| Kazra and B'ane make pots |
| 23/01/2002 Logfile from Harpers-Tale B'ane Upon your first glance, you notice a young man bordering 6'2. Hair, normally the color of fresh klah with scattered highlights of auburn and cast bronze, has been completely shaved off leaving his head naked and utterly bald. Below mynah eyebrows rest a pair of dark chocolate eyes, near black, that display more emotions than the rest of the face combined. Capturing stray light like miniature black holes, the oculars wield the presence of a fathomless abyss with no hope of an escape. Pearl-white teeth reside behind dark pink lips, in which the latter are usually formed into a neutral line. Dimples would appear upon the chance of a sporadic smile, their presence not usually known because of the subtlety of their appearance. A square jaw line--shaved smooth--and high cheek bones add a mien of character and definition as if they had been wrought from pure stone. An even bronze complexion, made more so by Ista's ever present sun, sheaths the layers of bone, sinew and muscle that fuse to form a robust physique. Upon close contact, an interesting medley of subtle musks take the origins of worn leather, earth and the tangy scent of a dragon. In all, it would be true to say a broody, orphic aureole follows his presence, cloaking the figure much like a protective cocoon. Plaits of cadmium fit comfortably around the torso, any trace of sleeves having been omitted utterly. Neither too tight, nor too loose, the material adheres to the rider's preference for material to 'breathe.' Trousers of ebon are sported to comply with the colors of Ista Weyr. Old boots grace the pieds, their exterior burnished to a coruscating sheen. Hidden under the folds of his jerkin is a sheathed knife, handy for whatever task its owner deems necessary. Obtained from a smith Hallmaster, the steel is of an excellent caliber, the edge evermore honed to a razored efficiency. Perched on B'ane's right shoulder is bronze Corsair. A knot with a neat hoop of entwined black and orange cords is accentuated by a lone thread of bronze: the attribute of an Istan weyrling. He is awake and looks alert. Carrying: Corsair B'ane is 18 Turns, 1 month, and 8 days old. Kazra Kazra stands tall at her final height of 5'8. Brown hair sweeps back off her face, but there is a new addition to it. Twined among the brown strads are quite a few colourful ribbons, white, red, blue, green and purple. Falling neatly down her back, they reach to her shoulders, giving Kazra's hair a new, colourful look. A small band of leather holds the ribbons and the hair back out of her sparkling blue eyes. Long legs taper upwards to a thin waist, broadening out only slightly to her upper body. Arms are slender and well formed, often gesticulating a point. Kazra has changed her outfit along with her name, now sporting a vivid orange short sleeved top and a pair of black trousers. Her feet are covered with ankle length black boots that look rather worn, though sometimes Kazra kicks them off to wander around barefooted. Kazra wears the orange and black knot of an Ista Weyr Weyrlings, with a thin ribbon of brown trailing through it to indicate her lifemate. She is awake and looks alert. You notice Kazra looking at you. Kazra is 24 Turns, 3 months, and 4 days old. Aboleoth Antiquity shades a narrow muzzle, copper and bronze intermingling between eyeridges and running down a sharp and almost hooked snout and mandible. A slender scar, faded to a distant ashen streak, embellishes one jaw hinge; administered while vaulting forth from the Egg. Eyeridges and facial bones seem to jut out a bit from the rest of his head, colored brass and mahogany and beaten around the circumference of his skull into flawless coverage and protection. Sharp spears of dark brown and greened copper rise from his neck and spine regions, covering his neckridges with an armor of sorts, and weapons of warfare. Strength ripples across his shoulders and down through his drilled limbs, golden veins divining individual muscle in a sea of bronze and brown. His thick hindquarters give way to a stout, yet sturdy, tail, lending him more than adequate leverage for balance. Wings flex in their own demeanor, speckles of sterling glisten within their transparency when flaunted and unfurled to a considerable length compared to the rest of his body. Polished metal scales, each approximately two inches high with a width of one inch, are linked together by the thousands, each united to form a chain one plate high and many more long. Each segment is fashioned from the finest bronze, every last one glossed with oil until they shame even the sun's fair light. The scales are attached to a base of common brown leather and may be removed if need be. When light hits their surface, the straps brilliantly gleam as if a harness of liquid fire twines around the dragon's neck. Faintly