Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman 
azhct[M:-1490]
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Post by Azhdarchid on May 23, 2011 14:57:17 GMT -5
Firelight pulsed across Qosis' face, catching in his eyes and turning them bright green. He was having a look into the smithy while he waited; it was a murky, dangerous workplace and the only familiarity about it was the muscular men dominating the scene. Qosis had become so used to the undramatic and consistent light of the Weyr's glowbaskets that each sparking crash of a hammer and bloom of a fire made him blink reflexively. He had unwittingly worn a shirt dyed umber, with gold etchings, mimicking the fire. The belt of crimson cloth at his waist and rich brown pantlegs did not help.
But he did not edge away from the smithy entrance either. He would soon enough be immersed in cold light and dank shadows, and wanted to bask while he could. Even if he did not share the claustrophobia some traders experienced within stone walls, the lower caverns were no longer an easy journey. The destination today was particularly meaningful at least, if a man had his loyalties to Dalibor. The emptier rooms and halls in and around the creche needed traps changed and checked, tunnelsnake nests reported and new trap locations recommended. Children were especially vulnerable to the snakes, not because the small species about the Weyr found them of edible size, but because they were more likely to wander near in the first place.
Even in the barracks, Qosis had heard serpents rustling within the walls once or twice. How they got across the Bowl in the night without a watchwher discovering them was a question that left him uneasy. For today's task, he had been granted a snake stick with sharp tongs at the end, and a couple bags for the corpses which he had strung over his shoulders. If necessary, the stick tongs could dispatch a weakened snake when the sharp points at the end were squeezed around the throat. The stablehands that had equipped him had not passed along a knife, but the tongs were better when snakes could crawl up a man's arm backwards if needed just to get their fangs into him.
One other tool was sitting by his boot, utterly ignored by the trader but happy to assist nonetheless. She was an old miniature terrier that did not even rise to Qosis' knee. One of her eyes was bluish-white from a cataract, the other sharp and dark. She had been assigned every day from pup-hood to assist whoever was flushing out snakes, and required no special command to point out nests or chase down live serpents. The canine looked up at Qosis, her tongue pushed a half-inch out of her fuzzy jaws, quivering excitedly. Her tail wagged for a time, but when he continued to pay her no attention it stopped-- till she heard someone else coming with the clicking of a snake stick and the rustling of bags in accompaniment.
When the canine tumbled out to greet the approaching figure, Qosis turned briefly to confirm who it was and then pivoted toward the broad tunnel leading away from the smithy.
"Off we go."
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Post by claire on May 23, 2011 15:31:31 GMT -5
When he'd seen the day before that he was to be working in the all but derelict back passages where the tunnelsnakes nested, in preparation he had picked out shabbier clothes that he didn't mind getting torn or dirty. The boots had been chosen for equally practical purposes: coarse wherhide, thicker and tougher than the soft, worn leather pair he normally favoured. He'd also left off the sash and miscellaneous other accoutrements. As a result he was looking quite a bit scruffier than he was usually happy with...but better that than to ruin good clothes needlessly.
Rather than sling his own sack across his shoulders he had opted instead to tuck the end into his belt, enough left loose that it could be opened easily. The snake-stick was in hand; it twirled like a baton between nimble fingers as he ambled down the corridor toward the crafthalls, humming under his breath. They'd told him the candidate he was to be working with had already been and gone and would be waiting for him. When he heard the yipping of the terrier and saw the small white blur bouncing toward him at knee height, he figured he'd found them.
He leaned down to scratch the terrier absently behind the ears, and gave the other candidate a nod of greeting as he straightened, looking him over. Close to his own age, as best he could judge, but near a clear foot taller and built like a bull burdenbeast. Varan smiled blandly and inclined his head in acknowledgement at the curt not-really-a-greeting, unfazed. If he was going to waste time being intimidated just because someone was taller than him he'd never get anything else done. Half of the female candidates were his height or taller.
"So," he said amiably, still twirling the snake-stick in his left hand as he fell into step beside the taller candidate, lightness and swiftness of step compensating for the other's lengthier stride, "Work from the creche out, or the back tunnels in?"
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
azhct[M:-1490]
Totes.
Posts: 1,627
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Post by Azhdarchid on May 23, 2011 16:59:32 GMT -5
The older Candidate looked over as Varan stepped swift to keep up with him, gaze following one rotation of the other's stick before turning to the tunnel ahead.
