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a desert triumvirate of Hold, Weyr, and Mine. Thread's return and bandit raiding brought strife between weyr and hold, but the bandits' recent defeat has returned the region to an uneasy peace. Now, a shipwreck on a forgotten continent and the decision to settle this rediscovered land has opened up a world of opportunity to Vaioa, if only they can handle the dangers.








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Getting sick of these **** tunnelsnakes !; Open
Topic Started: Oct 12 2015, 11:49 AM (171 Views)
Peeky
Member Avatar
and Brown Chuth!
"Shovel, shovel, ugh, should be exploring, not digging," Ciell grumbled to herself as she dug into the fertile Southern soil with a shovel. She had been assigned that afternoon to construct a fire pit that would be used as soon as the evening's meal. She was innately jealous of those other riders who actually got to go into the caves or out into the immediate area and explore things, yet she had to be stuck behind shoveling. How boring!

At the very least, she wasn't alone in this (and neither did she know that the boredom would be gone in just a couple of minutes). "Hey, Nysine," she called over to the other woman, one of the recent transfers excommunicated from Fort, "wonder when we'll get to do the fun stuff?"

Nysine chuckled back at Ciell. "Aye, but don't worry, we'll get our turn eventually, I'm sure."

Ciell smirked and shoved the blade of the shovel into the ground...

...to be rewarded by loud hissing.

"...oh fardle me," Ciell swore under her breath as the ground beneath her started to move, and , all in a hurry, a tangled mess of nasty tunnelsnaked started to unearth themselves. "SHAFFIT!" Ciell shouted, and, in a hurry, ordered of the blackrider, "Nysine, you need to go back to the camp and get some damn flamethrowers! And bring help!"

"And leave you here alone? As if!"

"Well someone's gotta bat away these snakes until the firepower arrives, but someone has to go get the fire. GO!"

"Fine, just please don't get yourself hurt in the process," Nysine said with worry tinging her voice before he sprinted back to the main encampment, where flamethrowers had been brought down for such an emergency. As Nysine shouted for help, Ciell took to swinging her shovel wildly at the writhing mass of nasty teethed scale noodles. "Eat shit and die!" She shrieked as she did so, bludgeoning a beast on the head there and swinging to chop off a head there, but mostly trying to keep herself from being bitten by the enormous mass of snakes long enough so that she could get backup in the form of fire.
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Posted Image
Wingleader S'ssurnt of Bronze Pontuth
Dragonrider Kallach of Brown Fallowirth
Dragonrider Ciell of Gray Artaith
Dragonrider H'xec of Blue Silreth
Dragonrider Ruk of Green Taiyth
Dragonrider Nysine of Black Ixith
Weyrling Y'nal of Copper Osvelith
Candidate Bronnia
Candidate Zorog
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TheCheeseWhiz
Mother of Whers
Unlike some of the camp-bound souls, Grevor was content to not be out exploring the Cove or, good fortune forbidding, the jungle. He had been assigned the task of chopping some of the felled trees from the Hold-site into firewood for the evening meal. All the able-bodied men must be out clearing or exploring. The thought was amused, not holding a bit of complaint. Yes, the work was menial and difficult, but Grevor appreciated the mechanical nature of it all. His body knew what to do--lift ax, swing, chop, split--and so his mind was free to wander and review his lessons from earlier. His master had taken him out into the forest earlier, so that they could begin to identify any familiar medicinal plants. Two whers had accompanied them. Oddly enough, the whers had been more interesting to Grevor than the talk of plants.

He knew his mind was just growing excited over the prospect of eggs. Word among the handlers was that two of the greens in the camp would mate soon. Maybe one of the little ones will be mine. He knew better than to get his hopes up. Life had a funny way of dashing the dreams of the many. But he would be patient, if the future clutches yielded nothing for him. He had been patient all his life.

Hefting the ax over his shoulder, Grevor straightened his dully-aching back and paused for breath. His mind flitted from the thought of wher eggs to a recent conversation that he had shared with one of the wher-bound healers. The man had had a gorgeous red beast. Bloods, they're called. It had been so gentle, as if it had been placed on the planet to disprove all negative preconceptions about whers. As foolish as it was to hope, Grevor hoped that his wher would be like that. I'll need to ask the handlers which eggs they think could hold a blood or green. Those had been the only types of whers he'd seen in the infirmary, and he thought it safe to assume that the rest were simply too aggressive for such work. Even the blues that he'd seen, though second-smallest in size, tended to be fighting whers. Grevor simply did not have the capabilities to care for a violent beast.

A sudden, loud cry of "Shaffit" interrupted Grevor from his down-spiraling thoughts. The older man turned his head, slowly, as if someone had just called his name. Not startled at all, merely curious. A lot of the youths seemed to like cursing over minor things. Except, maybe, this time.

The young women who had been digging the firepit for supper were exclaiming over something. One of them ran towards the camp. The other was attacking...something with her shovel. Grevor's stomach clenched and squelched uneasily, and his fingers tightened around the handle of his ax. Why so violent? He kept his gaze carefully lower than her eye level, heavy face settling into a frown. Whatever was happening over there, he did not want to be involved. Unless...she was in trouble. Separate from the shrieks of the shovel-wielding girl, Grevor thought he could hear another sound: hissing.

Oh dear. It clicked for him then. The poor girl must have stumbled upon a snake or two. It would be responsible of him to assist her. But...did he want the sort of attention that would come from that? No...it would be best to wait for orders. Safer than making the wrong move and worsening the situation. That would bring repercussions down upon him. Still tightly gripping the ax, Grevor looked towards camp, then back at the girl with worried eyes. Would help come soon?




OOC: Feel free to order him about. Grevor lacks initiative, but he'll jump to help the moment someone tells him to!



Wherpairs:
Malaika & Mask || Grevor & Grevosk || Ara & Arask || Skeiron & Skeisk

Dragonpairs:
K'lien & Lyeloroth || T'lia & Riftith || A'lem & Axelath || G'ist & Kormoranth || Iradin & Leoth || Ashwyn & Taryth || Danera & Vaesth || Luca & Emmeth || N'ik & Ferrivoth || T'vel & Eazarth || Evesa & Seriath || K'ai & Rynith || Toray & Itnalath || Ismene & Istoth

Unbonded:
Deklan || Eana || Malakin || Tiberis || Vosamlye
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