Resurrecting Old Traditions

Ista Weyr - Meeting Chamber
Although a far smaller cavern than the adjoining records room, the meeting chamber is still massive enough to hold an enormous round table with over a dozen comfortable-looking chairs. The wood is a deep mahogany, polished to a rich shine, and appearing of an age to almost be an original furniture piece of this weyr. The seating is newer, but crafted to match the style of the other furnishings. Orange cushions, edged in black, accompany each seat, for additonal comfort. To one side, directly opposite the main door, is an impressive tapestry sporting the device of Ista Weyr, the black silhouette of a smoking mountain over a fiery orange background. Hanging glowbaskets, carrying the same design, line the curved stone walls, providing illumination for the meetings which are often held here. Generally, chilled wines, juice, and other refreshments are available when the cavern is occupied, this place kept meticulously clean by the weyr's drudges.


Aah, springtime in paradise - what could be better than a cloudless sky over glittering black sands, with endless blue ocean stretching as far as the eye can see? And gentle seabreezes carrying the scent of the first tropical flowers of the season across the plateau where Nziekilth lounges, the gold taking a lazy afternoon nap while several escaped chickens make a perilous perch of her snout and ridges. Clearly, this is a day to be out under the sun, enjoying the island weather, maybe strolling along the boardwalk.. Naturally, with such fine weather outside, Weyrwoman Cenlia has been stuck inside all day, attending meetings. And she looks about as pleased with this as one might expect. At least some wiser drudge has had the foresight to supply the woman with something chilled and amber-hued, though by the way her voice carries across the meeting chamber, it's probably not enough to get her tipsy. Yet. "An' dun ferget to send along those nets next tithe, or we'll be havin' another discussion inna few sevendays - ya hear?" is called across to the departing (or is that fleeing?) man, whose shoulder knot suggests he's from one of the island's cotholds. The man at least makes the appropriate placating noises, but is backing out of the chamber pretty hastily.

Spring paradise certainly trumps a late winter-early spring snow fall and there can be no finer timing for a visit than now. Of course, the two Fortian dragons who arrive from Between high over the Weyr aren't there for fun in the sun (well… maybe Velokraeth is). No, of course not! There's totally other reasons for Fortian Weyrleader Th'ero and Weyrwoman Nyalle to be making a house call. Calling to the watch dragon on duty, Velokraeth will then settle into a lazy, circling glide down in wide circles, already enjoying the warmth of the sun on his back. SO MUCH BETTER. Or so he'll rumble to Kayeth. When he does land, at last, Th'ero dismounts and immediately shucks off his riding helmet, gear and jacket and stows it all away. Spring in Ista is like high summer to him but he'll enjoy it all the same! Waiting for Nyalle to dismount, he will offer the young Weyrwoman is arm. "Couldn't have picked a better day, could we? Come. Let's see if we can't find Weyrwoman Cenlia and finish early enough that some of the day can still be enjoyed." he murmurs to her, preparing to lead on to the council chambers (and hopefully not get them lost). Just follow the fleeing cotholders? Hopefully their arrival was planned or forewarned. Otherwise… surprise?

Kayeth emerges with a happy bugle to the watchdragon, emerging right on Velokraeth's right wingtip, even with the bronze. No wingman position for her, no sir! The fiery queen gleams in this bright sunlight, soaking it in and reflecting it back with a subtle shimmer. Oh, the pleasure. She matches the bronze's circling, allowing him to land first before she settles down neatly beside him, landing with gentle precision. Crouching, she lets Nyalle dismount, and the weyrwoman takes a moment to remove her leathers down to her light blue skirt and white tunic. Istan attire, beneath the Fortian layers. Slipping her arm through Th'ero's, she smiles at him with just a touch of nervousness. "No, the weather is divine right now, simply divine." Touching her hair with her free hand, she forces herself to stop fidgeting as she walks alongside her Weyrleader.