clinking against one another at the sense of movement, their metallic ado coincides with the dull birl of long departed legionaries. Various hitches are evident to secure any totes as well a leather satchel filled with dried food and other provisions. Aboleoth is 11 months and 1 day old. He is 54 feet (18m) long, with a wingspan of 90 feet (30m). Aboleoth seems to be listening. Xylyth Rich shades of soil encompass this brown's towering and imposing form completely, intermingling to form fresh shades and fathoms of earthiness where they fuse. Pale coffee tones spill over an angular muzzle and face seemingly carved from the earth, so fine is their detail, before giving way to muddy colourings that diffuse over well built shoulders and stomach, sleek muscle visible beneath silky hide, finally darkening to almost midnight shades at sweeping wings. Woven into these depths of night, as if by unseen magic, tendrils of deepest aubergine thread their way across the tautly spread membrane, surfacing to form cryptic symbols of colour then disappearing from view once more in a ritualistic dance of hide and seek. Continuing the rhythmic flow of colours, cinnamon and chocolate mix and intermingle over powerful back legs, while hints of gold seep into the shade of a perfectly formed tail. Xylyth's first set of straps are at first apperance, simple well oiled leather, fitting in all the right places. But on closer inspection, Kazra looks to have gone strange with a needle, and purple designs twist and turn in mystical and random patterns. Running down the centre of each strap, above the purple stitching are three thin threads of black, blue and orange, almost invisible against the brown leather unless you look closely. Looks like Kazra's sewing skills are improving. Xylyth is 11 months and 1 day old. He is 48 feet (16m) long, with a wingspan of 80 feet (26m). Xylyth senses Kazra looking at him. Xylyth seems to be listening. B'ane shrugs off his cumbersome jacket with a subtle eagerness, needing to get used to heavy gear once again. "The skies are wonderful, Kazra." They just have come back from a short trip to High Reaches and not to mention half of Pern in two days. Kazra glances up from her sitting position on the ground, and waves a muddy hand at B'ane. "Hiya!" she calls with a grin, with Xylyth bugling his own greeting to his sibling and his rider. "Been flying again? Sounds like you love it as much as Xylyth does." And she glances back down at the mud on the ground that she is playing with. "Hello to you as well Xylyth," rumblewarble from Aboleoth, "Flying's like nothing else. I must say I've must have met at least two dozen people so far from Keroon and Tillek alone." Small, but astonished sigh. "That's great for yor skin, you know." To the brownrider, who is quite literally brown. "You've been betweem?" Kazra asks with curiosuty, thinking that that was probably the only way that B'ane could have met those people since she doubted they would be at the Weyr. "What's it like?" B'ane pulls out a thin piece of wherry jerky from a satchel on Aboleoth's straps and pauses to answer. "We flew straight to Keroon, our prefered method, but for Tillek and Reaches we did go Between. I've been before a few times as a passenger, but when you're alone it's slightly more scary," not to deter, "But if you do everything you're told, it's absolutely fine." Kazra nods, taking in the instructions, before going back to pottering in the mud. "We've yet to go between, but once we can, I'll have to pay a visit back to Reaches and see how everyone is doing. Chelle was over here the other day and was telling me all the gossip." and she chuckles slightly with memories. B'ane gnaws on the piece of jerky, it's extreme chewiness half the battle. "I agree. We didn't get to stay long, so if you ever need some companions, just give us a holler." 'nother bite. One last chew and the jerky strip's gone. Food on the run is not only practical, it's pretty good.. "That we will." Kazra agrees, before looking at the mass of mud before her. "Humph." she muters to herself, giving it a tentative prod with one finger, before going back to shaping it. Xylyth peers over his riders shoulder, watching her motions and making approving or diapproving rumbles as the occasion demands. B'ane glances down habitually towards the ground and is immediately aware of a glop of mud on the toe of one of his boots. Growl. And they were looking so good, too. Kicking the front of the boot on the ground, the spot only serves to smear more. Double growl. "So what exactly are you making there?" He asks with his head down while utilizing a rag to wipe his otherwise flawless footwear. "I'm trying to make a pot." Kazra admits. "But I seem to be making more of a mess than anything." And she piles some more mud, though it is actually clay up into a heap and starts trying to shape it. "Like