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Log - 09.25.08 - InterWeyr Games, Day 1
spirited
sunika_ftw wrote in fortweyr_nc
Who: Acadia, C'ael, Caitlyn, D'kai, Enjanth, K'tel, Kintryth, M'yr, Mikhuth, Miraen, Riaceth, Rolan, S'lek, Sunika, Tegara, Zmeth
Where: Central Bowl, Fort Weyr
Time: Day 21, month 12, Turn 17, of the Interval. It is a winter afternoon.
What: The InterWeyr games begin! The events included: firestone sack toss, rope drill, and a foot race.
Notable NPCs: Dichegi and Oelgran handled the day's events.



The InterWeyr Games are upon Fort Weyr in full force, with a large banner having been hung between two high poles to announce as much. The weather is cool and brisk, just right for an early afternoon in winter for the area. Ribbons and other decorations in the main colours of the Weyrs have been strewn about and various sections of the bowl have been roped off for whatever the games du jour happen to be. A large portion has been set aside in preparation for the rope drill, with a smaller section filled with sacks of firestone for the firestone sack toss. Racers will be directed to another section when the time is right. Crafters have set up various booths with a myriad of goods, much as one might find at a Gather and some traders have also made an appearance, including a few who, along with some Harpers, are around to provide entertainment between events and maybe make a few marks in the process.

Currently, the gentleman in charge of the firestone sack toss is trying to wrangle people who want to participate -- whether seeking those sent specifically by their Weyr to participate or those who have signed up at the last minute and are hoping they'll have a chance to show their Weyr pride.

C'ael is there, dressed against the cold, standing near the firestone sacks and rubbing his hands together to keep them warm.

Miraen is one of those who signed up at the last-minute and is accordingly herded.

Rolan rumbles up from the lake shore, pushing his candy cart before him. The bells hanging about it ringing merrily as it bumps over stones. He finds a nice place, close to the action but out of the way, kicks the stand into place and sets the cart down to stand on it's own. He brushes his hands off and looks around the crowd.

D'kai was one of those long ago signed up - and Mikhuth's not going to let him get away with slipping out last minute. Neither is, it seems, one of the games assistants, who's herding him nearer despite the bronzerider's laughing protests. "Okay, okay, I'm going!" And he does.

Wandering amidst the crowd would be Sunika and her duet of 'lizards, a few marks clutched in her hands and her attention clearly fixed on the wares for sale more than the events thus far; sack throwing? Not really her cup of tea, evidently. Her steps bring her inexorably toward Rolan's candy cart, eyebrows lifting just a bit with curiosity. "Oh! What have we here?"

Other riders and some residents from other Weyrs are finally grouped together and Miraen will find herself with three other Istans -- a stablehand, a cook, and a burly brownrider; the man grins at the quartet and directs, "Make a line, right 'ere," he points roughly a foot from the heap of sacks, then sketches out an invisible line that stretches to a circle made in the dirt as the depositing point. His gaze fixes on Miraen briefly, appraisingly, then asks, "Y'wanna take this spot or th' rear?" Pick up or drop off. The same instructions are given to the other participants, including C'ael and D'kai, who are joined by a pair of bakers from Fort. To all, a bellowed: "Don't start until I give th' all clear, y'hear me?"

Miraen meekly takes the spot indicted, rather than the rear.

C'ael positions himself at the head of the sack tossing line. One of the bakers takes up a spot not far away, ready to catch any sacks tossed to him. He waits for D'kai and the other baker to take up their spots. A quick grin is given by the brownrider for the rest of his team, and then flashed at the opponents. "Prepare to lose!"

D'kai, once he's accepted this inevitable sack-tossing fate, lines up with a cheery little grin for C'ael - and one a bit more suspicious over his shoulder, at Mikhuth, who just sort of croons happily and half-lids his eyes. Supportive life-mate /he/ is! Obligingly, though, he and the other baker set themselves, too, and signal their readiness with a lifted hand and nod for the organizer.

