Five Mines, Ho! (Part 2)
Location: Exile Island Beach and Five Mines Hold
Time: Morning/Evening of Day 1, Month 8, Turn 3
Players: Aivey, Derek, Diya, D'rian, E'sere, Islay, J'lor, K'tric, L'vok, Lucian, M'uri (NPC), Odern (NPC), Ownah
Scene: The exiles leave the island and head to Five Mines. Ambition has a price.
Above Five Mines, in the evening, the orange sky is suddenly filled with dragon silohuettes. Thirty adult dragons stretch their wings, backlit by the setting sun. Moments after, a formation of dragons slightly smaller appears. With gaps. Six gaps, where weyrlings used to be. After a single beat, the quiet evening is filled not only with dragon wings, but with their piercing mourning keens, as well.
Morelenth keens, too, and Kasvatuth, as the pair spiral lower toward where the rest of the group is. Donavon's among them, waiting and restless and scanning his eyes across the sky rapid-fire for two certain dragons. Morelenth is easy to spot: thinnest, darkest, biggest. Kasvatuth isn't so easy, but finally he makes her out as she comes closer. K'tric looks sad but no worse for wear, really; the losses he and E'sere both seem to accept as simply a fact of life--a necessary sacrifice.
After multiple trips, the appearance of a dragonwing in the sky has become old news for the inhabitants of Five Mines. Many of those who showed up to watch the initial arrival have since dwindled off, but those that remain are in for rather a surprise when this final trip is heralded by sudden keens. Standing by with his Council, Lord Odern wastes no time turning to them to demand, "What is this? What are they doing?" It's unlikely that he could hear the answers if there were any, though, for he's covered his ears against the noise.
Aivey maintains a white-knuckled grip on E'sere's arm. Anxiously looking for signs of other arrivals, by twisting and turning in her seat, literally unable to sit still until she's spotted what it is she's looking for...until the keening starts, that is, and Aivey buries her face against E'sere's side. And in the sky there's a gap where D'rian and Taikath are suppose to be - somewhere beside Kasvatuth and K'tric. The duo can be found, though, opposite their spot in the formation.
It's definitely something not seen everyday. That means a lot of workers have cast off the working chains for a bit. Ownah was drawn to the goings on only because she was working outside to begin with. Hardly happy to see dragons, all things considered, she has still stayed close by, watching it all. Eyes wide she steps back a pace when the dragons start their keening. There's whispers from the people she stands with, but she doesn't say anything but, "Someone died. One of em or something," quietly to those closest. She was just at a weyr after all. That's all she says and then she's back to being quiet, watching.
Derek's question echoes, unknowingly, Lord Odern's - but the island king, bedecked in boots and full trousers and a proper shirt of a decade-old make, asks in silence, mouthing the words. He's first to climb down from Vellath once the blue has landed, though once those old boots hit the ground and he's done staring around at the howling dragons, he looks up to reach a hand for Nera to use should she need it. What he lends his soft, sandy voice to saying is, "J'lor, do you need to tend to them?"
Islay isn't certain about this. She hasn't been comfortable about it since hearing they would be coming back to the mainland. But, she's perched behind T'gar on the brown, what few possessions she has neatly bundled on the dragon's back. Including the "chair" T'gar made, and the bed, such as it is, though the brownrider has promised he'll replace it with a /real/ bed soon enough. And now, they're here. Her eyes are wide and she clings to T'gar's like a terrified child. And then the dragons start to keen....
One person who doesn't cover his ears is Lucian. The harper stands at the fringe of Odern's council, clearly connected but not quite part of them, and though he braces himself and squints his eyes as though the sound could physically buffet him, he doesn't attempt to cover his ears against it, and the tiny trace of a smile that has been on his face since the beginning does not falter for a moment. He starts to hum a harmony, quietly to himself.
Nera takes the help on the way down that she didn't take on the way up; one hand curls around Derek's, and that helps brace her when her boots hit the ground. Nevertheless, the headwoman staggers a couple of steps, with an uncharacteristic lack of grace; her expressive mouth is twisted in a reflection of the response of dragons and riders as she halts. Skirts are straightened, and she turns for J'lor, raising her voice to be heard over the keening. "Derek, go and see him, J'lor needs to see to the weyrlings." A rare order, from the woman who's backed the orders of two men over the turns.
The bluerider hunches low as Vellath wails, the vibrations from his cries traveling up and through his passengers. But he is circling again, demanding that the weyrling dragons send their names and check in. Unsaid, of course, is the implication that such a relay allows Vellath to learn not only who is here, but who is not. He wings downward, next, sweeping into a landing in Five Mine's courtyard. The bluerider unbuckles his passengers' straps first before seeing to his own, sliding down to the ground and leaning against the blue's stretched neck. "Six," he says as he hauls cap and goggles off of his head. "They'll quiet soon. It's just...what they do. When a dragon dies. I..." a small glance to Nera. "Thank you." The exiled bluerider turns his attention towards the weyrlings as they land.
Once the weyrlings begin to land, L'vok is among them, glancing around to see who did make it, nodding when he spots friends, but the sorrow still shows in his eyes. The brownrider does not speak, and remains quiet as he usually does, especially during any emotional time. For Now, L'vok doesn't glance towards J'lor or anyone else after the initial survey, choosing to close off into himself.
Derek's hand, in Nera's, tightens for a moment, then departs her fingers. The man himself watches her, watches J'lor, and looks back to Nera again. "Come with me," he says very softly, a little too high of pitch - blame the recent obligation to ride a dragon and worse, go between - then turns to face the Hold, and with pale, bright eyes start to pick out from among those who await, those who await specifically to be approached, to speak and be spoken to. Another glance at Nera: he takes her order, will she take his? Then he moves forward, so she will have to obey with steps, if she chooses.
D'rian is amongst those who land, both he and Taikath suitably shaken. The bronze manages to land beside Kasvatuth, and while shaking and paler than before, does his best to comfort the green. D'rian manages not a whole lot more than sitting rigid atop his bronze, his features stiff. Not even M'uri shouting to him from across the courtyard does much to change that, though it can be said the weyrling's father is glad to note his son is not among the six missing. Aivey, once past the initial shock, continues to keep a firm hold on E'sere. Mainland bound now, and within reach of the 'Reaches... it mightn't take much to guess why.
