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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 nine years.

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Winter is in full swing as the Northwest reaches the middle stages of the cold month, and Dalibor, taking full advantage of a crackdust filled break in Threadfall, is back at it again. Delving into the Southern ice and snow, they have paired with Grove Weyr to fully explore the lands they only slightly uncovered the previous turn during the Jungle Expedition. This, however, will not be a warm and relaxing waltz through the woods; although was it ever that to begin with?
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Oreanda of Bronze Osk & Blue Oresk - Ruin
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K'ton of Blue Ironth- Jenn
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Swithin of Blue Swisk - Ives

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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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 Loose Tongues Become Loose Ends., Traditionalist Execution [TW:Death]
RhiaBlack
 Posted: May 31 2017, 04:10 PM
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Senior Weyrleader





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It had been too long, in his opinion.

Baihujinth recalled it with a level of aggression that was rare in the Iron; the fateful day that Traditionalists had posed as Candidates, and in one of Dalibor's touchings, had slaughtered several of Laanasuth's eggs in cold blood, before they'd ever had the chance to break shell. It had been made doubly worse when the third culprit had been detained, for none other than stabbing one of Z'dyn's own, Elianne of Brown Maeradith. Worse yet, it had been the woman's own twin. Part of him had wondered if it was meant to fall to his hands, to see the matter handled; the vote had been put up before Couineth had Risen, but action held off until after the Hatching - just in case there were any further actions to be lodged by those akin to the ones now stood before him. Any others foolish enough to want to die.

After all, he was a man of consequence and time-management, and it hardly resembled either to stake out these three, only to have to come back up here and do the same later on, Faranth forbid. Part of him wondered if G'len was upset over it, that it hadn't fallen to the Bronzerider, or if there might have been relief in the other man's mind that it had fallen to someone else; Z'dyn couldn't profess to know if he took the death of another, the blood on his hands, as heavily as the Ironrider did. He could only assume it would have. Death was never a clean, cut-and-dry thing. It was always a heavy burden to bear, especially for those it directly affected. His eyes cut towards Elly, before he inhaled through his nose.

But it had to be done, and it was part of his job to see it through.

He had approached Armon, Jali's now-spouse, for assistance - as well as the now-Blackrider who had also been present that day, and put his own life in danger to stop the violence. Other Riders had been requested (LIMIT OF 5 PLEASE) to act as Guards and Escorts for the condemned; for all his strength, Z'dyn certainly couldn't handle it all on his own. He had, however, personally seen to their shackles, and ensured that neither culprit could attack their carrier dragon or the Rider upon them on the way over. Armon had personally crafted the stakes that would be driven into the stone to bind them to. V'ael held on to the man of the trio, as others begun to gather; volunteers - two per condemned - held Harron and Elidora, as well as another holding Amared with V'ael.

The destination was as grim as the crime that had put them there. A long, skinny, barren island of stone - and only stone, as far as the eye could see - the furthest north that one could go above Dalibor's own on the maps, before hitting the Northern Wastes. Thread fell here, but only in the late spring and early Summer - precisely why the location had been chosen. No escape, no remorse, and no mercy. Today's Fall would land only on the upper half, where the soon-to-be executed persons would be staked out. The lower half would be Thread-free, as well as the rest of Dalibor's coverage area (the entire Western Continent), allowing victims of the attacks as well as witnesses to stand uncontested and uninhibited to observe the last moments of those who had forfeited their lives.

Z'dyn stripped away his overshirt, leaving only a short-sleeved one underneath, a striking hammer (sledgehammer) propped against one shoulder, his massive frame exposed to carry out what he had personally wished to do since the day had occurred. To him, the murdering of dragons and whers, Riders and Handlers with no reason, completely unprovoked, was the worst crime to be convicted of on Pern. Their lives, the moment they had stabbed the first egg, were forfeit as far as the Senior Weyrleader was concerned.

"Put 'em down."

Three words were all he needed to say, and Armon positioned the links in the chain, then put the stakes through them, before the Master Smith held them in place. Z'dyn regarded the trio with darkened, icy eyes, before the heavy end was swung upwards. It slammed home, the pointed stake fracturing into the stone to pin the chains where they were held, and thus, pinning those whose limbs were locked within them.

As many swings as it took, until the stakes were driven in with no hope of freedom for those that were bound by them; he ignored words, he ignored anything but his accuracy to keep from crushing Armon's hands and wrists with a missed blow, and by the time all three were locked down to the sun-warmed stone, Z'dyn was sheened in sweat from the effort. His arms and back burned, but he was happy to have an outlet for strength he couldn't otherwise vent elsewhere, for fear of hurting others or himself.

He had nothing to say. There wasn't anything to say, not from him; they knew what had been done, and all of them knew why they were there. Macchith had starved herself to death, unable to cope with what her Rider had done, and so Z'dyn was doubly cold where the former Pinkrider was concerned. Elly was one of his favorites within the limits of his wing; she worked hard, and while she gave him the third degree about things sometimes, she buckled down and did her job. They'd played some card games while she was recovering, and he'd been one of only a handful to come visit her. Even still, his Wing was his Wing, and those within it were up there among the Things One Does Not Mess With Of Z'dyn's. Right up with his dragon, his family, his partners, and his Weyr.

"If anybody's got anythin' t'say," he looked skyward, checking the position of the sun as Baihujinth shifted where he sat. "Better get t'sayin't. Won't be long, won't be nothin' left of 'em t'talk to."

V'ael stood ready with the three lengths of cloth. Gags, to bind around their heads once last words had been uttered, and prevent the screams from carrying. Z'dyn had been Scored; he knew how badly it hurt. How much they were going to suffer. His face hardened.

"Askin' nobody goes t'beatin' on 'em, or spittin', that sorta thin'. We're better'n that, an' they're gonna be dealin' with enough pain, little while from now."

@Rii (Jali, Elly) @Ruin (Dora)
@Tigersilk (G'len) @Boo (Rayna)
@Leo (Zanii) @Raining (Al'dr)
@Rowana (Dh'mel for Senior Weyrlings)

[NOTE: Crafters and Weyrfolk are welcome; they will need transport. Candidates are permitted as long as they have the Candidatemaster's approval, Junior Weyrlings are NOT permitted; this will be far too stressful on young dragonets, and some of them are too large by this point to be carried anyway. Senior Weyrlings are permitted, if they want to attend. The first FIVE (5) Riders (RIDERS ONLY, please) to tag in, are cleared to be volunteers to help escort/transport/are now helping to hold down the three prisoners (V'ael is holding one half of Aramed, he will need another to hold the other side, and then 2 each for Herron and Elidora) until Z'dyn drives the stakes through the chains.]


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Raining
 Posted: May 31 2017, 05:06 PM
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@ Candidates

NOTE: Al'dr would prefer his Candidates not attend. BUT if you would like your Candidate to be present, feel free to post them, he will be present as well. BUT PLEASE NOTE: he would remind them of respect, and expect them all to behave.

Candidates under the age of sixteen may not attend!

-----------------------------------

Da'on had been one of the ones to volunteer. Perhaps on his own behalf, but also for his Dragon. Roiath had been livid when it happened, and they weren't even his. But that didn't matter. He was a Healer, this was true... but he was a Healer second to weyr ranking. So this was something he felt he should be present for, and helping.

Although this wasn't done with the surge of justice served he planned on feeling. Instead it was grim, and dark... and his shoulder ached. But he knew that this pain was all in his head, and his scoring was just a small taste of what was to go their way.

The wingsecond was on one side of Elidora, with a firm hand on her shoulder and one of her arms twisted behind her back. She was one of theirs. That was the hardest to swallow. Ellidora was from their ranks not two vermin from someplace else. Theirs. Dalibor. And this woman tried to murder her own sister, for what? Sitting a brown? The Bluerider grit his teeth as he stood with the others, waiting for the Weyrleader's go ahead.

He helped hold the dragonless down just until she was secure enough to be left there.

"If anybody's got anythin' t'say, Better get t'sayin't."

Da'on's jaw flexed and he did not dare open his mouth, for he was sure he'd either spit or say something crude and it was clear in his eyes. Since when was he so involved with Weyr politics, and Weyr issues. He was once a free spirit, who didn't give a lick about much at all. But that was before he called Dalibor his home, before he had believed this weyr to be cursed in the worst possible ways. He was Daliborian, no longer beholden to Southern or Fort in any manner. Loyal until the end, and he'd defend this place until his and Roiath's last breath.

Yet...

Da'on rubbed his shoulder, this... was wrong. Did this seem cruel?

No, his dragon replied firmly shoving aside his rider's doubt, they deserve this.



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Lee
 Posted: May 31 2017, 05:33 PM
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tw—thoughts on taking life/assisted suicide, etc

Complicated.

Oosh hated complicated feelings, ever since he had been able to acknowledge their existence. He liked things clean. He liked things simple.

His feelings about the egg-smashers, the would-be murderer, and what their fate had been decided to be, were not simple.

Death, now death was simple. You were alive until you weren’t, due to any number of a wide and disparate collection of circumstances, of varying degrees of swiftness and suffering.

Generally, in his practice, people fought it. His entire pre-Jacieth profession was more or less predicated on the concept. Close the wounds, fight the infection. Some in the practice even strove to pull the darkness out of one’s mind that would drive their own hand to end it. When you couldn’t stop it, you soothed it, offering cups of fellis and slatherings of numbweed. There were times when you couldn’t sooth it, and you offered speed instead. He’d listened to debates in the Hall, when he’d been a child running away from things, but he hadn’t participated – why? Everyone died, eventually, so did it matter, particularly, how they arrived at the point? The sound of the sledgehammer was rhythmic.

He watched, from the side.

Jacieth rumbled, an almost uneasy sound. Whether it was his own or Os’umer’s wasn’t terribly apparent.

Getting caught out during Threadfall was one thing. The swift slip of a blade to a key place, to cease the suffered bleating of a herdbeast with broken limbs, that was one thing.

