Avaeth Rises

Xanadu Weyr - Clearing


A wide clearing stretches from east to west, the ground packed hard although grass grows across most of it. Trees are strictly forbidden in this space, their danger to the constant draconic traffic reason enough to banish them to the forest that creates a this and sharp border to the north. Where the ground is less trampled, tiny flowers poke their delicate heads out from their shaded hiding places with upturned petals to wave to whoever may be looking.

The cliff looms imposingly on three sides, stretching upwards all the way up the side of the mountain where, high above, Xanadu's Star Stones and the ever present watchdragon sit on a lonely peak. Directly south is a massive tunnel, fully wide enough for even the largest dragon to fly down. Southeast are wide steps leading up to the Caverns and eastwards is the large entrance to the Infirmary. Somewhat north of the Infirmary is a human sized archway that has a frequent quantity of traffic — it leads to the Tavern. Southwest lies the low ledges currently belonging to Xanadu's queens while north and west a broad path cut by the side of the cliff leads to the Feeding Grounds and due north is the spacious trail that leads to the rest of the Weyr.

Dhonzayth senses that Avaeth ventures forth with a calling, the sandstorm embracing the mind and engulfing rather than buffetting in the harshness of the storm. « I will rise. » A moment of pause, the storm fading. « Come. »

Avaeth senses that Dhonzayth stays wrapped in the sandstorm, letting the winds spiral his thoughts, slowly spreading ribbons of gold and copper into the storm. « We come, lady.

In the clearing, is Zevida. Unlike her normal proddy self, she has a crowd of riders following her about. Flirty, this time and promises to each one in turn has lead them to follow her along. Though, it may be the influence of the bronzes that are along with Avaeth.

Its a brassy bronze that appears over Xanadu, quickly landing in the clearing, the Istan Dhonzayth pausing only long enough to let L'ton to the ground before he's taking off in Search of Avaeth, proving to her that he will answer her call, crooning as he goes. L'ton meanwhile, is left to tug off gloves and helmet, shaking his head before he runs a hand through his hair, turning to smirk at Zevida as he spots her.

Zevida is tilting her head at the arrival of another bronze, her brows lift curiously and her lips form into the smallest of smiles. "L'ton." She greets, slowly with a soft laugh. But, her attention doesn't linger long there. She's glancing towards the feeding grounds.

A small, almost scrawny bronzerider ambles out of the tavern, a thin layer of amber liquid just coating the bottom of the tumbler in his hand. D'vad swirls it, watching the light catch it before he tosses it back, keeping hold of the empty glass as he makes his slow way over to where Zevida and her pack of drooling suitors stand. "About that time, isn't it?" He gives L'ton a slightly bleary grin and a wave with the glass-holding hand before letting murky blue eyes drift back to Zevida. "Looking good today, weyrwoman." His grin stretches - it's the only time the little man might get away with such a comment.

K'sky is lost, bumbling along from the direction of the beach but not really knowing where to go or who to see. Already his face is red just from the exertion of hauling his overweight carcass up the road, but it just gets redder as he spies a gathering of people. he pauses a short distance away from them, trying to get his breath back before he goes closer and hoping that the sweat stains on his shirt aren't too noticeable.

L'ton smirks at Zevida as she notices him, inclining his head and winking as he moves to her side, offering an arm - that's how you're suppose to treat a lady! Following her gaze towards the feeding grounds, L'ton chuckles a little, shaking his head as D'vad joins them. "'bout that time indeed. Look at 'em all… most of 'em'll be having more of whatever ya did, before ta long." L'ton says with a wink, a confident air around him. "Dhon's looking forward ta being up there with Avaeth again, ya know sweets." He says cheerfully.

Like rider, like dragon, Leith is far from lean and nimble these days. The smokey bronze, old by many's standards, settles carefully at the edge of the pens to watch the beasts and figure out which one he'll flatten first.

