Reky
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Post by Reky on Oct 21, 2011 10:24:17 GMT -5
It had come to the point that Naireth only obeyed her rider when it was convenient for her to do so.
Such a drastic difference in personality bothered Samael. She knew what was coming and spent the few days of tension wishing for it to be over. More than anything, though, it was the lack of control that shocked her. Perhaps, back when she was standing on those Sands Turns ago, she could have dealt with a deviant dragon, but she had grown so used to having Naireth at her beck and call that the sudden helplessness shook her. She felt increasingly frustrated and in an attempt to assert her dominance anyway, she refused to leave her dragon's side. The pair, as a result, was ever-present in their weyr and rarely seen anywhere else.
"Are you going yet?" Samael asked, the morning silent and foggy. The sea beyond the Weyr was nothing but a hazy expanse, the mist clinging to its lazy waves. The woman's irritated question was met with the same stubborn silence that had pervaded their relationship as of late.
"You better go soon." She huffed, picking at the bedfurs bundled around her shoulders. "It's been, what? Four days? Shards, Naireth. That's too long. Just get it done." Her eyes found the beast through the bedroom door, hide glowing at its brightest yet. Samael sure hoped that was a sign. She wanted nothing more than to have her Naireth back, not this stranger that had replaced her.
Naireth stood. Samael's eyes widened and she leaned forward in bed. Naireth? A growl boiled in the tan's throat as she took slow, solid steps forward. The fresh spring morning latched onto her suede skin when she came out onto the ledge. Her great lungs filled with the cool, moist air. She snorted it back out, tensed her flanks and shuddered. Samael had rushed out to see her, hanging off of the doorframe. It did not matter if the dragon had taken her rider's advice or if she was acting on her own accord; Samael only cared that she was leaving at all. Naireth spread her wings and paid the small human no attention, no stray thought. She lifted into the misty air.
The fog muffled her wingbeats and made her feel small. When she landed on an unfortunate herdbeast, the quiet chill made her feel of no consequence, and that enraged her. This was her moment and she had a mind to force her presence upon the Weyr. She snarled, anger growing like a wildfire in her belly, and tore into the crushed animal at her feet. You will blood it, Naireth, came the last independent words of her rider. There was defiance in Naireth's cry, but she sucked the herdbeast dry anyway. The warm blood coated her throat and innards and she felt she could burn away all the fog if she wanted, a heat akin to the sun. She snarled at her own power, such a foreign confidence, and fought into the air once more.
All the ardour inside of her was morphing into a passionate wanting. She let loose a terrible roar, and then another, piercing the muffling blanket of fog. I Rise, she called to the dragons of Dalibor, a warning to the females and a challenge to the males. She was the first of her kind ever to utter those words, ever to feel the lust that was multiplying within her. The first Tan of Pern climbed into the sky, high above the Weyr and the ocean until there was nothing but a roiling sea of mist beneath her. The unnatural rebelliousness was intoxicating and Narieth-Samael would not fight it. The ground and Samael's body were left far below; the sky was theirs that day. [/blockquote] |
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Post by matsi on Oct 21, 2011 14:31:13 GMT -5
The air was cool against his hide as he sat there, in the bowl, waiting for his to get out of their sharding weyr. He knew His was reading something, and normally, he approved of this reading, but he was becoming bored now. There was no one to guide. No one to watch. Nothing to do in general. Even Yang, the little blue flitter, was flopped on the ground between his own paws, groaning occasionally then flopping to his other side with a heave, bored, sigh.
S’id. Let’s go. I want to do something else, S’id. Apoth complained softly as irritation danced through his mind towards the mind of his rider.
Almost done, Apoth, S’id replied quickly, leaving the brown groaning again. Apoth was miserable. He didn’t really understand why. It was as if energy and anticipation was dancing through every muscle of his body, making sitting still very difficult for the small brown. Eventually, he placed his head down on his paws, covering Yang from the world and making the blue croon happily as if it were a game.
Apoth just lay there in silence, allowing Yang to playfully attack his neck, trying to escape to freedom. Yet, the brown didn’t play. His eyes were unfocused, and his mind was elsewhere. It was almost as if he was waiting and listening, but he didn’t know what he was waiting and listening for. Just something told him to do it. Then there was the soft rushing sound of air over head and he finally raised his head. Through the fog, he could see the shape of another dragon, and his eyes danced with bright colors. His mind didn’t seem to understand what was going on, but instinct began moving his tense and twitching muscles. Slowly and smoothly he rose to his feet and leapt to the skies and headed back to his weyr.
When he landed, His was just walking towards the ledge, about to summon the brown. Apoth didn’t look at His, but kept his head looking towards the skies.
”What’s wrong, Apoth?” S’id asked as he grabbed the straps and prepared to sling them onto the brown beast. Apoth lowered his head and growled at S’id, making the man blink in confusion.
