Elsie doesn't have a custom title currently.
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Joined: 27-February 18
Last Seen: Mar 12 2018, 11:13 AM
Local Time: Aug 14 2018, 03:54 PM
18 posts (0.1 per day)
( 5.64% of total forum posts )
Mar 5 2018, 07:52 AM
I'm very sorry to say that I will be leaving AC, and am writing this as an explanation as to why no more posts will be coming from me. I've had a wonderful time RPing with you all, and can sincerely say that I will miss this community. I want to thank you all for all the awesome threads - It's been really great.
With all the very best wishes for the site and everyone on it - Elsie.
Mar 1 2018, 10:39 AM
Just using this to test code out. Others can reply to it to test their own too, if they like!
Feb 27 2018, 03:35 AM
Set on the eve of the hatching.
It was late evening, and the electric lighting in the meeting hall had been dimmed to match the moonlit darkness outside. With the hour so late, the hall should have been near empty, with most of the compound’s occupants already abed, and yet there was a detectable thrum of anticipation in the air. The hall was busier than normal, and yet quiet, people collecting in small groups and talking amongst themselves in hushed but eager voices. All the signs suggested that the eggs currently on the Sands would hatch imminently, as early as the next day, and nothing on Pern would have kept that information from spreading. Nothing brought hope to a Weyr like a hatching, and there was nothing that this Weyr, such as it was, needed more than hope.
Not everyone, though, regarded the coming hatching with unbridled joy. Hunched beside, his great black canine sprawled at his feet and a tankard on the table in front of him, Avital rubbed his beard and paused in his writing, pen hovering above the page. It was not like him to be awake so late, and to tell the truth, he was tired - his body was getting old, it seemed - but he was just as restless as everyone else. Since he couldn’t sleep, he might as well work.
Avital’s fear was not so much that the eggs wouldn’t hatch - they showed every sign that they would, and the last batch had, after all - but that there’d be many deformities and abnormalities among them. Virtually all of the first hatchlings had had something or other wrong with them, and Avital considered it pure lucky chance that none of those malformations had been debilitating. All of the weyrlings’ dragons could fly, albeit some had taken rather longer than they should have to get the hang of it, but who was to say that the next batch would be so lucky? There was no reason, in Avital’s mind, that wingless dragon might not be born, or one that was blind, or mentally deficient in some way. And what then? There was hardly enough food for everyone as it was, without keeping useless dragons alive, but what was the alternative? Unthinkable, that’s what it was.
It was from these thoughts that Avital was trying to distract himself by working so late. Granted, he could have picked a more distracting task. He was presently engaged in looking over a copy of the procurement leger, a very dry document that detailed where the complex planned on getting the meat and fish necessary to feed the hatchlings, and annotating it with his own comments. The problem was that this task both reminded him of his concerns and was dreadfully tedious, so that his mind could wander on occasion. Only as he paused did he realise that it would probably strike most people as strange to see him there, when he usually kept to his room beyond the eleventh mark. He shifted slightly, then decided he didn’t care. He reached out for the tankard, only to frown when he realised it was empty.
Feb 27 2018, 03:33 AM
Cyrene and Blue Yahtoaandaleeth
To anyone looking from Star Island, Yahtoaandaleeth might have been mistaken for a bird, diving to the surf for fish. He was several miles out to sea and riderless, in he flew in slow looping arcs high above the sea, punctuated by repeated steep swoops. Whenever he reached the waves, a flash of white erupted from the deep ocean blue as the dragon's maw skimmed the surface and snatched at prey disturbed by the actions of some great predator in the deep. It was mid-morning on a rest day, and Andy was too restless to sleep in like his rider. While she dozed in bed, he had gone to revel in the simple pleasure of fresh air and free flying, and to fill his belly with seafood. But now Cyrene was washing and dressing, and Andy felt her call in some deep, subconscious part of himself. After rising high into the air once more, the dragon angled himself toward the call and began to fly to the tiny lump of rock called Star Island.
As soon as Cyrene was dressed in her customary vest top and shorts, she flung a wool coat around her shoulders and began to head out onto Star Island’s surface. The day was cool and, for the season, still, with only a light wind blowing off from the sea. From the external entrance to her room, she headed onto the rocky path that lead gradually down the island towards the pier, where the ferries that moved people and supplies between Star Island and Wherry Island presently wallowed at anchor. She only had to look up at the eastern horizon to see a shape, instantly recognisable to her even at a distance, flying at speed in her direction.
Drinking in the fresh air with pleasure, Cyrene settled herself on a rocky ledge beside the path, still a good distance from the pier, where she could watch both her dragon’s approach and the activities of the little fishing vessels in the area. Seeing them made her a touch wistful for the many days spent on similar, albeit more archaic vessels she’d had in her childhood, eight centuries ago. Mentally, she reached out to Yahtoaandaleeth, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see her from so far away. The dragon’s mind was a tumult of fast-moving images and sensations, flashing by far too quickly for Cyrene to make any sense of, but each oozing joy and delight nevertheless.
It took only a short time for the dragon to arrive. It seemed as though, for a while, he were nothing but a dark, elongated speck, then his shape and colour resolved more quickly from the bright blue of the sky, then there he was, in a rush of wind, looming before her. He looked feral, foreclaws and jaw stained with fish gore, belly speckled white with dried sea salt, but Cyrene beamed at him. He landed cleverly on the uneven rock and wrapped himself around his rider lovingly, filling her mind with thoughts of affection and joy just to be in her presence, and she wrapped her arms around her head despite the foul, fishy smell of his breath.
Their greeting complete, the blue dragon stretched himself out on the rock ledge beside the path to sunbathe, but he remained alert, his head raised to keep an eye out for potential playmates. Cyrene just lent against his belly. Together they watched the activity of the island and the surrounding sea, enjoying the pleasure of each other’s company.