[Log] Threats and Promises
Who: Dekun, Jeradan (NPC), Sh'drian
When: Day 16, Month 2, Turn 4, 11th Pass
Where: Living Cavern, Ierne Weyr
What: Seminole's Lord Jeradan and Sh'drian have words over the recently destroyed tithe.
+---( Living Cavern - Ierne Weyr )-------------------------------------------+
The living cavern of Ierne is unique on Pern. It has a stream running through the middle of it, and it also has a wide stone bridge spanning the stream. Tables and such are set up on both sides of the stream, and there are strings of glowbaskets hanging from the ceiling, each tied to a mechanism that allows for easy changing of the glows. The light from the glowbaskets, combined with the swift stream bisecting the cavern, creates the most interesting shivering reflections on the ceiling. The stone bridge itself is carved with intricate workings of shipfish and waves, repeated incidents of the Ierne Weyr badge on the pillars carved by Stonemasons long past. The bridge also has slender stonework linking it to the ceiling, graceful arches left by nature, enhanced by man.
Aside from the main stream, there is a second stream that all Weyr residents know is good drinking and cooking water, for it bubbles up directly out of the rock, wearing away a small channel that eventually plops down into the river itself, and it's frequently a skipping-stream for the children of the Weyr. Exits lead in nearly all directions from this cavern.
+----------------------------------------------------------------------------+
Players: Dekun
Exits: Bowl Kitchen Hallway Candidate Barracks Stores Bathing Pools Diving Point
Evening, and Sh'drian finds himself picking over dinner idly, most of the plate cleared but a few bits remaining. By this point, he's mostly just pushing them around on the plate without paying attention. Instead, he's poring over a selection of hides, making tiny scrawled notes in the margins periodically. Around him, the bustle of the living cavern at mealtime continues unheeded.
Winding this way and that, moving quickly and dodging both passersby and tables, a young man enters the living cavern. He holds the handles of a wheelbarrow in his hands and the precious cargo that he totes is nothing less than a heaping pile of...fish. Dekun whistles softly to himself as he goes, pausing slightly as he contemplates the maze-like route to the kitchen. A slightly mischievous grin lights his face as he contemplates a daring turn through a tight space between tables, and, with a sudden expression of delight, he decides to go for it. Unfortunately for the lad, his turn is a bit too sharp, and the scaly contents of his barrow topple out onto the floor with a series of wet slapping sounds.
Into the cavernous main room of the Weyr tromps Lord Jeradan, the ruler of Seminole Hold. The heavyset man looks anything but happy as he scans the room, thick eyebrows matching the frown on his lips. The greenrider assigned as watchrider to the Hold slinks behind the man, looking something like a whipped dog in his submissiveness. The lord finally spots what, or rather who, he's looking for and barrels towards Sh'drian, leaving it to the crowd to get out of his way. "You! Weyrleader! What is the meaning of this?" Jeradan bellows, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket and waving it about.
Engaged in his hides, Sh'drian is only slowly pulled away, glancing around first at the sound of fish slithering onto the floor, then at the sound of yelling. For the moment, the bronzerider ignores Jeradan. "Nice mess you've made," he instead drawls to Dekun. "Clean it up." And then, he deigns to regard the Lord Holder of Jeradan, quirking a brow. "It's a paper. Generally used for notes and letters and all manner of written communication," he says unhelpfully.
Whether its the dropped load of fish, the sudden arrival of the angry lord or the attention of the weyrleader, the tune Dekun's been whistling dies abruptly and on a rather minor note, the unsettling pitch lingering in the cavernous air of the suddenly much quieter room. Nodding quickly and swallowing back his sudden nervousness, he mutters a quick, "Of course, weyrleader," before getting to work. He keeps his head low as he picks up the fish, though he does try to steal glances at the conversation now and then.
Jeradan narrows his hooded eyes at the insolent brownrider, then snarls at the man. "I didn't ask what it was, I asked you what the meaning of it is. Here me and my people scrimp and save, doing everything we can to fulfill your unreasonable demands in the first place, even letting you take my boy to be a candidate! And what do you do? You ruin my wagons, kill my men, and destroy my herdbeasts! Then again, it looks as if carelessness with things is how things are run here at Ierne, aren't they?" he says snidely, glancing over at Dekun and his pile o' fish.
Sh'drian leans back in his chair, arms folded over his chest as he stares blank-faced at Jeradan. "Lay off it," he half-snarls, obstinate as ever. "We did nothing. It's hardly our fault a ledge decided to collapse on your tithes. We're lucky we saved anything, considering--you should be glad you still had some men for us to send back. And the tithe is /hardly/ unreasonable. We needed those supplies a lot more than you did. If you'd been tithing decently for the past ten turns, instead of skiving off and shorting us, we might be able to take care of some things better."
As it happens, Dekun gets busted by the snide glance sent his way, his attention fully upon the other two men. In his right hand is a fish that still seems to be barely alive, its gaping mouth moving rhythmically as its gills try to pull life from the dry air. It's wide eyes watch the seen with a horror that seems to match Dekun's own. Quickly, the young man lowers his gaze to the fish, tossing the dying animal into the barrow with a wet smacking sound that seems almost designed to punctuate Sh'drian's reply.