No time. Just get on. I will drop you off at her weyr.
S’id didn’t understand, but slowly climbed onto the brown.
”What’s going on?” S’id asked, though as faint purples started to swirl in Apoth’s eyes, he was pretty sure he knew.
She wants us…me… to go after her. I do not know more than that to do! But I will not disobey her! Apoth crooned as he flew towards the tan’s weyr, and proceeded to deposit his rider there, then leapt back into the skies.
He found the tan with ease, it was as if he could feel the air vibrating from her wing beats and roar on his own hide. His eyes were whirling at this point, dancing with purples that had never found their home in his gaze before. The feelings were all new to him, and he didn’t know what to think about it. The longing to follow and the longing to make her happy with him. He wanted to protect her more than he would have any other time. He wanted to prove to others that he was a brown, a sub-king, or maybe even more. He was Apoth of S’id after all!
Once he finally got to a good pace to keep up with the tan, he let out a determined, protective humming growl to her, showing her that he cared enough to chase her, that he wanted to chase her and that he would do more than just catch her. He was determined. Maybe not confident, but he was determined. He was wing second Apoth of S’id!! Best of them all. Best of the sub kings. Best of the kings. Best of all the males in dalibor!
S’id watched Apoth go off after being left in the new weyr. Yes, he knew it would happen eventually. He was just happy that Apoth wasn’t wasting his time on greens or things like that. No, Apoth had the decency to chase a tan, a new sub queen that was worthy of his attentions. S’id couldn’t help but feeling a little bit of pride in that, but the feeling was soon pushed out as he felt his dragon’s emotions pouring into him. Sure, he had felt lust before, but this was a new level of lust. This lust made all other lust seem like splinters compared to this internal fire. Yes, this was a real power of lust. Of course, he only felt real powers anyways, so his lust was the best. He strode towards the tan rider a few paces and bowed deeply to her, allowing his blonde hair to flop into his face, then he peered up with green eyes and a snicker. Without a word, he stood tall once again and took a step back and just let his gaze fall on her, observing her. She was pretty. Oh yes, she was, and she was a tan. He wanted her for his own. She was worthy of him. She was worthy of his time, he leadership and his strength. If she wasn’t worthy, he wouldn’t be where he was now. She was lucky, and needed to see that.
Another swell of lust pushed further into S’id and his jaws clenched as his thoughts shifted, now fully effected by the raging emotion.
No. She wasn’t lucky he was there. He was lucky he was there. He was lucky to have the chance to get his hands on her. Oh, how he wanted her. He wanted to feel soft skin, and to feel the pride of winning her attentions. He wanted to swoon over her, and make her feel like a queen… no… to feel like the top queen she really was.
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Lan
Weyrlingmaster 
lanct[M:-1025]
Nomming ALL the kidpets!
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Post by Lan on Oct 24, 2011 15:44:50 GMT -5
Life had been normal for F'ton... or, at least as normal as life was for any dragonrider. There had been no boredom or peace in his life since Thread had fallen, and he and Poseith had risen to meet it with their peers. Some of their comrades had fallen, some had been injured; fortunately most had survived. But this wouldn't always be the case. There would come a day when he would look back on his life and see death and destruction. The one solace he took was that those who were his friends had not yet fallen... but those who had were someone else's friends. They were someone else's loves. His heart ached for them. During the few moments of the night before he fell asleep he whittled wooden carvings by candlelight to honor the dead. It was not an easy-going process. Most of their features he couldn't remember, so they were left unfinished by his bedside. As memory returned to him, he'd carve a little bit at a time.
This early, misty morning was no different. Poseith and F'ton were not needed for a few candlemarks and so the ironrider was working on the tiny figurines. Or, rather, he was staring at them. He held one in his hand of the dying Meyhineth, looking at the unfinished form with an artist's eye. He couldn't remember what had been there before... there was just the rough outline of the blue's graceful form contorted into a double-back as he attempted to flame some unseen falling Thread. It felt as if he couldn't focus on it, though. His eyes were glossy as they took in a blurred image of the carving before him. Soon, he let it all but slip through his fingers to settle down in the furs to the side of him. The iron Poseith stood, looking over the Bowl from his ledge. His eyes, usually so passive and blue, were swirling with ever darkening orange.
Come, F'ton... We must be going. F'ton stood and moved to his dragon's ledge, overlooking the bowl in confusion. What is it? He asked, although a second later his eyes laid on the pink-brown hide that was Dalibor's only adult tan dragon. She was in the herdbeasts' pen and she was blooding her kill. The dolphineer's son looked up at the great bulk of Poseith to see his eyes swirling ever faster, deepening now to a red color of lust. The emotions spilled over into him. He fumbled with his footing and leaned on the iron's great foreleg. She is rising. We have to go.
