World of Pern
Latest Updates

2023/08/04 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!
2023/01/07 Welcome to the New Year! We are now ELEVEN years old! Thank you, all of you, for your love and writing! I am looking forward to spending another year with youall! In addition, a new Default colour scheme is in progress and will hopefully be available soon! All my love! ThistleProse
2022/07/29 Gold Malvayth and Bronze Xyxyth clutch is Hatching! Come and join the shenannigans 743.08.03 | NIGHT STALKERS HATCHING and bring the popcorn!
2022/05/11 Gold Malvayth has Flown, caught by Bronze Xyxyth of A'tay. Their Hatching will be PC, and take place in Telgar in August around the 20-22nd! Update your Candidate Applications and prepare for some fun!
2022/04/21 New default layout! I hope you enjoy it! If you find any bugs, please report them in the discord #bug-squishing channel!
05/JUL It’s Hatching time!! Come take part in the shenanigans here
30/JUN Gold Thallyath of Ista Weyr has laid a clutch! More information here
27/JUN A bluerider, and then a greenrider, are found dead. More information here
25/JUN The Touching is up! Take part here
30/MAY After the Touching, many Candidates found themselves preyed upon in the form of their food. More information here
18/MAY Another goldrider - Ameris of Benden - is attacked. More information here
05/MAY Multiple individuals are attacked whilest out of the Weyr! More information here
04/MAY Take a chance OOC and guess who you think the murderer is! You can win prizes! More information here
03/MAY Goldrider Cazan and her twin brother Cazelarias are attacked. More information here
24/APR Goldrider Ashara of Fort is murdered by two brownriders. More information here
12/APR Searchrider B’jin was attacked at Telgar Weyr, surffering a slash to his throat. While in Benden, bluerider B’dor is found dead in his weyr. More info here
05/APRMore attacks occurred today. More information here
03/APRMultiple individuals found their death this day; more information here and here
28/MAR Tragedy has struck again! Across all the Weyrs, multiple people - primarily dragonriders - have fallen ill after eating muffins. There have been multiple deaths, and others are in criticle condition. More information here
24/MAR Weyrwoman Ameris and her son, Rislan, poisoned! More information here
18/MAR Benden’s Weyrleader M’ris and his children have been poisoned! Resulting in sickness and death. More information here
18/MAROn 18.03.742 Bronzerider A’dris of Vyaniorth was found dead in his personal bathing pool. He appears to have drowned after drinking an excess of alcohol. Afterwards it was realized that Machiya of Gold Cameth from Telgar Weyr had disappeared. Having never arrived at her destination, it is suspected she had an accident between.
11/MAR Gold Racoth of Donmaline went between taking Bronze Beruth of T’rel with her shortly after she had been caught, due to T’rel strangling Donmaline. He did not survive. more info
25/FEB Congratulations and thank-you to Guest for taking on a moderator role! <3
14/FEB Stars Above PC Hatching Link
06/JAN :o new layout is a WiP. Please report bugs in Discord.
01/JAN Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year!




Currently: Spring 03.745 al
Monthly Event
2024-February
Details: Link

Welcome to the Month of Lovetm! This month's Monthly Event is all about Romance, whether it is asking someone out on a date, or getting sweaty between the sheets! Anything and everything counts, if it even looks sideways like it could be related to Valentine Day -- including lover's spats, or breaking up, Flights Wins (or Flight Losses!). Honestly, this month has a huge opportunity for interpertation, so go wild!



2023-December
Details: Link

Ahh, the fresh snow, the crisp air, the naked trees... welcome to Winter! Or, just the Colder Months for those in the more Northern Weyrs, while Ista is just... not as hot. But it is time to enjoy the end of the Turn, so folks should get together, spend some time gossiping, and drinking Hot Chocolate (alcohol and marshmallows opional)... does Pern even have marshmallows????? (they do now!)



2023-November
Details: Link

Feel like bitching? Wanna take part in a brawl? Or bet on someone? Take part in Brawls and Bitching this month! Boo-yeah!



2023-October
Details: Link

Thistle flunked this month; You can still post until the end of November as a result <3
Experience, tell or hide from a Spooky Story!



2023-September
Details: Link

The flu is running rampant, colds are clogging noses, and someone might have lost a limb?



2023-August
Details: Link

Partake this month by going fishing... or anything that occurs while fishing, or dealing with fish!



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You Can't Escape [M, Anyone Welcome!]

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Written By: ZZZ Deceased
#1
The heat of the sun was seeping out as the days progressed, something the entire Weyr was grateful for. This meant work wasn’t halted midday for a rest anymore and everyone was expected to show for whatever chores or duties they had.

Except for today.

Doors were locked and equipment stored away shortly before noon as a passive aggressive move to prevent any determined souls from partaking in their work. The gather square was cleared except for a small platform. Two poles stood on the platform a short distance apart with a rope tied securely to each one. To threaten or to use, it was unclear.

N’gelt sat with his back against one of these poles, a long whip curled in his lap. Despite his best arguments, D’ren had refused to let him acquire a whip with more than one prong to it, which was sorely disappointing to him. Resigned to a normal whip he ran his fingers along it, watching as people slowly filtered into the square.

Some sadistic part of him hoped that Sanderon would be a trouble child, that he would think he could overpower him, all that fun stuff. He’d only briefly seen him before, mostly while he was being dragged back into the Weyr after yet another escape attempt. The boy was simply stupid. After being given three lashes by S’kef, which N’gelt thought was rather light personally, it seemed that Sanderon was blindly determined to try and escape. N’gelt wondered if he had talked to any of the other northerners who had tried to escape, particularly that one... That woman who had caused the first non-rider weyr arrest. He couldn’t remember her name, nor did he care. He was just glad he hadn’t had to babysit her. But he figured that she, of everyone, might be able to snap him out if it. If they had spoken, it clearly hadn't worked, or N'gelt wouldn't be sitting where he was right now.

When noon arrived he stood, holding the coiled whip in one hand while the majority of Katila’s population gathered before him. He looked around, waiting for both Sanderon and Tsuen to arrive. He already knew how many lashes were to be handed out, but he would wait for D’ren’s go-ahead, of course. Saquith stood nearby, his eyes whirling a concerned yellow. Why are you happy? He asked softly. ‘Because this will stop those idiots trying to flee. Trying to flee from dragonriders, how stupid can they be?’  N’gelt was too wrapped up in his desire to lash the boy to bother brushing his Brown away. All they had to do was stop running... It wasn’t that hard was it?

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Eolira

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The Stolen had enough trouble without people making their lives worse. Although she was not exactly pleased at the thought of lashings towards Northern stolen, she knew better than to say anything that might be construed as rebellious. She didn’t really care who they were lashing, whoever it was had been dumb enough to be kept under close watch and most likely would continue to not be trusted for the rest of their life. Maybe they had never thought it through. Maybe they had only thought to get away as fast as possible.

Where could they possibly be escaping to? The rest of the South was uninhabited, dangerous and likely not going to support one human alone for long. There were many dangers in the wilderness. They surely knew they could not get home form here without a dragonrider or a really amazing boat err ship with excellent directions and no issues with ocean travel. By the time someone built or stole a ship large enough for ocean travel, then one had to find people to help crew the ship. And therein lay the problem.

When she had first arrived she had gone through possible escape methods in her mind but none of them had ever held any chance of actually working…that is, except one. And that one was going to be very very difficult to accomplish. It would require having a dragon. A dragon who did not have to answer to anyone else. She did not see that happening in her future. Had she not already proven she was unworthy of Impression? Green eyes scanned her unfinished work cooling on her work bench. It irked her not being able to finish something she was in the middle of.  Noon had come faster than she thought though so she had to simply deal.

Her hair was pulled back in a harsh ponytail. Not a strand of hair able to escape the binding. She wore some really worn in work boots, a pair of brown pants with streaks of black on them and a t-shirt type top in black. It would be hot I the sun but she would rather be able to back to working as soon as possible and changing clothes at this point was not an option. She scanned the gathering crowd as she walked closer. Some seemed excited, some nervous and it was really hard to tell which emotions dominated the populace.

As for herself, she thought that fear was never the way to keep people in line. Not that she was going to bring up any such sentiments to the man holding the whip or the man controlling the man who held the whip. Lashings were something she had thus far managed to avoid. It was a men’s world here and she had learned quickly to keep quiet about things around people she deemed untrustworthy. Mostly people in the same situation would not rat out her true opinions on living here to the higher ups. Still, she wasn’t about to do something as idiotic as trying to run away.

She waited, her impatience clear, her jaw clenched in irritation. Eolira had trouble standing still with nothing to do or think about. This was going to make the whole thing seem so much longer!

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Written By: ZZZ Deceased
#3
I know you don't want to attend this, Jada, but it is expected of you. On the Sands, Krypth nuzzled at her Jada's hair lovingly. There are certain responsibilities which must be attended to. It isn't like they are asking you to lash the boy, just be there... standing there... for solidarity. You know how it works. Your memories of Harper Hall are very similar to this. You do not have to agree with it, but you have to obey. You cannot stand out right now. The dragon nuzzled her Bonded lovingly, and then prodded one of the wobbling eggs back into place with her tail. I swear, that egg is moving when I am not looking. I close my eyes for a moment, and there is a giggling Weyrbrat trying to take a peek or touch them. They aren't ready to be touched yet, Jada.

"I know dearest." Every moment Jada looked at Krypth, the Gold was passed out, wrapped around her small clutch protectively. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather I bring you omething to eat instead? I am sure they would understand if you were-"

I will not be an excuse for you to shirk a distasteful duty. You are Mine, are you not? We will lead this Weyr one day, I promise you. So do not start off our triumph by being a coward. You will go and watch this boy who does not wish to Touch my eggs be beaten, and you will ensure D'ren does not let him on my Sands. The mere fact that a Candidate would try and run away when one of Krypth's perfect, precious gems was on the Sands- especially her first Clutch!- was insult. A positive insult.