"You. Did. Nothing. Of course. Nothing is ever your fault, is it, Weyrleader? Then why do I hear that it was sabotage? Yet you did nothing. Maybe it's time you learned to control your people and take responsibility for things!" The Lord Holder pauses for a moment to glare at dying fish, then shoves the paper back into his pocket. "Your demands /are/ unreasonable! The Weyr has less people, especially after the Plague, yet still you hound us for more tithes when we can barely feed ourselves! Many of our fields have lain fallow for years and are only now starting to be worked again thanks to the additional manpower we received, and now you waste that which we've given you!" The man hardly seems able to punctuate his sentences with anything other than an exclamation point by now.
Sh'drian's eyes narrow ominously, and he slides his chair back from the table. His hides are forgotten, as are the remains of his dinner. Standing, the Weyrleader glares at the older man, sneering. "Manpower from /us/," he reminds the Lord. "Stay out of the Weyr's business, /Lord/--" his tone makes the title a plain insult "--and just do your duty. Then we can do ours." Somehow, the words sound moderately threatening.
"Why would we want to ruin supplies that were ours anyway," Dekun asks a fish softly as he picks it up off the ground. Whether or not he knows he's speaking out loud is anyone's guess. As it happens, though, he's running out of critters to collect, and he doesn't want to miss a moment of this clash. Stories at the docks for days! Ultimately he settles the predicament by dropping and retrieving the same fish about five times in the hopes that no one is going to be paying him too much attention anyway.
Lord Jeradan is well over twice Sh'drian's age, but age hasn't yet erased most of his height or strength, and he stands almost level with the Weyrleader. His dark eyes narrow at the threatening tone of the bronzerider and he huffs. "The Weyr's business becomes mine when it gets my wagons ruined, my herdbeasts slaughtered, and my men killed. It also becomes my business when my tithe is destroyed, since judging by the previous whining missives I've received from here previously, the Weyr is likely to expect me and mine to pay again when we've already done our duty!" he says finally, straightening to his full height proudly as he stares Sh'drian in the eye.
"Far as I'm concerned," Sh'drian drawls, "you haven't. We certainly haven't got anything from you. Shards, for all I know, you sabotaged the shipment yourself. So you can suck it up and deal, for all I care. You're not the only one having problems, and yours certainly aren't the worst. Not now." He turns to walk away from the Lord Holder, giving Dekun the watcher a slight smirk as he does so.
Dekun looks gobsmacked by the smirk. As it happens, he's got all of his fish loaded back into the barrow. The problem is, the only remaining clear path to the kitchens is between the miffed lord and the weyrleader. Holding the handles of the carting device, he seems uncertain about making the actual decision to move...at least without permission. Finally, however, deciding he doesn't really like the lord and he has an excuse, me moves right toward him with the rolling pile of pesce. "'Scuse me, m'lord, sir. Fish. For the kitchens," he offers apologetically, gesturing toward the door on the far side of the cavern.
Jeradan gives Dekun a dirty look, but steps to one side to allow the cart to pass before charging after the Weyrleader. "Now you listen to me, young man! Don't turn your back on me when I'm still talking to you! You haven't made any effort to replace my carts or herdbeasts, and as for my men, they can't be replaced! As for your unfounded accusations, you're the one with the riders! You're the one that could get up to a weyr! None of my people can do that!" he growls.
"Don't," snarls Sh'drian, rounding on Jeradan, "call me that." He scowls and takes a half-step forward, but, perhaps fortuitously, Dekun steps between them and forestalls Sh'drian's foreward movement. Instead, he balls his hands into fists and glowers at the holder. "If they can't be replaced, don't come whining to me about it," he retorts. "Get off your self-righteousness and look around. We can't replace them, even if we wanted do, so deal with it. You're not getting /anything/ from us." From the other side of the barrow, he stares balefully at Jeradan.
Wishing desperately now he could sink or melt into nothingness, Dekun feel shis face go red, the breath from the bellowing me a physical presence. No longer interested in eavesdropping, he turns the barrow and quickly maneuvers out of the space and toward the kitchens. One backwards glance nearly sends him into an innocent bystander, but a curse and an apology later, he's making headway once more.
Lord Jeradan twitches his lips into a crafty smile as Sh'drian turns on him and retorts. "Fine then, it's agreed. You can't afford to replace them, so we'll take the cost out of the next tithe. Your people will have to come get it as well-I can't risk losing more men to the Weyr's inner struggles, whatever they might be," he declares smugly. There's no telling if he'd planned this from the start or if he just took advantage of what Sh'drian has said.
As Dekun moves away, Sh'drian takes one menacing step forward until he's in Jeradan's face. "Then you'll pay /your/ debts come next fall," he threatens the older man, his voice lowered, eyes narrowed hatefully.
Jeradan doesn't back away when the younger man approaches uncomfortably close. "Are you threatening me, Weyrleader?" he asks, sounding almost amused, like he's speaking with a spoiled child that's too big for its britches.
Sh'drian's smirk is particularly malicious. "Aren't you?" he counters.
The Lord Holder's smirk matches Sh'drian's. "I don't make threats. I only make promises," he notes mildly, then suddenly turns, snapping his fingers at his assigned watchrider. "Come. I have better people to waste my time with," he barks at the greenrider, starting towards the door of the cavern.
"How original," sneers Sh'drian, watching Jeradan intently as he exits. He shakes his head and waits until the holder is gone to viciously upend the nearest table. He gives the fallen furniture a kick for good measure, denting its surface slightly, and then storms off himself, leaving the Weyr's workers to clean up the mess.