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Dalibor is a semi-canon Dragonriders of Pern site. No knowledge of the series or site is required to join; players of all experience levels are welcome here. Founded in 2008 on Proboards and moved to Jcink in 2013, Dalibor has been running for eight years.

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Spring, 18th Turn, 11th Pass

Upcoming Flights:
Red Cyanide

Upcoming Hatchings:
Amber Era

Western Hold welcomes new blood in the form of a young couple, Lord Holder Basasius and Lady Holder Baria. A grand Gather is being hosted by Western Hold to welcome their new Lord and Lady.

While the new Lords settle into Western there has been talk and speculation about the western continent's other Hold. It has been two turns since his wife's passing in the south, when will Lord Callum decide to take up a new wife?

Spring has woken an abundance of plant life across Pern with intermittent spring showers helping to sate the growth's never ending thirst. With the end of snow and cold comes Thread once more; Dalibor's wings have no doubt been reduced due to losses over the winter but none the less they persevere.
Leadership
Weyrwoman
Rayna of Gold Couineth - Boo

Weyrleader
Z'dyn of Iron Baihujinth - Rhia

Jr. Weyrwoman
Jali of Copper Laanasuth - Rii

Jr. Weyrleader
Arlya of Burgundy Xerocleth - Rowana

Alphahandler
Norla of Bronze Norsk - Ivy

Betahandler
Der of Grey Desk - Rii
Oreanda of Bronze Osk - Ruin

Weyrlingmaster
B'tor of Green Tavistrath - Sakoru
Nia of Pink Koeneth - Catsitta
S'vor of Green Absinth - Ruriko

Wherlingmaster
Ijo of Brown Isk - Rhia
Pavir of Blue Pavisk - Captain
Swithin of Blue Swisk - Ivy

Candidatemaster
Ulian of White Rivath - Ruin
Ra'h of Green Musath - Blot
Zanii of Black Zansk - Leo

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Ruin

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Rii

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Dalibor was created by Bre, continued by Cathaline, and is now owned and operated by Ruin. Most of the information, rules, and graphics were made, compiled, or written by staff with credit given to those whose resources they used. Stock thanks to credited parties. All characters and posts are copyrighted to the members of the game. No material from this site should be copied in any way, shape, or form without utter express permission from the members and staff. All references to worlds and characters based on Anne McCaffrey's 'Dragonrider of Pern' series are copyright Anne McCaffrey 1967-2017, all rights reserved. The Dragonriders of Pern is registered U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, by Anne McCaffrey, used here with general permission for non-commercial purposes without monetary gain.

 
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 Clack Clack Clack, WI 17 {Open}
Harbinger
 Posted: Oct 17 2017, 04:11 PM
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Practiced hands passed through the cross weave of the finished bolt of heavy spun cloth, tying off ends and assuring that there would be no unraveling between now and completion of the finished product. In the dim light, Emira's hands seemed to be the same color as the gently bleached, denim-like cloth she had just finished. It would be passed on to other apprentices to create the pants and tunics favored by anyone working in a rough environment.

The pallid apprentice froze as she heard footsteps approaching, hoping it was just the master coming to check on her progress or someone coming to retrieve the bolt of cloth she had finished. Emira was only part right - it was the master weaver over Dalibor's contingent but he was accompanied by the Headwoman, discussing the needs of the Weyr's stores with winter covering the continent and new candidates coming in for the double-clutch. Coats, hats, scarves, sweaters, all cold-weather gear was needed to make sure no one went without. Carefully, timidly, Emira stepped from the shadows, raising one alabaster hand to get their attention.

Emira's volunteering was gratefully accepted; any apprentice worth their salt could easily knit - especially one five years into their craft - and so Emira was able to snag several skeins of woolen yarn and scampered off into the general caverns to work. She found one of her little hidey holes, a corridor that seemed to lead to nowhere and thus was unlit by glows. Enough light poured in that she could see without pain but still make out the colors of the yarn she had brought with her. After a short consideration, she grabbed a mustard-yellow skein and began the process of knitting, working on the pattern and pondering her next color choice, silent save for the echoing clacking of her knitting needles.


