[Log] Relics
Who: Dassah, I'daur
When: Day 1, Month 9, Turn 9
Where: Lakeshore, High Reaches Weyr
What: I'daur meets his first candidate.
Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
This shoreline marks the edge of the freshwater lake that fills the southeastern portion of the bowl. The gritty dirt of the bowl gives way to smooth sand. Dragons love to dive and bathe within the lake's deep waters, enticing their riders to join them for some play; a chilly but refreshing experience. Firelizards frollic above the clear surface, hunting for the small fish that are kept well stocked.
Across the lake, the bowl wall rises high into the sky, its face dotted with weyr entrances. A few dragonlengths above the water, glimpses of a level cliff can be seen amidst boulders lining the edge. Just south of here, a smaller pond of water is divided from the main lake by a natural bridge of land. A path leads across the bridge and up to the diving cliffs, winding through a dotting of small boulders on its way.
The early evening crystal clear as the sun sets over the western rim of the bowl. The air is calm, with no hint of breeze. The water's glasslike surface mirrors the cliff walls and sky above.
Contents:
Dassah
Obvious exits:
LAke Pond Diving Cliff Bowl
Long distance to Dassah: I'daur waves. RP_OK? :)
Dassah
Lithe and sinewy muscles etch the form of the girl in front of you. Her dark mocha eyes peer out at the world from an oval face. Her lips are plump and her nose is soft. Long straight brown tresses fall to the middle of her back. Her shoulders are somewhat narrow but not awkwardly so. Her biceps are toned and likely noticed when seen. She has an hourglass figure that curves smoothly from top to bottom. Her waist is small and narrow and her hips curve out gently from it, though they are not exactly narrow themselves. Her skin is a deep rich tan and her complexion is amazingly soft. Her cheeks are a light pink most of the time. She wears a form fitting tunic of light blue that emphasizes her small waist and ample bosom. A skirt sits low on her hips and the bottom dances about her knees. It is a beige color with blue embroidery which matches her shirt. She stands about 5'5" tall and appears to be in her late teens or early twenties. Currently, Dassa wears the knot of a High Reaches Weyr candidate.
It's gone into evening at the weyr, and the shore of the lake has settled down considerably. While most people seem to be off either eating late dinner, or pursuing quiet activities, there are still a few people who call the sandy expanse of land home. One of these is a candidate, Dassah, who has secured herself a small meal and seems content to be eating it alone on a blanket on the sand. Her gaze is primarily out towards the water, a thoughtful expression on her face as she distractedly munches a meatroll.
I'daur's gait is his usual unmistakeable shuffle, the bronzerider heading toward the lake behind his dragon. Zunaeth, in the lead, passes near Dassah on his way into the water, the older bronze sliding easily into it and spreading his wings stiffly. I'daur does not follow, winding up stopping alongside Dassah himself, watching the dragon.
Few things are harder to ignore than a bronze dragon tromping past, and Dassah doesn't even try, watching the creature as he heads off into the water. As the rider stops next to her, she looks up at him and offers a carefully polite smile. "Sir." She says, her voice matching that smile. She looks back to the dragon, "Yours?"
"Mine," affirms I'daur with a nod, not initially looking to Dassah. He studies Zunaeth a moment longer, then glances down at the girl. "Candidate?" he returns a one-word question, nodding toward her knot.
Dassah nods, though she continues to look away from him. "Yes, sir, one of the lucky and proud few that have been chosen." And again her gaze comes back to the bronzerider, looking him over almost appraisingly. "Dassah, formerly of Southern Weyr, now apparently of High Reaches." Still, it's not displeasure in her voice so much as amusement.
"Apparently so," agrees I'daur, quirking a brow. Very gingerly, he bends down, taking a seat on the ground beside her and stretching his legs out. He rubs habitually at the left one as he offers, "I'daur. Zunaeth." A finger jab at the bronze, soaking in the water. "Of High Reaches, Monaco, and now the Reaches again."
Dassah looks a touch surprised at that list. "monaco? That's down south as well, is it not? Well, at least I won't be entirely alone up here then." A ghost of a smile, but it's genuine. She looks out towards the water again, "Was it hard to adjust, moving between climates like that? I imagine Monaco is, like Southern, on the warm side of things?"
"Very much so," I'daur answers the latter question, nodding. "S'good for recuperating, apparently--s'what they told me, at any rate, and I went along with it. Wasn't so bad, but not my cup of tea. Rather have the Reaches any day." Quite a speech from the weyrlingmaster, who glances over at Dassah again, brows arching. "What're you doing in the Reaches? We don't search that far south, that I know of."
Dassah shakes her head. "Oh, no, I was here already when Moll decided to make me the offer. I've an uncle here, and I had some news that he needed to hear. I'd already more or less decided to stay, though, when I was given this knot." She tilts her head a bit. "You were hurt?"
I'daur nods slowly, thoughtful as he regards Dassah. Then, in explanation: "Last Threadfall. We took a bad hit." He gestures to the bronze--even from this distance, some of the scar tissue around the base of his wing is visible, a different color than the surrounding hide. "So I shipped off for, oh, nine turns or so. Just found my way back here."
Dassah nods a bit, looking back out at the bronze. "The very last? Or just the last for you?" She asks, curiosity overruling tact. "I'm old enough, if barely, to remember what it was like, and seeing people lost to it." A quiet pause. "It's good, though, to have reminders around. There's some that seem all too quick to forget what people like yuo gave up."
"The very last," I'daur says dryly. "Ironic, no?" He snorts, shakes his head. "Y'think that's what I am? A reminder? A relic?" he asks Dassah, studying her head. His tone isn't angry, at least, rather fiercely neutral.
"One doesn't imply the other." Dassah comments, looking over at him. "I think you are a bronzerider. I think you are a respected member of the weyr. Beyond that... Well, I don't really know you to know more than that, same as I bet most people don't." She motions at the dragon vaugly, "But even now, what caused that is obvious."
I'daur arches a brow again, then tilts a quick smirk at Dassah--nearly a smile, in fact. "Indeed," he agrees. Then: "No need to flatter me, though. You prove your point."
Dassah tilts her head. "Flatter you, sir? I'm just stating facts." She stretches a bit. "But, I think getting to know you more will have to wait, I'daur. My dinner is done, and I am sure there are tables and dishes that need cleaning from the living caverns." She moves to her feet. "It was nice to meet you."
"Have a good night," I'daur calls after Dassah, lifting a hand in parting.