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- I, ah, may have run on a little long. -- Mylanith & Talla, 22:07:54 08/29/06 Tue
The sky is bright and clear above the Weyr today, a brilliant cloudless blue shade that any Weaver would give their souls to capture in tapestry. It will be hot later on, the breezes frequent but lacking in any real force - but right now it's only mid-morning, and the sun caresses the island below rather than beating down hard upon it. Its light warms the hides of blues and browns and greens dozing on the heights, and flashes brighter off the metallic hides of bronzes and golds. One gold in particular, however, glows more strongly than the sunlight would account for.
Mylanith has been restless for almost two sevendays now, and quite distinctly snappish and bad-tempered the past four days. Even Talla is growing short with her, and for that matter she's been short with everybody in general, influenced by her proddy dragon and vague apprehensions of what will be coming next. Because there's no doubt in the minds of the senior dragonriders that the young queen is about to rise for the first time, and all the kindly-meant advice and warnings in the world can't settle Talla's nervous stomach; on top of her concerns about the flight itself, she's starting to worry that maybe it's her nervousness holding Mylanith back. The gold is radiant yellow by now, and hasn't risen yet.
If it has been Talla holding her back (which she would vehemently deny in any case, but Talla can do no wrong in Mylanith's loving eyes), that hypothetical constraint is quickly losing its power. This morning Mylanith is trying to sun on the heights, having claimed the highest perch near her Weyr and run off every dragon within twenty dragonlengths. Anyone flying above is giving her a wide berth. But now that she's claimed her spot, she can't seem to get comfortable, twisting around and fanning her wings every few minutes. The gold's eyes barely close, despite having told Talla earlier that all she wants to do today is sleep. And her restlessness is not confined to the heights; Mylanith's general upset is roaring loud and clear in the back of Talla's mind, leaving her at a loss of how to settle her dragon long enough to get anything done. She can feel the threat of an impending headache, and is only stomaching her breakfast through force of will.
/Are you hungry, my heart?/ Talla finally asks, more gentle than anyone seeing the expression on her face right now might imagine. Most of her irritation is Mylanith's irritation, and she knows that her dragon will retreat with badly bruised feelings if snapped at in this sensitive state - though she wouldn't be so careful to avoid that if she hadn't had to jolly the queen out of just such a retreat the night before. It's tiring. /Or do you want to be oiled? If you were more comfortable-/
I want that breeze to stop ruffling my wingsail, Mylanith complains. And that blue is looking at me funny. Stop that, you!
/Mylanith,/ Talla sighs. Maybe she'll just leave her dragon to sulk this time, if the gold drives her to scolding again. /I don't think he meant to offend you./ The buzzing of Mylanith's restless annoyance is becoming overlaid with something else, though it's taking its own sweet time emerging from the grating hum. Talla frowns, trying to figure out what new thing Mylanith has unexpectedly added to her emotional range. Something about it niggles at her, familiar-yet-not.
And just like that, it surges above the rest of Mylanith's presence in her head, and roars.
On the heights, Mylanith rises onto her hindquarters, wings unfurling, and launches herself unflinchingly into the air. She vanishes into between only a few feet off the ground, the sound of that first violent snap of her wings still echoing above the empty perch.
Talla launches herself to her feet, morning meal forgotten, and is nearly flung into the ground when she trips over a bench a few tables down; only a rider's quick hand keeps her from taking a header onto the floor, and she rushes on without stopping to thank her anonymous benefactor. She's never done this before, but Wessae has gone over it so many times she could probably repeat the lecture in her sleep. I can't let her gorge I can't let her gorge I can't let her gorge....
A brilliant flash of gold appears above the Bowl as Mylanith emerges from between, shrieking her hunger to the Weyr. She dives towards the herds below, the milling animals still unprepared for her attack, and viciously dashes a herdbeast against the ground before finishing it off with a savage twist of the neck.
The delight she takes in the kill gives Talla a bare few seconds to dash out of the Lower Caverns, to where she can see the Bowl; fortunately, those seconds are all she needs to stop and focus on what she needs to do next. /Blood it, Mylanith! Blood it!/ She's met with a wordless surge of resistance from her dragon's mind, and struggles not to let it overwhelm her. /Shard it, Mylanith, blood your kill! Or you'll fly no better than a green!/
Mylanith greets the imposition of her rider's will with fierce, violent anger, but bends to drain the dead herdbeast with only one more squall of protest. The next is far less of a battle for Talla, and by the time Mylanith rises to descend upon her third kill, she goes straight for the jugular. She only bleeds this one half-dry before rearing back again, blood smeared wet and red across her muzzle and claws. Her own blood seems to be made of liquid fire, hunger-lust-power rushing through her veins with every beat of her heart.