The appearance of the Fortian dragons certainly doesn't go unnoticed, the watchdragon bugling a welcome, while Nziekilth slowly stirs. Jaws parting in an entirely laid back yawn, the gold peers up at the arriving pair, and rumbles her own lazy greeting, inviting them to join her in enjoying the limitless sun. Meanwhile, the meeting chamber is quickly clearing, as the Cenlia shoos the last of the cotholders out, though she'll wave along a drudge to fetch more refreshments, Zeek at least having given her lifemate the head's up that the Fort weyrleaders were on their way. Cen herself is dressed passably for official business, and entirely approprate for the weather - white blouse trimmed in beige and green embroidery, with loose pants and a pair of braided sandals that tie up along her ankles in an echo of the current Southern Boll style. She runs a hand through her hair, which was probably tied back when the day started, but has mostly come free by now - probably because she keeps shoving her fingers through it in exasperation every time she sees the headwoman. Though this time, Serri is just here to quickly and unobtrusively deliver more paperwork, probably relevant to the upcoming meeting. Luckily, if the Fortians get lost, Serri will probably go find them too, because if she doesn't, Cen would likely try to sneak off to the beach, given enough of a chance. Ahem.

Velokraeth will brazenly nudge and nuzzle his muzzle along Kayeth's neck as he stays close to the fiery gold's side. Nziekilth's inviting greeting is answered by a honeyed, wine soaked one of agreement though he almost seems to half bow in a gesture to indicate that Kayeth fly first to join the Istan Senior. He will follow and once on the ledge will settle at Kayeth's side or wedged between the two queens if such daring and boldness is permitted. Could this day get any better? Sun, warmth, two golds? Oh yeah. Happy, happy bronze! Now he just needs a harem of greens below him and a feast and some celebration! Th'ero is dressed more for Istan weather himself and in lighter hues and fabric than he normally prefers (he was probably talked out of it, at length, at how black is a bad idea!). It's a simple tunic and trouser ensemble, no fancy embroidery or detailing and there are no sandals on his feet, just light tanned boots. Smiling to Nyalle in what he hopes is an encouraging way as they step inside the Weyr itself and closer to the council chamber. No, they didn't get lost (thank Faranth… that'd be embarrassing) but Th'ero pauses outside the door for a beat or two to collect himself and then knock or clear his throat to warn of their impending drop in. "Afternoon, Weyrwoman Cenlia. Fort's duties to Ista and her Queens." he murmurs as he leads himself and Nyalle through into the chambers. By habit, his dark eyes scan the room before settling on Cenlia herself, but his smile is small and relaxed. "We've not come at a bad time, I hope?"

Kayeth happily leans into Velokraeth's attentions, rumbling softly to him before she springs aloft to glide and settle near Ista's Senior queen with a soft rumble and a polite, mental « Thank you. » Where Velokraeth settles is of no concern to her, as long as he's on /one/ of her sides, so can continue to lavish her with attention. Inside, Nyalle uses her free hand to lift her skirt and dip into a low curtsey for Cenlia, still keeping hold on Th'ero's arm as she stands upright again with a soft, "Duties," offered after Th'ero's introduction.

Nziekilth rumbles pleasantly to Kayeth and Velokraeth, appearing not to mind wherever the bronze decides to settle, Zeek herself more likely to end up snoozing than socializing in the end, with the warm sun shining down as it is. By the time the Fort weyrleaders arrive in the meeting chamber, Serri has departed and Cen is standing at one end of the great table, with more stacks of papers than she seems to know what to do with. Huffing out a breath, she shoves her hand back through her hair again, dislodging that hair tie completely and sending the sun-lightened strands every which way. She'll just gather them up again though, tucking them into a messy bun with bits sticking out at the back. "The shards do we need more cutlery for?" she grumbles under her breath, eyeing the topmost sheets with a nosewrinkle, though her expression improves considerably at that knock. Looking up, she offers Th'ero and Nyalle a lopsided grin and a head-bob, waving them over with an amiable, "Nah, perfect timing," her tone carrying a decidedly 'save me' undertone there, "Think anymore holders today an' somebody's gonna get a-" cutting herself off as the other weyrwoman curtseys - maaybe Cen is learning not to mention the shovel. Or maybe all of V'lad's elbowing is finally working. Either way, she offers instead, "Anyhow, Ista's duties, an' dun mind the lot of this," indicating the papers, "Just trying to find the schedules." Rummaging ensues briefly before she seems to have the pile she needs, moving over to a clear spot and plopping down in a chair with a more cheerful, "Have a seat, is good to see ya both. How's it looking over in Fort? Heard there was a lotta snow up thattaways, nothin' too bad I hope?" Drudges meanwhile have brought in chilled juices and wines, and some sliced fruit, though absent is the rum - someone must be trying very hard to keep Cen sober today. "Will be nice to get preparing fer something good again," her opinion on the tech-heavy mining operations currently underway outside of Ista probably left unsaid. Then again, that's what juniors are for, right?