Zevida is eyeing D'vad with a slow look before she graces him with the slightest of smiles. "Thank you. Look quite.. Fine, yourself." A soft laugh before she's taking the offered arm from L'ton. "Smug." She states, "I know.. Avaeth says so." But, there's no clarification, just a tilt of her head towards the forest. "Weyr's that way." For those who don't know..

Stumping along grouchily, G'zon makes his way up from the direction of the beach and squints around the clearing, his seamed old face clearly betraying his crankiness about his Borzith getting in on this party. "Too old for this …" he mutters under his breath but musters a polite nod for Zevida.

K'sky recovers enough to brave the crowd, wiping sweaty palms down his trousers a couple of times before venturing forth. "Hello." Small, older, and round, stands to reason his voice would not be the squeaky tone that comes from him. "I'm sorry to bother." Before he even asks Zevida answers his question. "Oh. Thank you."

Like rider, completely different dragon. Where D'vad is scrawny and small Golath is huge, even for a bronze. Brawny and burly he blots out a portion of the sun as he circles, contrary enough to offer out a bassy bellow that gets the herdbeasts milling frantically. What better way to choose the weakest of the bunch? Decisive, he spots a trailing young cow and plummets, knocking her sideways with one sharp claw and then landing with the other crushing her to the earth. The rich coppery smell of blood fills the air as he dips his blunt muzzle to rend her throat.

Borzith creaks audibly into the feeding pens, the sun not doing much to brighten up tarnished old bronze hide. And yet the elder dragon's eyes burn with keen ferocity about the game about to getunderway. He lets out a throaty bugle as he launches after his first kill, paws almost strangely tender and gentle in the caress they deliver to the herdbeast's back right before he snaps its neck with a loud crunch. The warmth of blood meeting earth makes a heady aroma and leaves behind a taste of iron filings.

D'vad eyes the much taller L'ton with a disapproving squint. Or maybe the squint is just trying to get the fellow bronzer into focus, muzzy around the edges as D'vad is. "Awful cocky ain't ya? You're not even /from/ Xanadu… poaching our golds," he mumbles along but the Zevida tosses in her compliment however halfhearted and he straightes, puffing his chest out a bit. "Thank you ma'am. If you'd rather not have a lousy Istan escort you, you just let me know." Another little scowl has to be cast upward to reach L'ton, and D'vad leads the way toward the weyr with quick little steps.

Avaeth is lurking amongst the beasts who flee in terror, her eyes focusing upon one beast. A pause, fluid movements from the gold as she selects her prey and no hesitation as she launches upon the herdbeast. A touch of flesh to hide, the beast down as she drinks. The taste of blood as she feasts, turning and launching to a second who wails and was not as smart as the others to flee. The scent overwhelms both rider and dragon.

Zevida tsks softly, "no fighting." She chimes, despite that little grin she wears as they start towards the weyr. Though, it's after a few moments of hesistation do they finally arrive.

Dhonzayth is quick to find the feeding grounds, lured on by the sounds of the herd, the echoes of the other males who have taken to the pens to taste the sweet blood upon their dry throats. A loud trumpet, and wings spread wide as the brassy bronze topples a beast, feeling it settle beneath him before his pale muzzle drops to the beasts throat, letting the blood spill for only a moment draining it eagerly, before the beast is cast aside. The warm taste of blood, coupled with the intoxicating presence of the fiery-gold Avaeth herself, the bronze turns his gaze to stare, before suddenly taking down a second beast.

G'zon just snorts as he too spots L'ton and folds arms across chest. "Bad enough we got an Istan boy weyrleader now, we got t'put up with /you/ too?" But he pipes down as Zevida speaks and waits a moment or two to limp after her and the others.

"Whatcha talking about?" L'ton says with a wink to D'vad, brushing off his comments with a still cocky grin on his face, more than happy to linger at Zevida's side as they meander towards the Weyr, glancing at the others, older and younger, as if sizing each one up. "Gotta give them ladies what they like, can't never forget that." And then he's staying quiet, and noticeably close to the goldrider's side.