The intentional, willful, instigation of a wretched suffering…

He was finding it hard to blink, as though he were crouched somewhere in his skull, peering out of twin caves, distant from the goings-on.

Put ‘em down. The Weyrleader had said.

Some of the moderately morbid humor he’d acquired in his seventeen turns found the dual meaning almost funny. The physical meaning, and its parallel to execution. He wondered if it had been intentional, and a flat, unbidden smile appeared on his lips but didn’t stretch to his cheeks or unblinking stare.

It could have been swift, could have been painless. A cup of fellis juice offered.

But would mercy inspire the acts to continue, in anticipation of leniency?

And likewise, would ferocity of conviction be enough of a warning?

Was there benefit to the cruelty--would it grant closure, would it mean justice?

Was there risk to it? He wasn't comfortable with how he'd learned the lesson himself, but he knew no one was the villain in their own story--would this be twisted by those that shared their beliefs to martyrdom?

Does it matter? An echo or mockery of his earlier thoughts, he wasn’t focused enough to tell.

Oosh frowned, arms crossing on his chest as he wiped the facial expression immediately to a blank one, eyes on the ironrider who did the deed himself, rather than delegate it to someone who might take more, or less pleasure in it. It didn’t matter if Z’dyn had the answers to those questions or not, he had to choose – the Weyr followed his surety to their folly or fortune, and with his, Rayna and Couineth’s.

And that was the point, he supposed.

Yeah. It does, He blinked at last, eyes closing until they opened, still watching their Weyrleader. If we’re ever gonna stand in those shoes.
^
Rowana
 Posted: May 31 2017, 06:56 PM
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Wingsecond





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Arlya's face showed little emotion, neither satisfaction or remorse. This had been a long time coming and it had to be done. There was no doubt in her mind. These people had taken lives, either human or dragon. There was a price to be paid and she would see them pay it. Had they given thought to the consequences of their terrible actions? Had they seen beyond their hatred and their madness? Did they regret it even now, with their end in sight? She could not say and she did not care. They would die just the same. It was what they deserved.

Some would probably say the choice of execution was too cruel. Thread was a slow, agonizing way to die. A knife to the throat would have been quicker. A forced draft of poison would have been kinder. Arlya wasn't sure they deserved such mercy. Two of them had murdered eggs before they could even hatch. The thought alone made her blood boil. Like her unborn brother, they had never had a chance to live. The last had been a rider and her betrayal cut deeply. To kill another rider, a sister even, and drive her own dragon to starve herself to death. It was almost unthinkable.

No, Arlya thought. They deserved no mercy. Let the Thread take them to their graves.

She had volunteered to assist Z'dyn without any doubts. She was still a Jr. Weyrleader, if only for a little longer. She felt responsible to see this through to the end. But even more than that, she was Z'dyn's second. She would stand by him in this.

Arlya held one of Herron's arms firmly, her face cold as stone. Struggling was useless at this point. There was no where to run. She watched impassively as Z'dyn drove each stake into the stone. Once the three were secure, she stepped back to join the spectators, her eyes hard. She had no words to share. Neither anger or pity. Faranth have mercy on their souls. She would not.

~

Wynmuri had go back and forth on wether she should go. She was not required and it would be day time besides. It was also going to be far from pleasant. Part of her did agree with the decision, as difficult as it was. Letting the murderers go was out of the question, even in exile they might just rejoin others of Dalibors enemies and give away sensitive information. Keeping them prisoner indefinately was a waste of space and resources. Not to mention the risk, however small, that they might escape and cause more deaths. No, she knew this was really the only solution they had.

She just wished her heart could agree with that. Condemning anyone to Threadfall just seemed...cruel. What they had done was unforgivable. But was their punishment any less? Death was terrible in any form, but there were certainly less painful ways to die.

Finally Wyn decided she would go. She and Wynsk helped investigate crimes such as these. While they had not been deeply involved in either of these cases, someday those they detained might be condemned the same fate. If that happened, she wanted to be prepared. Even if the very thought almost made her sick. Strange that. She had witnessed some gruesome sights during some of her investigations without batting an eye. And yet this was what finally bothered her.

Wyn stood with the observers, her face a mix of emotions as her eyes drifted to the sky and the coming Thread. Wynsk was at her side, wearing goggles. She had offered to let him stay behind, but he had insisted and she was glad of his company. She kept her hand on his head as the black wher watched the prisoners being staked into place. He was still and stoic as ever and Wyn took solace in the fact that Wynsk at least had no doubts.

'Life cruel. People cruel.' he declared, without emotion. He paused and uttered the words with dark conviction. 'Justice cruel.'

Wyn nodded solemnly. That it certainly was.

~

Dh'mel had no desire to attend this execution, if you could call it that. Needless torture he called it. Oh these three deserved to be punished for what they'd done. Maybe they even deserved death. But death by Thread was a bit too horrible for his taste. There had to be a less painful way to do it, though probably nothing so poetic.

Maybe it was because he was getting old. Ziprith might deny it, but he knew he was. Death would come for him soon enough, one way or another. He had no heart nor desire to see it inflicted on another being. And Thread besides. That hit too close to home. Jalleanne and Kyoth had died to Thread. He couldn't watch someone else succumb to it as they had. Fighting thread and losing wingmates was one thing, but this...he wasn't sure he could watch without breaking down. And he new Ziprith couldn't.

But he had his duty to consider. He had allowed the older Weyrlings to attend if they wished. They were not allowed anywhere near the prisoners by a long shot, but they could watch. Dh'mel couldn't imagine why they would want to, but this was their Weyr too. This was the legacy they would inherent. Faranth save them all.

Ziprith dropped him off, unusually quiet and shaky. She hated all of this. She simple could not understand wanting to kill another on purpose for any reason. She couldn't understand why those people had done it. And she could not understand why her family would want to do it to them in return. Why did anyone have to die at all?

Dh'mel slid off her back and nodded, his face grim. Go on. Stay clear of the Thread. he told Ziprith firmly.

Ziprith hesitated, shifting nervously and unable to watch the prisoners being brought. Dh'melLove, she crooned sadly. You will need me. This is...I can't leave you alone.

Dh'mel chuckled darkly, waving a hand at the gathering of grim faced guards and watchers. I'm hardly alone, am I? Ziprith eyed him harshly. They both knew that wasn't what she'd meant. Dh'mel sighed, rubbing the back on his neck. Shards, he needed a drink. No need for us both to see. Go on now. I'll call you when it's over.

Ziprith let out a sighing croon and nuzzled him close with her nose. I am with you, Dh'melLove. Always, she reminded him. Then she took off to wait a safe distance away.

Dh'mel watch her go for a moment, before walking over to find his charge. He didn't expect many of the Sr. Weyrlings to come, but at least one was here. He found Oosh and gave the boy a nod. It was hard to tell what Oosh might be thinking. So Dh'mel just stood by him, trying to control his own expression to one of impassiveness. Instinctively, his eyes drifted up to the sky from which death would come for the poor devils.

Shards, he really did need a drink.

[OOC: Sr. Weyrlings are allowed to come, though Dh'mel would prefer they did not. Dh'mel will keep an eye on them if they choose to come and check with them after to be sure they're alright. They are also welcome to speak with other riders, handlers, etc instead of Dh'mel if they choose. Weyrling dragons may fly with Ziprith if they wish.]

@Lee
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Rii
 Posted: May 31 2017, 07:01 PM
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Jr. Weyrwoman





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Sometimes duty has us do, what we don’t want to do.

T’yandon stood not far from the edge of the broad swath of rock across the center of the island that he’d personally spent painstaking candlemarks marking with white paint so that everyone could clearly see where was absolutely safe, where was skirting close to danger, and where was guaranteed death for whoever stayed there, a span a solid dragonlength or dragonlength and a half wide. His arms were folded, a faint frown creasing a face weathered by Turns of work and worry.

He didn’t approve of this being a public event; it was grim, dangerous, and would be downright disturbing to many to watch, and there was always the chance that something could go wrong. That someone might lose their head, or - Faranth forbid - the allies of those about to be put to death could arrive suddenly and wreak havoc on those gathered. The bronzerider had considered these possibilities and more, but in the end, no one asked a wingleader to make decisions that weren’t his to make. So all he could do was make sure that it was obvious where they should and shouldn’t go while watching.

To be fair, he understood why some might feel the need to attend. The ones who wanted to see justice done, the ones who had been wronged, those closest to the ones that had been wronged. But he still worried that there were those who were going for the wrong reason. Although, I suppose it’s difficult to judge what is a right or wrong reason, in times like these. Settling his arms a little more firmly in their criss-cross fold over his chest, he waited, pale, serious eyes scanning the northeastern sky for the first signs of Thread.

[A/N: T’yandon has space for 2-3 passengers. No overt gloating on the trip there if you’re one of them.]

***

It is justice. The end of Laanasuth’s tail lashed back and forth and woe betide the fool who should stand too close behind her as to chance being struck by it. For us. For our children.

Jali exhaled, resting her palm against her copper’s foreleg. It is still death, Susu.

The anger she’d felt those long months ago on the sands had died, leaving only ashes in its wake, a cold hollow instead of a desire for any kind of retributive justice. She had cast her vote in that hollow space of need-to-do instead of wish-to-do; she was here now because she had to be, because she was expected to be, not because she wanted to be. They could speak of ‘closure’, or ‘justice’, but no matter what they did, it would never bring back what they’d lost. For that, there could never be any closure.

She kept her eyes steadfastly ahead, watching Z’dyn labor to stake out the three that they’d judged as having earned only the worst of deaths as a punishment. Watching Armon hold things in place for him, and thanking whatever lucky stars she had that at the end of the day, she could return to her weyr with her spouse, and he wouldn’t judge her for what she said or did. Today, she would need that, far more than she needed to see what happened here.

It cannot bring them back, her mindmate responded, her agitated tones gentling. But it is the only sure way to know they will never do it again.

And those that might stand with them? Their friends, their allies? We know that they are not alone. That they cannot be alone, with all that’s happened.

