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Date Posted: 17:06:43 11/30/04 Tue
Author: D'ctor - Whoth ( Romana and Adric )
Subject: Yow!

A swift crack noise is all that disrupts the cool silence about the island Weyr. Elegant liver-bronze wings are suddenly wide and luminous in the evening's dark, materialising from the nowhere-nowhen of between. Whoth's neck curls back, a clarion call resounding to the peacock-blue horizon, an unbroken band from this high up. The lithe, high-luminescent body cants, bringing the dragon and his passengers down in a wide spiral, savouring the feeling of the crisp wind.

White curls billow at the nape of a neck in the drafts from the bronze's slowly-beating pinions. D'ctor is securely held in his harness, headset goggles covering his skull with tight herdbeast hide and his eyes with clear lenses. His face is drawn into a tense grimace, due to the cold and his concentration on the ground below. The man speaks softly to his Impressed, Look, see the horizon? That's what I remembered. That's how we got back. Whoth rumbles softly and sends a tendril of assent in response before banking into a tighter downward helix. D'ctor, there's something going on down there. Emotion.. and heat.. and thrill. It's good, but kind of bad. Very strange, at least. The man's parted lips curve into a little smile. Good, at least something's up. How many people are around the Weyr? The bronze gives the impression of a soft shrug. I can't tell. There's a new queen, but somehow she's older than the others. Maybe a latecomer from the mainland.

The pair lapsed into silence. From D'ctor's folds of clothing, there is a soft peep and then a moody neeeyoooww noise. Chuckling idly at his squabbling firelizards, he redirects his focus to the mouth of the Weyr, looming below. The hatching sands. The excitement is there. D'ctor gives a whispering chortle at this. Then that's where we're going, of course.

Whoth emits a deep, bellowing trumpet to let the others know of their new presence. He alights upon the ridge nearby the sands, after spotting the door guard. Though he wants to be oiled and to hunt, he's gladly willing to give his rider time to find out what's going on. D'ctor descends swiftly the narrow stairways and paths to the level of the main entrance. He's quite a mess, really - still in riding gear, encrusted in sea salt, clothing torn and entire frame dirty, tired, and storm tossed. The only thing untouched are his dark grey eyes, which exude their eternal feeling of age and wisdom, and his composure, which he gathers breathlessly before T'gan.

'Hello, my boy.' Standing tall, D'ctor tilts his head slightly, gazing politely at the boy's face and seemingly unconcerned about the events upon the sands. He smiles, expressive lips turning up. 'I've.. been out at sea for some months. Got ourselves lost!' Soft, yet brilliant, laughter fills richly the spaces between his sentences. 'And we return..' He scratches his cheek lightly with the back of the opposing hand's index. '.. to find.. this. Not that we know what "this" is, exactly, and we were hoping to find out.' Whoth nudges his Impresser's mind, and the man sweeps his arm to gesture to the small yellow-bronze dragon.

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