"First we go as deep as we can, then we work our way back to the light," he answered. And where they walked now, it was very light. They had entered one of the creche galleries, and the Bowl wall was pitted above, admitting daylight. There was such a quantity of sun inhabiting the hall that glows did not need to be used at this hour, though the inactive baskets sat mounted on poles all around. At floor-level lay one sub-tunnel after another, most decorated with children's first attempts at drawing on slates or working with embroidery and clay. The subject of each work tended to be something outside the Weyr, like a Lord's primary holding or even trader wagons. Where children all over Pern dreamed of dragons, Weyrbrats tried to imagine everything but.
Qosis noticed the occasional two-toed scuff mark on the floor, an actual scratch in the stone-- otherwise it would have been polished away by the creche women. The white terrier sometimes ran behind him and the other Candidate, sometimes charged ahead, and occasionally peeked off down the side tunnels. But soon enough the entire party was forced to a stop as a train of what had to be nearly every Weyrbrat in Dalibor under the age of eight was paraded from one side of the gallery to the other. They were kept in line by a few grey-clad women, and one in harper blue. Qosis tipped his head deeply to them as they passed, the full motion of his respect hampered by his equipment.
Weyrbrats did not stop even for him. They saw bigger beasts on the regular. But some looked up, some smiled, and Qosis smiled back. "You're Varan," he said sharply as soon as they were walking again, though his eyes were on the route ahead again, and the smile was gone. "Somehow we've never been on chores together. Actually, I haven't noticed you before." He had spotted someone like Varan, but that person had been dressed almost to the quality of his own attire, albeit with a greater penchant for shiny accessories.
He hooked a couple spare glows off a pole at the end of the gallery, though the halls ahead were still lit for a ways. Qosis tied one basket to the ordinary belt underneath his cloth one, the sturdy leather failing to sag as the small apparatus rested against his leg. The other he passed to Varan. "Been here since the start of last Summer, and not once." Qosis finally addressed the other Candidate with his eyes. "Lot more people around now than then. You have an opinion on them, Varan-Who-I've-Never-Seen?"
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Post by claire on May 23, 2011 18:21:39 GMT -5
"Sounds reasonable," he agreed. It made perfect sense to do the deeper, darker corners of the tunnels early on when they were still alert, and and to then move on the progressively easier territory nearer to the main areas of the weyr as the shift wore on and they got tired. It would be stupid to get bitten just because they'd got careless at the wrong moment. Not that there was ever a right moment to get careless. It would be a sharp contrast to the way the the warming spring sunlight slanted into the creche, casting the whole place in a soft golden glow.
It looked like a nice enough place to grow up. His eyes skimmed idly over the childish paintings and drawings hanging on the walls as they passed them; a smile lit his face briefly at the sight of a crude but unmistakable representation of a caravan of traders' wagons. Home sweet home. Shards if it didn't seem a thousand miles away right now.
His attention was brought back to the here and now as they were forced to pause to allow the creche workers to herd a crowd of children through. He mimicked the older candidate's bow, though in a slightly more perfunctory fashion. Some of the children eyed them curiously in passing. He grinned back, and tipped a wink at one he recognised. Here was the next generation of candidates; strange to think Thread would be falling by the time any of them were old enough to Stand.
He glanced up sharply at the sound of his name, quirking an eyebrow. "Guilty," he responded dryly. He recognised the other candidate as well: though he couldn't match a name to the face, someone six and a half feet and near as wide across as some of the younger candidates were tall was difficult to miss in a crowd. He shrugged. "I work odd shifts." To say nothing of the fact that very little of his free time was actually spent in the barracks.
"Thanks," he said absently, taking the offered glowbasket. "I've been here since last spring." A swift grin flickered across his face. "What can I say. Apparently I keep a low profile." One-handed he tied the glow onto his belt beside where the sack hung. Another shrug at the question: "Plenty of opinions...some more positive than others. Mostly I think it's a good thing there's going to be a Hatching soon. Things are starting to get a little crowded in the barracks." His tone did not imply that he had a problem with this. And really, he was entirely in favour of it: it was easier to blend into the crowd when the crowd was larger.
The quality of the light changed as they headed out of the gallery and into the tunnels, leaving the sunlight behind. He tilted his head toward the other candidate, meeting his eyes. "And how do you feel about it?"
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
azhct[M:-1490]
Totes.
Posts: 1,627
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Post by Azhdarchid on May 24, 2011 14:36:21 GMT -5
"Too many women, too many children," Qosis offered promptly, regarding the other Candidate in turn when he felt eyes seeking his. "Dragons do choose poorly at times. They die when we start Betweening in lessons. I presume anyone that survives that is fit to fight Thread, save the women." He shook his head, stepping into the first creche storage room. The terrier led the way to the corner trap. There were plenty of different designs and methods; in this case, a wooden box open at either end and lined with a plant gum on the inside. Qosis tweezed the tongs of his snake-stick around the box latch and flipped it open.
