Dragonriders of Pern Fanfiction

Those the dragons heed: Chapter 3

2008-07-19T14:30:27Z

Title: Those the dragons heed
Author/Artist: chesneycat
Rating/Warnings: PG
Character(s)/Book(s): Seventh interval, OCs
Summary/Notes: What do dragons look for in their riders? Martonal thought he knew the answer, or at least part of it - whatever it was, it was something he lacked... WIP, but close enough to completion that I should be able to update regularly. All the standard disclaimers apply.

Those the dragons heed

Previous chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Chapter 3

“Come on.” His mind made up, Martonal tugged at his cousin’s sleeve, and she followed him towards the Hold’s doorway. Dragons didn’t speak to people other than their riders, not unless there was something special about the person or urgent that the dragon had to say… but he’d learned at Telgar Weyr that sometimes they did listen. If he could approach one of the dragons, preferably the bronze – they were smarter, everyone said – then maybe he could explain his problem, that he didn’t want to bring shame on the Hold when he wasn’t Searched. He doubted Garrent would be all that angry, but he’d certainly expect him to be Searched, and would probably say as much, too. Martonal couldn’t bear the thought of embarrassing his Holder that way, not if he could do something about it. The only alternative was staying out of sight completely and hoping his absence got overlooked. The dragon might not hear a word he said, but he might pass it on to his rider. And even if it didn’t work, he could at least try and get Sildea noticed without making it too obvious!

He peered out into the courtyard again. There was Holder Garrent, chatting amiably with one of the riders beyond the green dragon, and not looking the least bit disappointed or embarrassed. That was a good sign! The other two riders were talking to each other, but where was the third dragon, the bronze? Martonal closed his eyes, and pictured how the Hold had looked as they’d approached. The riders had all been in the courtyard when he’d arrived, but what about the fireheights? Had one of the dragons gone to catch the sun up there? Yes, Martonal thought he had.

“Ah, there you are, boy!”

Martonal quickly opened his eyes at the sound of Lexa’s voice, and groaned. She was striding towards them with a tray in her hands and a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes.

“A favour for me means a favour for you,” she said. “Take these drinks over to the Holder and the dragonriders would you? There’s a good lad.”

Nodding reluctantly, he realised he had no way out. Lexa’s tables were all set up, the drudges dismissed, and she was probably planning to stand there and watch him walk all the way across the courtyard. He took the tray from her hands with a word of thanks, and gestured with his head for Sildea to follow. “Sildea can help me serve, can’t she.”

He hurried off without waiting for an answer, conscious of his cousin keeping pace beside him. Maybe there was still a chance he could get out of this, and give Sildea her wish at the same time. The riders and Holder Garrent were on the move, and, just as he’d hoped, they were soon hidden from sight of the main Hold behind the bulk of the blue dragon. Perfect. Martonal waited until he and Sildea were similarly obscured, then thrust the tray into her hands and dropped into a crouch on the ground. “Stone in my shoe, Sil,” he said as she stared at him in confusion. “You go on. I’ll catch up.” He winked, giving her just the right impression of his intent, and her face broke into a wide grin of excitement.

“Thanks Mar!”

“Don’t mention it.”

As his cousin walked on, he rose, and jogged in the opposite direction towards the side gate to the lake. Why, if he’d done what Lexa wanted there’d have been no avoiding the topic of him being Searched! But his cousin would keep them distracted with pleasantries, at least until the dragons began their inspection, and so long as he was out of sight by then it was probably the best he could do. As usual, the gate was propped open with one of the sandbags left over from the spring floods. Martonal darted through the gateway and cut across the curve of the lake shore towards the jetty. With everyone else milling around the Hold and its courtyard, the Lake was probably the best place he could choose for staying out of the way. Green Lake was shallow at the best of times, but this season the waters were even lower than normal. He had to pick his way carefully over the rounded stones that lined the lake bed, but at least their algae coating was brown and crusty rather than green and slippery for once. Every now and then he stopped, and stooped to pick up one of the smaller, flatter stones, perfect for skimming, which he slipped them into his pockets.

The jetty itself was made of stone; wood would have been no good during a Pass, and was more useful for making boats and furniture besides. It extended five or six dragonlengths into the lake from the usual waterline, with two sets of steps leading down to the water, one at the far end and the other half way along. He climbed the steps at the halfway mark – which were well clear of the lake’s edge – walked along the jetty, and then climbed down the steps at the end. The bottom step was still a few handspans above the lake’s surface; Martonal pulled off his shoes, rolled up his trouser legs and slumped down onto the step, letting his legs dangle into the cool water. Surely no-one would find him out here?

The boy leaned back against the stone and closed his eyes, and tried not to notice the flickering glare of reflected sunlight on his eyelids. Dragonriders wouldn’t spend long in talk, not if they had other Holds and Cotholds to visit before the day was out. They’d have had their refreshments by now, and would be waiting for the boys to line up for the Search. Bronzes Searched the girls, he’d been told, but the bronze was still up on the heights and the blue and green in the courtyard, so it’d be the boys they’d look at first. All he had to do was wait it out. Hide from it. No point changing the pattern of the last three turns, was there?

Eyes still closed, Martonal felt in his pocket for a suitable stone, and with a well practised flick of his wrist send it spinning bitterly towards the water. It was quiet enough to count the diminishing splashes by sound. One… two… three… four-five-six. Not too bad, but he’d done much better in the past. He tried again, and listened closely, his ears straining to catch the seventh and eighth bounces… which were suddenly lost in the loud crash of something much, much larger hitting the water.

Half expecting to be drenched by a wave, he cautiously opened one eye. Oh. It was one of the dragons, the bronze from the fireheights, flown down for a swim. Dragons liked water, he knew. It had been quite a shock, at his first hatching at Telgar Weyr, to see dragons of all ages and colours cavorting in the Weyr’s lake as if they were little kids playing games. This one was no exception, and as he watched the dragon he felt his mood lighten. The dragon ducked his head under the water and flexed his back, sending waves of water lapping onto his outstretched wings, much like a wherry cleaning its feathers in the shallows. Sunlight reflected from the water glistened on the underside of his broad wings and neck, adding a shimmer of gold to his iridescent bronze hide, except where a paler line stood out against the flesh of the dragon’s neck. Martonal was no longer at all surprised that Sildea had heard the bronzerider mention him by name; this was the very dragon that had brought him back from the Igen hatching. The scar was a long-healed Threadscore from the last Pass. B’dril had told him and the other candidates all about it before the hatching, how they’d got it in the last Fall of the Pass while still weyrlings, breaking every rule there was just to fight just once. That was the kind of rider a bronze dragon looked for, not a cowardly boy who couldn’t even face up to his own inadequacy. Martonal watched until the dragon slowly settled into a restful float, and all the waves cast up by his activity had ebbed away into mere ripples, then reached into his pocket for another stone.

Back in the courtyard, the boys would be lining up in a row, then waiting while the two dragons looked them over. It was better this way, wasn’t it? He flicked the stone towards the shimmering water, well away from the bronze dragon, and counted the skips before fumbling for another. The last two times Searchriders had come to Green Lake, the riders had left the choosing to their dragons, only calling a lad forward once a decision had been made. But he’d talked to other candidates at the Weyr, and had learned that it didn’t always work that way.

Martonal pulled out another stone, and wondered how today’s Search would go. Some riders liked to talk to the potential candidates first, to give their dragons a chance to focus more clearly on each individual in turn, while others kept their dragon’s choice close to their chests until after they’d discussed the potential candidates with the local Holder. Not that it mattered which way they were Searching today, because he wasn’t there to embarrass the Hold when they failed to choose him. Holder Garrent was far less likely to make an issue of it under those circumsatnces. Every candidate Searched was an honour for the Hold, true, but if a hard-working boy was foolish enough to miss his chance, well, it was his loss and the Hold’s gain. Martonal grinned at the thought. Oh, he’d get teased for this, for sure, but at least he was doing his duty to Hold and Weyr as well as he could!

He flung another stone at the water, and noticed for the first time that the bronze dragon’s head was tracking every bounce. Probably worried he might send one too close! As Martonal wondered whether he ought to keep skimming them or not, the bronze turned his head to look at him, his eyes whirling an inscrutable green-blue. Maybe he just liked to watch? Cautiously, the boy reached into his pocket for what turned out to be his last stone, and turned it over in his hand silently. The dragon was still watching him. Martonal drew his arm back to make the throw, and suddenly became conscious of the sound of booted footsteps on the jetty behind him. Dropping the stone onto the steps, he twisted his head round to see who was approaching.

It was the bronzerider, B’dril.

Those the dragons heed: Chapter 2

2008-07-06T16:41:28Z

Chapter 2

The small group of youngsters had made it barely half way down the dusty path that led from the Cothold to the lakeside cliff which held the main Hold when the bell in the fire heights began to ring. Without a second thought, the younger children broke into a run, racing to see which of them would be first to reach the Hold’s arched gateway and the waiting dragons in the courtyard beyond. Sildea turned to flash a quick grin at Martonal, then broke out into a series of coughs as the rising dust cloud left by the departing youngsters reached her face. Martonal waited for his cousin to catch her breath, his lips quirked into a commiserating smile, and silently thanked his luck for having grown taller than her at last.

“Wish I’d not told them to be so careful with the water earlier,” she muttered as they started walking again. “Sharding path could do with a good wetting.”

Martonal laughed. “We’ll have thunder tomorrow, mark my words.”

“Ha. Not that you’ll be around to see it.”

Fighting the sudden rising chill in his belly, Martonal shook his head. He’d hoped there wouldn’t be another Search so soon, not now that they were well into the Interval. He’d hoped he’d be too old to even be considered. Oh, there was a chance the dragons weren’t on Search at all, but why else would they come to the Hold? Picking up his pace, he let his longer legs build a bit of distance between them. Sildea would catch up soon enough, none the wiser, and nice enough not to push him any further on the subject. She'd just think he was being modest, not bragging about his chances of being Searched for a third time, but eager all the same to reach the dragons as soon as he could.