No. The dragon craned her massive wedge of a head down, so she could look at her rider. But that is what the other plan is for.


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Ruin
 Posted: May 31 2017, 08:31 PM
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Betahandler





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Elidora was not the girl she used to be; no more was she shy and cowed, hiding from the world. She was shattered into a million pieces and more. She alternated between growling and snapping in the general direction of her captors with teeth broken and crumbled from biting on stone and metal in her cell. Her nails were gone, long since become scarred stumps from ages spent clawing in an attempt to be free...or to die. Macchith's loss had broken her beyond sense or words; an unexpected side-effect of her campaign. Her family hadn't warned her about that. They'd said this was just, true, for the betterment of Pern. Dora wasn't certain now, of anything, save that she was ready for a release from this hell she'd been caught in. Meaningless infinity. It stretched out in front of her as true as the island upon which she was dragged and sounded through her like the metal biting into stone to pin her down.

Release.

It was coming heralded by the flashing silver on the wind, not a cloud but something much more sinister. She yearned for it. Faces unrecognizable, demons one and all, a great gnashing and spitting and howling. She had no final words; had no mind left to put sounds to them. There was only a fight, a haggard soul, denial one and all. She tugged against her bindings, tugged again and then lay still with a shuddering gasp of air drawn in through a hoarse throat. Too many turns locked within the bowls of an old forgotten Weyr. Too many seasons removed. Nothing left. Nothing. Just a waste, a filament, blowing in the breeze waiting to fly free. The was the kindness they could do for she, the wretch that deserved neither kindness or release. A recognition passed across her face and she twisted, staring up at the shadows that crowded close, mouth chomping, frantic.

--

She stood at the mouth to the Wherhandler's quarters, her thin arms wrapping tightly around her own torso as she listened to the dragons in the Bowl. They were executing them. She'd known it would happen, but hadn't realize just how long it had been until...well until she heard the dragons discussing it. To hear them speaking of such a thing was...different than anything Oreanda had yet heard at the Weyr. Osk was in their wherhole, just a few paces down the corridor behind her, pacing back and forth restlessly, his side hitching in an unsteady limp from the wound still healing in his flank. Does Oreanda want go he questioned, and the girl shook her head even though he could not see, and did not need to. I want no part of this. She knew it had to be done, and knew that it was just, but as it did not require her service she would not be there to...revel in their death? She held no judgements for those who felt the need to be there, but her place was here.

--

Rivath's eyes were molten pools of slag, spinning in her head fast enough to make them dizzy. Ulian sat perched upon their shoulder listening to the waves crashing upon the shore and keeping their dragon pinned to the dry white sand through will alone. She could have toppled them in a moment, but instead she chose to drain comfort and remain motionless. She would have killed them herself if given half a chance, and that was not a chance they were affording to her, so they had retreated to the far Western side of Dalibor's island. There they were a white speck on an endless expanse of coastline jutting out into the sea. Ulian kept firm hands on her soft hide, one on the quiver of her narrow neck and the other on the rise and fall of her ribs. She lay flank-down in the sand, one wingarm sprawled sideways the other cocked up like a sail jutting from a mast. Peaceful.

That was how they would remember today.

--

Sebolaren watched dispassionately from Rlyeth's ledge as the prisoners were brought from within the bowels of stone and taken for their last trip between. It was no more than he though should have been done to him turns ago, yet here he was. Having found some semblance of peace. Having found a place to build himself up and become a man again. Sesk stayed within, resting in her cushioned bed, though her snout had nosed out from the heavy drapes set around her nest when the man walked past. She knew as well as he that they would not go. "I have seen enough death," he said wearily. Though he would not fault the Blackrider if he wanted to go. Dragonriders had many duties. A faint smile crossed his face as he leaned in to plant a kiss on the Rider's mouth before he disappeared back within the weyr.

@RhiaBlack


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Ives
 Posted: May 31 2017, 09:03 PM
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Alphahandler





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They deserve worse. Freyotth’s voice was calm but had a biting tone to it as he slowly circled over the waters to the south of the island, well within the safe zone. He’d been still in the shell when Herron and Aramed ended the lives of his siblings; His had been there and from his memories he had learned of their crime. For the third he had no feelings, she had done no harm to his siblings but she had harmed a dragon; her own dragon at that but still he did not care. Had he been permitted he would have torn the egg stabbing ‘candidates’ to pieces the moment he was large enough, but instead he’d been made to wait turns for this day. It was not enough.

Ah’m not certain there is anything much worse than being staked for Thread. Se’ng’s jaw set and he fell silent as he jerked Aramed’s arm to keep him moving as fast as his shackles allowed. The clatter of chains filled the silence between dragons landing and taking off again, thus far all those in attendance were quiet. What was there to say in a moment like this? Words could not adequately express the anger, sadness, resentment, and frustration many had felt during the touching. What justice could words offer that the oncoming Thread would not? None.

A nod was offered to V’ael but nothing more as he joined the man in fulfilling this solemn task. Se’ng had been there the day that five eggs had been stabbed by two of the three being staked out and he recognized the other rider as having been there as well. The pair of them had been fortunate enough that their dragons - hatched from the decimated clutch - had not been among the five murdered. Chaos had erupted as ichor belched from the eggs, five futures altered beyond recovery. This was a long time coming.

The third prisoner was not one he knew by sight but by story alone. All of Dalibor knew who the woman was and what she had done - she was just as guilty as the other two, if not more so. How one could allow their own dragon to starve to death… to stab their own sister, twin sister at that… he could not fathom it. That one should be left to starve. It was both the first and last time Freyotth spoke of the former rider. An eye for an eye; but that was not to be. This was the Weyrleaders’ decision, one that Se’ng did not envy them having to make but that he was willing to see through to the end.

Once Aramed’s chains were secured, staked down to the ground by the Weyrleader himself, Se’ng took a large step back. One last look washed over the three prisoners before he turned his back and retreated into the safe zone. He stood not among those closest nor those furthest away but lingered somewhere in the middle, suddenly uncertain he could stomach watching what was about to happen but knowing his dragon would never forgive him if he looked away.

---

Dirt and rock gave a soft crunch beneath the handler’s boots as she dismounted from the dragon that had provided her transport to the distant island. There were a million places on Pern she would rather be but the Prideleader refused to wilt in the harsh face of reality. Herron and Aramed were known to her, the blonde girl had been her charge to lead off the sands after the pair had gone through with their despicable act. Elidora she had briefly interrogated after she attacked her sister, not that it had actually helped anything. Seeing the former rider now, half crazed and clearly broken she wondered if this was not for the best. As painful as it would be she could not help but idly consider how painful the past four turns had been for the woman; perhaps this pain would bring peace along with it for her. Silently she hoped it did.

Her story was interwoven with theirs if only because she was a wherhandler and charged with helping to keep the Weyr a safe place. Perhaps a part of her felt that in that regard she had failed and that is what spurred her into coming. Or it was just the desire to see the end of the story these three had been a part of - closure that all of those affected had long been denied. Somehow she knew she would not be able to actually watch when Thread began to fall yet she did not hide in the back with the others who did not really know why they were there. Instead she passed all of them until she came to the edge of the safe zone, dressed in weathered leathers with a harsh look hardening her features. Death begets further death, it was the way that the leadership had decided it had to be; even if part of her did not entirely agree. In the weyr they shared with her blackrider, who had been pegged to help with the prisoners, Vessk slept soundly - no doubts in her mind that this was the right thing to do.

----

Another handler followed shortly behind the greenhandler, though her knots proved her to be above the prideleader within the Weyr’s hierarchy. Norla came to a stop next to the other handler and offered a wry and thin lipped look her way before her attention was cast upon the prisoners. Elidora’s condition nearly inspired pity with in the Alphahandler but the knowledge of what she had done quickly pushed that notion aside.

Nor-la come back. Norsk gently reached out to his handler across the distance, a soft whisper in the back of her mind. Comforting and reassuring the woman whose primal instinct was to run for cover in the face of Thread without firestone and flamethrowers to protect her. The last time she had faced being without dragonwings to protect her from the all consuming threat she had been back on the isle, huddled in a cave with her family to survive. Fear had settled in the pit of her stomach despite knowing the rock she stood on was on safe ground. A bronzerider had seen to marking the stone so no one was at risk - except those condemned to be eaten alive by Thread.

I will when it is done. Her presence had not been requested nor was it technically required, but much like the greenhandler to her left she felt a sense of responsibility. She had to be here and see it through, until the end.


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Ruin
 Posted: May 31 2017, 09:05 PM
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Betahandler





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I'm scared, Ijreth

The Cyan's sharp bird-like head twisted on the end of her neck and peered down at her Rider from where they sat among the others who had gathered to witness Weyr Justice. These ones killed my siblings. Tried to kill their siblings. This is the way of the world, Fisher. You do not need to enjoy it, and you do not need to fear it. This will not be our death. We are free and true to our Weyr. I must witness this, though you need not Ijreth nudged the girl with a soft snort of warm air that ruffled through the long locks of black hair that had fallen around her shoulders when she'd torn off her flight helmet. She looked up at the dragon, and then turned to where her lifemate had indicated, breath hitching in her chest before expelling in a sudden sigh of relief.

Se'ng was there. Helping to hold the prisoners down. Keeping them in place as the chains were bound to the stone. Every drop of the hammer onto metal made Fisher flinch, and she pressed against the back of Ijreth's forearm, peering between the thick protective legs of her dragon at what was transpiring. She didn't want to watch even that, but she tried to take some strength from Ijreth and the surrounding people. This was...necessary. She said it over and over again in her head, but she wasn't able to believe it. All she could really do was trust. Trust in her dragon, trust in the Weyrleadership, trust in their methods.

Then it was done, and Se'ng was coming back to stand where it was safe and Fisher, so tiny like a child standing a handful of inches shorter than five feet, seemed to fly to the much taller man. "Hello," she breathed softly before falling in behind him where she could stare instead at his back, or at his shoes, or at nothing in particular. Aside from her siblings, it was the Songspinners she was closest to. Se'ng had always been so optimistic and kind. He'd suffered through her annoying mannerisms and he'd never pushed her away. She put her tiny hands out and held onto the trailing edge of one of his sleeves and said softly, "please don't move away, I don't...I don't want to see."

