit overzealous in their duties."  She wrinkles her nose and smiles good-naturedly.

D'ven grins down at Saria, then his expression solemns as he heads closer to Zidon. "What they were trying to say was that they thought you would be an excellent choice to stand on the sands for Serath's clutch. Will you return with us and become a candidate?'

Zidon sends Saria a smile, backing up a few steps now that the, erm, clingy bronze gave him some space to breathe in. "I see, weyrwoman," he nods, "and it's ok, re..." Blink. "A candidate? Who, me?" No, the cook next to you, numbwit. "Oh! Well, of course I will. Can I, uh, go get my things? Right away?" Babble, babble.

Saria purses her lips, watching in unhidden amusement.  "You'll want to check with whomever you'd need permission from, first," she says lightly.

D'ven nods his head in agreement, 'Then gather your things....We'll return to the Weyr as soon as you are ready.'

Permission. Oh, yes. "Yes, of course," Zidon nods, almost stumbling as he back towards the hold doors. "I'll go see Holder Natch and I'll be back. Soon," he adds, scooting off.

Zidon darts out, bag slung on one shoulder. "I'm ready ma'am, sir," he informs, stopping in front of the pair.

Saria nods approvingly.  This one was quick, efficient.  She likes that.  "D'ven, Bith will of course do the honours." 

D'ven smiles down at her, a gentle quality to his smile, 'Of course Weyrwoman.' He teases before turning back to Zidon, smile still warm, 'Have you ridden :Between: before?'

Zidon nods, smiling brightly. "Yes, sir, I have. I've lived at the 'Reaches Weyr, sir."

Saria listens intently to D'ven's voice, and looks Zidon over appraisingly.  An excellent prospect.

D'ven grins as he reaches for the pack, "Very well...shall we head back to the Weyr?"

@emit "Certainly, sir," comes the excited answer from Zidon, the cook stepping closer to Bith. Ooh, long time since he's been on one, though...

"Certainly, sir," comes the excited answer from Zidon, the cook stepping closer to Bith. Ooh, long time since he's been on one, though...

Saria smiles, and nods.  "Well, we will see you back at the Weyr, then," she says.  "I should get back and check on Annie and Serath."

Saria uses Quarith's foreleg as a step and grabs the riding straps, swinging herself smoothly into place between two honey gold neckridges.

From Quarith's neck, Saria says, "Clear skies!"

Quarith takes off.

Above, Quarith takes off from Gar Hold CourtYard

Above, Quarith goes home.

D'ven glances over at Saria, amusement coming to his eyes before he offers a hand, 'See the rings in his straps? Use those for handholds.' He attaches the pack to the bronze before waving to Saria,'I will see you later?' He asks hopefully.

Zidon nods and grabs the rings, getting on the dragon without too much trouble. Afterall, once you get a hang of it it's in the blood, no?

You clamber up Bith's neck and set yourself between two neckridges.

Bith [Gar Hold CourtYard]

Burnished copper intermingles with darkest bronze over a flowing torso; it is large and bulky, overrun with a thick musculature. Never one who could be called sleek in shape or form, his short -- nearly blunt -- coal black muzzle ends abruptly, clashing into the wan hide where large, expressive eyes settle. Pale flesh lasts only a moment, however, before it slips back into the stygian darkness. The remainder of his padded body hides beneath gargantuan wings of mottled umber and cinnabar; the appendages are nearly long enough to drag the ground when not in flight. A rare unfurling, though, reveals the glitter of polished bronze that touches torso, belly, and limb.

Thick black leather straps are fastened securely around Bith's neck. Normal enough straps until they are seen closer. On one of the straps, D rings have been secured at intervals along the length of the strap. On the other, buckles have been tightly stitched to the leather.

Bith seems to be listening.

D'ven clambers up Bith's neck and settles in between two neckridges.

D'ven settles between two ridges, glancing over his shoulder, 'Get it okay?'