Of course she’d think that. They all did. But it Martonal was sure of anything at all in life, it was that no dragon would ever choose him on Search again.

* * *

He still had nightmares about that Hatching, every now and then. The first one had found him the very night he’d been returned from Igen Weyr, and he’d woken the entire cothold with his screams. Well, his father had told him that he’d done that later the next day, when he finally came round from the Fellis they’d given him, but Martonal had no memory of it himself. Apparently he’d been wild, inconsolable, lashing out at anyone who came close. Screaming about the blue who had to stop, who mustn’t do that. Desperately begging someone not to die, to stay with him. But it was alright, his father explained, they understood. It was only natural for that second hatching to bring back memories of the first, of all those traumatic scenes that he’d blocked away for well over a turn. And it was healthy for that to happen, so the healers said. It was best to grieve for Yorrent as much as he needed to, rather than keeping the pain locked away where it would fester. Sometimes you couldn’t save the ones you loved, and just had to let them go. They’d learned that time and time again in the turns after the plague.

Martonal had nodded and promised to try, all the while hating himself for his cowardice. And perhaps that was why it had all happened? But whatever the reason, he couldn’t bear to tell his father that it wasn’t the Telgar Hatching that had woken him screaming at all.

He still had the nightmares every now and then, but he’d learned to bear them silently after the first.

* * *

Not normally so busy in the heat of the day, Green Lake Hold’s paved courtyard would have seemed crowded even without the presence of the green and blue dragons crouched beside the flood defences that marked the boundary between the courtyard and the lake shore. Martonal hesitated for a moment in the arched entrance, making the most of the shadows as he tried to figure out how best to stay unnoticed for as long as he could. Not by staying put, that was for sure! The rest of the Hold’s youngsters had gathered on the flood-wall to gawp at the dragons, and Sildea was already on her way to join them, but that wouldn’t do either. Martonal decided to make himself useful instead. Smiling to himself, he started to walk across the courtyard, his path taking him parallel to the cliff. If he was right, he’d not make it half-way acro—

“Martonal! Come here a minute, boy”

Swallowing his smile, he sighed extravagantly and kicked at the dirt, then ambled in apparent reluctance towards the scatterbrained cook. Lexa could always be relied upon to have more chores than people to do them!

Lexa smiled kindly at him. “Now don’t look so downhearted, Martonal, I won’t keep you for long and you’re the perfect choice really because I know you won’t dawdle like some of these layabouts, not with dragons here.”

He nodded, and listened absently as Lexa rambled on, her eyes darting this way and that as she kept careful watch on the drudges laying tables. She’d get to whatever chore she had for him eventually.

“…but they will just turn up without any warning, and it doesn’t matter that they’ll be happy with whatever I feed them, Faranth knows they eat from the tithes we send ‘em, but Holder Garrent wants our best on show, and that means I’ve sent half the stuff I’d had brought up back down again, and it’s still not good enough. And as if the brandied redfruit would be suitable at this time of day, I ask you! But we can hardly offer dragonriders the good wine and let everyone else stand around parched, and now that Garrent’s had the bell rung the whole fishhold will turn up soon, and one barrel of ale really won’t...”

Martonal took a risk, and interrupted her. “You want me to fetch another keg?”

“Yes dear, and quickly, but that goes without saying with dragons here, doesn’t it?” Lexa squinted at the dragons, briefly taking her eyes off her small workforce. “Why, I remember… Billit, no, no, how many times do I have to tell you no?”

Making his escape as the cook turned to deal with the hapless Billit, Martonal jogged into the Hold proper. The ale kegs were kept in the storage rooms deep in the cliff behind the kitchens, where it was always nice and cool. It’d be easy enough to pass the keg onto one of the drudges heading back outside, and then he could stay useful in the Hold for as long as he wanted, safely out of sight. For a while, his plan seemed to be working. He’d just handed the keg over to one of the drudges – Billit, in fact – and was heading back towards the kitchens when Sildea ran up breathlessly beside him.

“Oh Martonal, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

“Lexa had chores,” he explained.

Sildea pulled him to one side, away from the bustle of workers, and rolled her eyes. “Lexa always has chores. Come on, we learned how to avoid her turns ago! Please, Mar? It’s Igen Weyr, and I overheard the bronzerider talking to Holder Garrent, and they mentioned your name!”

Martonal swallowed uncomfortably and shook his head. What were they saying about him? “That doesn’t mean anything, Sil.”

“It means they remember you! And this time there’s a queen egg! A queen egg!”

“Seriously? So…”

“Martonal, when’ve I ever asked you for anything? Couldn’t you introduce me? Please?” She bit her lips and blushed, as if she couldn’t quite believe the effrontery of what she was proposing.

If he thought he’d be doing her any favours at all, he might have considered agreeing with her, but the whole idea was laughable. Going up to the bronzerider, saying Hello there sir, you remember me, don’t you? Well here’s my cousin Sildea, and she’d make just as good a rider as they once thought I would. Yeah, that’d go down about as well as a stray Thread in Lexa’s kitchen. Or the truth of what had happened at Igen in Garrent’s ears. Had the bronzerider told him yet, or not? He shook his head, and scrabbled for a decent excuse. “Sil, it’s the dragon you want to impress, not the rider!”

“Well, you can’t introduce me to the dragon!”

Couldn’t he? He could certainly try, and maybe that wasn’t the only thing he could do….

Those the dragons heed: Chapter 1

2008-07-05T20:30:43Z

Those the dragons heed

Chapter 1

As the three dragons appeared from between, high above the fields of Green Lake Hold, Martonal was already staring upwards into the pale sky, one hand shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun.

Aside from water breaks, this was the first time he’d stopped working all morning. Not that he’d had much choice—the new vegetables for his family cothold’s kitchen garden wouldn’t plant themselves, after all, and there was a lot more work to be done if his team of young siblings and cousins were to finish all their chores before evening. He could barely remember when they’d last had a proper rest-day at all. Certainly not since Nickor, the Journeyman Harper from South Telgar, had last visited Green Lake Hold to check on the children’s education. They hadn’t even had a decent Gather since the last trader caravan passed through earlier in the spring, but with things as they were all across Pern, that was hardly surprising. Too many people had been left half crippled by the plague seven turns back and able bodies were at a premium, especially with so many helpless mouths to feed. If you could walk, you worked; that was the law of Green Lake Hold.

Some things were different elsewhere. Nickor had told him that a few months back. In the first turn after the plague, some Holders had chosen to turn out their crippled, carting them to the borders of their Holds and leaving them there, Holdless and helpless. News of the crime had travelled slowly, with the Weyrs still holding themselves under quarantine, but even once the Conclave of Lords Holder had ruled against it the practise still continued in some out of the way spots. As distant as it was from South Telgar, Martonal was glad that Green Lake wasn’t one of those Holds; his father and three of his siblings were amongst the Hold’s crippled. But Holder Garrent was a good man, as well as one who worked harder than anyone else. ‘No-one starves before I do,’ he’d once said, according to Martonal’s father. Oh, they’d had some lean winters on half rations, that was for sure, but the Hold would survive and prosper again eventually. All the more reason to get today’s seedlings safely in the ground and well watered before they wilted in the hot sun.

As the oldest lad in his team Martonal had been doing the hardest work, shovelling over the dark, clay-rich earth that had held the turn’s first roots until the last of them had been harvested just last month. One of his cousins followed him with her rake, and behind her came the younger kids: pushing wheelbarrows, transplanting the seedlings, and watering them from buckets hauled up from the lake. With so much to do, he didn’t have time to pause for breath very often, but some sixth sense had made him straighten his back, lean on his shovel and gaze into the sky at just the right time.

It had happened just like that the last time dragons had come on Search, and the time before.

Sighing, Martonal tore his attention away from the three dark silhouettes flying overhead and back to the stiffened soil in front of him. He set to work with his shovel and had turned over a whole foot of ground before the first shrieks from the kids behind him broke the hot day’s silence. Well, they were entitled to a bit of excitement, he supposed. As for himself, he’d learned better.

“Martonal?”

Wedging his shovel firmly into the ground with his foot, Martonal turned round to hear what his cousin Sildea wanted. “Yeah?”

She shrugged apologetically, and gestured at the eager faces glued to the sky behind her. “Think we should head on down to the Hold, or wait to see if they ring the bell for us? It’s nearly lunchtime anyway.”

Smiling sadly, Martonal shook his head and weighed up his options. They really should stay out here and finish the job. And the dragons might not even be on Search. That would get them all in trouble, if they raced back to the Hold for no cause at all! On the other hand, there were only five plants left in the emptiest of the three barrows, and he doubted the kids would be gentle enough with the rest of them if he kept them out here waiting. “I dunno…” He wiped a line of sweat from his cheek, and stared over the garden’s low wall at the path that led to the Hold. The dragons would be nearly there, and when they landed their riders would be offered cool drinks and shade. If they were on Search… well, even if Martonal couldn’t bring himself to get excited about that idea any more, a break in the shade during the heat of the day was a very tempting thought indeed. “Oh, why not? Let’s get that barrow emptied first, and then head down. I’ll make up some excuse to your Da if we’re not wanted.”

Sildea grinned broadly, her own excitement clearly showing. There hadn’t been a queen egg at either Igen or Telgar Weyr for many turns now, but you never knew when one would turn up, especially in an Interval. “Thanks, Mar.”

He left her to spread the news to the other kids, and pulled his shovel out of the ground again. It’d still be a while before they’d finish, and even though he didn’t really need to keep digging, the more he did now, the less there’d be for him to do later.

Besides, it kept his mind off the dragons.

* * *

He’d been barely twelve turns old the first time dragons had come on Search.