Velokraeth will stretch out then comfortably with Kayeth on one side and Zeek on the other and after lavishing the fiery gold with more attention and likely engaging in some witty, sarcastic humour with both her and Zeek, he'll settle into a doze. Time to soak up as much of the Istan sun as possible! Th'ero will slip into a half-bow when Nyalle curtsies, both to save her the awkwardness of still having his arm through hers. When they both straighten, he will slip his arm free and then gesture for Nyalle to move ahead and pick a seat which he may pull out for her if he can reach in time. "Oh, well… in that case, thank you for seeing us?" he muses and he may have caught that undertone there. As well as the cut off threat. "Ahh. Problems with the holders?" Th'ero asks in a gentle and neutral tone, glancing sidelong to Nyalle as he does. Help him here? Once the Fortian Weyrwoman has settled herself, he'll take a seat at her side. "Seems winter isn't quite done with us yet," Th'ero supplies with a grimace, allowing Nyalle to fill in the details there. After all, SHE was in the Weyr at the time when everything was snowed in. The Weyrleader? Caught trapped outside. How embarrassing! "Preparing? How has Ista been fairing of late?" he asks. Those two go hand in hand, right? As the refreshments arrive, Th'ero will be the gentleman and serve Nyalle first (if she's interested) and then Cenlia before taking his own share.

Nyalle will wait for Th'ero to pull her chair out, as is proper, before she settles into it. "Oh dear, I'm sorry you're having trouble with the holders. Are they asking too much?" She glances at Th'ero, sitting with her back straight and smiling when he serves her. "Thank you," she murmurs. "The storm was one of the worst I'd ever seen, including those in High Reaches. Nearly a sevenday long blizzard, and we're still digging out and melting things away. Now all of Fort is a quagmire of mud, but the crops and forests should fare well. Good hunting, come summer time I'm sure, with all the food for the gameto eat."

"No more'n usual," Cenlia grins wryly, at the questions about the holders. "Them lot're always wantin' /something/ - if it ain't additional sweeps 'cause one of their fishermen swears he saw pirates or seasnakes the size of his boat, then it's somebody messin' up the tithes or forgetting to sign this or that form," eyes are cast ceilingward briefly, the weyrwoman settling back with a dismissive wave of her hand, "The usual, really. But there's only so many of 'em I can take inna day before I wanna have a go at one." There's a sympathetic look, then, for Th'ero and Nyalle, "Shells, worse'n Reaches? If Fort needs a hand with anything, we got surplus from last harvest an' more furs and blankets than we know what to do with," the offer made with genuine concern. Then again, a mere flurry probably seems like a blizzard to the tropical native. "Spent a turn or two up at Fort Hold back when I was little - can't say I miss the weather over there," Cen muses, "But there's some nice growing land, thereabouts." Of course, the former gardener would appreciate that. As for preparations, "Been awile since we had a good-sized gather here - was thinkin', with the weather up north bein' as it is, might be a good time to start up something folks could look forward to - get their minds off imaginary seasnakes and suspicious ships. Back before I impressed, Fort and Ista used to have this sorta tradition, get our best riders together an' see whose dragon had the bigest fire, that kinds thing. Tho' what with one thing an' another, nobody's got round to organizing one in turns. Was talkin' to some of the older riders here, an' with this turn looking like it'll be a good one fer both the crops and the tourists, figure it might be the right time to startup the weyrgames again." Though with the number of meetings, it's possible the Istans have been doing rather more than just thinking.

Th'ero snorts as he helps himself to some of the chilled wine and fruit before leaning back comfortably into his chair. He'll sit up straight but likely not as rigidly as Nyalle. "Seasnakes the size of boats? Sounds like the same folks-tales are spun in any fishing hold, I suppose. We used to hear of such "beasts" back in my home hold. In all seriousness though, the rest just sounds downright frustrating." he murmurs, giving Cenlia a sympathetic look and a sidelong one to Nyalle. The Weyrleader knows all about the headache of messed up tithes and deliveries. Dipping his head in thanks to Cenlia's offers, he will leave it to his Weyrwoman to agree to it or politely refuse. That's her forte, not his, unless the Istan Weyrwoman is going to surprise them all and shove some Wingrider transfer papers at him. Sipping at his wine, he'll listen closely and chuckle. "Our winters tend to vary. One Turn it can be mild, the other we, as Nyalle said, rival High Reaches. Don't blame you for not missing it though! I've been here in your 'spring' for a mere few minutes and I'm already dreading to return to the cold." Tilting his head, Th'ero will turn thoughtful as Cenlia goes on to explain further and now he does look a touch surprised, turning to catch Nyalle's gaze briefly as he leans forwards in his seat. This meeting just got interesting! "A Tradition? Weyr Games? That'd be… Well, it would certainly give folks something to talk about and look forwards too. I don't even think I've ever… heard of such things." But he also lived in the backwaters of the Emerald Isles. It's a wonder how much news of anything ever reached those shores beyond what was deemed "important" to the fishing cothold. "How does this work?"