One group -- it's difficult to tell which, over the din of the crowds -- calls back, "We'll see, Fortians!" Other challenges are brightly made, everyone settling into position while they way. The Istan rider takes the next spot near Miraen, offering an encouraging, "We'll show them! Just make sure to bend at the knees and toss just hard enough, a'right?"

The man -- Oerglan, for those that need to know such details -- lifts a hand, motioning for everyone to still. "One sack atta time and they've gotta hit the hands of everyone along yer chain. I'll give the call when the time's up," though, notably, he does not indicate how long they'll have. That said, he keeps his hand up ... and then drops it with a loud, "Go!"

Rolan smiles at Sunika and gestures, "Sebring Confections. Taffy, chewies, lollipops, sweet sticks. All sorts of treats to enjoy during the games. What would you like?" His attention is drawn to the start of the contest, but doesn't turn away from his sale either.

Sunika blinks owlishly at the assortment, looking just a bit dizzy at the selection. "Oh, oh, I do not know," she finally admits, sheepishly looking to Rolan. "What would you recommend?" The call to start the games is worthy of a look in that direction, but her attention wavers and then returns to the candy once she determines that she can't see the Fortians from where she's standing, no thanks to a passing group of Igenites.

C'ael starts at Oerglan's loud go, and quickly reaches for a sack. With a grunt he hefts it up to his chest and levers the heavy sack into position for tossing. Waiting to make sure his baker is ready to catch, C'ael gives a nod and throws. The baker, Glenn, is a stout little man who looks hardly able to catch suck a heavy sack, but he does with barely a grunt. Perhaps turns of lifting sacks of flour or tubers have left the baker uniquely suited to the task of catching the firestone sack C'ael has tossed. In turn, Glenn tosses the sack further down the line.

Miraen pics up the bag of firestone with a grunt. "Off, it's heavier than it looks." she says, which doesn't appear to be a comforting thought to her partners. She manages to toss the sack, though, and it's handily caught by the brownrider.

The baker to catch Glenn's sack is, in almost humorous contrast to the man, a thin little weed of a man, and he stumbles about with the sack in arms for a moment before he regains his balance. The firestone goes up to his shoulder; there's a loud groan, and off it goes to D'kai, whose catch is a little more facile. The bronzerider hefts it quickly onward down the line, with a quick glance over towards those Istans.

The brownrider hefts the sack to the third Istan, who is up to the task and catches it. She, in turn, tosses it to the last of the particiapants, who once again catches neatly.

The Igen line is chugging steadily along, as is the Telgari group; the Reachians hit a minor snag when one of their number is surprised by the weight of the sack and staggers out of line. The brownrider near Miraen offers encouragement in the form of an amiable, "Good job! Just like that!" and then he's readying to catch the next.

M'yr saunters along the worn path of the bowl, hands clasped behind his back, dark eyes lighted up at the scene before him. "Go Fort!" he calls out amiably, sporting a wide grin while his pace slows upon nearing the group.

C'ael waits until D'aki has tossed his sack to the spot denoting the end of the line and he grabs up another sack, tossing it easily to Glenn who, caught off balance this second sack, oofs as he catches. It takes him a moment before he gets a good enough grip and blance that he can toss, in turn, to the spindly baker who is between himself and D'kai.

A mob of small children promptly swarm on Rolan's candy stand, waving grubby 32nd marks that were no doubt given to them by the nanny overseeing the lot of them. Oerglan's still doing his task of overseeing the sack toss, arms folded over his chest with periodic glances at an hourglass he's brought with him.

Miraen picks up another sack and tosses it, but this time it falls short even to the point where the brownrider's heroic attempt at a save fails. The sack lands, but doesn't break, and Mir gives her team an apologetic smile.