"Yes, sir," Zidon nods. "Just fine."

You take off.

Above Gar

You soar high above the grassy plains of Gar.  From here you can see the hold itself, nestled in the outcrop of a cliff face, and vast fields of farmland and grazing lands.  Herds of horses and cattle roam the fields, under the watchful eye of Gar herders.

  It is a winter afternoon.  The day wears on, gray and cold.  A fine mist falls.

In the courtyard below, you see Bezath and Verjath.

Brown Chelath is here.

Obvious exits:

Courtyard     Central Ista     Orchard     Crossroads

Bith disappears ::between:: with a snap of his tail.

:::BETWEEN!:::

You hang, senseless, in the dark nothingness of ::between::... absolute darkness surrounds you, and the profound cold stings you... you wait, and count...

Black...

Blacker...

Blackest...

Sky Above the Plateau

  You soar over the plateau, in a place that was probably once the western wall of the bowl of this volcano, but the distant past eruption blew out the wall and formed the plateau below.  On the southern end of the plateau here, a fenced-off area corrals the Weyr's herdbeast and wherry population, and serves as the Weyr feeding grounds.  Beyond it, to the west, the plateau slopes down to the turquoise waters of the ocean.  East lies the Weyr bowl itself, framed by the five pointed pinnacles of the rim, reaching skyward as if to touch the sun.

  It is a winter afternoon.  The day wears on, gray and cold.  A fine mist falls.

Obvious exits:

Central Bowl     Forest Weyrs     Beach     Corral

Bith blinks in from ::between::!

You fly east into the bowl.

Sky over Central Bowl

  Ista heat breeds whirling, swirling, dragon-tossing thermals that send you up over the bowl and off towards the east.  Here, beneath the towering pinnacles of the Weyr's jagged rim, ledges dot the cliffside and tier down to the hatching grounds to southeast just beyond queen's weyrs and living cavern, and to the northeast the weyrling barracks and training ground are made of hard pounded earth and ash-pits

  It is a winter afternoon.  The day wears on, gray and cold.  A fine mist falls.

Obvious exits:

Down     Northeastern Bowl     Southeastern Bowl     Plateau     Ledges

You fly southeast across the bowl.

Sky Over Southeastern Bowl

  The jagged peaks of the Weyr's exploded caldera shelters dragons aflight from errant sea breezes, but the salty scent of ocean water pervades all.  Weyr entrances pockmark the weathered black rock, sometimes allowing a glimpse of bright dragons on their ledges, and to the northwest, a large portion of the volcanic wall seems to have exploded outward in a trapezoidal wedge, allowing tradewinds to blow crookedly against the inner walls.  Perhaps it explains the density of weyrs here in the more sheltered, southeastern portion of the broken bowl.  They cluster above the living cavern and other public areas, whereas elsewhere the weyrs seem more isolated and evenly spaced.  The five fingers of Ista Weyr block any progress seaward, but dragons sometimes slip between the peaks, nimble and delicate against the upthrust rock.

  It is a winter afternoon.  The day wears on, gray and cold.  A fine mist falls.

Below, you see Morath, Minyath, Kyanth, Sevareth, Nyolith, Cheyth, Djarreth, and Larisseth.

Gliding around is Laddy.

Obvious exits:

Down     Hatching Grounds     Central Bowl     Ledges     Weyrleader's Landing     Up

You spiral down for a landing in the bowl.

Southeastern Bowl

 This area of the bowl is the highest point of the bowl floor; from here, it slopes down and to the northwest, spilling out to the plateau below the wide gap in the Weyr rim to the west. Various tunnels here lead into the Weyr's inner caverns; the living caverns, hatching grounds, and main Weyr tunnel all branch off from here. To the west lie the stables where the Weyr's runners are housed. There is also a stone stairway that leads up to the Weyrleader's weyrs.

  It is a winter afternoon.  The day wears on, gray and cold.  A fine mist falls.

Perched on rocky crags about the bowl are Kelvin and Etera.

