Seven spindles brush the clouds -- quite literally -- overhead, a jagged, spired cotillion grey-stoned majesty. The bowl from here is expansively large, extending a full half mile in both directions, and although sometimes a bit of a stretch, most of the hubs of activity can be easily observed. Hard-packed ground shows the common pathways, all of them meandering about the craggy bunch of boulders that form a centerpiece: carven, hand-worn and foothold-full, it gives a bit of centerpoint to the otherwise vast emptiness of the area.
To the north lie the hatching grounds and leadership weyrs, while the lows of herdbeasts mark the feeding pens to the northeast. A flurry of ever-present activity marks the living caverns to the west, and another time-traveled path the ground weyrs just adjacent to the southwest. Southeast, a glint of blue shows the lake, glittering and cold.
It is a winter midmorning.
Clinging to footholds in the boulder-mound are twenty firelizards.
Green Kelitath, green Zoryanth, gold Chayath, bronze Rixesith, blue Lainnoth, brown Uzasnyth, brown Druseth, Brown Dsalth, blue Rubyth, green Vespurath, and green Alymath are here.
Lis, Osric, and Keris are here.
Honey-blond tresses, sunstreaked with platinum highlights, tumble heavily to a spot just above her hips, although her hair is generally worn in a single thick plait down her back. Short in stature, girlish in appearance; nonetheless she has a look about her pale blue eyes that's old beyond her Turns. Set in a warmly tanned oval face, they remain her most striking feature, more for the odd gleam that lights them than for color or shape. Full lips are just a fraction too wide, quick to warm her distant expression with a genuine smile or merry laugh.
Linora has finally resigned herself to cooler weather and got some warmer clothing... Soft flowing skirts of deepest indigo flow over her hips and legs, hemmed just above her ankles. A thick woollen sweater, cableknit in a fisherfolk pattern and dyed a brilliant shade of lilac, covers her upper body from neck to hips, too-long sleeves often slipping down to cover her hands. And the final indignity, thick woollen socks and solid shoes of sturdy wherhide cover her feet - but rest assured they'll be kicked off at the first opportunity. Linora wears a tan wherhide jacket with a thick lining of llama fur, the hood all but obscuring her face.
Red and silver, royal and black -- four cords form a single loop at her shoulder, with a small tail to denote her status as StarCraft Senior Apprentice posted to High Reaches Weyr.
Linora is 19 Turns and 6 months old.
Keris has disconnected.
Keris smiles drowsily as his eyelids slowly drop, finally giving over to sleep.
Osric is a dignified you man who is well grown for his age. He stands at 6'3, and is well built for his age. He still has some filling out to do, but he already has the appearance of a formidable man. His hair has been cropped to just a few inches long so it is more manageable while he is training, and the dark, earthy brown locks curl back slightly. His eyes are a dark brown very nearly the same as his hair, and he is always ready to greet someone with an open smile.
Osric is wearing the uniform that he has rarely been out of these days since he has come to the High Reaches. He can be seen in dark blue trousers that fit his long legs perfectly, and black leather boots. His black leather vest is buttoned snuggly over the crisp white shirt beneath, and has a well made leather jacket of matching leather. On the left shoulder of the jacket, a badge with two crossed, silver swords are stitched over a field of blue sky and black mountains that represent the High Reaches. His shoulder knot is also black and navy blue. Osric is holding a knife. Perched on Osric's shoulder is Kinley.
He is awake and looks alert.
Osric is 17 Turns, 7 months, and 27 days old.
Lis' oval-shaped face is filled out with a pleasant pudginess that adolescence couldn't melt away, upturned nose sitting 'tween mud-puddle brown eyes. Half-spirals of brass unwind into soft waves just above her shoulders, trimmed for practical riding purposes but long enough to satisfy her vanity. Skin fades to a honey'd alabaster, pouring over her now-smooth face and any uncovered skin.
Sun's rays shift in their variations on yellow, winding through the day down the length of Lis' short body - though, most likely, it was a lack of dye that causes the discoloration. Rosy-fingered dawn paws greedily at the top of her bodice, clasping just below her shoulders and grasping towards cleavage, but it's the clean light of morning sun that bleaches yellow to white down overlong sleeves and at her hourglass waist. Yellow grows indolent as on a summer afternoon, the fabric that clings to her hips drifting away with a languid brush to flounce down to the floor, whereupon a train drags with sunset's sherbet orange.