"I'm not going to do that. It's the Weyrleader's decision." Jada kissed Krypth on the nose, and the Gold sighed. "I wish you could go with me too." Jada responded before the beast could utter her desire. "I will make you proud." Moving off the Sands, Jada sighed, groaning softly. She would have just enough time to get washed up a bit, wipe off the sweat from the heated Sands, and then she would have to hurry for the Gather Square. She could not be late for this. What had possessed someone to try and run this soon after a Clutching? The more fool them; Krypth had already proven to everyone (Jada had thought) that she was more than a handful, and now the Gold was insulted to boot. Jada was more surprised the dragon hadn't insisted the lashing happen on the Sands, so she could get a good look. Hmmph, she would have to be careful with that thought in the future, or it may just come to pass!

She was a teensy bit later than she had planned to get there- there was already a crowd to stare as she pushed her way to the front of the crowd, nodding politely to N'gelt. Neatly clad Jada was not, but she'd been on the Sands most of the day. She'd brushed her hair and gotten rid of the Sand on her boring, well-worn outfit. If anyone expected more from her when she was going to watch a lashing, they had another thing coming.

At least she had made it before the lashing this time.

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Written By: ZZZ Deceased
#4
His leg was still stiff, but Farlint had stolen an eagle eye view. He'd heard about the troublemaker, and heard about the lashing, and it would be interesting to see how this lashing compared to the last that he had been to. S'kef had hardly been a kind whipmaster, and he'd heard N'gelt was just as hard- though not quite as pleased by causing pain for pain's sake. Still, the Beastcrafter didn't envy the lad who would be getting lashed. (Especially with the way the man was fondling his whip. He may not be a sadist, but he was certainly one wherry short of a flock.)

After Hoth had knocked his knee off- almost literally- Far had found it a wee bit hard to get his act back together. It was hard to entertain the thought of running when one could barely walk. Still, with the help of his dragonrider friends, he had discovered that swimming in the lake was amazing physical therapy, and today he had discovered that he barely needed his walking stick at all. It was slow going, but he really only had used it for support for his wounded knee. With luck, he would be able to Stand on his own for this clutch. The thought of having to wait again for another was a terrible one, though it would probably be for the best.

He leaned heavily against his stick, brushing his auburn hair from his eyes. This N'gelt fellow was the one that I'shan was... no, Farlint didn't like to think about that aspect of his brother's life. Especially with how disconnected he had been from it lately. He missed the man, even though they still saw each other, it just wasn't the same. Maybe when he got his dragon... a nice Blue, just as sweet as Ilveriath.

Shards, would they ever just beat this little twat already so he could go sit? He didn't dare get on the ground, for fear he'd make an ass of himself getting back up.

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Written By: ZZZ Deceased
#5
Sanderon knew he was in serious trouble. If he tried to escape or just simply disappear for a time, it did not seem to matter which, both were equally frowned upon. With clenched fists at his sides, and a clenched jaw to keep his bitter words silent, the two strong men on each side of him gripped his arms harshly. Being propelled out into the sunshine burned his eyes from having been in a darker environment. He refused to cringe though as he raised his chin in defiance.

With each forced step he was made to take, his urge to break free increased ten-fold. His heartbeat quickened and his adrenaline began to pump through his veins in preparation. In his mental vision a picture of his family as he had seen them last came to give him strength.

'With his brothers' teasing well-wishes and his father's kind words of advice echoing in his ears, Sanderon had headed out for his first solo over-night hunting trip. Along the well-worn trail towards the deep wood he had turned to look back at his humble home. In the yard were his brothers, Arkero and Sarron. Both held encouraging smiles upon their faces. His father, Sandark was behind them with a look of quiet approval. Behind his brothers and father, his mother Eronia stood in the doorway to their stone hut wearing her cooking apron over her dark green simple dress. She was lovely. Sanderon's heart had softened when he had seen her smile. He had given her a wave which she returned.'

Remembering his family during his forced march into and through the crowds did not soften his heart now. If hardened it and gave him the iron-willed stubbornness he needed at this moment. With his jaw and fists clenched and the two strong men gripping each of his arms painfully, he was led closer to the location of his punishment; His unjust torture.

Gathering all the strength he had, he yanked as hard as he could against the two burly men. Kicking up his feet, dodging side to side, bucking forward and backwards... He tried everything. Though he felt he might have come close at one point to breaking their grasp it was not to be. He was pulled forceably upon the platform. Seeing the current Weyrsecond, N'gelt, standing there holding a whip near the two posts with ropes, Sanderon turned his head and with a final growl in his throat and a feral rage in his dark eyes he spit towards N'gelt's face and tried to kick out at the man's stomach. If N'gelt could not breathe, he could not whip him, right?

To those that were gathering to watch, Sanderon paid no heed. They were all against him, he was sure. So they did not matter. Only the here and now mattered and he was fighting mad and determined to inflict as much punishment against them as he himself was about to get. With the help of a third man who had come up behind and around them, his wrists were pulled up one by one and tied tight with each of the ropes tied to the two posts there. His skin burned and so did his rage as he tried again to kick out at those that now let his arms go. Yanking against the ropes that held him fast, only caused the ropes to tighten painfully. Stopping all movement he stood there with feet wide apart, jaw clenched and his eyes defiantly glaring, and tried to catch his breath. His stance and expression now might possibly cause some to think of a feral animal; one that could not be tamed. Oh but he was so much more than that. Sanderon used to be happy. He used to be a person that was loved and respected once. But now... now he was nothing but an object of scorn. Something to be beaten into submission.






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B'jin
of Green Larrikith

Date of Birth
23.06.683 AL, 61
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5'9
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Written By: ThistleProse
#6
He hadn't wanted to come, but like Jada, his dragon had been the decision maker, the guilt giver, and in the end, the winner. Even as the greenrider slid delicately from his dragon's neck, he could feel his shoulders twitching. Technically, he had healed well under the careful attention of both Talian and R'nd, but at moment's like this - when he was expected to stand in the audience and watch, B'jin could swear he could feel each welt rise once more, each long gone stitch itching and the tingling feel of numbness as his own blood trickled down his side. B'jin shuddered, and Larrikith delicately put her head over his shoulder, her muzzle wafting warm air against his chest as B'jin raised his arms and hugged her nose tightly. The dragon became a sudden beam of support, and he clung to her with little care to how it might look to others.

It will not be that bad, Larrikith said softly, eyes whirling softly in reassuring tones as her rider plummeted into past memories. Probably not; S'kef had a personal vendetta. I would still rather not be here. There have been so many lashings.. Perhaps you should learn to behave again. Larrikith quipped, to which B'jin snorted. 'Perhaps you should hunt less.', earning a snort from Larrikith. As if either would ever be acted upon! I feel sorry for them, Larri. The silly child brought it upon himself. Just... pretend to watch.

That would be easier said than done, once the actual lashing started. Some of the kids had no pain tolerance, what so ever, and B'jin shuddered at their cries. Others were sturdier, but it was no less pleasant. Another shiver rippled down the greenrider's back, and he unconsciously lifted the hand not wrapped around Larrikith's nose, to rub anxiously at his back. The scarring was minimal, but it was still there and he could feel it under his fingers. Unfortunately, though he'd been the first, he had long since stopped being the only Katilan green to be scarred by a whip. I'm not sure who is worse; N'gelt or S'kef

Just keep it to yourself.

Of course.

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V'ra
of Blue Venseth

Date of Birth
05.04.716 AL, 28
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Slim
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Written By: ThistleProse
#7
The tiny child shoved her way through the crowd, pinching rumps and stamping on toes to move those that were less inclined out of her way. The pre-teen was outraged though for a vastly different reason than most of the Weyr at present. Jada had left without her! It was simply disgraceful! Indivara hissed between her breath and kicked a man in the shins harshly in frustration at the situation as she shoved a woman in the back. The sands bound idiot had left without her, when she'd specifically told the Weyrling she'd meet her at the sands and go with her. Seriously! Did she have no memory at all?!

Krypth had been on the Sands, alone when Indivara marched in, and the girl had near exploded in outrage when the young gold had told her quite smugly that Jada had already left. Krypth, of course, didn't have the memory of Jada's promise, but Indivara had been quite blunt about reminding the gold. Harrumphing and spinning on her toes, Indivara had demanded the Weyrling's location and quickly set out to find her. Which is why, as she finally spotted the less than regal looking goldrider, Indivara poked her harshly in the ribs and hissed out a disgruntled and very sarcastic, "So nice of you to wait!"

Her scarred face was more than intimidating by itself, the results of bronze Hoth's attack upon her features needing no extra help from the infections she'd ended up with by not taking care of her stitches (like she'd been told, over and over and over again) and as a result no one could miss, or likely ever forget, the events of the World Above Hatching. Indivara had near lost her life, but the horrific scarring now offered a visible warning to those that didn't know the child. She was, frankly, as scary a person as she now appeared to be.

"And what are you wearing!" If she had of realised at all how much like Kerrin she sounded, Indivara probably would have tied herself up to be lashed. The fact that the hypocritical child was dressed in rags herself was completely unimportant. Jada was a future Weyrwoman! Her future Weyrwoman! She had appearances to upkeep!

The child paid not a lick of attention to anyone else as she waited impatiently for Jada's reply.

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lymsleia

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Lymsleia pushed her way to the front. A Lashing? A stupid lashing? Fortrying to go home. She breathed deeply. The Weyrleader it seemed had caled tem to assemble and so they had. Her own marks now long healed seemed to itch.  She clutched her healer's bag, she could feel herself trembling. She wanted to strike the Weyrleader- lashing would bring them down not band them together She felt her lips tremble.

