The Rise of Raaneth (Raaneth's Fifth Flight)

Disclaimer: Adult language.

Fort Weyr - High Sky
Flying higher into the sky, the traffic lightens slightly. Now and again you'll see the blink in and out of a dragon pair entering or exiting between.

When: Winter - Month 2 of Turn 2727

This flight is a compilation of poses that were submitted in response to my initial pose with Raaneth.


The clarion call to arms came moments before the kill, shattering the calm of an otherwise beautiful, winter afternoon. The sun is shining. The sky is clear. And the snow-laden ground is washed in red. This is not the first time they have done this, and yet Raaneth fights it still; a shriek and a toss of her head in wild protest to the demand of her rider; a gritting of teeth and balling of fists and the stubborn determination on the part of Alexa. Separated by space — the queen on the ground; the woman in her weyr — but locked in a battle of wills. In the end, Raaneth relents and claims only the blood from her prey, sucking it dry before casting the carcass aside. Another two follow soon after, and each time the battle of wills gets a little easier. It is after the fourth that she finds her limits reached, the restlessness crawling beneath her hide sending her into the air with a scream of frustration for the insanity of it all. If there are those that follow — and surely there are, for how could they resist? — she ignores them. What need has she for them, when she has the whole sky ahead of her? The wind beneath her wings and the sun on her hide. Those that might pursue are left to their own devices; to try and woo her or to fight amongst themselves, or simply to observe the wonder that is Raaneth in the air. Here, now, there is no room for modesty, and all of Pern might as well be hers. Until that moment comes when her strength wanes. When her agility falters. When she's not quite as quick or quite as swift. A bobble. A break. A tiny mistake and that is the end of it.


It is a shriek echoing off snow-laden stone that stirs the beast born darkness into stirring. While the sun is high and the ground bathed in a bloody glow, Jocameth abandons his perch, taking to the sky like the ominous shadow he is. The blood and screams rending an otherwise peaceful day calls to him, calls to him with a vigor that has his massive form circling the feeding grounds, circling the gold that has become his prey. And while there most assuredly others, they are ignored. They are meaningless in his pursuit of that blood spattered siren. And while the other pursuers no doubt seek to lure her into their embrace with silken words and ardent seduction? Jocameth is the storm roiling the horizon, the shadow stretching over the land to block out the sun and leave the world sunk in despair and gloom. He is talon and tooth, the remorseless hunter, the darkness at the end of all things prepared to sweep in and consume the light, to drag the world into his personal darkness with a roar that heralds the end of all things. The moment that light falters, he is there, heedless of the others that might seek to steal his triumph, willing to use his might and size to send his foes reeling into the darkness that swirls around him like a living, breathing thing. And, should the others not prove his better, he will be there to swallow the light into the embrace of that eternal gloom and claim it as his own.


Jovianth is like a slingshot shot into the sky. An arrow flung from a bow as he streaks upwards past a couple of blues who are simply too slow for this midsized brown. Not too bulky but a streamlined midling brown he catches currents and rides the thermals to his advantage even in this unfamiliar air space. Unlike his constant stream of flirtatious words for greens he is different when it comes to Gold. No words pass towards the glowing beauty far, far ahead of the pack of suitors. No words but an occasional thought burst of cavernous, deep tendrils of feelings of desire towards Raaneth. Soft, warm images will often follow. Flocks of wherries running in the distance against a background of the setting sun.

Jovianth maneuvers around the slow dragons who don't have his stamina. Determination drives him. Pushes him past his own set limits. Unafraid to show his claws he swipes at a bronze who dares to get too close. Blood will flow from parallel lines if the other dragon doesn't move in time. He edges in closer. So do others but he no longer pays them any mind. Instead he watches, increasing his speed incrementally until he sees it. His chance! He attempts to guess her manuevering with a sneaky move in from behind. His goal is to intercept her as she dodges another and firmly entangle them before setting a parallel path to the ground to ensure a long lasting flight.

