Who:
What: Hestiath <i>flies</i>.

<lj-cut text="Kiss my Benden ass, boy.">

The Sisters' Ledge (#8936J)
It's wide and long enough to be used by the two Queens at once, a length of speckled stone worn smooth by generations of scraping feet and drooping bellies, a winding narrow set of steps giving steep access to the bowl floor. Against the rough wall stand several tubs brimful with pansies, marigolds, zinnia and even a small potted redfruit tree. The entrance of the smooth, perfectly rounded tunnel is painted all around with cartoonish red flowers and green vines, and careful white brushstrokes have inscribed 'Imogen and Hestiath' to the left of the entryway, and 'Iona and Orlaith' to the right.
Imogen, W'ren, N'tan, and G'dal are here.
Obvious exits:
Bowl Tunnel Fly

R'ish walks in.

M'cay walks in.

Thera has connected.

E'th walks in.

Ikaroth> Hestiath crouches in the far corner of the feeding pens, watching the herdbeasts with single-minded intensity as she has been for nearly a quarter of a candlemark. Her hide glows, luminous gold reminiscent of antique statues or heirloom jewelry as she picks out those 'beasts who must serve as sacrifices to the greater good. They move nervously about, sensing but uncertain of their impending doom.

Ikaroth> Fanneth is nobody's fool. Sparkling hide means soon to rise. So, the elderly brown has been staying rather near the feeding pens, eschewing his normal 'rider care.' Which makes for a really stinky G'dal. Sorry. He watches her, however, very unusually, remains silent for now.

Ikaroth> Tenzinth had only just arrived at chilly Fort Weyr, landing in the Center Bowl and folding his wings neatly along his sides. He ambles towards the feeding pens, scenting something on the wind. His gaze moves unerringly towards the crouching queen dragon, and he wuffles out a soft two-toned greeting, the rumble deep in his chest as he peers calmly over the feeding pens. Hmm. This could turn out to be a fine day indeed. He flexes his wings, rolling his shoulders to make sure his still-buckled flying straps are comfortable.

The late afternoon sun throws its rays over a ledge that is yet quiet, full of its usual array of potted plants and abandoned belongings - and, pushed halfway out the tunnel, a couch that usually graces Imogen's inner weyr has been moved in some failed attempt to barricade the possible suitors out. It's here that Imogen sits, curled into the corner with an open bottle of wine and her eyes screwed up tight as if that could stop the whole thing from happening altogether.

Ikaroth severs sky high above the Bowl in a course from Between and descends in a deathwish: all tight wings and tucked limbs. L'ton has no mind for it, his body hunched small to safeguard his center of gravity as air slicks over the slope of his helmet. In the pullout of his dragon the teen has already taken to standing to shave several seconds off his dismount. Barely have Ikaroth's claws punctured the ground before L'ton's two feet are on it.

M'cay is drawn to the ledge by the soft call of his dragon's desire. He smiles, still a little embarrassed at Flights despite his long time with his lifemate. "Hello, Imogen. Nice to see you again," he greets her softly, trying not to be one of those looming, scary types.

Following the stream of riders, N'tan creeps in like a thick clot of fog blowing over the ledge. The magnetic pull of the prey drives the beast on past many, shoving his bulky weight straight to the front. Intensity flares in his eyes, while purpose stays any sign of expression on the frigid plains of the brownrider's face.

Ikaroth> Maialeth knows the ropes, he knows what that glowing hide means. And then there's that... feeling. Maialeth lingers near the feeding pens, across from the glowing gold. He warbles softly as he inches towards the fence a bit. His nose reaching out to sniiiiiiiiiiffff at those heardbeasts. Maybe he's trying to pick one out for himself to blood once the queen starts... /maybe/ he's just trying to scare them towards the queen. Who really knows for sure.

E'th has taken the stairs with the idea that if he runs fast enough he'll be able to stem off the flow of males from getting in. This, is of course, dependent upon people not taking the much more obvious route of the ledge. Onto the ledge he bursts quickly after a word to the wise from one Colchith who has himself taken up a position elsewhere. All part of his plan. Panic. That's his battle, "'Mogen!" Called out as he pops out from her weyr, looking at all the men, brows dragging down. And decidedly he moves. Towards her. And her wine, a hand coming down to shoulder as he crouches.

G'dal is no fool either. So, when Fanneth sees the gold headed to the pens, the old man begins the long, steady tromp toward the appropriate ledge. He isn't quite sure which one it is, at first, so stops at each along the way, pauses for a few moments, accomplishing the dual purpose of resting and making sure of which ledge it really is. Finally, completely out of breath, the old man arrives at the sisters' ledge with a grunt, eying all the men around.

A simple errand to another Weyr takes on a whole new twist as S'tao steps down onto the ledge from his bronze's shoulders. Sephiroth wings away, sailing quickly towards the feeding grounds as instinct draws him like a moth towards the burning flame that is Hestiath's presence. The rider follows after his former weyrlingmaster and spies the undoubtedly nervous woman. Surprise appears on his face, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Ista's duties to you, weyrwoman." At least he didn't call her barmaid this time.

R'ish is in with the crowd wandering towards Imogen's ledge. An odd smirk touching her lips, even as N'tan pushes past her. Lifting her wineskin she takes a long pull from it as she eyes that man. She even chuckles softly. When she makes it to the ledge she wanders further in offering a decidedly wolfish smile to Imogen and E'th as she nods. "weyrwoman." And she'll take another pull from that wineskin of hers.

Ikaroth> Hadamarth leaves his rider in a swirl of cold dust and holding the perverbial pot as he extends dark and glistening wings across the bowl to land in the feeding pen, head turning towards Hestiath with a surreptitious and polite survey of the males assembled as well.

Ikaroth> Nidhgoth is but a wisp of importance, much like his rider, yet raring with potency as he alights to the grounds to suffer the blood. Quiet he is, but present he is as well; watchful and sprung tight in preparation of the moment.

Thera is left with the huffing and puffing up the stairs, albeit slowly done, until she's but a pale face squatting on the top rung and burying her head between her knees. Propriety requires her to be here, but she's still on page one of the 'How to do girls training manual' more recently having been replaced by 'Everyone poops'.

L'ton is met by someone who speaks concisely, not impeding the bronzerider's dismantling of his flight trappings. The dragon behind him tenses, tendons stretched and released as a plucked bowstring in a destiny with the beast pens. L'ton responds to the news, has his clothing blown asunder from Ikaroth's takeoff. Features tighten at the fraternity grouping on the queen ledges. His stride, though, never breaks down.

Ikaroth> Gnaedath watches not with patience but with the growing ire ancient as Hestiath's dusty shade, smoking in the shadows of the pens, churning tepid tail in slow circles, failing not in wisdom or favor for all that each trident flicker belies him: no one's fool.