Midnight's black coils in a single loop around the blue of twightlight, flashes of celestial silver seen through night's colors - looped thrice, and be-tassled twice. Soaring through an evening sky is a garish green ribbon matching Alymath's hide, and sitting just beneath it a stray wave; this all the knot of a wingsecond of the 'Reaches.
She is awake and looks alert.
Lis is 28 Turns, 4 months, and 18 days old.
Lis reaches up on tiptoe to dab oil into Alymath's pretty sparkling haunches, so absorbed in the task that the green has to get her rider's attention by crooning at the landing dragon. "Yeah, yeah," mutters the greenrider, turning around halfway only to notice a rather familiar face - Keris! - though he's too busy to notice her, and some other Starcrafting type. "Hey! Yo!" Over here!
Osric is standing across the bowl, playing with his firelizard, completely minding his own busines.
Linora slips off the brown's shoulders with the confidence of someone who's apparently ridden adragonback before, turning to offer the beast and his rider a quick thanks before shouldering her bulging pack. She hangs behind her mentor, trying not to notice the cold, but looks up at the cheerful voice. Not someone she recognizes, but as she seems to be included in the greeting, she offers a bright smile and starts off in the direction of the green and her rider. She doesn't even notice that Keris is apparently too busy or too distracted to follow. "Hey," she greets politely, giving the sparkling green a long appreciative look and her rider a pleasant if slightly nervous smile.
Looks like Lis has been nominated the High Reaches Weyr welcome-wagon of the moment. Attempting to get Keris' attention again, only to discover he's scurried inside - smart man, getting away from her - she looks Linora up and down before approving of the knot on her shoulder. "Morning, apprentice. Nice to see some Starcrafters back at the 'Reaches."
Linora isn't overly surprised that her rank is obvious from her knot, nor that the greenrider recognized her craft colors--considering she knew her mentor... who seems to have abandoned her. Blinking quickly, she takes a closer look at the green, just in case that shine might be... extra shiny. She's learned one can't be too careful around green dragons. "Morning," she replies, slightly more formal now, although her bright smile just can't be suppressed. "I been here a couple times before... but only for short visits and stuff," she explains. "I'm Linora."
Not today, fortunately. Alymath is just her loose-moraled self, getting up with cat-like grace to rub up against the returning dragon - her own sort of welcome. Lis, however, isn't in the habit of rubbing up against visitors, at least underage ones. "Ah, nice t'meet ya. I'm Lis, formerly of Starcraft. That's how I knew your knot," she explains, gesturing towards their supplies. "Need a hand? I'll help get you settled."
Linora brightens further, if such a thing is possible, and nods enthusiastically. "Nice t'meet you and stuff," she beams, taking another wondering look at the green. "Gee, a lotta starries get Searched, huh?" She takes another look at the gear they brought, some of which (okay, not a whole lot) has already gone inside with Keris, and still more of which is in the process of being hefted by the helpful brownrider who delivered them to the Weyr. "Ain't much left," she observes, "But I'd appreciate it all the same." Since she's pretty sure Keris won't be back and what remains is a bit more than she herself can carry. "Thanks."
"No problem. My duties to the Hall, but that's not official, since Ista flies your Falls." With a wink over her shoulder, Lis hefts up the few craft supplies, boxes and bags of Faranth knows what, and sets off towards the caverns. "I'm not sure where Keris has got to, but I know where Adar stayed last time -- ah, but that's probably before your time." And so, having dated herself nicely, she leads on to the crafter's nook.
Lis ambles aimlessly to the Caverns.
Linora scrambles to gather up whatever's left, stumbling a bit in the snow as she hurries after Lis. At least it's sure to be warmer inside.
The rough-hewn majesty of this cavern far outpaces any delight in the multitudes of curves that form its enclosure. The glabrous grey granite is shot through with translucent obsidian, lending subtly-veined sparkle to the walls and the foot-trodden smoothness of the floor that shows centuries-old placements of the scarred trestle tables; carven hollows give homes for the glow baskets and the coat-pegs that line the walls. No mosaics, no painting, no tiles: just a few well-done tapestries mark the pathway that lead to the kitchen to the north and the inner caverns to the west, and frame the nighthearth's stew and snacks, while a heavier strip of oiled canvas shields the unwary from the wind in the bowl.
