[Log] Rebels and Renegades
Who: E'sere, L'dor
When: Unknown
Where: Bowl, Benden Weyr
What: E'sere finds out more about L'dor than L'dor does about him.
Southern Bowl Early Summer. Partly Cloudy. 74F / 23C.
The primary feature of this end of the mile-long bowl is the Weyr's lake, which takes up nearly a quarter of the bowl's capacity by itself. About two dragonlengths deep at the deepest part - which is safely nestled along the wall of the bowl, far from the shore - the water is fairly clear for all that it's warm. Even in the winter, the water never really dips below "chilly," heated as it is by the Weyr's internal thermals. Occupying the southwestern corner, the southeastern finger of the lake dips into what would be the feeding grounds if the fence were still standing.
The tunnel to the weyrling barracks opens on the eastern side of the bowl, just north of the patio-like overhang that serves as the Weyr's stables - for all that the Weyr has stables at the moment. Almost directly across from this on the eastern wall is the tunnel leading in to the lower caverns, meeting up with the road out of the Weyr.
-- Players --
E'sere.........Very handsome and well-dressed man in mid- to late twenties. Lean, rangy build; short dark hair; strong features, including a hawkish nose.
-- Dragons --
Morelenth......Bronze dragon.
-- Exits --
Guest Weyr...............[GW] Northern Bowl............[N]
Weyrling Barracks........[E] Feeding Grounds..........[S]
Patio and Garden.........[SW] Lower Caverns............[W]
L'dor
A young man of 25, L'dor has the look of one who has grown upwards faster than outwards, though he's starting to lose his awkward, angular appearance as he matures. His limbs show enough firm muscle to suggest that physical work is a feature of his life. Dark brown hair is short enough to fit under a helmet and usually falls into a parting, while an unruly fringe refuses to lie flat until it's long enough to need trimming. His face is square with a strong jaw and straight nose, and his skin has acquired a deep tan. Eyebrows are small and neat, not detracting from eyes whose irises are a clear pale blue encircled by a darker ring. Though he won't be setting the girls swooning, he's not bad looking. His hands are broad, with nails cut square.
L'dor is wearing a scruffy pair of canvas shorts that have clearly seen a great deal of wear. They were probably a pale olive colour when they were new, but they're now faded almost beyond recognition. His tunic is a little newer, made of thin, soft fabric in a deep beige. It's sleeveless and more or less shapeless, with a v-neck.
Near the tunnel that leads into the lower caverns, a group of dragons are unloading their various burdens. Most of these are dead herdbeast, freshly killed and not yet butchered, but there are several carrying nets filled with leafy vegetables, assorted tubers, and fruit. Weyrfolk have come out to receive the supplies and carry them into the caverns. When everything's gone, the man who seems to be in charge of the riders - and who, curiously, is a bluerider - calls, "All right, we're done here. If you want to take a break here before you go back, that's fine, but be back in a couple of hours - may as well get out of the heat of the day." They scatter in various directions, but the speaker remains by his dragon for a few moments.
Already appropriated into the work force at Benden, E'sere is among those volunteered to help unload the dragons, assisting in hauling in the produce and other supplies along with an assortment of other folks. He's just on his way back out of the living cavern again when the last bags are picked up, and he pauses near L'dor to survey the dragons and check again for any overlooked sacks. "That's everything?" he asks. "How amazing. I never thought the Southern Continent was any sort of use, but it seems like it grows things better than we even can here."
L'dor turns, and for a moment looks curiously at that rarity, a stranger. "It certainly does. The part we're staying in seems very fertile - none of what we've brought over today was cultivated. It just grows. And the herdbeast are wild, at least now." He steps towards the newcomer. "I'm L'dor. Blue Banyth's, in B'net's Wing."
"It just grows," repeats E'sere, nodding thoughtfully as he offers L'dor a quick smile. "Must be nice. The Reaches doesn't have that luxury--I don't suppose even Ista does, quite the same. I'm E'sere, by the way, bronze Morelenth's. S'dric's wing," he adds the latter after a moment, extending his hand to L'dor. "It's good to meet you. I think I should like to visit southward at some point, but not for a while yet. Your Benden is enough for me to explore right now."
