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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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Of Record Proportions; Attn Tesla/Az'riel
Topic Started: Jan 19 2016, 11:46 PM (174 Views)
Nine
Candidate
Unpacking.

Finished.

Straps?

All set for spring.

Exploring?

Mahal sunk into the bathing pool they shared with the neighboring weyrs like a frog concealing itself in a swamp. Not until Rukbat stops trying to kill me.

It is rather more powerful here, isn't it. On the ledge, Shahath rolled on his side, exposing his flanks to the sun's warmth, and let his head loll off the edge of his ledge. And I am well-oiled. Mmmm.. Mahal shared in her dragon's feeling of blissful drowsiness and view of miniaturized dragons and weyrfolk moving about the bowl, oblivious to the desert heat. I suppose it would not be wise to join me on the ledge in your current state for any considerable length of time. Enough for a really good scratch of the headknobs, say.

Probably not. Sorry, blue. The rider fidgeted and blew bubbles in the water, glowering at them as they popped; the candlemark was shrinking away, but nearly fainting during morning drills had bred an unexpectedly strong resistance to going outside again.

Still. All that was left in their weyr was arranging Shahath's brushes by size, or stitching silly little designs on his straps.

...

"Aah, shaffit!"

-----

A short time later Mahal made her way across the weyrbowl, still damp, clad in her lightest summer garments and sticking to what little patches of shadow she could find. She received an odd look or two from some passing weyrfolk who actually looked to be enjoying the weather. Those wearing scarves got a similar look in return. She paused only once to refresh the wet rag she'd tied over her hair in the channel that fed into the bathing pools, touching her cool hand to her face as she escaped inside.

Green-gold afterimages made her feel her way blindly along the hewn sandstone wall. The scent of cooking wafted down the corridor from the kitchen along with voices; she wrinkled her nose and took the first turning away. Her usual appetites for food and conversation had withered in the heat, leaving her fidgety desire to do something few outlets but..

She blinked away the last sun-shadows and found herself looking at a door marked 'Records.' Yes. In the absence of other desirable options, a good read might do. She pushed the door open, leaving water droplets from her headrag on the threshold.

The first scroll Mahal laid hand to was a clutch record, dry as the hide it was inked on. So were the second and third. The other side of shelves was more promising, though she passed up a treatise on native Vaioan plants (no reminders of the desert, thank you) and read a forearm's length of another before deciding the writer's style was interminably dull. When she slid the offending document back into place, it stuck halfway on a smaller scroll that had slipped down. She pulled it out and scanned the start.

Contrary to the claims of its breeders, the best runnerbeast doesn't always win the race.

Huh. That'd do.

Mahal seated herself cross-legged under the lowest shelf and began to read.
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His folks in Keroon ought to have been busy with the harvest. Even so, Az’riel had lately been inundated with letters from his mother, who must either be laid up in bed with a cold or desperate to be rid of the excitable – and obnoxious – blue firelizard who was delivering the notes on her behalf. Tiny though the creature was, it was such a hopeless and bumbling half-wit that even Az’riel’s own ‘lizard had begun to flee the room at the sight of him.

Speculation aside, his dear mother appeared to be quite keen to discuss the latest developments in her craft, and to speculate about upcoming racing results – particularly the ones her own runnerbeasts would be participating in. The former topic had always been of interest to Az’riel, and the latter was of course dear to his heart, but he’d hardly had the time lately to sit down and compose a proper, well-reasoned response. The missives hadn’t stopped coming, though, and there was nothing left for him to do but answer – preferably with something lengthy and substantive enough that it might keep her busy for at least a couple of days.

Therefore, with morning drills concluded and the Weyr enjoying a lethargic lunch, the copperrider had foregone food in favor of swinging by the records room, in the hope that some reading material might inspire him. With any luck, he’d be able to find something related to beastcraft within – either new or controversial enough to be of interest to a craftmaster, or something so obscure and archaic that she’d demand to be brought to Vaioa just to read the sharding thing herself. It was past time for his parents to visit, anyway; while it made little difference to Az’riel, whether they wrote or came to see him in person, Liyanth was always thrilled by their visits, infrequent though they were. He made quite the enthusiastic host, delighted to entertain them and ferry them about the Weyr; he was welcome to it, as Az’riel himself wasn’t quite so accommodating.