Ikaroth> Colchith looks about through the dust as he enters from the bowl's center.

Ikaroth> Sephiroth lands with a backwash of flapping wings, his large frame still a tad gangly with his youth, undoubtedly amongst the youngest of the dragons gathering impatiently. Never before had there been such a sense of urgency and interest surging in his veins, claws clenching against the ground as he eyes the other males gathered here and waiting. It is however the young queen whom everyone has attuned to though, the tension almost palpable.

Ikaroth> Colchith makes his slow way in, the dragon taking his sweet time in approaching the pens having noticed the Golden Booties hide and her glowy self being ready to take off. A sweep is done with his gaze as he looks about and he gives a short guttural grunt of greeting to the other dragons in the area, eyeing them all before he focuses on Hestiath. Wings half unfurl, his head tucking beneath one to lick a wing tip. Must look presentable. He even oiled.

"Go away!" Imogen shouts, without opening her eyes. She flinches away from E'th's descending hand, hissing, "don't /touch/ me. Just get /away/." She hides her face in the back of the couch, her hair arranged in a carefully braided coif - but she's wearing only her usual gardening clothes. The wine is left alone, for now.

Ikaroth> Hestiath strikes without warning. One moment she is still, and the next blood spills jewel-bright across the pure white hide of her first sacrificial animal - though it is not left to spill for long. She sees the gathering males, pauses between her first and second kill to growl warningly at them - and the warning is quite clear: back off.

N'tan's knees come in contact with the couch, staying further progress while he fixedly stares at the woman seated upon it. A paragon of silence, the stony exterior casts him in the role of a Spartan statue - solidly here now - sure to crumble and be forgotten with the passing of time.

M'cay glances briefly over his shoulder at S'tao, and the Weyrlingmaster nods. "First time with a gold flight?" he asks. He can't remember, honestly, as his mind is hazed with images and feelings from his bronze. He shakes his head, always trying to keep within his own body for as long as he possibly can. His brows knit in concentration and he mutters for a few moments, words unintelligible. He stands clear of Imogen, waiting quietly.

Ikaroth> Kayth looks about through the dust as he enters from the bowl's center.

Sh'dan walks in.

Ikaroth> Fanneth waits, his only comment to the beauty that is now Hestiath being the loud chuff carrying the amusement of having done this for decades. Singularly unsuccessfully, we might add. He feels no need to draw the blood, having eaten earlier thankfully.

E'th eyes the males coming closer, "Y'eard her, back the bloody well off." A muted growl despite having Imogen go all psycho kitty on him, the man still keeping close as he keeps near enough to touch Imogen with the very hand he's drawn away now, watching over her, specifically N'tan who gets entirely too close for comfort. Dark amber eyes are narrowed and he stays possessively close to the Gold rider, body tense and muscles ready.

G'dal doesn't care. None of this stuff matters until the dragons get to going. He notices the Istans there, stepping closer to the bronzers with the orange in their knots. "M'cay." He didn't catch the youngling's name on the beach, so he'll just greet the man he knows, softly, yet a little gruffly.

Ikaroth> Tenzinth rumbles softly, hanging back in the growing group despite his large size. He waits outside the fence, patiently watching the feeding queen. When an old buck races by the fenceline, terror-driven, the bronze's head whips down, jaws snapping audibly to end the beast's misery. The buck's warm blood pumps into Tenzinth's waiting maw, trickling between his teeth to stain his dim hide with a splash of temporary brilliance. He drops the buck just outside the fence for others to enjoy - Weyrlings, perhaps? - before his calm gaze returns to the queen. He is perfectly still, waiting, like his rider.

S'tao responds with a curt nod towards M'cay, attention drawn back to Imogen in an echo of his dragon's attentions to the now blooding queen. "Aye, it is." he says in a low voice, not meant to carry far. "First time any from my clutch has shown an interest at any rate." The former guardsman never expected that his bronze would react to a flight just yet.

R'ish hangs back a little further. "Oi! N'tan... Back up a bit, yeah?" Didn't he hear Imogen saying go away. There'll be plenty of time to get to the woman once the dragons catch. She obviously doesn't think it's needed to get so close. Though E'th is eye'd as well. "I don't think she's too keen on you bein' so close either." She says from her place near a wall as she leans. "P'raps you should back off as well." Her eyes are starting to get that shrouded far away look as she gives further into her Dragon's emotions. Though she's still mostly all here. Thera as she arrives gets a little smirk. "You ready for this?" She asks with an odd sort of laugh.

Ikaroth> Ikaroth brings a strong backdraft with him, excessive wings teetering in a shallow V as a herdbeast is taken on the wing. Never as comfortable on the ground as in the air he feeds in this preferred element, head curled by his breast in blind flight. He borrows the bovine's blood, steals fat as well for the prolonged pursuit Hestiath will give them all.
Ikaroth> Kayth quietly glides in, stalking the radiant gold from afar. Swirling gaze and deep rumble will alert her, if she bothers to listen to the presence of another bronze. Soon enough he'll find a perch to settle in upon and wait with heated and hungry interest.

Ikaroth> Nidhgoth is a narrow, sleek brown, so while he is sizeable, he's light. The dragon also has a constant stream of adrenaline flowing through ikor veins, which means blooding is more a sport than a necessity. One beast down and drained, he coils into a crouch and simply waits.

Ikaroth> Maialeth is just lingering near his end of the fence.. He backs up ever so slightly at the queen's growl but like Tenzinth.. when a beast comes too near the fence line for him to resist he surges forward and snaps it up.. backing up a step after as he lets his teeth tear into his prey and shakes it from side to side a good few times before just tilting his head back to drain it. Blood running down and pooling at the corners of his mouth, and dripping down his neck as he throws the beast aside.. and crouches again.. inching closer to try and snap up another unlucky beast that comes too close.

Ikaroth> Colchith is huge. And thus blooding anything will have the already massive dragon having to change his tactics. Today he flies light, no straps holding him down, oiled body primed for those currents of air to keep especially tucked up against them and every little speck licked from hide to ensure maximum aerodynamics. He shifts from hind leg to hind leg, stretching and bouncing up gently as he readies. Eyes, whirrling slowly, keep an eye on Hestiath.

Sh'dan is late yet again it seems, but he he's here! Really! And panting like he's just sprinted twice around the bowl. Which... isn't likely the case. Newest arrival to Fort and ledge skitters to a halt and randomly picks an empty spot along the wall right /there/.