That spindly baker, Marek, catches just the edge of the sack, and scrabbles it get it all properly in arm before sending for a long moment - almost dropping it, but not quite! And finally it's aloft towards D'kai. A bit too low, the man has to crouch way low to catch it, and he calls something half-encouraging to Marek before tossing it onward.

The Istan brownrider takes it in stride, sidestepping to quickly snatch it up and chuck it down the line. The piles created by the respective teams are steadily growing amid the encouragements called by their fellow Weyrfolk and, for anyone observing, it appears to be a tight race so far, despite the lack of skill some of the throwers appear to have.

K'tel is careful to approach from a safe direction. He ends up threading his way through small children as he walks past the candy cart. He joins the other onlookers and watches the competition.

M'yr pumps his arm with gusto as D'kai participates, raising his voice loud enough for the Fortian rider to hear. "Well done, D'kai! Try bending your elbows like...." Oops! He stops abruptly as Fortian bluerider T'nex raises a finger to his smiling lips. "Uh, good job!" A wave is sent to the Igenite, just arriving on the bronze dragon.

Rolan begins shuffling candy for markbits from the littles, speaking over them to Sunika, "Well, Depends on the person really. Unfortunately, I can't spin a plate around and guess your favorite sweet. If you like the creamy klah flavors you might like the chewies or caramel types. If you like fruit, the hard candies are good. A mixed bag of toffee is always pretty popular."

C'ael keeps up a steady pace, tossing to Glenn who in turn passes the heavy sacks to Marek. Despite their unfamiliarity with sack tossing, the two don't seem to be doing too bad a job, helping to steadily increase the number of sacks heading D'kai's way!

K'tel catches the Weyrleader's wave when he turns to find out who yelled. He smiles cheerfully and returns the wave with a salute of his own.

Sunika chews thoughtfully on her lower lip, perusing the items for sale a bit more closely -- no easy feat with the swarm of kidlets clustered about. "Oh," is murmured, her forehead creasing just a little. The passing K'tel is given a quick wave and the woman hears a faintly familiar voice just over there ... but she settles on the task at hand and decides, "I suppose just a little of each, if I might? I rather like it all."

And D'kai's piling them on as quickly as he can, though M'yr's cheery call provides a distraction that has him struck right in the chest by a particularly enthusiastic throw from Marek. The bronzerider, after a good loud, 'awh!' and a fumbling at that sack, manages to return a weak, pained smile to the Weyrleader. "Good arm, Marek!" Ow.

Miraen manages to toss the next few far enough for the brownrider to catch, but her last toss is again weak, falling short. The brownrider manages to catch it ad the team as a whole breathes a sigh of relief as he tosses it on.

With a soft "Hnh," Oerglan finally looks up from the hourglass and raises a hand. His voice lifts in another of those booming bellows, "And stop! Drop any sacks y'got on th' line!" No last second tossing to the end, clearly. He motions to a few random people in the crowd and directs, "You, count Fort's; you, Ista," and so forth.

K'tel makes his way through the now more penetrable crowd over towards M'yr, possibly so he can get a better view of who may have won.

C'ael wipes beads of sweat off his forehead as he anxiously awaits the verdict on who has tossed the most sacks. It looks like a close race from where he's standing.

D'kai hovers over the pile, eyeing that counter and mouthing the numbers as he goes along. No miscount here, not with his supervision, although the bronzerider does spare a moment from his careful observation to flash a thumbs-up all down their line: well done, boys!

Rolan says "Ah, yes, The Assortment!" He rolls a sheet of rice paper into a big cone and starts picking a variety of candies and flavors to fill it up with. "There you go, this will give you a nice sampling to find out which ones you like for the next time."

M'yr's sable eyes turn upon the Igen bronzerider, briefly sizing him up before offering a hospitable smile. "Glad you could make it." he sends to the visitor. "I don't believe I know you? Igen is it?" Easy enough to figure that out, though the name isn't. "You wouldn't know Z'nal by any chance, would you?"

