Lyllya steps into the great hall, her hair in a bit of disorder and her expression none too pleased. "Alright, this is the absolute end! Koushou!.. Where is that blasted firelizard this time.. I swear, if she's made off with my hairbrush.. Rogue!" Between the two, she's going to have serious grooming issues. Oh, and there's M'dan. "You! Have you seen my hairbrush? The one that Gaed put the stones into? It's gone.... /again/!"
Deciron sprawls idly at a table, a half-finished mug of klah in front of him, idly whistling to himself as he sorts through a stack of hides. Familiarizing himself with the weyr's herder affairs. He glances up at Lyllya storms in. "Maybe a person stole it." he suggests. "Or you just dropped it underneath your bed or something."
Onili paces in silently and raises a brow at the shouting. Lovely. The woman makes her way over to the serving table and promptly pours a glass of wine. She maybe in a terrible mood but Onili isn't... anymore than usual that is. She takes a seat diagonal fromt the Herder and eyes him apraisingly. Hmm. Sip.
M'dan shakes his head in the negative, saying, "Not since yesterday. Knowing those two, you will have a fine time finding it. I bet they think it's a game..." He sits down and watches the room, glancing at Lyllya off and on as he does.
Lyllya blinks at the comment. "If someone did, they had better hand it over in a few moments or there is going to be a little bit of trouble on their shoulders." A little? Lyl's furious at the moment. "I can't find it, my hair is a mess... and my son is waiting for me with one of the nannies! Oh... shardit!" Deciron is pointed to as she stomps further into the hall. "And I would have found it if it were there. Don't you think I have the sense to look?" To M'dan, she gives a half defeated sigh. "It's not a game, it's food! Rogue /chews/ on them.. and he's taught Koushou how to do it!"
Fr'lyn lounges in the great hall, his feet up on one of the tables, and his hands resting gently upon his chest. "Calm down," the bronzer mutters, shaking his blonde head. Honestly...goldriders these days. He inhales deeply, then slowly lets the air out through his nose. Little does he know what's about to happen - he's sometimes a bit slow on the uptake...
In the corner of the Great Hall a man in his late twenties sits, all but unnoticeable save for the bronzerider badge upon the jacket so casually draped over his seat. Who is this man, you may ask? None other than the scythe wielding M'gus, or Magus to those who refuse to deny the fact he rides. Sipping a cup of klah to remove the chill from his bones he idly runs his long, but callused fingers through his black hair, which, oddly enough, seems to have /purple/ highlights. Must be the light. Like most everyone else upon the planet of Pern, he, too, possesses a fire-lizard, a green as sure of herself as any gold, even when asleep. Her tail drapes over his shoulder as she perches, settled upon her throne of a bronzerider, awaiting males to seduce to her whims, like any fire-lizard near heat, though this one, clearly, is not. M'gus watches the goldrider enter, raging over some brush from the sound of it, but as he is not asked about it, he stays silent. Why volunteer information one does not have, nor care divulge, even if one did possess it?
"Err. Can't you borrow a comb or something?" Deci suggests practically to Lyllya. "Well. Sometimes things are in plain sight, and you still miss them. In the open is often the best place to hide, because nobody really bothers looking hard in the plain open spaces." He raises a brow. "Troublesome firelizards, I take it? Or are they your children?"
"You have a son?" is S'tan's question as he stops into the Great Hall himself, annoyed at the fact that his ordered klah hasn't been delivered. "Aren't you a little..young for it?" he questions, nodding sourly at the rest of those gathered in the Hall.
T'rin slips rather stealthily into the hall, chatting casually to another young man by his side. "That's what she said. That's what I - heard- her say, at least. Never can be too sure with /that/ greenrider," he says with a playful smirk as he edges along the outskirts of the room. A sly glance is sent towards a group of the others, and T'rin elbows his friend in the side, beginning a new route to intercept the bunch.
M'dan nods in a placating manner, saying "I see, so it would have been better if it were made of something they could not chew... that might be hard to accomplish, but I am sure it could be done. Perhaps a thin metal with an insert to hold the bristles." He ponders the concept for a bit then decides he would rather get something to eat. He peruses the food table and picks at things, not really interested. He settles on a small bread with spread. Sitting again he glances at Lyllya with curiosity, but does not ask the question which shows on his face.
Slow on the uptake, indeed. Of course, Lyllya is more than willing to state the matter at hand.. and loudly. "Calm? Look at this /mess/!" To S'tan, she shakes her head in the negative. "S'tan, twenty four turns is hardly young for children. Where I'm from, girls start having babes as young as sixteen. Lyam is nearly just a little over a turn and a half now." Deciron is given an incredulous look. "Do I look like the sort of fool who would name a child Rogue? Of /course/ they're my firelizards!" M'dan is afforded a rather rough laugh. "M'dan? It's Rogue. If it's a hairbrush, he's going to chew on it. It's one of those laws that is written somewhere in his blood."