On the ground is his rider, a displaced Half Moon Bay rider now an Igen Rider. Her attention is focused upwards, her expression tense as she urges her lifemate towards his first ever Gold catch. She tenses as she senses him moving in for the final play, her eyes unfocuses as she steps a few paces away from where she was leaning against the wall. So close…..


This was supposed to be a casual visit to Fort. This was supposed to be a short trip to check on getting a specific kind of stone imported to Xanadu to build an addition on one of the beach weyrs. If'an's plans change, however, with the hot, rushing blood of a queen in season. Raaneth's challenging scream is more than enough to get the interest of a certain pale, dappled and striped visiting brown that's been busy soaking up the weak winter sunlight on the rim of the Weyr. The aging brown grumbles as he gets to his feet, whirling eyes focused on the gorgeous female that's tearing into the unfortunate beasts below. Running out of his meeting, the equally aging miner stops with his eyes on the suddenly determined Xadian brown, "Seriously, Izzuth?! You know you'll never catch her!" And they'll both just end up frustrated. Not to be deterred, the moment the shining queen takes off, Izzuth is in the air after her, trailing near the end of the pack of bronzes and one or two other browns trying to win her. He might be getting old, but all that means is that the large, stocky brown has to be a little more cunning than the younger dragons. He stays a little higher than the rest of the pack, making sure to keep his eyes on the prize and conserving energy until he sees her start to falter. It's only then when he, the mightiest brown in all of Pern, makes his move! His wings pump with effort and he dives for Raaneth…


Ask one of Fort's infamous long-term bronze resident's opinion and he would certainly agree: it is a beautiful winter afternoon! Blood and snow are always an attractive backdrop! It's a complimentary accent to glowing gold. Velokraeth's been keeping an eye (the larger one, thank you) on Raaneth for some time now, scheming in his own way until at last, she makes her move and sends out her call! Once the gathering begins, he'll push off the ledge of his vantage point and, if he could saunter in at that moment, he would. Grace is not a trait to one as misshapen as he, but he makes do.

« Everything's better with some, » wine «blood in the belly! » Velokraeth's snarky quip comes in the wake of Raaneth's wild protesting. All while he helps himself to a generous three herdbeasts to sup bleed dry. Then and only then, does he boastfully claim that one thirst is now slaked and all while pointedly giving her his full attention. He does enjoy his conquests golds having some spice in them! Really, he should not be chasing and risking a disgruntled queen once the snow settles. no one tattle on him to Kouzevelth now But he'll take that risk, for her!

Velokraeth is more inclined, the moment they launch skywards, to try and get under her hide with a tandem of honeyed commentary laced with silver tongued edges. For every bit of 'sweetness' there is implied sarcasm, compliment for criticism or just play dry humored disapproval; all to see how far she can be pushed. He doesn't spare the other chasers a lashing from his mental tongue either! «Turns out that far too much is said about the great ones — and not nearly enough about the //morons. Doesn't seem right! »// While Velokraeth doesn't care much for physical fights, some upstart (Have they met before? He feels like he'd remember stupid like this!) frays enough of his temper to earn a good slap across their face — three times, even! — since his message didn't come across well enough the first two times.

He doesn't catch that first sign of Raaneth's faltering as her strength wanes and that too-small window of opportunity presents itself. Velokraeth's composure dissolves for a moment in a string of colorful curses, before he changes his tactics. He is a type to exploit the tiniest of faults or mistakes and, determined not to let his own foible be his undoing, does exactly that! A few more choice flippant remarks at his fellow chasers and more of that silver-tongued and honeyed speech for Raaneth and Velokraeth closes in. He'll wait, bide his time and then pour his all into making that last strike, talons extended from his too-stunted limbs in an effort to snare Raaneth as his.


«Why don't we ever go anywhere nice?» Zekath's initial grousing will largely be for the snow and cold that currently blankets Fort. Snow is just water in another form and his aversion still stands. no one bother reminding him Xanadu has winter too He'll quickly change his tune, however, once he's left to do his own 'investigating' of the Weyr — and discovering a potential and MUCH more agreeable change of plans! A glowing gold and Raaneth already calling to arms! Now that is one Zekath will answer without even skipping a beat. Besides, it'll help take his mind away from thoughts of freezing his tail off!