It had been the middle of winter: one of the hard, hungry winters two and a half turns after the plague had ended. The lads from the Hold and its three outlying cotholds had been assembled in the snow-covered courtyard in front of an enormous green dragon. Well, it had seemed enormous at the time. After what had seemed like hours but had probably only been a few minutes, the dragonrider, a tall man with bright orange hair, had stepped away from his dragon’s side and walked straight towards one of Garrent’s sons. No-one expected the rider to Search more than one lad from the Hold, least of all Martonal, and he might have begrudged his friend’s luck if he’d had the time to do so. But no sooner had the dragonrider invited Yorrent to step forward than he was pacing briskly down the line towards where Martonal was standing. “You too,” he’d said softly, gesturing for Martonal to join his friend. Martonal had been so elated, he hadn’t realised that the rider had Searched one of the fish-hold boys as well until all three of them were being helped up onto the dragon’s back.

Looking back, as happy as he, Yorrent and Drindaron had been to be found worthy, he suspected Holder Garrent had been just as pleased to see them leave for Telgar Weyr with the dragonriders. Three less mouths to feed, after all, even if one of them was his own son. But there’d been a full forty candidates for the eighteen eggs on the sands, most of them below the age of fifteen, and, of the three of them, only Drindaron had Impressed.

Poor Yorrent had had even worse luck than Martonal. His legs still weakened from the plague, he hadn’t been able to move fast enough to avoid a confused blue hatchling as it stumbled towards its soon-to-be rider. Martonal had been on the other side of the hatching grounds at the time—they’d decided to spread out to maximise their chances for bringing glory to their Hold—but had seen the whole thing. From a distance, the wound in his friend’s thigh hadn’t looked too bad, and as the Healers had reached him almost straight away. Martonal had waited until the last three dragonets had Impressed before rushing over to see him. But by the time he’d got there, Yorrent was unconscious, a dark pool of his own blood slowly seeping into the sands around him. He’d died right there on the sands a few minutes later, the Healers helpless in the face of a badly torn artery.

Martonal had returned to Green Lake the following morning, alone.

100 DRoP Drabbles

2008-06-01T17:27:36Z

I've finally finished my series of drabbles for the drabbles100 community

Title: Weyr Life: the drabbles
Author/Artist:chesneycat
Rating/Warnings: 12A
Character(s)/Book(s): Mixture of Canon characters, generic characters and OCs. All book periods covered.
Summary/Notes: 100 drabbles, 100 words - all self-contained stories. Some OCs also appear in my longer fiction.

My prompt table can be found here.

Alternatively, follow the fake LJ cut to FF.net:

(Read More)

Any criticism/comments are more than welcome, and if you have any questions I'm happy to answer them.

Eastern Weyr - looking for players! ^_^

2008-04-10T02:15:57Z

Hey there! Nice to see another Pern community - just throwing out an advert for the Weyr that I'm at. ^_^

Eastern Weyr is a relaxed canon Weyr (woman may ride blues but not browns) set in the 12th Pass, where AIVAS was never discovered, there were no Long Intervals, and none of the events in the 9th Pass, except for the founding of Southern and Eastern Weyrs and their subsequent Holds and Halls, happened. None of the characters from the books ever existed and of course Thread will still fall…

At Eastern Weyr we value engaging plotlines, dynamic characters, quality writing, and a creative atmosphere. If you've ever felt lost in the crowd in a larger place, or wanted to find a group where every character is appreciated and the plots are designed to let everyone have a say and an impact, then Eastern Weyr just might be for you!

We welcome writers of all ages and experience who are looking for an opportunity to be a part of a Weyr from the very beginning. Come and help us to carve out the history of Eastern Weyr throughout the 12th Pass!

http://www.freewebs.com/eweyr/index.htm

~~~~~

UPDATES!