Ijreth settled closer to the Burgundy pair, but she did not lower her head to comfort her girl again. Fisher could feel her presence, and that was enough for them both. These things would happen whether she willed them or not, and for Ijreth, this would be closure. She had waited four turns to witness justice for her siblings. The Cyan's bright eyes danced to where her mother stood, the lash of her tail the only expression of inner turmoil. Ijreth had often sought to emulate her, and in many ways the strength of her spirit had probably come from the Copper who created her. It was nearly time. She could sense it; all dragons could feel the press of Thread.

@Ivy

--

It's finally happening I guess

A'ndel sat with his back pressed against Ganhaarth's flank, the colony of his pillies spilling over and around both of them by the lake. It had been peaceful until the dragons had come and started pulling people out of the caverns. The boy knew them. His memory was fuzzy, but no one forgot things like that. The ones who killed the dragons in their egg, the one who tried to kill her sister. Bad people came to Dalibor, bad things happened here, but they happened everywhere else too. Gan was teaching him that. He felt the cool support of the Viridian within his mind as they both watched dispassionately as the cargo was secured and the Riders began going between.

Death is sometimes necessary

This had been a constant reminder pressed upon the boy. It was beginning to work. Maybe in a few turns he'd be able to look back on his mother with love and the pain of loss, instead of anger. Maybe Kidanyr would rub off on him and he'd realize he could do things to help people and make a difference. For now, he was just a small boy with his small dragon watching the world turn in a new direction. Laws had been broken, the natural order disrupted, lives taken. Or attempted to be taken. There were limited ways to handle such things, and this was one.

Impartial.

Like Ganhaarth putting an end to something painful. The boy sighed and reached out for his pillies. They swarmed into his arms and he held them close and let the other thoughts drift away. Ganhaarth kept watch over his boy and his pets, his mouth gaped open, eyes half-closed and swirling a brightly vivid yellow-green.

--

"Woah," the young Journeyman commanded under his breath, catching the runnerbeast's square head between his rough hands and shielding her eyes from the flight of dragons kicking off from the Bowl. They were dumb creatures in some ways, though he had spent his life with them, and his were not yet used to being so surrounded by dragons. He did not know the history of what was happening, but had heard the news filtering down with those who would be permitted to attend, and who would not. Jayra had no need for witnessing death on this day. It was a part of all life, but unnecessary for him. He was a simple Crafter, and his duty was to his beasts. He would let the Dragonmen go about their lives, serving justice as was needed. He did not doubt their judgement. These were hard times for all of Pern with such as the Traditionalists running around, and he only hoped that they had answer to that.

--

Entomath watched them go, her eyes burning. Let her set them alight, let her work her magic on their souls. Why feed them to Thread so they would never understand the torture of what they'd done. She paced back and forth until the contingent was out of sight between and only ceased when she felt the gentle touch of Yrsavild in her mind. They would be here, ready, should any ill-fated Threads fall upon their Dragonfolk. Always a chance. The Dragonhealer had readied her implements and the Infirmary in general, as Entomath stalked back inside to crawl up the craggy wall to a ledge above the entrance the Healer was setting out trays and straightening hide-covered metal cots. All was in order, and hopefully not a thing would be utilized. Better to be prepared and seem foolish, than to be unprepared and seem incapable.


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Blot
 Posted: May 31 2017, 10:37 PM
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Wingrider





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It was time. Kidanyr watched from the frields. She had taken Kookath out, giving the other’s peace from his laughter. She didn’t mind it. She found that today, she needed it. She rememebered when it happened, when hapless eggs were struck and destroyed. When lives were lost. When another dragonrider was attacked by her own kin.

This was nessesary. They couldn’t be weak, not in the eyes of the rest of the Weyrs. They already thought ill enough of Dalibor. This must be done. But her heart ached for them, as her heart ached for everyone. She remembered Elidora. She rememebered Macchith. A pink. Why was it always pinks? The feeling in her chest was one of vindication and loss, one of sadness that ached and burried so deep she never thought she’d shake it free.

For once, Kidanyr was glad she wasn’t going to witness something.

C’mon Kida. We should work on something to make them happy when they return. We’re the kings of merrymenmt, ain’t we?

--

He hadn’t been around for this. This was something he had missed, yet morbid curiosity had him on the wings that day. He had heard rumor, of course. Whispered like saying it aloud would cause it to happen again. Stabbing. Egg death. It was terrible. Traditionalists, people said. They didn’t like Dalibor or their colors. Ours are ill, in their eyes. Ra’h didn’t understand. A dragon was a dragon, were they not?

He sat atop her neck, one hand rubbing along her rough flesh to keep him calm.
It must be done, you know. A life for a life. Their time is ended.
Why though? Why did any of this have to happen?

Musatgh’s eyes whirled slowly, a tinge of yellow creeping into them as she thought of Ra’h. Her boy. Her big, caring lug of a rider. He always thought things could be talked about. That everything could be solved by a discussion. But right now, Musath knew his sister would be more understanding of the situation. Action must be taken.
It is how it must be done.


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Boo
 Posted: Jun 1 2017, 07:31 AM
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They had agreed that this was the best way to go., This was the best thing they could do for the Weyr for if they allowed things to continue in the way they had, they would only prompt more aggression. They had killed multiple dragons and Elidora broke Rayna's heart. SHe had allowed her dragon to starve, had tried to kill her sister and still refused to say why. There was such anger in her heart towards these three individuals. They had delayed only in the hopes that they could find out more information. Sadly, there was nothing more to be discovered. Rayna had flown to the island with Couineth, following behind Baihujinth. She was here to oversee the execution she had ordered along with the other members of the leadership.

She took up a safe position where she could watch the gruesome spectacle take place. And yet in her heart she felt a sense of odd vindication. Although perhaps that was coming from Couineth for the gold held no compassion for the people who had killed Laanasuth's young. She felt such a sense of justice flow though her as Couineth watched the prisoners. Rayna did nothing to even stop the feelings. Others would speak of how it would have been less cruel to just use a knife, poison, fire anything else. Not Rayna and not Couineth.

This was mercy and she was angry.

They will suffer in the same way they made those dragonets cry out before they could even draw breath.
Rayna agreed. She kept her expression blank though as she looked on, careful to not betray her inner thoughts. It was better to keep these things to herself. Was she cruel? Perhaps but so were these three young people. So were the Traditionalist bastards. All the people who had sought to harm her people and her Weyr.


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Tigersilk
 Posted: Jun 1 2017, 01:48 PM
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This was not the way G'len wanted to spend his day, watching people die. On the other hand, he did condemn the trio to this fate back when he was the Senior Weyrleader and sat in judgement over their deeds. He supposed it was right for him to witness this now, even though he wasn't the one carrying it out today.

If anyone cared to look at him, they'd note the Bronzerider had an impassive look on his face. This wasn't the first time he'd witnessed someone dying after ordering them to be executed, but it wasn't any easier this time than the last.

Then it'd been an old man, Irennar, a former Holdless who'd never had the best grip on reality (they learned later at his trial), who lost his mind when his daughter and her wher were killed on patrol. While G'len could sympathize with the old man's loss, that sympathy ended at the man's subsequent murder of three riders and another handler. Grief was no excuse for those eight deaths, and the man's genuine remorse not enough to spare him execution.

In contrast, these three seemed to have no remorse for their actions. Or rather, the two eggstabbers didn't; Elidora was too far gone to really know what was happening to her. For them, G'len could find no sympathy. Aramed and Herron openly violated the taboo against harming eggs from dragonkin; Elidora knowingly betrayed her dragon's trust. Though if she had shown even the slightest bit of desire to fix her relationship with Maccith before it was too late, then maybe she could've been spared this hell. But with the Pink's death, her fate was sealed along with the other murderers.

G'len felt a brief burst of support from Zeuth, the Bronze wishing to be sure His didn't waver from his duties. It had to be done, and all possible methods of death available to them had their drawbacks. In this case, the symbolism of dragonkillers dying by Thread seemed...appropriate.

He moved to where Rayna stood, and stood there beside her, silent support for his friend. Likewise Zeuth stood next to Couineth, in case his golden friend needed someone as well, to support or defend made no difference to him. The drake was there, and refused to be moved by anything but a direct order from her.

@Boo

**************

M'teng, for reasons of his own, felt like he had to see things to the end. He'd been one of Elidora's questioners back when the woman had enough of her mind left to talk to people. The Blackriding smith wished to know more about the beliefs of these so-called Traditionalists, beyond the idea that they hated the newer colors. Given what he was bonded to, it made sense to want to know more about possible dangers to them both, and where and why the attacks might come from.

But what he learned then, and what he did with the info he learned later, was for the future. Right now he escorted the former Pinkrider to her place of doom, to be staked in place and await a gruesome end. M'teng would have said some final thing to Dora, some sentiment along the lines of begging her deceased dragon's forgiveness, but the woman was clearly too far gone to hear anythjng, or understand meanings if shr did somehow hear words.

So the Smith said nothing, his face devoid of emotion. Once Elidora was bound, he returned to his dragon's side to watch the end. And wondered if the three prisoners who all but proclaimed their willingness to die for their cause, still felt that way now death was near instead of in some ill-defined future time. Be interested to see if that belief held true.

******************

Pridesecond Burl watched the proceedings from the sidelines, Busk at his side. They'd been among the first to apprehend Elidora after she attacked her sister, and among those who escorted her to the prison where she spent her last few turns away from the sun.

The Whitehandler felt no more pity for her and her fellow prisoners than he did for his father when he'd been taken away for killing his mother. Back then the punishment was working in the mines until death; Thread had not begun to fall when that sentence was passed down. Whether a slow death in the mines was better than a faster painful death by Thread, was up for debate. Either way, justice was to be done.