Ownah can't help but be curious and so despite a few whispered warnings from the other women she was doing laundry with she begins to move closer. Not close enough to be accused of doing it. She's just moving around, trying to get a better look at all the dragons, yea? That's it. If her path meanders towards where the big wigs are it means nothing. Nothing to see here. Just the little worker girl trying to get a better view. She is, at least, careful when she spots Lucian to come around behind him. Away from him. He's one of the few who would recognize her in a crowd after all.
Among the voices keening is Nenuith's - but even before she's done voicing her misery her rider's hand upon her neck and soothing words from Diya seem to calm the horrified queen, and this calm she passes on through to those she's flown with and those of her brood that survived. Only when the queen finishes her last few breath-catching sobs of agony does Diya look down to find the island's healer and a few men ready to help her bring down S'val from between the queen's wings. This process is complicated and will take some time, and while it goes on the prodigal goldrider pays only occasional, wary glances up to her surroundings, to the unfamiliar-familiarity of this distant hold in her home Weyr's coverage.
Lord Odern removes his hand from his ears warily, eyeing the dragons who created the noise with a queer suspicion. When they don't burst out into any more unexpected rounds of keening, he crosses his arms over his chest and draws himself upright. He and his council have chosen a careful position, slightly elevated on an outjut of rock, and now that they have all stopped cringing from the noise, they appear clearly as the people to meet.
Ownah gets by Lucian, but she doesn't get much further than that before the harper's eye, trained for detail, alights on her. Shooting a faintly smiled look to the side, where the Lord and his council stand, the harper detaches himself from the group and sets off to intercept Ownah near the front of the crowd. She may not even notice him, so easily does he move through the crowd, until he appears in her vicnity. "What do you think," he wonders softly, pitching his voice so it carries, somehow, /under/ the din of the crowd. His eyes flick to hers only to confirm, once she hears, that he was speaking to her, and then go back to the dragons.
Vellath keeps his head low, keening fading off into faint, unhappy mewling noises. But beneath the wash of Nenuith's queenly calm, even those quiet after a few minutes. The rider is not faring quite as well, sniffing and red-eyed, though not particularly apologetic about his obvious emotion. One arm comes up to swipe at cheeks and nose occasionally as he moves towards the twenty seven that made it. L'vok is given a quiet study but left, for now, to his own thoughts. The bluerider stops at Taikath and the boy mounted atop him. He doesn't say a word. Only extends one hand, palm up, in silent offering to help the boy down.
There's not a lot to do, now that they've landed. Islay lowers her hands from her ears when the dragons cease their keening, craning her head around to see if she can figure out which weyrlings did not reappear from Between. She shivers, since she didn't have the benefit of heavy clothing for the trip here, and doesn't seem all that eager to alight. Her eyes roam around the mine, taking in those people who are gathered from the hold. Her bare legs are cold, even though it seems to be summer here, and she says nothing. The other people on the brown dragon are helped to loosen their straps by T'gar, but Islay remains where she is, not certain how to take this. Not to mention that ground looks rough for barefeet.
Eyes drawn away from the new people, Ownah looks at Lucian. How does he do it? She looks away as fast as she looked at him. "Think about? Think it's trouble. Think if I'd wanted to stay near dragons I'd not have left the weyr, yea? But ain't my place to say. Just more troublemakers, right? Just gotta keep my head down and stay away from more of 'em now. Don't change my life. Just got to get the job done." There's a sort of finality to her statement. As if she's trying not to invite more conversation from the harper.
D'rian takes a moment to realize there's someone standing in front of him, and that the someone is J'lor. Once the connection is made, it takes him another moment to manage a nod to J'lor before he stiffly shoots himself down Taikath's shoulder. Which is to say it's his own stubborn pride that keeps him from accepting J'lor's hand, and thereby making it all his fault that when he lands, it's squarely on his ass as his knees buckle and drop him there. He doesn't look terribly pressed to pick himself up either, though it's a greater battle to keep his now red face from scrunching up and looking like a four-year old about to throw a tantrum. M'uri is well on his way through the crowd, to D'rian and J'lor. But not in time to hear D'rian say, "It was a mistake." Apparently so.
L'vok glances over at M'cay first and then J'lor, nodding sorrowfully, attending to Benreth and his needs before begiing to unload in silence. Not much looking around is given to his new home now, nor will there be any looking around at this time. Sorrow still in his eyes, L'vok focuses on his work.
Lucian's smile curls up at the corners while he listens, but only a nod shows that he's still in fact listening: his gaze has left the dragons now, but only because there are so many new /people/ to be watched instead. The weyrlings - marked out by their smaller dragons - seem to be of particular interest. "Precisely," he tells Ownah beside him, but this time he doesn't bother to pitch his voice so carefully, and the single word could well be lost in the crowd.
Nera looks at Derek for a moment, then nods once and smoothes her trousers with a sweep of one hand, turning to accompany him toward the Hold. E'sere comes along, to make introductions to the Lord and his council; when these few words are said Derek turns to the bronzerider and asks in all solemnity for him to see to the weyrlings J'lor can't tend. It is Morelenth, though, with his dolly-ornament, that Derek glances back at. In moments more the island king, headwoman, and their Lordly host move off into the Hold to confer.
K'tric, unlike most of the weyrlings, seems to just take everything in stride. He's not upset, he's not surprised to have survived or to see who's lost. Instead, as Kasvatuth lands and lets him down, he slides down with comparative grace (at least compared to D'rian). On the ground, he's silent still, though he pulls out his own remaining ace to finger it while he looks around, taking in all the sights and committing them to memory as well.