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 Posted: Oct 18 2017, 01:18 AM
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It had been a long night, though Yoris could not now think of a time in recent memory that they had not been so. The memory of a good night’s sleep now seemed something insubstantial, dream-like, a certain mirage of the mind, from a time when his mind had been purely his own. The familiar brutish brush of Yorisk’s brain against his own was now as much of him as his dominant hand—he could no more recall what it had been like before her Impression than he could pretend to lose his dominant limb. Even so, he thought maybe, at one time, there had been short nights.

Yorisk no need sleep. She prowled at his side, huge enough to have been one of the low-slung runners out in the stables. They were the both of them recluses as often as possible these days. Not that anyone ever truly forgot that a Red Wher prowled through Dalibor’s belly, even if she was seldom seen. Still, the drudge they came upon near threw himself down a side corridor to be away from the sight of them, the slight peevish man and his monster of a companion. He hummed a noise that suggested that this was, technically, an untruth. Yorisk did need sleep. They had spent all night on watch, it was well past morning, and still they were up and about for no real reason that he could see. Only that she was not yet bone-tired enough to submit to sleeping.

No. Yoris sleep all time! Waste time! Not what Yorisk want, Weyr not SAFE, Carrosk not SAFE, only Yorisk keep safe, why no one let Yorisk own whole-Weyr for keep safe… It went on like that for some time. He could not tune it out, but he could distance himself a little, even as he laid a thin hand against the rolling curve of her nearest shoulder. The loss of her twin sister still stung deep, in ways he did not yet believe would ever be overcome. The two had been joined at the egg, Yorisk had always known where her twin was, had gone to her for comfort. Only for her only comfort in her world, save her Handler, to die far away from where they could have done anything to save her or her sharding Handler. She had regained a little of her mind since that dark day, and there were moments of real clarity now and again, but mostly it was raving.

Yorisk went still as a tracking hound on the scent, one forelimb still lifted comically in the air. She took a long drag of air in through her nostrils before a low growl broke out in her chest.

Yorisk smell new.
There’s lots of new things, you know. That might be anything. You can’t just— Oh, but she could just. Still snuffling the air, the Red began lumbering down the corridor with greater conviction, her pace quickening with every step. Yoris had no choice but to run gamely behind, now trying to reason out loud. At least that way no one would think him completely out of control with the situation.

“Slow down you great bloody thing, it’s dark as anything and you’ll run someone down if you aren’t careful.” His words had little effect. With the terrible sound of claw grinding on stone Yorisk corrected her headlong gait, her whole body sliding sideways as she skidded to a stop so that she could hurtle down a sideways passage.

Yorisk hear thing, new thing, what thing— He was starting to relish the days before signs of life had returned in her, when she had just moped about their weyr most of the day, and he deep in the wine to drown her out. Now there were these made capers in between her dark depressions, and he with no wine at all, and expected to keep her from murdering some hapless anything that she came across.

Yorisk came upon a hidey-hole, and from it came both her new smell and her new sounds. With a low hiss, the great knobbled head, followed by her two enormous paws, filled the doorway to Emira’s safe little nook.

This YORISK WEYR, what new smell new sound think doing? Yorisk need kill for make Weyr safe? This was bellowed for both Yoris and Emira to hear, not to mention any other hapless souls that found themselves within hailing range. While Yorisk’s bulk nearly filled the little entrance, two pale hands could be seen around the edges trying to pry her away, plus the muffled voice of her Handler filtering in from behind.

“Don’t mind her, she’s not to kill anyone, Yorisk move or by Faranth I will have Nevisk run you off, don’t think I won’t.” She budged, very slightly. Just enough for him to peek in around her neck. He blinked at the translucent girl, fiddled with his spectacles for a moment, blinked a few more times, and then seemed to decide that his eyesight was altogether not to be trusted.

“There now, no harm done. I think.”
Yorisk not sure yet, she threatened, her nostrils still working furiously in Emira’s direction.

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 Posted: Oct 18 2017, 05:29 PM
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The clacking increased in speed as Emira got her stitch count set in her mind and a nearly instinctual practice overtook her. It was soothing; the repetitive counting, the soft wool in her fingers, the accomplishment of seeing the scarf grow as she finished row after row of yellow, brown, and crimson helped Emira let go of all the troubles in the world.

At least until new ones showed up.