Hurrying past the noisy and bustling dining hall – his least favorite place in the Weyr, particularly at mealtimes – he was grateful to duck into the cool quiet of Vaioa’s records room. Preoccupied, and not expecting to encounter anyone while out on his little errand, he didn’t immediately notice Mahal curled up in the corner. Moving swiftly to the nearest shelf, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he’d picked his way across a half dozen volumes before he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

Vaioa’s records room saw visitors on a daily basis, but they didn’t often take a seat right there on the floor to do their reading. Blinking, bemused, he stuttered out a clumsy (and somewhat irritated-sounding):
“Oh, uh, hello.” He didn’t recognize the woman, though that was only proof that she was not in his wing – while he had an excellent memory, he didn’t necessarily bother to retain the identity of every rider in the Weyr. What would be the point?

Before he could take note of what she was reading, however, the rag tied about her head caught his eye – and the fact that it seemed to be dripping had his spine straightening, a hint of alarm creeping into his expression.
“Excuse me, but what is that… thing?” And, more importantly, was it dripping onto the pages currently clutched in her hand? He gestured to the offending article, just in case his meaning wasn't clear, and swallowed down the unease that had been sparked by this unexpected encounter. He'd meant for this to be a quick stop, and he wouldn't be happy to be delayed.

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Elmi & Garnet Basteth | Az'riel & Copper Liyanth
Singrid & Copper Wiliath | J'nai & Brown Elokith
Caylan & Grey Parath | El'jir & Blue Morrith
Savka & Blue Ripariath | N'din & Green Ingalath
J'phel & Black Davoth | I'vend & Graphite Rerioth
Sankal & Black Sansk | Avry & Blue Ask

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Nine
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Mahal pulled the glow basket closer until the room was thrown into darkness and she sat in a circle of light. The stone at her back was cool: not the sharp cold of High Reaches' walls, but a gentle pull through her clothes. As the tingling heat on her skin ebbed away, the surrounding darkness and feeling of weight from the shelf overhead turned her reading spot into the sort of space she usually only sought during hangovers: a private hideaway far from the sun.

Shahath still lolled outside in the heat, but to him it was pleasant, and it was his enjoyment she felt as the world faded out and the author's words went from ink on hide to an imagined voice in her head - probably male, definitely calculating, and a bit too pleased with its own intelligence.

So when a similar voice said 'oh, uh, hello,' she only frowned at the strange non sequitor and peered more closely at the scroll. In the process, she stretched out her left leg and kicked someone in the ankle.

"Oh!" Mahal's head met the underside of the shelf, leaving a damp mark and scattering a few droplets. "Shaffit!" Rubbing her smarting skull, she peered at the visitor: a tall man in glasses, his features lit weirdly from below. "Jays, you're a real person. Sorry. Hi. It's.. a scroll?" She followed his gesture to the object of inquiry and, in the gloom, got it completely wrong. "All about runnerbeast racing. I'm on the bit about keeping a jockey's weight down."
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Not only was he ignored, to begin with, but the woman promptly stretched out her leg and kicked him in the ankle! Jerking back, startled, he peered down at the offending limb before directing a glare back up at the bluerider. It wasn't that he was on particularly friendly terms with most weyrfolk, but they didn't usually come right out and... and attack him, especially without provocation.

You're overreacting, Liyanth chimed in, from where he - like Shahath - was enjoying the sun out on his weyrledge.
Mind your own business. Though he was loathe to admit it, the copper was probably right. A hand drifted up to his shirt collar, fussing with its arrangement while his mind was otherwise occupied; he wasn’t sure how to proceed. He did, however, know better than to comment on her self-inflicted bump to the head.

Shaffit! Jays, you’re a real person.
“Quite,” he answered tartly, a single eyebrow reaching for his hairline. What that comment was meant to imply, exactly, he might never know. She was already striving to answer his question, which he had phrased rather poorly. They were getting off-track.

…a scroll?
Shoulders slumping, he took a steadying breath while she described the document she was reading. The same sort of document he’d been hoping to locate, as it happened, and here this woman was bent over it with a wet rag tied around her forehead.
“A good runner won’t get very far without a decent jockey, but I confess I find them to be the least interesting variable in the races. And actually, I was referring to that… thing you’ve tied around head.”

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Elmi & Garnet Basteth | Az'riel & Copper Liyanth
Singrid & Copper Wiliath | J'nai & Brown Elokith
Caylan & Grey Parath | El'jir & Blue Morrith
Savka & Blue Ripariath | N'din & Green Ingalath
J'phel & Black Davoth | I'vend & Graphite Rerioth
Sankal & Black Sansk | Avry & Blue Ask

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