Scattered about in various perches and niches are fifty firelizards.
You see OOC NOTICE (look sign), White Clay Egg Pot, Ini, Mara, and Thief here.
Lis is here.
Pyrene wanders distractedly in from the Central Bowl.
Slight and spindly, her frame is nevertheless held as stubbornly tall as possible, falling only just shy of average height. Curves have in part softened the sharp angles of old, turning scrawny and frail into stocky and trim, with the incongruous bump of pregnancy sitting as neatly as possible on her frame. But there's nothing neat about the lank tendrils of dark brown hair as they escape the skimpy plait that struggles to keep them under control. Plaguing her point-nosed, thin-lipped face, they only serve to emphasise the peakiness of her complexion. Yet if there were any doubts about her vitality, the grey eyes that snap out from beneath dark brows eliminate them as effectively as twin thunderstorms.
Keeping watch from Pyrene's shoulder is Gunwalloe. Kernow watches from Pyrene's shoulder in wide-eyed curiosity.
Black, blue and sea-washed gold tangle their way over the badge worn by all members of Esprit wing.
She is awake and looks alert.
Pyrene is 27 Turns, 2 months, and 26 days old.
Linora follows after Lis, blinking in the dimmer light of the caverns after the bright snow outside, but not totally unfamiliar with her surroundings. Her burden makes her progress awkward, however, and more than one chair falls victim to the swinging bags on her shoulders. "Sorry," she calls to anyone who might be affected by her haphazard stroll across the caverns, but her pale eyes are seeking Lis, who will guide her. She devoutly hopes.
Lis is verily distracted as she enters the caverns, her load set down briefly as she meets and greets, leaning upon it. Hopefully there's nothing fragile in there. "Pyrene!" she blurts suddenly, waving toward the goldrider. "Ah, don't worry none about the chairs. They've taken a beating and will take another."
Pyrene enters the caverns, perhaps attracted by the novelty of a new starcrafter. How interesting.... Although, if Linora is the object of her attention, she chooses to go to the hearth instead, warming her backside cosily. "What in Faranth's great tail is going on?" she asks cheerfully. "I did not realise it was chair-abuse day again already!"
Linora stops short and pales at the unexpected new voice, relief evident across her open face as she recognizes the teasing tone in the weyrwoman's voice. "Sorry," she calls again, resuming her progress with a good deal more caution. But now Lis has stopped... and not knowing what else to do, Linora stops as well. "We're takin' this stuff..." her voice breaks off here; she has actually no idea where they're going. "Wherever the Starcrafters are s'posed t'work," she finished, rather lamely, looking over at Lis for confirmation. "I'm Linora." She'd offer a hand, but hers are kind of full and Pyrene /is/ on the far side of the cavern.
Pyrene is on the far side of the cavern where she's safe from marauding luggage. It's true what they say about goldrider's being all-wise, you know. "Up those steps, I do believe," she jerks her head towards the upper levels. "And then up some more steps until you arrive at the Star Stones. There's a tent up there, and we even let you in for Threadfalls in the winter." It's also true what they say about goldrider's being as honest as the day is long. It /is/ winter after all.
Lis scowls briefly at Pyrene for ruining her fun; she could have had a jolly time leading the clueless apprentice 'round in circles. "Aw, Pyrene, didn't you know? We had to take the tent down. Got some llama skins attatched to sticks - and really, the holes don't let too much snow in."
Linora's eyes just keep getting bigger. "T-tent?" They can't be serious. "It's snowing, and cold and stuff." The bundles in her hands slip through suddenly limp fingers to land on the floor with a thump as she ponders whether she can convince Keris she really ought to go back to Gar. Where it's warm. Project or no project.
Pyrene blinks at Lis. "Really? Well, as long as you left the sleeping furs up there. Keris will do a good job of keeping you warm, young..." she snaps her fingers at the girl for a moment, with apparent mnemonic success "... Linora. Or so I hear..." And her eyes drift to Lis innocently.
Lis raises eyebrows at Pyrene quite innocently. "What? I haven't slept with him in /ages/." Just what Linora needs to hear, no doubt. "And I'll let you have some of my sweaters, Linora. They're a little threadbare, but it's something. When I first came up here from Gar, I wore five. Looked like a pregnant wherry." And she's not exactly looking too maidenly right now, with a non-existant waistline.