The weaver ignored the echoing steps at first, easily assuming it was some folk about to walk by and assured that her forgotten corridor was safe. The scraping of claws caused her to finally pause, focusing on whatever was causing the sound. She was familiar with whers - at least their existence - but she had never met one before.

That changed quickly.

Emira screamed as a great, dark shadow suddenly blocked the light filtering into the nook, noticing only teeth and points and great muscles and tearing claws. Tense muscles clawed into the knitting and pulled it with her as she scrambled away, banging knees and elbows against the wall and floor as she crawled backwards. When her back hit something hard, she had to stop, a sob then escaping her. Oh Faranth. Oh Faranth. They were going to kill her for being a bad omen to the Weyr. To "make Weyr safe" as the wher put it.

She heard another voice - not that she understood the first few words - and pointed a knitting needle towards the wher and her handler. It was a sad defense against any beast, and the fact that she had her eyes squeezes shut and was looking away further damaged any chance of actually fending off anything.

"Please, I'm just a simple weaver," she squeaked after Yorisk proclaimed that she was possibly still a thread. "I didn't do anything. I swear!" Emira's voice trembled as much as the hands that held her knitting, wiggling visibly in the twilight. "I don't want to die!" the Weaver sobbed.

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 Posted: Oct 19 2017, 12:18 AM
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A throaty, gurgling laugh broke from the wher’s gruesome jaws. It was not a comforting sound, for all that it made her stop trying to cram her way into the chamber.

Puny cave girl protect with… tiny stick! So tiny! Yorisk was even stamping one of her forefeet in paroxysms of mirth. Yoris yelped aloud as she stomped down on one of his feet, trying to shove her off while also stammering profuse apologies to the girl. He was distracted enough by the combination of physical pain, deep embarrassment, the second-hand amusement and bloodlust of his bonded, and more than a little confusion about the nature of the accosted being. It did not help that Yorisk was blocking the only light coming in, nor that every sound was magnified by the closeness of stone walls. Yorisk clutched his head in one hand and flailed the other at both wher and girl.

“Oh, please, no more screaming! She won’t kill you!” The Red flashed her teeth once more at the cowering weaver, then seemed to be struck by an idea. With surprising speed she lunged forward—and bit down delicately on the end of the threatening needle. If she could get hold of it cleanly she would yank it from Emira’s hand before retreating, though the bulk of her still sat between freedom and the hidey-hole. Emira would have a hard time squeezing past her if she had thought to try. If she had gotten hold of it, she would hold it with surprising care. She did not mean to make splinters of it... yet.

Puny cave girl give Yorisk toothpick before dinner! Please Yorisk. No more new sound, only good scare sound, make Yorisk laugh. Without his wher blocking the way Yoris was free to get a good luck at this ‘puny cave girl,’ though he did not entirely know what to do with himself. At first he tried to enter the chamber and extend a hand, but then realized halfway through that this too might seem threatening, so pulled away to hem and haw back where he had been.

“Look, ah, she’s not meant anything by it, she’s just a brute and doesn’t know better.” He shot her a glare. Her eyes whirled with amusement, though most of the colors tended towards shades of red. Even in mirth she was full of anger.

“She’s never killed anyone. I think. Shards, I’m ah, very sorry about all this, very contrite, you must imagine it to be so.” He gave a clumsy sort of bow, there being very little room to perform it in.
“Are you… well? She has not hurt you, but ah, perhaps…” He did not know how to broach the subject. Despite the dim light he was beginning to realize the extent to which the girl reflected light back out into the world. Pale as a cave mushroom. Was she one of the cavedwellers ousted from their traditional home? He was aiming to be polite but felt he had already overshot the mark.

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 Posted: Oct 19 2017, 06:17 PM
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A shiver ran up the weaver's spine as the wher made a sound that Emira equated more to the gurgle of an empty stomach than the grumble-like sounds of draconic laughter. Yes, she was going to be eaten. Finally destroyed for her albinism, for bringing back luck to the Weyr. Mocked even by the whers who were naught but beasts in many parts of Pern. At least, the ones she knew outside of Dalibor.

Tiny stick. That's all her needle was, a finely sanded pointed dowel of a thing that stood no chance against hide and barely any against skin. Hearing a voice - a real voice, not one in her head - caused her to open one eye and peer ahead.

It was a bad idea.