And here Zekath though he had his one betrayal and attempted murder squared away for the Turn! Ignoring the heated, cursing, protests and commands over the private 'channel' of his mental link with his rider, he'll throw himself into the frenzy of the feeding pens. Jostling with the rest to pick off the prime beasts while Raaneth fights her battle, one is felled, then another, with him raucously announcing each successful hit among the competition. Anything to stir up some "friendly" posturing and challenge what could possibly go wrong from stirring that pot?! Suiting up, gearing up, it's all the same, to Zekath. Flights are just another battleground, only with a far different and rewarding payout!

Far from being any form of a casanova, Zekath is a soldier mercenary … he's just not that kind of bronze who goes boasting or flirting. Oh, he'll acknowledge Raaneth, but as a subordinate should to his commander. She'll be safe from overtures of suave remarks, because he HAS NONE; just his adorkable failures comments as he fumbles along. It's not past him though to take a few shots at the others in the chase. Once they're in the skies, it's open season as far as he's concerned and if any want to pick a fight, he's game — as long as it doesn't mess with his primary objective: catching HER.

Raaneth can thank him later for picking off some of the would-be suitors! Never mind he's as much a threat as any of them. When she makes that mistake, he'll seize that moment and enact the last of his careful maneuvering and tactics. « You know me, » he remarks in a strange dual-flanged voice among the starlit void of his mindscape. « Always like to saver that last shot before popping the heatsink. » What does that even mean? Zekath veers sharply around one last contender, kicking out to be sure they lose precious distance in avoiding his trajectory dive towards the end game. Then it dawns: « Wait… that metaphor just went somewhere horrible, didn't it? » Such humored dismay! Does Raaneth have a good sense of humor? Maybe it'll still work in his favor as providing sufficient disarming or distracting as he comes in hard and fast; either he's going to catch her right out of the open skies or he'll steal right out from another's talons. Zekath would prefer to end on finesse but he won't be against some brute strength if it means succeeding.


Azirath certainly does not come to Raaneth's call to offer challenges, or promises to battle for her favor. That's not him. This bronze is a lover of the finest things in life, not a fighter, and the queen, in all her shining glory, is very fine indeed. When she takes to the skies, Azirath follows with a croon of something like reverence - Yas, queen, stunning, gorgeous! - that is almost certainly drowned out by the more obnoxious of the bronzes and browns. But that doesn't bother him. Azirath isn't here to prove anything, he's set to flight because instinct demands it of him in the moment. And, in the moment, he will certainly do whatever he can to twine himself about his golden siren in the end.