~~~~~

Eastern Weyr's gold Ticiath has clutched! See the eggs here!

~~~~~

Congratulations to the new Weyrlings!

Gold Ticiath and bronze Tsorieth's clutch has just hatched, and while it is certainly a joyous occasion, the recent Impressions have left the candidate barracks feeling a little emptier than usual.

Now is the perfect time to create a candidate at Eastern Weyr - gold Ashanath has been showing signs of proddiness and will rise soon, which means time to get settled in before there are eggs on the sands again, but not too long a wait! And eggs, of course, mean dragonets!

Looking for Recs...

2008-04-04T15:48:19Z

So, I was re-reading my pern books and it dawned on me that Pern, like other well liked fiction, may have fanfic.

And it does, yea!

So, I am looking for some fic coms or stories about Robinton. Any raiting or pairing.

ETA: Or, failign that, Harper info fics (I just like them blue folk...)

Fallen Stars of Pern

2008-03-31T08:19:29Z

Hello, I'm just dropping a quick line to introduce myself and to give myself a bit of a explanation as to what exactly I'm doing. If this by any means violates comm rules or displeases the moderators of this comm, please feel free to delete this post, no offense whatsoever will be taken and I will apologize in advance for the offense.

On the personal level, I'm here becuase I love Pern and its amazing dragonriders to the point where I can't stop writing about them and my overall awe of Anne's world and her dragons and also her whers, I'm a mega fan of whers and their handlers and feel they never get enough love in the fandom and am always trying to promote them as well. I'll attempt to post a few short stories here once I get the nerve built up for it.

Additionaly also, I'm also here to do a one time promotion of the PBeM group, Fallen Stars of Pern, I'm a member of the board of directors there, my job specifically is to build and maintain comms for the group here in LJ, Myspace, and Facebook in our constant search for new members to join up and try our slice of Pern heaven. We are a small to medium sized group, which I'd say with our current number of active players is actually small at the moment, but only new members can make the difference, and we love new members and always are very welcoming of new members within the family. We do have a comm here on LJ, the address being: http://community.livejournal.com/fsop_pbem/ ;

Anyone interested or looking to check us out is always welcome to contact me, drop in at our LJ comm, or browse our actual website which is located at: http://fsop.pbemrealm.com/

Thanks for looking, this looks like a nice comm, I hope I can contribute in the future to this place, thanks in advance if this post is allowed to stay, if not I understand and will strive to avoid from making the mistake again. Thanks for reading!

~Karen

The Regicide: Chapter 1

2008-01-15T08:45:05Z

Title: The Regicide
Author/Artist: Kath/chesneycat
Rating/Warnings: 12A
Character(s)/Book(s): 5th Pass OCs
Summary/Notes: F'ren's Weyrleader already blames him for the death of two queen dragons, and it doesn't look like things are going to get better any time soon...
Multiple chapters, each 6-8K words.
Follow-up to my other (shorter) F'ren stories, here, here and here.

Chapter 1

Green winged as the grasses
that Thread would devour.
I hear my love call out my name.

Green wings take them skyward
as Threadfall draws nearer.
I watch my love's dragon a-flame.

Green wings, yes, so many
with Thread seared and over.
I see my love never again.

Early morning, 22.10.34. Above Pars Hold, and westwards across the High Reaches peninsula

The assembled Wings of High Reaches Weyr appeared from between as one, high above the rolling slopes south of Pars Hold. Wingleaders and seconds checked the positions of their men and dragons, while individual riders made their own final inspections. Encouraging thoughts were passed back and forth amongst the dragons as the Weyr waited for the Threads to start falling - it was a good way to pass the time, and made the waiting easier for the riders.

Today, bronzerider F'ren couldn't really see much point to all the mental chatter. Trath was as fit and healthy as ever, and they made a more than capable team. Patting yourself on the back wouldn't make Thread fall any faster, nor get the job of flaming it finished with any quicker or better. He tucked a stray wisp of dark hair back beneath his helmet while his dragon made subtle adjustments to the trim of his wings, and let his mind wander.

He'd had more than three turns of this now.

Three turns as just another wingrider, supposedly bereft of responsibility, and always, always, under the watchful eyes of Weyrleader Sh'vek. Three turns too many. And the way Sh'vek always appeared at just the exact moment to make an example out of them, like today, when F'ren's sacks of firestone had strangely all been filled with rocks of the wrong size or quality, making it well nigh impossible for Trath to build up a decent flame, well, you'd think the man had eyes in the back of his head, or...

F'ren, I don't like the look of this Threadfall. I think we'll need eyes like that today.

The bronzerider squinted towards the leading edge with a sigh. There was an intervening band of cirrus, painfully bright in the sun's glare, and F'ren couldn't really make out much detail. Sorry. Lend me your eyes?

I can do better than that. Azalath is sharing what she sees with me.

F'ren checked their position in the Wing and closed his eyes, not wanting the added disorientation of two viewpoints at once. They were watering enough in the fiercely cold winds as it was. The image from the distant green slowly swam into view... the other dragons in G'dil's Wing were mere blurs, inconsequential compared with the rapidly approaching leading edge of Threadfall. And yes, it did look like a bad one, F'ren decided as he let the image slip away. You couldn't always tell, of course, not until you'd been fighting long enough to assess both that particular 'fall and the weather conditions... but you did learn to trust your own instincts, and those of your dragon even more so. Like an echo reverberating around the Weyrbowl, or a flash of lighting before a thunderclap, sometimes the dragons just knew when things were going to go badly. The dread was infectious... perhaps even strong enough to be a cause in itself... but it wasn't something you could ignore. F'ren could feel that dread in Trath's mind today, and if he was honest with himself, it scared him a little.

This would be a bad Fall.

Everything was decided high above, in the thinnest reaches of the atmosphere, where a dragon couldn't breathe enough to fly, let alone fight. There was a glow to the sky high up to the east, above the darker mass of falling Threads. Up there, that was where the falling Threads first lengthened into bright, hot strands of death. The fast currents of air would twist the falling ribbons unpredictably, sometimes clumping them awkwardly, and sometimes barely affecting them at all, letting them drop in a steady rain. Today's fall was certainly not one of the latter, F'ren realised, as Trath drew his attention to the shifting patterns in the looming grey mass. What made things worse was how unpredictable the next few hours would be; the terrain over Pars Hold was close enough to the Weyr to be familiar, but this fall would take them down the full length of the High Reaches peninsula.

You're remembering something you read? Trath asked, picking up on a thought that F'ren hadn't even realised he was thinking. A long day, two and a half turns ago, one of the few he'd spent in Ista Weyr's records room until Vallenka had put a stop to it. On that particular occasion, the other wingriders in Sh'vek's Wing had been enjoying the varied delights of Tillek Hold's spring Gather... while F'ren pored over the chilling descriptions of Threadfalls from centuries past.

"Threadfall can never be predicted," he quoted from memory. "Each fall is inherently unique; the natural pattern laid down from Pass to Pass by time and terrain is inevitably spoiled by the slightest movements of the air, making the whole an unknowable challenge until the very moment you meet it in the air."

I could have told you that, you know. The bronze made a few more minor adjustments to his wings, steadying their passage through the air; in his eagerness to fight, they'd starting to drift out of position.

It was more than just that, you know. Different ways of fighting, how best to re-stack and layer the Wings in different conditions...

We were good Wingleaders, weren't we?

F'ren sighed. Could've done better I suppose, but I always thought so. And now here they were, back amongst the rank and file, with only the most cursory briefing from Sh'vek immediately prior to departing the Weyr. Standing in line in the bowl, listening to the Weyrleader barking out that day's orders, then waiting while his second, C'nir, dictated a list of stock formations for each Wing, every dragon put in his or her place. There was no time to properly prepare, to go over the likely response of their nearest wingmates to different clumps... And no knowledge of Sh'vek's deeper strategy for that fall beyond being told which Wing would start out where. The Wingleaders and their seconds met behind the closed doors of the council chamber these days. That was one of the things F'ren missed most, not being involved, not knowing what was going on, not being able to influence things for the better in any way... except in the way that all dragons had, that of how much Thread they could char for themselves. And even there... Sh'vek had allowed Flamestrike Wing to develop a worrying competitiveness on that score, and it had quickly spilled over into the rest of the Weyr's fighting Wings. Dammit, it shouldn't be about what each dragon could do, who had the broadest or longest flames! All that mattered was how many dragons were still fit to fly by the end of the fall, and how many burrows you let through. But it wasn't really a point that F'ren was in a position to argue. Increased competition supposedly meant that every dragon tried to excel himself, and the Weyr would prosper accordingly. Huh. Competition and prosperity. Sh'vek certainly had very clear cut ideas about how far he'd let that particular idea fly.

Now wasn't the best time to dwell on such things though. F'ren rolled his shoulders and shook his head, loosening up both mind and body, and took a few last welcome breaths of clean, fresh, freezing air. Soon, the Weyr's dragons would burst into flame, and the air would thicken with fumes and ash. The upper Wings were close now; contact was surely only seconds away. Just enough time for one final check of his fighting straps and the position of the spare firestone sacks. All around him, other riders were doing the same thing. F'ren could feel Trath's readiness in his mind, and a faint rumbling in the dragon's body. The whole Weyr seemed to fall still and silent in instinctive anticipation of Ormaith's bellow, and then, hearing it, surged forward.

WE FIGHT!

The eight fighting Wings of the Weyr were arrayed on two levels, the shallow inverted vees of each Wing forming the corners of a rough cube. The Weyrleader had chosen the lower south-east quadrant for his Wing, directing the action from the central point while his two Wingseconds led from each end. Trath was positioned midway down the inner arm, green Oth to his left, blue Ribbath to his right. Each Wing was to hold its station throughout the fall, ascending or descending as one unit. Occasionally, they'd change direction for a tangential sweep, the two arms of the vee peeling away dragon by dragon and reforming again in a smooth, well-practised manoeuvre. Standard stuff, really, keeping the Wing within a fixed volume of sky that kept pace with either the leading edge or trailing edge. Not the choice F'ren would've made, but then again, it had been his own choices that had got him into his current position...

Ahead, the first falling Threads were almost upon them. First contact was always made on the upper levels: Thunderclap, G'dils Wing, had the awkward northeast quadrant, with M'gan's Skyfrost to the south. Trath supplied one last image from green Azalath of the first Threads being charred, and then at last it was their own turn.

Once the leading edge had passed overhead and the fighting began, that was all that mattered. All thoughts of tactics disappeared from F'ren's mind, because the fall was a bad one, right from the start, with no chance for any respite. The first tangle he saw up close was too big for the smaller dragons flying ahead of Trath in the Wing's vee to manage. Blue Tundreth tried to flame it first, catching only the lower third of it before his momentum carried him past. Green Denchath was next in line, but the weather wasn't cooperating today at all, and before she could flame it she was blown off course by a gust. The green had barely enough room to blink between before she risked hitting another falling Thread.

Let Oth take the singleton; the clump's ours F'ren decided.