The flash of teeth was enough to make her cry out again, trembling hands absolutely limp when it came to Yorisk stealing away the knitting needle. Toothpick? No, no, she would get in trouble if the wher damaged the needle! They were precious, made of wood and... well, Dalibor had more woodcraft than Fort, but still!

"Please," she managed to squeak out, kneading the slowly unraveling scarf that she had left. The sound of the voice finally pulled her attention away from the red Wher and onto the Handler. He was certainly not what she was expecting to be associated with the nasty beast that was going to eat her. He looked... like her, almost. Weedy and pale, only certainly without her own disorders.

"You think?" she repeated, voice a tiny little squeak. Emira certainly didn't like his tone or choice of words - not that she would argue with him. It was something she was used to, really. She looked away as Yoris bumbled on, getting an idea of what he was going on about. The weaver looked away, still clinging to the piece of fabric she had knit as if it was a shield. "I'm fine. I'm not hurt. Just... I'm alright."

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 Posted: Oct 21 2017, 10:03 PM
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Yoris’ own movements had a certain mirror-like quality to them, made my more pronounced by the fact that they did resemble one another. His hands clutched at one another nervously, though there was no scarf for them to catch on. He had really stepped into it this time. It was up to him to keep Yorisk in line and Faranth knew that every failure to do so had a way of getting back to his superiors. He followed the line of her gaze back to Yorisk. The Red was sitting primly up on her haunches, clicking her teeth every so often so that the needle bounced up and down, or rattled in between her fangs.

“Oh. That’s ah, an important thing, is it?” He stuck out his arm with a jerky motion, palm flat, under Yorisk’s chin.
Drop it.

Yorisk think… no. She was smiling, which was nearly as terrible a thing as her laughter. The needle wiggled temptingly as she parted her teeth a little, then snapped them back together, causing it to shoot up again. Even without the benefit of hearing the man’s thoughts, it was likely clear to Emira that the wher was teasing her Handler. The pale brow creased with annoyance and he shook at the hand more insistently under her snout.
This is how we get in trouble you know. She’s going to run and blab to everyone what you did, and next thing you know it’s extra chores, all the really awful ones… He was distracted by the girl’s squeaking.

“It isn’t so easy to keep track of. You would understand if you had a wher. One like Yorisk, anyway.” How to explain that she thought about it all the time, which meant that he thought about it all the time, and after so many Turns of thinking one another’s thoughts it all became a sort of blur? It wasn’t as though Dalibor didn’t have its fair share of trouble—Traditionalists, murderers, egg-stabbers, invaders, monsters.

“And if she had killed anyone they would have deserved it, I am quite sure. Unlike you,” he added quickly, “who are only a Weaver, and probably no danger at all. Even if it’s strange to be skulking around in dark corridors for no reason. It’s no wonder she thought something was afoot.” He was really starting to get the feeling that he had put his foot in his mouth. He was also not the sort of person who knew how, or when, to apologize for the right things, and he was already bridling at the idea that she would run to Ijo or Norla or any of his hundred-and-one superiors to get him in trouble the first chance she got.

Yorisk pushed her head in under her Handler’s arm, waggling the needle, still clenched between her teeth, enticingly in Emira’s direction.
Cave girl want tiny stick? Come, take from Yorisk! As she said this the two gnarled jaws cracked open, the blue tongue within picking up the needle length-wise, strangely prehensile, and balancing it on the tip. Right between those jaws waiting like steel traps to be snapped shut. Emira would have to reach in to grab it. Yorisk was laughing again, an ugly-sounding burble that made her tongue bounce up and down, the needle bouncing precariously nearer her throat. It was clear from Yoris’ expression that he was trying to get her under control, but to little effect.

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 Posted: Oct 25 2017, 04:45 PM
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An important thing? It was one of the most important things! Whether or not she had seen the last of her days was ... well, she wouldn't call it necessary. Perhaps a surprise death would be better, so this made it all the more terrifying. She watched as a pale hand moved towards the Red's mouth and nothing seemed to happen. Was this Handler teasing her, too? He began speaking, something very vague that Emira didn't understand. She didn't have a wher, and assumed she never had a chance just as she never had a chance for a dragon.