Onili sips her wine quietly from end of the table. Brow quirked again at Lyllya. Rare show. Interesting. Sip. A soft sigh and she leans forward to rest an elbow on the table. Chin soon rested in her palm. Ambers half close. Isn't she the picture of perfect listener? Heh. Right. Sip. An eye cast on the herder again. She needs to get out more. Working too much, "When did you get here?" that was pleasant wasn't it?
S'tan pours himself a mug of the strongest klah set out, and then finds himself a seat to lean back into. He stretches out his legs before taking a sip. "I just didn't know you'd dropped a kid. Whose is it?" he inquires, faking some conversation since he's vaguely polite. On ocassion.
Deciron looks evasive. "Err. Well. People have a tendency to name children odd things? I've known people with much stranger names than that. Maybe it was a nickname?" He takes another sip of his klah. "You should try training the firelizards."
Kathryn sends Celebrian winging off her shoulder.
Celebrian flitters through the wide archway into the Central Hallway.
Fr'lyn shakes his head again, running long fingers through his stubby wheat-colored hair. "Mess, mess..." With a sigh, the bronzerider removes his feet from the table, dropping them back down to the floor with a *thump*. "Honestly, woman...you'd think you were..." Well, he won't even mention it, on the off-chance that she is. Instead, Fr'lyn just mumbles something under his breath, and calls for another mug of something strong.
M'gus's eyes flick from person to person as they enter, taking in the sight of those who encroach upon his territory, not out of malice, but out of a caution learned from having too many nasty things bite him in the fields. His eyes are a deep blue, almost indigo in hue. His odd eyes come to rest once more on Lyllya, who is still ranting like a hog bent on not being eaten. His lips curl downwards in the slightest of frowns, before his face goes neutral once more, his only visible motion being to drink and refill his klah, and occasionally offer a tidbit to his fire-lizard mistress, Schala.
Mizuth> Mizuth is glowing, that much is certain, her wings now have that accentuated shininess that occurs only during the last stages of proddiness. The others are surveyed, her liquid hide glistening as she turns to get a better look before giving a snort of disdain. As if.
Lyllya snorts at Deciron. "I'd have more luck training brain damaged wherries." Speaking of which, her gaze goes to S'tan. "Dropped? I've never dropped my child, thank you." The others would be commented to if it weren't for that horrified gaze going toward the courtyard. "Oh no.. Mizuth.. not /now/!! I haven't found my brush yet! Sharding.... /dragon/!!" Anyone have a guess as to what's about to happen now?
Mizuth> Brazth turns a lazy eye towards Mizuth, his gaze patronizing. Silly glowing golds. With a dragonic sigh, the bronze turns back towards other things...those glowing - the bronze pauses in mid turn, swiveling his head to peer once more over his shoulder. 'Eh...so she is glowing. Might as well try and catch her - there's nothing else for him to do.
***Travel Spam Deleted***
Ground Weyrs Though the room remains basically nondescript, it still holds simple familiarity to most occupants. The center of the it is dominated by a deep wallow in the stone flooring, covered with sweet rushes and quilts marked by the colors of Healer Hall. Off to the left of the hollow a cot has been placed for a rider, it's sleeping furs folded neatly at the foot. To the right, stands a hardwood table covered in medical supplies, a few rolls of silk lines the wall behind it. Curtains cover the two archways leading out, though on good weather days they're pulled back to allow for proper ventalation. Quiet and peaceful, this room provides restful recovery for rider and dragon alike. Obvious exits: Infirmary Dragon Ground Weyrs
M'dan enters from the Infirmary.
Isa enters from the Infirmary.
Mizuth> You angle towards the feeding grounds. Feeding Grounds A spacious grassy clearing draped in a rich mixture of greens with flowering weeds of scarlet, violet and sky-blue blossoms contrasting the vast green. Large herds of bovine and lightly dye-splattered wherries peacefully graze the fields without any fear, until a dragon arrives for feeding time. One of the numerous springs feed the crystal-clear pool for water needs of the animals. Weather-stained slate stone buildings serve as pens in case of bad weather and tool shed to house daily instruments dealing with the care of the herd. The smoke-gray stone fence stands four feet high and circles the feeding grounds with only two gates leading to the weyrling training ground and main entrance used by the Weyr's riders and herders. Surrounded by evergreen trees, autumn is not announced to the people of the south with colourful displays as it does in the north. At Xanadu, the coming of autumn is hailed by storms. Deafening displays of sheet lightning and thunder accompany drenching rain, often for days on end. You see Kyaarth, Fabrinath, Zyelth, Masagoth, and Arliseth here. Obvious exits: Weyrling Training Area Forest Path to HerderHall Skies Mizuth> You head in from the training field.