Nyalle nods with an understanding smile. Yes. She knows. "Worse than High Reaches," she confirms, and she doesn't even flinch for the swearing. "We could use some more furs and blankets actually, but mostly because some of ours are being destroyed by the mud, and they'll only tolerate so many washings before falling apart. You don't need mud, do you?" It sounds like a joke, yet she's offering it with a straight face. "Very good for the skin, there are some Healers who use it for treatments. Something about the volcanic soil and the runoff from the snow melt." Thens she's listening curiously, perking up quite a bit. "I love traditions." Duh. "That sounds fantastic, I've never heard f them either."

Cenlia lifts a glass of something cold to sip as well, grinning a little at the thought of giant seasnakes, "We actually got poisonus 'snakes on some of the islands, but none I ever heard of bigger'n someone's arm, and even those're rare. More like some sailor got drunk and mistook a shipfish fer a beastie, or got into a panic over some floating log. But we send riders out to check anyway - the amount of stuff Ista Hold sends in tithe alone makes it worth keepin' the lot happy." Cen is, however slowly, learning the art of politics, and managing the holders seems to be something she's finally gaining some skill in. Though probably her weyrleader and his wing are more to blame for Ista's good fortunes than anything Cen has ever done. She suppresses a grimace for the description of Fort's winters, though it's probably lucky she isn't of a mind to re-assign riders anymore - because it's a good bet the /first/ thing she'd do if she got the chance is to ship that V'lad guy off to somewhere frozen. Then again, compared to Cenlia's ire, the man might actually consider it a vacation. "Will have Serri draw up inventory before ya leave," she does nod to Nyalle, "Wingleader B'ky is actually in the offices now, if'n ya want to discuss it with him - usually T'eo handles this sorta thing, but he's stuck out-weyr on business." And indeed, if the Fort senior wanted to escape- that is, draw up a suitable trade agreement, said transport wingleader is indeed in the offices, Nziekilth passing along the information to Kayeth if needed. "..Mud," does Cenlia actually look /thoughtful/ there? "Y'know, ain't into that kinda thing m'self, but.. buncha riders were jokin' the other day 'bout setting up a mid wrestling competition fer the games," and why is she eyeing Th'ero for a second there? Oh dear. Another nod, and Cen continues, "Was something Kessa and Ysa setup - was actually reminded of it by B'ky. He was a wingleader back in Fort, and used to help organize the things before he transferred over, fer his health am told. Stuffier'n a Lord Holder, but the man knows his business, will give him that."

"I'll agree with you on the drunkeness part. Half of what sailors spin I tend to take with a grain of salt. Or maybe he was grazed by one of them poisonous snakes and was going on a bit of a mental flip?" Th'ero drawls and then nods his head with a vague but understanding smile. Oh yes, no matter what grief the Holds come a'calling with… keep them happy. A lesson he had to learn. "Hopefully they won't swarm you with too many requests." he adds, only to look curious at the mention of B'ky and then T'eo's whereabouts, sheepish when he realizes he never inquired about the Istan Weyrleader. Bad, bad Th'ero! Now they're discussing… mud? He eyes Nyalle, frowning a little when the Weyrwoman seems so serious and yet leaves him wondering… Surely this is her joking? But it's too late, Cenlia is talking now of mud wrestling and eyeing him, which has him just staring right back before he clears his throat and drains a little more wine. "Well… it's true that mud wrestling tends to bring a lot of competitors and interest… Not so certain on the skin and health benefits." He's not a spa type of guy. At least, he'd not openly admit it! "Was he now?" Th'ero is all too happy to jump topics. "I'd not mind speaking with B'ky, if he's willing and available. Not that I don't doubt your expertise, Cenlia…" No offence?