"I don't-" his words were cut off by Poseith's large head moving to stare him directly in the eye, as if he were an errant child. F'ton nodded and climbed onto the iron's back. Right. No time to lose. They dropped from the ledge and circled round to Samael's weyr in a leisurely glide. Poseith, of course, wished to save all his strength for what could be a long flight. Naireth was a sub-queen, but today she was a queen with all the stamina needed to stay in flight for long hours. He would fly to meet her challenge. He would chase as if she were a Queen. As soon as F'ton had a steady footing on the ledge of Samael's weyr the iron took off again. There was already a brown in the sky. It would not do for him to fall behind.
F'ton's head began to swirl as he entered the tanrider's room. His vision was as foggy as the mists outside and a headache seemed to pulse with every beat of Poseith's large wings. He tried to steady himself, to remain F'ton in the midst of this chaos. But it was a battle that was already lost. He didn't even get one word out before his mind was totally lost to Poseith's powerful presence. His last thought was an anxious one... he had never wanted his first time to be like this.
Poseith was strong and courageous. While the brown before him was closer in size and agility to Naireth, he was much more powerful. He was not fast or graceful, but he could last much longer. He was the iron king of Dalibor, largest of those of his clutch that had survived. He had been born into battle and had lived his life in battle. His brown brother for whom he might have once fought alongside before was now a rival. Poseith did not acknowledge him. The iron knew his place and knew what he was capable of. I follow; he called out to the tan lady. He stretched out his wings to make each beat push as much air as possible behind him, but he dare not use all his energy as once. He would be a hard suitor to shake. He would pace himself for as long as possible until the home stretch was in sight. |
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
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Post by Azhdarchid on Oct 24, 2011 21:35:15 GMT -5
Where is she?
Silly M'jar, to sweep himself so early to little Dalibor and expect a grand welcome. Even precious brothers were not more important than the overseeing of a Thread-free morning's affairs. Though posted high on a pointing peak, he could smell the arrival of the tithe-- and thus work for his dearest sister. Fog like this, and unwanted things might come creeping in alongside the traders, and no one would know the difference. He could not help but worry on this puny pit's behalf. He was obligated by blood to do so. And fine evidence for concern anyway: the faceless fiends of the midsummer's executions, and now the long and torturous recovery from the (probable) arson of the previous Fall. This would be the first time he had met with Fajra since his nephew through her had died.
I cannot see, but I hear.
M'jar's thick, pale lips pressed together with feline primness, dark blue eyes running skyward to follow the enormous draconian head wavering about above him. The living extension of the peak, Wicneth had been subdued since they arrived, but was now creaking stiffness the suppressive morning chill had issued out of his bones. A long Bronze cast in amber hide, he could unwrap from the stone and double in size as his coils loosened and parted. His muscles ran in a sharp, lean tapestry beneath his skin, a bit of Thread spittle newly freckling his hindquarters. M'jar had never realized that no matter how fast his Wicneth healed back, Threadscore would leave him stiff at crucial moments for many Turns to come.
These surface scrapes from the Threads, blown apart and half-charred by another wingrider when they made contact, served as a warning shot. It would not happen again. Wicneth had lost none of his grandiosity for the events, what with no longer remembering the pricks of agony he had continued to fly Thread through for a further four hours. And now, fit and seven Turns young, the Bronze had started in on a familiar hunt. They were both strangers here, and Wicneth no longer recalled the last time they had been along either. He sensed only opportunity, and his powerful jaws snapped the moist air in ill-contained excitement.
The Bay Wingsecond lingering between Wicneth's five-clawed paws reached leftward to give one of his dragon's shivering forearms a caress. He kneaded at the thick hide in a fruitless attempt to soothe the muscle beneath, which Wicneth was beginning to knot in his tension. M'jar's other hand tousled the shorn red curls of his own hair. Perhaps it was better then that Fajra was delayed. No visit to a different Weyr was complete without sampling the local stock. As far as he could tell, the fighters quite preferred the romancing of a dashing foreigner. Wicneth snarled at the misappropriated label and M'jar, having been perfectly obliging in climbing up to the Bronze's neckridges for transport to the appropriate ledge, paused at the malcontent. Not a fighter then? But...his heart seized momentarily. He scrambled back off Wicneth.
The Rising female roared in her maiden lust, and the noise alone sent Wicneth vaulting off the Rim. But the queen of the day's follow-up demand in his head, and in M'jar's, settled any further concerns from the rider and freed Wicneth to the chase. He coiled back, then unscrewed from the rock with his wings shut, twirling out over the Bowl and then snapping aloft above the Tan pummeling the fog away in her effort to climb to Rukbat. Wicneth's sharp turnabout did not carry him into her ascent fast enough, and he missed the early grab by a wide margin. Some of the thicker, ruminating slabs of his thought did not disparage the loss, for now they would reach heaven together.