She strode towards the front. What was she doing? she felt her breath shorten. " We were all northern once." she began  loudly, turning to face the crowd, and then she chanced a glanced at Sanderon. "We all called the north home, it was the place we were born and grew up, can we really be upset  ay someone wanting to go home?" she asked the as loud as she dared- which in was rather loudly. Not so loud as to be drowned out by the crowd- but loud enough,  that  few people were starting to turn her way.

She shivered inside. She'd lost right? No she felt empathy for him. She too had been in that same positon- including being lashed. B'jin, herself and now this Sanderon had all been lashed. How those marks felt like they burned on her back now. She swallowed. " I for one, say we  fight back against these lashings for simply wanting to go home. " she glanced again at Sanderon. " I have been here a year, stood for a clutch and I consider Katila 'home', but I think we need to have some compassion for those who still have wounded hearts."

She didn't move from her place in front. Lymsleia breathed slowly, her heart was pounding her chest, repeatedly hammering against her ribcage. Why did she always make these stupid speeches, no one listened. Though maybe she could at least remind them that they in somemanner were all 'stolen'.

"We are all 'stolen, the riders are here because they were forced- to survive-. We are here because we taken, or dragged or brought and too little to remember it. We all are all like this one.." she gestured to Sandoren. "We all just want to go home.." she stood their, waiting for something to happen, rooted to the spot by her own brazen-ness. She glanced at Sandoren, and smiled. "Hi." she breathed as if it were some pleasant meeting and not a lashing.

She felt stupid. Really Really stupid, but she'd spoken out, and that made her feel better. It was better than what had happened with the last Weyrleader's decision that had been a shouting match.

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Written By: ZZZ Deceased
#9
Krypth had been very glad for her short memory when Indivara had marched onto the Sands. Especially once she'd advised the girl that Jada wasn't there, and the girl had gone red-faced and angry. Someone was getting in troooouble and Jada probably needed a good talking to in order to keep her mind off of one of the Northerners getting lashed. Silly, silly wherries should know by now not to run away. She'd obligingly told the young girl everything that she knew about her Rider's location, and nudged an egg back into a new position as Indivara stormed away. Briefly she debated warning Jada that a typhoon was coming- and then dismissed the thought lightly.

Jada would learn to manage her time and keep herself on track one way another. This was a lesson best learned before she was Weyrwoman.

"So nice of me to- Indi!" Jada choked, bending at the waist to try and put her hands protectively over her ribs (though far too late to defend from the poke, shards Indi had hard fingers!), and then colored, wincing. "Oops?" her voice was weak, lame, and she looked down into the scarred face with no small amount of apprehension. Everyone present could vouch for the fact Indi could take the goldrider with little to absolutely no personal effort... And Indi was positively hopping.

"What's wrong with what I am wearing?" At this, at last, Jada grew belligerent, staring down at her serviceable and fairly clean clothing. "What else would I wear to see someone get beaten? A gather dress? I have things to do both before and after events like this, and I am hardly going to dress up for this. I brushed all the sand off. And I brushed my hair. I look perfectly serviceable." And Sharding good, actually, thank you. The color was fabulous on her. Kind of. Well, she would pretend it was. Most importantly, it was clothes! "And what are you wearing?" she shot back in a hiss. "Pot, Kettle."

A raised voice dragged her attention away from Indivara though, and Jada tensed as she saw the owner of the voice. Dung Biscuits! Jada swore softly, clenching her fists. The woman was right, in so many ways, but why would the girl have to do it so publicly! She just couldn't keep her mouth shut and bide her time, wait patiently. No, Lymsleia had to make a public spectacle of herself. And she was going to get herself in trouble. She liked the dark-skinned girl a bit; she seemed to know her own mind, but this... Ack!

"You are right, Lymsleia, we all still have wounded hearts. Including the Katilan founders themselves." She heard herself snap back, and moved closer to the dark-skinned woman, lowering her voice. "The decisions that were made in the past were made in order to protect Pern, and to protect the dragons. they fought for turns to keep them safe, and now they need to keep them safe a little longer, until the numbers swell. And they will, and for that they stole us. Uprooted us. And have been as kind as they are able, to protect the most precious resource on Pern. How many have tried to escape that they have shown patience for our 'wounded hearts'? Because they themselves ache for home. But Lymsleia, trying to escape is a death sentence."

A death sentence.

How far South were they now? "Even if the runaways took the water, the lake, the river, hunted their way to the coast, got in a boat loaded with fresh water, do you honestly think they would make it back to the North? As a corpse, maybe! Storms. Waves. Water predators. If they wrecked, or their supplies were knocked overboard? They would starve. Drown. And if they landed on the Northern Coast, where? What if they landed to the South? Where? What beasts would be around to find them when they washed on shore? Weakened, how would the runaway defend themselves? The dragons are what keep us safe here."

She raised her voice, pain wracking every note. "An example was coming, Lym, and you knew it the same as I did, from the moment they started the lashings with one of their own. You cannot expect that any leader would punish their own people for being heartbroken and let us Northerners get away with belligerence and anarchy forever."

"You're not a Northerner!" The scream was from the crowd. "You're one of them now!" The voice was female, angry. And accurate. Was it true? She'd found a home, a purpose for remaining at Katila in her bonding to Krypth. It hurt, but hurt less and less every day... She had friends here. So many of the Northerners had chosen to dwell in their misfortune instead of making a life among the natives.

And it was going to bite the Weyrleaders in the rear. The pot was simmering, and the lid was shaking. This was a shaking, not a stirring, and it was going to make something boil over. Someone was going to get hurt from the waves this whipping produced, and the thought was terrifying.

Moving over to Sanderon, she stood in front of him, and tried to keep her face neutral. Shards, for a Harper she sure was pitiful at trying to hide her feelings. Written across her face was sorrow, pity, and resignation. "I'm sorry." She told him simply.

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Sasha

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#10
Sasha hated this place, she really did. There where just so many things wrong here, from being stolen to women being broodmares. But this, this really took the cake. A beating, a public beating. What happened to fairness? Actually, scratch that. Fairness had obviously never been in play at Katila Weyr. It wasn't the beating itself that was the problem, it was the whole public factor. Was it really necessary that the victim of this brutality be mocked in public? They would already be in intense pain, couldn't they at leave be allowed to suffer without all those prying eyes? The public part of the beating had to be the worst part, or at least she thought so until she learned what the 'crime' was. A stolen northerner attempting to return home.

She had not intended on going to the beating, if anyone asked she would say that she feel asleep somewhere and missed it. But after learned of what was considered to be a crime worthy of this she changed her mind. Anger boiled up inside her, struggling to break free. There was nothing she wanted more at the moment then to march right up to the weyrleader or whoever came up with this and put their balls where their eyes should be. But she couldn't let that happen. In order for her plan to work people had to think that she was loyal to the weyr. That meant acting like she was perfectly okay with this. Just the idea was enough to make her snarl.

She really tried to look like she was fine with the beating as she walked toward the Gather Square. However, even with her best attempts she had to settle for looking carefully neutral for the time being. Only moments after she arrived someone, a dark-skinned woman that she had never personally met, began to speak. It wasn't as harshly phrased as she would have liked but this was probably as close to standing up to the authority as it would get around here. Then another woman began to speak, the young goldrider, appearing to try to be the voice of reason. Sasha wanted to sneer at the girl, she was no northerner, not after impressing that golden beast. But she restrained herself, people couldn't know that she wanted out. Yet she couldn't stand to let herself stand here and do nothing. In the end she shot Sanderon a glance, attempting to look him in the eye, and gave a tiny nod. It was quick and meant to be noticed only for him, but it was her way of saying that she respected him attempting to escape.

Eolira

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#11
Just when she thought things were going to, they actually did become worse. Were they all sharding insane? Lymsleia was making a complete fool of herself. Did she think the riders were going to just come over and say, you are right, we mistreat you all and you should be allowed to go home? Seriously? The smith was nearly overcome by the urge to tell the other woman to shut the fuck up. There was nothing at all pleasant about uprisings. As much as the Healer thought standing up for basic human rights was a good thing, Eolira was pretty sure things were about to get worse for almost all of them. All the Northern “Stolen” were going to be in trouble because of her opening her big, fat mouth and making this simple lashing example into something more. Maybe to some it was more than a simple ceremony by their oppressor’s to show their dominance over the weaker folk. Eolira resigned herself to watching the reaction of the people around her. She was slightly astonished some of the others were actually taking this all in and agreeing with the healer. Really people?

Eolira could see this all going very badly. When one challenged authority one had to be prepared to face the consequences. Having other people supporting the young man as a martyr was only going to make the punishment more severe and all this talk would have been for nothing. Did the others not understand what discretion was? The anger contained just under her skin all the time towards the dragonriders was very carefully concealed as much as possible. There were days where her workbench became chaos because she could not take her frustrations out on anything else. She was a smith, not just a pretty girl they picked up for the hell of it. She had purpose and she was going to cling to the thought her life could become much better than simply a girl they stole so they could make babies and have a future.

She was still paying attention to what was going on around her when she heard Jada speaking, obviously attempting to diffuse the situation. It might be too late. People were angry. As she had thought before, attempting to rule by fear never worked. It bred hatred which was only fueled more by the fear they wished to instill in them all. Eolira did not want to be here anymore than the rest of them. She was bitter about the whole thing but there were other ways to achieve the end these others wanted to achieve. All the wasted energy on the wrong pursuit and now someone other than Sanderon would likely be hurt in all this. They were making more trouble than they realized.

The tension in the air could be sensed easily. She wondered if the only things which would come of this example would be more restrictions and more work for the “stolen”. Eolira had enough to deal with without being forced to do more than she already did. She was not sure she would even blame the dragonriders, at the very least she wouldn’t leave them with the sole blame for her life being made worse. People like Sanderon and Lymsleia made it worse for the rest of them. No she did not condone lashings. Of course being taken against their will had been wrong, of course being forced to work for their captors was horrible and yes being kept more for the purpose of bearing children than for having any real chance at Impressing a dragon was nearly unbearable. However, it was bearable. They were alive. They could make the most of their situation and work a way out of it with more thought and diplomacy than any of her peers seemed capable of mastering.