Leith focuses on Avaeth after a while, the cries of the beasts alerting him to the current situation more than any building need. The need is there, lurking, and he launches clumsily to squash a beast, body landing flat against the warm hide, the smell of panicked squishy beast filling his nostrils as he dips his head to tear at the throat and drink. One bite won't hurt though.

K'sky follows along behind the little group, puffing a little as he tries to keep up. The sweat patch on his back grows slightly and if there's the beginnings of an odour around the group… guilty.

Avaeth is draining the blood, drinking eagerly as the coppery blood runs down her throat. A glance towards the third, but, the bronzes are /all/ spotted by her searching eyes. Removing herself from the drained beast, she launches upwards, spreading her wings wide and catching the wind. The breeze is gentle against her hide as she takes to the sky. Higher, higher, higher. Above the Weyr, with a taste of the winter air as she releases a buggle. « Come. Catch me. » But, she doesn't wait, darting off into the eastern sky.

Golath lifts his reddish bronze muzzle, turned crimson by spilled blood as Avaeth begins to feed. It tears his whirling eyes from the drained prey beneath his foot and even distracts him from seeking more for a moment. It means that the rich flavor of a single beast is all he'll be able to savor as Avaeth leaps skyward. Her bugle is echoed by a deeper bass note of a bellow and he's off, leaving the metallic fragrance of blood seeping into earth behind as his wings spread to catch the air. Used to the caress of chill air he streaks upward after that glint of gold, seeking warmer thermals but so far finding none.

Borzith bends his muzzle down to inhale the warm aroma of the beast just killed then laps his tongue at the slick mess matting hide before sinking his teeth into the animal again, drinking deeply. The creaky old bronze takes his time filling up with that first beast, eventually fells a second with the hard smack of a paw to the side of the cow's head. His tarnished hide takes on a brighter countenance once he's drunk from both, deep violet eyes lifting up to admire Avaeth's glory. That long tail of his lashes back and forth as he waits on her, mind answering with the clatter of old pots banging together: « Your wish is my command. » And off he goes, even if it's not the smoothest takeoff, the forest-scented wind rushing over wingsails.

D'vad waits by the door of Zevida's weyr, managing by sheer dint of will to move fast enough to beat the others there. If his breathing is a bit fast certainly no one will notice with the dragons all heading up into the sky. He glares openly at L'ton but gives the other more familiar bronzeriders respectful nods before filtering out toward the edge of the group as everyone arrives.

Dhonzayth drains the second beast, relishing the warm liquid as it slips down his throat, life's liquid giving him energy, giving him encouragement, whispering words to his mind, soft nudgings that touch his thoughts, preparing him for the great chase that stretches before him. The bugle of the gold reaches him, reverberating in his mind, before that is enough to send him skywards. The crisp scent of the cool winter air, the soft breeze that touches his brassy hide does nothing to cool his enthusiasm. The trail of gold to the east has all of Dhonzayth's attention, and faceted eyes linger only on the rising golden sun of Avaeth as his wings taste the winds, carrying him onwards in pursuit.

Leith's instincts grow sharper as he drinks, the taste of the blood dulled by his gaze being fixed on the glowing gold. His muzzle drops again, and it's in hearing her call that he snaps his head up again. His talons clench in the beast below him, the warm hide parting to tease him with the smell of delicious food. Food. He could… his wings snap out, launching upwards then dropping slightly before rising again. He has a lot of bulk to move, a lot of time to catch up.

Avaeth rides the soft breeze, allowing it to lift her like gentle hands guiding her path as they brush along the golden hide. It's the sound of the wingbeats of the chasers that bring her attention to them, a gentle croon in return to the sound of the wingbeats. Upwards again, a loop that is not quite as agile as any green's, but still there as she tries to mimic. With a taste of winter wind, she bugles once more, her challenge. She must go higher, before she can be caught.

K'sky isn't really following for a purpose, he figured this was the way to the weyr like Zevida said. it's onyl when he realises he's in /her/ weyr that he pauses, blinking around and trying to figure out how to escape politely. He lingers at the back of the group, praying that if he doesn't move too much they might not notice him and he can creep out.