Emira's hands clenched around the partially-made scarf as Yoris explained further. It was true that Dalibor seemed to have more trouble than Fort ever had, but to assume that anyone odd was going to be some terrible, destructive force hurt. Emotional pain stabbed through her as she was considered "just a weaver" - despite it being true - and she turned her head, letting her white hair fall across her face. Yes, she was just a weaver, just a strange little girl.

"I'm just knitting away from the lights," she explained quietly, a quaver still in her voice. "They hurt my eyes." Maybe that was something the wherhandler could empathize with. After all, Yoris was bonded to a creature that couldn't stand the light, either. Emira may not be as photophobic as the dragonkin, but the similarity was there. The taunt from the wher caused the weaver to look up, spotting the pale needle within the cavern that was her mouth. Emira shuddered.

"Just keep it. It's... I'm sure it's better as a toy." She meant to be reassuring. Emira was anything but. She glanced briefly to Yoris, trying to glean something from the fuzzy oval that she saw as his face, but it seemed the handler was having no success. The weaver looked down again, picking carefully at her knitting, trying to save as much of her work as she could, still visibly shivering in fear.

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 Posted: Oct 28 2017, 01:31 AM
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Yorisk paused mid-gurgle, the great wedge of her head turning so that she could stare sidelong at Emira, the faceted eye’s color slowing its mad whirl. Truthfully, Yorisk was not a bad wher. Cruel, yes, and violent nearly without measure, but the sight of the girl folding in on herself was pricking at a deeper, more hidden corner of the Red. It… hurt. Like something had slipped in under her sternum and jabbed at her heart. A corner of Yorisk’s lip curled in understanding self-disgust—it was sadness. The girl with the broken spirit was making her feel a feeling and it was the worst. Shuffling the bulk of her front half closer in to where Emira was huddled, her jaws still yawing open like the two halves of a steel trap, the Red bent her neck and maneuvered the knitting needle out of her mouth with her tongue. With surprising gentleness it was laid at Emira’s feet, though still being damp with wher saliva might have ruined the effect.

Puny cave girl take tiny stick, Yorisk no want now. The tone of her voice had changed too—a little petulant, a little deflated. With a great chuff of hot air that rushed from her nostrils, the Red lay down, whumping dramatically on the stone floor. Even lying prone she was still a massive creature, large enough to be ridden, if anyone ever thought it wise. Unsurprisingly, no one ever had.

Yoris blinked down at his wher, giving her hindfoot a curious nudge with his own.
This is not our room. You do not sleep here.
Yorisk no sleep. Yorisk rest.
Right here, right now? Really?
Radio silence. The Red’s eyes had not stopped their thoughtful look, though it was hard to read exactly what was going on behind them, though the usual red had given way to flecks of gray. The color of mourning. The brief sadness she had felt at Emira’s abandonment of what was clearly a precious object had given rise to deeper emotional wells, and as it turned out, for all her bully exterior, Yorisk contained much in the way of grief. With his own mirrored sigh Yoris helped himself to a seat on the wher’s haunch, which was more than strong enough to support his weight.

“Ah. Well then. It seems your criteria are much the same as Yorisk’s, as she’s decided this is a nice enough place for a… rest.” He eyed the bulk below him uncertainly. It was unlike her, and he didn’t much like the feel of the emotions she was experiencing, though he was no stranger to them. It would not be the first time he had experienced her sadness secondhand.

“I… apologize, for the intrusion. We are not…” he stumbled here, clearly stretching for words, “…accustomed, to hospitality. It is not a trait that is much expected of a watch-wher, nor of Handlers, though perhaps of Harpers.” That stung a little, and Yorisk snorted again at the shared feeling. The connection went both ways.

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 Posted: Nov 6 2017, 04:36 PM
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As she was unable to push herself back any further against the stone wall behind her, Emira was forced to just watch as the Wher regarded her so closely. It wasn't like before, teasing and near-cruel. It was... different, and Emira couldn't put her finger on it. All she knew was that she still didn't like it. The sooner she could get away, the better.

Emira stared, pale eyes wide, as the Wher ever so gently laid the mangled knitting needle next to her. It was a strange gesture, coming from a beast more than happy to offer dismemberment moments before. The Weaver coughed as Yorisk's huffs and movement stirred dust into the air. And suddenly the hulk of a Wher was sprawled out on the foor, repentant.