GLORIOTH WILL HAVE RAANETH (AND PROBABLY LITERALLY ALL OF FORT WEYR) KNOW THAT RED IS HIS FAVORITE COLOR. Unless they're also counting the particular shade of bronze that his extremely handsome face is, in which case it's his second favorite. Not even the particular shade of gold glow that the rising queen can boast will beat out Glorioth's PASSION FOR THE BLOOD OF THE INNOCENT PLAINLY SHIFTY-EYED HERDBEASTS TO WHOM HE WAS FAR TOO BRAVE TO GRANT ANY MERCY. The heifers… the calves… FORTUNATELY, IT BEING WINTER, HE PROBABLY COULD NOT ACTUALLY GET AHOLD OF ANY OF THE LATTER, BUT HE PROBABLY DID SQUISH UNDER HEROIC STABBY CLAW AN UNNECESSARY NUMBER OF THE ELDERLY, EVEN AS HE SUCKED ANOTHER DRY OF ITS LIFE FORCE POSSIBLY JUST A LITTLE GROTESQUELY. Alexa is not the only rider currently engaged in a battle of wills, but unlike the stalwart goldrider, Glorioth's F'yrsomely determined, but ultimately doomed lifemate is losing… very badly. « AHAHAHAHAH HAHAHAHAHAHA! WHAT SUBPAR SPARS THAT SAD EXCUSE FOR A MALE HAS. » He contributes offensive commentary. « IS HE HERE TO TRY TO CLAIM THIS PRIZE? WHAT? HE IS. AHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA HHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA— WHAT'S THAT? YOU'RE NOT TELLING THE MOST MARVELOUS OF JOKES, MIRTHFUL MOLLYCODDLE? YOU'RE SERIOUS? » It only makes the booming laughter worse. Louder. It's okay to cringe; it's a natural reaction - even F'yr is doing it, just a little. It may be that the cringe the bronzerider has is more of a hunch to his shoulders as he makes his way toward the goldrider's weyr. He's following directions given him, or someone else heading there, or both, but he does come despite the fact that had he but known, he would have dragged his dragon on the quickest blink between they could manage. His face is tight as he, uncharacteristically, fights his dragon with everything he's got. It's not enough, and so he remains on the fringes of those who've come out of deference to the events in the air. By contrast, GLORIOTH IS INVIGORATED. HIS RIDER IS UNUSUALLY ENCOURAGING WITH ALL HIS INEFFECTUAL MENTAL PUMMELING. « ONWAAAaaaaaaaAAAAAAaaaaRD!! » It means the Xanadoan bronze who is just too. loud. ALWAYS WITH THE SHOUTING~~ is in hot pursuit of the junior gold. F'yr should never have left him unattended to begin with, but here's that lesson once again because he's committed now, whether he likes it or not. It doesn't matter to Glorioth that this is a terrible time to chase a foreign gold is there ever a good one?, that F'yr wants to head right back to Xanadu free of responsibility and the rigors of time on the sands with Glorioth as clutchsire. HONESTLY, RAANETH, ISN'T HE BAD ENOUGH ACTING LIKE YOU AREN'T EVEN A DRAGON BUT JUST SOME GLOWING BEACON THAT WILL SHINE TO THE WORLD IN EVIDENCE OF HIS VIRILITY ONCE HE BRAVELY STABS YOU AND IMPREGNATES YOU AND HAS DEFINITELY MORE THAN JUST THREE very questionable EGGS THIS TIME?? HE MAY BE UNFAIRLY SEXY IN THE FLESH, BUT THIS FOOLISH BRAVO IS NOT SOMEDRAGON YOU WANT TO BE SPENDING MONTHS WITH, TRUST US, NO MATTER HOW DRAGONLY THAT SCENT, NO MATTER HOW OFF-KEY THAT EPIC THEME MUSIC, NO MATTER HOW OBNOXIOUS THE SHEER MAGNITUDE OF HIS EGO— wait, no, this is fine, he's really selling himself here. THE POINT IS, RAANETH CAN DO BETTER, AND SURELY WILL, BECAUSE much to F'yr's deep relief, one IDIOT JIBE COURAGEOUS CHALLENGE TOO MANY, and a brown is, with his last remaining stamina, bowling right into that bronze and tangling his wings badly enough to force him groundwards. But there's always next time.


