Who A'ster, J'en, Marel, S'dny, S'ic, Thys (plus mentions of Rinxyth and Velokraeth!
What Rhenesath interrupts a perfectly good Hatching brunch.
When Summer-Autumn, Turn 2711
Where Feeding Grounds, Fort Weyr

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Fort Weyr - Feeding Grounds
Milling herdbeasts dot this lightly grassy section of the southern end of the bowl. Fences keep them neatly secured on all sides, even extending into the lake, allowing the beasts ample drinking water without granting them an escape. Dragons young and old come here to hunt on a fairly regular basis, though not all come at once of course. From here you can easily make out the entirety of the Weyr's lake as it spreads out south and southwest to the tumbled rubble of the far shore, while the rest of the bowl lies beyond the fences to the southeast, east and northeast.


OOC: Flight log continues from here...

Rhenesath is already in the pens by the time Thys gets there, blooding a herdbeast that's still flailing its legs, with a second one already discarded beside it. Thys holds onto the pen's barriers for support, eyes closed tightly in concentration as she controls her lifemate's feeding. Rhenesath cluck-croons at the males that have followed her; she flicks her tail at Velokraeth, and Rinxyth gets a wingtip along his brown side. She's encouraging in her thoughts, encouraging them to blood well, to chase hard, for she herself is finished with her fill and, with an almighty leap, she takes to the skies and powerfully wings her glowing brown-gold form upwards.

Leketh is here, yes. For there is interest in the pretty, pretty Rhenesath. Sure, it's his first time but maybe she'll be gentle? He circles the feeding grounds like a scavenger, whirling facets fixing in on the perfect prey. That one, that one right there! Spirling downward like one of those spinny tree things, he extends his talons and pounces. The poor herdbeast is crushed under his girth, releasing some sort of primal sound that perhaps even he doesn't recognize. Immediately teeth are sunk in, and J'en keeps him from eating. No eating. Only blood. Only the blood. The urge is strong though, to devour, to conquer. But luckily Rhenesath is off, and with a mightly leap of powerful haunches he is off and giving chase.

Here ostensibly for the hatching, Isyriath has since firmly rejected any action on the part of his rider to be gone from Fort and away again, her demands now weaker than the pull of the glow of Rhenesath's hide. The instant that the time is right, he drops from the rim of the bowl and down into the feeding pens, his dispatching of a first beast a motion that is quick and efficient - and without a great mess. He hunkers down over his kill to drain it, the turn of his caramel coloured form meant to shield it from others and afford him the opportunity to spare Rhenesath more of his attention. And so, to be all the more swiftly into the air after her. As for his rider? There's no sign of her yet.

Marzoth also beat Syd to the pens and is already making short work of some of the lovely heardbeasts that he finds in there. His mood is pensive and focused. He is totally in this to win. He says nothing but the sound of trees cracking in the wind can be heard in his mind as he makes short work of the food that will give him the energy to take flight. When the gold kicks off he kicks off too and spreads his great dark wings taking to the sky once more. Syd arrives just in time to see him kick off and makes his way to the fence to watch. It's all he can do. The womans behavior earlier makes perfect sense now.

Xtzaltuth proceeds, S'ic running towards the pin, the bronze rider from Monaco looking striken, "Don't ou dare…" he calls out looking a bit lost.

Akleteyth beat A'ster here, of course Akleteyth beat A'ster here — it's almost like he's the one with something actually invested in this, after all. The brownrider, divested of his canine companion and hard on the heels of the migrating crowd looks especially square-jawed for all the proceedings. The brown bloods, the brown — small, blocky, ridiculously short-coupled in the crowd, seems entirely, utterly confident that he has a chance. His blond lifemate? Looks a little pained. Pained and horny.