Three green tunnelsnakes with dots of brown dancing down their backs squirmed in the natural glue, working their jaws open in response to the light and sending up a raucous three-part harmony of hisses. Qosis pinched the neck of the first one in his tongs and its movements became far less coordinated, glittering eyes bulging momentarily from their sockets before the translucent membranes rolled up over the greying facets. The trader slipped one of the bags from his shoulders and nudged open the glowbasket at his hip. Traces of glue trailed after the snake as he ripped it from the trap and dropped it into the bag.
The terrier only stayed long enough to see the trap opened, then pattered off to another room in well-regulated silence. She would only bark for a live, untrapped snake, and if it was small enough she could dispatch it herself. "It seems they take just about anyone here," Qosis said as he crushed the neck of the next snake. "Are you a crafter then? Keeping 'odd shifts.' Usually there's training to go with that. I've no Apprenticeship, but they keep me up at the infirmary sometimes."
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Post by claire on May 26, 2011 15:04:07 GMT -5
"Save the-" Varan repeated dubiously, before deciding that no, he wasn't touching that one with a ten foot pole. Instead he shrugged and replied; "There do seem to be more female than male candidates. But there are more female than male dragons, so I suppose that one works out well enough." With a hint of a wry half-smile he added ironically, "And I wouldn't worry about the children. As I understand it, they tend to grow out of it eventually." Well, physically anyway. To him it made perfect sense to have plenty of children with dragon potential hanging around the weyr. The next generation of riders had to come from somewhere, and better to Search them out now when the Searchdragons weren't needed to fight Thread.
He watched the disposal of the first trap with interest, and after a moment followed the terrier into the adjoining room to deal with the trap laid in there. "For better or for worse," he agreed dryly. He'd met some candidates he wouldn't have put in charge of a potted plant, never mind a dragon. Of course presumably they had some redeeming qualities or they wouldn't have been Searched. But sometimes you had to wonder...
See tunnelsnake, throttle tunnelsake, put tunnelsnake in the bag. It wasn't exactly difficult work, though there was a lot of potential for it to go wrong if one slipped up. He bagged the last of them and watched the terrier trot off down the corridor with a jaunty air that suggested she was rather enjoying herself. "Trader, actually," he said in response to the question. "Had a little training as a smith, but I was never formally apprenticed. You?"
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
azhct[M:-1490]
Totes.
Posts: 1,627
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Post by Azhdarchid on May 27, 2011 12:07:40 GMT -5
"Men can ride the female fighters," Qosis said, voice tuned to irritation at Varan's ignorance-- or dismissal --of the fact. He did not respond as vehemently, or at all, to the defense of children. He reset the empty trap and advanced to the next room. Varan's words bubbling clear across from the chamber beside him reminded Qosis of how easy sound carried in some stretches of the Weyr. In the creche it served to amplify the cries of children, so they would always keep in touch with their minders.
"The same, except the smith part," he answered. The next trap was full of dead snakes rather than live ones. Each was only a couple fingerlengths of purpled skin and bone, and could starve overnight. In this case there was apparently a wave of pioneer snakes, followed by others that sought to cannibalize the first. Twelve, thirteen of the crumpled husks. Qosis tossed them in the bag and they barely added to the weight.
To call his and Varan's experiences the same was something of a calculated mistake. For all he knew the other Candidate might be a Southerner-- though he had found such people were not entirely irredeemable --or a kin-traitor. It was a point that no trader followed the same path as another, even within one caravan. But Qosis preferred to lean back from the shared heritage these days. Better not to pick at it immediately and expose an infection of poor principle or brigand-like behavior.
He considered not elaborating on his origins-- Xirofel had quickly translated his words to the most egregious rumors that had sprang coast-to-coast in the North --but to do so seemed dishonest. "My people flew the purple-and-blue, with the silver whersport upon it. We branched to the West just before Dalibor chose me." After the first batch of rooms were cleared, Qosis motioned Varan toward their proper destination: the deep back tunnels where only glows offered salvation from rocky emptiness.
Unless you were a watchwher. Or a terrier. The little canine trotted well outside Qosis' blue halo of illumination, occasionally coming back to check on the Candidates but otherwise moving ahead to sniff for snakes the lights might scare away. A short bark announced her first kill of the day, and they were not even at the caverns yet. The hall narrowed till the walls were almost clinging to Qosis' shoulders when he passed, and the wisdom of Varan's attire was spoken to several times over as their passage alerted tiny plagues of falling dust.