"If that's so," J'lor replies softly, "then they've died for nothing. There must be more to it than that." The bluerider gives another sniff and notes M'uri's approach out of the corner of his eye. "You'll need a weyr," he adds, backing up a step and inching towards another dazed weyrling. "Pick your own." He turns to say a bit more loudly, "The copper mines have been cleared out. Riders, we can each pick a cave to serve as a weyr. Weyrlings, you too."
There's several moments that pass before T'gar turns to Islay, pressing her hand as encouragement. It's also a signal for her to dismount Echeloth. She manages to slide down the dragon's shoulder without falling, but only barely. And when she's standing on the ground, her knees are ... well, they're not as steady as she'd like them to be. But, then, it's time to start unloading, and that takes up her time and thoughts for the moment. L'vok is noted, smiled at and nodded to, if he happens to look in her direction. As are Aivey and E'sere, and others she knows. Once a few lighter things are down, T'gar waves her away. She moves over to where L'vok works, saying, "I'm right glad you an' Benrath made it all right."
Ownah lets out a sigh. "Means more work too. More laundry and more food to be cooked. Imagine I'll be busy enough soon enough, yea? They really them?" Now she pitches her voice low and looks away from the new people to the harper. "This ain't right. I don't even know if I can stay. Not with this. Husband finds out. . .husband finds out I am in trouble." Shaking her head she sighs and smoothes her vest down absently with both hands.
"Dead's dead." D'rian rebukes, hollowly. Nothing more is said, though, because M'uri's present and his father is enough of a presence to have him keep his mouth shut. There's but a nod to what the man commands - namely 'on your feet' - and when D'rian is there, with Taikath snug against his back, M'uri says to J'lor, "Better to weed the weak ones out now. Well done, old man." To a man barely his senior. Aivey, upon dismounting, watches after E'sere. It'd be him more than 'that weird man in the boots' that she watches... and yet the weird man still does get a brief acknowledgement. At J'lor's bellow, Aivey turns to Morelenth. "Figure he's already picked out the best one. Go get it, I'll wait for him."
"They're really them," Lucian confirms, without the hint of resignation (or dislike) that colors Ownah's tone. After a moment, he switches his smile down to her, though it is wholly out of place with her worries. "You did not imagine you would be in trouble before?" One of his hands lifts and overturns, the fingers slowly falling out in a helpless gesture.
"We should stay, and--lead," E'sere says quietly to Aivey when he returns to her side. "The weyrlings, the rest of them. They need me right now. That can wait a little bit, unless you want to go with him to find it?" He shoots a glance sideways at her, though it's only a moment before his eyes go back to the weyrlings coping with the loss of those six they knew. Donavon has headed off to intercept K'tric now, the latter offering him a cheerful smile when they meet back up. "We did well," K'tric offers. "Only six lost, only six and my sister and everyone else is here with us."
The bluerider's back is to M'uri, so the slightly younger man is in prime position to watch J'lor's shoulders lift and square. His head ducks down as he turns back to the brownrider. Slowly. His klah-dark eyes are bright, but not from tears. Or, at least, not only from tears. They are fastened on D'rian's father. "Say that again," he growls softly.
Ownah lets out a resigned sigh and almost sounds amused around her worry. "Suppose. I mean, I guess I never thought of. . .yea. He's gonna be mad no matter what. But riders. He didn't like me bein' around 'em. Cause of how they are, yea? Immoral he said. Gonna just have to be more careful. Same as the others though. I show em I can handle myself they leave me be." Glancing around at the crowd she's in and then towards the ones they watch she frowns, thoughtful. "Gonna have to make an example soon I think. Probably no good. Could be trouble. But gonna have to. Otherwise more trouble comes."
M'uri, rather cold hearted, does. And slower, too. "Weeded them out," A pause, "Way to go, old man." It's not derisive, either. D'rian, just beyond his father's shoulder, looks from the man to J'lor. His expression is hard to read, though it's obvious enough that he's not proud of what his father says. "No," Aivey replies to E'sere, "It's... go on. I'll... I'll.." Not help the Weyrlings, that much is clear. So she stays put, taking the opportunity to watch people as they disassemble and move off.
L'vok starts organising some of the Qeyrlings he knows, trying to keep them busy at this time as he glances towards J'lor with a raised eyebrow, but stays put for now. Better to keep the Weyrlings busy and occupied for now.
Lucian has noticed something. Suddenly his posture goes erect and his muscles tremble faintly, as though in resonance with what he's watching: a sudden, not entirely dissimilar change of posture in J'lor. Nevertheless, he continues speaking in his ordinary, lilting tones. "Think ahead, Ownah," he reproaches her mildly, as his eyes flick rapidly between the two riders and those nearest them. "We have discussed this before, have we not? The only example you will make is the one you will become, once others see you are a quarrelsome woman who does not know her place, and must needs learn it."
E'sere offers Aivey a brief nod, then steps away to go comfort weyrlings. To some of the most distraught he heads first, offering kind words and pats on the shoulder and in one case a very real shoulder to cry on for one of the girls. When he finally extricates himself, he blinks at the damp shoulder of his shirt and edges quickly away. Morelenth stays by Aivey, relaxing with the ordeal over.
Maybe it's all those turns spent observing and conversing with Derek. Maybe it's the fact that he befriended a pair of guards that came and left the island some months ago. Maybe this is only a skill J'lor has from his bygone days that he never felt the urge to use until now. (Well, except on upturned and beached boats.) But, apparently, the bluerider can throw a punch. His arm lifts and the passifist's fist flies out, aimed for M'uri's face.
Ownah is young and impatient and she lets out an exasperated exhale. "Tired of doing that. Tired of ducking away behind people and acting like I ain't able to handle my own self." But she just takes a deep breath and lets it out and then lets out a groan when a punch is thrown. "He gets to." Yes, she pouts. Just because she does know her place doesn't mean she wouldn't like to be one of the ones that gets to hit sometimes. "S'not fair. Could take any one of them. More than one I knew they was coming. They're gonna make trouble already. Knew it." And it was a punch and she wants to get closer so she slips away from Lucian and creeps closer towards the new arrivals.
