Post by **Auria (etc)** on Sept 8, 2008 8:20:45 GMT -5
A dark form appeared at the valley entrance to the Weyr, black folds of billowing cloth that appeared to glide over the ground as if blown in by a desert wind. Shadows inside the cowl hood revealed two glinting points of light within the deep black pools that were his eyes, as Baryn paused, surveying the path ahead.
A hand with four fingers and one deep, ugly scar reached up to lift the folds of his desert cowl, as he searched skyward. The colored patches of movement in the air caused his heart to beat faster. He'd seen them, more and more, as he'd approached the Weyr Island -- dragons. So the rumors that had spread across the continent were true, after all. When they'd first reached him in the far west, he'd doubted their validity. But there, glinting, gleaming proof as dragons and their riders played with the wind, the sunlight splashing off their hides. He tried to pick out the bronzes, but having never seen a dragon up close, he really had no idea what he was looking for. He only knew those were the dragons that yielded the most male power ... and one would be his.
Baryn grunted softly as he resumed his pace, staying close to the edge of the Bowl unless outcroppings gave him shelter. Sandalled feet beneath his robes made no sound on the bowl floor. As he drew closer to the gaping maw that marked the lower cavern entrances, where he'd seen humans wandering in and out, he pulled the hood forward around his face to hide his greatest disfigurement.
The activity here disturbed him. The energy of all these people was unsettling, foreign to him. He'd stayed in dark caverns and along the desert ways for so long, that he had to fight down a growing fear of discovery as he made his way forward. Yet the things he'd heard about these dragonriders ... that they were all cheats, liars, thieves and worse themselves ... eased his fears a bit. It was unlikely that they, criminals at heart (for that is what was spoken across the south of Pern), would betray him to the authorities, after all.
Besides ... once he had managed to acquire a dragon ... he patted the heavy pouch affixed to his waist ... he wouldn't be staying long. He'd be heading out, silent in the night, to revisit some old....
... friends.
Almond eyes flashed under the desert hood, and a full, handsome mouth smiled ruefully. Yes, a bronze dragon would be a formidable companion. And he'd accumulated enough gold, he was sure, to lay out a sizable downpayment. For he'd been told, among the people of the underground, that bribery was the best way to be allowed to stand for a hatching.
Baryn hesitated outside the cavern doors. Sounds of clattering dishes, smells of food (he scowled as his stomach growled, showing the human weakness that he detested), sounds of talk and laughter came from within. The sun had barely risen over the edge of the Bowl, and yet it sounded as if quite a few of the folk of this place were already up and about. He sighed silently, his features darkening beneath the shadow mask. He'd have to put up with them for a little while, anyway. He wondered how old dragons had to be before they could fly. Glancing to the skies, he resisted the urge to duck into the shadows as a green dragon flew over, high above.
Well, nothing else for it now but to make contact. He exhaled, and robed himself in a disguise ... for he strode forward into the Cavern entrance with apparent boldness, rather than slinking through hidden ways as was his instinct. Unfortunately, in order to initiate his plans, he would have to speak to someone ... preferably someone who could guide him to the leadership of this place.
Baryn stopped just inside the entrance to the dining hall, and looked around. There were various people milling about, and it surprised him that he even spotted a very young dragon or two meandering at the side of its new rider. So there had just been a hatching. He frowned deeply ... this was not good, how often did such things occur, anyway? He'd hoped to be in and out of this place swiftly.
Unsure of how to tell rank and status, Baryn did not know who to approach, and was not about to call out and draw too much attention to himself.
So he stood, quietly, waiting for someone to wander close enough that he could catch their discrete attention.
A hand with four fingers and one deep, ugly scar reached up to lift the folds of his desert cowl, as he searched skyward. The colored patches of movement in the air caused his heart to beat faster. He'd seen them, more and more, as he'd approached the Weyr Island -- dragons. So the rumors that had spread across the continent were true, after all. When they'd first reached him in the far west, he'd doubted their validity. But there, glinting, gleaming proof as dragons and their riders played with the wind, the sunlight splashing off their hides. He tried to pick out the bronzes, but having never seen a dragon up close, he really had no idea what he was looking for. He only knew those were the dragons that yielded the most male power ... and one would be his.
Baryn grunted softly as he resumed his pace, staying close to the edge of the Bowl unless outcroppings gave him shelter. Sandalled feet beneath his robes made no sound on the bowl floor. As he drew closer to the gaping maw that marked the lower cavern entrances, where he'd seen humans wandering in and out, he pulled the hood forward around his face to hide his greatest disfigurement.
The activity here disturbed him. The energy of all these people was unsettling, foreign to him. He'd stayed in dark caverns and along the desert ways for so long, that he had to fight down a growing fear of discovery as he made his way forward. Yet the things he'd heard about these dragonriders ... that they were all cheats, liars, thieves and worse themselves ... eased his fears a bit. It was unlikely that they, criminals at heart (for that is what was spoken across the south of Pern), would betray him to the authorities, after all.
Besides ... once he had managed to acquire a dragon ... he patted the heavy pouch affixed to his waist ... he wouldn't be staying long. He'd be heading out, silent in the night, to revisit some old....
... friends.
Almond eyes flashed under the desert hood, and a full, handsome mouth smiled ruefully. Yes, a bronze dragon would be a formidable companion. And he'd accumulated enough gold, he was sure, to lay out a sizable downpayment. For he'd been told, among the people of the underground, that bribery was the best way to be allowed to stand for a hatching.
Baryn hesitated outside the cavern doors. Sounds of clattering dishes, smells of food (he scowled as his stomach growled, showing the human weakness that he detested), sounds of talk and laughter came from within. The sun had barely risen over the edge of the Bowl, and yet it sounded as if quite a few of the folk of this place were already up and about. He sighed silently, his features darkening beneath the shadow mask. He'd have to put up with them for a little while, anyway. He wondered how old dragons had to be before they could fly. Glancing to the skies, he resisted the urge to duck into the shadows as a green dragon flew over, high above.
Well, nothing else for it now but to make contact. He exhaled, and robed himself in a disguise ... for he strode forward into the Cavern entrance with apparent boldness, rather than slinking through hidden ways as was his instinct. Unfortunately, in order to initiate his plans, he would have to speak to someone ... preferably someone who could guide him to the leadership of this place.
Baryn stopped just inside the entrance to the dining hall, and looked around. There were various people milling about, and it surprised him that he even spotted a very young dragon or two meandering at the side of its new rider. So there had just been a hatching. He frowned deeply ... this was not good, how often did such things occur, anyway? He'd hoped to be in and out of this place swiftly.
Unsure of how to tell rank and status, Baryn did not know who to approach, and was not about to call out and draw too much attention to himself.
So he stood, quietly, waiting for someone to wander close enough that he could catch their discrete attention.