Mizuth> Aestuans interius ira vehementi. Aestuans interius ira vehementi. Sephiroth. Sors immanis.
Mizuth> Aestuans interius ira vehementi. Aestuans interius ira vehementi. Sephiroth. Sors immanis. Et inanis. Translation: Burning inside with violent anger. Burning inside with violent anger. Sephiroth. Fate - monstrous and Empty. This is Sephiroth. This is M'gus's bronze. This is the misunderstood bronze.
S'tan enters from the Infirmary.
Mizuth> Mizuth snags a rather large wherry and, with a scythe-like move of her talons, removes the head to begin draining it. With a rather angry shriek, the emptied carcass is tossed aside with a dull thud and she moves off for another. This time a herdbeast is chosen and her mode of kill is the same. Yet another body tossed onto the growing heap of what will need to be cleaned up later.
M'gus follows Lyllya, his stride casual, as if he had been through a thousand dragon flights, and who knows, perhaps he has? His rather long--for a rider, that is--black locks float behind him as he enters, the epitome of calm assurance, the master of tact and tactics. He finds yet another dark corner to the room, and proceeds to wait, for timing is everything, you see.
If anyone has been through a thousand flights, it's S'tan, and he's certainly wearing the expression of a disgruntled bronzerider. "So help me Faranth," he mutters under his breath, in a tirade obviously meant for his lifemate. Without anything resembling manners, he finds a spot by the exit, so as to make leaving easier.
Mizuth> Sephiroth wheels in from above, his theme song having been cued, his time now at hand. His own talons sharp as scythes he takes down a large buck with a single, swift movement that would be missed in the instant it takes to blink. His beak-like muzzle quickly latches onto the beast's neck, sucking it dry before, eyes whirling a fire-like shade, he leaps from the ground, downing another beast just as quickly.
Lyllya is in the corner, thank you very much, and armed with any assortment of small jars and throwable objects. "Alright, the lot of you.. back against that wall. I swear to Faranth's fork that the first person who comes near me gets one of these...things.. upside the head! M'dan! Not you, you get over here and keep those people away from me." Yep. Lyl's all for the flight thing.. as long as it doesn't involve her.
Mizuth> Masagoth deftly snatches a herdbeast for himself, biting into the creature's jugular with an ease born of a thousand such bloodings. Soon, its dry husk of a body is thrown to the side, and as the blood rushes down his throat, the bronze dragon consider which will be the next die.
M'dan has no problem moving right up to Lyllya, though he makes no posessive moves. It's a position thing, completely settled in the order of things, and the long standing relationship he already shares with this particular gold rider. His gaze is filled with hunger and anticipation, which normally is not there. He fulfills her request before she even finishes asking.
Mizuth> Kizokuth glides over from the airspace over the training grounds.
F'ox enters from the Infirmary.
Mizuth> Brazth tilts his bronzen head, allowing the queen her first catch. Then with a roar of challenge, he spreads his wings and descends upon the grounds, snatching up a herdbeast and snapping its neck instantly. His teeth sink into the warm flesh, draining the blood and then tossing the limp creature aside. Brazth's eyes whirl a lustful red, and they lie ever upon Mizuth, even as he drains another herdbeast of its life.
Mizuth> Mizuth is on yet another herdbeast, draining it and then angrily ripping it to shreds before flinging the mess aside. The males are screeched at loudly before the liquid gold flows off for another. This is it, this is what she's going to do with the lot of you insignificant males. Catch her if you can, but beware if she catches you first!
Mizuth> Arliseth watches the golden one from behind, moving sideways until he spots a few herdbeasts cowering together. As he moves toward them they move away, until he turns and with a fast lunge plucks one from among them, biting into its back and drinking it thirstily until it is drained, whereon he slams it down, cracking the beast's bones with the power of the move.
M'gus has no desire to violently take Lyllya into his arms and rape her. He's merely here because his dragon is out there. He leans back against his section of the wall, content with the corner, and folds his arms across his chest, merely watching for now. "As you wish, m'lady," he voices in his light tenor, his first words to the goldrider.
Mizuth> Kizokuth comes winging in, original intent was to just plain feed. The presence of a proddy glowing queen is unmistakable however, and the young bronze gives a call to announce his presence before landing admist the chaos.
Mizuth> With a flash of flame-licked hide and gleaming talons, Rainoth lands heavily on the field, mercilessly ravaging the first beast in sight. The poor creature is drained almost instantly and then discarded just as easily as if it were a rag. With spinning eyes the dragon moves onto yet a second, and even more after that, until a good portion of his muzzle is covered in dark red clearly distinguishable from his hide.