Brown Morath, brown Minyath, blue Kyanth, brown Sevareth, green Nyolith, green Cheyth, brown Djarreth, and green Larisseth are here.

Obvious exits:

Hatching Cavern     Central Bowl     Weyr Tunnel     Living Caverns

D'ven grins as the bronze lands, 'Alright...we're here' He notes as he quickly unfastens his straps.

D'ven slides from Bith's neck and lands gently on the ground.

Zidon is busy looking around already. "Thank you for the ride, sir," he smiles, getting ready to slide down the dragon.

You slide gently down Bith's neck and land with a soft thud.

D'ven carefully unattaches his pack and offers it to the cook, 'If you will follow me...we'll get you settled.'

Zidon takes the pack, nodding at D'ven. "Of course, sir. Lead on."

Anely slinks in from the Living Cavern.

D'ven strides to the Living Caverns.

You go into the living cavern.

Living Cavern

  The smooth, rounded walls of the vast living cavern sweep upward from an oval base, two dragonlengths long and one wide, large enough to seat every member of the Weyr at mealtimes.  The soft blackness of the lava which forms these caverns swallows glowlight, so shelves for glowbaskets abound, dotting the walls every three or four paces and casting gentle greenish light up toward the sparkles of gold volcanic glass embedded in the ceiling.  Ancient lustrous tables run along the long axis of the cavern, and at the far end is the raised dais and high table, where the Weyrleaders and their honored guests eat during formal occasions.  Behind the high table, the Weyr's symbol is chiseled into the stone: a smoking mountain in black, on an orange shield, trimmed in gold.

Perched near the food are thirty-five firelizards.

You see Ale Cabinet, Moufles, Nappa, What's for Dinner, a crawler in the corner, and Candidate Sketch here.

D'ven is here.

Obvious exits:

Northeast Caverns     Kitchens     Bowl     Southern Caverns

D'ven strides to the Southern Caverns.

You go to the South Caverns.

South Caverns

Caverns continue to twist and tangle into a labyrinth of ancient tunnels: from high, soaring, vaulted roofs to nothing more than crawl-space at times the weyr extends deep into the mountain.  Most of the walls are the smooth and glossy obsidian of ancient volcanoes, dark but for the fickle light of green-tinted glows. The floor is likewise worn by feet and time to run smooth and unbroken off to the main caverns to the north, or into the dorms and barracks in the opposite direction.

Peeking at you from a ledge up high is Taybi.

D'ven is here.

Obvious exits:

Crafters' Area     Living Caverns     Corridor     Candidate Barracks     Dorms

D'ven strides to the Candidate Barracks.

You go to the Candidate's Barracks.

Candidate's Barracks

Long and low, this large room angles back into the mountain in a near-perfect rectangle, devoid of windows and hearth.  A functional room -- all black volcanic rock and simple earthen tapestries, there is nothing but stark simplicity in the seemingly endless rows of cots that scatter back into the shadows.  A small clothespress sits at the end of each puce-covered bed -- yes, puce.  Every cot sports a rather gaudy and obnoxiously purple cotton coverlet, leftovers from PranksPast.  Boys to the right, girls to the left. Enjoy.

Hanging out on a long wooden shelf on the wall are nine firelizards.

You see Anely's Ebon Shrouded Cot, Jozelle's Cot, Nevarre's Cot, Deidrea's Cot, Melissa's Cot, Zali's Cot, Hannah's Cot, Alfi's Cot, Orb's Cot, and Saendi's Bright Blazin' Torchy Orange Cot here.

You notice Zali, Jozelle, Orb, Alfi, Saendi, Hannah, and Melissa asleep here.

D'ven is here.

Obvious exits:

Caverns

D'ven waves to the various empty cots, 'Find yourself a place among them and take your time getting settled.'

Zidon grins. "Thank you, sir, I will."

D'ven smiles,'If you will excuse me...I have some things to attend to.'