Once the count is completed, the people return to Oerglan. There's a brief huddle and the man grunts something or another and jots it down, his expression somewhat sour. "Riders! Fort, Ista, yer flying to flame," he calls, motioning to the sacks of 'stone to be used for the rope drill. He then points to the buckets of painted ropes -- pink, yellow, and bright green -- and calls, "Igen, y'get yellow, 'Reaches, y'get green, and Telgar, split yer riders and get pink." Miraen earns a second look from the man, who points at her, then cocks a thumb to where the ropes and such are heaped, "Help get 'em ready, y'hear?" As with before, folks who signed up are rounded up, as are those who signed up late.

A snub-snouted, mottle-winged green pops from *between*, gliding gracefully down the edge of the of the crowd assembled at the center of the bowl. "Who told you what?" the rider asks her mount, who replies with a soft rumble. "Oh, alright," she grumbles, and wades into the press.

Miraen nods politely to Oerglan, her tem dissipating as the brownrider heads over to his dragon and the other two get into the candy line.

K'tel is just greeting the Weyrleader with a shake of his head to M'yr's first question, "We haven't met. K'tel, Zmeth's rider." He offers his arm for the traditional handclasp, then continues, "Transferred back from Southern just a turn or so ago." He smiles at the last, "Z'nal? Definitely. We're in the same wing." His attention is quickly caught by Oerglan's announcement, "That'd be me...Yellow."

C'ael gives the rest of his team a thumb's up as he passes by the bakers to find his lifemate. "Way to go!" He's more than a little chuffed that Fort will be flying to flame.

And off D'kai goes, too, catching up quickly with Mikhuth (who served as a perch for two small fire-lizards while the trio waited for the man to finish with the sack-tossing), even as the bronze kneels for his rider to hop on up. Flaming? That's better than watching pink things throw bags around any day!

M'yr returns the bronzerider's greeting and is just about to say something when the announcement is made. "C'ael, well done! Now keep going with the winning streak and we'll be all set!" His chin drops in an affirming nod to C'ael then D'kai who is mounting up. He's proud of the Fort team and it shows.

Sunika hands her marks over to Rolan with a cheerful laugh, gleefully accepting the bagged assortment of candies. "Oh, this smells /lovely/," she exclaims, even as her 'lizards lean in to snuffle at the contents. When the next game is announced, she turns and stretches on tiptoes to see who's participating.

Tegara tippie-toes for a moment, then starts working her way towards M'yr. "Hey, M'yr - Tegara from Ista. 'said to join up with y'all in th' drill. Where to and where's th' 'stone?"

Zmeth walks over to the other Igen dragons while he waits for his rider to pick up the ropes. K'tel gives M'yr a quick smile then hustles over to collect the bright yellow Igen ropes. He nods in agreement to a few comments from the other Igen riders participating. Draped in yellow rope, they all head over to their dragons.

C'ael stands beside Enjanth, awaiting the go ahead to mount and take to the sky. He beams at M'yr's compliment.

Oerglan is busily shepherding a few other lost riders -- some to the firestone and others to the ropes -- all with jovial glee. When asked about the winners, he blinks once or twice, then snorts, digging out his notepad. "Fort had th' most, Ista was two sacks shy, Igen and 'Reaches went and tied, an' Telgar was one short of tying with them." Actual counts? He'd be lucky to get numbers out of his chicken scratch writing.

M'yr turns slightly to greet Tegara, brows arching slightly above twinkling eyes. "Heya, Istan! Clear skies! Good to see you. I believe there's another Istan here? Hmm... over there? Somewhere?" Light laughter ensues as he points in Miraen's general direction. "It's hard to see through the crowd.

Deke returns that curt nod with a sharp salute (and broad grin) for M'yr, settling himself back in Mikhuth's neckridges with a hearty thump of the bronze's neck. The firestone bag at his side is easily at hand, and the pair'll be ready when the call goes up.

C'ael loads up. He's as ready as he'll ever be. Enjanth is rarring to go, too, rumbling.