At the edge of the Bowl, Talla stands flushed and shaking, one hand against the rock wall beside her for support. She'd feel weak if Mylanith's feelings weren't so mixed in with her own, and their thoughts are already starting to run together. It's clear that she's not really seeing the world around her as a faint smile touches her lips. Let's give them a flight, my heart.
Bugling her challenge, loud and high and harsh for any dragon that cares to hear, Mylanith hurls herself into the sky. Let her suitors take the air. She'll outpace them all!
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- Because Deystar is taking too sharding long to reply -- Hythe(Ith), 20:37:41 01/01/06 Sun
((Plus, she said I could! Warning- this flight is closed, open only to C'lin. Plotness is wonderful. I am now rambling.))
Hythe spread the last bit of oil on Ith's hide, and doubled over, coughing. Fanning her hands in front of her nose dispelled the fumes of the oil, but Hythe still felt nauseated...
Hythe...
The woman looked at her green, and gasped. Ith was glowing, and not just with the normal gleam of health.
What is it? Ith cried, her foreleg creating a ramp for Hythe to scramble up.
"You're about to fly!" Hythe shouted, unaware if anyone around heard her.
They ascended the skies, climbing high quickly, and beating towards the feeding grounds at a far faster and urgent pace han they had ever flown before.
All uncertainity and fear was banished from Iths mind, but not so from Hythe's. The green made a few false passes at a few bucks, before descending on one. Taking the split second that Ith was close enough to the ground, Hythe slid from her dragon as fast as she could. Her breeches- old, patched, and faded- were slick and coated with the oil she had just finished spreading, but Hythe was hardly concerned with that.
BLOOD IT! Sharding dragon-child, blood it!
It was a contest of wills as Hythe had never before experienced. For a terrifying moment- two- three- it seemed that Ith would win. But Hythe bore down on the green with her desperate command, and overcame her desire for hot, steaming meat. Hythe simultaneously craved the hot, steaming meat, fought Ith so that she wouldn't, and nearly threw up because of it. But the fully-grown green fastened her teeth on the neck of the buck, and sucked it dry.
Screaming a defiant cry, Ith rose the skies, gleaming a bright green.
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- Everyone Deserves a Chance to Fly! -- S’non and Loveth, 19:51:47 11/29/05 Tue
Peace. Such a wonderful, sensational solitude. Alas, how short it tends to be...
Just as peace was falling in the Flight Air after Massath’s flight had finally quieted, an air-shattering Kraa! filled the air, and a strong, far from silent body erupted all at once from between. The heardbeasts, grazing in the sudden silence, all scattered in fright as yet another green started to make her presence known to the world, and loud! The dragon, lithe and limber, swiveled her head around to survey the area, and gave a trumpet of pure longing. Her hide, glistening with both lust and sunlight from the slowly setting Rukbat, seemed to glow more silver than forest, but that didn’t stand out in the femma’s mind. Giving another loud scream, she pumped her wings hard, nearly dislodging her poor rider.
Seizing her flight emotions in what she believed was the best possible way, she glided effortlessly to the heardbeasts, and, despite their screams and fleeting attempts of escape, she gave a tremendous dive, spearing a larger one with her razor talons, blood oozing down her glimmering body. She instantly brought her head down to the beast, her entire being utterly intoxicated, inexplicably captured in the essence of lust. As she moved, the poor rider, who had been clinging to the neck desperately, now undid the flight straps without leaving his mount, inwardly screaming into his beloved’s mind.
Loveth! I know you hear me... and you know to blood your kill!
The green gave a snort of annoyance, and tried yet again to defy her loved’s wishes. However, S’non and Loveth had played this game before... and the rider always won. Giving a loud scream, the silvery dragon lowered her head, but obediently locked her fangs around the tender flesh of the neck. She gave a sputter as the life fluid dripped into her mouth, finer than the best heardbeast milk, more engulfing than the strongest of wines. She drank, and S’non himself felt the intoxicating flow of blood in his throat—their throat—as his mind started already to meet with hers.
Desperate to get off his love before she flew, S’non finished undoing the straps and slid off his beloved’s back. Gripping the straps with the added pressure from his frustration, he stumbled blindly to an empty area, and nearly collapsed into a heap. No matter how many times Loveth would fly—and this was about their fifth, he’d guess—he wouldn’t get used to this. Breathing hard, he struggled to remain upright, and dropped the straps to the ground. Swallowing hard, he faced his drinking dragon. No matter how much he hated the flights... he knew how much she loved them.