Ikaroth> Sephiroth has spent the past turn learning from Tenzinth, the smell of blood a sharp tang in the air adding to his own rising needs. So learning, he waits and as the scattered animals run past in their terror, he lashes out with claw and tooth to take one down himself. Lifeblood is drained, instinct guiding him still. All shadow but for the quicksilver etchings of his wings, he lurks at the side of the pen, drinking and waiting.

Ikaroth> Hadamarth fells his first and only beast, viscerating it neatly with a talon and taking its energy before it can splash upon the ground. He'll wait then, backed off, quietly tensing and releasing launch muscles one by one in the quiet of the flight check. The rise from earth to sky a fleeting moment in the waiting game until /she/ is ready.

Ikaroth> Hestiath's third and fourth beasts are dispatched with equal efficiency, each white, each thrown once they've served their purpose to gather dust on the ground. She cares not for anything but the energy coursing through her veins, the hot need that burns and surges. >> Fools. << She springs into the air, taunting. >> You think you can catch me? <<

Ikaroth> Hestiath spreads her wings and launches upward, soaring higher and higher yet above the Weyr.

Ikaroth> Colchith spreads his wings and launches upward, soaring higher and higher yet above the Weyr.

Ikaroth> Fanneth spreads his wings and launches upward, soaring higher and higher yet above the Weyr.

Ikaroth> Maialeth leaps powerfully aloft in a cloud of dust.

Ikaroth> Gnaedath spreads his wings and launches upward, soaring higher and higher yet above the Weyr.

N'tan must be deaf, because none of the warnings wafting his way create even a faint flicker of recognition. Solid. Stone. Still. Silence.

L'ton couples adjacent stairs and overrides them in singular steps to bear him that much nearer to the top ledge. Fashionably late they call it, though he won't be the last for long. It takes time for a flight to circulate, sink in like the blood offered to the feeding ground's poor soil. By nature of Imogen's association L'ton makes it his business to be at the battle front, for once using his knot to rebuff shoulders. Thera, E'th, naturally N'tan made it.

Ikaroth> Maialeth swoops over crowds of scurrying herdbeasts.

Ikaroth> Sephiroth spreads his wings and launches upward, soaring higher and higher yet above the Weyr.

Ikaroth> You spread your wings and launch upward, soaring higher and higher yet above the Weyr. The ground tilts half-dizzyingly below, but somehow that doesn't matter now, oh no. . .

Ikaroth> High above the Center Bowl
Ikaroth> High above the center of Fort's Bowl, the vista of the mountain range surrounding the volcano spreads before you in all of its rugged beauty.

Ikaroth> The Weyr encompasses you in all directions: towards the east is the landing area and Star Stones, and below them the lower caverns. Along the western curve lie the feeding pens and, further on, the weyrling barracks. Northeastward, Tooth Crag overlooks the Weyr; from there downward is the Weyrleaders' complex and the hatching cavern. The lake glitters far to the southwest.
Ikaroth> It is a fall evening. Clouds' faint haze warm the skies.
Ikaroth> You see Hestiath, Colchith, Fanneth, Gnaedath, and Sephiroth here.
Ikaroth> Obvious exits:
Ikaroth> Northeastern Curve Southwestern Curve

Ikaroth> Fanneth follows quickly, the bugle allowed now that they are in the sky. And a loud bugle it is. << We can. It is the age old song. >> The drums blare through the words, loud, steady.

Ikaroth> Gnaedath bloods the last beast in a fury of bloodlust. Beneath the fiery bowl of Rukbat's last dangling breath upon a Fort Weyr glowing crimson with the ire of dragons soon to burst with the blooding of their kill and not yet satiated of their mating lust, dragon for dragon follows her upward, and Gnaedath not long behind, launching toward daylight's last blaze, she who blots out the last bursting of day with the brilliance of her length.

Ikaroth> Hadamarth wings speedily up from far, far below, feeding pens forgotten.

Ikaroth> Tenzinth springs aloft, shattering the illusion of a statue as his wings fight for purchase in the groaning air. The bronze heaves himself into the middle of the pack, very careful not to bump or damage anyone on his way up. He will not have ichor on his hands. He flies as though out for nothing but a simple journey through the air - only the velvet violet in his eyes betrays his own burning desire. << I will try, >> is his simple and soft reply.

Ikaroth> Colchith watched as the dragons took up off after the gold, the bronze following suit with a quick spring upwards. He keeps silent. For once. Wings beating only as many times as is necessary to bring him aloft, before energy reserves are stored and he finds a current to surf on, watching Hesitiath. Studying her moves to see intent. Predatory Colchith is here, the same who hunts fish in the dead of night to scare the scales off them before the beast within takes over. He does, occasionally, have need to eat. And now he has equal cause to catch Hestiath.

M'cay glances sideways to G'dal, nodding once, "G'dal," he murmurs, fighting a loosing battle with his emotions, already being swept up in his dragon's understated lust. He forces himself to focus on S'tao. Ever the Weyrlingmaster he grunts out a soft bit of advice, "Keep with him. And if you win, try to be a gentleman." A useless hope in a mating flight, but it never hurts to try.

Ikaroth> Maialeth managed to catch a second beast in a claw, breaking it as he smashed it on the ground and sucked the lifeblood from it's still twitching form. Most of it drained his head snaps up as the Gold issues her challenge and takes to the air. Maialeth follows quickly.. only dropping the beast from the air once he's gotten a few good wingstrokes in. <<of course="course">> He sends back to the queen. <<if it="it" flies="flies" it="it" will="will" be="be" caught.="caught.">> And his powerful wings pull him through the air as he joins the chase pack.

Like a queen on her throne is Imogen on her couch, dirty gardening clothes and all. Her eyes spring open, though they hold none of her usual vague dreaminess, none of her characteristic shy uncertainty. "Fools," she mutters, and suddenly the terror is gone, replaced only by exhileration that draws a shout of laughter from her throat. "Fools!"

Thera lifts her head long enough to give R'ish an owlish sort of 'No!' look, though she turns and presses herself into the corner of the walls near the stairs. M'cay gets a rather incredulous look and a shake of the head. "Gentleman, right!" She might say more but her dragon is in the air and then part of her is too and dark eyes take in one encompassing look at the swath of bodies and she focuses.

Ikaroth> Nidhgoth flings himself upwards, coil unraveling like a spring to launch him further faster. The song of his wings sound on broken bits of air, pounding out a ritual tribal tune heavy with the fiery heat of the moment. The lithe serpent gets the jump on several.

E'th looks to R'ish silently, the man not about to budge from his spot. He's claimed it, and he knows the woman is just itching to get her hands on Imogen. In fact they all are. So, using his dragons method he remains quiet but on the ready. As his lifemates attention is fixed on Hestiath, E'ths is on Imogen now and he waits. Breath held in long sets, exhaled only when needed. Muscles twitch as neurons fire, body checking systems. We're all good-- Of course now she sounds like Cruella DeVille and that's a frightening sort of thing. Sort of. Kinda. Okay no. This is Imogen. And E'th's eyes are unfocused even as he keeps close. Eyes and body to the ready.