The Turns at StarCraft haven't made Linora any less gullible; the girl just gapes. "He... /what/?" She looks from one rider to the other, completely forgetting about the gear she's dropped. "He's just my mentor," she explains. "Ain't there dorms or something... anything?" They can't really mean for her to sleep in a tent. And Keris can't /really/ mean to keep her warm... can he?
"A sign of things to come," Pyrene punctuates Lis' last remark. Oh, she'll be cornering the greenrider later. "Keris will make the final decsion, I'm afraid," she tells Linora, all too soberly.
Lis looks over at Pyrene, deciding, "I think we've tortured her enough. Don't worry, Linora, we really do have a place for you to sleep. And Keris is too old to be sleeping with young women any more." Though Linora is probably still to young to be flattered by ht comment. "But I really did sleep with him."
Linora's relief is evident when Lis finally lets her off the hook. "Oh, thank Faranth," she breathes, too relieved about not having to sleep in a tent to even notice the 'sleeping with young women' comment. She'd have a hard time believing that applied to her in any case. She begins reaching for the bags and parcels she dropped so unceremoniously, still trusting enough to assume that Lis will actually show her the place where she's really supposed to sleep. And as to Lis having slept with Lin's mentor? "Um... that's nice." Is there a correct response to that statement?
There never is. Don't worry.
"Anyhow... do you want to get settled, then? I'll have someone else bring them up, unless you want to make sure things get put away right..." Lis always asks out of courtesy - and laziness! - even if Keris probably took all the expensive, delicate stuff up with himself. Though you just can't know... "I'd ask Pyrene to help, but she's in a bit of a family way at the moment." She can tease back, she can!
Pyrene sighs. There goes her fun. She'll just have to sit her burgeoning self down and satisfy her craving for redfruit on toast then. With extra sweetener. "On cloudy nights, we expect you to join us in here of course," she adds. "And either scrub the floor or tell me gossip. Need to keep busy after all..."
Linora takes another look at Pyrene, having not really noticed the goldrider's condition at first glance. "Um... yeah, I s'pose I'd still have chores an' stuff, even if I'm not at the Hall. I'll be spending a lotta time on the charts, though," she adds--work which can be done on cloudy nights. Turning back to Lis, she hesitates. "Um, I can prolly do it.. 'less someone else is s'posed to." She shifts uncertainly from foot to foot. "It would be kinda nice t'kinda get settled and stuff."
Lis flaps a hand at Linora, waving away her worries. "Piffle. Drudges carry heavy things - it's what they /do/." Hey, no one said Pern was a democracy. One such drudge comes up, looking toward Linora for confirmation; he's known the weyr since he cold toddle about it. "Pyrene," and she turns to address the goldrider, hands on her pronounced hips, "you're a mean, nasty old goldrider. And I love you."
Pyrene waggles her finger. "Less of the old from you! But what brings on this compliment? Your moods doing a toss dance?" She sends Linora a sympathetic look. The starcrafter will get used to it, or.... remain in perpetual perplexity. Either works.
Likely the latter, but Linora's always been rather easygoing. Except where proddy greens are concerned, but she's at least learned to recognize them and keep a healthy distance from them. She nods quickly at the drudge, handing over the items she's already retrieved from the floor and stepping back to allow him easier access to the rest of them. "Thanks," she says uncertainly. Apprentices aren't very far removed from drudges in the grand scheme of things, after all. Even senior apprentices. A questioning look is shot to Lis then... stay? Go? She hasn't even thought to unfasten her jacket yet.
Fyria sashays and shimmies her....self in from the Central Bowl.
Lis isn't proddy, she's that other fun pr word that comes from being proddy. Or just plain promiscuous. "You can settle in too, dear. Don't let us old biddies keep you waiting. But do come back for some klah and sweets, if you've got time." The greenrider leaves the apprentice the option to go, swishing skirts over to Pyrene. "Aw, no. I just love that fact that you're mean and nasty, Pyrene. Being a mother hasn't made you go soft."
Linora flashes a bright grin at Lis for the invitation and trots off after the luggage-bearing drudge, giving the riders a quick wave as she disappears up the stairs.
So many tunnels, so little time; you opt to head across the cavern and up the long broad stairs into the rooms above the lower caverns. Working rooms, these, filled with busy little crafters.