Said girl who cries on E'sere's shoulder isn't missed, and Morelenth is fortunate enough to hear the curse Aivey mutters. She is sufficiently distracted, though, when J'lor throws the punch and it connects with M'uri. The man looks surprised - M'uri, that is - who certainly doesn't attempt to dodge or block what he never thought would come. And then there's blood gushing from his nose, a muted roar of pain and anger that ebbs into a wheezing as M'uri clamps a hand over his nose. D'rian'd be raring and ready to defend his father, were it not for the disappointed shake of his head aimed at J'lor and the dejected slump of his shoulders that finds him turning and retreating. M'uri aims a few slurs J'lor's way but doesn't hit back. Mayhaps the bully has been conquered?
Maybe it's the punch, maybe Ownah's departure, but the harper's smile only creeps up higher. He ducks back within the crowd and begins weaving his way through again, finding another person whose opinion he can quietly canvass as the fight - with such disappointing swiftness - breaks up.
L'vok slowly turns to Islay when he finds her near, still working with the Weyrlings, "I am glad you made it as well. It will be nice to have friends here."
Mayhaps, or mayhaps J'lor is wise enough to suspect that one punch won't do much more than make his knuckles hurt. And M'uri's nose bleed. The bluerider shakes out his hand, fingers opening and closing as he turns away from M'uri and D'rian's back and shoves both his hands into his pockets. He slips into the gathering group of weyrlings to join up with L'vok and E'sere in consoling, answering questions and then gradually nudging them off to find a weyr and rest.
For a guy whose just had reconstructive surgery compliments a punch, M'uri is smiling a little too broadly. Why for? His son's sudden retreat, probably. There's still a keen, if not overly sharp look at J'lor's back to consider as well. Eventually, though, the brownrider heads off on his own. Kelkoth slinks after him, but not without an irritable huff and rumble at Vellath. And Aivey? She continues watching E'sere, and occasionally, the Harper.
E'sere is quite excellent at this consoling business, putting his people skills to good use as he works through the group of weyrlings patiently. K'tric is already disappearing, Donavon with him, the latter dragged along with the greenrider clinging to his arm and Kasvatuth bustling them both on ahead of her in the search for a weyr. Morelenth remains where he is, watching the goings-on and Aivey, too, while E'sere meanders and eventually finds himself in passing their blueriding once-leader. "J'lor," he offers briefly, before moving to continue on.
Islay smiles, nodding to the former guard. And then one of the weyrlings she taught to read approaches, looking as nervous as Islay does. "I'm really ... I should stay with T'gar. I'm not certain where our cave will be, but ... L'vok, this is ... I'll see you around, I promise." She gives a brief nod to the other weyrling, and then she's moving back over toward Echeloth. It's safe with T'gar, and Islay needs to feel secure. Aivey is spotted, and nodded to, and given a half-hearted smile that doesn't quite overcome the fear in her eyes as Islay spots Layen over near some of the other men.
L'vok nods at Islay understandingly, "I understand. You need to be with him and my place is here." As the girl heads back , he continues to give what comfort he can abd help the weyrlings out with what they need, which will make him one of the last few to look for his own weyr.
J'lor has just sent a wide-eyed E'ber off with his blue lifemate when E'sere calls out to him. He looks over his shoulder at the tarnished golden boy, expression none too charitiable. "If you're about to reprimand me, critique my training techniques or offer some sort of platitude for the loss of six lives, kindly keep on walking, E'sere. I cannot stomach it just now."
E'sere pauses, turns back to look at J'lor once, his expression hurt as soon as the bluerider's comments register. "No, /sir/," he retorts then, any warmth the name moments earlier might have contained freezing over in that title as he turns back and starts deliberately toward Aivey and Morelenth now.
Ownah has stopped a short distance away from the new arrivals. There's a few others who have gotten closer so she doesn't stand out too much. Other than being all cute. She cannot get any closer as a couple of the larger hold men shoulder her out of the way. Scowling, she represses the urge that is written on her face to push through them again. Shaking her head she settles back away. Somewhere between the new and the old and casting a glance over her shoulder. Eventually she has to go back to work. Soon. But she lingers a little longer.
From Harper to Layren, to Islay to the Harper; Aivey's attention swings the gambit, lingering not terribly long on one thing. She'd look to be like any wide-eyed, island-born native getting a look at the 'big city' for the first time. It doesn't stop until she catches sight of E'sere passing back her way. The bronzerider's hurt expression garners a confused one from her. Naturally she moves toward him to assess whatever damage has been done.
J'lor takes his own advice, and if hunched shoulders hunch a bit more, he still moves to Vellath, climbs aboard, and wings towards the mining pit to pick a new 'home' for himself and his lifemate.
"Hey," says E'sere, smoothing his expression back out into something more typical of it, that easy smirk, as he approaches Aivey. "Ready?" he asks. He's moving already, though, to start to mount up, offering her a hand as usual. "Let's go find ours," he suggests as he gets ready to go.
"Sure," Aivey replies, reaching a hand to brush imaginary dirt from E'sere's shirt - he'd looked sad, and such is a first consideration. "You wait until all the good ones are gone. That's what they call manigimous, right?" He's given a cheeky smile that's... not entirely full of benevolence, before accepting the hand offered and sliding into place behind him.
"I know where the best one is hidden," E'sere notes cryptically, as they settle aboard. Her cleaning of his clothes does make his smirk broaden into a truer smile, though. "And the word is 'magnanimous,'" he adds, as Morelenth takes off, leading them to their new weyr as well.
"Good thing we brought those books," Aivey murmurs to E'sere, her self-satisfied grin bitten back. Tightening her arms around his middle as Morelenth takes off, Aivey glances down past his side to the ground for a dragons-eye view of the settlement. Up that high, and while she still can, Aivey attempts one last scout of the area and the people. A few already prove to be interesting enough that they warrant an automatic study.
Since there doesn't seem to be anything else interesting happening, Ownah moves away from the lingering new arrivals. She should get back to her chores. Or make sure those new people don't decide to go through her things when they're shown where the residents sleep. Either way, she begins to back up and away, eyes darting everywhere. It's never safe so she has to keep an eye out for those that she might need to really avoid.