Ikaroth> Sephiroth bunches those youthful strong muscles and hurls himself into the air like a juggernaut taking wing. The sky seems filled with clashing wings and straining bodies, but through the crowd he can just see the beacon of glowing gold that is his target. The taunting call is answered with a burst of whirling thoughts, bubbles bursting rapidly with the clash of metal in his simple rejoiner. <<yes.>>

G'dal nods, hearing the weyrlingmaster's advice to the bronzerider. "Yeah. Though it's kinda tough t' do when yer not yerself no more." He has won a couple flights, in his day, just not lately. The comments from the queen on her throne get a toothy smile of understanding. Everybody does this differently, and he'll just admire from afar yet.

W'ren suddenly runs in from the bowl, knocking down a blue rider toward the back of the pack, cheeks red as an Igen sunset, hair disheveled, and dark, shadowy eyes open wide, somewhat in disbelief that this, the one who flies is Imogen's own. "Imo!," he bellows from the back of the pack, suddenly stalled by a broad brownrider not too quickly given to letting him pass by. "Imo!" he repeats.

M'cay sighs, nodding at Imogen, "Probably," he murmurs, but there's a glint to his gaze that there wasn't before. He keeps himself still, fighting the rising urges. Attacking her now would probably be poor form, and more likely than not start an unnecessary brawl. So he crosses his arms and keeps his body rigid, even as his mind's eye sways and swoops with Tenzinth's motions above. He opens his eyes to look briefly at Thera, and grin apologetically.

Ikaroth> Kayth will unfurl and launch in one fluid motion, wings spread far and wide to draw this predator ever higher in pursuit of his glorious prey. A snarl escorts the launch into initial flight, but soon, so soon this bronze reverts to his hunting ways and on silent intent he will chase her ever higher.

R'ish draws in a sharp breath as her dragon takes to the skies after the gold. Her eyes slipping further and further into that unfocused gleeming. That smirk growing ever more wolfish and almost sinister. She eyes Thera and just continues to smirk. Though Imogen's taunts only draw an amused chuckle from R'ish. All eyes on the weyrwoman.

S'tao tenses, unconsciously mimicking his former trainer's stance with arms crossed, back stiff as he gazes through the clustered riders towards the weyrwoman. "A gentleman, of course." he mutters, growling a little more than he realizes. Others suddenly pushing to get closer are rebuffed by his unmoving presence, making him forcibly restrain himself from elbowing them back. No need to crowd closer after all, it is not their actions that'll determine who catches, or so he thinks.

Ikaroth> Ikaroth shears further fat from the cattle's dewlap using deft incisors. The flight's commencement has the airborn bronze merely adapting his directions - the herdbeast released to pound a ghastly thud to the ground. Resistence gathers in limber wings as they hurl him towards the released gold, aiming for the speed of a demigod. He comes by Hestiath's starboard side, thinning a screech to drive her up, exercise these males, beat the sloth out of them.

Ikaroth> Hadamarth is in the air in a hushed and quiet whisper of contracting muscles and large planing wings that lift as a prayer to the elements, his element, air. A quiet contemplative offering to the sky becomes the stretching of sinew into those spaces that bless the horizon and lead the males towards the sliver of gold and the promises that are the soft glint of dragons hope.

Ikaroth> >> You will not! << Hestiath seems certain of this as she takes to the skies, going up and up and up until the air is a cool caress against the burning of her hide. She is a loosed arrow, heading straight and sure and fast for her target: the wide world beyond. Surely the boys will be left in her dust.

N'tan remains physically immobile while his mind lets loose into the skies. Viper eyes, colored the same as a shallow pond, dim to deeper depths as Nidhgoth joins the chase at a goodly clip, quick to be on the heels of the leaner lighter frontrunners.

Ikaroth> Colchith shifts his flight plan as he finds a better current of air, merging over into it with a mere flicker of tail, crossing over and bringing himself onto a new route that is more specially aligned with the Golden one. He keeps slow, thus far, letting the wind carry him, currents much stronger and more able to maneuver his bulk. There is no raging storm within the Bronze quite yet. It's the calm before the storm, eyes whirling a deep peridot green, the occasional flicker of purple hinting though it's swallowed up like so many waves upon the shore.

Ikaroth> Tenzinth is not quite left in the dust, but he follows at a more casual pace. He is patient, and does not seem to mind in the least when he drifts towards the back of the pack, watching the queen from afar. She might be a loosed arrow, but he is hoping, burning, desiring, yearning to suddenly replace the wide world beyond as her new target. Yet outwardly, all is cool and calm, while his heart beats the fire through his veins, causing his breath to gasp and hiccup through him when the intense feelings get to be too much.

Ikaroth> Fanneth's drumbeats continue, the rhythm increasing. She may be an arrow, but he is the drummer that fuels the archer. Thrummm. Thrumm... It's a loud sound, made louder by another bugle, << None yet have escaped completely. It is the way of the world. >>

Sh'dan will merely mold himself into the crevice of the wall he's so casually managed to place himself against. Stormy gaze rolls with his lifemates launch into the air and he'll fail to contain a long drawn out groan. Imogen will be watched, studied but not taunted. Not from this man, not at this time.

Ikaroth> Maialeth is brown... And not as big as some of these larger dragons, but he's no less a flyer. His size lets him propel himself faster.. Those wings of his pulling him through the air, and then setting as he finds a current to carry him higher. His body rigid as he rides the currents and follows that golden arrow. There's a sound, like a sharp gust of wind blowing through a pile of rotting leaves that echoes through the link. << You will be>> Comes the response from the confident brown as he soars after the gold.

Imogen sits up straighter and takes a pull from her bottle of wine - provided by the thoughtful consideration of the best sister ever - and glares all around her. Her heartbeat hammers in her ears, a dull roar that blots out the sounds about her until it's all a whirl of color and motion, individuals lost in a dizzy whole. She, too, will taunt, more dragon than person in this moment. "You cannot have /us/."

L'ton takes his breaths deeply, calming the same hustling heartrate that only running miles used to give him. He is still secure in his riding jacket, considering what the removal of clothing might panic Imogen. "That was a good feeding." Humble in his accolades, however understated they are while much of him left is still L'ton.

M'cay shakes his head jerkily at Imogen, his voice an odd echo of his dragon's emotions, "Not /have/, no," he murmurs. "Together. For a time." Then he shakes his head and is lost again to the skies above.

