Who Aignes, F'inn, K'zre, AWLM Sam (NPC), Th'ero
What Manned Flights for the Weyrlings.
When Autumn - Month 9 of Turn 2718
Where Training Complex, Fort Weyr

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Fort Weyr - Training Complex
The remnants of a historic collapse are apparent here, as the slope face of the bowl has a predominant downward curvature. It's likely long ago, that a cavern larger than any Fort currently has was where the training complex currently is. A probable cave in triggered a fissure on the bowl wall which lead to a great chunk of it dislodging, thus creating the rounded slope.

Yet, many centuries later, all that remains to give evidence is the pocket made into the bowl wall. It seems that the inhabitants of Fort Weyr have made best of the created space. Rock on the ground proper has long since cleared, but pebbles and loose shale are constantly underfoot. Still, the sprig of some green leafed vegetation isn't too out of the ordinary in these parts, as long as it doesn't get trampled by the comings and goings.

It's clear that this area has been designated for the training of young minds, whether human or dragon. Surrounded by rock on all side, it's like a personal weyr bowl for the youngsters to minimize distraction and danger. The candidate barracks have been built across from the Weyrling barracks, so that one group can educate the next. Finally, placed in the centre of the two entrances of the opposing barracks, near the rock face, is a statue with a memorial plaque.


Manned flights. An exciting time for any young weyrling. At least until one finds out that they are up entirely to early to get their straps inspected. The morning finds them not greeted by M'icha, but rather Sam her lifemate brown Taereth. Contrary to the name, Sam is not a S'am, but rather a very tall, very broad shouldered, Sam of the female persuasion. She is massive. A woman on a scale that make most rethink their physical training regime (And has the muscle and skill to make them cry if not) (Sam) In short, she is the sort of woman who breaks bold men over her knee and uses their bones to pick her teeth.

….. And she is not smiling.

….. Not even a little bit.

She is, however, glowering as she goes over F'inn's straps inch by inch, eyes that are perpetually angry with the world, narrowed as she tests each joint with a sharp tug of muscular arms. "If it breaks, weyrling," she notes in dry tones. "You'll be doing pushups until your arms fall off then remaking them. Clear?"

F'inn, who was the lucky, lucky ducky who got get inspected first gives a quick nod of his head, his mouth opening and closing a few times before manages to get out. "Yes, ma'am, I understand." Now, normally? He's pretty confident about his strap making, but given the size of those biceps? Well.. All bets are off. For his part, Nymionth is watching curiously, not sure whether to be worried or amused.

Yasminath really wants to fly. She really, really, really wants to fly. She really, really wants to fly WITH K'zre. Kez? Really, really wants an excuse not to go /near/ that woman currently scrutinizing F'inn's straps. Because while he was feeling pretty darn confident about his own just last night? Now he's not so sure… But he's here (For moral support, maybe!), but definitely hanging back and nursing a hastily rescued mug of Klah, and doing his best to look as Healer-Neutral as possible. Stoic face, check. Pile of straps, check. Sweaty palms? (check…)

For as much time as Aignes has spent agonizing about the stitches on her straps, it probably isn't surprising that she's one of the first to get straps that are Weyrlingmaster Approved (TM). She's taken her spot with her lifemate and the other hopefully soon to be airborne weyrlings and is busy taking some deep breaths. "It'll be alright, Kez." Was that to Kez or herself? It's hard to tell. Czarduinath on the other hand looks she belongs here. Is it just coincidence that she happened to find the largest sunbeam to stand in as a substitute for limelight with her wings constantly just slightly a flutter to help catch the special glint.

"Don't think I don't see you," Sam snaps at K'zre without even looking up. "Or the fact that you seem to think that THIS IS TIME FOR DRINKING KLAH!" The words are bellowed as she gives F'inn's straps a hard enough tug that it is a wonder the leather is not rendered unto dust. "Get. Your. Straps. OFF THE /GROUND/, Weyrling and get in line. And the next time I see a cup in anyone's hands when there is a lesson about to begin? You'll be wearing the contents. Clear?" Kids today, lazy, self-absorbed monsters, all of them.

Fortunately for the dragons, Taereth is about as mellow as Sam is not, the considerably older brown content to lounge nearby and watch the tort- er training- take place.

It's Aignes' piping up that has Sam's head turning with horror movie slowness, on pale blond brow arching up until it nearly reaches her neatly shorn, and equally blond, scalp. "Will it now? Well, we'll just have to see about /that/." In the wake of the words, she jerks F'inn's straps hard enough that the leather creaks in protest and F'inn winces. Fortunately, though, Sam tosses them aside, giving him a stern look before noting. "Put them on and go out to the field with Nymionth. Do NOT even think about mounting until told to do so. You," she adds as one massive arm (Seriously, it's nearly twice the size of Aignes' thighs combined.) swings out to point at K'zre. "Come here." And woe unto he who comes with a cup in hand.