L'ton can deal with being glared at. Its really about par for the course. But, rather than glare back, L'ton just settles in, making himself at home at Zevida's, and sending rather amused grins to the other bronzeriders as he does so. "Relax, guys.." He murmurs, even as he's drifting to be more and more Dhonzayth, and less and less L'ton.

Dhonzayth continues to climb after Avaeth, the cool air offering no help for him as it touches his pale hide, offering no aid in his quest. And yet, while faceted eyes watch her loop, as his soft croon lingers on the air, the sound encouraging Avaeth on in her stunt. Tongue flicks forward, lingering, before he's striving upwards once more, following her tail, fighting to get close enough to taste her, close enough to smell her, close enough to hold her. Brassy wings fight in the cool air, up, up up.

The way the sun hits golden hide is like a magnet for Golath. Though his bulk is muscle not fat, his wide wings still have a lot of work to do, and they beat at the crisp air with purpose. The sound of Avaeth's encouraging croon brings an almost furious pace to the flap of great bronze 'sails, perhaps too eager to get that first taste of conquest, too early for the smell of victory to be in his ambitious nose. It doesn't bode well this expenditure of energy but he can see that for now at least he is gaining.

Leith puffs onwards, wings beating double time and feet clawing at the cold air that wraps around him. He can see thepack ahead of him, he can hear them, the taste of the best he squished still lingering on his tongue and in his mind. There's just a sniff of a catch up, the tiniest amount, but then he drops slightly and has to fight back onto the right path.

Avaeth wiggles her tail at the sound of the croon, taunting those closest to her. A glance back with a taunting croon now, the scent of the fresh air the only smell that lingers with her. Not the smell of the approaching bronzes as she weaves through the gentle touch of the breeze. A rumble, like laughter from the gold as she turns, now facing those who chase and diving downwards into them with a taunt. A tilt of her head, attempts to nip and taste those she passes.

Dhonzayth croons again, sound reverberating through his body at the wiggle of the tail, the shaking of the golden lure that has him so entranced throughout this heavenly dance. So close, so close… He continues to dip and weave, enjoying the touch of the cool winter air on his warm hide, watching that golden sign. And then, suddenly, its gone, and he's left to look up in surprise, the view suddenly different, and there's a momentarily taste of fear in his mouth as she dives back into the crowd. And yet, the desire to touch her, to smell her is too much, and he's struggling to turn with her, muzzle outstretched to snap at her as she passes, though he catches a nip over his shoulder as she goes.

Up, up, down. Up, up, down. Leith keeps trying, determined to at least get a sniff of gold hide for his trouble. A taste of… concentrate on flying. Up, up, down. Too much weight, he can hear his wings struggling in the caress of the wind, but he can see her! Right there!

Borzith has been keeping up by dint of careful positioning rather than speed or power, canny old fellow that he is. His mind reaches out after that laughter, tickling at the rumble with complimentarty thoughts. « Such a lovely tail … » Old leather creases are highlighted by the touch of the sun on his hide as he dips a little, swings to the side, angling to find a better position. Nostrils flare as the scent on the wind changes, a hint of sea-salt tasted as well as smelled, blowing in from somewhere and wings flap a little as the breeze picks up, like the flutter of a ship's sails in a brisk tailwind. The caress of that wind is stimulating and Borzith seems to find some energy to take from it, surging forward after Avaeth.

Golath is not the type to croon tenderly, he hisses at his fellow chasers, bugles with surprise and frustration as Avaeth turns on a wingtip and slides past. The rush of air as she passes brings the musky scent of her glowing hide over him and he tips, trying to rearrange his bulk for a mimicking downward dive instead. His claws scrabble at the air as if they might find something solid enough to gain purchase on, his tongue flicking out to taste the cold winter air as he descends back after her.