to help?" And Xylyth extends his own whuffled invitation to Aboleoth. Come on and watch the riders play in the dirt! B'ane contemplates sitting in the stuff that sullied his very boot. "Well, can't say as I know how to make a pot. But, how hard can it be?" Taking off his boots and putting them neatly away from the mud hole, B'ane sits next to Kazra with an unpleasant plop. "Not exactly the most charming substance.." Ahem. Aboleoth will evidently have to decline, not seeing himself in mud unless he has to be. "We'll have to visit the baths after this." Kazra comments as she attempts to shape the lump of clay in front of her. "It can't be that bad to make. Anyway, its only going to sit on the ledge of our weyr when we get one." she adds. "Its's having a plant in it." And hopefully that will explain things. B'ane dips his hand into the brown ooze and gets a mass of the substance for himself. "I think this may be too dry-" Already knowing his Partner's thought, Aboleoth dutifully brings the two a pail of water from the barracks. "Thank you," small grin at his life mate. "We need one of those pottery wheels that the womenfolk use." They'll just have to make due with their bare hands. "Thanks Aboleoth." Kazra adds her own thanks with a grin. She would give him a scratch, but her hands are all mudy and she doesn't think that he'd appreciate muddy handprints on his bronze hide. "Its fun to squish between your fingers though." she comments, patting a small hummock to make it more rounded. B'ane idly wonders if they will have enough material for two large vessels big enough to hold plants. Gathering together a heap of mud half as big as he is, the rider goes to work with set determination. "I'm sure we could always obtain one of these from a crafter, but it's more rewarding to do it yourself." Ha, famous last words.. "Should we see if we can rope anyone else into helping us with these?" Kazra suggests. "Well, apart from Xy and Aboleoth here. Yes, I know that you want to play in the clay as well Xylyth, but you're a bit big." Nevertheless, Kazra tosses a lump of the clay over to her brown and he sets to work, standing on it, before looking curiosuly at the large mud puddle he's made. B'ane looks up, a streak of drying mud on his cheek. "Maybe someone who knows what they're doing?" But then again, that spoils his fun. Hollowing out the center with his small blade and hands, B'ane begins to construct his own pot for the briar bush if he can obtain it. "We do know what we're doing." Kazra protests, patting her hummock some more into shape. "Its just proves more difficult in practise than in theory." And that is obvious with Xylyth and his little lump of clay. Currently, he is carefully scraping it off the ground, trying to mimic the hummock that Kazra has made. B'ane nods to that, his own piece looking lopsided, but fairly sturdy. Almost. "We are only beginners after all." Suppressing a grin at Xylyth, the bronzer keeps on carving a large crater into the center of the lot of clay. "Yours looks like it's coming along." Xylyth's is another matter.. Kazra starts to hollow out her hummock now, pushing the insides to the outsides. "So what are you going to put in your pot if this works?" Kazra asks, before glancing over at Xylyth's creation and giggling. The hummock has been carefully flattened now, and Xylyth is now trying to make a dragon print in its malleble surface. B'ane is nearly done and now let the masterpiece sundry. And with Ista's sun, that shouldn't take too long. "There's this bramble bush somewhere around here that Aboleoth choose to adorn our ledge when we get a weyr." Faranth knows how they're going to transplant the thing. "And you?" "Practially the same thing. Except Xylyth's fancy has been taken by a lilac. He was introduced to it by Valanth and apparantly Shrub has taken a liking to him and me." Kazra explains, still hollowing out her pot. Xylyth is still trying to make dragon prints in the clay. "Lilac? They smell beautiful when they're in bloom. You're weyr will most likely smell the best of the lot." Pokes the pot thing. Well, it's semi-dry. "Painting them would maybe look a little more attractive, don't you agree?" If not, they're stuck with the monstrosities, for know one really wants a disproportionate pot.. Kazra nods to B'ane comment about the weyr smelling nice, concentrating as she is on not actually scooping out the bottom of her pot as she hollows the interior. "If we could find some paint to use, maybe borrow some from the weyrbrats?" she suggests. "Think we should make some more pots for the others?" B'ane shudders. The weyrbrats. "Um, I bet we can go there when they're.. asleep or something." Like, way late. "I'm not sure if they may want to make them themselves, but we could try. If not, perhaps we can get a thirty-second at the next Gather.." **B'ane had to leave here, and so did I.** |