Ikaroth> Sephiroth is not prone towards many words, his concentration therefore gone solely into the pursuit of the golden queen. Youthful exuberance is tempered by a strategist's natural patience, calculating and gauging as his body effortlessly soars. Wings have never stretched to such great lengths before, blood never pumping so hard or for so much excitement and desire. It takes him higher and faster, pulling up and out to the side of the other pursuers. The smaller males are left in the wake of the larger and certainly he is not among them but ahead, biding his time, looking for the perfect moment of opportunity.

Thera curls forehead down to her chest and crosses arms over her now rather noticeable belly. Squeezing eyes shut, she tunes out smirks and imobility to concentrate on enjoying the flight. "It's just wings and air, fly my boy," is whispered softly before her head flips back and she will radiate internal joy inherent in all winged things that do what they were bred to do.

Ikaroth> Nidhgoth takes tunnelsnake quick bursts to propel himself through the darkening sky. This is the one to win. This is the one they have planned for since searching Imogen long ago. The dragon refuses to fail, so rather than waste fuel and thought on vocalizing, he pours every ounce into regulating speed and timing thrusts. Bronzes bedamned, the reptilian god sinks viper sharp teeth into the endeavor of surpassing them to the goddess.

Ikaroth> Gnaedath's overlong wings unfurl against his lean frame, one which in another light might pop slickly with copper sheen, but now against sacrosanct ochre of Hestiath's lambency, he pales with each downstroke that draws him near her burning hide, past those of shorter wing and fuller girth. Stealthy flame burns his full length of updraft, curling deadly talons tight-bellied and taut, trebuchet to her arrow, ember to her glistening and hurling missile sleekness.

E'th doesn't consider this some sort of flight booty duty. This is -his- woman. With men -and- women suddenly getting all lustful for her (Save for Thera, who may need a bucket here soon) and far too close for his comfort. Pulse races, not with flight lust quite yet, but with a wary jealous uprising he can feel in every tendon. As Colchith gets deeper and deeper into his execution of plans he had plotted for what seemed to be Turns, E'th too changes. A rage divulges from his chest to expunge outwards as quiet fury, "NONE of you will TOUCH her." Grated out, the man rising up to press partially back into the couch and near Imogen, sentry at the ready. A sentiment echoed by Colchith far above.

G'dal steps just a step closer, Fanneth's penchant for long stretches toward the queen, probably because of his brown-ness.. "Naw. Not..." Yeah, what M'cay said. "She's th' one pickin." He tilts his head, just as Fanneth moves around another, younger brown, part of the back of the pack. Time to get a little closer.

Ikaroth> Kayth /will/ if he has anything do to about this. Still ever so silent he cuts through the glorious sky in rapid pursuit of Hestiath's form. If the world beyond is her target and she is the arrow, then he will be both archer and bow to have loosed her in such a fasion. Together they could find that mark, that bullseye into another word... And so he will follow, the hunter to this golden arrow.

Ikaroth> Colchith roars out a loud long bass note, the sound echoing out as he bellows out a sudden rage, green sapped from his whirling countenance until nothing but royal purple and shimmies of crimson yellow-- call to battle against these other suitors as he drives then downwards, taking the low route and abandoning his plans. Plans fall apart too quickly and who knows who else has been practicing; he must think on his wings and he takes off far below, greenery and water flashing by in quick torrents- snap snap snap-- - wings that carry a specific beat, same as a runners cadence. Preserve. Persevere. And deny all others.

N'tan awakens with E'th's proclamation. A slippery grin oozes onto his lips, while hawkish brows tauntingly arch in the bronzerider's direction. "In your dreams." All else remains still and unaffected.

R'ish's eyes snap towards E'th. Eyes that would be whirling if they could. Her lip curls up in a sneer as that unfocused gaze fixes on him. "Until the flight is done." She's mostly dragon now.. having given herself almost completely up to the flight. That sneer melts back into that wolfish smirk as she eyes the weyrwoman. As for having her. "Just for a short time.." She echoes the others.

Ikaroth> Hadamarth rides the currents upwards through the gentle caress of heaven. Just a brown to be sure though large, he will give it his all for anything less is to dishonour who Hestiath and he are. This is their hegira, their journey through the layers of atmosphere with her luminousity as their guide. Wings find every adjustment, force and fuel, to take them higher and closer.

S'tao remains still as a statue, eyes becoming vague and unfocused as the sight of those clustered in the cavern fade away in his narrowing thoughts to become nearly one with his dragon. No words, only the shared feelings and excitement, the growing need that makes him urge his great beast on with encouragement as well as urgings for caution not to expend himself too early. The roar of the other unfamiliar riders barely cuts into his thoughts, only a whisper escaping from gritted teeth. "Only one will win." And heaven help E'th if it is not his dragon that catches.

Ikaroth> Ikaroth rehearses wing beats with Hestiath, allowing her leave that he might challenge himself all the more in conquering what gaps will lie between them. The queen is no sum to him, rather a part of the moment: his long pinions shucking the wind's glorious lift, the dominion of flimsy cirrus clouds, the fun he will make against other males. We do not find him doing penance. Ikaroth is not sorry for clogging flight lanes, delaying strategies, costing wins, and throwing order asunder. He is thinking only of throwing tremolos, enjoying what is so severe to others.

E'th has never actually hit another person, even the one who killed his brother, but he's got years of rage pent up behind those fists. However, despite N'tans best efforts, E'th is seeing through his dragons eyes, both sights mingling as one in his head, folk and scenery projecting into his visions field. Words -- are blotted out. He keeps close to his Queen just as his lifemate moves in to do the same. They move as one and it's not heaven that will have to help E'th if his dragon does not catch. Likely it's other riders who will have to save the winning male. Or female. If anyone touches him before then though, he's gonna put the smack down.

Ikaroth> Hestiath streaks on ahead, determined to be the first dragon to evade the catch, to carry on until she reaches that next world and reign over it forever as virgin queen and goddess both. But even she must tire eventually, the sudden hesitation in the steady beat of her wings telling tales even though she tries to hide it.

W'ren favors the sliver of passage toward the couch and its queen, breathing deeply of the stench of lust and anger, sneer and slippery ooze. Pausing only when his eyes rest on her, Queen of Sheba and ruler of all she surveys, his body suddenly tightens, eyes falling shut, head risen to the stone cold ceiling of this weyrwoman's throne. His lip curls to the side, bearing only a recumbent echo of what another has said, and suddenly wild, find the gardener of the one spade "Yes, we will," he says grinning. "We will."

Ikaroth> Fanneth stretches. His beats drum on, speeding up, reaching as well, part of a whole, music calling through the mindlinks, mindful yet uncaring of the males around him. The song is a song of war dedicated to the goddess herself. He will fight for her, he will do all he knows, including beat those strong wings as fast as the old dragon can. Catching a fortuitious updraft, Fanneth rides it over several in the pack, becoming closer to the prize. Is it close enough?