He'd meant only to admire her from afar. Honest! Xath had no intention of pursuing the Igen-born queen should she happen to launch herself skyward while he was still in Fort. He, in fact, had said something (but not promised, mind) to that extent to M'tras when he realized just what might be on the horizon. If Raaneth's temperament in whatever short window before she took to the feeding grounds to blood that overlapped with his visit, then the newly-transferred Xanadoan brown was all charm and light entertainment in his exchanges with her. There wasn't enough time, this time, to drift dangerously into any cad territory. Rau couldn't reasonably expect Xath to be in the vicinity of such a vivacious gold and not do whatever he could to brighten her day, even if the chances of his twining tails with her were always abysmal and in his younger turns just the chance to talk with a glowing gold would've resulted in a babble tantamount to sexual panic. At least she doesn't have to deal with that. No, what Raaneth gets from Xath is suave, playful, a touch idiotic but perhaps bemusing, if she's of a mind to be amused. What the brown did not count on was the pull of her and just how irresistible that would prove to be to him. He's had practice at electing not to chase a particular female, but he has no luck keeping himself out of the feeding pens once she was there. He is a touch smaller than many of the chasers, but still larger than some HA HA, GLORIOTH. Xath is also slightly more reckless (or at least so it would appear, deceivingly) than many of the other chasers and that means that he's an accident waiting to happen~ veering with inborn reflexes between bulkier fliers to position himself well within the pack. Given that the Xanadu assistant weyrlingmaster's knot on M'tras' worn flight jacket isn't even fraying yet it's so new, it can be little wonder that he doesn't look entirely pleased to sauntering into Alexa's weyr, dark eyes roving to find the woman in question. Of course, catching sight of her draws a grin that is extinguished as soon as it comes. L I S T E N, he is new in his Weyr, in this role there, and there are eggs hardening more with every twist and turn in the skies foreign to his brown. If one adds to that that despite the fact Xath is flying his heart out, he actually would not know what to do with a gold once he had her (beyond the obvious! He's got that covered, thank you very much, peanut gallery) and thus would probably be rather unflatteringly shocked to actually catch Raaneth even if he had the chance, it's just not a great situation for the brown pair. But the tail heart wants what the heart wants~~! Xath is in it to win it … except that he really just doesn't have the stamina of some of the others, whether because of his color or because he blooded lightly, having come ever so slightly late to that party while he tried to keep to his agreement with his rider (that very importantly was not ever given as his word), or simply because Raaneth's flight patterns are wondrous enough to inspire some small measure of awe that has him spending just a little too much energy here, or there admiring her, but whatever the reason, Xath will not see his nightmares dreams realized this day.

Raaneth - the catch

Raaneth is not the type to be wooed by flattery and praise; empty and meaningless. Neither is she the sort to be baited with insult, though she might snap a quick retort to the offender. It does not dissuade from her course; it does not cause her to faulter. She may not be particularly practiced in the art of mating flights, this being only her fifth, but she is wise enough not to be distracted by banter.

The looming Jocameth is a threat; the dark shadow of a storm across her sunny sky, and more than once her mind touches his as she pursues the sun above. She’s keeping tabs, and will not be caught surprised.

Sweet, silent Jovianth is dodged in his attempt, a fluid roll from a body that should not be able to move as effortlessly as it does. And yet, Raaneth seems to defy the laws of physics in her flight, a master in the air even when she is not pursued by those that would catch her. Likewise, the cunning Izzuth just barely misses his shot, a startled Raaneth fleeing from his grasp and just missing the claws that seek her. It is an unfortunate loss for him, but spells the beginning of the end for Raaneth.

While Glorioth tangles with rival browns (and Raaneth breathes a sigh of relief because she definitely doesn’t have the patience to deal with that level of “bravery”) and Xath is unfortunately left behind, the pack thins and a choice must be made.

Velokraeth is dismissed, not because Raaneth does not wish to invoke Kouzevelth’s ire (because truly, what queen worries about another queen’s feelings when in flight? Certainly not Raaneth!) but because he’s just so dang annoying! Infuriating! And truly, were she a little less able to throw those thoughts to the wind, it might have worked to get her tangled up with him.

But no. Raaneth has a type, and it’s not the assholes rude ones. It’s not even the clever ones. In her short history of being caught in flight, it’s the (perceived) sweet ones that tend to win her favor. The unassuming ones. The ones that are drowned out by the crowd. That don’t try to win her favor with boasts or jeers. So perhaps Azirath would be a natural choice for this. And perhaps she had intentions of letting him win, despite his inexperience. But intentions don’t always work out, and while Raaneth is certainly a queen who is accustomed to getting what she wants, this time, it doesn’t quite end as desired.

« What—?! » is both question and complaint for the missed-metaphor. But whether it was meant to distract her, or that’s simply a happy side-effect, the results are the same. In the moment of ‘what the actual fudge’ that has Raaneth faltering, it’s Zekath that claims her.


Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who participated in this flight! To those that were chasing to win, and those that just wanted to contribute, I am so, so happy that you chose to do so! It was a very difficult decision, and in the end I caved and let a random generator pick for me (because I am weeeeeeak like that!) <3 <3 <3

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