Once upon a time, K'zre was a journeyman Healer (he still is, but sshhh, details). And he could command the entire infirmary and send apprentices running for cover with a look. But now? Now he's trying very, very hard to look studious and not scared. While Aignes gets a glance and a murmured, "I know," in answer to that assurance that things will be alright, he wisely keeps his mouth shut when Sam turns her attention to him. And his Klah. Brown eyes drop to the delicious, delicious brown liquid within the confines of that mug, then back up to brownrider, then to F'inn, then to Sam again… What is the right response here? Kez doesn't know! Thankfully, she tells him. And if Kez learned anything as an apprentice, it was to just obey now and think later. So the mug gets stashed (not thrown, but definitely put out of the way), straps get yanked up and he springs forward with the sort of haste that would have Yasminath tripping over her feet. At least his straps are the pinnacle of organization? Clean and oiled, neatly coiled around themselves so that they are not a tripping hazard or liable to get tangled. Still, he's going to shoot another look to F'inn that is either a cry for help or a 'run for your life' sort of look, and then he's just… doing as told. Standing. With straps. Waiting.

Yasminath? Not moving. Not fluttering. Might even be chewing on her lower lip if she had one to chew on. She's looking every bit as nervous as K'zre feels, hunkering down to try and look as small as possible. Just a tiny green pebble, nothing to see here!

While Sam's fury might not be directed at Aignes' klahless hands, she turns even whiter under the proximity to the fury. But she will also wisely keep her mouth shut now and snaps up to attention. She can just stand her like a statue, right? Czarduinath has been watching the torture assistant weyrlingmaster's 'teaching' for a few moments now and while she doesn't give out a sigh, she does give an irritated little snap of her wings before turning her sparkles and ribbons towards Taereth with a voice as honey sweet as she can make. « Tae-reeeee-eth! Do you think we could possible get in the air soon? I've been practicing for this EVERY day! » Or mostly every day. She might be selectively forgetting the days she's tried to squeeze out of practicing.

F'inn can't help you, bro! And from the deer in headlights look on his face? He's entirely aware of that fact. He does, however, mimic a quick salute from behind Sam's back. It's an almost frantic gesture, but sadly, it comes to late…..

Staring at K'zre, Sam's head tilts to the side, a smile that one might expect from ogre, tracing over her lips. "You're taking me on picnic, maybe? Or maybe you've just LOST YOUR MIND? Salute, /Weyrling/." As the words are bellowed, she rounds on F'inn (who is just about to throw the straps on Nymionth. ) "And you? You can give orders when your a wingleader. For now? You can push til /my/ arms get tired." In the wake of the words, one massive hamhand points at the ground. "GETDOWN."

The /moment/ that F'inn drops and starts pushing, Sam grunts, a grimace of annoyance cleanly etched in her face as she reaches out and snatches the straps from K'zre's hand. "You can get down and push as well. /Now/." She doesn't bother to look to see if she's obeyed. Sam KNOWS she'll be obeyed. Instead, her attention turns to twisting that leather through her hands, tugging at the joints with a ferocity that assures that very few men are gonna risk getting to close to her anytime soon. K'zre, however, is saved by Czarduinath, of all things, however. The moment that the green speaks to Taereth, Sam's head turns toward Aignes, her expression turning shockingly, and no doubting horrifyingly pleased. "What's that princess? We're going fast enough for you?" As she speaks, her long legged stride carries her around K'zre (Who better be beating his face against the ground) and directly into Aignes' personal space. Course, she's tested those straps and tosses them at K'zre without so much as a glance over her shoulder. "Both of you, up. Get those dragons in strapped up." In the wake of the words, her voice goes eerily sweet, one massive hand held out toward Aignes. "Straps, princess."

Aignes is innocent! She was just standing at attention, with her precisely stitched straps at the ready. It was Czarduinath who couldn't keep her mouth shut and she also doesn't seem to be too phased by all Sam's yelling. There's more exciting things to focus on like FLYING WITH HER WEYRLING instead of sheer and utter terror from a woman that could totally consume Aignes for breakfast and still have room for second breakfast. The dainty little green trills as they're targetted and helpfully nudges her weyrling towards the towering weyrlingmaster. A hasty salute is made as her feet start moving forward and the stumbling stops a pace in front of Sam. "Ma'am." Said straps are presented, as requested.