Ikaroth> Tenzinth sees his chance and surges forward, his calm exterior cracking beneath the sudden frenzy of his heart when he sees that one, brief, subtle falter. He ducks below the pack, surging forward with his energy reserves. His breath is coming in gasps as he chokes out his sudden wild terror - terror of missing, of loosing her. It takes all his efforts to simply stay in the air as he tries to rise beneath her, reaching out with wings and talons to grasp at her. The wild yearning within him bursts out in a long, drawn out roar of fear and triumph as he attempts his catch.

Suddenly Imogen abandons her ineffectual barricade to shoulder her way past E'th and N'tan into the very center of the crowd, striking a pose with one hand on her hip as she tries to drain the bottle of wine. That done, she tosses it, uncaring, to the ledge, though it somehow resists breakage and only rolls to rest against the wall. W'ren recieves a disdaindful dismissal in the toss of her head, the rest completely ignored. They are not people, or riders, in this moment - only faithful worshippers to give her what she is due.

M'cay gasps out a strangled cry as his own body and heart mirror that of his chasing bronze. He clutches at his chest, fingers clenching his flying leathers desperately as he teeters on the edge of unrivaled passion and utter defeat.

Ikaroth> Colchith becomes the roots to Hestiaths blossom, the dragon coming in from below and snapping his way to get ahead of her before he takes a quick winding motion upwards to her sunlight. Tip of his snout reaches and crawls through the underbrush of the earth far below him and of those filaments of cloud that part, all power put behind each pump of wings and he twines with the air as seedling would the dirt, working together in tandem to bring them each closer to their goal of nutrient and sustenance. There is no desperation in his moves, sure strength carrying him as forearms reach out as she becomes very tangible, her very scent assaulting the bronzes nostrils, << We are to fly, to bring life. To be. >> Waxing poetic if he wasn't bugling it out.

Ikaroth> Sephiroth crept ever closer, the dark stalker of the skies. Inches are battled for against the very air, every straining ounce of his being focused wholly upon the glowing beacon before them, the fire that warms the night, the vestial virgin soon to be made priestess and queen instead. With every sense attuned, every beat of wing and heart waiting for the right moment, the faint faltering is not missed and the moment to strike comes. Like a warrior spying the moment of victory coming like the stroke of a single sword, he puts his all into the final surge to sweep past the others all vying for the greatest of honors, a battle cry emerging as he makes his bid to take on Hestiath in her own home territory.

Ikaroth> Kayth is unphased in his pursuit of this glorious and untouchable golden goddess. He will stretch out his wings, his limbs, his /body/ to her in silent worship. The virgin in her may fade to his prowness, but forevermore she will be a deity unsurpassed in everyway. When she hesitates, he will strike - talons reach out to grasp and invite her into a cascading dance of lust, and creation and promise of things to come....

G'dal is no more the watcher. He /is/ Fanneth. He is the dragon. Elderly, smelly arms reach toward the woman, not touching yet, not violating space, but in an effort to assist old wings through cloud-riddled skies past dragons younger and stronger and faster than he. The men around him are not seen anymore, and in his vision, the woman before him glows like the goddess in the sky.

Ikaroth> Maialeth tucks his wings in and rides the currents, conserving his energy, while still making sure that he's going as fast as he can. Soaring after that Golden arrow.. Even as she slows slightly. He sees his opening, A few more powerful wingbeats and he's diving down, surging ever closer as he reaches out.. Letting out a bugle as he tries for the catch. << Not even you can escape this>> He sends out as he tries to be the 'this' that she can not escape.

L'ton furrows his eyebrows at E'th out of a matter of presumptive, serious study. Blinks are taken in halved time where soon the goldrider is the heart of his field of vision. Lust makes her contours extend, blurs his own inhibitions to worthless reminiscence. This is a gift from Ikaroth, power upstaging proper.

Ikaroth> Gnaedath's wildest dreams were infinitesimally less worthy of this virgin queen of Victorian might. If naught but wind's lift bore him fervently toward that acrid spot just beyond her brilliant wings, Gnaedath, searing venom's blighted poison for all the virility of lust beneath each powerful upstroke, still would find that secret sweet spot just behind and above her to favor fingersail's breath distance with each swoop and swell of night's amber shoulders. Copper fire to her dusky sunset, he revels in her luminous velveteen light, each humble curve of wisdom worth seeking as his own one veracious truth. Reign not forgotten or vanity's play, his razor sharp talons, reach for the sun, reach for the tale that but for hesitation's breach would fear clasp amber's clench.

Ikaroth> Nidhgoth's old nemesis falls into his line of vision and for a moment that ebony tail becomes the focus, drawing the brown forward with hate rather than lust. Pinpricks of pain sting in his mind as a warning voice shatters the vengeful thought to replace it with the matter at hand. It's amazing what a little hate can do for motivation though. The dragon finds himself just above Ikaroth and Hestiath, balanced between them on a frail veil of air. Arms stretch, glossy talons flex, while wings tent and adjust to capture just the right amount of sky to drop him down upon the focus of all this attention.

R'ish grins dangerously as Imogen moves to the center. "See.." She says her voice low. Taking her wine skin with her she heads to crowd around the goldrider, pushing herway into the inner circle around her if she needs to as she offers out her own wineskin to the woman.

E'th doesn't scream out like his dragon does, but he is moving quickly after Imogen, very sinew extended as long steps and shoulders brace through the crowd to break- pushing forcefully people out of his way. Imogen is all he sees, the dragons lust just a mirror of his own aching need-- teetering on the edge of utter devastation which only quickens steps and movements to bring him to her before all hell breaks loose. Colchith flies not for his own desires but for the man desperately trying to get to that which sets his pulse raising at mere mention of name.

Ikaroth> Hadamarth will feel the hesitation, the disturbance in the slipstream behind Hestiath. The fluidity of movement halted ever so gently because of the progress of the object of his desire has forced the molecules apart. To reform them his wings slice cuts into the nimbus and surge up towards the golden aureola from beneath the cluster. This brown seeks his crown.

Sh'dan will step to Imo's step, his body reacting of its own according. He won't reach just yet, he's managed some self restraint but oh how he would, how he /could/. Time will tell and for now it's Kayth who chases, who pursues the queen above and beyond.

N'tan is for once a study in calm. When Imogen moves, he merely pivots to watch her, comfortable in the assurance that she will come back to him once Nidhgoth has captured their prize. Let the others waste energy on chasing; he'll save his for the kill.