Busk, meanwhile, was eager to see justice done. These people harmed the Weyr he called home, they should pay the price. Though privately Burl would have preferred not to get a running commentary in his head about throwing the guilty parties into the 'hungry waters' from the Palefolk expedition first, then staking them out for Thread to eat. He wasn't going to hear the end of that one for several more turns, at least.

******************

There was no need for Frankie to be here today, out in the middle of nowhere, none whatsoever. Except that it wasn't every day that she got to witness a death by Thread, and since this execution was open to virtually anyone who wished to witness it, well, why not? She'd never actually seen such a sight before; her job was to prevent such deaths from happening, after all. So she may as well witness it on the bodies of the guilty, and have a cool story to tell her weyrbrats later.

That, and to admire the view her old classmate-turned-Senior Weyrleader provided. Now that was a prime bit of real estate there, what she could see under the clothes he insisted on wearing. A pity that the man's previous relationships with women turned him gay; she'd have liked to see how well the rest of him hung together. Amongst other things....

But she always knew that between would warm up to tropical summer temperatures before she would've had any chance with the man. Even then it would've been no more than a fling on her part, so she could hardly complain that someone else snagged him permanently. Besides, the fantasy was always better than the reality, so it all worked out in the end. Fewer hassels to deal with this way, anyway.

Just as she liked it.
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Catsitta
 Posted: Jun 1 2017, 08:44 PM
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Weyrlingmaster





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L'aars wasn't there when the tragedy happened, but he had no sympathy for those that caused it. Egg stabbers and a murderer, that's what they were. A horrible waste of life. Innocent life. For what cause? Something as ridiculous as new colored dragons offending their ideals? The wingsecond found himself deeply furious at the thought, though he showed none of it on his face as he assisted Jr. Weyrleader Arlya move Herron. Impassive in expression and rigid in stance, the bulky ironrider kept a wary eye on all three prisoners, wondering if any had the spirit left to protest or attempt an escape. Not that they could. It would be a futile effort with their condition. Being staked out for the Thread was a merciless, painful death. Anyone with scoring knew the agony of it burning through flesh as it sought to devour you alive. These three would meet their end this way. His grip momentarily tightened, unpleasant memories bubbling up before being pushed away.

He lost both his sister and his father to the Thread. It cared not whether a person had hopes or dreams or a family back home. It just destroyed.

If he were honest, he did not like the idea of watching the execution. But a small part of him demanded it. That he should do his part as a dragonrider of Dalibor and lend his strength where he could, even if it was used to transport prisoners to their death. When all three were secured, he stepped back amongst the other observers, eyes on weyrleader Z'dyn. He wondered what was going through the newly titled man's head. He wondered how it felt to have this choice--this burden--resting on his shoulders.

L'aars folded his arms behind his back, finding comfort in Jaireth's mind against his own, solemn and steady.


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Aftershock
 Posted: Jun 1 2017, 09:30 PM
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Dijhay was still quite new to the Weyr, but he knew his research would go much more effectively if he had a Smith or two he could work with close at hand, rather than having to revisit Crescent any time he needed metalwork done, so he had been sure to hang out around the forges after getting his things unpacked and his workshop set up. One of the Smiths he had gotten to know was M'teng, at least well enough that he was able to convince the blackrider to give him a ride to the execution. It was his first time riding on a dragon, having traveled by Trader caravan or runnerback in his other trips across Pern, and he had to admit, he was happy to have his feet back on solid ground... he wasn't quite sure how one got used to such heights. He would honestly have to think about whether he would just try to walk home, or find literally any other kind of transportation that didn't involve being hundreds of feet off the ground.

Either way, he was here, and now he just had to find who was in charge... the large man with the sledgehammer seemed to be directing the whole event, so when an opportunity seemed to present itself, Dijhay walked up to Z'dyn and said, "Excuse me... I'm Dijhay, a Tanner, I have recently been assigned to the Weyr... haven't had the opportunity to meet you yet, but you seem to be in charge here, so I figured you're the best one to ask. I'm looking to do some testing on some armor prototypes I put together, to see how well they protect human skin against Thread, and this seemed like a perfect opportunity to do so without trying to find a suicidal volunteer. I spoke to... O'men, I believe their name was, they're a Healer... and they told me of a few places I could place these prototypes without compromising the execution by protecting a vital area or extending their pain any further than it would be otherwise. Would you allow me to quickly strap these on?" Opening a small decoratively-tooled leather satchel that hung from his shoulder, Dijhay pulled out a few palm-sized pieces of leather armor with various integrations of metal... some with plates, some with chains, some with scales, some with rings, and a few odd combinations of all of the above... with buckled straps to assist in quick securing, and showed them to the Senior Weyrleader, hoping for a positive response.

@RhiaBlack
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RhiaBlack
 Posted: Jun 3 2017, 10:17 PM
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Senior Weyrleader





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Z'dyn checked the chains once they'd all been hammered in, distracted by something V'ael was saying to him before the revealed-Tanner approached. The Ironrider's face was largely stoic, though not lacking in the weight of the decisions and actions involved therein. He'd spoken to O'men, apparently; he took the other man at his word. He couldn't adequately say otherwise, what healers talked about was their realm of expertise. Z'dyn was no healer.

He did, however, know what Thread did.

"Wouldn' matter if y'put 'em over vital places anyways, Thread eats down through all'a the livin' tissue. They're gonna die r'gardless, y'puttin' 'em over vital places's just gonna make it hurt more, an' I wouldn't let y'do that noways. So 'less yer lookin' fer whether'r not it stops't on impact..." he nodded towards the trio. "An' hope yer eyes'r good. Won't do none if'n y'can't see't, an' I ain't lettin' y'stand too close. Nobody's gettin' too close, once it starts fallin'. Ain't gonna lose more'n the people meant t'be lost."

He jerked his head forwards towards the bound prisoners, before he accompanied the Healer - one couldn't be too careful, and given the other man was new, Z'dyn didn't trust him. Every precaution had to be taken, to make sure the condemned were neither helped to escape, nor freed. Once he'd observed Dijhay's handiwork, he moved back towards the group once the Journeyman had begun to move.

"Get to't, if yer gonna." He lifted his voice so people could hear him.

"Thread's due t'fall, not long from now. Ever'body needs t'step back. Not gonna have n'body else dyin' t'day, short'a who's s'posed to. B'hind the line."

Z'dyn followed the pack as they moved, and Baihujinth took up a position well within the safety zone, though not so far as to be unable to move quickly if he needed to. Turning, he crossed his arms and waited. Eyes hardened, and he drew a slow, shallow breath.

Definitely not the most favorite of his duties thus far. He looked sidelong towards Armon, who had retreated to snake his arm around Jali's hips. He leaned in against her, and watched with an etched frown. Z'dyn crossed his arms, several braids shifting across his shoulders in the breeze.

@Aftershock (Dijhay), @Ruin / @Rii (prisoners/Jali)
((Feel free to have your volunteers continue to tag in, just progress them up past the point where Z tells everyone to stand back.))


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Rii
 Posted: Jun 3 2017, 10:57 PM
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Jr. Weyrwoman





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Wasn’t supposed to be like this. Although the others were retreating to safety, Elianne stood in the no-man’s-land of the marked rock of where was safe, where wasn’t safe. In a way, it felt like she’d been standing in some kind of no-man’s-land for a long time - two Turns, almost exactly, since the knife had been sunk into her back.

The brownrider tipped her head back to look up at the icy blue sky overhead. So unrelentingly vast and clear, and not cold enough to freeze the Thread that was still to come. For a moment, it blurred and wavered, clouded by the watering of her eyes; she blinked fiercely, and it cleared, coming back into focus. It wasn’t two Turns ago, in the Weyr Bowl, when Dora had tried to kill her. And it wasn’t seventeen Turns ago, at Crescent, when she’d convinced Dora to come with her to the Weyr. It was here, and it was now, and this was where she needed to be.

I promised.

Bringing her head back down to look ahead, she walked forward, the soles of her boots gritting softly against the rock. To the northeast, she could see the grey glint that meant Thread was coming. She crossed the marked-off space, into the unmarked space, until she stood next to the staked-down criminal that was her sister. Her twin. Rocking back on her heels for a moment, Elly finally leaned forward again, lowering down until she knelt beside Elidora, uncaring of the other woman’s maddened motions and noises. It didn’t matter if the sister she knew was there anymore. She was still there.

“I ne’er wanted this, Dora,” she spoke softly, her voice cracking. “It weren’t…” shaking her head, she finally dropped the unschooled-Bitran-gamester accent she habitually affected. “It was never supposed to be like this. Maybe if I’d listened to you, back when Ni’on and Devath found us, it wouldn’t’ve been. Somewhere, in there, I messed it up. But when you walked away with Macchith and left me standin’ there, I thought you didn’t really need me anymore. I just… I still needed you. Still do, you never understood but I still do.” Her shoulders shook, the tears starting to roll down her face. Slowly, she turned her hand over, palm up as she looked at the faint scar there. “But it’s no excuse.”

“I should’ve been there for you. No matter what, because that’s what I promised. D’you remember?” She rubbed her finger against the line of the scar. “We were all of nine and you were scared as anything of leaving Bitra and everything we knew, and I took my knife and cut us both here, and put them together.” Wiggling her fingers once, she stretched out her hand and put it palm to palm with Elidora’s, pressing them together like she had all those Turns ago.

“I swore it in blood. I said I loved you, and I’d always be there for you, no matter what,” she whispered. “That we’d live and die together.” Elly lifted her head to look at the growing smudge approaching, then lowered it back down.

Elianne. What are you doing. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

“Wasn’t lying, Dora.”

I promised.


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Ruin
 Posted: Jun 3 2017, 10:57 PM
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Recognition

It filtered across her face again as one shadow in particular drew closer and coalesced into something she knew. Someone she knew. The woman fell still beneath the words being spoken to her, a sharpness drawing into her eyes as she twisted against the chains that bound her to bring the speaker into focus. She knew her. Knew her as no other. Memories filtered through her head, knives, promises, a family that was--false--and a family that was not. She shook her head to clear the confusion but could not tear her eyes away from the other. She looked so much like someone she knew...she looked so much like herself. It was her, her all over but not always the same inside.