Loveth lifted her head from her third kill with a regal grace, and scanned the grounds. Giving a draconic smirk, she let her long wings stretch high above her head, and then let herself fly with the sound of a gunshot. She gave another terrific scream, of challenge... of longing. Bringing herself ‘round in great spirals, she laughed hard. No one could catch her this time, fueled as she was with blood and lust! Let them try—she could take it!
On the ground, S’non had the familiar feeling of being yanked right into his dragon’s being. He struggled, but soon fell victim of the wonderful, encompassing mind of the Green. A smirk, very unaccustomed to the gentle man’s face, was not his but Loveth’s, yet it showed up on his face clearly. His eyes glimmered with Loveth’s sights... and the flight was his—hers—theirs to enjoy!
((Ok... I’m slightly expecting Maria—Myth to enter... but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll win, if anyone knows what I mean. I’d LOVE as many people as possible to enter! ^_^))
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- Next few... -- Flightmaster Deystar, 12:55:46 11/27/05 Sun
Hm... well, it seems that Massath has finished her flight with spectacular results, and the Weyr, for the moment has peace. However, it can be safely assumed the flight grounds will not be empty for too long, with so many greens around.
I must commend Hythe on her care of green Ith, but there is the possibility that the emerald shine is more than health. Also, S'non, Loveth is looking very close to her cycle. Perhaps the silvery shine to her scales suggests an upcoming flight, and soon?
Now, as always, I ask in common curtisy for you to mention if you'd like a specific male to win, if the flight is open, or even if one male will probably have a better chance than others. After all, the males that enter want a fair game!
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- >Green flight!< -- Massath & R'ven, 23:33:21 06/07/05 Tue
((This is a completely open flight, and I really don't care if R'ven even knows your character as long as Massath gets chased. ^_~ Do keep in mind, though, that while female blueriders can join the pursuit, none of them are going to win unless their posts absolutely blow me away, because R'ven really swings one way and one way only.))
As R'ven had hoped, he has a good half-hour between the time he realizes that Massath is going to fly today, not tomorrow, and the time that she actually becomes fully aware of this himself. He uses the window to get ready and to find a good spot on the edge of the Bowl, and by the time the green dragon races from their weyr, shrieking her lust to the Weyr, the tall, broad-shouldered man is perched on a nicely secluded boulder, not so open that anyone could wander by and see the flight's participants, but not so hidden that said participants can't find him. The firelizards, wisely, have fled, so for once there isn't a possessive golden weight dangling from his long pale braid. Interestingly, preparing for the flight had apparently not included putting on a new shirt, and it's a fair gamble that R'ven doesn't even realize that he'd left his on the floor of M'telle's weyr. The bandage the young bluerider had wrapped around his shoulder is the only thing covering his upper body, but the weather is peaceful enough that he's oblivious to the lack. His full attention at this point is on his dragon.
Massath is a bright lime-green even under normal circumstances, right now she's glowing in a shade closer to neon. She explodes from the weyr with a scream that sends the herdbeast in the Bowl scattering in terror, her rapidly spinning eyes a dark, deep red that's heavily tinted with violet. The shriek modulates into a brassy bugle, far deeper than the first sound but high-pitched for a dragon, and then her eyes fix on the herdbeasts far below. The big green's wings fold inwards so quickly that one almost expects to hear them snap under the stress, and she streaks downward, diving towards an isolated animal. Her wings unfurl at the last moment, and the talons striking the herdbeast's back also drive it into the ground, she's timed it so close. Landing beside her kill, Massath's head darts down towards its belly and the delicacies within. Her teeth are actually brushing fur when a stern, insistent voice rings out in her mind. /Massath! Blood it!/ Snarling in outrage at this interloper who had dared interrupt her meal, Massath jerks her head up, trumpeting her fury. But the implacable cry rings out again inside her head, and to silence the infuriating voice, she tears at the herdbeast's throat instead, draining it of blood and leaving the tempting entrails behind. The same voice keeps her from feasting on the second, and by the third, the ancient flight-instincts are taking over, fire running through her veins instead of blood, and she barely even needs the voice's reminder.
Alive with flight-lust, Massath tilts her bloody head back and screams her desire to the sky, then launches herself into the air as if in pursuit of her cry. Powerful wings bearing her upwards, muscular body glowing bright, the green dragon surges towards the clouds. Another bugle springs from her throat, a taunting, brassy challenge, and she circles once, impatiently, scanning the Weyr below her for males willing to brave the flight. Then she turns on a wing-tip and hurls herself northwards, not willing to stay and wait for the sluggardly males to realize what's going on. They'll have to work to make up the distance themselves if they want to catch her!
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- ^_^ -- Kitty, 13:21:42 06/07/05 Tue
Let the Flights Resume!