But on the outside, Wicneth screamed, angling his arrow-like body into the vertical climb required to reach the strange offering anew. Tan, M'jar's weak supplement to the Bronze's mind insisted, as the man stumbled down the stone steps from the Rim. He was doing his best not to fall to his death while Wicneth flew them both after the enigma, ready to service Dalibor with their new blood. As he reached the dimmer blankness of a hallway, he dragged his hand on the rock wall, trying to fixate on himself for a moment. He needed to reach the Tan's rider. She could be anywhere. On the other side of he Weyr, even. He was not like his dragon, scouting the hide-scent and blood-odor and color-gleam of his prey through the forest of fog. He faded in and out, permanently distracted by the wild ardor of his young Bronze. For M'jar, the path could only be written by instinct.
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Reky
Alphahandler
rekyct[M:-999]
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Post by Reky on Oct 24, 2011 22:31:08 GMT -5
Each flame of the tan's fervor was channeled into the power of her muscles. There was no intrigue in Naireth's path, no flair to the beating of her wings. Each movement was simple and textbook, the simplest set of instructions playing through her head in an endless, monotonous loop. She flew hard and she flew fast, but she did not fly to impress. Her mind did not allow for such creativity. Their was only pure animal instinct in her body, boiled down to the bare bones. Fly. Lust. Far.
She offered the males nothing as the fell in behind her. They only had the sheen of her moist hide and the harsh sound of her grunting breath as a consolation. Apoth came and she was dully aware of his presence. She was no glad to have a first suitor, but rather, she had been expecting it and it was no surprise or joy. It was simply a fact. The brown was behind her, and she had to keep flying. Each replicate wing stroke pushed her onward, her eyes set square ahead. The twirling mists were below her and that is where she intended to keep them until the very end: she was content with the altitude and saw fit not to deviate from her straight and sure course. It would be a test of endurance and not of skill, as that was what she felt in her gut. She needed no more reason than that.
Poseith's voice rang brave in her mind and she ignored it. She was indifferent to his factual offering. He did not tell her what to do and he did not ask any questions of her, and so she had no reason to reply. There was nothing that Naireth needed to give any of the hopefuls; instead, it was they that were to give to her. She had allowed them into her sky, and in the end she would cast them from it as she herself fell. Though Naireth had never Risen before, she knew how it would play out. She was no lost babe fumbling in the air; she was a Queen and a mature female, fully capable of pacing her own body and handling her own heated desires. A second King came to follow her, a liquid bronze, and still the tan's focus did not stray from her imagine horizon.
There was, however, a drop more of emotion in the vulnerable, two-legged creature left in the weyr. Samael's chest was alight with passionate residue from the anger that Naireth now burned as fuel. She stood her ground by the door, eyeing the men between visions of her fantasy of flight. Both the impressive Si'd and babyfaced F'ton were lavished with feral glances, hungry glances. Samael dared them to come closer with her eyes, but would not treat them to the shuffling of her own feet towards them. They had to work for her, for Naireth; and only when their winged halves had proven themselves would she allow them to take her. Her dragon mind told her, though, that something was missing. A third suitor flew for them, but no third man was to be seen. For a split and irrational moment, she resented him. How dare he be late, flashed the dangerous thought, but he had to be coming. He must come, for his bronze wings flew behind sky's Queen. Samael willed him to hurry out of her selfish curiosity. She wanted to see him! She wanted her third man!
A Samael-initiated growl welled up in Naireth's chest. The dragon let it sound and then discarded it, for her logical mind knew she needed her energy for flying. Her human wasted precious thought on two-legged males when Naireth only wanted a view of the hazy line between the clear sunrise sky and the fog. It tossed and curled beneath the powerful strokes of her wings, kissing her indifferent skin. She was not there to delight in the petty natural wonders of Pern, or in the radiance of her suitors' hues. She was just there to fly, and she wasn't going to stop. [/blockquote] |
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Post by matsi on Oct 25, 2011 13:47:24 GMT -5
Pleasure. It was an emotion the brown often felt as he helped protect and guide the weyr. The biggest wave of it had been when that moment when thread was finally gone, and he was able to see the survivors of their wing. He had helped guide that. Yet, that was nothing compared to what was beating in his chest now. The pride to be the first suitor to follow the tan was the biggest bout of pleasure he had ever encountered, and it made the lust seem to burn with more want and longing. The fires of lust seemed to be fueled by the rivers of pleasure and pride that bubbled in Apoth’s veins. Yet, he wasn’t able to think about this for longer than a fraction of a second, a fraction of a heartbeat. After that fraction of a moment, his mind was clear once more, not that is really had ever been fully faltered from the tan. Now, his eyes were fully locked on her, dancing with the purple that matched a dusk sky. His mind was silent except for the longing and lust, and the steady, strong drumming sound of both his heart and the wind under his caramel wings.