Time: Morning/Evening of Day 1, Month 8, Turn 3
Players: Aivey, Derek, Diya, D'rian, E'sere, Islay, J'lor, K'tric, L'vok, Lucian, M'uri (NPC), Odern (NPC), Ownah
Scene: The exiles leave the island and head to Five Mines. Ambition has a price.
Above Five Mines, in the evening, the orange sky is suddenly filled with dragon silohuettes. Thirty adult dragons stretch their wings, backlit by the setting sun. Moments after, a formation of dragons slightly smaller appears. With gaps. Six gaps, where weyrlings used to be. After a single beat, the quiet evening is filled not only with dragon wings, but with their piercing mourning keens, as well.
Morelenth keens, too, and Kasvatuth, as the pair spiral lower toward where the rest of the group is. Donavon's among them, waiting and restless and scanning his eyes across the sky rapid-fire for two certain dragons. Morelenth is easy to spot: thinnest, darkest, biggest. Kasvatuth isn't so easy, but finally he makes her out as she comes closer. K'tric looks sad but no worse for wear, really; the losses he and E'sere both seem to accept as simply a fact of life--a necessary sacrifice.
After multiple trips, the appearance of a dragonwing in the sky has become old news for the inhabitants of Five Mines. Many of those who showed up to watch the initial arrival have since dwindled off, but those that remain are in for rather a surprise when this final trip is heralded by sudden keens. Standing by with his Council, Lord Odern wastes no time turning to them to demand, "What is this? What are they doing?" It's unlikely that he could hear the answers if there were any, though, for he's covered his ears against the noise.
Aivey maintains a white-knuckled grip on E'sere's arm. Anxiously looking for signs of other arrivals, by twisting and turning in her seat, literally unable to sit still until she's spotted what it is she's looking for...until the keening starts, that is, and Aivey buries her face against E'sere's side. And in the sky there's a gap where D'rian and Taikath are suppose to be - somewhere beside Kasvatuth and K'tric. The duo can be found, though, opposite their spot in the formation.
It's definitely something not seen everyday. That means a lot of workers have cast off the working chains for a bit. Ownah was drawn to the goings on only because she was working outside to begin with. Hardly happy to see dragons, all things considered, she has still stayed close by, watching it all. Eyes wide she steps back a pace when the dragons start their keening. There's whispers from the people she stands with, but she doesn't say anything but, "Someone died. One of em or something," quietly to those closest. She was just at a weyr after all. That's all she says and then she's back to being quiet, watching.
Derek's question echoes, unknowingly, Lord Odern's - but the island king, bedecked in boots and full trousers and a proper shirt of a decade-old make, asks in silence, mouthing the words. He's first to climb down from Vellath once the blue has landed, though once those old boots hit the ground and he's done staring around at the howling dragons, he looks up to reach a hand for Nera to use should she need it. What he lends his soft, sandy voice to saying is, "J'lor, do you need to tend to them?"
Islay isn't certain about this. She hasn't been comfortable about it since hearing they would be coming back to the mainland. But, she's perched behind T'gar on the brown, what few possessions she has neatly bundled on the dragon's back. Including the "chair" T'gar made, and the bed, such as it is, though the brownrider has promised he'll replace it with a /real/ bed soon enough. And now, they're here. Her eyes are wide and she clings to T'gar's like a terrified child. And then the dragons start to keen....
One person who doesn't cover his ears is Lucian. The harper stands at the fringe of Odern's council, clearly connected but not quite part of them, and though he braces himself and squints his eyes as though the sound could physically buffet him, he doesn't attempt to cover his ears against it, and the tiny trace of a smile that has been on his face since the beginning does not falter for a moment. He starts to hum a harmony, quietly to himself.
Nera takes the help on the way down that she didn't take on the way up; one hand curls around Derek's, and that helps brace her when her boots hit the ground. Nevertheless, the headwoman staggers a couple of steps, with an uncharacteristic lack of grace; her expressive mouth is twisted in a reflection of the response of dragons and riders as she halts. Skirts are straightened, and she turns for J'lor, raising her voice to be heard over the keening. "Derek, go and see him, J'lor needs to see to the weyrlings." A rare order, from the woman who's backed the orders of two men over the turns.
The bluerider hunches low as Vellath wails, the vibrations from his cries traveling up and through his passengers. But he is circling again, demanding that the weyrling dragons send their names and check in. Unsaid, of course, is the implication that such a relay allows Vellath to learn not only who is here, but who is not. He wings downward, next, sweeping into a landing in Five Mine's courtyard. The bluerider unbuckles his passengers' straps first before seeing to his own, sliding down to the ground and leaning against the blue's stretched neck. "Six," he says as he hauls cap and goggles off of his head. "They'll quiet soon. It's just...what they do. When a dragon dies. I..." a small glance to Nera. "Thank you." The exiled bluerider turns his attention towards the weyrlings as they land.
Once the weyrlings begin to land, L'vok is among them, glancing around to see who did make it, nodding when he spots friends, but the sorrow still shows in his eyes. The brownrider does not speak, and remains quiet as he usually does, especially during any emotional time. For Now, L'vok doesn't glance towards J'lor or anyone else after the initial survey, choosing to close off into himself.
Derek's hand, in Nera's, tightens for a moment, then departs her fingers. The man himself watches her, watches J'lor, and looks back to Nera again. "Come with me," he says very softly, a little too high of pitch - blame the recent obligation to ride a dragon and worse, go between - then turns to face the Hold, and with pale, bright eyes start to pick out from among those who await, those who await specifically to be approached, to speak and be spoken to. Another glance at Nera: he takes her order, will she take his? Then he moves forward, so she will have to obey with steps, if she chooses.
D'rian is amongst those who land, both he and Taikath suitably shaken. The bronze manages to land beside Kasvatuth, and while shaking and paler than before, does his best to comfort the green. D'rian manages not a whole lot more than sitting rigid atop his bronze, his features stiff. Not even M'uri shouting to him from across the courtyard does much to change that, though it can be said the weyrling's father is glad to note his son is not among the six missing. Aivey, once past the initial shock, continues to keep a firm hold on E'sere. Mainland bound now, and within reach of the 'Reaches... it mightn't take much to guess why.