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- Reminder... -- Kitty, 21:32:43 05/25/05 Wed
Wilkith flew, and Massath is not flying until Shrineth's clutch is done, as was requested, correct? *smile*
The Flight List will be up as soon as all new dragons are hatched so that all greens may be included. Then Deystar, if you'd resume your post at that point, I'd be much obliged.
Thanks again,
Kitty
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- Oh, I'm evil -- Erila(Wilkith), 11:29:49 05/01/05 Sun
((Sorry, I got kicked off the computer earlier b certain little sisters. Certain older sisters are hogging the office, so I'm stuck in the booth))
". . . she needs to feed," Erila ordered Serenity as she apologized to her Impressed,
Well, not taking our firestone, how could I remember? Remember, I'm losing my mind, very slowly.
It's okay, Erila. However, I think we have to go. I feel. . .
As Erila removed her hand from her inspection of Wilkith's mouth, she saw the incredibly bright color.
"I was right! Oh, shards. Serenity, we'll have to finish our lesson later!"
Erila jumped up onto Wilkith's arm, and scrambled into place.
"Look for R'yu, Serenity!"
Wilkith took off, her hide a brilliant glow. Erila hung on as Wilkith tore to the feeding grounds. She somoersaulted off the green's leg, taking the harness with her.
Shard you! Wilkith, BLOOD IT ONLY! Wilkith, listen to me!
The familiar sensation of flight lust washed over Erila. No . . she needed to keep her human self until the actual flight.
Wilkith swooped onto a large buck, and rended it. She prepared to eat it, eyes swirling a violent purple.
'Blood it, Wilkith!" Erila screamed, mentally and physically. She forced Wilkith to bend to her will. A feral scream, and Wilkith bent to the buck's next. Erila fought the conflicting desire of hot, steamy meat, and the need to blood.
"It will weigh you down, shard you! Blood it!"
With a feline-like scream, Wilkith rose, taking to the air wir a snarl of challenge.
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- Announcement! -- Flight Master, 17:12:30 04/19/05 Tue
Wonderfully, both Shrineth's and italiath's flights have gone wonderfully, and the first of the two has given us our Weyrleader! Good job, to both girls... and all the boys!
However, Erila, I'd love to complement you on WIlkith's excellant care... and you too, R'ven, with Massath. The two beauties seem to shine with health and vitality! However, a caution to you both... perhaps flights are soon to come?
((Any order you two want (or see this). Both can fly at once... and, if you'd like a specfic male to win, please... say so in the post! It's considerate to all other males, after all!))
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- Some things really ARE set by the Fates. Though we're rather unlikely Fates, El and I, being two teens rather than three crones. -- Vitaliath, Arbol, 21:42:31 03/31/05 Thu
((This is pretty much a closed flight. I mean, you could join in if you REALLY wanted, but Hroth is going to win this flight if Vitaliath has to drag him around by the tail and wrap herself around him at the end. ^_^))
If A'dian hadn't been ill, he would have noticed Vitaliath's unnatural brightness, and her ill temper. But he hadn't seen the first, and attributed the second to his illness. And under normal circumstances, she wouldn't have flown for another couple of days. But the sexually charged emotions of Shrineth's flight are still drifting around, and her rider is engaging in something sure to inspire activity in any proddy green. Bursting from their weyr, she takes to the air in a flurry of grass-green wings, lighter than usual because of the bright glow of her hide, and plunges towards the Bowl, shrieking as she goes.
One quick strike ends the life of herdbeast, and Vitaliath is lowering her head, prepared to tear out the entrails, when an annoying voice protests. /Vitaliath!/ A'dian screams, commanding her unwilling attention. /Vitaliath, blood it! Blood it!/ A brown firelizard appears nearby, prudently out of the range of her claws, though she bats at it anyway when she realizes it must be an informer for that infuriating voice. Her rider brooks no protest, however, and his cries force her to only drain the herdbeasts, this one and the two more that follow. Finished, she shrieks again and rises into the sky, then follows it with an ear-piercing bugle that will call the attention of everyone in the Weyr. The brown lizard vanishes, the emotions running free inspiring him to his own, similar pursuits.
The vocal bugle is joined by a mental command. She may be almost lost in flight-lust, but one thing will never fall to the back of Vitaliath's mind, no matter how maddened or upset she becomes. And this thing bears more directly on the current state of affairs than it ever has before. Hroth! Her bugle may have called other males, perhaps, but the green will never have eyes for any of them. And with what Hroth's rider and her own is doing, it's even less likely that she's going to deny this urge. Hroth! she repeats, no longer quite sensible enough to repeat the threats she might, at other times, have used. But while she may not explictly state it, her tone is enough to tell him that if he doesn't come of his own free will, she may very well drag him out of that weyr herself.
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