S'tao had intended on standing still for this whole spectacle, muscles taut as steel as he watches through his dragon's eyes. But as others mimic their own draconic mates and draws to the center around Imogen, he cannot help but to lean closer, a mere step taken as if that would some how be enough to close the distance. The moment has come to see just which one of those hopeful males will catch.

W'ren throws back his head in laughter at the disdain her ill posed anger affords. Queen or not, she only nears his reach, rewards him with dismissal and toss of head she denies all the others. Person or rider, E'th lagging behind, fails to satisfy her attentions in this moment. Only the rolling lull of bottle and sweaty stench of those around her can truly tell the tale of her here, flower in the center, ring around her posing, ring of lust proposing yet another to be undone. His dark eyes shadow dangerously, flying and furious against the dying of the light.

Ikaroth> Ikaroth gives greater flex to his spar bones, carving out atmosphere in what separates him from conquest. But that is too finite of an end. He wishes to continue beside Hestiath as they did before in Igen - make her extend her own reaches, drown every ounce of energy in the ironic burn of supreme fatigue. He sees Nidhgoth, calls him closer in the certainty of knowledge the brown can't obey in the locked desire to breed. Whirlwinds escape from his wing tips: the mixing of air pressures he urges Hestiath to never leave (at least for the night). If it takes an affair of catch and release, he will do so in a half-twist embrace born out of an impervious tuck.

Thera will push herself up from her perch on the top of the steps, head pressed back into the stone wall as she rises up on the tips of toes, the last vestiges of her dragon's push forward to send her swaying, face turned skywards with teeth clenched tightly against her lip. Imogen is only noted in dim awareness, empathy now lost to dragon's lust. She stays away from the crush of bodies, commiting only in the knowledge that the paths will clear if her lifemate makes it and placing trust only in the moment not in a future of what ifs and wannabes.

Ikaroth> Hestiath evades outstretched talons and wings, dives and snatches - but virginal she cannot remain, not now, not ever, and she will succumb to Kayth's dedicated worship with a cry that is at once both defeated and victorious. Wings stretch to slow their fall as necks and tails twine together in an infinite moment of completion that will bring forth new life to be succored by this eternal mother, virgin no more but acolyte and priestess both to the wonder of creation.

Ikaroth> Colchith cries out-- an echo of his lifemate, purple haze dragging down to intensely grey depths as Colchith dives down to quickly move to rescue his lifemate now, twisting mid air and rushing before the man does something entirely retarded.

Ikaroth> Colchith circles lower into the bowl.

Ikaroth> Tenzinth gets a grip on himself, and the pain of loss is over nearly as soon as it's begun. He turns, carefully winging back to the weyr to tend to his more fragile rider.
Ikaroth> Tenzinth circles lower into the bowl.

Ikaroth> Below, Tenzinth circles down from above.

M'cay goes out.

Ikaroth> Fanneth's drumbeats die away and the old brown's tune becomes mornful. No less volume, but the sadness palpable.

Ikaroth> Maialeth roars his defiance as he wings off to let the catcher have his way. Loud rumblings and roaring can still be heard as the brow flies off... towards the lake. A nice cold dip would be nice.

Ikaroth> Fanneth circles lower into the bowl.

The dragon chooses, and the rider must obey - Imogen, no matter how she may wish it later, is no different. She turns towards Sh'dan, a step forward, than two, seeking only to find his body with her own and complete the ritual.

Ikaroth> Kayth will call out /now/. Loud and triumphant. In one fell swoop he will embrace his goddness, tangle with her in symmetry and in beauty. Together they are and will be and he will be there to escort her to the Promised Land.

Ikaroth> Gnaedath's rage stretching forward only to be dashed by the usurper, Kayth, he bugles his agony, raging as his rider, against the dying of the light, curling wingtip one side to soar upward and away, once smitten, once bitten by fate's unseemly adoration of the older and flight wiser bronze.

E'th is absolutely devastated. A visible break as his dragon rushes to his aid, E'th slumping, all rage, all fight. Gone. Not a look to Imogen as he does nothing stupid. In fact does absolutely nothing. Instead he strides out to the ledge where strapless dragon lands haphazardly, skittering claws against stone, the man mounting up and the two taking off- high- away.

E'th goes home.

Ikaroth> Below, Colchith soars up into the air gaining more height.

G'dal's arms slump down, and he begins the slow, tired, trek down the long stairs. Tromp, tromp tromp. This will take awhile. And he with no booze. "Fan!" He calls, hoping the brown might meet him somewhere in between.

Ikaroth> Sephiroth leaves as silent as a shadow, his excitement draining away as he misses, the opportunity gone. Never the less it was a great chase, a learning experience for the next time. And with that promise in mind, he spirals away to return to his rider.

Ikaroth> Sephiroth circles lower into the bowl.

Ikaroth> Hadamarth shoots past up and over, circling back with wide berth offered to the couple before flying down towards his lifemate.

Ikaroth> Colchith winks into ::between::!

R'ish lets out a frustrated growl of her own an echo of her dragon, she snaps her wine skin back, almost clutching it to her chest as her frustrated expression matches her growl. eyes still glazed over as she looks around. Spotting Thera she makes her way for her. "Come on." She grumbles to the brownrider.

Ikaroth> Nidhgoth's voice writhes with a team of squirming maggots that expands into a putrid slap of angry, decaying admonishment << Your fault! >> The blame is laid right on Ikaroth. The brown screams his fury to the night, and then closes into a spiked ball, talons facing outwards as he drops right between the bronze and the gold who is now entangled in another bronze. Damage will be done to any who tarry.

W'ren stumbles away from the crowd, screaming out his dragon's rage himself, nearly coming into contact with Thera and R'ish there on the edges. He stumbles again, follows them without knowing where or why his feet take him.

Sh'dan may be a blundering idiot most of the times, but not now. No. He steps forward and will reach out to her as Kayth reaches to embrace Hestiath. "Imogen." One word. Her name. It's said with lust, but accompanied with tenderness. A gentleman he will be as he too will help her to bring their dragons home. Together.

G'dal goes home.

S'tao uncrosses his arms and lets out a breath, swallowing hard as he watches the weyrwoman take on the rider of the catching dragon. He makes a quiet goodbye, knowing that the words are unlikely to be heard any and quickly leaves to go find his own comforts at home.

S'tao goes home.

Thera wide eyes at R'ish though her breath is coming quick and shallow. "Wine" and she doesn't care if her baby comes out with twelve heads or has the attention span of a vtol (anyone ever met Marryn? It's likely to anyways). Pushing off she slowly descends the stairs, her legs just now having stopped wobbling from the climb up.

W'ren goes out.

R'ish still in the mind of her dragon for the most part she hands the wine skin over. An arm trying to slip possessively around Thera. W'ren gets eyed as he follows. R'ish growls at the man.. still echoing her Dragons frustration. "Find your own." GRAR.