Ownah can't help but be curious and so despite a few whispered warnings from the other women she was doing laundry with she begins to move closer. Not close enough to be accused of doing it. She's just moving around, trying to get a better look at all the dragons, yea? That's it. If her path meanders towards where the big wigs are it means nothing. Nothing to see here. Just the little worker girl trying to get a better view. She is, at least, careful when she spots Lucian to come around behind him. Away from him. He's one of the few who would recognize her in a crowd after all.
Among the voices keening is Nenuith's - but even before she's done voicing her misery her rider's hand upon her neck and soothing words from Diya seem to calm the horrified queen, and this calm she passes on through to those she's flown with and those of her brood that survived. Only when the queen finishes her last few breath-catching sobs of agony does Diya look down to find the island's healer and a few men ready to help her bring down S'val from between the queen's wings. This process is complicated and will take some time, and while it goes on the prodigal goldrider pays only occasional, wary glances up to her surroundings, to the unfamiliar-familiarity of this distant hold in her home Weyr's coverage.
Lord Odern removes his hand from his ears warily, eyeing the dragons who created the noise with a queer suspicion. When they don't burst out into any more unexpected rounds of keening, he crosses his arms over his chest and draws himself upright. He and his council have chosen a careful position, slightly elevated on an outjut of rock, and now that they have all stopped cringing from the noise, they appear clearly as the people to meet.
Ownah gets by Lucian, but she doesn't get much further than that before the harper's eye, trained for detail, alights on her. Shooting a faintly smiled look to the side, where the Lord and his council stand, the harper detaches himself from the group and sets off to intercept Ownah near the front of the crowd. She may not even notice him, so easily does he move through the crowd, until he appears in her vicnity. "What do you think," he wonders softly, pitching his voice so it carries, somehow, /under/ the din of the crowd. His eyes flick to hers only to confirm, once she hears, that he was speaking to her, and then go back to the dragons.
Vellath keeps his head low, keening fading off into faint, unhappy mewling noises. But beneath the wash of Nenuith's queenly calm, even those quiet after a few minutes. The rider is not faring quite as well, sniffing and red-eyed, though not particularly apologetic about his obvious emotion. One arm comes up to swipe at cheeks and nose occasionally as he moves towards the twenty seven that made it. L'vok is given a quiet study but left, for now, to his own thoughts. The bluerider stops at Taikath and the boy mounted atop him. He doesn't say a word. Only extends one hand, palm up, in silent offering to help the boy down.
There's not a lot to do, now that they've landed. Islay lowers her hands from her ears when the dragons cease their keening, craning her head around to see if she can figure out which weyrlings did not reappear from Between. She shivers, since she didn't have the benefit of heavy clothing for the trip here, and doesn't seem all that eager to alight. Her eyes roam around the mine, taking in those people who are gathered from the hold. Her bare legs are cold, even though it seems to be summer here, and she says nothing. The other people on the brown dragon are helped to loosen their straps by T'gar, but Islay remains where she is, not certain how to take this. Not to mention that ground looks rough for barefeet.
Eyes drawn away from the new people, Ownah looks at Lucian. How does he do it? She looks away as fast as she looked at him. "Think about? Think it's trouble. Think if I'd wanted to stay near dragons I'd not have left the weyr, yea? But ain't my place to say. Just more troublemakers, right? Just gotta keep my head down and stay away from more of 'em now. Don't change my life. Just got to get the job done." There's a sort of finality to her statement. As if she's trying not to invite more conversation from the harper.
D'rian takes a moment to realize there's someone standing in front of him, and that the someone is J'lor. Once the connection is made, it takes him another moment to manage a nod to J'lor before he stiffly shoots himself down Taikath's shoulder. Which is to say it's his own stubborn pride that keeps him from accepting J'lor's hand, and thereby making it all his fault that when he lands, it's squarely on his ass as his knees buckle and drop him there. He doesn't look terribly pressed to pick himself up either, though it's a greater battle to keep his now red face from scrunching up and looking like a four-year old about to throw a tantrum. M'uri is well on his way through the crowd, to D'rian and J'lor. But not in time to hear D'rian say, "It was a mistake." Apparently so.
L'vok glances over at M'cay first and then J'lor, nodding sorrowfully, attending to Benreth and his needs before begiing to unload in silence. Not much looking around is given to his new home now, nor will there be any looking around at this time. Sorrow still in his eyes, L'vok focuses on his work.
Lucian's smile curls up at the corners while he listens, but only a nod shows that he's still in fact listening: his gaze has left the dragons now, but only because there are so many new /people/ to be watched instead. The weyrlings - marked out by their smaller dragons - seem to be of particular interest. "Precisely," he tells Ownah beside him, but this time he doesn't bother to pitch his voice so carefully, and the single word could well be lost in the crowd.
Nera looks at Derek for a moment, then nods once and smoothes her trousers with a sweep of one hand, turning to accompany him toward the Hold. E'sere comes along, to make introductions to the Lord and his council; when these few words are said Derek turns to the bronzerider and asks in all solemnity for him to see to the weyrlings J'lor can't tend. It is Morelenth, though, with his dolly-ornament, that Derek glances back at. In moments more the island king, headwoman, and their Lordly host move off into the Hold to confer.
K'tric, unlike most of the weyrlings, seems to just take everything in stride. He's not upset, he's not surprised to have survived or to see who's lost. Instead, as Kasvatuth lands and lets him down, he slides down with comparative grace (at least compared to D'rian). On the ground, he's silent still, though he pulls out his own remaining ace to finger it while he looks around, taking in all the sights and committing them to memory as well.
"If that's so," J'lor replies softly, "then they've died for nothing. There must be more to it than that." The bluerider gives another sniff and notes M'uri's approach out of the corner of his eye. "You'll need a weyr," he adds, backing up a step and inching towards another dazed weyrling. "Pick your own." He turns to say a bit more loudly, "The copper mines have been cleared out. Riders, we can each pick a cave to serve as a weyr. Weyrlings, you too."