L'dor extends his own hand to return the greeting. "Well met! And when you've had enough of Benden, come and visit - we have a whole continent to ourselves down South. Shells!" He laughs. "I guess that makes me like the steward of the biggest Hold on the planet - even if we've only got a few dozen actual people in it!"
E'sere grins outright then, nodding to the bluerider's words. "I will, thank you. You're in charge of the... What are they calling it, the Southern venture? Anyway, you understand me--I'm still learning names and faces, though at least there are few enough of you to keep track of. Morelenth, at least, helps me keep track of dragons--when he can stop sulking long enough that he's now a rather small bronze," confides the Reachian, with a laugh. "His ego may never recover."
L'dor laughs too. "I'm sure Banyth would sympathise. He used to be a fairly decent sized blue, and now he's one of the smallest, except for the other Connell dragons." There's curiosity in his voice as he asks, "So what brought you to Benden? I don't think we realised that anyone had taken an interest in the place since it was abandoned."
"He and Morelenth should commiserate, then. He was one of the Reaches' largest," says E'sere, with a wry shake of his head. "And I haven't heard the end of it since he first met Gedreth." He shrugs, though, good-natured in regard to his dragon's disgruntlement. "We were actually just intending to get away for a while, Aivey and I--I don't suppose you're met her?" A glance at the bluerider, brows knitting a moment before he brushes off that question: "She's quiet. Anyway, we didn't intend to stay long, just to enjoy a little peace and quiet away from home; but of course, we got quite a bit more than that. But you're one of the... Connellites, yes? I've heard that mentioned a few times but I don't think I've heard the story yet? You're from the past--their past, anyway. But not this time, my time," he surmises,
L'dor shakes his head in silent response to the question about Aivey. "We're from further in the past - we came forward from turn 202, and then found that our Weyr didn't exist any more. Bit of a shock, that! So we came here, and found them just resettling the place." He frowns suddenly. "This time stuff... are we supposed to be talking to you about the future?"
"Turn 202," repeats E'sere, brows sliding upward at that news. "That is a long time ago. So strange--I never knew any of /between/ing through times. It makes me wonder if my m--Weyrwoman, at the Reaches, even knows, or if we lost that secret a long time ago." He frowns himself, thoughtful, as he glances sideways at L'dor. "Ah. Well. The Wingleader S'dric explained to me, what you were doing here--your mission, and how you arrived here, but little else. I... I can't see much harm in it; I'm certainly not going to spoil your secret and risk messing up the future somehow, although it makes my head to hurt to even think about those sorts of things." He grimaces.
L'dor winces in sympathy. "Don't I know it! Our harper found evidence in our time that we'd come back to this time, so we're here because of stuff we left when we were here - thinking about it just leaves me wanting to hit my head against the wall." He nods, considering, and chews at his upper lip. "Well, in our time, only goldriders and bronzeriders got taught about timing, and not all of those, as far as I can tell." He adds dryly, "They didn't think the rest of us were responsible enough, I suppose. But the people in our new time hadn't a clue about it, so I guess they didn't tell enough people to keep the knowledge alive."
"Apparently not," is E'sere's dry agreement. "That... makes me rather curious to know where the secret died out--if perhaps the Weyrleaders of my home, ah, held out on me. Though I expect not; they were... Well. Our Weyr is small, and all those who find themselves in some position of leadership are close by necessity. Ah, well. It's little matter now." He shrugs again, mild, for all he can't resist adding dryly, "Somehow, I don't think some of the Weyrleadership is any more responsible than they seem to think their weyrfolk are."
"That, I couldn't tell you," L'dor says, with another dry laugh. "They also managed to lose almost every record that Connell ever existed - but I suspect that was done on purpose. We weren't too popular in our own day, I'm afraid. And the whole Settlement only lasted a few turns after we all left." There's a wry twitch of his lips at that.
E'sere nods slowly at that, with a half-smile. "Sad, that, that they'd so... willfully hide any record of something. Even to revile it publically would be an important, I think some days--but perhaps that's just me. You were... Why were you not popular?" he wonders. "You seem like decent enough folk, that I've seen."
"Connell?" L'dor gives a soft chuckle. "Oh, we were misguided types who actually thought Thread was going to come back. I guess ultimately, we'll be proved right, but our timing was a bit off. We took ourselves off to the South, so we were rebels and renegades and whatever by definition - granted we did take a fair bit of stuff with us, but the North didn't help by dumping criminals on us." He sounds quite affable about all this, but goes on with more reluctance, "And then, we did one or two things that other Weyrs didn't like very much - it's hard to blame them, really, but from our point of view there wasn't a lot of choice."