Nope. No salute. Because Kez? He kinda fails at being a weyrling. At least his voice is gone, so there is zero chance that he can say the wrong thing anytime soon. A stricken look passes over his face as his straps are taken and he's ordered to the ground as well. At least he's been keeping up with the PT, and is in relatively good shape (great shape, actually >.>) and able to get right down to those push-ups. It's Yasminath that is having troubles here, hunkering down in her spot and shooting sharp little looks back and forth between Nymionth and K'zre. And then Czarduinath, for calling the wrath of the ogre down upon her. Her tail curls around her little green body, wings clamped down as she just… hunches there. Boulder-impression is going strong. The moment those straps are tossed to the ground and he's 'released' from his punishment, he's on his feet, snatching them in hand, and racing for Yas. Not to throw them on her, but to throw his arms around her face and run tender fingers along moon-kissed eyeridges to soothe her fragile mind. A bit of attention dished out, and she's accepting his assurances that everything is fine and letting him get to work putting those straps on. Aignes? Poor Aignes. You're totes on your own.

Like a shark, Sam smells blood in the water. And that eerie smile on her face? It remains as she takes the straps and twists them in her hands while circling her prey… er… Aignes. "You might want to have a nice long talk with your lifemate about keeping her comments to herself, weyrling." From behind Aignes, leather releases an agonized groan as the straps are twisted in Sam's hands and give a brutal tug. "You can do that first thing tomorrow morning while the two of you move the kitchen's midden heap from end of the bowl to the other."

From Nymionth's side, F'inn winces visibly, that is a punishment he's had to do himself. It took /days/ to get the stink off his skin. He is, however, making a point to keep his gaze on the task at hand, not so much as daring to risk a glance toward Aignes and Czarduinath. « Silence is really the only acceptable course of action, » Taereth advises Czarduinath. « It can and will get worse, if not. » And really? He's fine, either way.

Sam pointedly ignores her lifemate's advice. Or, at least, she offers no reaction to it. Instead, she pushes the straps back at Aignes and gives a sharp nod of her head toward Czarduinath. "Get them on her. WHEN," she bellows as she steps away so she can see all of the weyrlings and their lifemates. "You get your straps on, line up on the field with your dragons. You will keep ONE FULL Dragon length between you and the other weyrlings at all times. IS THAT CLEAR?"

Yasminath? Not happy! Not at all happy. Looking like she'd rather go hide beneath the blankets in the barracks than keep going with the lesson. But at least she's not pulling the Wrath of the Weyrlingmaster down upon herself and K'zre, keeping her thoughts between them and her wiggling to non-existent. Poor Czarduinath. Or, rather, poor Aignes! Kez would definitely offer at least an empathetic look if she wasn't worried he might make things worse. Careful fingers make quick work of snaps and buckles, and soon enough both Yasminath and K'zre are in their spot in line, carefully keeping that requisite one dragon length between themselves and the others (or maybe even more than a dragonlength, just to be safe…) and awaiting further instructions.

Aignes shoots a glare at her overly eager lifemate. All that glaring at F'inn's sleeve crumb licking during candidacy is coming in handy. Czarduinath at least keeps her mouth shut although she shifts and flutters slightly in place. The ranting about the injustice will come later, if the dainty little green can remember. Aignes will quickly take the straps back and also flee to her lifemate. Putting them on is definitely not hurried! There's the whole hand shaking thing that has to get over first and then she checks, double checks and triple checks her straps and all the assorted buckles. She might be the last in line, but they're there. And keeping at least a full grown bronze length between the closest other weyrling.

What's this shadow that drifts in on the sidelines just as Sam orders the Weyrlings to line up? None other than the Weyrleader! Nothing really to see here… just a lot of added pressure not to make a complete blunder of things! Th'ero doesn't usually choose to observe during first lessons and yet here he is. His expression is unreadable as ever, held in stoic mask where he stands at a distance. Greying hair is tied back and while age has begun to show in the lines of his features, he still cuts an imposing figure dressed as he is in somber coloured gear. Arms crossed over his chest, he is content to say nothing unless he's addressed. And if he's noticed? Just the barest of nods in greeting. Don't mind him~

Sam has the empathy of a mountain troll. She niether knows, nor cares that anyone might be upset. This is not happy, fun, coddle the babies time. Not that she would /ever/ coddle anyone. Sam is, however, aware of /every/ living soul that enters her domain. And make no mistake, at the moment, /this/ is her domain. Besides, it is only J'aime, the rose gold haired rider of Bronze Lannisteth, that makes her heart go pitter-patt. Instead, Sam's attention remains on the weyrlings, her arms folding over her very impressive bosom as she marches slowly down the line. Rest /assured/ she -is- measuring their distance from one another with a sharply critical eye. "When I give you the command, you will mount your dragons," she intones as she comes to a halt before F'inn. For a long moment, she regards him with a baleful stare before moving on to pin K'zre with her gaze. "You will NOT move from the spot you are in until told to do so. WHEN," she bellows as she makes her way to stand before Aignes. "You given the command to fly, you will take off together. You will take NO MORE then three flaps and you will /land/. Assuming," she adds with a pointed look at K'zre and Yasminath. "You can do that without hurting yourselves, or your dragons tripping over themselves. You will wait for the command to return to me here." In the wake of the words, she draws back a few steps her arms unfolding from her chest to brace on equally broad hips. "Mount up!"