Tegara grins broadly at Fort' Weyrleader. "Drinks at the Sandbar if we win!" That should be incentieve....

Riders are rapidly readied -- either feeding their lifemates 'stone or rigging just a few more ropes to their straps -- and Oerglan proceeds to motion for them to take to the skies. "Rope droppers, best of luck! Same to th' lot of you flamin'!" And thus is the cue for the next game to begin finally given. In case the word doesn't carry, there's a watchrider on hand to relay the message, as well as explain the rules as need be.

Mikhuth 's quick to follow suit, only a beat after the others!

M'yr calls to Tegara as she mounts, "You know Soldreth was shelled at Ista, right? We have connections! Good luck!" Arms clasp behind his back again as he watches the riders take to the sky. "Seems like that one was a weyrling yesterday." he comments to the person beside him, indicating D'kai. "We should have interweyr games more often. I never saw those riders mount up to get doused with wet dyed rope before!" Laughing, he shakes his head and saunters toward the candy cart.

Miraen finishes helping to dole out the ropes, then heads over to the bowl to take her place. Alas, that place is not in the candy line with her other prior teammates.

Above the center of the bowl, Riaceth bugles triumphantly to Kintryth!

Above the center of the bowl, Zmeth wings steadily upwards, trailing a few beats behind his "wing", two greens, three blues, and a brown. They finally level off high above the flaming wings below.

Above the center of the bowl, Mikhuth is all coiled muscle and expectant hovering; wings stretched wide and beating slow even as D'kai cranes his neck upward - watchful of those rope-laden dragons above. The lad pumps his arm into the air and whoops - c'mon, Fort!

Above the center of the bowl, A few 'Reachians take their place behind the Igen 'wing', while the scant handful of Telgar riders is dispersed to either side. Below, Istans and Fortians gather, with a few of those stray Telgari forming a mini wing below the lot of them. Meanwhile, stand-bys are at the ready on the ground, just in case. Finally, the watchdragon seems to relay the signal: rope droppers, drop away!

Atop Zmeth, K'tel leans over Zmeth's neck to peer downward. As the signal is relayed, he quickly gathers up an armful of rope.

Above the center of the bowl, Zmeth tilts to the side suddenly and his rider releases the armful of ropes at the same time. This gives the ropes a nice spread as they spill towards the wings below.

Above the center of the bowl, Enjanth hovers, much as his wingmates do, expectantly watching those flying above with rope. C'ael cranes his own neck to try and guage where the first 'attack' will come from, and then there it is, Zmeth dropping an increasing spread of rope tendrils. Enjanth 'springs' forward, gouts of flame aiming towards the nearest rope-threads, scorching them.

Above the center of the bowl, The Igen wing seems to be taking turns dropping as first the greens, then the brown, and finally the two blues all add their ropes to the game.

Above the center of the bowl, Mikhuth dodges that sudden rain of ropes, quickly enough to evade a clump of brilliant yellow from Zmeth - and quick to belch out a burst of flame at the ropes tumbling from the Igen wing. There! Two, three, a handful crisp and twist into ash, though D'kai shouts and Mikhuth must peel away to avoid another trail of rope.

Kintryth breaks out of *between* above the aerial games, warbling his identity, then roaring his encouragement to whatever Istans are engaged in the games below. Altering his vector, the Istan blue sails far to the side of the gamers, then beneath them so as to avoid any distractions, much less collisions. A sudden *forward* roll - nose over tailtip - shows his own spirits, not to mention maneuverability. The dappled male levels off again, takes to spiralling the last few dragonlengths down to the floor of Fort's bowl, then backwinging to a pristine landing. Upon his neck, a female voice can be heard cackling, whooping, and then, "JAYS, Kint! You did that one *low*!"

Above the center of the bowl, A deep rumbling signals the eruption of flame from Riaceth's jaws, battle-honed instincts telling her where to flame and how intensely. Pfff, and ashes trail away from where the rope once was.