She agrees Trath said, slipping out of formation. Three heavy wingbeats were enough to catch up with the partially charred tangle. Trath belched flame enthusiastically, burning the rest of it to harmless ash. That done, they blinked between to rejoin the Wing a little behind their usual position. Usually, that'd give them enough space to spot their next target, but already the smaller dragons to either side were becoming too overworked to take out every Thread that fell between them.

Oth warns us! Trath shrieked, frantically skipping between for a second time, attempting to avoid the Thread that threatened the crucial trailing edge of one of his wings.

F'ren froze as they entered between, not knowing whether his dragon had avoided a scoring or not until their senses returned to them. But there was no burst of pain from Trath as they reemerged, so they must have escaped unharmed this time. He craned his head round to check on the Thread they'd nearly flown into, watching it flutter perilously down towards the ground. That's one for Kiath and Linnebith to handle.

And this one's ours!

The usual pattern of Threadfighting gradually settled F'ren's nerves. Trath's flame was good and steady, and they soon had enough clear air around them to start thinking properly again. In a fall like this, fluid reactions were needed, adapting not only to the abilities of your own dragon, but also those to either side. Surreptitiously at first, Trath laid claim to the larger clumps falling in Oth's and Ribbath's vicinity, allowing the smaller dragons to use their greater agility to weave around him to pick off the Threads he'd missed. It was F'ren's preferred approach, and while it wasn't precisely how they'd been ordered to fly, he doubted that anyone would have a chance to notice it. So long as his nearest neighbours kept good track of where each other dragon was at any given time, there was no real risk of getting lost between when you skipped to avoid a patch of Thread or another dragon's flame. It was all a balance, like most of life. Slightly more risk, but much more effective results. Today's fall would be over four hours long, and you needed to keep yourself as fresh as possible... particularly when the Wings were taking as much damage as they seemed to be doing today.

As a wingrider, you never got as good a sense of how everyone else was fighting as the Wingleaders and seconds did. No reports at regular intervals, no knowledge of who'd been scored, or how badly, unless it was one of your neighbours in the Wing, or worse, a death. Everyone noticed the deaths. But every now and then, Trath would pass on a snippet of gossip, either from their own Wing, or one of the others. Enough to tell how things were going, in an abstract sense. Then there was the chatter between levels, warnings being sent down to the dragons who'd need to backtrack for a missed clump, messages passed back from the leading edge about changes in the conditions, and the usual mixture of praises and jibes between one dragon and another. Today, the atmosphere remained depressingly tense, and even the usual warnings trickled away as every dragon concentrated on his or her own flying. Was there any need for specific warnings when the whole Weyr was well aware of their peril?

Inevitably, mistakes were made.

The first major incident occured within the first half hour. The forward Wings had just finished their fifth transverse sweep, and had reversed direction to fight back towards the leading edge again - just enough repetition of the pattern for dragons and riders to start to become blase about the manoeuvre. But as the wings reformed, some manner of miscommunication occured between H'ersh, one of Sh'vek's Wingseconds, and the second of V'tin's Wing. It was a basic mistake, the kind of error of judgement a weyrling would make, and although it was rapidly rectified it still left a gap in the Weyr's coverage of the fall. It wasn't as bad as it could have been had the mistake been made on the upper level, but even so, a dense mass of Thread slipped through between the two Wings of dragons. In the confusion, men and dragons hesitated, or rushed in rashly... Trath closed his mind to the mental bursts of pain, but they were still close enough for F'ren to hear the bellows of argument, anguish and alarm from the dragons at the extremities of each Wing. He tried to stay focused on their own aerial battle, and waited anxiously for new orders to be relayed to the Wing.

None came.

Nothing the queens can't manage Trath told him, not sounding entirely convinced. The trailing edge is light today, and three of V'tin's riders are staying behind to catch what they can. There were some bad scores, but none fatal, or likely to be.

F'ren nodded grimly, glad that the skies beneath them were still cloudless enough to make the queen's job possible, and reached into one of the sacks for more firestone. They had a bit of space, and besides, it was best to keep Trath's flame high until things settled down again. The bronze twisted his head to snatch the thrown rock out of the air, and quickly chewed and swallowed. F'ren took the spare moment of time to eye the sacks slung over Oth's neck; old habits died hard. The green had been flaming hard, and would probably finish her first sack at about the same time Trath did. It made sense to share a weyrling sooner rather than later, as soon as they hit the next clear patch of sky. Not right now, the way the Threads were falling, but certainly well before their second sacks were emptied too far. F'ren directed his bronze towards the largest clump, bracing himself as Trath banked sharply in the air, the dragon losing enough momentum to drop down beside the falling Threads.

That one was longer than it looked the bronze apologised.

F'ren grunted agreement. Powerful wingstrokes had them ascending once again, angling slightly in the sky to pick off another falling strand. The bronze banked again, his passage having carried him beneath Ribbath. The sky tilted, the land swung into view, and F'ren caught a brief glimpse of one of the two High Reaches queens far below. Linnebith was flying right at the edge of the fall's corridor, her rider preparing her flamethrower to char a patch of Threads falling towards the dense orchards on the south facing slopes of the Riverbend Valley. It looked like even the queens were being overworked in this fall, but hopefully enough of the Hold's groundcrews would witness the event for a marked upturn in tithe quality to result. Trath straightened in the air, and F'ren craned his eyes upwards to check the air above the dragon. All was well, and they'd caught up with their alloted position in the Wing again. The upper levels were doing well, it seemed, because the remaining Threads weren't too awkwardly clumped.

Trath, tell Oth I suggest we call a weyrling for... oh, no! No!

Right above them, a blue dragon blinked in from between, howling in pain. The dragon was badly scored at the juncture of wing and torso, his rider clinging to the straps white-knuckled, blood flowing from a deep wound on one leg. It was all Trath could do to get out of the way, as the blue tumbled past. S'nell and Eshpith F'ren realised, catching a glimpse of the man's contorted features. Eshpith had hatched from the same clutch as Trath, and at one point, S'nell had been one of F'ren's wingmen from Cloudburst. A special case, courtesy of Sh'vek's regular shuffles. He'd been grieving back then, unsettled by the loss of a weyrmate, and it had been almost a year before F'ren felt that he could truly trust the pair in 'fall. But by then, there wasn't much he wouldn't have trusted them with. Eshpith was a good dragon, S'nell a good rider. When he'd lost the Wing, S'nell had even been one of the riders that F'ren's replacement, C'nir, had insisted on keeping.

I've told Ormaith and the Queens of their injury Trath said, eyes whirling a worried orange-red. They knew, but Jolth thought he'd gone to the Weyr already.

F'ren peered over Trath's shoulder, hesitant about spending too much time inactive, but also determined to watch the blue until he either blinked between again, or one of the queens arrived to break his fall. It didn't look like Eshpith was going anywhere himself, not unless S'nell could get better control of things... keeping your dragon from panicking was the first issue; you couldn't jump between safely when distracted by pain or confusion. Oh no, never like that. Ever. But eventually, someone had to act. You broke through, made a decision, jumped home to safety before your dragon lost his nerve... or you held them tight while waiting for rescue.

Linnebith can't catch him, F'ren realised. The younger queen was nearest, but too busy mopping up Thread over the orchards. Where was Kiath? Stretched thin, far away... then there she was, rosy gold in the morning light.

She has him, Trath told him.

Back to work then. We've Thread to burn.

Another hour in, and it seemed that no-one would return to the Weyr unscathed. Trath had caught a minor lacing from an incompletely burned Thread, and F'ren had picked up a few char burns on his face. Eshpith hadn't been the worst injury by then either; they'd lost a brown and two of the weyrlings only minutes later, one of the latter to a shoddy jump, and the queens had had to make a further three rescues after that. The smaller dragons were noticeably tiring now, and Wing by Wing, the reserves were called in from the Weyr. The Wings had travelled a considerable distance westwards by that time, and it looked as though they'd soon be fighting Thread amongst the clouds blown in from the coast. Sh'vek had his second-shift greens and blues keep pace with the fall just behind the trailing edge, and as the Wing's circuit took them past, the dragons exchanged places as necessary. It was an awkward time, but it meant that everyone kept on fighting, with no breaks in the now well-established pattern. Puteth and Graslath were the greens to either side of Trath now. Puteth was an old dragon, able enough, but lacking imagination. Graslath was younger, but her rider was hopelessly in love with H'ersh, and the pair were unlikely to budge from their assigned flight pattern. F'ren sighed, and resigned himself to an awkward second half to the fall.

They'll be exhausted by the end, Trath noted, and belched out another tongue of flame.

F'ren tossed him the remaining rocks from their third sack, and told him to call the Weyrlingmaster for another sack. No rush, just let Earith add us to the queue.

Trath rumbled his agreement, and flamed again. Bronze Mannifeth will join us, as soon as I give them word. After this clump?

Sounds good! At this rate, we'll need another before too long.

The bronze followed the falling Thread downwards into the safer zone beneath the fighting Wings, taking the extra space to flame it more economically. F'ren felt his dragon match images with his own eyes, then shift the perspective slightly before passing it on to the weyrling. Seconds later, the younger bronze materialised, his rider already fumbling at the straps holding the sacks in place. The lad's throw was clean, and F'ren had no trouble catching it; he made a note to mention him in passing to one of the other Wingleaders. Probably S'kloss, the youngest current Wingleader. Not Sh'vek, though. Faranth knew, he didn't want to curse a promising lad with that kind of attention! The weyrling blinked away again to true safety, and Trath and F'ren rejoined their Wing. The rest of the fall looked to be about as bloody as the first half had, but hopefully the Wings hadn't let through any more Thread than the groundcrews could deal with. It was hard to tell with the thickening cloud cover, and eventually Sh'vek had to order the lower Wings beneath them. It didn't give you much chance to see what was falling towards you through the clouds, but at least your dragon was spared the awkward updrafts, or the temptation to use the unreliable cloud forms as landmarks when skipping between to dodge Thread. Flaming, skipping between, heeding and giving warnings... it was still a bad fall, but it was starting to look as though they'd escape the disasters of the first half.

In a way, F'ren's hopes were perfectly accurate. They didn't have anything like the disasters of the first half of the fall.

What they did have was far, far worse.

They were approaching a tangle of Thread when Trath suddenly twisted away and began climbing frantically through the air towards the clouds. F'ren's first thoughts were utterly confused, and Trath's mind was a roiling chaos.

What the sharding...

Ormaith's orders, Trath snapped. Someone's needed up top, and we're closest. I've a visual from Klewth.

F'ren's heart sank as the image appeared in his mind. Another sorely injured dragon needing rescue was falling towards the cloud layer. F'ren dragged their viewpoint closer to the clouds, and passed it back to Trath. I have it. Go. Go! We're guiding the queens in?

Trath confirmed his thoughts as the blackness of between enveloped them.

The Weyr never risked one of its queens on a higher level unless absolutely necessary. Someone must have made the call that the scored brown needed assistance sooner rather than later if he was to be saved, but before the queen arrived, someone else had to get in close enough to ensure that Thread wouldn't threaten her rescue, and to assist if necessary. It was a dangerous role, particularly during conditions such as those they were fighting in today. F'ren wondered how close they really were... though it was true, as far as bronze dragons went, Trath was easily a good choice for the job.