Yasminath is definitely not the tough-love type, more liable to wilt under that glare than rise to the challenge. Kez? Definitely keeping tabs on his beloved green and has deemed her to be 'OK' enough to continue. Rest assured, if he felt that Yasminath was about to break, he'd take any punishment offered to keep her from emotional harm. There's none of that stubborn determination in his expression, however. It's not called for in this moment. And so, it's just that attempt at healer-neutral once again as he watches Sam pass down the line. A subtle nod of his head comes in acknowledgement for the words spoken. And while Kez *might* know that Th'ero is lurking in the shadows (or broad daylight, whichever really), he's not going to go looking at him. Yas? Yasminath will definitely do the looking for him; nose pointed toward the Weyrleader in brief and fleeting curiosity before she's turning her attention back to the task at hand. A deep breath, and Kez turns to haul himself up the straps and swing his leg over Yasminath's neck once the command has been given.

Now that things are actually moving, Czarduinath is perfectly content, eager, but content! She bounces in her spot, at least until Aignes places a hand on her foreleg and mutters a few words. Still. The bubbly green can totally do still. Probably. Especially when there's the whole MOUNT UP command given and Aignes is scrambling up. It's not much of a scramble with Czardi being so tiny and so up she goes.
Once the weyrlings are mounted, Sam strides down the line, checking straps one at a time and making adjustments where necessary. As she moves, Taereth mimics her actions on the opposite side of the dragons. Where Sam is cold and stern, the brown is considerably more reassuring. « No more then three flaps,» He advises. « No acrobatics. It is not a race. Straight flight and land. You will need complete five successful turns before you can move on.» As Sam withdraws, Taereth does so as well. "Keep your lifemates under control," she instructs as she moves back a few more strides. "Maintain your distance from one another at all times. When you land, reform one dragon length apart and wait for my signal to return. You must complete five successful take offs and landings before you can move on to short flights. If," She adds in equally stern tones. "You lifemate experiences any discomfort or pain you will stop, immediately." Once both she and Taereth are far enough back, she raises on hand and calls. "Go!"

K'zre is ready for this. Yasminath is solid as a rock beneath him (still doing that whole boulder-impression, even if it's less than believable with a weyrling on her neck), listening to Taereth as he issues the same directives that Sam gave to Kez. She's nervous, no doubt! Tail twitch-twitching just a little, paws kneading ever so slightly at the ground, while Kez soothes a hand down her neck in effort to reassure her. Another nod is given, though it's unlikely to be seen from that distance. Five successful take offs and landings? Considering Yas still trips over her feet and has some near-misses… they might be doing this a while before moving on to short flights. But at the 'Go!', there is no hesitation in Yasminath. She launches herself forward, wings spread for that first all-important sweep to send her from the ground and into the air. Two. Three… and then she's gliding down to a landing that is *almost* textbook (there's a tiny bobble, but nothing serious!). And then she just can't help herself! The pride at having completed her first flight with her weyrling aboard spills out into a bugle of accomplishment.

The Weyrlings are permitted to rest between each rotation, Taereth making sure to check in with the dragons and make sure there is no pain or discomfort on their end. When the exercise is completed, Sam has them dismount and remove their straps. "Be sure to check them /carefully/," she notes in stern tones. "Clean and oil your straps, as well as the dragons. Tomorrow one of the weyrlingstaff will be down to start five minute flights with you. These," she notes. "Will be in smaller groups, or individually done. It is your responsibility to make sure that your lifemate does not strain themselves. If there is /any/ pain or discomfort, for either of you, report it immediately. You can practice taking off and landing, in the meantime. /In/ moderation." That being said, she draws back a step before adding. "Dismissed."

See? No harm in the Weyrleader lurking to observe! Even when Yasminath spots him, Th'ero doesn't so much as move an inch. He's not here to disrupt the flow of the lesson. Any notes he's making are mentally kept to himself — not even Velokraeth will be privy to them. Perk of being bonded so damn long, he's all but a master of shielding important thoughts from the information-seeking bronze. As the Weyrlings begin their first foray into taming the skies, he'll remain long enough to witness each one at their attempt. Is he proud? Disappointed? Something in between? WHO KNOWS! Because just as quietly as he arrived, Th'ero is turning to leave — maybe his arrival was merely a pause and break between duties.


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