As usual, Eolira’s face was void of emotion. She was an empty vessel when it came to emotions. The only empathy she might have was for herself and even that was less than she deserved. Walls were necessary for her to keep her anger under control. Of all the emotions she might feel the only one that came easily and almost unbidden was anger. She had nothing to be happy about here. Even in the smithy she had to deal with men treating her as just a woman, never acknowledging her talent or her brilliance. Perhaps she over-esteemed herself? Shaking herself out of her own head. Nah, she did not and would not believe herself to be anything but talented. The dragonriders could take away her home, her looks, her work but they could never take away her independent soul. She would be free, one way or another but it was a matter of time. Time was something she had plenty of.

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Written By: ZZZ Deceased
#12
N'gelt watched with a small glare on his face as Sanderon was brought to the platform. He had heard of his... antics before and came prepared knowing how he would most likely behave. His struggles did nothing to improve N'gelt's opinion of him, only worsening it. Only a pathetic stolen bitch would try to kick and fight his way out of a punishment. It was, annoyingly, something N'gelt was able to compliment B'jin on. He had walked up, knelt and taken his punishment how it should be taken; willingly. He wouldn't go so far as to say he had taken it like a man, no, he still rode a filthy Green whore after all. But he had taken it the right way, none of this inept struggling crap.

The men holding Sanderon had been hand-picked by N'gelt. One was G'rem, the tallest man in the Weyr who for once, came without his stick. The other was a Brownrider who could almost rival G'rem for tallest. N'gelt hated that there were taller and bigger men than he, but he at least had the sense to use them to his advantage. They towered over Sanderon, almost a clear foot taller than him.

When Sanderon spat and kicked out at N'gelt he was ready. He quickly turned to avoid the spit and only took the very tip of the kick on his hip. Pale eyes narrowed he dropped the coils of the whip and stepped forward, cracking it warningly. It came dangerously close to grazing Sanderon's flailing legs, whether it was a missed attempt to score an additional lash or truly intended as a warning was impossible to tell; N'gelt looked furious enough to be either.

He watched smuggly as a second Brownrider appeared to help tie Sanderon up. "Make sure he can't slip them." N'gelt grunted lowly, sadistic happiness lighting up his eyes as the ropes were dutifully tightened and bit into the northerner's skin as he struggled. He let out a hiss of breath as one of Sanderon's kicks connected loudly to the second Brownrider's knee, there would be extra penalties for assualting a rider. Dismissing the three riders with a small flick of his whip-holding hand he turned to see if Tsuen had arrived. Spotting the Weyrwoman he nodded curteously to her, turning back to Sanderon when she nodded to go ahead.

Facing the audience he took in a deep breath, ready to address the audience, but he was interrupted. By a woman, no less. He crossed his arms, sinking his weight onto one foot and let her speak, even listening to her contemptuous words. It was a feat in itself that he was listening to a woman, no less one that was being the most childish idiot on the planet.

When Jada spoke up he restrained the urge to roll his eyes. Here we go. Little miss "gotta defend the women". What came out of her mouth surprised him though; a defense of the surviving riders? The contempt left his face as she continued to speak. When she finished he gave her a curt nod, perhaps this foolish little wherry and her grumpy lump of metal would shape up to be something semi-useful amongst the dragonriders. He shot a glare out towards where the woman's voice who shouted at Jada came from, uncrossing his arms and stepping forward.

"Put away your petty speeches, little girl, and listen up." He spat at Lymsleia. "You would do well to listen to your superior." N'gelt hated saying such positive things about a woman. At least for the time being he was still Jada's superior, but who knew what would happen in the future.

"As punishment for repeated attempts to escape the Weyr, Sanderon is to be subjected to a public lashing." His voice now boomed across the Gather Square, which had fallen relatively silent, only the softest murmurs between neighbours could be heard. "He is to receive seven back lashes." He strode over to Sanderon, grabbing his shirt by the collar and yanking down with all his strength, ripping the shirt from his back. Walking over to Tsuen he dropped the tattered piece of fabric beside her, muttering something in her ear. She paused in thought before nodding, whispering something back.

N'gelt walked back to Sanderon. "For the attempted and successful assault of three riders, he will also receive an additional three lashes." The crowd's murmuring increased, while it wasn't the twenty B'jin had received, ten under N'gelt's hand could be considered just as awful. Hell. One under either S'kef or N'gelt's hand would be more than enough for many Weyr members. N'gelt cracked the whip warningly as he moved to stand behind Sanderon, glaring at the smooth skin he would soon be marring.

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Written By: ZZZ Deceased
#13
When a few of Sanderon's blows actually landed, one would think he was very pleased, but he wasn't. He was not the sort to actually delight in the hurting of others...unlike some persons. He glared at N'gelt when the snap of the whip barely missed his leg. After his wrists were bound he kicked out again and connected with one of the brown rider's knees. Sanderon tried again but the three that had brought him up to the stage and secured him to the posts backed off out of his reach and melted into the crowd. 

Standing there with feet set wide for stability he waited for the pain to begin. But it did not come right away. Out of the murmuring of the growing crowd around him came a female's voice (Lymsleia). What she had to say whether it be true or not was not helping matters. In fact, she was only making things worse for him and maybe for herself as well. Could she not see that? Turning his head, he sought out her form and frowned. His eyes flashed a quick plea for her to shut up. He could fight his own battles. 

When Jada spoke up in defense of the Southern scum, Sanderon couldn't help but glare. He stopped listening to her and looked along the crowd. One pair of eyes caught his attention as they were looking  steadily back into his own.(Sasha) Wondering what to make of her, he noticed her very slight nod to him. What was that suppose to mean? Was she agreeing with his current thoughts that the other girl's speech was more damaging then helpful and his pain might now be worse because of it? Or was she lending him a small hint of her support for him? That was a surprising thought and one that was not completely unwelcome. He could use all the support he could get at this point.

Turning his gaze away from the crowds and onto Jada when she placed herself in front of him, he glared at her and mumbled under his breath for her ears only, "Come to see me squirm?" There was already pain in his eyes and not just because of the ropes that burned his wrists. His pain now was mostly in his heart. If he got the five lashes he felt he would be dealt, life would be very unbearable for a while to come until his lashes healed. He would not be able to disappear again until he healed.

Unbeknownst to everyone, Sanderon had put his efforts of actually going home on hold for quite some time now. His latest 'escape' attempts had not been to get to his family but to avoid getting near the clutch of eggs that were hardening upon the sands. He had also been sneaking a portion of his meals out to a secret location in preparation for the time when getting home might become a real possibility. He also desired the rare moments of freedom sneaking off there brought to him. To keep his sanity, he needed that.

So far, it had not yet been discovered what he was really up to. One of his caught 'escape' attempts was when he was heading out with another scrap of food and a small break from the Southern Scum that had torn him away from his family and left them thinking he was dead. The dragon eggs were his real motivation for having headed away this last time though. If one of them were to sense him and then choose him for life, he would never see his parents and brothers again. If he could just hold out and avoid as many hatchings and lashings as he could, maybe...just maybe an opportunity to return home might present itself in time. Let others think what they will. He was and always would be loyal to his family. The real truth behind his 'escape attempts', he would never reveal...to anyone...ever.

Five lashes; That was all he would have to endure. He was sure of it. It would be horrible but he knew he would survive. When N'gelt spoke of his 'crime' and then the punishment of seven lashes, Sanderon ignored Jada in front of him, looked slowly down at his feet and closed his eyes with a clenched jaw.

The sound of N'gelt's footsteps coming closer made Sanderon lift his chin and regain his look of defiance. They would never break him! The rough texture of N'gelt's strong hand on his collar confused Sanderon for a moment before the fabric at his throat nearly choked him as his shirt was viciously torn from his back.  With eyes widening with apprehension, Sanderon pushed his fear away as best he could, as the soft breeze caressed his bare skin.

Three more lashes were pronounced making the total count ten and this is when Sanderon's control slipped. He was afraid now and it was very hard to convince himself otherwise. He wanted to be strong. He had to be strong. But with ten lashes?! How could he?

With N'gelt's footsteps now coming to a stop behind him, Sanderon closed his eyes with resignation and braced himself for the first lash. He was hoping N'gelt would get them all done quickly. 

With the first snap of the whip, a terrible groan tore forth from Sanderon's throat. He instinctively tugged strongly on his wrist restraints only to have the ropes there dig deeper. This was going to be a lot worse than he thought. Sure he had endured three lashes before but he did not remember them being this bad. His back muscles quivered terribly with the shock of it and the small trickles of first blood could be felt slowly running out of the slash that had torn his skin.

Nine more? He would never make it.






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lymsleia

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#14
Lymsleia allowed herself a moment of peace as Jada hissed at her. She'd not been expecting that. "Jada," she said a calmly as she could. "We're all here, this is our home. I just wish more people could see it- that way, instead of lumping themsleves into Riders and non." she fought to control her voice which was shaking as N'gelt told her something that made her want to strike him, Rider or No.

"N'gelt," she spat. " I was speaking out of concern for everyone here." She inhaled deeply and raised her voice again, though she was more concious of the fact that the place was much quieter now that N'gelt had spoke. " Non-rider and Rider a like, our survival depends on each other. As I said before We all have wounded hearts and prides. I can only speak for myself... but I for one is glad I was dragged here. It gave me a chance to make something of myself! I miss the place I was born, I miss my siblings, but I am glad that I will be more than just a name in listing of namings in some Harper's collection of all those who perhaps went missing." she spoke clearly gaining more confidence.

  "To attempt to escape is asking for death, but at least here we stand a chance of survival, her we may mean something more than just a healer , or a harper, or mining, a vinter or smith. At least while we're here, we're not someone elses's lackey because there were too many apprentices that year or  too many junior journey, and we're looked at mediocre by our peers. Here at least can we be Masters of our crafts, and do things no one has thought of before!" she swallowed.
 