Yorisk rest.

That was... unexpected, and still sent Emira's heart fluttering. Why was this Wher suddenly so interested in her? She really had nothing to offer. Her gaze flicked up to the Handler, then to the whirling eye, colors changing visibly enough even to the short-sighted Weaver.

"I'm really not supposed to be resting," she admitted in a tiny voice, looking at the damp knitting needle that was now useless to her. The notches caused by Yorisk's teeth would only snag the yarn and keep her from knitting with any quality or efficiency. "You don't need to keep me company, if that's what you're saying..."

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 Posted: Nov 7 2017, 10:45 AM
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Yoris laughed, the sound a nervous thing that took up so little space it did not even echo.

"You are free to go, of course. It's only just that she's decided to lay down here, and unless you and I are both very much stronger than we look, I don't think there's much hope of moving her." And there wasn't. Yorisk shifted her position ever so slightly, the crescent of her enormous body both taking up as much space as it possibly could while also flattening itself a little tighter to the ground. If they should even think to try lifting her, by Faranth she would stick to that floor like gum. Yoris shrugged his shoulders in a 'see what did I tell you' way. There wasn't much chance of Emira just sneaking by her at this rate--it would have to be climbed over.

"Here now, I'll help you over to the other side if you need, she won't bite you."
You had better not bite her.

Yorisk was clearly going to be of no help, regardless of what decisions the puny humans made. She was still regarding Emira, her expression unreadable save the telltale eye color. In mirth she was an animated creature--at rest, her features so still she might have been dead. But still she fixed Emira with one of her enormous eyes. The voice that filled the girl's head was still a shout, no longer quite as angry as it had been, though that emotion was not altogether gone either.

Why cave girl sad? Yorisk sad because lose heart-sister. It not make Yorisk useless! Make Yorisk keep Weyr safe all time. What useless girl with sticks do make useful Weyr? It may not have seemed it to Emira but this was the closest thing to a 'pep talk' the Red had ever given. Even if the last was half-accusation and tinged with some of its former venom.

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 Posted: Nov 8 2017, 06:22 PM
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No, there wouldn't be much chance of moving her. Or any Wher, for that matter, considering their incredible bulk. Emira didn't want to even touch Yorisk, let alone do any shoving or any action that might cause a reaction. The Wher may appear content to just rest, but after seeing those teeth, the Weaver girl was not at all confident in the Red's placidity.

"I don't want to be a bother," she replied quietly, glancing over to Yoris. Which was mostly true, though her fear of baiting Yorisk into action held greater weight. She did start gathering her few things into the yarn basket she had brought along, but her attention was on the crimson eye watching her. That was why she was so concerned. The speed may have slowed, but the aggression was still there.

"Your heart-sister?" Emira repeated, hesitating as she put the last yarn ball in the basket. That pulled at the softer side of the pale girl, despite how worried she was. "I'm sorry," she whispered, before looking away, face flushing crimson at the accusation. It was true, wasn't it? She didn't really do much for the Weyr. Anyone could weave. The aunties could easily knit. So Emira? She was extraneous.

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 Posted: Nov 12 2017, 02:24 AM
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Yoris shrugged awkwardly. She could suit herself if she wanted. She wasn’t actually any bother at all, or at least the amount of bother she represented was so very little in the face of the immense bother that Yorisk always was, including in that very moment. But there did not appear to be any getting through to the nervous, self-depreciating girl, and truthfully Yoris did not care enough to do so. It was not his job to build people up so they were fit for anything in particular. Leave that to the Mindhealer or the Candidatemasters. He just wanted to get back to his room, and sleep, and organize his inks and quills and parchments.

Heart-sister. Egg-twin. One egg, two Red wher, Yorisk and Carrosk. Always know where Carrosk is, always go to for help and for make Weyr safe. The gray flecks sprouted in her eyes like mushrooms, multiplying on a crimson field until they nearly overtook it.

Carrosk Handler stupid, USELESS, now not know where Carrosk is, no one for help Yorisk but Yorisk’s. Who at that moment appeared to be in the beginning stages of dozing off. Leaned against Yorisk’s sturdy flank, the warmth that she generated and the night’s exertions were about as much as Yoris’ body could take. If he fell asleep Emira was effectively going to be alone, trapped in a room with a Red Wher.