There's several moments that pass before T'gar turns to Islay, pressing her hand as encouragement. It's also a signal for her to dismount Echeloth. She manages to slide down the dragon's shoulder without falling, but only barely. And when she's standing on the ground, her knees are ... well, they're not as steady as she'd like them to be. But, then, it's time to start unloading, and that takes up her time and thoughts for the moment. L'vok is noted, smiled at and nodded to, if he happens to look in her direction. As are Aivey and E'sere, and others she knows. Once a few lighter things are down, T'gar waves her away. She moves over to where L'vok works, saying, "I'm right glad you an' Benrath made it all right."
Ownah lets out a sigh. "Means more work too. More laundry and more food to be cooked. Imagine I'll be busy enough soon enough, yea? They really them?" Now she pitches her voice low and looks away from the new people to the harper. "This ain't right. I don't even know if I can stay. Not with this. Husband finds out. . .husband finds out I am in trouble." Shaking her head she sighs and smoothes her vest down absently with both hands.
"Dead's dead." D'rian rebukes, hollowly. Nothing more is said, though, because M'uri's present and his father is enough of a presence to have him keep his mouth shut. There's but a nod to what the man commands - namely 'on your feet' - and when D'rian is there, with Taikath snug against his back, M'uri says to J'lor, "Better to weed the weak ones out now. Well done, old man." To a man barely his senior. Aivey, upon dismounting, watches after E'sere. It'd be him more than 'that weird man in the boots' that she watches... and yet the weird man still does get a brief acknowledgement. At J'lor's bellow, Aivey turns to Morelenth. "Figure he's already picked out the best one. Go get it, I'll wait for him."
"They're really them," Lucian confirms, without the hint of resignation (or dislike) that colors Ownah's tone. After a moment, he switches his smile down to her, though it is wholly out of place with her worries. "You did not imagine you would be in trouble before?" One of his hands lifts and overturns, the fingers slowly falling out in a helpless gesture.
"We should stay, and--lead," E'sere says quietly to Aivey when he returns to her side. "The weyrlings, the rest of them. They need me right now. That can wait a little bit, unless you want to go with him to find it?" He shoots a glance sideways at her, though it's only a moment before his eyes go back to the weyrlings coping with the loss of those six they knew. Donavon has headed off to intercept K'tric now, the latter offering him a cheerful smile when they meet back up. "We did well," K'tric offers. "Only six lost, only six and my sister and everyone else is here with us."
The bluerider's back is to M'uri, so the slightly younger man is in prime position to watch J'lor's shoulders lift and square. His head ducks down as he turns back to the brownrider. Slowly. His klah-dark eyes are bright, but not from tears. Or, at least, not only from tears. They are fastened on D'rian's father. "Say that again," he growls softly.
Ownah lets out a resigned sigh and almost sounds amused around her worry. "Suppose. I mean, I guess I never thought of. . .yea. He's gonna be mad no matter what. But riders. He didn't like me bein' around 'em. Cause of how they are, yea? Immoral he said. Gonna just have to be more careful. Same as the others though. I show em I can handle myself they leave me be." Glancing around at the crowd she's in and then towards the ones they watch she frowns, thoughtful. "Gonna have to make an example soon I think. Probably no good. Could be trouble. But gonna have to. Otherwise more trouble comes."
M'uri, rather cold hearted, does. And slower, too. "Weeded them out," A pause, "Way to go, old man." It's not derisive, either. D'rian, just beyond his father's shoulder, looks from the man to J'lor. His expression is hard to read, though it's obvious enough that he's not proud of what his father says. "No," Aivey replies to E'sere, "It's... go on. I'll... I'll.." Not help the Weyrlings, that much is clear. So she stays put, taking the opportunity to watch people as they disassemble and move off.
L'vok starts organising some of the Qeyrlings he knows, trying to keep them busy at this time as he glances towards J'lor with a raised eyebrow, but stays put for now. Better to keep the Weyrlings busy and occupied for now.
Lucian has noticed something. Suddenly his posture goes erect and his muscles tremble faintly, as though in resonance with what he's watching: a sudden, not entirely dissimilar change of posture in J'lor. Nevertheless, he continues speaking in his ordinary, lilting tones. "Think ahead, Ownah," he reproaches her mildly, as his eyes flick rapidly between the two riders and those nearest them. "We have discussed this before, have we not? The only example you will make is the one you will become, once others see you are a quarrelsome woman who does not know her place, and must needs learn it."
E'sere offers Aivey a brief nod, then steps away to go comfort weyrlings. To some of the most distraught he heads first, offering kind words and pats on the shoulder and in one case a very real shoulder to cry on for one of the girls. When he finally extricates himself, he blinks at the damp shoulder of his shirt and edges quickly away. Morelenth stays by Aivey, relaxing with the ordeal over.
Maybe it's all those turns spent observing and conversing with Derek. Maybe it's the fact that he befriended a pair of guards that came and left the island some months ago. Maybe this is only a skill J'lor has from his bygone days that he never felt the urge to use until now. (Well, except on upturned and beached boats.) But, apparently, the bluerider can throw a punch. His arm lifts and the passifist's fist flies out, aimed for M'uri's face.
Ownah is young and impatient and she lets out an exasperated exhale. "Tired of doing that. Tired of ducking away behind people and acting like I ain't able to handle my own self." But she just takes a deep breath and lets it out and then lets out a groan when a punch is thrown. "He gets to." Yes, she pouts. Just because she does know her place doesn't mean she wouldn't like to be one of the ones that gets to hit sometimes. "S'not fair. Could take any one of them. More than one I knew they was coming. They're gonna make trouble already. Knew it." And it was a punch and she wants to get closer so she slips away from Lucian and creeps closer towards the new arrivals.