F'ox got maybe a quarter of the way down the road towards the herder hall, further down the southern lands, when he was called back towards the Weyr by the fact that his dragon got himself some other ideas. He insinuates himself towards the back, feeling awkward at his knot of Fort brown and black amongst all the purples of Xanadu. "Er, sorry." he murmurs faintly. "Didn't realize you had a queen so close to rising."
Mizuth> Sephiroth sucks his downed beast dry, shredding the abdomen, but not eating from it before moving to another. He can take pain. Oh, yes. Gloriosa. Generosa. Glorious. Generous. His eyes are upon the other males, those who would be rivals to he who could slay thousands, or rule them. If they would only bow without a fight, things would be so much easier. But, if it's a fight they want, then a fight they shall get.
K'pan is the rider of Bronze Korinth of Xanadu Weyr. M izuth> If dragons could snicker, Masagoth would. As it is, he gives an approximation of a draconic shrug as his shoulderbones roll in order for him to catch yet another herdbeast. Maw encloses the creature's throat, and soon after, the corpse is tossed away as the bronze savors the taste of the beast.
Fr'lyn follows behind the rest, slowly placing one foot in front of the other. He pushes his fingers through his hair again and again, highly agitated by this whole matter. Him? Chasing after a goldrider? With a sigh of resignation, the young man wanders into a corner, just as content to keep his distance from Lyllya.
"Shardin' females," S'tan snorts, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall. Of course, he usually pays for such remarks later, but at the moment, there's no one to call him to task.
M'gus has a theme song, too, but his has to words, only dissonant chords that are meant to strike fear in the hearts of his enemies. His gaze flickers from rider to rider before settling on Lyllya again, a smirk crossing his lips--an arrogant smirk--but as suddenly as it came it leaves again, leaving him just watching the room from his dark corner.
Lyllya is going to keep everyone at that distance, thank you very much. "Here, M'dan... take a jug. Anyone moves.. toss it at them. I hope you're a good aim, it'd be a shame to break it on something other than someone's head." Oooh, violent goldrider. "Aim at him first." S'tan is pointed out with a flick of her finger. "I've got more ammo here.."
V'ria walks in.
M'dan doesn't seem to have the presence of mind to do more than take the jug. He stands, holding it as if he actually received a gift of some sort. Madness sets in, or what would pass for madness outside a weyr, and he begins to eye the other riders with unusual hostility.
T'rin moves like a feline in darkness, making barely a sound as he treads into the area and glances calmly at those about. A half bow is sent towards Lyllya as he hears of her wishes, and moves without protest towards the wall. His face remains placid even as surges of emotion course through his veins. He's good enough at controlling himself. At least for now.
Mizuth> Mizuth finishes the blood ritual and then unfurls the windy expanse of wings, her tail twitching behind her once before she bounds from the ground. A taunt of 'catch me catch me' shrieking is called behind her as she climbs into her secondary element.. the air.
Mizuth> You leap into the sky, hotblooded and ready for the chase! Above Xanadu Weyr Stretching before you, the main structure of Xanadu Weyr extends south to north. The masonry is fairly new and free of the deep gouged marks and scratches made by alighting dragon talons upon the long 'rooftop'. Passengers are sometimes discharged on top here, where they can enter the weyr from above. Farther up, there is an opening in the wall of the mountain itself. Surrounded by evergreen trees, autumn is not announced to the people of the south with colourful displays as it does in the north. At Xanadu, the coming of autumn is hailed by storms. Deafening displays of sheet lightning and thunder accompany drenching rain, often for days on end. Obvious exits: Down Up Roof Top
Mizuth> You explode into the air suddenly, leaving the ground far behind.
Mizuth> Zyelth explodes into the air suddenly, leaving the ground far behind.
Mizuth> Sephiret explodes into the air suddenly, leaving the ground far behind.
Mizuth> Celebrian explodes into the air suddenly, leaving the ground far behind.
Mizuth> Nidheith explodes into the air suddenly, leaving the ground far behind.
Mizuth> Frodo-nil explodes into the air suddenly, leaving the ground far behind.
Mizuth> Arliseth explodes into the air suddenly, leaving the ground far behind.
Mizuth> Kizokuth explodes into the air suddenly, leaving the ground far behind.
Mizuth> Mizuth spread her wings, the light glinting off of them to give an almost ghostly sheen of liquid as she climbs ever higher from the ground. This is /her/ game, kids. She's the one in charge.. at least for the moment. A delicate tilt of her wings brings the young gold into a more horizontal direction of flight, talons clawing at the air as if to give her more speed to outrun her perusers.
Mizuth> Brazth trumpets an echo of her challenge, whirling eyes picking up speed as the lust flows deeper through his veins. The blood of the herdbeasts have fueled him well, and the bronze's great wings open majetically into metallic canopies. He uses a thermal to gain himself some well-needed height, looking as if he could climb to the stars. It may be /her/ game, but it will be a team that finishes, and he plans to be a member.