Thys opens her eyes just long enough to look around for A'ster, and she leaves her leaning post to use him as a substitute, leaning back against him with her eyes closed and her arms behind her, hands holding onto his hips. It's not the most comfortable of positions, but it'll have to do - because she's already immersed in her dragon's mind. And, for her part, Rhenesath is leading her entourage higher, and higher, out beyond Fort's caldera and over the forested land beyond. She calls back clucky encouragement to the males, beating her powerful wings to propel herself forward faster and making them work for it.

Mighty wingbeats carry Leketh's bulk aloft, but he keeps back from the rest of the males that zoom and zip past. No, he was taking his time and he was loving it. Every part of him throbbed and tingled, pulling his J'en into that wonderful sensation never before experienced that has his rider sending very heated golden eyes the way of Thys, whereever she might be. Can dragons whoop? Leketh sure does try as he banks left and catches a thermal that carries him higher and higher. It was all about energy conservation, stamina, skill and calculation. THE MATHS. Yes, the maths would certainly bring him a win. The bronze's pale hide shines like gold under the mid-day sun, perhaps another part of the equation this trickery, all part of the plan.

In the skies, Isyriath relies not on speed, nor on distracting any other males in the skies, but on grace. He does not allow any presence but Rhenesath's to distract him, weaving in and out of space made and left by others who pursue, but also chancing higher when some might drift lower, and lower when an individual or two darts for greater height. For the most part, he is a steady constant, not too flashy, nor content to be left behind by any. She is his focus. Not his goal, not to be possessed and subdued, but he wants her - to be with her - all the same. And so, on he flies. It turns out that, yes, Marel is still around and has not fled the scene, and when she slinks into the group of human suitors, her attention settles in a similar fashion. Thys. And only Thys.

Marzoth continues to keep his focus completely on the female. Regarding the other males only so far as he needs so not to bump into them. At least he isn't trying to knock his competition out of the sky yet right? Thank goodness for small favors. He beats his wings in a strong and steady beat doing his best to not stay too close but hanging back so that when the moment is right he can swoop in and claim his prize. Oh yes! She will be mine! Syd can only stay put as he sees and feels all that Marzoth sees and feels. He sends a few glances over to the gold rider, but that is the only move he makes toward her for the present.

Oh, shit, we're in the air. We're in the air, we're in the air, Akleteyth is in the air, those stumpy verdigris-laced wings pump pump pumping away. He is — not the most skilled flier, sure, nor the most graceful, but goddamn he is determined. What his wings lack in with and lift, he makes up for in sheer musculature and determination. Flappitaflappita.

Rhenesath has led the boys on a merry, if straight and untwisting, chase, and she's already showing signs of tiring. Her golden hide shines more brightly than ever, and, with a final croon of encouragement over her should to brown and bronze alike, she slows. It's deliberate. She wants to mate. It'll just be a matter now of who gets there fastest… the early bird catches the gold, right?

Leketh seeks another thermal, unsuccessfully at first but then, there it is. More height, more distance until finally yes…it is she! Rhenesath. Another few wingbeats, one, two, three, and off to the side to take him well out of the way of Marzoth and Isyrath. He adds a very cool spinning action as he folds his wings against his body and freefalls and then catches a third thermal. Which he was not expecting. He overcorrects and almost slams right into Akleteyth but he's folding those wings again and drops out at the last possible second. « Sorry about that buddy! No hard feelings right? » All sticky hot swollen pulses of blue and red intermixing, held barely in check by silky silvery threads. Facets back on the prize, now was the time, the time to use up all that glorious energy reserves! He goes, quite literally, for the gold.

Isyriath has been in the middle of the pack for much of the time and has not seemed to noticeably tire, perhaps because he has not risked his energy on a fast and technically flamboyant pursuit. Still, now something urges him to try to push past any wings before him and surge forward in what is not a last-ditch attempt to reach Rhenesath, but a calculated effort to get close enough to her that he might twine neck or tail, or both, or that she might make the decision and capture him instead. He swerves as he moves, intent on blocking others from following after, though it may all be in vain. Maybe Marel, with her pale features, bruises and all, would like that. Then, given how heatedly she stares at Thys, maybe not.