Nyalle could sell Ice to the Reachians! That Cenlia actually seems to /want/ some of Fort's mud had never occurred to her. Clearly, the proper Senior needs some lessons in how to make a joke. But her lessons on how to make a /trade/ have clearly paid off in spades. Pushing to her feet, Nyalle looks to the door with a smile. "I believe I shall go do that, while you two talk more about the Weyr Games. I am very curious about them though." But trading /mud/ for furs…she has to go get this in writing. Like…Now. Or maybe she's fleeing the talk of mud wrestling. How…improper.

"Kinda figure sober sailors're as much a harper-tale as the giant seasnakes," Cenlia grins a bit, "Nah, the holders get too needy, an' I'll offer t' have Zeek herself pay 'em a visit." And her expression there is downright devious. If Ista's senior weyrwoman is a terror, her dragon is a downright /apocalypse/. "Is settled then," Cenlia nods to Th'ero though, "Will have a mud-wrestling event in the games," wait /what/? "Now just gotta get T'eo.." her unfocused look suggesting she might be leaning on Zeek a bit to pass the news along. This is probably why the Istan weyrleader is the one to handle diplomacy, really. As for B'ky, Cen waves a hand idly in the air, grin widening, "Nah, I leave all that trade stuff to them two - not my thing, really." She /probably/ wasn't serious about trading furs for mud, though then again, Cenlia does have quite the sense of humor. And the look on B'ky's face when he finds out the proposed trade deal might be worth it, really. Nodding to Nyalle, Cen says, "B'ky's in the office just off the records room - will have a rider show ya there," bobbing her head to the other senior, with more than a bit of a lopsided grin. At least this time, it was more than a minute before she managed to scare off the other woman? See, Cen's improving! V'lad would be SO proud.

Wait, what? Clearly Th'ero's not at the top of his game (har har) this day as he's caught off guard by Cenlia's agreement on the mud wrestling being an official event for the Games! "But…" he begins, only to relent and just chuckle, lifting his wine glass in a silent toast. Done is done! May as well just roll with it? "Mud wrestling it is. But these Games… they're for all ranks, I'll assume? Dragonriders, Crafters, weyrfolk?" Just when all seems to be going so well, Nyalle is excusing herself again and slipping away to find this B'ky. Hey! Th'ero frowns and then exhales softly. At least it wasn't mere seconds? Cenlia was behaving and so was he! One of these days, they'll keep the Fortian Weyrwoman from rushing off! Turning back to face the Istan Weyrwoman, Th'ero will clear his throat. "So for these Games, do you have any records you could lend to us? I'd really be interested in following you and the rest of your staff about the idea. Rekindle the old tradition." Why not? And Th'ero is a man who truly values traditions. Yet even as he speaks, he's draining the last of his wine and slowly getting to his feet and his eyes drift back to where Nyalle has run off. "… should probably go see…" he mutters, only to cough and look back to Cenlia. "Sorry. Don't mean to leave you so abruptly, but I best go find Nyalle." In case B'ky spooks her too? Maybe that thought crosses his mind while he smiles apologetically to the Weyrwoman. "You can be guaranteed though that Fort agrees to these Games, if you are to move ahead with them. Look forwards to discussing the matter further!" And now there is something for Fortian's to look forwards to after a long, snow-filled winter! Dipping his head low, he excuses himself again. "Clear skies, Cenlia. Until we meet again! Thank you for seeing us and know that you're always welcomed to visit Fort." When it's warmer! Smiling crookedly, Th'ero then turns and slips out of the chambers. Now… where, oh where did his Weyrwoman go?

Cen, too, raises her glass in toast. Mud wrestling indeed! Bwahaha. "Aye, was fer all ranks - had games fer weyrfolk an' crafters, and even some holderfolk showed. Can bet yer dragon Trolessi will send some Istan holders to compete - think the man's still sore after his prize runner fouled up in them races," grinning more widely now, "Will have Serri dig up the records too, think we even have the old plans for the formations we used in the mock Threadfall one. The way B'ky tells it, Fort was pretty unbeatable the last games," oh and is that the glint of a challenge in her eye there? "Good thing we got him over here now, though," she laughs, grinning almost cheekily, and waving Th'ero off with a, "Aye, will talk more later - think B'ky's prolly a better bet fer setting things down on paper - he's got more've a head fer dipplomacy'n I do." Translation: the old man isn't in the habit of terrorizing innocents. Ahem! "Clear skies," she calls after the Fortian weyrleader, raising her glass briefly, and then stealing a moment to down the rest of her drink before the next gaggle of holders shows up.


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