E'sere repeats, brows arching again, "Rebels and renegades. Very interesting. No wonder, I suppose, that they should want to suppress what information they have, and prevent future reoccurances of the same sort of rebellion. We had... High Reaches had, in a way, the same problem some turns back: a group of rebels--though they were far from your sort, I think, and really, nothing honorable could be said about that movement. Anyway, if you'd like to tell it, I'd love to hear more about your Connell; this hidden history is fascinating, actually. One knows, of course, the records are never the entire story, but I never expected the opportunity to speak to someone who lived it, at least not in your time."
L'dor hesitates. "I'd love to - could even show you the place, what's left of it. I'm just wondering if I ought to check up what we're saying about telling you things, though. Not wishing to give offence, but..." He spreads his hands, giving a rueful grin. "I mean, if we got back to our own time and suddenly the entire planet had always known all about Connell... it'd be kind of confusing." Laughing, he adds, "Nice - unless we also found that the Benden folk had beaten us off with sticks instead of letting us stay - but definitely confusing!"
"Oh, no--of course," says E'sere at once, hands lifted placatingly himself. "I wouldn't want to get you in trouble over my nosiness. But I will, of course, not be reporting back to anyone at the Reaches--or anywhere else, for that matter. I understand the predictament you find yourselves in, and the importance of, in some cases at least, keeping state secrets." He flashes a quick smile at the bluerider. "Besides," he adds jokingly, "I'm not sure they'd believe everything I could tell them now."
L'dor laughs again. "Tell you the truth, I'm sick of secrets." More seriously, "But, I should check. Sorry. Tell you what," he continues with an engaging grin, "if it's all right, I'll offer you a personal guided tour of Connell Weyr. But, there's something you can tell me, perhaps - you said you didn't know the South was fertile, but are people in this time scared to go there? The Benden folk had all sorts of odd ideas about it."
E'sere grins at L'dor, nodding. Then, tilting his head slightly, he shrugs. "I... No one goes there," he remarks slowly. "And as for odd ideas--there's talk of wild animals and rampant diseases, sometimes, but really I don't think it's something most people really think about, at least not consciously. I can't speak for your time, or the other Bendenites', but the people of our time are too busy to brood on such things; and they are, generally, willing to accept what they are told, truth or not."
L'dor nods slowly. "Wild animals and rampant diseases are about what we were told, too. Sounds as if that goes back a way, then. The animals /can/ be a nuisance - we had some trouble from big felines - but we've not had any real trouble with disease, except for something a few people got at Connell. That was nasty, but it didn't seem to spread. Apart from that - no-see-em bites and sunburn." He gives a shrug. "Hardly life-threatening."
"I'll definitely take you up on that tour, then," says E'sere, pleased and grinning. "And perhaps Banyth and Morelenth can keep the felines at bay--even if they aren't the biggest dragons around any more. I... have vacationed in Ista's territory enough recently--" maybe that explains the tan on the Reachian "--that the insects and the sun don't terrify me too much."
"It's a great place - the part we're staying in, I mean, though Connell wasn't bad, either." L'dor sounds quite enthusiastic, to say nothing of curious. "Interesting to hear about your time, too. You must be seeing things that are different about how we do things, too. Did you have women riders, apart from the goldriders?"
E'sere nods quickly at that, eyes widening slightly. "We didn't--we never even realized it as a possibility. And you even have a female brownrider now? It's... I don't know what to make of it, actually," confesses the Reachian. "I mean, I've--I am weyrbred, obviously--I've always been raised to respect a dragon's choice even if one doesn't agree with it, but somehow I suspect my teachers would draw the line at women impressing. I... I don't wish to sound discrimatory, because as I understand it your female greenriders are quite competent, but at the same time, I'm--surprised, I suppose, is the most diplomatic word for it," he says, with a sheepish laugh.
L'dor shakes his head ruefully. "I don't know what to make of Geneve impressing brown, either. But she's a good rider. It almost makes more sense to me for greens to go for girls - they're both female, I can see that. But if female dragons choose male riders, why shouldn't the reverse sometimes hold true?" He shrugs. "I reckon dragons know who they want, and we shouldn't try to stop them choosing. Anyway, my sister was a greenrider, and we had others - for all the Benden folk thought theirs were the first."