They reappeared above the clouds in exactly F'ren's expected position, just in time to see the brown spiral sharply past. He'd managed to gain enough control to fly... so why hadn't he jumped between on his own? Trath banked into a spiral of his own, surveying their surrounds at the same time as keeping pace with the falling dragon. Miraculously, they'd emerged directly between two clumps, either of which could have grounded Trath for months, or worse. The bronze flamed one, then the other, all the while pulling together a visual for the queen.

Kiath makes the rescue, he told his rider shortly before the gold dragon appeared. She slid easily beneath the brown, taking his weight safely across her back barely more than a dragonlength above the clouds.

Just in time, F'ren remarked, relieved.

Trath flamed another stray Thread before following Kiath at a safe distance into the blankness of the clouds. Gryth's rider cannot see, he said, else they'd have risked returning to the Weyr themselves.

Well, they'll have got back safely now, won't they?

Trath paused to think, and abruptly his mind filled with confusion. Kiath is still here, in the clouds?

What!

The Weyrwoman cannot give Kiath a visual. She struggles, and is in pain!

F'ren felt Trath's mind reach out in several different directions... to the Queen, the injured brown, and down to Sh'vek's Ormaith beneath the clouds. The brown, Gryth, called out in confused pain, and the chilling noise was shortly followed by a second shriek that could only have come from Kiath herself. F'ren slammed an image of the heights well above the Weyr into Trath's head, as the dragon tried to figure out where Kiath was, and what was happening.

Give it to her, the bronzerider insisted. Linnebith too.

The sickening sense of dread was back in Trath's mind. Kiath is confused, but she jumps. Linnebith follows. No!

What?

Immense pressure bore down on the minds of both dragon and rider. Trath's flight faltered under the onslaught of conflicting demands from the Weyrleader's bronze and the junior queen, Linnebith, and his own instinctive sense of what was necessary. Gryth still falls, the bronze informed F'ren coldly. Linnebith demands to know what we did, and to assist getting Kiath to the ground. Ormaith demands to know what we did, and insists we return to the Wing with a damned good explanation. But we're going after Gryth.

F'ren would have made the same decision himself, and applauded Trath's clear thinking. Agreed. And Kiath?

The bronze was silent on that score, his concentration fixed on finding Gryth. They broke through the clouds back into clear skies again, and the bronze looked around vainly for the injured brown.

Gryth was nowhere to be seen.

Descending sharply down to the level of the lower Wings, and still searching for sign of the other dragon, both Trath and F'ren found hemselves startled by the unexpected appearance from between of another dragon. Ormaith, and Sh'vek. The Weyrleader leaned across his bronze's neck towards them, his features contorted as he shouted.

"They jumped, you idiots!"

F'ren shook his head, unwilling to believe it. Trath had been almost on top of them, and Kiath had definitely left the brown behind. But then... if that's what had happened, where in Faranth's name had they got to? "Not with Kiath," he shouted back, "and they're still falling!"

The stare he received in reply from Sh'vek was chilling, and F'ren soon knew the reason why. A dragon had just died. Not Kiath, surely, please! he whispered mentally to Trath.

No, the dragon answered in heartbroken relief. Gryth. I understand now. They jumped to find Linnebith, when Kiath cast them aside, but she was gone. We called her away...

F'ren felt the bile rise in his throat, suddenly understanding the fate they'd condemned Gryth and his rider to. Oh, they'd still been falling through the air above Riverbend, but so much lower than F'ren and Trath had thought. Did they...

Gryth jumped before they hit ground. He would not have survived the impact.

F'ren swallowed bitterly. Shit. He twisted his head round to meet the Weyrleader's eyes; this wouldn't be good. "What are your orders, sir?"

Sh'vek scowled and shook his head. "I'll deal with you later, assuming you choose to survive the rest of this fall. You may wish otherwise. Get back to the Wing; H'ersh is taking charge, and you're to take his place as second." He then went on to prove that Ormaith, too, could force a strong visual on another dragon. Trath accepted the offered image meekly, and slipped between.

Ormaith returns to the Weyr with M'arsen and Pellenth the bronze said while they hung senseless in the dark. He held the mental image of his new Wing position closely, and soon it matched reality again. Back in the air, the dragon immediately erupted into flames, his reactions even quicker than F'ren had thought possible. The fall has worsened down here.

The bronze dragon was right, as usual. Visibility was down about as far as it got, with a humid bank of low cloud extending almost all the way down to the hilltops. The air was nowhere near damp enough to defeat Thread on its own and save the dragonriders the trouble, but the falling Threads were now darkened by the moisture in places, making them much harder to spot as they fell. Even worse, some looked to be safely dead, and weren't. Oh, there'd be burrows a plenty from this fall, that was certain. But for the first time in three turns, F'ren had the chance to make a real difference. He threw Trath a few more chunks of rock, and inspected the Wing while his dragon chewed noisily. "H'ersh is sticking to Sh'vek's pattern then," F'ren muttered to himself. He'd have favoured a wedge at this point, and asked Trath to suggest it to the Wingsecond's dragon. In the distance, the other man looked round towards them, and raised an arm.

Fith says his rider concurs. We reform the...

Trath broke off mid-thought and grunted a lungful of flame at nothing. All the way across the sky, every other dragon seemed to lose focus, and the unlucky immediately suffered for it.

Kiath needs help! The Weyrwoman...

Everything seemed to shrink in the face of Trath's... no, Kiath's panic. There was pain, and F'ren's thoughts became fogged, but somehow so, so intense as well. Every bit of his strength seemed to be draining away into numbness, except for the scalding echoes of loss and pain reverberating through his bronze's mind, as dragon after dragon encountered disaster. Trath twisted his head from side to side in indecision.

F'ren clamped down on his dragon's emotions as firmly as he dared, blocking the litany of newly deceased dragons and riders from their thoughts. This whole day was impossible, an unthinkable nightmare! The Weyrwoman isn't dead yet! We can't do a thing for Maenida while there's Thread to be fought. Kiath endangers the Weyr, and everyone living between here and Balen. Why in Faranth's name hadn't Ormaith and Linnebith got control over Kiath already? He gently eased the bronze's mind away from the panicking queen, and back towards the danger of the Threadfall; hopefully, the other riders would be doing the same for their own dragons. Abashed, Trath quickly pulled himself together and renewed his fight with more fervour than he'd shown all day. F'ren let his bronze flame a clump to ash, then nudged him back into contact with the Wingsecond. We still need to reform the Wing. He looked back over his shoulder to check on H'ersh and Fith, but the centre of the Wing held only greens and blues. Had they hopped between, or been injured?

They died.

The bronzerider's heart sank, and he found himself laughing coldly. Dammit. We've got no choice, Trath. Flamestrike Wing's our problem for the next hour. Get them organised, insist as strongly as you have to. I want us in a proper wedge five minutes ago.

Trath took up a central position, and most of the Wing quickly obliged in forming up around him. Yes, this was working better already, F'ren thought, as they cut a clean swathe through the falling Thread. Let the others fly as they will, but they'll have more protection in formation. If they don't figure that out for themselves, it's their own problem, not ours.

Trath silently agreed, and called for the first change in direction. The reluctant pairs joined the formation before the Wing had finished its second sweep of the Threadfall corridor, and F'ren was pleased to see Deluge and Icestorm Wings follow suit. Each of them was on their own until... if... Sh'vek returned to take charge. But with so many injuries, they were flying wing-light... Call back half of the first shift, F'ren asked his dragon. If Sh'vek disagreed, he could always stop them at the Weyr. While he waited to see if the extra dragons would be joining them, the bronzerider caught sight of the Weyrlingmaster and his Wing of youngsters far below. He'd obviously elected to allow his senior weyrlings to flame any Thread that escaped the Wings; probably a wise act. But they'd be better use on the upper levels, F'ren realised. Talk to Earith, too. It's the Weyrlingmaster's decision, but we could use a few he trusts on the mop-up line behind our wedge.

A handful of greens and blues returned to rejoin the Wing from the Weyr, and a few minutes later F'ren had an answer from the Weyrling Wing, in the form of a bronze and two blues. Mannifeth was the bronze, a pleasing result in F'ren's eyes. Trath directed them into place, and then resumed flaming Threads in earnest, periodically checking on the other dragons and the inexperienced youngsters.

They fly well, he said after watching one of the blues successfully char, skip and reappear.

They were close to graduating anyway, F'ren agreed. Keep a close watch on them though; they don't deserve a first fall like this.

Time passed slowly, every second stretching out into minutes, but at last F'ren tasted more than rancid ash in the air... the tang of the ocean air. Beneath the fighting Wings, the coastline slowly emerged from its misty shroud, and F'ren realised the leading edge had already passed above it. They had barely ten more minutes left to fight! Other Wings had already noticed the same thing, he realised... why else the sudden sound of cheers, and the sense of optimism? Of course, there was no cause to relax yet - the last Threads to fall above the land were just as dangerous as the first. Bronze Trath was long familiar with his rider's caution, and the dragon immediately slipped back from the wedge in order to maintain a better perspective of the Wing as it fought, and to chivy anyone who was celebrating too soon.

And then it was over.

The trailing edge was ahead of them, heading out to sea, watched by over two hundred utterly exhausted dragons. F'ren let his arms drop down to his sides and stretched the tension out of his neck and shoulders. By the First Egg, things couldn't have got much worse than that! He let out a loud sigh, and found it turning half into a laugh, or maybe an exhausted sob. Too much had happened today; he could scarcely think! One by one, the other Wings began to blink out to return to the Weyr, and F'ren turned his thoughts back to the job at hand Dismiss the weyrlings first, he told his bronze, while I think about what to tell the Wing.

And what could he tell them? Thank them for listening to his orders when there was no-one else left, only to be undermined as soon as they returned? Praise them for not letting too much Thread through, when there were bound to be burrows scattered across the landscape from here right the way...

Oh fardling, flaming balls of... who was dealing with the burrows?

He grabbed his head in his hands and growled in frustration. Linnebith would be taking on Kiath's role with the injured dragons, keeping them calm enough to be treated... and Faranth knew, she'd be sorely pushed just coping with that task, let alone thinking of anything else. Delene certainly didn't have the sense to delegate, Maenida was in who knew what condition, Sh'vek, well, F'ren wasn't in a hurry to ask the man anything at this point.

The Wing ask us why we wait, Trath informed him softly. We cannot leave yet, can we?

No. Not all of us, at any rate. Who's freshest?

The bronze's mind was coloured by bitter humour. Better ask who can still fly.

F'ren grunted a laugh. They'll do. Send everyone else back, the rest can follow us back along the path of 'fall. As Trath tiredly began winging his way eastwards again, F'ren looked back to see who was following. A dozen dragons; better than he'd expected. Stiff-necked old Puteth was one, and for once F'ren was glad to be accompanied by that pair. Duty-driven old F'sigger would back him up, and see this final task through no matter what.

Flying low across the landscape, the first burrow was easily spotted. The vegetation surrounding the impact site was shrivelling up, and a fat tendril of Thread was visibly consuming a shrub on the surface. F'ren directed one of the blues to make a flaming pass while the other dragons landed, but before they had reached the ground, Trath spoke up with more news.