She tried to speak, but they had gagged her, she chewed at the cloth to try and find the space around the edges but there were no words, only a croaking. She hadn't spoken in so long. Still the apparition haunted her, word after word raining down and she couldn't wrap her arms around her head to block it out. This was worse than what was coming. This was torture. Caught between reality and the madness in her head she couldn't seem to find her way out but she had to say something...to this...person. She thrashed harder, using her mouth to chew and tug until at last she'd pulled the gag above her lip and had the space to breathe.

Another croak, her eyes peering out of dirt and neglect as she pushed away the shadows that haunted her and sought truth. A hand in hers, the first touch in too many turns, it broke through the haze and everything came into contrast. Her sister, and oh what she had done. What was true, what was not. They'd said she was dangerous that she would be the downfall of all Pern. They'd held her close and loved her and made it all sound so perfect. Yet here she was, making liars out of all of them.

Dora hadn't known that she'd been needed, and Elly hadn't known that she'd been needed even more. So many mistakes that could have been avoided if one of them had been just a little bit selfish. There wasn't time now. Wasn't time to work it all out. The edges were all fuzzy and she still couldn't tell if she was seeing her sister or someone masquerading as her. Elidora was dangerous, and it wasn't supposed to be that way.

But it was.

Couldn't change it now. But even if it was a dream...even if this was just another nightmare in the dark, Elly needed to know. "Sister." It took everything to form the word through her ravaged throat. Her hand tightened around the one wrapped with hers and squeezed, squeezed so the sibling-demon would know that she knew her. "Mine." Then she tore her hand away. "Go," she said hoarsely, pulling her hand back if the woman tried to reach for it again. "Stop them, they were so kind, stop them," her breath hitched as tears ran dirty rivulets down her skin, but she could hear the Thread coming, hear its near-wet splatters on stone, hear the fish devouring what fell into the sea. She shook her chains screaming at the girl who was her sister, trying to make her understand...

Someone else was there now.

A dark-hided dragon blotted out the sky overhead, his talons crunching into the sea-worn rock of the island. Elidora gasped, a flash of metal catching her eye as the Rider dismounted. Good enough. The dragon roared defiance at the Threads and the woman felt it in her bones, but there was no blistering heat, no flame. They'd be gone soon. The shadows. The memories. The pain. She wanted peace, wanted it all to end, she just needed them...to leave her...alone...

"Not like this," the Dragonrider said as he pulled Elianne away from her sister and into his arms. The metal of his false foot scraped across the stone as he turned and ran for both their lives, hidden beneath the shadow of the dragon's wing. Scream, fight, whatever she did--if anything--he would not let her go back. Thread came on, coiling like tiny serpents, but when they hit the prisoners they exploded in size. Roiling ugly yellow masses as they devoured. Elidora did not want to scream, but the terror rippled through her in that final moment; a filament struck her scalp then coiled across her face, silencing her better than any gag could have.

Tu'lio did not stop until he crossed the final marking, and when he did, he turned to allow Elianne the closure of her sister's death, but would not put her down. Toleth stood shaking nearby, his eyes a mass of yellows and reds, having made room for Maeradith. The Rider's jaw worked as he watched the hideous mass grow, his arms tightening around the woman he held. There were so many things he wanted to say, yell even, but all of it paled in comparison to what she had been through. What she had just considered doing.

He was angry. At her, at her sister, at himself. At the thought that he might have not even found out about this, which chilled him to the core. That he only just made it in time. Angry that he'd left knowing this was still something she was dealing with. He'd been selfish, but that didn't excuse this. What she would have done to Maery. What she would have done to everyone watching. Toleth brushed against his mind, almost a nudge and a lick if such a thing could be mental, and Tu'lio felt his nerves calming. This was her sister, and so much more than that. Miraguel had been his everything, but not like that.

He could not know what she was going through, but he could imagine it; in part he had lived it.

She'd been brave enough not to run away.


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Ives
 Posted: Jun 3 2017, 11:20 PM
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Alphahandler





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A gentle familiar voice sounded from behind him and Se’ng caught himself mid-frown before he turned around to face her. Why was she here? The girl who wore plants versus anything made of animals. The girl who couldn’t bring herself to harm any others, ever. It made no sense for her to put herself through this yet at the same time he knew the answer without asking the question aloud. The same ichor that coursed through Freyotth’s veins filled her dragon as well, Ijreth likely pressed the issue of her coming as his burgundy had. Vengeance, it seemed, was a familial trait. Turning around his arms snaked about her minute form and he lowered his head to breathe atop the shorter girl’s hair, ”Fisher.” His back to where the Weyrleader was cautioning people to step back to avoid the same fate as the prisoners. ”You shouldn’t be here.”

If she allowed him to he would continue to hold her against his larger frame throughout all of it. In addition to providing support for her it gave him a reason to look away; though Freyotth may want him to watch he didn’t feel inclined to listen. No doubt the burgundy would throw a tantrum later on but he didn’t care. Neither of the riders needed to see what was happening on the island, they both knew well enough what Thread would reduce the prisoners to soon enough. A shadow fell over them and he looked up and then back to see a rider pull another one from the danger zone just in time. Turning away he listened as it came behind him, an all too familiar sound as it fell into the water and then onto barren rock, and then flesh. A soft hum resonated in his chest to help give the cyanrider something to focus on outside of the screaming.

It would all be over soon.

@Ruin

----

Norla’s hands clenched as she realized Elianne wasn’t moving when the Weyrleader told everyone to move back. When she did move the Alphahandler tensed - she was going the wrong way. Into the danger zone she went and knelt, showing no signs of moving despite the impending danger growing closer and closer. It was right there and Norla let loose a sharp yell, feet moving her forward not even a step when a dragon overhead caused her to pause. Another rider had her and pulled her to safety, her intervention was not needed. Shuffling her feet backwards she resumed her position next to Vessa, casting a sidelong look at the other woman only to see her turn her head. Had she seen the glistening of tears in the greenhandler’s eyes? She couldn’t say for certain but she thought she might have.

It fell upon them then, as they all knew it would. Her instinct was to find cover, to jump in the water if need be, but she had been assured they were safe where they stood. So stand she did, hands clenched behind her back as she cast her eyes upon the poor souls whose lives were forfeited to Thread that day. A horror show unfolded before her and she too found herself looking away before it was over. No doubt the screams would haunt her dreams for some time.

Vessa tried to watch, to be strong and impassive in the face of death. It wasn’t as if these people had not taken life themselves. It was not as if these people deserved her pity, yet they had it. She had seen the effects of people who were scored by Thread. Just briefly touched by the spores before they burst between to safety - it was terrible. Pain lasted for days, or longer, even if the spores had only touched them for a second or two. To endure this was… she couldn’t imagine the pain they felt. She didn’t want to. Eyes welled with tears that never fell, she dared not cry like this in front of all these people. Not in front of him when her eyes lifted to find him she saw the blackrider standing strong. Would he think she was too weak because she could not watch? Arms crossed over her chest as she hugged herself tightly.


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Aftershock
 Posted: Jun 4 2017, 07:51 PM
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Lady Holder





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Dijhay listened to the Senior Weyrleader's response, barely biting back a snarky response when his logical mind observing the man's extremely large stature and sledgehammer over his shoulder overrode his emotional mind reeling at the insult that he, HE, a man who had spent twenty-eight Turns studying Thread and its effects, seventeen of those with direct observation, wouldn't know how Thread worked. Instead, he simply nodded, his clenched jaw hidden beneath his beard, and then replied, "I am well aware of how Thread works, thank you. And I don't need good eyes, I've been making prototypes for over sixteen Turns, so I'm well prepared." As he answered, he pulled out a small spyglass from his satchel... the device had been extremely expensive, taking a number of marks and valuable trades with the Smiths to get in the first place, as well as more over the Turns to have the machinists tune and perfect the device to Dijhay's needs, but luckily his relationship with the Smiths he established while integrating smithed metals into his armor prototypes helped him achieve the inroads he needed to get the item in the first place, and it had more than proven its value over the Turns by allowing him to more easily observe the exact effects of Thread on his prototypes without putting himself in harm's way.

Walking forward under Z'dyn's escort, Dijhay reached the prisoners, bending down to carefully strap the prototypes in authorized areas on their bodies, making sure to make their locations visible from the established safe area. If any of the prisoners made his actions particularly difficult, he would ask for assistance holding them in place from their handlers. Once he had distributed all of his prototype armor pieces, he would retreat to the safe area with the others, pulling out his spyglass once again and adjusting it carefully for maximum visibility at the range he was at.

As he began to focus on the armor pieces through his spyglass, he heard a commotion, and noticed a woman who had to be pulled back from prisoners by a newly-arrived dragonrider. In fact, the woman who was being pulled away looked almost identical to one of the prisoners... twins, perhaps? Being unaware of the exact situation, Dijhay did his best to ignore it... he needed to be focused to get as much useful data from this possibly once-in-a-lifetime event as he could.

@RhiaBlack
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Catsitta
 Posted: Jun 4 2017, 11:21 PM
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Weyrlingmaster





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L'aars retreated to the safety zone when Z'dyn commanded. This was a dark day and unneeded loss would only blacken it further. As he settled to watch where he stood near the back of the onlookers, he noticed that someone had not stepped away. A woman remained, hand clasped to that of one of the prisoners. His brows furrowed. It was hard to see at first with the prisoner's state, but he was almost certain those two had to be related in some way. Siblings? He did not have a clear enough view to realize that he was witnessing twins--the sister pair where one attempted to murder the other. L'aars inhaled deeply when it dawned on him that the woman was not stepping away at all, not even trying to pull away as the Thread's threat drew near. Fortunately, a man grabbed her and dragged her into the safety zone, likely against her will.

They committed heinous crimes. But they were still people--with dreams, lives and families.