"Interesting," is E'sere's take on that, with a slow nod. "It /sounds/ logical, really, but. In practice? And you Connellites had them before. That's very interesting," he repeats thoughtfully, haf to himself. But with another easy smile, he asks, "You've a sister here who's one? So you must see it firsthand. I've no siblings, myself--none that I know, at any rate. I believe my father has other children now, but. It's quite odd, though, don't you think, that things seem so... cyclical now. Your time, and the Bendenites' time, with knowledge of /between/ing times and with their female riders; and my time with neither."
L'dor shakes his head, regret evident on his face. "I don't understand why the female riders seem to pop up and then go away again. But my sister's not here - she stayed in the past, with her baby." Tilting his head slightly, he muses further, "And the Bendenites didn't know about timing until we showed up. For all I know, I could be the first bluerider to be a wingsecond since Connell, too." He nods, and continues with more confidence, "My guess is that all these things happen from time to time, and people forget - or write them out of the records."
E'sere says delicately, "Ah. I see. I'm sorry I asked--it must be difficult for you." He offers an apologetic smile, and then a rueful one at L'dor's latter words. "I would say so, yes," he agrees. "I can only ever recall even one brownriding wingsecond at my Reaches, and that was mine. And, while he was certainly quite a capable man--an older, experienced rider to counteract my youth--, I feel compelled to admit had there been a mature bronzerider who wasn't already leading or seconding a wing, retired, or quite preoccupied with loathing me anyway for whatever reason, I would have chosen him instead. As it was, my Weyrleader recommended L'ret to me, as a good choice, and I was quite pleased to take the advice--and with my second himself, in all honesty."
L'dor gives a small nod, with lips pressed firmly together. "Benden has brownriders, and Connell had, too - even a wingleader. Though, Connell's weyrleader replaced the lot of them with bronzeriders who were scarcely out of Weyrlinghood, as soon as he had enough." The words themselves may seem in conflict with the studied neutrality of his tone.
E'sere winces, nose wrinkling. "Not a... Not a very good situation, I can imagine," he agrees. Then, slowly, he admits in addition, "I should... I can hardly talk myself, though, being one of those sorts of bronzeriders myself. I was still twenty, barely graduated myself, when my Weyrleader named me a wingleader. You can understand, of course, why some who had been around longer than I resented me. Though, at least I can say that I took the post in better faith than your bronzeriders seem to have: my predecessor had recenty retired, so that we had a vacancy--and needn't strip someone of rank so unceremoniously."
"I imagine they did." L'dor gives a wry grin. "Some of the brownriders in my Wing weren't too keen on B'net choosing me, though for slightly different reasons. The new wingleaders turned out all right, in fact - or a couple of them did. But, without wishing to offend bronzeriders in general, I think when we come to fight Thread, and our lives can depend on our wingleaders' decisions, I'd rather that wingleader had several turns of experience under his belt, more or less regardless of the colour of his dragon."
"Oh, I don't blame you in that at all," E'sere agrees whole-heartedly. "I wouldn't have felt comfortable accepting the position if we had been facing a Pass, even with a steady, more experienced wingsecond. But in this time--in this Interval--I like to think I bring at least some useful skill to the tables. We have always drilled well, and done quite well for ourselves, my wing has, in the Weyrgames. And for us, politics has become as important as anything we do as a rider, to be honest, as we try to get by."
L'dor takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Politics. I think that's pretty constant in any time." He falls silent for a moment or two, then says decisively, "Well, good to meet you. I'd better be moving: I need to see a couple of people before I head back to the settlement. Esseira's probably got a list of what she'd like us to bring over for the next few days, and I think the healer wants to come back with me."
"True, true," commiserates E'sere with a wry smile. "An unfortunate facet of life anytime people get together. But--oh, of course. I didn't mean to keep you, L'dor; you must be busy enough already. I'll let you get back to your work. It was very nice to meet you, though, and I'll look forward to that tour of Connell. Have Banyth inform Morelenth whenever you'd like to take us; we're at your leisure."
"I shall," L'dor agrees. "Clear skies to you both." With that, he turns away and heads into the tunnel that leads to Benden's warren of caverns.