Hello loves! While I haven't been writing, I have been working on updating some issues that have been hanging around on the layout! The Character change box is now at the bottom of the page, beside the up/down arrows! Green and Gold dragon flight dates have been shifted to the bottom of the page, where the (useless!) discord widget was located. Where the dragon flights were in the header, is now replaced by a Monthly Event box! This will be updated at the start of each month, with a fun mini-event you can take part in, if you want to! Thistle!
30.Jan.13, 05:10 PM
The noontide sun was hot against her skin, and would soon burn the parts of her that didn't see it often enough. Ellaira rolled her shoulder, which was nearing a state close to dry, and tried to gauge how long it would be before her skin grew reproachful enough of the sun's rays to punish her with a blazing sunburn.
She looked back up at Jada as the goldrider commented on the stories and reality of the dragons. "But they were so much more," Ellaira said softly, a hint of both surprise and melancholy in her voice. "Compared to the Weyrs before the plague... Katila is..." she paused, and shook her head.
"Katila is a shanty town compared to the Weyrs. I grew up in Telgar Weyr, and the horizon was the Weyr. Every direction, the cliffs of the Weyr sweep up to touch the sky, dotted with weyrs for dragonriders, unreachable except by dragon-back. It takes an hour or more to cross the bowl of the Weyr. We have not even three hundred dragons here, but a Weyr at full strength has twice that, and over a thousand folk without a dragon." She sighed.
"It's impossible not to be underwhelmed. This place is a camp for refugees, nothing more. Our fortresses, our strongholds, are in the north." Ellaira stopped talking, lost in memories of the vibrant life of Telgar Weyr, of the sounds and smells and scenery. She blinked, and the ghost of the Weyr was gone. "I do love the wilderness," she said at last, "but I don't know that it will ever really be a home I can take pride in."
She looked back up at Jada as the goldrider commented on the stories and reality of the dragons. "But they were so much more," Ellaira said softly, a hint of both surprise and melancholy in her voice. "Compared to the Weyrs before the plague... Katila is..." she paused, and shook her head.
"Katila is a shanty town compared to the Weyrs. I grew up in Telgar Weyr, and the horizon was the Weyr. Every direction, the cliffs of the Weyr sweep up to touch the sky, dotted with weyrs for dragonriders, unreachable except by dragon-back. It takes an hour or more to cross the bowl of the Weyr. We have not even three hundred dragons here, but a Weyr at full strength has twice that, and over a thousand folk without a dragon." She sighed.
"It's impossible not to be underwhelmed. This place is a camp for refugees, nothing more. Our fortresses, our strongholds, are in the north." Ellaira stopped talking, lost in memories of the vibrant life of Telgar Weyr, of the sounds and smells and scenery. She blinked, and the ghost of the Weyr was gone. "I do love the wilderness," she said at last, "but I don't know that it will ever really be a home I can take pride in."