Mizuth> Sephiroth drains the last of his beast, and with a bugle of acceptance he leaps into the air, his mighty wings sweeping downwards in a powerful movement that lifts him skywards, and after the shot of hold hurdling upwards, away from those who would pursue her. His body is almost wiry, attesting to his agility as he gives chase after this lightening bolt in a sky full of them. Can this mistress hide amongst them forever, though?
Mizuth> Kizokuth made something of a mess as he hurrily tries to catch up, feeding quickly without his usual care to avoid waste. Instead the crimson power giving blood is drained post haste while he watched the others with a wary eye. As the queen rose into the air, he too leapted into the sky, his newly gained strength pumping fiercely through his veins, not unlike the hammering beats of his wings as he ascends into the currents. She is a beacon before him, drawing the gaze of his jeweled eyes now whirling with desire, instinct overcoming any youthful hesitation. This is what a bronze is meant for, beyond duty and Thread, and the calling cannot be denied.
Mizuth> Nidheith tears into the throat of his final herdbeast with ruthless efficiency. Eyes whirling with volcanic chaos, he watches the Mizuth through every movement. As his Lady takes to the air, he bugles in response, flinging the dead herdbeast aside and launching into the air with a mighty sweep of his wings, the blood an empowering stimulant, giving him a dark strength. Ever the faithful dark Knight, he follows his Lady to the endless skies.
M'gus closes his eyes, which go unfocused as he listens to his bond- mate. "Aflight already, are you?" he murmurs softly to himself almost. His indigo eyes snap open, however, as he feels his green shift upon his shoulder. "Schala, be still." The little green seems to obey at first, but the winding of her tail suggests otherwise.
Mizuth> Arliseth leaves the heardbeast and ground behind and does his best to climb, joining the pursuit. His lighter body and larger wings give him an interesting edge, though his less than aerodynamic backside provide more than enough drag to cause him to lag behind the stronger bronzes. He maneuvers for position, tactical advantage and does all he can to keep up.
Mizuth> Rainoth presses swiftly upwards, every muscle straining to push him higher and faster. A bellowing shriek is cried out as he tears ruthlessly through the air. Whirling eyes are filled with passion and lust, as red as the blood he had recently sucked down. Light glints off of his every rippling muscle, engulfing his figure in hot flame. The gold is watched unceasingly as he dives forward, slicing through the air as if with the blade of a sharpened knife.
Lyllya is still holding up one of those small, heavy containers used by healers in their ministrations. She's ready if one of those male..er.. riders moves. There may be a few cracked skulls before the flight is over, but at least they're in the right spot, no? "Oh, and don't let it spill, M'dan. They hurt more if they're full when they hit."
Fr'lyn slides his back down the wall, crumpling in the corner like one of the discarded herdbeasts. "Let it be over soon," he whispers feverently, leaning his head onto his knees. It may be movement, but it's in no way threatening...of course, who knows if Lyllya will see it that way...
F'ox looks somewhat abashed at the weyrwoman threatening them all, backed up on the otherside of the room. Not that he's inclined to go any closer. He's going to blame Kizokuth later if anyone asks and if he gets beaned for whatever reason, he's /really/ going to have to come up with better excuses to tell his weyrmate later.
M'dan turns to look at Lyllya, with a leering gaze "Hunh?" Ok, don't expect more than a passing intelligence from the brownrider, but he obediently holds the jar up, after having spilled some of the contents already. Can we say drool-boy? Something about the gold rider's figure seems to have him completely out of sorts, of course, his lifemate's mind link is probably partly responsible, but then, since when was the brownrider ever /all there/?
V'ria slips into the ground weyr, every movement like liquid metal, a molten fire rushing through her veins. Her eyes first lock on Lyllya, and a possesive gleam dances in her eyes. "Hmmm... They rise..." She glances up and off to the side, sensing where the dragons are through Nidheith, despite the walls of the cavern that concealed the outside. She then turns a cool, calculating gaze to the competition. Her lips curl back into a slight, contemptuous sneer, but she wipes it away, saying in a good semblance of casual calm, "Hello, everybody..."
Mizuth> Mizuth gives another high pitched cry of disdain and challenge as her wings pull at the wind under them, making her nearly part of the element she glides through and nearly daring someone to capture /her/. This golden arrow belongs to no one, and none have laid claim to her or placed their mark upon her glistening hide. The challenge is there, however, in whirling eyes and twitching tail. They'll need more than a little 'fly' to come even close, perhaps even a few tricks pulled from the sleeve?