As the Thread began to fall upon the prisoners, L'aars allowed his eyes to slip shut and his chin to drop. He took a moment to lock away old memories before opening his eyes again. Threadscoring hurt. It was agony with little comparison. To die by it was a horrendous fate. He couldn't imagine their suffering as the parasite devoured them alive, unrelenting in their quest to consume. Voracious. Merciless.

It was justice.

It was revenge.

It was execution.

He wondered who in the crowd would go home with heavier hearts. Which would feel satisfaction. Who here gained closure? Who gained nothing but hollowness? It was going to be a long day.



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RhiaBlack
 Posted: Jun 5 2017, 09:13 AM
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Senior Weyrleader





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Z'dyn hadn't initially noticed Elly sticking behind, but he did once he'd sent Dijhay back to the crowd; the man's somewhat bristly tone wasn't lost on the Ironrider, but he largely didn't care. The other man was new to him, and therefore, Zeke wasn't largely accustomed to knowing what people did and didn't know the first time he encountered them - so he erred on the side of caution and simply stated the obvious, just in case.

Hard eyes softened when he saw her, trying to get through to who, for all Z knew, was her only family there at the Weyr. He couldn't blame her; if it had been Zadarin there, Z'dyn might have done the same, but before he had to say anything at all, Tu'lio swept in out of nowhere and dragged her back. He kept his eyes on Elianne while Tu'lio moved with her, taking a few steps forward just in case the man's bad foot needed some help getting them across to the safe zone, and he gave Elly's shoulder a gentle squeeze before leaving her to the Purplerider's attention. The other man had things well in hand, neither of them needed him to interfere; he knew Elly was aware that if she needed to talk at any point, his door was always open. His visits with her while she was recovering, had hopefully conveyed that.

Z'dyn didn't turn his eyes away; not because he didn't want to see it - obviously, it was going to be the stuff of nightmares for months for the Weyrleader as well as likely some of those present - but because it was a job that needed to be seen through. A sack of firestone by Baihujinth's foot was moved towards, and then stood by. He'd brought one purely for the sake of safety - after all, Thread was Thread, but one could never be too careful.

"The option's there," he spoke up, "Fer anybody needin' some time off t'cope wi' what's goin' on. I ain't gonna order people t'take it, all'a you know we need Riders an' Handlers somethin' fierce, but I also know this ain't gonna be easy on lots'a people. If'n yer a Rider, an' need time off, lemme know. That way we can plan accordin'ly."

He leaned on the hammer's head, slightly. Observed the final moments of those put to death, the screams not making him flinch, but solidifying his expression. Baihujinth's eyes waxed purple, then yellow, then orange, before fading back to purple. They lingered there for a time, then the Iron's immense nose dropped down to brush across His' shoulder. Z'dyn reached up almost instinctively, scratching and rubbing a palm against the side of his drake's nostril.

He would need all three of his companions tonight, he could feel. The sight of death, despite knowing that it was in worthwhile punishment for so many greater murders at the hands of those involved, didn't settle clearly or cleanly on both Z'dyn's conscience or his hands.

Armon wrapped his arms around Jali, his wife's presence there against his chest and his hold making what he was witnessing all the more subjective to the newly-forged Master Smith. Two of those being eaten alive were responsible for the deaths of Laanasuth's children. Murdered in cold blood. He could think of no more fitting a punishment, but the other one....the fact she had stabbed what had been her own twin, made his blood run cold. What if she had come after Jali? Would he have been there, would he have been strong enough to keep her from murdering his now-spouse?

His arms tightened around her, settled against her stomach, where the pair of them had been trying for a child. A new life, precious to Armon because it was part his own, and part of Jali. An attempt to make her a mother again, because he knew how much she missed her first child, and he wanted to see her made happy again. But so far, they'd had no luck; in truth, he also hadn't been trying probably as much as he should have, what with trying to obtain his Master knots, and all the things going on at the Weyr. Now that hopefully life had somewhat settled down, perhaps he could put a bit more of a college try into things.

Lips settled against her ear, and he murmured.

"Are you all right, my soul?"

V'ael's eyes were hard. Cold, soulless as he watched Amared be consumed. Serves you right, you witless waste of flesh, his mind declared. He was one of the ones that found pleasure in the demise. One of those elated, as much as a man who had no obvious sense of visible joy, in the painful agony of those who - in his mind - deserved it and so much worse. It was one thing to murder someone who was trying to kill you, in an act of self-defense. It was something else entirely to kill innocent creatures who had not even broken shell, simply because of what they had the potential to be.

It harkened back to the willful poisonings of so many Holds against the Holdless that surrounded their outskirts. The way he'd witnessed traps laid for them, hunting parties by men who loathed them, despite the fact that they were just as useful for bartering and fur trades as any other.

It harkened back to murder, to exile, by those who thought that it was their RIGHT to kill what didn't stick to some painfully outdated code of tradition, and if V'ael could have pissed in their faces without losing his own life to Threadscoring, he would have. Let the last thing they see is choking on someone else's urine. Even that was better than they deserved.

His yellowed teeth exposed in a snarl, and it wasn't until then that he noticed Vessa's upset. Instincts initially told him to ridicule her for weakness, but another part of him spotted Armon, and Vu's lip dropped over his teeth, as he approached her.

Even being shorter than most men seemed to be in the Weyr, he still towered half a foot over her. Her smaller frame was brought to him, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her up against his chest and blocking the view of the dying trio with his body, before his hand turned her head so that one of her ears was over his heart, and the other was covered by his palm. The screams were muffled, exchanged for the solid pulse of his heartbeat, and the low rumble of a hum in his chest.

Armon's lips pulled slightly in a smirk, and he whispered.

"It appears my dear desert cat has found himself a scratching post..."

@Rii (Jali and Elly), @Ivy (Vessa)


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Rii
 Posted: Jun 5 2017, 12:35 PM
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Jr. Weyrwoman





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She recognized her. Elly saw it, saw the shift in her gaze and the cease of Dora's maddened motions. She was still in there, beneath all the trauma of losing Macchith and everything else that happened. She saw the tears in her twin's eyes, and felt the grip of the other woman's hand with hers.

For just a few precious seconds, Elianne had her sister back.

It didn't last. Dora tore her hand away, screamed for her to go, to leave her, and didn't she understand that she couldn't, she'd promised and even though Maeradith was screaming in her mind just as Dora was in her ears, she couldn't muster up the will to move.

Someone did for her.

She felt arms wrap around her, heard a voice in her ear, and then she was being carried away, away from her sister and away from that oncoming, roiling rain of death. Elly fought, struggling in the other dragonrider's arms without any recognition of who held her, not yet. All of her attention was on Elidora. Someone was screaming. "Dora... Dora... Doraaaaa!" Her voice. It was her.

Thread came, and consumed the brownrider's other half, the one human in all Pern that she'd loved more than herself. Her sister. Her twin. Gone, without the slightest trace left except the hole she'd left in her heart. Elly's arms dropped, her muscles going loose as her screams trailed off into much quieter sobs of grief, tears streaming down her face. Turning her head, she hid her face against the chest of the man that held her, shutting out the rest of the world and the continuing relentless hiss of Thread's passage even when there was nothing left to consume.

Eyes still whirling a blend of orange-red-yellow, Maeradith edged closer, leaning his head down to the pair of humans to nudge them both. I'm still here, my Elianne. My queen. Please stay. We need you.

*

Jali couldn't forget that they'd earned their sentences through their crimes - but when the Thread came down and ate the three prisoners alive, when screams rang in the air and the roiling cords swelled with what they'd obliterated, she could only think that they were people, they were human beings, and that all of her life she'd been focused on nurturing life, protecting it - not taking it.

Finally she turned her face away, closing her eyes. It wasn't entirely over, but she'd seen all that she could bear to see. She pressed back into the circle of Armon's arms, her hands drifting to follow the line of his grasp around her until they rested over his. This was what she lived for, not the punishments. Not the deaths. Life. New life, new hope. The possibility that her work might help foster a place where people could live and work in harmony.

"I have to be," she answered her beloved just as softly, keeping their comments between the two of them. It would do no one any good for her to falter now. But oh, she found herself so relieved once again that he was there. She wasn't sure she could do this alone.

You are never alone.

I know, my heart. But you know you are glad for him too. Sometimes, she wondered if Laanasuth was jealous.

Yes, because he helps you remember.

Remember?

That you're not alone. That you are loved, as you are meant to be.

She blinked back the sudden mist in her eyes. Thank you, my heart.

Always.


@Ruin @RhiaBlack


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Ruin
 Posted: Jun 5 2017, 03:59 PM
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Betahandler





Capslock Queen


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"I know," Fisher breathed, burying her head into his flight jacket, for once not even caring that it had belonged to a living creature--much like the one she was wearing, that H'ler had made for her. She stayed pressed there, willing her ears to close against the sounds of everything, hoping only to hear Se'ng's heartbeat and leave her dragon--their dragons--to experience the justice they needed as closure for the loss of their clutchmates. She knew she didn't need to offer an explanation to the Burgundyrider, he was here for much the same reason, she knew him well after all these turns. There wasn't a mean bone in his body, there wasn't any desire for him to see something so distasteful, but Frey and Ij were some of the most bloodthirsty of their clutch--bar none.

Not even in the manipulative way of some of the real talkers, no, they would have been happy to do the executions themselves. Not because they were evil, or mean, but because they had a higher sense of what was right or wrong. Fisher shivered in Se'ng's arms, her small fingers brushing away the tears that had finally built and spilled over as she felt helpless against the emotions swirling inside of her. She wasn't any less upset about what they had done, she just...couldn't understand how killing helped. How it made them any different than them. They were sons and daughters, siblings--siblings to one of their own Dragonriders. Someone had loved them, probably still loved them, might not even know where they were and...they were here, being staked out possibly half a world away.