Apoth was slightly jolted when he heard the approaching sound of more wings. Yet, the brown didn’t turn his head to see the other. No, after hearing the voice that reached out to the tan goddess, he knew, and it made him rumble loudly and bare his teeth in anger. His own clutch brother, the iron. Yet, the anger quickly faded and a dragonic snicker was present for a moment before his smooth hided face went blank once more. His clutch brother did not worry him much yet. No. It was like a race between the sun and the waves of the ocean. Yes, the waves were strong and could last longer than that of the sun, but the sun was fast in the skies, going from one horizon to the next in the matter of candle marks. He, Apoth, was like the sun. Quicker than the waves in the skies, while his iron clutch brother was like the strong and steady waves on the planet. No, this race was in Apoth’s turf now. This tan was a sub-queen. Not a large queen that wanted to fly further than the last queen. No, she was a tan, and wanted a good combination of speed and a bit of distance. Apoth had a full day to fly, like the sun, at his speed. He wanted to see his iron brother do that!
Heart beat. Lust wave. Wing beat.
Heart beat. Lust wave. Wing beat.
It was a pattern going through Apoth, like a well oiled machine that only nature itself could create. His breathing had picked up, but he had yet to really show physical signs of his efforts. His had worked him, helped him, and trained with him hard over the turns. This was a challenge to him. And the prize of doing well, was her, the tan goddess. Apoth wanted her to be his goddess. If he was the sun, then she was the moon, forever being chased by the sun. Yes. He wanted her to be his moon goddess. Together, to think, they could dot the skies with the most brilliant stars that no golden queen could even imagine of creating.
A third male. Once again, Apoth heard him before actually seeing him. He growled again, more to himself. Another king, yet he did not recognize this one, which was more upsetting than the fact that he was a king. No king outside, no DRAGON, outside of Dalibor was good enough to see or think about chasing one of the Dalibor females, let alone this tan! This bronze was an outsider, and could possibly be a threat on the weyr! Any other time, Apoth would have stopped what he was doing to confront this unknown dragon, but now he knew he, in the eyes of all that was watching, would be the underdog. Sure, he could not last as long at the waves of the ocean or the minerals in the planet, but he could move with grace and speed, and he burned with the spirit of the sun, after all. He was not going to give up. He never was one to give up. From the day he had hatched, he had pressed on without faltering. So now, it was no different. He kept his wings at an easy, steady pace, waiting for the end chase to use his advantage, and kept his eyes on the tan moon goddess.
S’id felt like he was dying. He chewed on his lip in his longing, and would adjust his stance on his feet, trying to keep from giving into the urge to move towards the woman. His muscles were tense and occasionally shivered with the longing to move and feel the tan rider’s skin against his own, but he still stayed where he was. He could only imagine, if he had enough of control to think for himself, how Apoth was feeling, but he had no such control. All he could see was what his dragon could and wanted to see. All he could feel was the burning emotions of the lust, then anger, understanding, more lust, more anger, then the largest burst of lust of all.
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
azhct[M:-1490]
Totes.
Posts: 1,627
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Post by Azhdarchid on Oct 25, 2011 20:05:51 GMT -5
M'jar-Wicneth stumbled past doorless gateways to a hundred unfamiliar weyrs. Dalibor was strange. One did not need dragon wings to snake their way into the riders' homes. But he flew to his queen anyway, on the air and the earth, only the human part of him appreciating the exquisite prolonging of the morning's culminations. The dragon part was all demands and fervent outrages, shrieks and tricks that went unacknowledged by the sky-plowing Tan. Noise was a part of Wicneth, holding a constant bonfire to his reserves. His immense Iron competitor was blocking his view, and where Poseith was not a shield to Naireth, Apoth's arching wings shadowed her. Last in the pack now, Wicneth's voice blew past the others and thundered to that ignorant ear.
M'jar-Wicneth, the man, only groaned, more in response to the lick of disapproval that gripped the dark around him than for his dragon-half's troubles. A groan for the parted way before him, where his unending forward steps turned him left, and back out onto the teeth of the Bowl. He had found another Weyr wall now, and surveyed it from the misted top, nothing to be seen beneath its watery white blankets. M'jar-Wicneth swayed on the precipice, then made his choice and plunged down the narrowest staircase, breaking into a step-skipping run.
He swallowed his dragonsong long enough to beat down the highest winds of Pern and swing over the thick Iron sheet of Poseith. He broached the fog cover and shot out to the thin film of atmosphere beyond, where his breaths did not draw enough air to roar, and he had to flap continuously just to stay aloft. He overcompensated for the loss of support and torpedoed forward, hissing past Apoth and lowering his head from its optimum angle to follow the flickers of Naireth's tail-forks in and out of the clouds just below.