Above the center of the bowl, After the first drop of yellow, the Igen wing sweeps onward while 'Reaches wings in behind them. A bugle from the lead dragon and they drop their green ropes - all at the same time - giving the wings below a heavy rain to work through. Off to the other side, the Telgar wing can be seen readying themselves to follow suit.

M'yr changes his position somewhat, swinging long arms around his body after unclasping his hands. This time, they are folded across his chest while his head tilts skyward. Just in time to see the acrobatic arrival of an Istan blue he's familiar with. "Oh shards! Someone grab the candy cart and batten it down with locks!" Goodnatured grin overtakes him as he watches Kint land, but not long after, he jabs a thumb skyward. "Pink dyed rope heading your way, Cait!"

Above the center of the bowl, Enjanth belches another spurt of flame, cutting a swath through the yellow Igen ropes...but he's not so spritely with the fall of 'Reaches ropes, having to pop *between* to avoid being hit by that fall of 'deadly' green. A veil of green ropes gets past him, giving his wingmates some work to do to keep those ropes from hitting the ground.

As ropes begin to sieve through the lines of flaming dragons, Miraen runs to pick them up, sorting them into color groups as she goes. One of the yellow ropes manages to tag her as well, leaving a yellow stripe on her outfit.

Above the center of the bowl, Mikhuth's back in action in force once he's recovered from that evasive action, arching his neck to send a burst of hot flame in an upward streak to catch some of the heavier fall of roping. And, after that, with a great curving dive, another! to catch the colourful streaks falling past Enjanth.

Above the center of the bowl, Zmeth circles higher with the rest of his wing, watching the Fort and Ista teams flame. K'tel can be seen pumping his arm enthusiastically at the High Reaches riders as they pass by.

Above the center of the bowl, Riaceth dives at the sight of a 'wingmate' in need, spiraling in to flame the green ropes into ash. Her rider keeps her low in the formation for just that reason.

Above the center of the bowl, A few Telgari have clearly come up with some kind of scheme to gain some quick points -- namely by dropping ropes on a few of their own, with the intention of 'scoring' them with lucid pink. They get away with it all of twice before an Istan catches on and spreads the word to the Fortians in an effort to stave off the cheap tactic.

Above the center of the bowl, The Igenites now circle in again, hardly waiting for the Telgari to sort out their issues. The lead brown roaring a challenge as the wing first dives to pick up speed, then abruptly spirals upward, the yellow ropes stream off the dragons' back to drip in a sputtering fall at the wings below. Zmeth can be seen with streaks of yellow dye adding decoration to his already myriad hues.

Above the center of the bowl, Enjanth pops back from *between* just in time to narrowly avoid being hit by a pink rope. Quick to reflexes, Enjanth flames the offending rope into a squiggle of ash and bellows his triumph. But there isn't time to celebrate as more rope wends its way towards him.

Above the center of the bowl, Mikhuth angles his wings and twists to one side, allowing a clump to fall nearby Riaceth while he catches that rope further distant from the green's reach, searing it down with two gouts of flame. But then the call goes out, and the bronze roars his irritation at those filthy cheating Telgari (!) and the bronze wings upward again to char at a thicket of rainbow of ropes above the colour-spattered dragons before they could score again.

She's unbuckling, undoing herself from the dappled blue's neck, and then M'yr's words reach Caitlyn, her greeting smile to the bronzer fading instantly. "Eh?" Up both she and Kintryth twist their heads - and see that pinkened rope coming down for them - the false Thread having escaped the melee above. "Awk!" That's about the approximate sound that comes from the woman's mouth...and then dragon instinct kicks in immediately. Overhoned by turns of freakish 'fall, edgy nerves cause both woman and dragon to spring - each in their own fashion. Cait can only duck deeply along her beast's neck, while Kint literally springs like a cat to the side from his landing crouch. What would've hit him instead hits the bowl floor where he once stood, the Istan blue's eyes wheeling a fast yellow as he stares at the false 'thread.' A worried sound then crosses his maw as Cait now hangs from his neck by one strap - trying to pull herself back up as Kint seeks to settle himself down closer to the ground. "Shaffin-shardit!" Comes the bark of the short woman from the far side of her beast.