Bronze Mannifeth returns to us.

The weyrling?

Yes. His rider brings agenothree tanks and a pump, and shovels. I give them our visual now.

He does? 'Bout time something went right round here. Truth be told, he'd not felt this exhausted in turns, and had utterly forgotten the need for more equipment than a dragon's own flames. He fell more than jumped down from Trath's neck as they landed, and eyed the burrow suspiciously. The surface Threads were clearly charred, but if a whole tangle had burrowed, very little of it would have stayed on the surface.

Instinct made him look up again as the bronze weyrling blinked in from between right above the burrow. He quickly landed to join the other dragons, and his rider slid down from his dragon's back, arms full of equipment. "I brought the stuff you asked for, Sir!" he said cheerily.

F'ren caught his eye with a level stare, and the lad winked conspiratorially.

"Thank you..."

O'reb

"...O'reb," F'ren finished. Smart lad, but if he wanted an ally or influence in the Weyr, he was making a pretty sorry choice of it. He gestured to the other riders to unload the agenothree tanks slung beneath Mannifeth's belly, and watched as the riders set to work destroying the first burrow. Tell Mannifeth that he and his rider have impressed us today. That they may make good Wingleader material in the future, so long as they don't get too cocky. Stress that last bit, he's way too enthusiastic.

I have, Trath replied. Mannifeth says his rider is very scared about the injuries back at the Weyr, and is trying to stay strong.

Well that was a good sign. F'ren walked over to O'reb, and slapped the lad across the shoulders. "Good work, lad."

The boy gave a hesitant, somewhat sickly smile in reply. "I didn't know a 'fall could be this bad, Sir."

F'ren sighed and folded his arms, scuffing his feet on the denuded dirt. He looked blankly out across the landscape, trying to spot the next burrow, and quietly offered the lad a few more words of advice. The boy could take them or leave them as he wanted. "You kept your head, and your dragon will soon forget what you've seen today. You may not, but bad memories are their own reward. We're still alive to have them at least, and we've done the job our dragons were born for. You can be proud of that." He turned to look back at the boy... no, young man, after what he'd witnessed today... and found him nodding soberly. "Get back to the Weyr now, or Earith will never let me hear the end of it." F'ren raised his voice, and called out to Puteth's rider, who was busily directing agenothree into the burrow.

"F'sigger, when you're done there, would you accompany O'reb back to the Weyr?"

The greenrider thrust the wand into one of his wingmates hands with a glare. "Aye," he said, and started striding towards F'ren.

F'ren met him halfway, and hurriedly spoke first, quietly enough that no-one else could hear. "This job's too big for us, especially with only one tank. We'll be too slow."

The greenrider looked round to give F'ren a questioning stare as they approached his dragon. "Not as stupid as you look, are you sir? You want me to get help?"

"Absolutely. I don't care who, just get it done. Start back at Riverbend, with the older burrows."

F'sigger grunted, and grabbed hold of his riding straps. "I'm not stupid either, man," he said, hauling himself up onto his dragon. "We'll get it done."

"See that you do."

Hello

2008-01-06T22:58:04Z

Hi, everyone! I just joined. I'm a big fan of Pern, and I thought it would be interesting to join a group with other fans. I don't usually write lengthy fan-fiction, but I do participate in round-robin RPGs.

The poll! Magically unbroken.

2008-01-05T21:49:39Z

Okay, so, this is the revamped poll. Now that it -works-, please feel free to vote and speak your mind! (Sorry for the quasi-double-post.)

View Poll: Group Activity?

Happy New Year!

2008-01-05T18:22:19Z

Okay, I know, I'm a few days late.

Welcome to the newest members, and hello again to the old! For those who don't know me, I'm the local ~~slacker~~ moderator.

In the past, I have severely neglected this community. However, with a new year comes a new sense of motivation. This little, quiet community has 68 members. (I was surprised, too!) That's plenty of people to make this place a thriving home.

If I promise to actually do things with this community, would you all be willing to participate? I mean, that's the point, right?

So, first off, let's find out what you guys would like to see.

[edit]

Due to *cough* technical difficulties, I had to repost the revised poll in a new post. Sorry! But please go put your two cents in there. :)

[/edit]

PS~ I revamped the layout and added some new guidelines, notably for tagging. Check it out!

New rec

2008-01-05T08:09:49Z

Hi, this a good rec. It's short, humorous, gen,and a crossover AU with Star Gate Atlantis: On the Wings of Imagination by xparrot http://community.livejournal.com/sga_flashfic/680544.html#cutid1

Hi

2007-11-27T04:20:46Z

This comm is kinda quiet. Hope someone still reads.

I'm interested in joining an RP. I've been hesitating for a long time, but I think I finally wanna try. I'm willing to start at any position, but I'd like to eventually work into a goldrider position, so that I can finally bring into fruition a character and her queen that have been living in my head for ten years or so. I'm not interested in any Weyrs that have weird, funky colored dragons and OMG SO SPESHUL riders, or anything like that. AU 9th pass is as weird as I want to go, I think. So if anyone has any suggestions, I'd love to hear them.

Aerten Weyr

2007-11-14T09:26:56Z

Welcome to Aerten Weyr

A less than conventional Weyr set in the 6th Pass in a large ravine between High Reaches and Telgar. Set on a Pern where traditional colors are finding themselves fighting side by side with a whole new set of dragons and fire lizards.

During the second interval, Telgar and High Reaches found themselves overpopulated. Coupled with a rather virulent strain of differing opinions, this led to the Aerten project. A group comprised of members from both mother Weyrs set out to form their own. They found a large ravine between the mother Weyrs and slightly south of High Reaches. After exploring it further, they decided it was ideal and set to work. They named it Aerten. Before long, a man from Ruatha discovered a nearby area to be perfect for raising runners and established Arion Hold.

Turns later, at the end of the fifth interval, G’lion of bronze Abranth flew Aerten’s Senior Queen, Eliath. In the first few months of G’lion’s leadership, he participated in a childish argument with the Lord Holder of Crom, and refused to fly the first Threadfall over the Mine Hold. The Weyr was appalled and a few of the junior bronzes attempted to fly Thread without their Weyrleader. But to no avail. G’lion and Abranth literally forced them to stay grounded. Eliath was on the Sands at the time, forcing the Weyrwoman to become a spectator. The Queen tried to make Abranth stop, but he would not listen to her, and Eliath was too gentle a creature to force him. Telgar flew Thread over Crom that day. The Weyrs and Holds of Pern held a council and outcast Aerten Weyr for G’lion’s serious lack of sense. Only Arion stood by them, “For Gale’s sake.” The Lord Holder declared.

After his initial hiccup, G’lion repented and strove to make up for his actions; he made a complete 180 and refused to stop flying Thread even if the rest of Pern no longer expected him to. He enacted many provisions to keep the Weyr running. He found land for the Weyr to grow crops of their own, thus becoming semi-self-sufficient. He also found and organized a series of mines around the Weyr to provide firestone to the Weyr. At the same time, Gale tried to patch things with the other Weyrs and Holds, dedicating her life to the task, but to no avail. G’lion and Abranth have since died, and Gale has retired. Roughly thirty years after G'lion's folly, Aerten still flies Thread over Crom, Nabol, Ruatha, and Arion despite Pern's feelings on the issue; they feel honor-bound to do so and repent for their past leader’s failings.

Aerten Weyr Dragon Colors, Sizes, and Ranks

Gold Queens: (female with female riders): The first in the dragon hierarchy and largest of the dragons of Pern. Golds vary from yellow-green to the color of polished gold metal. Gold Queens control all the other colors not only for their size but because of how strong minded a Queen is. They help with keeping order within the Weyr when there is Thread or not. They check up on all dragons and check up with all the humans that live within the Weyr. They do not produce flame like the other colors for chewing firestone will make a Queen infertile to produce any clutches. Golds will rise to mate two times a year, and produce a clutch of twenty to forty eggs at a time. A fully mature Gold is around three Turns of age and ready to mate Queen is around one to two Turns of age. From nose tip to tail tip a Gold can measure up to thirty-eight to forty-two meters long.

Silver Queens: (female with female riders): The second largest of the dragons of Pern, their skin can be anywhere from sterling silver to dark chrome. Queens in their own right, Silvers hold all the same responsibilities as Gold Queens; like Golds, they do not flame as firestone will make them infertile. Silver Queens rise to mate twice per Turn. The usual size is unknown, but they usually have good quality clutches. A fully mature Silver is around three Turns of age and ready to mate Queen is around one to two Turns of age. From nose to tail tip, a Silver can measure from thirty-eight to forty-two meters long.

Bronzes: (male with male riders): The third largest of the dragons of Pern, their skin can vary from true bronze to brown-bronze. Most Bronzes become either Weyrleaders or Wingleaders for the Weyr or Fighting Wings. They are the leaders of the other fighting dragons and help keep order within a Weyr both in times of Thread or in times of peace. Bronze dragons are usually the dragons to fly the Golds, producing large clutches along with a Golden egg. A fully mature and ready to mate Bronze at the earliest age is at one Turn of age. From nose tip to tail tip a Bronze can measure up to thirty-five to thirty-eight meters long.

Crimsons: (female with female riders): The fourth largest of the dragons of Pern, Crimsons can vary in color from pale red (not pink) to a deep burgundy. Crimsons are special among the dragons because they are capable of both flaming and clutching. A fully mature, ready to mate Crimson is one Turn old at the earliest. They only rise once per Turn; they clutch small between, 5 to 10 eggs, and never a produce a Queen egg. From nose tip to tail tip, Crimsons measure twenty-five to thirty-five meters long.

Ebonies: (female or male with male or female riders): The fifth largest of the dragons of Pern, Ebonies vary in skin tone from dusty black to pure jet. They are usually Wingleaders or Wingseconds in Fighting Wings Female Ebonies flame but do not clutch since firestone makes them infertile. Male Ebonies, like the other male dragons, are not affected by firestone. A fully mature, ready to mate Ebony is one Turn old; females rise to mate once per Turn. Male ebonies usually fly Silvers but will chase other females as well. From nose tip to tail tip, Ebonies can measure from thirty-five to thirty-eight meters long.

Browns: (male with male riders): The sixth largest of the dragons of Pern, Browns vary from dark chocolate (brown/black) to light milk chocolate brown. Browns can fly the queens but the clutches are smaller and there is never a Golden egg in the clutch. Most Browns become Wingseconds in a Fighting Wings. Browns are fully mature and ready to mate at earliest age of one Turn. They usually fly Crimsons but will chase other females as well. From nose tip to tail tip a Browns can measure thirty to thirty-five meters long.

Coppers: (male with male riders): The seventh largest of the dragons of Pern, Coppers vary in color from bright, burnished copper to a dark bronze-copper. Most Coppers become Wingseconds in Fighting Wings. A fully mature and ready to mate Copper is one Turn old at the earliest. They usually fly Crimsons but will chase other females as well. From nose tip to tail tip, Coppers can measure thirty to thirty-five meters long.

Hazels: (female with female riders): The eighth largest of the dragons of Pern, Hazels are brown with an iridescent green sheen. They can be dark brown with a subtle green tint, or a much lighter brown with a very prominent green polish, or vice versa. Hazels fly as Wingriders in Fighting Wings. They are ONLY found in crimson clutches. They are born sterile, but still rise to mate three times every Turn. A fully mature and ready to mate Hazel is one turn old. From nose tip to tail tip, Hazels measure thirty-three to thirty-eight meters long.