The amber-coated dragon seized the opportunity to display: he let his hindquarters dip, then twisted back and forth like a ribbon, a wiggling beam of romantic sunlight over the female in Flight. He rocked all his weight from one side to another, tipping on-edge so that the fringe of his mainsails cut alternating valleys into the fog. And Naireth...Naireth did not appear to be paying him any attention at all. Wicneth whistled wheezily when he tried to snarl at her. He started to slow, bewildered, started to descend back to the game of skipping stones the members of the Flight played across the mist.
Then he sensed another almost at his back and veered his head around at the challenger, drawing out the roar that had been recently impossible. Panting wildly, he churned forward again to reclaim his spot directly behind the Tan, this time matching her altitude. Those peach tail flukes...Wicneth began attempting to nip at them. Usually it was only when they cast right in front of his nose, but there was no mistaking the intermittent flash of greedy fangs. Apoth was right: the visitor was no gentleman.
M'jar hit the ledge from on high, drawing just enough of himself out of the Flight for sensible maneuvers like raising his hands against the fall. Even as he scrabbled to his feet, his fixation returned to the dingy hole past the ledge, no different from any other in the stony sanctum. Not to the eye, or ear, or nose-- though as he entered he picked up the leathery cinnamon-oil smell of the competing Iron. Just a touch, from when Poseith had delivered his rider.
Late. He knew he was late. But he was here! Bleeding palms, heaving chest, preemptively victorious, raising his arms in praise of this small room where small human beings made poor reenactment of their dragons' spectacle. Where their bodies were made conduits of draconic sensation, working out the mental excesses heaved onto them. His red hands came down towards the shoulders of his competitors, and M'jar-Wicneth stepped between them with a toothy grin.
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Lan
Weyrlingmaster
lanct[M:-1025]
Nomming ALL the kidpets!
Posts: 1,266
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Post by Lan on Oct 25, 2011 21:44:22 GMT -5
Poseith was not one to suffer the ill-will of his brown brother. Apoth's rumblings did not phase him in the slightest. He would not stoop to the level of a snarling beast. Instead he continued to ignore the brown's presence. Naireth was the kind of queen that would only be impressed by performance and not by puerile quarreling. He would put all of his focus on the tan beauty and win her approval with his hard work and determination. So he fell in line after her, allowing wind currents to do some of his work as he moderated his speed. His large form would not allow him to maintain the speed his smaller brother could achieve, but that wouldn't stop him from trying when the time was right. But the flight was young. He would allow the brown to fly ahead of him for now. If he wasn't careful, Apoth would burn himself out and then Poseith would take the lead. If he was careful... well, it would be Naireth's choice in the end anyway.
A third dragon joined the chase; a bronze. The second king worried Poseith no more than Apoth's position ahead of him. He was foreign... and older. Poseith was larger and younger; both he and Apoth were full of more youthful energy than this amber-colored bronze. Still, the older bronze was more experienced and he had probably won many flights. Poseith spared a glance as Wicneth soared over him, but he held his course straight. He would not be moved by flashy showmanship. With the equivalent of an eye-roll he turned his attentions to Naireth again. Drawing a deep breath in his immense lungs, the iron gathered up his energy and began to move faster. This bronze, he had a feeling, didn't like playing nice... and so the flight was perhaps not going to be as long as anticipated.
F'ton noticed the arrival of the third member of their party, but couldn't focus on his face or whether or not they knew each other. He only knew what Poseith knew. The dimly-lit weyr beginning to glow with the morning light and the vast expanse of foggy sky flipped in and out of his vision like a spinning two-sided card. He was aware of both and neither. The headache he felt still permeated through his consciousness, conjoined with a fiery desire he had only felt once before... only this time it was tenfold. It was like an intense pain through his entire being and all he knew was that it would only go away if he could just reach Samael. As Poseith began to close the difference between himself and Naireth, F'ton dared to step just inches closer to Samael. There was no conscious move in it; there was only passion and instinct and organs.
As Wicneth fell in line in his place closest to Naireth's back, Poseith's muscles clenched as passion consumed him. His red eyes were the color of old human blood and they swirled violently. No... this was not okay. He could stand Apoth's taunts and the foreign bronze's presence, but he would not abide such treatment of one of Dalibor's queens. Ire boiled up within him as the flash of Wicneth's fangs caught the light of the sunrise. No more! The iron let out a warning rumble, and then he attacked.
Using what energy he had stored he began to move his wings faster in deeper sweeps, moving him at a sudden speed to hurl the whole of his mass toward Wicneth in an attempt to knock him away from Naireth. He was larger than Wicneth and, if his aim was true, it would be easy for him to overpower the bronze. However, his stunt would cause him to lose speed. Apoth would be better at course correction and the iron would likely not be able to recover in time. At this moment, though, it didn't matter. Poseith wanted this discourteous intruder gone. If Apoth won while he fought for Dalibor's honor it would be a loss that he could bear. Still, he wished for Naireth to know she still had a choice.
