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!
20.Aug.12, 11:00 AM
She’d had enough already when D’ren began to talk about unity and not fighting one another. She was all for not fighting but she doubted that any of the riders were going to go out of their way to make her stay at Katila any more enjoyable. They seemed to delight in making the Stolen’s lives miserable. Especially with that rule about a woman having to bear a child for Katila before she may Stand for a clutch. That was plain extortion and it made her wonder if the Weyr was run by Bitrans, who were on the whole a completely untrustworthy people. Then the moron, Lymsleia opened her mouth again. Eolira could not quite grasp how the woman thought it would help things to talk back at the Weyrleader. Did the girl see no authority here? Did she not realize they could have her killed if they so wished? They controlled whether she ate, where she worked and if she were permitted to continue her craft. Did that not make her wonder if talking back to the man in charge might be a bad idea?
Some people must not have a little voice telling them what was right and what was wrong. Eolira however, heard hers loud and clear. After D’ren helped Sanderon out of his bonds, Eolira turned around. She was going back to her work bench. Pounding metal would help with her frustration… maybe. Her walk back was consumed with thoughts of her previous life in the North. She had not had it any easier there. At least the plague-riders were more understanding of women in crafts. Her life before, she was constantly having to prove herself. How was it any different here? She was not around her brothers at all, who were transferred to other places before she received her Journeyman’s knots. Then even she was transferred. Homesickness was something she had gotten over several turns ago.
What irritated her about this place was most of the riders seemed to take it upon themselves to show the Stolen who their betters were. The riders slept with whomever they felt like it without consideration to anyone’s feeligns, although she really couldn’t say much on that account. The dragonriders had the illusion of freedom but even they were not permitted to go North unless Nirinath said so. What bothered the other Stolen was the idea that they would never see their home again. The finality of this along with not being able to say goodbye to their beloved families was going to make people angry. As for herself she was simply bitter about her own experiences here. The lashings were doing nothing to help those feelings.
The stolen at the lashing were a little too outspoken for her taste. Eolira preferred to be trusted until she finally found a way to screw them all over. Now for the stolen, things were going to change. D’ren had been so pissed and she was certain it was not all directed at N’gelt. If they all were punished because of Lym, Eolira was going to be so much more angry than she already was. Arriving back at her chaotic workbench she put her black apron on and began heating up the furnace. Pounding some metal would help, she assured herself.
Some people must not have a little voice telling them what was right and what was wrong. Eolira however, heard hers loud and clear. After D’ren helped Sanderon out of his bonds, Eolira turned around. She was going back to her work bench. Pounding metal would help with her frustration… maybe. Her walk back was consumed with thoughts of her previous life in the North. She had not had it any easier there. At least the plague-riders were more understanding of women in crafts. Her life before, she was constantly having to prove herself. How was it any different here? She was not around her brothers at all, who were transferred to other places before she received her Journeyman’s knots. Then even she was transferred. Homesickness was something she had gotten over several turns ago.
What irritated her about this place was most of the riders seemed to take it upon themselves to show the Stolen who their betters were. The riders slept with whomever they felt like it without consideration to anyone’s feeligns, although she really couldn’t say much on that account. The dragonriders had the illusion of freedom but even they were not permitted to go North unless Nirinath said so. What bothered the other Stolen was the idea that they would never see their home again. The finality of this along with not being able to say goodbye to their beloved families was going to make people angry. As for herself she was simply bitter about her own experiences here. The lashings were doing nothing to help those feelings.
The stolen at the lashing were a little too outspoken for her taste. Eolira preferred to be trusted until she finally found a way to screw them all over. Now for the stolen, things were going to change. D’ren had been so pissed and she was certain it was not all directed at N’gelt. If they all were punished because of Lym, Eolira was going to be so much more angry than she already was. Arriving back at her chaotic workbench she put her black apron on and began heating up the furnace. Pounding some metal would help, she assured herself.