  She glanced at N'gelt. "And I will not stop talking, N'gelt, these lashingd, public or private need to end. Someone needs to inform the leadership, that this is a hot pot waiting to just boil over. There is now an 'Us' vs. 'Them' here and it will rip everything the Tsuen and D'ren have built to shreds, because of it. So I will not shut up, I will not stop talking.." She gestured to Jada. " I may not have her... power,or her eloquence at times. But," she raised her voice again to adress the crowd. "For this past year, from New Years of last year to this one-- I've learned a few things, and one is to always speak my mind."
 
  She made a mode towards Sanderon. " I was lashed too, for a 'perceived' escape," She told him. "By a rider, on the orders of the leader." she told him firmly. " And I am sorry, I didn't do anything to change it or make them listen sooner." She turned to N'gelt, " Instead of a whipping, why don't we try something new... I challenge you, N'gelt, to a knife fight." She said the words as calmly as she could.  THere needed to be an alternative to these lashings, and if it provided a way for people to channel their anger  so be it.
 
  This pot could not be allowed to boil over. THe healer, knew it. The Leaders needed to be shown a different path. She was no mystic, no visionary, but she was tired of this--- spectacle. "Lets give these people something to watch... hmm?"
 
  Lymsleia attempted to sound confident, attempted to sound sure of herself. But the idea had come upon her suddenly. "First blood, acceptable?"

She breathed slowly  and looked at Sanderon, she hoped this distraction would work, N'gelt was in her mind bigger  than S'kef and his use of the whip- that first crack, chilled her blood. She made the choice to care for Sanderon's wounds later.

Playing the Heroine was going to get her killed one of these days but perhaps it was worth it if made people at least look at the other road.

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Written By: ZZZ Deceased
#15
Jada loomed over the boy, and it was really quite strange. Defiant, hurt brown eyes glared up at her, and she could barely hear the scornful words he spat to her. "I don't want to see you squirm." Not by any means. "I just wanted you to know I am sorry for what they had to do." If she could she would fly him North herself, along with every other person who had been Stolen, and reopen the Weyrs the way they used to be. Where people came to be dragonriders because they wanted to, not because they had no other choice. So that the dragonriders she knew from stories weren't the ones she saw on a daily basis, working hard just to survive. Where the Candidates didn't loathe the people they would be spending turns with, their lives with. So many of the Northerners had made their peace, but the resentment in the rest poisoned the air. She wanted to say something else, but the eyes in front of her were already lost to something else, some other thought or silent mantra. And she would never be able to tell him, or any other Northerners, of the thoughts that had been lurking. And yet, either way...

Someone would accuse her. Hate her. Jada was caught in the place that D'ren had warned her of, between the rock and the hard place, where someone would disdain her no matter what she tried to say or do. People were angry, and hurt, and best intentions mattered little when heart were lonely and aching. It was a cold place, here, and she could choose no sides. She could speak out like Lymsleia had, but to what purpose? That would make her loved by some, then, and hated by others. And Jada loved to be loved, more than anything in the world except Krypth herself.

When she had been Stolen, she had been angry. She still was. She had forgiven B'jin his crime, but not forgotten. She would never forget the time she had spent on that island, or how close she had been to home. But as a Candidate, she'd had no options. She could rage, and hate, or she could be a grown woman, mature. She could surrender gracefully, and bide her time. She could wait, and she could enjoy what freedom Katila offered.

In her surrender, Jada had found a home. She loved these people, all of them. Every broken heart she couldn't help was a personal affront. The Katilans were a good lot, even Indivara of the sharp fingers. They had hopes and dreams in the North that they had been uprooted from, same as those they had taken. They had paid their price in blood and sweat, hundreds of deaths, and long, lonely years. Their children didn't know the North. They were the lucky ones. Katilan born and Katilan bred, they had never known the soft luxuries of the Hold and Hall, and there was nothing for them to miss.

Yet the woman was still a Northerner, who suffered through thoughts of testing Nirinath's command on Krypth. She had spent weeks imagining what Fort Weyr had looked like from the location she had been snatched, trying to get it perfect in her mind for that moment when she and Krypth would be in the air, learning to go Between. The hidden fantasy she hadn't dared to share with the Gold. She would test the Queen's will, go North, and choose a Weyr. In her mind's eye, as a Senior Queen of her own home, Krypth would call suitors to her, as her mother had. She would... Do what? In the North, lands were not so fertile. Holds would no longer tithe. And Jada was a Harper, not a real Weyrwoman. She knew nothing about leadership. So she would bide her time, and see what was brought to her. Krypth would mature, and Jada would stay here, safe and selfish, not rocking the boat until the time came that she could actually have a say.

N'gelt stepped forward at last, and she jerked from her reverie, stepping back to stand near the dark-skinned healer again. Lymsleia... was a good girl. Misguided, and a little stupid opening her mouth again, but good. Jada winced at the decree of ten lashes to Sanderon, and clenched her fists. Lashings were barbaric, but necessary. How else could peace be kept? Fines? Katila had no money. Lock the offender up? In what building? And what chore would go undone? There were no drudges in Katila! A scolding? Scolding hadn't worked so far!

She should have known better than to think Lymsleia would keep her mouth shut. Really, Jada. "I think the leadership is quite aware of this particular issue, Lymsleia! And your attempt to bring people together will do it- bring them into thinking you a fool. 'Us versus them' is only made more obvious when you speak against treating the Northern born the same as the Northern survivors. How would you keep peace then?" the Weyrling asked, and Lymsleia answered her question.

"I challenge you, N'gelt, to a knife fight."

Jada felt her heart stop, her jaw drop, and felt a wave of fury run through her veins. She reached out for the girl, grabbing blindly at her wrist, feeling her fingers curl like claws. She may have struck out at the woman, if she got her grip on her wrist; Jada's anger was so blind, she couldn't identify her own action. She did, however, hear her voice raised in anger, sheer fury and frustration in her tone. Not a scream, but those nearby would be able to hear her words. Much less clearly that the Healer's theatrics, to be sure. "Replace violence with violence? A lashing to be replaced by a killing? You are acting the numbskull, Lymsleia, a flitter-brained deadglow!" Jada's golden eyes sought someone with real authority. As a Weyrling, Jada had none but what was granted to her by the Weyrwoman and Weyrleader. She knew Tsuen was present- surely the woman would step in now, and say something! "You will shut your mouth, Healer. If your concern is so great, stop torturing this boy by turning what could have been quick into a public spectacle!"

A deep breath, and just in case the Healer decided she wanted to sit in the sunlight some more? "And if you pull out a knife to try and back up that little joke, or open your mouth again in one of your great speeches, I will drag you away by your ear for Krypth to sit on you while she stares at those little monsters; and don't think I don't want the excuse to get away from this debacle!" Jada would love the excuse to get away from here, since she didn't want to be here in the first place, and Lymsleia opening her big mouth one more time would be the end of it.

By her ear.

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Written By: ZZZ Deceased
#16
Everything was going to pot quite nicely, wasn't it? Far leaned on his stick, watching the proceedings with some amusement. "Got a real revolution on our hands, don't we?" he asked one of the other Northerners in amusement. It was nice to think of someone standing up against the beatings. It really was. And you know what? He already had a (somwehat) busted leg. What was a busted lip? "I agree! Let us cease the beatings!" he cried out. "They are obviously antiquated, and remind some people too much of getting whoopings as children. Or here's an idea- Save them for the people who deserve it! Like the people who break the clearly-defined rules."

He brushed his auburn hair out of his eyes, snorting. They were gorgeous women, really, but couldn't they just stop the public debate and let the poor kid get his desserts? Just or not, challenging a dragonrider to a knife fight was nothing short of the dimglow that the goldrider had (loudly) proclaimed the healer to be, in a wrangled, mangled shriek.

One stripe had already been laid down on the kid, and if they waited too long the next one would be all the worse for the ache having begun to set in. Farlint had enjoyed (well, not really) his fair share of whippings for being insubordinate in the North. Why was it such a crime to use the same punishment here just because it was a little harder, and it wasn't their daddy doing the spanking?

Not that Farlint wanted a whooping- which he would probably get for his lip anyway- but some things were just getting ridiculous.

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#17
You are going to be late for the lashing. Zhekemth's voice was cool. the Brown really didn't understand why all the public fuss about these punishments, especially this one. Having no true concept of politics, but regularly pessimistic, Zhekemth knew that even if E'kan didn't think much about it, the other humans doing so meant bad things. Bad things. He rushed his partner out of the hut, loping along the ground like a runner until the man was brought to the gather square, and able to hop up onto a raised stump to stare over the crowd.

Quite the scene was going on; the boy was putting up a fight, and E'kan grinned to see it. A fight was good, showed some strong will. And a complete lack of understanding. E'kan was a Rider, born in a Weyr and raised in the tribulation that had come from the Plague up in the North. A place he somewhat remembered, but had no real desire to return to. He'd been eight when his Goldrider mother, Laisha, and his Brownrider father had killed themselves after losing their Lifemates. Old enough to remember the way Laisha had flown, with no dragon underneath her...

No. He wasn't going North, to end up like his parents. And this rotten Egg wasn't going to return either, to take back news of the dragons and bring back plague and greedy blowhards to the South.

He had to admit, though, it was amusing to the the two Northers arguing- the goldrider was as much an idiot as her little friend, for not playing like Tsuen and sticking back. She might be safer that way. "No knife fight!" he yelled, disguising his voice as a bellow. "Wet down some dirt, and let the girls wrestle!"

It was amusing that there was more than one catcall to that suggestion.
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Written By: ZZZ Archived
#18
D'ren was miserable.

His head pounded fiercely as he went about his paperwork, trying hard to think about anything and everything except the one thing he seemed able to think about; the argument, and it's result.