Said girl who cries on E'sere's shoulder isn't missed, and Morelenth is fortunate enough to hear the curse Aivey mutters. She is sufficiently distracted, though, when J'lor throws the punch and it connects with M'uri. The man looks surprised - M'uri, that is - who certainly doesn't attempt to dodge or block what he never thought would come. And then there's blood gushing from his nose, a muted roar of pain and anger that ebbs into a wheezing as M'uri clamps a hand over his nose. D'rian'd be raring and ready to defend his father, were it not for the disappointed shake of his head aimed at J'lor and the dejected slump of his shoulders that finds him turning and retreating. M'uri aims a few slurs J'lor's way but doesn't hit back. Mayhaps the bully has been conquered?
Maybe it's the punch, maybe Ownah's departure, but the harper's smile only creeps up higher. He ducks back within the crowd and begins weaving his way through again, finding another person whose opinion he can quietly canvass as the fight - with such disappointing swiftness - breaks up.
L'vok slowly turns to Islay when he finds her near, still working with the Weyrlings, "I am glad you made it as well. It will be nice to have friends here."
Mayhaps, or mayhaps J'lor is wise enough to suspect that one punch won't do much more than make his knuckles hurt. And M'uri's nose bleed. The bluerider shakes out his hand, fingers opening and closing as he turns away from M'uri and D'rian's back and shoves both his hands into his pockets. He slips into the gathering group of weyrlings to join up with L'vok and E'sere in consoling, answering questions and then gradually nudging them off to find a weyr and rest.
For a guy whose just had reconstructive surgery compliments a punch, M'uri is smiling a little too broadly. Why for? His son's sudden retreat, probably. There's still a keen, if not overly sharp look at J'lor's back to consider as well. Eventually, though, the brownrider heads off on his own. Kelkoth slinks after him, but not without an irritable huff and rumble at Vellath. And Aivey? She continues watching E'sere, and occasionally, the Harper.
E'sere is quite excellent at this consoling business, putting his people skills to good use as he works through the group of weyrlings patiently. K'tric is already disappearing, Donavon with him, the latter dragged along with the greenrider clinging to his arm and Kasvatuth bustling them both on ahead of her in the search for a weyr. Morelenth remains where he is, watching the goings-on and Aivey, too, while E'sere meanders and eventually finds himself in passing their blueriding once-leader. "J'lor," he offers briefly, before moving to continue on.
Islay smiles, nodding to the former guard. And then one of the weyrlings she taught to read approaches, looking as nervous as Islay does. "I'm really ... I should stay with T'gar. I'm not certain where our cave will be, but ... L'vok, this is ... I'll see you around, I promise." She gives a brief nod to the other weyrling, and then she's moving back over toward Echeloth. It's safe with T'gar, and Islay needs to feel secure. Aivey is spotted, and nodded to, and given a half-hearted smile that doesn't quite overcome the fear in her eyes as Islay spots Layen over near some of the other men.
L'vok nods at Islay understandingly, "I understand. You need to be with him and my place is here." As the girl heads back , he continues to give what comfort he can abd help the weyrlings out with what they need, which will make him one of the last few to look for his own weyr.
J'lor has just sent a wide-eyed E'ber off with his blue lifemate when E'sere calls out to him. He looks over his shoulder at the tarnished golden boy, expression none too charitiable. "If you're about to reprimand me, critique my training techniques or offer some sort of platitude for the loss of six lives, kindly keep on walking, E'sere. I cannot stomach it just now."
E'sere pauses, turns back to look at J'lor once, his expression hurt as soon as the bluerider's comments register. "No, /sir/," he retorts then, any warmth the name moments earlier might have contained freezing over in that title as he turns back and starts deliberately toward Aivey and Morelenth now.
Ownah has stopped a short distance away from the new arrivals. There's a few others who have gotten closer so she doesn't stand out too much. Other than being all cute. She cannot get any closer as a couple of the larger hold men shoulder her out of the way. Scowling, she represses the urge that is written on her face to push through them again. Shaking her head she settles back away. Somewhere between the new and the old and casting a glance over her shoulder. Eventually she has to go back to work. Soon. But she lingers a little longer.
From Harper to Layren, to Islay to the Harper; Aivey's attention swings the gambit, lingering not terribly long on one thing. She'd look to be like any wide-eyed, island-born native getting a look at the 'big city' for the first time. It doesn't stop until she catches sight of E'sere passing back her way. The bronzerider's hurt expression garners a confused one from her. Naturally she moves toward him to assess whatever damage has been done.
J'lor takes his own advice, and if hunched shoulders hunch a bit more, he still moves to Vellath, climbs aboard, and wings towards the mining pit to pick a new 'home' for himself and his lifemate.
"Hey," says E'sere, smoothing his expression back out into something more typical of it, that easy smirk, as he approaches Aivey. "Ready?" he asks. He's moving already, though, to start to mount up, offering her a hand as usual. "Let's go find ours," he suggests as he gets ready to go.
"Sure," Aivey replies, reaching a hand to brush imaginary dirt from E'sere's shirt - he'd looked sad, and such is a first consideration. "You wait until all the good ones are gone. That's what they call manigimous, right?" He's given a cheeky smile that's... not entirely full of benevolence, before accepting the hand offered and sliding into place behind him.
"I know where the best one is hidden," E'sere notes cryptically, as they settle aboard. Her cleaning of his clothes does make his smirk broaden into a truer smile, though. "And the word is 'magnanimous,'" he adds, as Morelenth takes off, leading them to their new weyr as well.
"Good thing we brought those books," Aivey murmurs to E'sere, her self-satisfied grin bitten back. Tightening her arms around his middle as Morelenth takes off, Aivey glances down past his side to the ground for a dragons-eye view of the settlement. Up that high, and while she still can, Aivey attempts one last scout of the area and the people. A few already prove to be interesting enough that they warrant an automatic study.
Since there doesn't seem to be anything else interesting happening, Ownah moves away from the lingering new arrivals. She should get back to her chores. Or make sure those new people don't decide to go through her things when they're shown where the residents sleep. Either way, she begins to back up and away, eyes darting everywhere. It's never safe so she has to keep an eye out for those that she might need to really avoid.