Above the center of the bowl, It may be 'picking up the garbage,' but it's dangerous garbage that won't hit the ground -- well, almost all of it. Well, even the best can't get them all....

Above the center of the bowl, Riaceth makes a panic dive, chasing down that stray thread -- and chars...

Miraen scrambles to get a wash of pink ropes as they fall hit, including the one which nearly hit Caitlyn. She grins at Kintryth's fast action and gives a thumbs-up to Caitlyn as well.

Above the center of the bowl, Keeping up the pressure, the High Reaches wing swings through below the dispersing Igen riders. Their green ropes fall in dribs and drabs, blown this way and that by the confusion of wings in the airspace.

Above the center of the bowl, Enjanth wings wide of a particularly nasty looking clump of green and yellow combined, spewing forth flame. Some gets past him, spiralling towards the ground and other members of the Fortian team.

Above the center of the bowl, The Telgari have been appropriately chastised and take their turn at sweeping through with a rather uninspired drop of pink.

Above the center of the bowl, At a much higher level, the Igen wing has reconvened and circles, waiting for the appropriate moment. Since they are so much higher than the 'Reaches and Telgar wings, the yellow ropes can be seen dropping at almost the same time as the pink ropes - but they will take much longer to reach the ground...Or the Fort and Ista wings.

Above the center of the bowl, But the Istan dragons aren't having quite as much trouble with the swirling air currants -- they were born to it. A bronze and a brown sweep in from on high, charing loose falls, while the smaller blues and greens bob and weave to flame whatever gets past.

M'yr isn't surprised at all by the Istan blue's movements, nor is he surprised or worried at Cait's suspended position aboard her dragon. "C'mon, Cait, you can pull yourself up easily and you know it! I've seen you in worse predicaments than that! Oh, and don't get Fort's soil tainted with your blood or anything. You know how I hate cleaning up after people!" Grinning widely, he waits to see what she will do, only occasionally peering up into the sky in case something should be heading his way.

Above the center of the bowl, Zmeth has his neck stretched down as he circles, the better to aim. K'tel seems to take a bit longer than the others in releasing the ropes. He finally does it just as Zmeth sideslips down a dragon length. The bronze seems to be keeping a close eye on one of the browns.

Above the center of the bowl, As some of the rope droppers begin to run out of rope, they're forced to land and sit out the rest of the game -- on the opposing side, a few riders are likewise running out of flame. Still, that doesn't stop them from cheering on their respective Weyrs, the calls of the crowd rising as the number of riders in the air oh-so-gradually start to dwindle.

Above the center of the bowl, High Reaches swings through but the fall of green is noticeably lighter. To compensate, the riders with rope left all drop in the same location as they sweep by, creating a waterfall of green sheeting down at the wings below.

Above the center of the bowl, Enjanth leans to the right, winging past a clump of pink, searing it as it passes. His rider steering him onward, but somehow they aren't careful enough. Or Zmeth and rider have great aim - a siral of ropes is flung Enjanth's way and the brown is hit just on the tip of one wing, effectively taking the brown and his rider out of the games. Enjanth bellows his frustration, but dutifully heads for the ground.

Kintryth's eyes quickly spin down to blue soon enough, though a fleck or two of yellow pops up now and again as his rider cusses a...blue streak. And slowly hauls her way back up astride her lifemate's neck. "TELL a body you're going to *do* that!" the woman barks at her beast, to which Kint 'replies' only with a ripple of muscle over shoulders that might approximate a shrug. "Thank Faranth I had one strap left on..." Grumble-pant-wheeze. Undoing said strap, Cait soon enough slides down one large, proffered arm, boots clomping the earth firmly. "Yeahyeah, fine, go watch. Just stay out of the way." A rough snort from the little blue, and he's hurling himself back up to the sky again - landing on the StarStones to get a better view - and a more open place to trumpet and bugel from.