Xtzaltuth arches thougth the air folling Renesath ther her merry flight. His ride below lokoing up in horror as the bronze dive in in and attenpt to tangle her wtih his forclaws and tial

Marzoth can sense that this is the moment. The moment to ensnare this Fortian Gold. He pulls his wings in tight to his body to send himself hurtling through the air as fast as he can. Hopefully he won't bump into any of the other suitors but at this point he could care less. Victory is in sight and he wants to win badly. Course he always wants to win. When he feels he is in range he will reach out with his claws to try to grab her as he barrels by. Syd is very much the hitch hiker here and just waits to see the outcome.

Akleteyth is going to be flagging soon — honestly, were this a goldflight with spectacular acrobatics, or one in for the long haul, he'd probably have dropped to the back of the pack by now. He's got a second wind, though, those stubby wings pumping and his rudder-tail steering, alert for a zig or a zag of the brassy broodhen that he can take advantage of. Let Rhen see what this half of the dynamic A&A duo can do.

Thys starts moving towards the ground weyrs. She's reluctant to let go of A'ster, but… well, who knows who she'll end up in there with? Let the pack follow as they will.

All good things must come to an end - and just like all good things, Rhenesath is spent. She dodges the attempts of Rinxyth and Velokraeth to catch her, is overshot by Leketh's eagerness, and beats her wings to power her forward in one last effort. A pair of bronzes collide in their efforts to capture her, knocking themselves from the running, and Rhenesath dips a little to look out for them as they retreat. Her dipping puts her out of Isyriath's way, Xtzaltuth and Marzoth alike miss their mark… and then… Akleteyth. She twines her neck and tail with her catcher, spreading her wings wide to control their fall - because let's face it, he probably doesn't have the brakes to slow their descent.

S'ic closes his eyes tight and curses, as he bronze above bugles in frustrations and arcs away across the sky. The forgien bronzer turns and moves away slowly.

Perhaps its youth, inexperience or just too much of the maths, but as Leketh goes to make for Renesath he clearly and completely misses. Yes, those are empty claws there and the spectaularly amazing beast from Half Moon Bay lets out a roar of outrage. Why? WHY? WHHHHHHHHY? Just like that he backwings away and flutters to the ground, leaving J'en with all the lust and no outlet for it. "Fuckin' figures. I dun need this shit…seriously." The teenager growls, now completely ignoring Thys as he matches off towards the living cavern for booze and booty. Mostly the booty. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

Thys stumbles just before she makes it to the ground weyrs - Rhenesath is caught, and… "Ali?!" That's shock. They can talk about it later. She doesn't even wait for him before she bolts inside, knowing he'll follow.

It seems that Marzoth has missed his mark. The dark bronze fumes and finally speaks up, « I lost…to that!» he says indicating the winner. It seems that was the worst bruise of ego that could happen. He shoots off in a direction opposite the other dragons. Syd, the spell having been broken, will quietly leave to collect Marzoth and return home to Monaco to try to do some damage control before his bronze does anything that Syd will regret later.

Marel's feet move not entirely of her own volition. Still, she lets them carry her on, away, somewhere, even if she doesn't know where to go or who to find. There's too little Marel left by now, and too much Isyriath for her to be anything but completely in thrall, the pupils of her icy-green eyes leaving only the faintest ring of that green to be seen, her gaze glassy. Hopefully, Isyriath will find her before she gets too lost or does anything stupid, and gets her back to Cold Stone Hold without mishap. But then, maybe he won't.

Akleteyth's a one night stand kinda guy, but oh, boy, he's gonna have to stick around for this one. A'ster will make sure he does, if nothing else. A'ster, whose face has gone a little bloodless, and who has a firm hold on Thys and he, too, bolts for safety.


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