I fight for you. Poseith called out to Naireth, letting her know that no matter what transpired between himself and the alien king that he would be there for her if she called him. In the meantime, though, he prepared himself for a fight... even as he attempted to sail past Wicneth to take the lead his muscles were tensed to react as quickly as possible. He didn't want to fight, but with hormones raging and an indignation suffered he would not stand idly by and do nothing. He was born into battle. He was raised in battle. And if he was met with a battle of honor he would not back down.
F'ton, too, was buffeted by Poseith's emotional turbulence. He glared at M'jar as if he were Wicneth himself trying to snap at and defile the beauties of Dalibor. If Poseith ended up in a fight with Wicneth, then F'ton would fight M'jar. There was no sanity in this; only a deep sense of honor and integrity. Even a meek young man would find such things worth fighting for. He took another small step closer to Samael, keeping a part of his attention still on the rogue bronzerider as he shook himself free of the other man's vexing grip. |
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Zane
Drudge
zanect[M:0]
They see me rollin', they hatin'.~
Posts: 40
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Post by Zane on Oct 27, 2011 21:19:49 GMT -5
Not only was he a blue, but he was a very late blue. The other dragons had already been in the air for a time, and as much as he wanted to deny his urge to fly after the tan, he couldn’t. He loved Zane, far more than even she could comprehend, but the desire was deep-rooted in the cloudy-coloured blue. He was going to chase, despite the odds against him. From their weyr he looked out to the sky above, moving to the ledge.
I’m sorry Mine. I’ve always promised you that you’ll be alright. I don’t intend on breaking that promise. Do not fear; everything will be just fine. Trust in me. The blue leapt from the ledge, going higher, higher, higher. He had to try and catch up; he couldn’t just give up on the beautiful tan. He had seen her before about the Weyr, and he knew that he’d be no competition for the other males that decided to chase. Apoth, Wicneth, and Poseith were certainly worthy of her, but the blue liked to think that he might be too. If he pushed that extra mile, he could get to her. He had speed on his side.
Zane couldn’t quite register what her blue was talking about, but as his eyes whirred a deep purple, and he took to the skies, she could feel a wave of both lust and fear overtake her. She had a yearning to go somewhere, but where that somewhere was she wasn’t sure. How would she know? Why wasn’t Panith helping her? What was she doing? She left her weyr, looking this way and that for someone that might be able to help her to know where she had to go. Or was she looking for someone for a different reason? No, she wasn't like that. Sexual inclinations were way, way off of her radar. Not now, her mind taunted. She could feel the lust overpowering all of her usual thoughts and feelings. She couldn’t feel the regular fear and uncertainty that usually plagued her. Panith-Zane could see the other pursuer’s ahead, and soon they were amongst the ranks, crooning to Naireth adoringly.
Panith? Zane reached out. The bluerider tried to resist, but it was near impossible to do so. Why couldn’t she do so? Even though she knew of flightlust, she hated the idea that there could ever be a time when she wouldn't be completely in control. Like now. She was standing at the door to Samael’s weyr, but only peering inside, her heart beating a mile a minute. This was so wrong! The way she felt was... disgusting. Inappropriate. She didn’t even know this woman! Stepping inside gingerly, all she could see was Samael. The tanrider was beautiful in her eyes, perfect even. She wanted more than a kiss... This is so wrong, what are you doing? Stop! She pushed against Panith, but it did no good. She couldn’t feel his support and backing like she normally did. Instead he was leading her somewhere she didn’t want to go. How could he say this was okay? Why did he have to make her a part of this? The men that were grouped in Samael’s weyr had been here longer than she. Were she herself she would’ve been having a heart attack, but she wasn’t herself. Never mind that, if she was herself she wouldn’t even be here!
She stood perfectly still, just staring at the tanrider, her face beat red. How could she not be embarrassed? She kept all of her limbs close to her body. She didn’t dare move. What if she got attacked because she touched the other girl? She really did want to touch her... She swallowed; positive that there was no way she could get rid-of the lump in her throat. She felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen getting to her lungs, (i.e. she might have not been having a heart attack, but she was definitely having a panic attack.) Panith, help me! she cried out to him. Her attempts to get him to drop out and return to her were of no avail. Instead he was getting as close to Naireth as he could. The more driven the blue became, the more Zane wanted to betray herself and claim Samael as hers.
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Reky
Alphahandler
rekyct[M:-999]
SO PRO
Posts: 1,554
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Post by Reky on Oct 27, 2011 22:45:10 GMT -5
Naireth's focus on the mock horizon was unnatural. Nothing could draw her attention away, not the antics of the males behind her or the peril her tail was faced with. Wicneth's bad manners went unreprimanded, Poseith's and Apoth's heroism unappreciated. The creature was a juggernaut, hurtling forward at the limits of her sluggish body. Panith would have been grateful for his small size and speed; Naireth had left Dalibor far behind and had no thought to return to it. She longed for distance, and that is what she would spin out for her suitors to follow.