Mizuth> Brazth has no tricks, as yet. He merely pushes against the airstream, gaining speed, and pushing higher. Whoever invented the 'laws of gravity' never had the chance to fly. He dances upon air waves, chasing after the golden prize. She /will/ be his - he is certain of it. With this new determination, the bronze drops down once more, arrow straight, and deathly fast. At a safe distance he pulls up again, gliding low and fast, hoping to catch her from beneath. She wouldn't expect that, 'eh?
M'gus continues to watch Lyllya, however his attention is drawn to the sniveling bronzerider. Contempt flickers across his face. A bronze choose a weakling such as this? Ah, perhaps they thought to change him... Sofar it hasn't worked it seems. Not to M'gus, anyway. F'ox's entry is duly noted upon notice, but all the foreigner gets is a curt nod. V'ria is noted. Yes, V'ria is very noted. Indigo eyes pass soundlessly over her frame, lingering over certain areas before reluctantly they return to her face and he offers her a more friendly nod, attentions returning to Lyllya and M'dan.
T'rin smirks lightly, dark eyes clouded with inner thoughts as he intently watches the sky. He actually enjoys these rituals, even if some of the others don't. A few quick glances are stolen towards Lyllya as he presses his back against the hard wall, cold against the thin fabric on his back. Perhaps some leverage on the ground would give his bronze counterpart help in the sky.
Mizuth> Kizokuth cuts a swath through stormcloud and any floundering pursuers, his own hide catching glints of light like a bolt of bronzed lightning flashing through the sky, arcing towards the golden target. He draws on an agility that is unusual for a bronze, but his size by comparison may explain the compensation. He gives a clarion call of challenge, proclaiming that he will make the catch and no one else, for no one else could possibly be worthy enough now could they? The blood of Fort runs through his veins and that is nothing to sneer at!
Mizuth> Arliseth has his eyes set on the golden backside of the leader of this chase, but that doesn't prevent him from noticing the thermal to one side, rising along the side of the mountain. When more speed is needed, it doesn't hurt to take the 'wind' into account. He grabs for the thermal and rises quickly, angling his wings to derive additional forward motion in addition to rising. He comes up above the pack of others with a clear line of sight view of the gold, and a bit of additional speed pushing at his now advantageous backside. His bugle of challenge makes a solid statement of personal preference as he persists in his pursuit.
Mizuth> Sephiroth has a few tricks up his sleeve. In fact, he has many. He almost idly loops up into a cloud, soaring straight up before quickly diving, and curving his arc until he is straight once more, having lost none of his speed, and perhaps having gained some in the process. He emits a bugle of almost laughter as he follows the Xanaduvian queen, rolling to the right to avoid one of the dragons before letting his course flow smooth as quick-silver once more.
Lyllya is still armed. Ok, she's distracted and armed, this may be a bad combination for the riders present. "All of you against the wall." Except for the rider of the dragon who finally catches. "M'dan! You're spilling things.. and that stinks, whatever it is." OF course, that should keep them away as well.. if it doesn't make her sick first.
Mizuth> Nidheith trumpets thunderously, twisting in the air and actually dropping downwards like a rocket before snapping his wings open with a loud *CRACK!* and spinning dangerously to catch a blasting thermal. He shoots ups with the thermal like an exploding volcano, but he is not just fire, no. He is the air, fast and furious, winds fanning the flames of molten desire. With prevailing strokes he pursues his Lady, the golden arrow, the object of his yearning.
Mizuth> Rainoth spreads his rusty wings out to their complete extent, embracing the sky, as well as the air. Twisting abruptly onto his side, the bronze slits downwards and at an angle, thrusting himself in front of a brown to his rear. Quick and agile movements this large creature may not have, but he does have enough staying power to make up for that - and even more. Resting for a moment on a fast current moving in the right direction, Rainoth takes the time to plan out an attack - a route to take in which to capture, if you will. This gold's every movement can't be unexpected. She eventually has to tire.
Fr'lyn doesn't move from his fetal position - after all, he's already against the wall. The bronzerider shuts his eyes, tensing his body against the blow that he's certain is soon to come. Lyllya doesn't seem the type to tolerate anything from anybody, and so he merely sits there, running his hands through his hair frantically.
Mizuth> Mizuth is no one's posession! Thus, she will be captured by none but the best, if any at all. A shimmer of wingsail indicates a shift in position and the young gold nearly flows upward into the clouds. This may not be the best of manuvers, but it at least draws her into the questionable cover of low flying clouds. Again, her challenge is bugled, though this time sounding a bit more like the rushing of the wind than the call of a dragon. She will get away.. no one will tame her.
M'dan sniffs and looks down at himself. It is a terrible thing. The golden one will not appreciate such a foul fragrance. He does his best to wipe off the offending stench, spilling more of what is in the jar in the process. Of course, he is oblivious to the matter, and then looks back at the gold rider, shouting something unintelligible. But then, when has he ever said anything intelligent?