Ikaroth> Ikaroth is not a static creature. Nidhgoth's failure and Hestiath's inability to keep moving draw an equalled armory of thick talons and willing teeth. His head winds up where his feet only just were, meeting the brown's wrath head on - literally.

Imogen leaves for the Tunnel.

Sh'dan leaves for the Tunnel.

Thera goes out.

R'ish goes out.

When blades of bone collide in the sky, N'tan charges forth into the fray, barreling down on the skinny Wingleader with a fury wrought of turns of aggravation. This action stems from way back at the meeting much like this, yet with another golden prize on the table. The advancement on L'ton brings palms up blunt like fists, planting keenly in the younger man's chest to thrust him as far as the unleashed strength will carry him.

Ikaroth> Like a diver falling from high on a cliff, Nidhgoth rolls into a graceful unveiling of his form. When Ikaroth's claws make contact, all elegance is lost and replaced with a fierce thrust of talon and teeth, a mirror to the bronze, if much less sightly. Rabid dog quick, the brown whips air with angry bird of prey wing beats, aiming for an in air collision of colossal proportions.

L'ton's fingers are at his throat in the first act to rid himself of his riding jacket when a force just below that urges him brutally to the ground. The left shoulder blade has its point thrust against stone. L'ton, with his own cumulative axe to grind, glowers at N'tan and steadily gets to his feet. Then, from this crouch, does he charge for the man's hips in a roared assault. L'ton is not burly though he is quick and responsive to a lower center of gravity.

If there is one thing N'tan is versed in, it's fights. They have plagued, nay graced his life from end to end. The first thing any man protects is his manhood, while the second, his eyes. The latter squints to mere slits, while a knee comes up to armor the former. Hand over fist, the two paws collide in a weapon of mass, baring down on the boy from above. This exertion of strength accumulates in a muscle clenching grunt.

Ikaroth> Ikaroth finds Nidhgoth's fangs imbedded in a soft flank where it makes a junction with his body. The serpent brown's hold does not immediately give. At once, livid, do Ikaroth's huge wings forsake flight to club a release from N'tan's dragon as in a rooster fight. Both his mind and his thick throat clutter with hoarse sounds, shrieks, and wicked skrees. Far below L'ton invests in his own counterstrike, having fallen again with a knee denting a cheekbone and a blow to his back. A leg kicks out gladly to fell a trunk of N'tan's leg. "You 'n your dragon worn out your welcome."

Rather than be pulled along by the teeth, Nidhgoth lets go, only to snake around for a second strike if possible. It's the circular u-turn that leaves him open. N'tan had buried so much effort into the downward thrust of force, that a weapon of boot catches him off balance when a leg is kicked out from under the big man. What stands large, falls hard, and so he does. A shoulder tocks into the stone for a good tumble, and twin bruises sprout on limb and back. The follow through has the brownrider with fist and knee planted in stone, disheveled long wispy brown tendrils filtering the glaring eyes that bore into the Wingleader. "Kiss my Benden ass, boy." All sense has left the man.

L'ton aches pretty much everywhere in contrasting degrees from the day's rigors piled upon N'tan's more experienced techniques. Already his cheek grows a good red welt to it. The younger rider is dedicated though in a fight where he has the lowerhand it isn't a famed strength to flaunt. "There will be nothing left... to kiss when I kick it square off." L'ton makes the most of punishment when the Bendenite falls, airmailing a triad of knuckles to a jaw's hinge. Ikaroth capers after his foe, smacking gravity with a yet powerful downthrust that speaks yet of his body's formidable reserves with a skinny tail the bait he desires.

Nidhgoth's mouth opens for a yowl of pain, only to snap shut with that tail as a tantalizing stand-in for floss. The bait has been taken. N'tan rocks with the punch landed to the long plains of his serpent features, yet quick and as sharp as a whip, the overture is undermined by a low blow, aimed for L'ton's future. Worst yet? A shoulder follows the wielded fist, focused on the V of life. All of the brownrider's weight is carried with it. Is L'ton quick enough? If so he'll have the upper hand, because N'tan cashed in all his chips on this one hand.

Looking back L'ton may wonder which jolted him the most: the jabbing harm of his manhood or the radiating numbness that makes him gasp for air. The fall to his back is at least a gradual effort that soon has his legs curling protection - too late - around that middle. The cold face of rock is a temporary balm to a swollen cheek. These weaknesses toll in Ikaroth, who, conscious of his life-mate's endangerment, folds all his weight into a dive for the queen ledges. Nidhgoth is dragged too by contracted jaw muscles made gloriously round.

A warning scream unclenches those powerful jaws, while the shrieking sounds in mind, as well as air. The keen link renders N'tan useless for several heartbeats, and then with a diving dash that takes him leaping over the crumpled cataclysm of pain that is L'ton, the brownrider makes a run for cover. Dragon hot on the heels of dragon, Nidhgoth aims to protect and serve that affiliation that keeps him ticking.

Ikaroth> Ikaroth disentagles whatever ophidian traces linger in the drastic stoop that calls to mind the Furies for N'tan's head. The degree of air rushing by his eyes is so severe the bronze lids them once over. The volcano's sunken center gapes open to accept the fallen, they who drip ichor in green oblation.

The couch blocks easy access to safety, so N'tan is frantically diverted like a river in a flood toward other avenues of escape. Stairs are leapt threefold at a time, and ground ate in a starved fury that takes several feet with each lengthy stride. The first open orifice appears to be the living caverns. Head down to break the onslaught of wind, the man fights every inch for that cloak of sanctuary. Nidhgoth is woefully behind the times, worn and tired, but bleeding himself of every reserve to beat Ikaroth to the punch.

N'tan goes out.

L'ton can't do it by abdominal strength alone. The way he gets himself to sitting upright is by flinging the top leg out for an instant, and painful, cession of balance. Tenuous at that. The heel of a hand keeps him grounded but as fast as possible he's off that ledge as if it were a bed of coals. From treading pain down each gradient of stair L'ton witnesses Ikaroth and his wings flip the way out of a dire dive that would have sent him loose had be been riding. The dragon circles the air fragily where N'tan last skulked, wanting to pick clean some bones.

One never knows what might happen when you combine hormones with long standing feuds. The obvious result is an explosion of testosterone of epic proportions. Blood flows freely beneath and above skin, seeping through cuts, and bulging for release behind bruises. Long legged N'tan barrels out of the queen's area with feet on fire, burning with desire to stay alive. Above hunts a bronze, followed up by a desperate brown that eventually lands in front of his lifemate with a comforting staving power. The onslaught of furious footfalls dead ends into Nidhgoth, who for tonight, becomes protector.