Avaeth has a taste of a bronze on her tongue, from the caress against Dhonzayth's hide. Wings spread to slow the decent downwards. It's a glance back that has her twisting her wing slightly. A wrong move, the scent of fear filling her nostrils. And she's tumbling, free for catching in the bronzes following, allowing only one to right her. « Catch! »

Borzith has the scents of salt and sun in his nostrils, twinned tastes on his tongue, the feeling of warmth and coolness mingling along his hide and Avaeth, beautiful Avaeth in his sights. She goes falling and the old bronze tucks his wings in with an audible snap to go pursue that tumble and make an end of it, mind already forecasting the passionate joy that they could share, /will/ share if he is fast enough to spiral downward and wind with her.

Dhonzayth can smell the ichor the flows briefly from the nip to his shoulder, the scent causing him momentary concern, unfamiliar and quite unlike that of the gold he pursues. Backwinging briefly, wings buffeting the air to keep him upright, he balances, trumpeting loudly as the winds suspend him. But then, the sound of Avaeth's plea tickles his mind, tickles his thoughts, and the falling gold fills his sight. Minor wound forgotten, he's dropping after her, hovering no more, with talons, tail, and neck outstretched, eager to right her, eager to taste her in retaliation.

Golath is silent in spite of his surprise as Avaeth tumbles - now is not the time for expending energy on unnecessary sounds. His eyes narrow, leaving nothing but the lovely spiralling Avaeth in his sights as his wings fold back to speed his dive. He can almost taste the pleasure they will share if he can only be the one to halt her fall, and the iron-laden scent of Dhonzayth's wound gives him the confidence to think he might best the bronze with so many victories under his proverbial belt. The dry winter air leaves no obstacle to his downward race, and he stretches foward to catch the lovely gold, ready to snap out his wings and halt their fall should he succeed.

Leith is out of breath, the cold air burning in his lungs as he tries to cross the last of the distance. In his mind he can taste the win, hear her submitting, feel that golden hide in his clutches. In reality he almost almost blunders into a brown he didn't quite see and his fight for height becomes a sudden dropping down, down, and away. Maybe if he's quick some of the beasts will still be edible.

Avaeth is tangled, bronze hide with firey golden. A fight, a struggle against it before she's releasing a croon of defeat. Dhonzayth has her, in his clutches, his scent overwhelming as the taste of him does linger. « Good. » Is the final thought from the golden as she twines herself with the Istan bronze.

Dhonzayth twines his brassy neck with Avaeth's fiery golden one, wings supporting them both as she croons in defeat, lifting their warm hides higher in the cold air, relishing the touch, the taste, the sight, the sound, and the smell of the gold, a confident sound escaping him as a last comment.

When one expects the thrill of victory, the taste of defeat is a bitter pill indeed. Golanth lets his frustration be heard in a hissing growl as he banks to the side, away from the entwined pair. The frigid embrace of the lake's waters should serve to soothe him, rid his hide of the clinging sensation of failure while the crisp taste cools the heat of desire from his throat. Pale blue takes the place of fiery gold in his vision and he quickly circles down and out of the air.

Borzith can feel the whoosh as he's bypassed and Dhonzayth emerges victorious. There's a mournful bugle left behind along with the mental feeling of what could have been and the incongruous scent of flowers. Then the old bronze dragon's dulling hide is disappearing from view as he sinks down through the air to drown his sorrows in the sea of Azov.

Blink, blink, G'zon comes back to himself after leaning heavily against the wall for a while, lets out a quiet sigh and stumps out the way he came in.

D'vad's hands are still balled into fists, but he refrains from sending any more glares after L'ton. Instead he just grumbles under his breath as he too leaves the weyr.

L'ton , the confident, appears to have had good cause this time. And so, as the other riders are leaving, and Dhonzayth is snagging Avaeth, he's snagging Zevida.

K'sky began shaking at some point during the flight, and now that it's ove he finds himself craving steak. A big juicy steak. And some dessert. "How good is dessert here?" but he turns and leaves before anyone can reply.

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