M'gus wrinkles his nose at whatever M'dan spilled. Foul stench. Can the man not stop being clumsy for half a second? He sighs, which only forces him to breath more, increasing his disdain. The bronzerider takes a breath, as much as he hates to, and tries to hold it for as long as he can, eyes of violet flashing angrily at this indignity.
V'ria studies Lyllya meticulously through narrowed eyes. "... Whatever you wish, my Lady," she murmurs with a deep, elegant bow, Nidheith's usual character shining through his lifemate. She heads to the far wall, keeping as much distance between herself and her rivals as possible, shooting them each cold glances, giving an especially icy look at M'gus. "If my cousin didn't have my sword, my Lady," she murmurs to Lyllya, "I would duel all of these fools for you." She is apparantly lost in the high of the flight, her usual amiable self gone without a trace.
Mizuth> Brazth bugles a return cry, dark bronze wings piercing the sky with every upbeat. Without missing a beat, he swivels his neck to study the clouds, searching for a glimmer...ah, yes. She may be hidden within the clouds, but by that reasoning, she can't see his dark body below her. Gaining some confidence, the bronze pushes a bit higher, keeping just behind and below Mizuth's strong body. He'll win her yet, for he is the most worthy bronze of them all!
M'gus wrinkles his nose at whatever M'dan spilled. Foul stench. Can the man not stop being clumsy for half a second? He sighs, which only forces him to breath more, increasing his disdain. The bronzerider takes a breath, as much as he hates to, and tries to hold it for as long as he can, eyes of violet flashing angrily at this indignity. His gaze idly returns to V'ria, a smirk briefly crossing his lips. He likes his women feisty now and then. Yes, indeed. Mmm. For a moment a rumble escapes his throat, eyes falling into cat-like slits. He'll wait. For now, at least.
F'ox grimaces and holds his nose, trying not to let the distraction carry over to his dragon as he leans up against a wall and tries to shut everything else out. He's not going to take any further steps into that ground weyr anyway, just in case Lyllya gets paranoid and starts clobbering people whether they've won or not. He's heard things about these Xanadu riders, odd lot they are. ;)
Mizuth> Hiding in the clouds may be a good way to avoid others - but it impairs vision for all involved, not merely the chasers. With a trecherous snort, Rainoth's wings are tilted upwards, and the thick winds press him up in turn. The cloud engulfs his form, so that he is yet no more than a quick shadow appearing every now and then, silhouetted against the sky.
Mizuth> Arliseth is suddenly distracted by something, he turns his head around to look at himself and slows considerably. When he turns back he notices that he has lost his advantage, and dives for the thermal again in hope that the wind will accelerate him again. He swings back up quickly, 'storm'ing the pack of bronze and brown dragons chasing after the golden arrow. Powerful strokes of his wings drive volumes of air behind him, and he dodges to the side to rejoin the chase, now below the pack and again in clear sight of the golden one.
Mizuth> Nidheith becomes as silent as the shadows, veering off just a little bit and soaring high, a dark pursuer. He focuses all of his blood-high strength into forward speed, eyes whirling in determination as he struggles to pass the glorious gold, his Lady. He uses all of his tricks to attempt to get ahead, to surprise the golden wind.
Mizuth> Mizuth gives a screech of anger, her wings now pulling at the element she has become part and parcel of. A few sweeps of her tail reveal her position in the clouds as she attemps to climb even further. She will escape and be free, a magical form roaming free on her own with none to control her. She will belong to no one! The fact that she is tiring is barely alluded to, the beating of her wings becoming more frantic than thought.. as if she were being pulled back. Captured? Never!
Mizuth> Mizuth may be no one possession, but neither is Sephiroth. Veni, veni, venias. Come, come, O come. The bronze let's his shimmering wings take him higher, his movements like mercury at room temputure. Liquid. Fluid. Aestuans interius. Burning inside. His heart beats within his chest, blood set afire by such a free spirit as she, such as would run, and dare to be free of him. Such things fascinate him. Such things do things to him. He moves with stealth, yet with speed, cutting through the clouds as if with a scythe of doom, letting no obstacle stand in the way of his obsession.
Mizuth> Wiinnndddyyy!! Yes, it's windy out here, that's what it is. The bronze from the cold north seems to have adapted well to the warm currents, or perhaps it's because his southern bred rider has brought him down to these skies and made him familiar to these thermals and chancy winds? Like a hammer from the heavens, Kizokuth plummets to dive through the cloud layer to the shining form below, arrowing down in a spiral, an ever tightening circle, focusing on the queen. A cry is given, a challenge as he sweeps in. By spirit and strength, he pours his heart and soul into a last attempt as others crowd in.