She was naive. Ijreth knew all and more than she did, but that didn't mean she was wrong, or stupid. She wanted to see the best in everyone, even when it seemed like there was nothing good left. Her breath hitched in her chest and she tried to focus on the hum Se'ng made as she felt her Cyan pull away so her thoughts and the things she witnessed wouldn't filter accidentally through her Rider's mind. She was an understanding dragon. She was hard on Fisher when she had to be, but soft and gentle when she knew her Rider would break under reality. There were some things Fisher had to know, and other things that were not necessary.

This was for them. The Cyan's eyes were hard as she watched the Thread devour, her throat ached in the presence of the enemy she had been bred to kill; ached to chew and flame, but she fought against that instinct to let it do her a service on this day. Give her what she needed to know that her siblings had not died in vain. Had not been forgotten. Soon enough they would snuff out the last of these traitors of Pern, and when they did--she would be there.

Look well, brother. This is for those we lost before we came to be Her eyes burned like fire, and she did not look away.

@Ivy

--

He'd made it.

Against all odds. In face of her obvious attempt to die with her sister.

He couldn't imagine how shattered she was.

Maeradith came forward and Tu'lio turned so she was between them, so she was something tangible he could touch as well as see. What was it like for a dragon, to know their Rider would have left them forever. Forced them to go between and kill themselves. Tu'lio said nothing of this, neither did Toleth. The Purple pressed close on the other side, blocking the humans off in their own world by a wall of dragons. Separating them from what was happening beyond. Elianne turned in against his chest and the wall closed.

Would she need closure? Would she need to see the spot where her sister had been moments before? It would be a candlemark or two until the band moved on. He held her tightly, showing no signs of tiring, pressing his face into her hair and peering up at the Brown as if hoping the dragon would have any insights. This was almost beyond him. He'd saved her--but should he have?

Yes

An easy answer.

He did not shush her, he said basically nothing at all, instead being only a presence there with her. Riding it out. Experiencing it alongside her. Everything inside, she'd have to get it all out. Stepping forward he pressed the other side of her against her dragon's foreleg, propping her there between them both, surrounding her with warmth. The sea breeze was brisk against them, it swirled between the spicy scent of the Brown's hide and his own human scent of which he was oblivious. It was a window of fresh air for her to escape in, if she needed it.

He freed a hand, using Maery's foreleg to help him support her, and ran it through her hair and over her shoulders. "She didn't want that for you," he whispered softly. "I heard it, same as you," he continued. "She came back there, at the end," his words were pitched low for her, but he did not treat her like a child. He did not coo, he did not fantasize. He'd been near enough to hear what she'd said, and before he'd heard it--well he'd thought only the worst. That she'd been lost forever to the Traditionalists.

"Can't be for nothing, Elianne. All this pain, all this loss. Can't just lay down and let it be for nothin'." The shy, quiet, twin had been smart enough to say that when she'd realized what was happening. Words that maybe her sister would remember, that would resonate, when she could look beyond the pain. It had been a gift, in her final moments. Something that Miraguel had never been able to give to him in turn. Though he'd tried. Just a look. Elidora had done so much more.

"You never gotta doubt she loved you, and she knew you loved her, don't let the rest of it twist you up until you're lost. She crawled out of nothing because that's what you mean to her, and then she tried to save you at the end." He continued to run his fingers through her hair, waiting for a moment where she might look up seeking the answer to who he was, or where she was, or what had happened. Then he could search her eyes and try to glean any information from them, as if maybe he could be a wise dragon and she a hopeful on the Sands.

He was no Healer--not like that weird ethereal creature at the Weyr--but he knew this woman at least a little, and he hoped that would be enough.

@Rii


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Ives
 Posted: Jun 5 2017, 11:13 PM
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Alphahandler





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As she shifted in his arms he looked down to see her brushing tears away. One hand dove into her hair while the other lifted to help brush tears off of her cheeks. ”Shhh, it will be okay.”

Now it will be. It was deserved. Freyotth offered, venom dripping from his words as he watched all of it. Every moment was reflected within his ruby hued eyes as the Thread fell upon the prisoners and exploded, eating away at flesh, muscle, and bone as if it were nothing. Whatever the tanner man had put on them was wholly ineffective - perhaps it had offered a moment of pause for the spores but they found their mark quickly. The screams had no effect on the burgundy and he did not pull his eyes away until the three of them were truly gone. Nothing left but shackles where they once stood. Turning away then, and only then, he bumped his way past others who were too slow to move on their own. Spiked tail whipping against the ground as he made his way to His.

Without pausing to ask if she was alright or consider what she would want the rider ducked down to scoop an arm behind her knees. Lifting her from the ground with ease he cradled her against him on the walk to his dragon’s side, shifting her then so he could use one arm around her waist to hold her to him. His other arm now free he stepped up onto Freyotth’s offered forearm and pulled himself and his precious cargo up onto the burgundy’s back, wrapping the straps around one arm before he closed it around her again. He knew how his dragon flew, he would not fall nor would he let Fisher fall. We will see her back. Come. It was not a request of the cyan but a statement, an order even, as he took to the air carefully. ”Hold your breath.” A few seconds of warning as he offered an image of the ‘bowl to his dragon and then they were between.

One… two… three…

They burst from the chill of nothingness over the weyr and he squeezed the girl to him. ”You’ll have to tell me which weyr is yours, I’ll drop you off and get you tucked in.” His hand lifted from her waist to brush her hair from her face, ”Is that okay?”

@Ruin
----

Anger, it is all she could see in his face when he turned towards her. It was gone quickly but still she knew how much he wanted this and the thought chilled her core briefly. They came from different lives, different worlds really - she knew he was justified in wanting this, in needing this even. He had been there the same as she; he had been on the sands and saw first hand what had happened. Her rider had endured being under lock down and treated like he might be a criminal too thanks to the actions of two of the prisoners. As much as she understood it she was in denial, surely they could have found some other way to get justice?

It didn’t matter now. It was too late and his arms found her, pulled her close and she felt safe. Clutching tightly to him her eyes pressed closed to prevent tears from falling and she focused on the solid beat of his heart. Screams were muted by his hand covering her other ear and his heartbeat became louder. Deep breaths caused her shoulders to rise and fall dramatically as she whispered softly to him, ”Thank you… I’m sorry. I tried.”

@RhiaBlack


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Ruin
 Posted: Jun 6 2017, 01:13 AM
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Betahandler





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Fisher clung to him in more was than were physically obvious. To his breathing, to his heartbeat, to the feeling of his arms, and the crinkle of the leather he wore. Anything but the reality of what was happening beyond them. Even Ijreth had seemed to lend a faint hum to join the man's, it rode across their bond and made the world seem as if she was underwater. It was all appreciated. They were all kind to her, and understanding beyond reason.

She was not startled when he picked her up, instead she seemed to melt in his arms, her own wrapping around his neck as she nestled into his neck, trying halfheartedly not to spill tears upon him. It was far too late for that, she reasoned. Ijreth followed them into the air, and Fisher could sense laughter from her though she did not know why.

The Cyan followed the image from Freyotth, the one that would put them in the sky together without colliding and went between on the heels of her Rider, coming out above and in formation with them. Fisher heard the Rider's words, but tears blurred her vision and made her feel all the more frustrated and afraid.

It was no matter, the Cyan dropped from the sky in front of the Burgundy with an adroit flicker of her wingspars across his face--so close but not touching--before winging across to the odd weyr on the Eastern wall with the long ledge.


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Leo
 Posted: Jun 7 2017, 06:22 PM
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The Dreamer


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Zanii had not been present for Laanasuth's eventful hatching, and for that, she was glad. While each hatching of both dragon and wher would bring great joy to their Weyrs, this was proof that it could also bring great sadness. The wher candidatemaster appeared to be uncharacteristically joyless from her position on the sidelines. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to be back in her wherhole, sleeping, with Zansk curled up at her side. However, she had a duty to attend to and that included watching over any of her wher candidates that had chosen to attend the execution. The woman had strongly encouraged her 'babies' to stay back at Dalibor, but she would not hinder their chance to sate their thirst for vengeance. They had a right to be here as they all did. Unfortunately.

'Close eyes. Not see. Listen to Zansk.' She breathed in as the silver filaments gathered above the traditionalists' heads. No, she didn't have to watch. She had to be here, but she didn't have to watch the thread devour their flesh. Zanii looked to her black. His green eyes were steady behind their goggles even as the screaming began. 'Zanii, Zanii, Zansk's Zanii.' She loved his mindvoice. It was soothing, like a bubbling brook, like a warm cup of klah, like the spice of his brindled hide. She was calm. In many ways, it was like they weren't even there.

---

Sanarth had mourned her lost clutchsiblings. W'rone had written down their songs. They remembered, but they were not angry. They had no wish to watch the end of more life. Instead, they had chosen to spend the time singing on their ledge. It was peaceful here. They liked it that way.

---

Zasime's face may as well have been carved from stone as she watched the traditionalists be led to their deaths. She felt...a touch of rawness. An edge of anger. A sliver of salt. She licked her lips. Perhaps even a hint of copper. Today was the day the traitors would die, and some of the weyrfolk would rejoice. She would not, but she would not wilt either. The blackrider approved of the execution itself, but not its viewing. Did all three of these traditionalists deserve to die? Most certainly. They had acted with either the intention to kill or had actually killed and would no doubt attempt murder again if they were released back into the world. All of Pern would be better off without them. However, she thought the actual viewing of their deaths to be sick. What kind of person would desire to watch such a thing? Not her. Not Tamath. At least, that is what she had told herself. The darker part of her nature had said differently and led her here.

The young woman started to gnaw on her lower lip. She said nothing while the stakes were being nailed in until the fate of all three had been sealed. "Soon," was all she promised. Soon they would all be released, traitor and weyrfolk alike; the three traditionalists would be released of their mortal flesh and the rest would be released of their hunger. Soon. Then it was time to to fall behind the lines. Zasime moved to the back of the gathered group where it was harder to see. Her eyes panned skyward. She didn't look back down, only up, where she could watch the thread fall but not its resulting terror. She didn't need new fuel for her nightmares. The screams were satisfaction and horror enough.
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