Naireth-Samael flashed a smirk at the newcomer M'jar and, like the tan that infected her mind, found nothing wrong in the questionable contact her made with her two other men. She was delighted, excited, by the blue of his eyes, the shock of hereditary hair, but it would not have mattered how he looked. The grown number of men within her reach stroked her human condition and she felt powerful. In the air, she was rushing forward, not a backward glance to be seen. Her human eyes, however, had plenty more to take in than fog and morning light. The funneling of cheekbones, noses, and toned curvature to their dragon half was of little consequence. Naireth's unstoppable motion remained unchanged.
Even the appearance of the fourth hopeful rider did not phase her. Samael-Naireth, in their ignorantly passionate state, saw nothing wrong in Zane's gender. All they saw was another face and another body that was right to admire them, for they were the sky's queen that day. Naireth beat her wings with fierce determination. Nothing would keep her from the distance she desired. She would run her suitors into the ground if she had to, casting them away on their own tired wings. She would lead them to the ends of Pern.
And she did. The fog had made it impossible to tell how far she had gone, and when it began to thin, the ground beneath them was alien. Still the strong connection of Flightlust pulsed between the dragon and the distant rider, but neither of them could put a name to their location. It couldn't have been too remote, somewhere over the Western Continent, not far from the island of Dalibor, but the surrealism of their pounding emotions made it feel like Naireth had trekked to another world. Samael, as her dragon's wings slowly tired, backed away from her men and woman in defiance. She was torn; she did not want to give up yet, but she ached for all of them so badly that she also wanted desperately to be right next to them, skin touching skin. Naireth barreled on despite burning muscles, but suddenly, she let out a miserable scream. She knew she could not continue much longer.
Logically, then, that declared her Flight over. She had ran her males, and though she was not content with the distance, she conceded defeat. A groan of irritation at her own body's expiration wafted from her as the speed race abruptly slowed, and she snapped around to face her males for the very first time. Her decision was arbitrary, seemingly letting the wind toss her into the winner. She collided with the young iron Poseith, throwing her wings around him and letting out a possessive snarl. I have chosen you, she told him forcefully, stating the obvious with a demanding edge to her voice. He had won, but he was not yet allowed to relax.
As the tan and iron fell, Samael reached out and caught the hand of her boy. She pulled F'ton with her, toward the seclusion of the thick door and bedfurs. Her hand found the fair skin of his face. As Poseith was Naireth's, the young man now belonged to Samael, but she sure hoped she did not need to tell him that. [/blockquote] |
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Lan
Weyrlingmaster
lanct[M:-1025]
Nomming ALL the kidpets!
Posts: 1,266
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Post by Lan on Nov 8, 2011 21:51:51 GMT -5
War would not be had today. The bronze would not fight him today. There would be no threadscores or battle wounds... there was only the chase. Poseith regained his position with the momentum his large body gave him and he continued to be a presence in the flight. By now Rukbat had pierced the fog and the clouds had parted to reveal the land and sea beneath them. But the iron had no time for pondering. He had no whims to follow with his focus-driven mind. There was only the pinkish-tan hide of Naireth as she continued to fly, paying no mind to the antics of her suitors. But Poseith was confident in himself that he had made some impact in her mind. None of the others had fought for her and, in that, he was the greatest male! Usually such arrogant thoughts would never find a dwelling place in Poseith's mind, but as the tan beauty flew into him and claimed him as her own he couldn't help but feel the strength of victory flowing through his ichor.
I have chosen you. He hummed in response, letting out the relieved vocalization of his own thrill and exuberance. He was hers, but she was also his. As they fell from the sky he clung onto her and held her close to him so that he could also display his possession of his lovely prize. He would not relinquish her or let his muscles find relief from their struggle until they were through... and Naireth did not have to tell him what instinct had given him already.
F'ton, however, was a bit of a different story. In the haze of previously unfelt lust and confusion he wasn't sure where to go or what to do. All he knew was that he needed to be with Samael as Poseith was with Naireth... but he had none of Poseith's instinct or other beast-like qualities. He was still very much a boy, even under the influences of this inhuman desire. But he moved as Samael directed him. Stumbling a bit as she pulled him, he tried very hard to keep up and, once they had found bedfurs, tumbled into a confused embrace. His unsure lips hastily found hers as his arms reached over her feminine form. There was no sane thought within him or knowledge of what to do. His mind flashed between Poseith's daring aerial dance and the foreign bed he found himself in. Then, when both realities seemed as if they might collide with one another, he blacked out and could remember no more. |
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