How could he have agreed to let them lash that boy? How could he have snapped under that ridiculous pressure?

It was the wrong thing to do. D'ren knew he'd made questionable decisions in the past. They were hard decisions, things that had no easy answers. How could he have let it come to this, though? He knew what the Weyr was saying. They were blaming Tsuen. She was, after all, the one who continued to refuse to take them home. She was the one who shot down all of D'ren's plans, strictly on the basis that he could plan all he wanted...but no dragon would leave the south with Nirinath's edict in place.

It was frustrating. D'ren loved Tsuen. She was his partner through hardship, his greatest confidant, and the mother of his precious daughter. But she had gone crazy. Only a turn before (or was it even a turn?) she was uncomfortable with the very notion of lashing. She was pleased to see a little gold, which brought them one step closer to going home. But now, she not only endorsed the torture of prisoners, but pushed for it?

How had this happened?

D'ren couldn't find it in his heart to give up on Tsuen. He loved her, he wanted to protect her...but this was inexcusable. She wasn't the one at fault, though; he was. How could he have let her influence him like this? How could he have caved to the pressure? He was a bronzerider, the Weyrleader! He was supposed to stand strong. He was the one who made the hard decisions. He was the one to accept the consequences when the outcomes weren't perfect.

And yet now, he was hiding in his hut?

The lashing had a purpose, he knew. The insubordination was a problem. But it didn't need to be a public spectacle. For the longest time, D'ren sat alone with his guilt, trying to decide what he would do in the aftermath of the disaster.

Then, he felt the stirrings of distress.

D'ren! Oh, D'ren! Ronarth cried, his soft voice rippling horribly through the old bronzerider's mind. D'ren immediately rubbed his temples. What is it,  Ronarth?

Larrikith has called to me! It's....it's a disaster! the bronze stammered. D'ren's eyes widened in horror as images of the events flashed into his mind, channeled from dragon to dragon and finally to human.

Shards, it was a mess out there!

D'ren shot to his feet. Tell B'jin to come here, now. I want him out of there. Tell him to come look after Tsereni while I'm gone he ordered his dragon as he stormed towards the door. By the time he stepped outside, he'd already broken into a fevered sweat.

No. No. This would not happen, not in his Weyr.

D'ren climbed onto Ronarth's neck. The pair took wing and quickly disappeared between, reappearing over the gathering square as a great shadow. Ronarth let out a furious bellow, his anxiety fueled by his rider's uncharacteristic surge of determined rage.

D'ren lept from the dragon's neck at the first possible moment. He wasn't young anymore, but he was still a dragonrider. He wasn't a corpse yet.

"STOP!" he bellowed. His face was red and his teeth clenched in fury as he surveyed the scene. Before him he saw N'gelt, poised to lay the final cruel lash on Sanderon's exposed flesh. He saw Jada and Lymsleia, grappling with each other in the wake of the argument Ronarth had warned of. He saw many other familiar faces in the crowd as well; an envious and obviously angry S'kef, a silently weeping I'shan...

Talian was nowhere to be seen, but it was as D'ren expected. That boy would see enough of the aftermath. He didn't need to be present.

D'ren held his breath for a moment as the crowd fell silent, cowed perhaps by his own presence, but just as likely by Ronarth's irritable screeching. The bronze carried on violently until D'ren lifted one hand, a simple gesture accompanied by a strong force of will. The dragon squeaked once, startled by the subtle yet heavy command, and immediately settled into silence.

It was so quiet it hurt.

D'ren turned his angry eyes on N'gelt. "Don't you dare drop that whip one more time," he hissed, his voice audible only to those nearby. He stalked towards his new Weyrsecond, murder in his eyes, as he lifted one accusing finger. "You were given clearance to punish this boy for an escape attempt, not make a show or it or add additional lashes!" he spat, his voice low. "I suggest you go home for the day, N'gelt. We'll talk about this tomorrow."

Tsuen opened her mouth to speak, but D'ren cut her off. "What the SHARDS is wrong with you?" he boomed suddenly. He lifted one hand in a suspiciously violent gesture, but he never actually moved to strike her. His rage disturbed Ronarth, who coiled against the ground and let out a miserable creel.

"Letting this spectacle go on without intervening? Letting these girls argue in public over this poor boy's fate? Letting a sharding candidate challenge the Weyrsecond to a knife fight and saying nothing to calm the tension? Doing nothing to keep this from devolving into threadfall?" His eyes widened as he made his appeal, so shocked by Tsuen's display of incompetence that he couldn't think of anything else to say. He stared at her for a long, tense moment, and finally his eyes began to water. He reached out, placing his hands on her cheeks, and frowned.

"What's gotten into you, Tsu?" he purred sadly. With that, he frowned and peeled himself away from her.

And yet, there were targets that remained. He walked towards the crowd, noticing with shame how some of them backed away. He moved directly towards Jada and Lymsleia.

Jada...he was so proud of her. He cast her a sad, knowing glance before giving her a gentle motion to stand down. "Thank you," he said to her, his gaze gradually shifting to Lym.

"Lymsleia. I have had enough out of you," he warned her, his voice stern, but lacking the pure anger it had carried moments before. "You mistakenly assume that we have the means or interest to support your naive ideas of how things should work. I wish we could afford to adhere to your childish ideas, but that's a luxury we don't have. Maybe one day you'll understand, but for now, I think it's best you keep quiet and stop acting like a child."

He pointed the same accusing finger art her. "And threatening N'gelt with a knife is unacceptable for anyone, dragonrider and nonrider alike. We will be discussing this."

Shards, what else? Still ablaze with adrenaline, the bronzerider paced back out before the crowd.

"This is a mistake!" he roared, pointing emphatically at Sanderon. He paused, breathing in ragged huffs as he tried to collect himself. He tried to remember diplomacy and political correctness, but he couldn't. His emotions of the past turns surged forward in an uncontrollable wave.

"There have been many mistakes!" he shouted. "All of you know this! We have suffered turn after turn of exile, struggling to rebuild everything we had before the plague.  We watched our friends and loved ones die! We suffered in loneliness and despair, clinging on to any shred of hope we could find! We scraped and clawed for every inch, we worked hard for little return! It's been hard!"

"And now look what we've done! We've unjustly forced our own hardships on the innocent, taking them from their homes and forcing them to endure the same hardships that we complain about so bitterly ourselves! It's wrong, Katila. It is wrong, but no one should suffer blame for it except for me. I am the one responsible for this." He turned, casting a momentarily soft, apologetic expression to Sanderon.

"What's done is done," he said, starting off lowly before the passion again stirred in his voice. "What was done...was done out of cruel necessity. We brought these children here because we needed their help, not to torture them. And we do need them, just as they now need us." Now, he addressed the northerners.  "What happened to you is wrong. And I, as the man personally responsible, am sorry. I can't erase the past, but I want Katila to be a home to you, not a prison!"

"That said, we are all here together now...and regardless of how we feel about one another, we need each other to survive." His voice quavered. He felt his throat tighten. "We are alone, friends. We are drifting at sea, and if we don't work together, our lifeboat will sink very quickly..."

He paused and wiped some sweat from his brow. He was exhausted. His hands were shaking. Still, he stood tall. "...I promise, all of us can see our homes again. We can see the Weyrs flourish again. We can all know peace again. But that can never happen if we continue to fight among ourselves. The dragonriders are meant to the protectors of Pern. We've failed our own legacy, but we did it to survive. We must survive. And if we survive today, we will still be here to protect the world tomorrow."

He sighed and looked down for a long moment. "There will be changes," he said at length. "And this? This is over. I'm not saying it's the end of punishment for rulebreakers, nor do I intend to show bias to any one group," he said, a touch of anger resurfacing in his voice. "There is no such thing as a northerner and a southerner. We are all Katilans, and we are all northerners. The North is our home; all of us. One day, we will go home together. None of us will ever make it alone."

"...From this day forward, no punishment will be public except by extraordinary circumstances. Northerners and riders will be subject to the same penalties, which I will approve personally through blind reports. And within the next sevenday...expect a new charter outlining penalties to be posted for public viewing. I will not tolerate spectacles like this. I will not tolerate public fighting and threats. And I will not tolerate further abuse of power." The anger resurfaced in his voice.

"...Now please, go home. Chores and other duties are excused for the day. Go, and relax. Think of the future. Think of what we all want, and what we can all help each other obtain. No one is going north without dragons...and without those to stand, there will be no dragons. Think of where togetherness can take us."

He sighed, and practically wilted. Without answering the barrage of questions he started to receive, he walked calmly over to Sanderon. The Weyrleader knelt to release the young man's bonds.

"Come with me, son. Let's get you to the infirmary."

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Written By: ZZZ Deceased
#19
With the agony of the first slash seeping into his very core, Sanderon tried to focus his mind away from his pain with little success. He begged silently for the next nine stripes to be given quickly but it was not to be. Lymsleia and her misplaced championing of the 'stolen' reared it's ugly head yet again. Making his punishment...no, his torture, delayed and thus much worse.

It was insane. He was about to yell at her to shut up and so was completely caught off guard by the crack of the whip for the second time. It sliced even more deeply than the first. He had not had a chance to brace himself for it and his cry that resulted this time was louder and filled with his anguish. It was humiliating. It also did not help that the skin of his wrists were becoming quite raw as well when he jerked against his restraints yet again.

Sweat came onto his brow as he braced himself this time and waited again for the third. 'Please be quick.' He silently begged. He was made to wait again though and his tense back muscles screamed with sick anticipation.

SNAP!

There was the third strike. He did not cry out this time... Thankfully. Seven more to go and he was not only bleeding freely down his back now but his wrists were beginning to show signs of injury too. 'Please...please be quick.' These words began to be his silent and constant plea.

To Sanderon it seemed as if N'gelt was taking his lashing way too slowly and wondered if perhaps the man was reveling in the pain he was causing. "Get it done already..." Sanderon growled lowly through grinding teeth to the man behind whom he could not see.

