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!
17.Sep.12, 04:56 AM
R'nya strode with a quiet confidence into the Dining Hall, not unaware of the glances his presence was now earning when he entered a crowd. It wasn't something he was particularly against, but it was certainly rolling to be a shock to the man's system. R'nya was used to being unacknowledged; he was one of those rider's that the eyes of others usually slid over without paying much attention. It wasn't that R'nya was unattractive, or even unapproachable. The bronzerider simply preferred to remain outside of the spotlight. He had a quite, unassuming presence that made it easy to be unnoticed. Not being a colourist, R'nya didn't expect to be worshiped because he'd had the good fortune to become bonded to Xyreith so many turns ago.
As a result, R'nya had no idea what it was he'd managed to do, in order to gain D'ren's attention. Certainly, he had no idea what it was he had done that would make the Weyrleader think he was worthy of a position of Wingleader. He himself had held no rank of note before the Plague; he had only been bonded to his Xyreith for four turns - they had barely been graduates. Now, after sixteen turns of being rankless in general, the Weyrleader had saw fit to put him in control of a rag tag bunch and train them up to be a Wing. Regardless, R'nya would do the best job he could... Though he hadn't been given much to work with, not much at all.
Light eyes glanced around the Hall, noting quite a few members of his own wing, and their various responses: from those that nodded to him to those that pretended to ignore him, to the one that actually didn't see him. Turning his gaze from them without further thought or indication than a few vaguely returned nods, the Wingleader sought out D'ren. He had enquired as to the Weyrleader's whereabouts earlier in the evening, but the man had been preoccupied. Having Xyreith check in so he could visit the man after his evening meal had produced a rather well timed fact: D'ren was at his own meal.
He found the Weyrleader sitting alone, but was not particularly surprised by that, despite the fact that the other man was at a common table, rather than the raised table he was meant to occupy. R'nya was a fan of following the requirements of rank, and found it slightly baffling when other's didn't see the need. When they actively brushed away their rank, as if they didn't want it, or when they didn't enforce it for whatever reason they might have. That wasn't to say R'nya considered himself a particularly obnoxious person; he did, in fact, feel he had taken on the new rank he had been given with grace and remarkably little ego. But he still made sure his wing responded to the fact that he was their Wingleader and not a fellow wingmate.
"Sir," R'nya's voice was low and clear, the bronzerider stopping before his leader, standing at ease on the other side of the table. The pause lasted long enough for him to be the recipient of an invitation to take a seat, an action R'nya followed through with gracefully. "May I have a moment of your time?"
As a result, R'nya had no idea what it was he'd managed to do, in order to gain D'ren's attention. Certainly, he had no idea what it was he had done that would make the Weyrleader think he was worthy of a position of Wingleader. He himself had held no rank of note before the Plague; he had only been bonded to his Xyreith for four turns - they had barely been graduates. Now, after sixteen turns of being rankless in general, the Weyrleader had saw fit to put him in control of a rag tag bunch and train them up to be a Wing. Regardless, R'nya would do the best job he could... Though he hadn't been given much to work with, not much at all.
Light eyes glanced around the Hall, noting quite a few members of his own wing, and their various responses: from those that nodded to him to those that pretended to ignore him, to the one that actually didn't see him. Turning his gaze from them without further thought or indication than a few vaguely returned nods, the Wingleader sought out D'ren. He had enquired as to the Weyrleader's whereabouts earlier in the evening, but the man had been preoccupied. Having Xyreith check in so he could visit the man after his evening meal had produced a rather well timed fact: D'ren was at his own meal.
He found the Weyrleader sitting alone, but was not particularly surprised by that, despite the fact that the other man was at a common table, rather than the raised table he was meant to occupy. R'nya was a fan of following the requirements of rank, and found it slightly baffling when other's didn't see the need. When they actively brushed away their rank, as if they didn't want it, or when they didn't enforce it for whatever reason they might have. That wasn't to say R'nya considered himself a particularly obnoxious person; he did, in fact, feel he had taken on the new rank he had been given with grace and remarkably little ego. But he still made sure his wing responded to the fact that he was their Wingleader and not a fellow wingmate.
"Sir," R'nya's voice was low and clear, the bronzerider stopping before his leader, standing at ease on the other side of the table. The pause lasted long enough for him to be the recipient of an invitation to take a seat, an action R'nya followed through with gracefully. "May I have a moment of your time?"