Qosis did not mind the dirtying of his clothes though. He had many, many more than he would need once his customary garment became riding leathers and his decor was limited to anything that did not stick out so far as to catch Thread when the span of his own body failed to. "And how does a trader acquire training as a smith? You've been stuck in a rock before?" It might not be very nice to call Hold, Hall and Weyr by the title "rock," but given the winding in of the walls around them, the statement was on the verge of turning true!
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Post by claire on May 28, 2011 13:24:22 GMT -5
The scornful tone of the response was unmistakable, but he let it wash over him with characteristic equanimity. He felt no need to take issue with it. The opinion of someone all but a stranger meant little to him. It was an oddly contradictory set of viewpoints, though - men on female dragons was acceptable, but women in combat wasn't? - and that piqued his curiosity. But that was a puzzle for another time. "Well isn't that fortunate," he replied, aiming for serious and probably missing completely. There were few things in life he was capable of taking seriously, and this conversation didn't really seem worth the effort.
He knelt to reset an emptied trap, glancing up with renewed interest at the response. Of course just because they were both traders didn't necessarily imply any sort of bond; he'd known of caravans with some very unsavoury habits indeed, some hardly better than bandits. But there was kinship of a sort in knowing that someone else understood implicitly how strange and fundamentally wrong it was to be trapped by stone walls. He hoped he impressed at the Hatching. It might be worth losing the freedom of the road for the freedom of the sky.
His hands did not falter on the trap at the elaboration, though it was with surprise that he recognised the caravan in question from the description of the emblem. Hmm. Now that was very interesting. He itched with the desire to ask about the rumours he'd heard, but common sense led the the conclusion that it would likely provoke a negative response. No need to make the next few candlemarks any more unpleasant than they had to be. "I've heard of you," he replied inscrutably, standing and absently brushing his hands off on his shirt. "We were from the North as well - came west about five turns ago. We flew the green white and gold."
Significantly shorter and slighter as he was, he was troubled less by the increasingly close confines of the tunnels, slipping between curtains of dust and spinners' webs on light feet. "I've an uncle by marriage who was a smith before he joined the caravan," he replied, catching the body of one of the tunnelsnakes the terrier had killed with the snake-stick and depositing it with its fellows in the bag. "After he'd been with us a few seasons he converted one of the freight wagons into a forge of sorts. It made for good business at the smaller cotholds without a smith of their own."
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
azhct[M:-1490]
Totes.
Posts: 1,627
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Post by Azhdarchid on May 29, 2011 0:18:57 GMT -5
"I know of you." Qosis had specifically accounted for the trains that went West earlier in his cost analysis for the move. He had not known of a mobile forge though. That rankled, and even now he could guess who had slipped up the observation. "Clever," he praised softly, and was answered by a sudden tide of giddy barking from the tunnel ahead. Qosis accelerated his step, propping his snake-stick forward to contact webs before his face did.
Their current passage irised open into a small hub for several similar tunnels, and from that centerpiece the terrier's call rang continuously. Qosis' glow illuminated the plain blue-grey stone of the first half of the room, but did not reach the canine's position at the other side. He stopped at the end of the tunnel and ran his stick along the archway exiting to the atrium, and when nothing fell stepped forward. As soon as his glow panned over the cause worthy of all that noise, the terrier quieted again. Good dog.
Qosis detached his glow from his hip and raised it toward the ceiling. A couple black bodies were stuck motionless in the corners of the room, upside-down, eye facets catching the light. But nothing lay coiled over their heads. "At least the trap is in the right place," Qosis observed blandly, lowering his glow back to his hip. The tunnelsnake trap had been set to the back of the room, near a small gap in the wall. The gap was currently writhing with tunnelsnakes, every last one scrambling away from the glow-light and the onlooking terrier. They tangled and spit and bit at each other, mindless.
The canine was not big enough to take on this species, which was as thick around as a child's wrist. "Would be better to block that up though," Qosis continued as he nudged open the trap. A big tunnelsnake with only its forebody trapped in the glue whipped its tail into the air. The motion was almost strong enough to tip the trap, and when Qosis reached down to snap the snake-stick's tongs around the troublemaker's neck the beast wrapped around the stick in an oily flash. Qosis applied the necessary pressure, and the serpent dropped back from its brief assault. "The fat ones that sun on the roads are so much prettier than these," he sighed wistfully, then smirked aside to Varan. His beard was peppered with dust.
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