Was N'gelt just waiting for the perfect opportunity? The point when Sanderon was unbraced and unprepared? It sure felt that way. As the fourth ripping of his bloody flesh occurred, Sanderon jerked terribly and this time his wrists did begin to bleed.

By the time the eighth one came, Sanderon's body was sweated, bloody and about to pass out from the cruel torture of his mind and flesh. He couldn't go on. He just couldn't!

SNAP!

With the ninth strike, Sanderon could hold back no longer. With his eyes darkening, he roared out strongly and slowly fell limp with his head resting against one of his arms. His full weight now being held by his shredded wrists. His own roar sounded more powerful than he ever thought it could. So delirious with pain was he that he did not realized right away that his own roar had been masked by Ronarth, D'ren's bronze dragon. And his eyes growing dark was the bronze's shadow above the square before he landed. He wished for the peace of unconsciousness but for some reason his mind would not let go.

When he began to hear the voice of D'ren, Sanderon did not even have the strength to be enraged. The more he heard though the more his mind grew deeply confused. D'ren was on his side? On the side of the stolen? Was this all some added cruelty on the part of the leadership? It was horrible.

When a moment of intense silence fell, he could hear someone's soft weeping. Lifting his head only by a fraction, he opened one tear-filled eye to search out who it might be, only to see that it was the man that had been directly responsible for his original capture. I'shan. What was he crying about? It couldn't be Sanderon the man was sniffling over. So what? As soon as these questions entered his mind, he let them go.

It was unimportant. Sanderon lowered his head again and just concentrated on breathing and listening to the monumental words he now heard again coming forth through D'ren's mouth.

He was actually apologizing? Had Sanderon gone mental and was now hallucinating? It didn't seem that way.

He couldn't listen to every word but he did noticed when his bloody wrists were loosened from their cutting restraints. He collapsed into who ever it was that now had his arm across their shoulders. Raising his head to take a look would take too much effort but he had a good idea of who it was that now led him mercifully away.

The tenth whip stroke never fell.


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Lymsleia breathed. The moment Ronath and D'ren had appeared she felt some what relaxed. She strangely wasn't scared or nervous or, fearful. "Yes sir." was all she managed to say. Someone had come with some sense  int othis chaotic fray. She wanted to hug D'ren. She really did but she held back. He was probably pissed at her- scratch that. He was like a volcano and one little nudge could set him off.

After a few moments she followed Sanderon and D'ren towards the infirmary. She was a Healer dammit and she was not going to hang back. "I do appologise, D'ren. I wanted to  stop the lashing and I just said what I felt, but it came out... poorly.  I was trying to drive what you said so well, home and I failed at it." she admited it.  "And I appologise for my actions, they were stupid and childish." She exhaled.  Katila had made her less restraine apparently. The confines of the Healer hall had kept in check- she realized. the bullying and constant heirarchy of the hall had been perhaps her once strength. She'd taken strength in it, and followed the rules.

Katila one the on the other hand was trying to build itself up from nothing and it'd begun to get worse before it'd gotten better. These lashings perhaps were just the culmination of the sickness, maybe this made fever would break over all of them. She kept pace with  D'ren, silent and in her own thoughts as she moved. He'd probably relegate her to-- she blinked and nearly stopped in her tracks. D'ren wouldn't do that would he? She'd be removed from standing, and forced to have a least one kid... that thought churned her stomach. It made her skin crawl... in the worst possible way. D'ren was not that sort of man was he? Though he had implimented that edict just before Krypth and her siblings hatched. And that had sort of kept her busy -mostly. She'd helped way to many women give birth in the past year. Soo many little kids. She was going to do that. D'ren might .. command her too but she wouldn't.

No, D'ren would probably just forbid her from Standing she realized. There was always work to be done at the Weyr. He couldn't strip her of her knowledge of Healing. That at least  brought some solace. " I wanted to break the tension. I wanted to... the lashings were insane, D'ren. I thought.. I could change things. But apparently one must be a rider to affect change..." she didn't snap at him, but she said it anyway. Because it was true, you needed a dragon- for all all se'd seen- to  cause anything to change at Katila.

What could she do then?  What could she do now?

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#21
Ph’yn you are late. The Bronze informed him as he finally entered his hut. “Late for what exactly?” The Bronzerider knew what the dragon was going to say. Perhaps he was missing the damned thing on purpose. He just wanted to relax for a while and not get involved in the politics of the Weyr. Surely lashing a runaway was not the way to win the Stolen’s respect. He did not like the way things were going around here lately and sure he could be doing something about it but why should he bother? No one at this forsaken Weyr would care a whit if he lived or died. Maybe some of the little urchins but only because he helped them sneak bubbly pies. Adults were infinitely more complex and much harder to create friendships with. He was actually happier being left to himself.

Some people probably thought he was completely insane. Not that he would blame them. He said little, did the work required of him and stayed in a hut that was as far from the center of Katila as possible. Which was why he was so very late on arriving at the square, there were too many people. The crowd was almost too much for him. He felt his heart pounding and his chest tighten. The feeling that everything was out of his control gripped him.
Ph’yn deep breaths, remember. Breathe in, breathe out. The people are not as many as you think. Look D’ren has come too. The dragon added as a way of distraction. Deshenoreth’s plan had worked, Ph’yn felt himself calming down and not feeling so panicked.

He had not witnessed the women shouting at the crowd or the knife fight challenge but what he was witnessing now was much much more amusing. The Weyrleader had come to set things straight, while the Weyrwoman sat and did nothing. He’d never been all that fond of Tsuen. It was her fault he was here after all. If Niriniath had not called Deshenoreth to join them, he would have been able to live alone for the rest of his life. Although he had no real beef with being here, he did not enjoy it.

D’ren he found to be a good leader for the most part, so his speech was not at all ignored by him. He agreed with the man. They needed to stop the pointless fighting and get on with living and trying to scrape out what existence they could here. Those who were pissed about being here would just have to get over it. As far as he was concerned they were being treated fairly by most of the populace. There were those, as always who created trouble for everyone and some of them were likely taking advantage of the Stolen’s situation. Not all dragonriders were the same and he would say the same for the Stolen. Some of them wanted to be here.

When D’ren had finished his long speech, Ph’yn applauded loudly. He did not care if he drew attention to himself. His support was for the Weyrleader and not some young women or the man who held the whip. The Weyrleader had thus far had his loyalty and would continue to have it. As far as politics went though, he would much rather stay out of the whole Stolen versus dragonriders issue. He was happy, well as happy as he would ever be, living his life simply. 

Do you think the leaders will discuss the sanity of the Weyrwoman now?
It is a possibility but there are those who influence her who are more responsible for this than she is.
Then you do not see a change in her?
Something has changed from when we first came here but I cannot figure it out nor is the Weyrwoman’s welfare my business.
Niriniath is your business. She is everyone’s business. Perhaps you should be more concerned. The fact that Ph’yn was not at all curious about the Weyrwoman or the lashings, perturbed the dragon. He knew Ph’yn didn’t want to grow attached to anything ever again. Most of his thoughts were consumed with protecting Deshenoreth from the world, meanwhile protecting himself in the process. The man was never going to live until someone forced him out of his walled existence.

The Bronzerider felt his dragon was being unfair, well a little. He understood what a Bronze’s duty to a Gold was, but that did not mean Ph’yn had any place in Tsuen’s business and D’ren should be able to handle it himself. Then again, Desh was part right, if he did not voice his concern then maybe he was failing the Weyr and himself and more importantly dishonoring his dragon. You are right. I will talk to D'ren first though. I want to know if there is something I can do to help if the Weyrwoman is out of sorts. D'ren may need some support if that is the case. For now though, I suggest you not tell anyone about what you think. The other dragons and riders of Katila were not necessarily the most trustworthy of people.
Deshenoreth Speech

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#22
She hovered near Lymsleia- there was no other word for her actions- anxious. She wanted the dark-skinned female to open her mouth, she really did, anything to keep from hearing the cracks of the whip, the babble of the crowd. If Lymsleia opened her mouth, Jada could drag her away, and thus solve a lot of problems. She hoped, she crossed her fingers for the good luck that the woman would take it into her head that she would protest more, that she would come up with some other fool idea- or that she would challenge Jada to a knife fight, and Jada could just trip and fall on it, and be put out of her misery. She felt Krypth's alarm at the thought, and knew the Gold was rising to her feet, moving away from her Clutch. No. Stay. she assured the Queen, and felt the dragonet- still just a child, though she was a mother- quiver with worry as she paced the edge of the Sands, her eggs not undefended but not the most important of the other female's worries.

Why had Tsuen said nothing?  Jada stared at Tsuen, vibrant eyes begging the older goldrider to speak up, to say something? But the older woman spared her not a glance, not even a look of disdain or dismissal; it was as though the younger woman were not even there. The older woman was fixated on something that Jada could not see, even while her eyes watched the play around her with a vagueness that... was frightening. Tsuen was still young, for a dragonrider. She should not have such a vapid, uncaring expression. Not even anger had seemed to cross her face when she had so calmly allowed to three extra stripes across Sanderon's back.

Jada's lower lip was pressed tightly between her teeth, her tanned face pale and bloodless as she watched each stripe laid across the boy's back. Why was the boy being so stubborn? Each stripe grew harder and harder, to coax the lad into a scream that would show someone he was in pain, to show the man he felt it, to encourage it along! Something!

From above, she heard a deep bellow, and a familiar voice raised in a cry. Her shoulders sagged as D'ren appeared at last, and people on the front line scattered back to let the massive Bronze in closer to the platform, for D'ren to leap off. "STOP!" The man cried, and Jada felt her shoulders sag in relief, a sob spilling from her throat. Shards, thank goodness that he had come. This mess was growing more and more wild, the flames fanning higher and higher. Around her, everyone grew silent; Above, Ronarth was still carrying on, until D'ren raised a hand.