Why girl sorry? Puny cave girl make happen? She posed it as a question, and perhaps it would frighten Emira if she thought that Yorisk was accusing her, but the Red knew better. Few single humans were a match for a single Wher, even a small one, and certainly not one as cunning and keen as her twin.

No, not make happen. Yorisk think girl only make noise with sticks, make fluffy thing for Weyr, not do bad thing to Wher. Fluffy thing not useful but not bad and not be sorry for.

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 Posted: Nov 16 2017, 02:15 PM
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Emira didn't notice the Handler's indifference, focused as she was on the growing gray within the large eye of the Wher. Sadness? The Weaver hadn't thought the Red was capable of such an emotion. Considering all she had experienced so far was terror, it was quite a change. Once more, Emira's heart strings were plucked as the Wher explained what she meant. Emira hung her head, pausing and then nodding.

"I had a twin, too," she admitted quietly, as if this was some big secret that should never have been spread in the first place. "She... she didn't make it." Emira had never mourned her late sister, considering the event happened while the girl was a tiny babe at the time. Still, she knew of the event, the one that took her mother and fostered her out. Still, she held the yarn basket close for comfort, the feeling of something familiar helping out.

"It's a scarf to keep people warm," Emira explained, hoping that it would keep her from getting any more of Yorisk's ire. "Maybe... maybe a Handler will get it to keep their neck and face warm during patrols." The weaver chanced a glance over to the dozing Yoris. "I don't know."


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Tobes
 Posted: Nov 27 2017, 12:47 AM
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Wingrider





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Perhaps it was a surprise to Emira that the Red was so capable of emotion. It came as no shock to her Handler, though that was perhaps the gift, or curse, of knowing a Wher from the egg. Despite her best efforts to quash them, Yorisk did have the emotional capacity for deep wells of feeling. More than enough; the Wher had feelings about her feelings. She hated them, wished they were a thing that could be torn apart with tooth and claw, to be swallowed down where no one would ever see them again. It was more than any one human mind was meant to handle so far as Yoris was concerned. The scribe idly adjusted the riding strap nearest his hand, pondering over the ornate loops and scrolls that had been etched into the leather. It was entirely too gaudy for the muscular Red, who looked as though she ought to be wearing something rusty with blood, but he could not help it. She was his and so she would look the part. Even if the life of a Handler still felt as ridiculous a fit as could be imagined for him.

Yorisk pondered the newly offered information, nictitating membranes blinking slowly down over her troubled eyes.

Yorisk not care. There, that ought to teach the girl for trusting a Red enough to get all mushy.

Puny cave girl live. Twin-girl even punier. Not useful like Carrosk. That was what it boiled down to. Being of use to the Weyr, not being incompetent, not being a useless drain of resources. The transparent eyelid flickered open to survey Emira’s ruin of a scarf, the wool unraveling where it had been pulled by nervous fingers. She snorted derisively, though her tone was a softer shade of scorn.

Fluffy thing maybe little useful. Girl get Wher someday maybe, go on patrol and keep own face warm, that be most useful. Not most useful like Yorisk, only most useful for girl and not-Yorisk Wher.

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 Posted: Jan 15 2018, 03:52 PM
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Priderunner





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No, Emira hadn't expected Yorisk to care. That didn't mean that she didn't feel a stab of emotional pain when the Red spoke, but it wasn't a surprise. The Weaver vainly pushed hair out of her eyes only for the lock to fall back in place. It was appropriate, anyway, a veil to memorialize her "puny" late sister. Not that Emira felt that her sister would have been puny or useless. How different things could have been, had her sister lived. But that was neither here nor now.

"I guess not," Emira replied, trying to placate the Red. Maybe if she managed to get the sub-queen content enough (could Yorisk ever truly be content?) then she could escape. The weaver nearly dropped her basket at the wher's next words. Her, a Handler? Her, bonding at all? It was impossible. Utterly impossible. She was practically half-blind and fragile as porcelain. No, no, it could never...

"I could never Impress. I ... I can't." How could she explain? Well, it was more of a question of if she could bring herself to explain. It was painful enough to live as she was, the albino girl. Having to point that out and pick at her own wound wasn't preferable. She looked to Yoris, hoping the Handler would have some way of placating or answering his Wher.

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