Mizuth> Brazth feels the lust surginging through his veins, but for the first time, there's something else...fatigue. The first rays of fatigue being to wind their way through his powerful body, tasting, grabbing, leeching what strength he has. Ever determined, the bronze pushes forward; pushes upward, ever following her lead. He's just under the cloud cover, hidden from her view, his whirling red eyes tracking the invisible queen. A swish of the tail and...aha! With a crow of triumph, the bronze pushes forward with his last ounce of strength, reaching with talons and legs for that beauteous creature before him.
Mizuth> Rainoth spots a separation in the clouds, a road to glory, with dazzling gold awaiting at the end. She is there, right before him... if only he can muster up a last spurt of energy! Metal-hued wings embrace and attack the air simultaneously as they frantically push upwards, above the clouds. At the critical moment, Rainoth uses all his force to dive, to grab the beauty he knows lies somewhere beneath, and claim her for her own. Plummeting steeply he falls, wings outspread and demanding, eyes whirring in anticipation of a hopeful catch to come.
Mizuth> Veni, veni, venias, ne me mori facias. Come, come, O come, do not let me die. Sors immanis et inanis. Fate - monstrous and Empty. Gloriosa, generosa Sephiroth. Glorious, generous Sephiroth. The bronze twist inside the cloud cover, pulling upwards inside of it, angling in such a manner as to /gain/ speed rather than loose it. His mind reaches out, seductive, and generous. Offering the world if she will be his mate, his queen. His eyes burn bright with a violent anger not against her, but against these rivals who don't deserve a prize such as she. Who could never catch her if their lives' depended upon it. His silver talons reach forth as he draws neigh, his tail curling and uncurling, his hungry lust for her almost overpowering for his mate, so far away now. < Mizuth> Arliseth waits for fatigue to take hold of the golden one, having had the advantage of the thermal's wind behind him. He may be brown, but he isn't slow or stupid either. Tired he may be, but not so tired that his senses are not capturing every move of the wind, every current and eddy, taking the most direct and clear path to the capture. Just a little closer, a little closer, wait up! Mizuth> Nidheith blazes through clouds, the sheer effort of the chase making his wingbeats slow, just a bit. He booms out a bugle and launches his ambush. He is not quite where he had hoped, and though he was more above his Lady, he was slightly behind her, as well. No matter to him, he folds in his wings, curving talons opened as though to grab his prize as he rockets down with death-defying speed. The brown abruptly brakes his dive, wings opened to full length, reaching to envelop his one desire, his glorious golden wind, lingering deep within his hert, Hope... V'ria is the rider of Brown Nidheith of Fort Weyr. Down below M'gus is indeed struggling with his life-bond's mating passion. His eyes shift between focusing upon Lyllya to being unfocused as his attention shifts to his life-mate. His breath is slow, almost inaudible, but by no means steady as he fights to control himself, attempting to maintain the casual pose he strives to keep. Lyllya gives one final effort, one last burst of energy before being pulled back. Back! A scream of incredulity emerges from the gold as she finds her neck and tail entwined with those of Kizokuth. She's been captured, claimed, and her power is now the possession of another! Ah well, perhaps she can make this one a partner? At least a comrade of sorts. For now, however, he will have to form the wind to carry them downward on the spiral groundwards. Mizuth> Mizuth gives one final effort, one last burst of energy before being pulled back. Back! A scream of incredulity emerges from the gold as she finds her neck and tail entwined with those of Kizokuth. She's been captured, claimed, and her power is now the possession of another! Ah well, perhaps she can make this one a partner? At least a comrade of sorts. For now, however, he will have to form the wind to carry them downward on the spiral groundwards. Fr'lyn sighs in relief as Brazth is deterred, though the bronze is anything but happy. Now for a nice, long, *cold* bath... Lyllya now pushes M'dan aside. "Go get a bath! Feh! You stink!" Of course, this is said as she moves toward F'ox, her eyes rather unfocused as she loses herself in her dragon. Winner? He's got to put up with a goldrider who couldn't find her hairbrush! Mizuth> Brazth droops in the air, slowly gliding back towards the ground. What did he do wrong? Where did he faulter? M'dan comes to himself and sets down the jar, nodding mutely as he moves away from the gold rider. He wanders off, brushing against the others, and spreading the joy of the lovely fragrance he has spilled all down his front. M'dan heads for the infirmary. Kellsi heads for the infirmary. Mizuth> His seductions ignored, and his claims denied the bronze turns back, *betweening* for home... M'gus lets out a sigh of relief as his bronze does not catch, and his mate's drives fall short. With a breath the rider quickly heads out. F'ox pulls himself out of rapport and blinks as he tries to rid himself of the sensation of falling. It's kinda unnerving, not quite as disturbing though as the heady influence of Kizokuth's instincts still riding his mind. Now, why does he also feel the urge to press further back into the wall behind him as Lyllya approaches?! ;) Most people call it fear... she's still armed.