Now, at last, the Weyrwoman opened her mouth to speak. What was she going to say? Defend herself? Defend the activity- Ah! She squeaked, flinching as D'ren- calm, collected, kind D'ren- raised his hand to strike the older Goldrider. His hand hung there, and Jada closed her eyes. If Tsuen spoke, Jada didn't see anything nor hear anything. When she opened her eyes, D'ren's firm, powerful hands were cupped to Tsuen's cheeks. Beloved. Krypth's voice was tender, affectionate. Do not cry. Yet the Weyrling's eyes were damp as D'ren stopped in front of her and Lymsleia. The Harper's slim body gave a powerful tremble, waiting for the blow to fall. She didn't have the training to deal with this, and her ignorance had shown clean and bare to the entire Weyr. His shame in her shone through in the look he gave her, but his motion was gentle. There was none of the violence and anger in it that he was willing to show to a proper leader, and the Harper hiccuped back a sob of disappointment. She had tried and she had failed and she would never be able to do any better because she was-

Your melodrama is showing, Jada. I told you not to cry. Do not, I will be most vexed with you. You are still a little goldrider, just as I am a little gold. We have much to learn before you could have been expected to be effective in calming the crowd. Not to mention you didn't wear a gown like I told you, so you probably looked as dirty as Indivara. Krypth didn't drown out what D'ren spoke to Lymsleia, but it was difficult to focus on both at once. Jada could hear him blasting the dark-skinned Healer, but the Gold didn't much care that Jada wanted to pay attention to what was being said. It was only when he stepped back, and Jada pushed for Krypth to be silent, that the dragon's chatter subsided; Jada could feel the gold 'listening' through Jada's ears, considering the words their Weyrleader spoke next.

"This is a mistake! There have been many mistakes!" D'ren's voice was a roar, and it hit Jada's ears like a battering ram. "All of you know this! We have suffered turn after turn of exile, struggling to rebuild everything we had before the plague.  We watched our friends and loved ones die! We suffered in loneliness and despair, clinging on to any shred of hope we could find! We scraped and clawed for every inch, we worked hard for little return! It's been hard! And now look what we've done! We've unjustly forced our own hardships on the innocent, taking them from their homes and forcing them to endure the same hardships that we complain about so bitterly ourselves! It was words very similar to the ones that Jada had spoken in the Weyr's defense; but her words had lacked the passion and the heartbreak of one who had survived. Her words had instead carried the resignation of one who had been Stolen, and been dealt a lucky hand in the game of life to Impress a dragon, and be one of those who now belonged here. It was no wonder they had told her she was no longer one of them. But those words were not fair. Jada still wept for home, and she longed for the cold bite of a proper winter. The Katilan heat left her fatigued, and the cold gave her no freedom from its bite. She had her Hall, in the North, and her family. She missed the taste of sweetmeats, and the sound of music in a proper Hall. She missed the colors and tapestries, and stone homes, and the scents.

"What's done is done. What was done...was done out of cruel necessity. We brought these children here because we needed their help, not to torture them. And we do need them, just as they now need us." It seemed as though now, his voice gentled, though passion still rode the words, and Jada listened, Krypth with her, ears straining to hear the words of a man who had been as much a father to her as she remembered, since her own had passed on so young. In the Hall, no man had dared to become a father to Szelem's children, for the Master had wished to be mother and father both to her children, unwilling to share what had been hers and her mate's with any other. "...I want Katila to be a home to you, not a prison! That said, we are all here together now, and regardless of how we feel about one another, we need each other to survive. We are alone, friends. We are drifting at sea, and if we don't work together, our lifeboat will sink very quickly... I promise, all of us can see our homes again. We can see the Weyrs flourish again. We can all know peace again. But that can never happen if we continue to fight among ourselves. The dragonriders are meant to the protectors of Pern. We've failed our own legacy, but we did it to survive. We must survive. And if we survive today, we will still be here to protect the world tomorrow. There will be changes, and this? This is over...."

Over? What? What would be the plan to maintain order? If not the lashings, then how? Jada's mind whirled, and she felt Krypth nudge her mind, pointing her attention back to the rapidly aging man who stood strong in front of his people. "I will not tolerate spectacles like this. I will not tolerate public fighting and threats. And I will not tolerate further abuse of power... Think of the future. Think of what we all want, and what we can all help each other obtain. No one is going north without dragons...and without those to stand, there will be no dragons. Think of where togetherness can take us." Abuse of power. Had that been what Jada had done? Had that been why he had looked at her so sadly? Jada's jaw clenched, and she tried to replay events in her mind, to see exactly where she had gone wrong. Should she have been more like Tsuen, cold and proud, unmoving? And without people to Stand... If these people refused, D'ren would be forced to Steal more. B'jin and I'shan would once again be sent North, and new people would be torn from their families, but Krypth's children... would die. Die, or Impress to those who loathed them. D'ren's voice fell away, and in moments he went from the strong, powerful man, to showing every turn that he held on his shoulders. And Jada felt-

Fear?

D'ren was 65. He and Ronarth both had plenty more years to them. Tsuen was not much younger than they, if Jada recalled what she had learned. Both were new parents, though it seemed that only D'ren seemed to have a care for the child. Or care for anything. He should have many more turns yet of good health, but what if something happened? What if- what if Nirinath did not rise? What if Krypth did not rise again before Nirinath was expected? That was two, maybe three turns? What if no other Golds were born? What if- What if the Senior Queen did rise, and S'kef or N'gelt caught her, or a bronzerider without D'ren's generous heart? The Northerners wept now, and cried that their lives were unfair- but D'ren was kinder than he was given credit for, that much she knew. And what if Krypth did rise, and bore a Gold? And that Gold rose, as Krypth had, with an inexperienced Rider? It was a given that the Rider would be one of the Stolen, not one of the Katilan-born.

The next turns would have much of a story to tell. Jada watched D'ren move away, her heart quivering in fear as Lymsleia brushed past her and opened her mouth at last, babbling at the older man. And Jada watched, and felt her hand itch to slap Lymsleia so hard that all the stupid fell out at once. Maybe then they could settle down. hauling in a breath, the Harper was shocked at her own violent urge. Jada respected the girl, she reminded herself, who cared so much to help others that she ignored the fact there were others better qualified to do so. And ignored danger to do so, which was a less sensible decision, but spoke of a strong need. Maybe it wasn't so much respect, but an understanding?

The Goldrider turned and moved back towards the Sands, smiling at those who smiled to her, bending down to talk to one of the Weyrbrats. Her students missed her, she realized, and it made her ache. She would need to find the time to teach again. She wanted to. It was what she was good at, teaching. Not this politics and ruling. Jada was a simple girl, with a love of people. She had been feeling... lonely. Even in the crowd of people that surrounded her, each of them well-meaning, Jada had missed being able to reach out and touch someone's life. She had been too long a student again. She had forgotten how it felt to be a teacher, to guide and shape. Come back to me. Krypth ordered, and for one of the first times since she had first Impressed, Jada put her own wants above the desires of her dragon; Selfishly, the Harper reached out to take one of the small hands that was thrust in her direction, moving towards Harper Hall with her children.

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#23
N’gelt had many prejudices, but none of them were against able men that had no dragon to taint them. Sanderon was one of those able men. It was obvious, from the fact that he had been stolen through to the peak form his body was in. N’gelt had heard passing comments about the fight he had put up in an attempt to not be captured from his weyrmate. While part of him was disgusted that he would try and attack a dragon, another part approved of the courage that would take.

It was with those thoughts in mind that he lashed the escape-happy man. Despite his eagerness to lash the idiotic man he mentally leaned against Saquith as a calm pillar. Each lash fell evenly, no harder or softer than the last. N’gelt wasn’t in the business of torture; he was in the business of punishment. What felt like an extended wait between lashes for Sanderon was simply N’gelt pulling the whip back so that he wouldn’t tangle it or flick himself. There was no point prolonging what would already be an extended punishment via the healing process. After the first few he had reached a rhythm, one that no roaring dragon would stop.

He heard D’ren’s shout and let out a hiss. His arm was already on the downswing, even if he had the strength to halt his arm dead still, the whip was going to lash Sanderon. It came down, almost in slow motion as N’gelt watched it with a stab of fear.

He didn’t want to be demoted. How long had it taken him to rise to any form of power? There had been no weakness in S’kef’s defence, D’ren had been too enamoured with the man to even consider another less cruel rider to stand by his side. It had taken nature and her fickle ways to kick S’kef down and give D’ren cause to think, to assess and choose another option. S’kef was cruel. He had relished whipping B’jin and N’gelt had heard of his ‘miscounting’ before. He didn’t deserve to stand in power, did he?

There were too many thoughts and emotions in his mind, despite Saquith’s best attempts to soothe him. He felt the Brown lending more strength to him, still supporting him. He grunted with exertion.

The whip fell.

Splinters rose in a tiny cloud where it struck the platform, the tatters of Sanderon’s shirt fluttering from the whip’s close pass.

Hearing D’ren’s anger he whirled, the whip cracking unintentionally in the air as he did. He snarled. “You didn’t show up. So I spoke with the next point of authority.” He said venomously. The anger D’ren displayed only served to stir and fuel N’gelt’s own; he wouldn’t be reprimanded for somebody else’s decision! Throwing the whip at the Weyrleader’s feet he spun on his heel and strode off. Saquith was quick to fly in and land beside the platform, yellow and green eyes whirling as N’gelt sprung onto his neck and he took off again. They winked between barely a jump and a wingbeat from the ground.

D’ren is making a speech. Do you wish to return to hear it? Saquith asked as they soared over the lake where N’gelt had directed them to. ‘No. I was dismissed. The Weyr will be repeating it for days anyway. Just fly.’  He sent. Saquith rumbled beneath him in acknowledgement, continuing south.

PA - 50 Posts!PA - First Post!

Eolira

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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.


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