Blue: (male with male riders or very rarely female with female riders): The ninth largest of the dragons of Pern, Blues vary from navy blue (blue/black) to very light sky blue. Blues are faster and more agile than their larger brothers and usually fly as Wingriders in Fighting Wings. Blues are especially sensitive to potential Candidates and usually fly Search. Blues are fully mature and ready to mate at earliest age of one Turn. Blues usually fly Silvers, but will chase other females as well. From nose tip to tail tip a male Blue can measure up to twenty-five to thirty meters long. Female blues measure from nineteen to twenty-two meters long.

Greens: (female with male or female riders): The tenth largest of the dragons of Pern, Greens vary from dark emerald green (green/black) to a very light grass green. Even more agile than blues, Greens also fly as Wingriders in Fighting Wings. Some Greens may fly Search. Since they are so agile, most greens are reckless, able to perform feats larger dragons would not. However, they have much less stamina than their larger relatives. Chewing stone renders Greens infertile, but they still rise to mate three to five times per Turn. A fully mature and ready to mate Green is one Turn old. From nose tip to tail tip, Greens measure twenty to twenty-five meters long.

Greys: (female with female riders): The eleventh and one of the smallest of the dragons of Pern, Greys vary from very pale grey to dark, storm-cloud grey. Greys are also fast and agile and also better at going between. They fly as Wingriders in Fighting Wings. Greys are born infertile and have no desire to mate. A fully mature Grey is one Turn old. From nose tip to tail tip, Greys measure fifteen to twenty meters long.

Whites: (male with male riders): The twelfth and smallest of the dragons of Pern, Whites vary from pure, pearl white to a dull off-white. Whites are also fast and agile and also better at going between. They fly as Wingriders in Fighting Wings. Whites are born infertile and have no desire to mate. A fully mature White is one Turn old. From nose tip to tail tip, Whites measure fifteen to twenty meters long.

Right now we have 1 clutch soon to be laid, and several clutching dragons still yet to fly, so candidates are welcome! If you don’t feel like waiting around for a hatching to find you, feel free to jump right into the action and make a green, blue, or even brown rider! Our board is full of friendly, supportive, and talented RPers who are always eager to meet and write with new people.

We are a literature forum-based Pern RP, and we always welcome new members with open arms. Our only requirements are that you don’t do “one-liners” and follow general etiquette.

Come check us out!

HERE: http://z3.invisionfree.com/Aerten_Weyr/index.php?

Anyone have some good recs? Here's what I have

2007-11-08T05:28:44Z

Hi,

Are you late to the fandom and having as hard a time as I am finding good fic to read?
Here is what I've found:

bookworm_2005 gave me two recs I would like to share:

Dragonchoice and Dragonchoice II by Faye Upton are epic fics, and in my opinion the stories are the pinnacle of fic in this fandom. The stories are illustrated by various artists, and each story was at least a year in creation. There are slash overtones, but nothing explicit. Very true to canon. http://www.dragonchoice.com/

The Rider's Pride by DKStories is a slash fic (m/m pairings) that is very good http://dkstories.gayauthors.org/riders/index.php

I would also recommend this unfinished, gen fic (with slash overtones):
Green_and_Proud by Eminempern: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2925887/1/Green_and_Proud

So what have you read that would be considered a CLASSIC in the fandom? Please share!!!

Just Dropping In

2007-11-07T23:02:50Z

Hey all,

My name's Alexandria, but all my friends call me Alex for short. I've been reading pern since 1990, and I've had to buy new paperbacks from wearing the other ones out. I'm currently applying to Triad Wyer RPG as a candidate.

The problem is, I'm a writer at heart so I've already gotten a fully developed plot line and character list! So I'm writing a fiction with my characters. What I'd like to know is if anyone here would be interested in reading it. Leave me a line, or have your firelizard drop it by.

Pleasant Skies,

Alex

Group-newbie but long time fan

2007-10-23T03:24:51Z

Hello!

I just found this wonderful list, oh about twenty minutes ago. I was spurred into searching for some pern-fic I'd read awhile back after watching Eragon with my 15 year old daughter. I remembered how much fun I'd had with the fan-fic (yes, even before it was "allowed") and how obsessed I was with the world since picking up my first book (White Dragon) when I was sixteen. God, the hours I spent holed up in my room devouring that book. After that, well, let's just say there was a direct correlation between the size of my Pern collection and the number of hits my grade card took. : D

I'm very excited to be a part of this comm, and I hope to be able to add some of my limited knowledge and skills. I love to write fanfic but I seldom have the time. I have also recently got ahold of Photoshop, but I'm in the middle of classes using it and try as I may, the teacher won't except fan art. :(

I would also like to add a request with my intro though. I will read just about anything in the Pern-verse, but I'm particularly fond of the out-of-the-ordinary and I'm a huge slash fan. I remember reading a group of slash-fics once, dealing with non-canon holds and characters, but I don't remember who or where I saw them. It was a fairly large list and each pairing's story usually had 2 or 3 parts. If anyone can point me in the direction of possible candidates, I would greatly appreciate it. And if I find these before then, I can share the link on my LJ, or here, if you'd like.

Now, I have to go online shopping for my newly dragon-obsessed daughter. :D

Night!

pern_fic @ 2007-10-01T16:29:00

2007-10-01T16:01:07Z

Hey, I don't know if this is technically allowed, but I'm going to do this anyway.

Just a quick advertisment, I've started a new Pern-based RP, because I lost my old one. Yes, lost. If you're even slightly interested, and will probably only go on once in a month or so, please register, since I currently have 2 members: me, and my brother who has never read the books.

The link is here

I am writing some fics though, so I feel this slightly more allowed.

Thanks, Em xx

A Change in Gears (chapter 2)

2007-07-31T06:09:25Z

Title: A Change in Gears
Rating: PG-13ish
Summary: Rena is a quiet, calculating girl from a backwater hold in the mountains. When she impresses an unusually murderous Silver Queen life gets complicated for Mistfall Weyr. Will she be able to control her dragon? Or will things spiral out of control?
Link: http://maryseif.livejournal.com/2007/07/30/

Southern @ SouCon MUSH Searches!

2007-07-24T04:52:42Z

Southern Weyr at SouCon Mush is riding search! For those of you who have ever been a fan of Anne McCaffrey’s Dragonriders of Pern series and wanted to be a rider yourself, here is your chance! Southern welcomes old pros at MUSHing and absolute newbies, the warm welcoming staff will be glad to help with any questions, from understanding simple commands to helping get you settled in. Our game is set in the 11th pass of Pern, several turns after a huge plague has devastated the planet. If you would like more info on SouCon, please feel free to hop over to: http://www.soucon.net/ and if you’re looking for more information on Southern Weyr itself: http://southern.silvertree.org/

Southern is located within a tropical paradise. There are enormous stretches of jungles and long beaches with lots of sun, not to mention the flowers and other scenery. However there are also red tide outbreaks, tsunamis and the troublemaking work of the Order (the pernese equivalent of the Mafia) to contend with. But aren’t these negligible difficulties all worth it to live in such a place and just maybe, garner the chance to ride a Pernese dragon?

Southern Weyr wants you guys to apply for our search! If you’re looking for a solid, friendly player base, we’re your people. If you’re looking for an area to create original TPs and develop long juicy storylines for your characters, you can find it all at our Weyr. Our Candidacy program is well run; with dedicated coordinators who more than encourage events from our participants. And a huge effort is put into the detail to which our dragons are made, if you’d like examples please refer to
http://southern.silvertree.org/hatch/index.html to see some from previous cycles! In addition we run a comprehensive weyrlinghood and you’ll see the same level of dedication to your RP from our staff in that arena too. 

So in short, apply for search at SouCon’s Southern Weyr! Log on today to mush.soucon.net (68.124.76.25) Port 4201 for new and exciting RP experiences!

A PS for those not familiar with MUSHing! MUSH stands for Multi-User-Shared-Hallucination and is a form of text based role-playing that works through Telnet. As opposed to PBeMs or message boards, your role-play will occur in real time. It’s almost like stage acting, and can be very compelling, interactive and really draw you in for hours. It’s much more convenient than other forms of text based RP since you’re not going to have to wait for hours or days to get a response to your pose. SouCon’s website includes a direct Telnet link and java client on their main page. Please check us out! 
http://www.soucon.net/

Hello There

2007-06-23T07:38:12Z

My name is Mary and I've been reading Dragonriders of Pern books since I was very little. I was recently inspired to actually stop being such a lazy ass and write a fanfic.

TITLE: A Change in Gears
RATING: PG-13ish
SUMMARY: Rena is a quiet, calculating girl from a backwater hold in the mountains. When she impresses an unusually murderous Silver Queen life gets complicated for Mistfall Weyr. Will she be able to control her dragon? Or will things spiral out of control?

Well hey there.

2007-04-25T16:41:56Z

Hello all!
I've been writing pern fic for some time, but I prefer to base mine in canon, and to work with Anne's characters. I write a lot of 9th pass/ post 9th pass stuff. I've noticed that almsot all the stuff posted here is with original or RP characters. Would you guys be willing to accept canon character stuff?
:) Have a good one
H. S. Shore

Intro Post (and fanfic)

2007-04-08T16:28:57Z

Hey everyone! This is Luthien Nenharma, and I've been a fan of Pern for several years now; Ever since I bought my first Pern novel (Dragonflight), I've been hooked.

I was really happy when Anne started allowing fanfic, but it's taken me until late last night to actually start a fic, but I managed to write a short intro to what will hopefully be a long story. It's seen mostly through the dragon's perspective.

Through A Dragon's Eyes: Chapter 1

pern_fic @ 2006-11-23T18:42:00

2006-11-23T16:42:49Z

Hello everybody.

My name's may_minstrell (I've been born in May, and I consider myself a kind of minstrel, being interested in verses, songs and guitars). I've been a Pern fan since 1996, when I started reading the series. Although I don't practize in such Pernese fanart as drawing, or painting, or anything like that (it's mainly because I fear the result would be nice enough for itself, but not very much connected with the origin), I'm writing fanfiction stories about Pern, and I would like to post them here.

Intro Post (with Added Arts)

2006-11-21T03:14:53Z

Hey, all. I'm J. K. Baduini, and I've been a Pern fan ever since I saw The Skies of Pern in a bookstore and learned it was part of a series. I'm a sucker for Pern fanfic, and probably read it more than any other fandom.

I like to RP, write, and draw Pern, though how much I do any of them varies depending on how much free time I have.

A size comparison--human, green, gold. The proportions of this came out a little funny--the green's too small, in my opinion--but generally, this is how I view them.

A couple of characters in a fanfic WIP, posted mostly because I love the way the firelizard on her shoulder came out.

Portrait of a green dragon ridden by one of the characters in the fore-mentioned WIP. This is the closest I've gotten so far to my mental image of a Pernese dragon.

I do write, as I mentioned above, but I don't have any currently posted on the Internet because all of my previous Pern!fic is dookie. Everything I have that's currently finished are self-indulgent one-shots that break Anne's rules for what can be posted anyway, which is why they aren't up anywhere.

I am working on a multi-chaptered fic set post-Ninth pass, however, which I'm very proud of and which I will, in all probability, complete. I'm very happy with what I have so far and think it looks promising...but I need help. I hope it's all right that I ask this here; if not, let me know and I'll be happy to remove my plea, but...

I need a beta-reader. I need someone with an objective eye and a knowledge of Pern canon to read over it for me and help me keep on track, both in terms of plot and in terms of Pern canon. I think I can get this fic done in a matter of months, but only if I have someone helping me out, keeping me motivated and helping me get past my hang-ups. I'd be eternally grateful to anyone who helped, so please, please, let me know if you're interested.

Otherwise, hello, and expect fic from me eventually! XD