Miraen is still scurrying about, picking up ropes. One of the grounded riders approaches her and asks a question, to which she grins and shakes her head. The rider departs, ropeless.

C'ael sighs as he pats Enjanth's side. "Better luck next time" he tells his lifemate.

Above the center of the bowl, Zmeth bugles in triumph but that's all he can do as K'tel has run out of rope himself. The pair spirals downward to one side, trailing after Enjanth as their wingmates continue the fight - well, as long as they can.

Above the center of the bowl, Mikhuth is clearly much too masculine as to be struck by anything so untoward as a /pink/ rope, so he does his very best to evade those - craning about, even, to jet a little burst of flame its way. Take /that/! Enjath's descent is noted, with a low rumble; D'kai cranes his neck upward to watch the wings above run out of rope - even as he runs out of 'stone. Oh. Well, huh. So, with a little kick at Mikhuth for emphasis, they, too, drop to the ground.

Above the center of the bowl, Riaceth belches one last small flame as she circles out away from the 'playing field.' Down she goes to the floor of the bowl, her wings half-splayed from fatigue.

Above the center of the bowl, The last pass is a joint one where the Igen, 'Reaches, and Telgar riders with rope remaining make a speeding run through the center of the airspace. There aren't many ropes left but those that are make a cheerful scene as pink, green, and yellow float downward. Most are charred by the teams below and cheering can be heard on both levels as riders celebrate.

C'ael gives a call out to K'tel. "Nice one. We'll have to repay the favour some day!" He's laughing as he says it so no hard feelings are borne for the pair who took him and Enjanth out of the game.

Atop Zmeth, K'tel says "We'll have some scrubbing to do tonight." He looks over at C'ael and grins, also in the spirit of the games, calling back, "Thanks for the points! We appreciate your help."

M'yr backs up a few paces as the dragons begin to land. Once again, his face is lit up with pride and the thrill of a very good performance from the Fortian riders. "Again, well done!" he calls to each one with great enthusiasm, finally turning back to Cait and Kint. "Welcome, Cait! Joining us for some friendly competition? Do you know the Istan who has been taking care of the rope that's dropped? She's done a very good job!"

D'kai swings from Mikhuth's shoulders, laughing with clear delight, and offers one hand, palm-out, to a fellow Fort rider for a high-five. Totally awesome! And C'ael gets a wide grin, and K'tel, too - doesn't matter who they are, Deke's just pleased with the whole business.

Oelgran watches the last of it, signalling to the watchdragon to pass word along that the game's done for those still lingering in the air. He checks his tally, then heads over to Miraen to briefly confer with her to get her count of points and thank her for helping out. A lanky young man takes over the duty of announcing the next game, calling out, "Runners! Meet over here, if you would, please! Give me your name and you'll get your note!" Beat. "And no fair opening the note, now, that ruins the surprise!" It would appear this is a free for all of sorts, as any number of runners from the Weyrs -- residents, riders and crafters alike -- are headed that way. The young man -- Dichegi -- has a messenger bag full of ... sealed and folded notes, it would appear, and is writing the names of the runners on them as they come up.

Zmeth rumbles to Enjanth as the other Igen dragons land. Good natured joshing can be heard amongst their riders as well as a few pointed remarks about how much soapsand it will take to clean everyone up.

Tegara slides off and leans against her mount's neck, which is resting on the ground along with the rest of the dragon, wings half-spread. Neither member of the pair seems inclined to move, even to belch up firestone ash.

Enjanth rumbles goodnaturedly (or as much as a dragon can do that) towards Zmeth.

Miraen hurriedly discusses the tally with Oelgran, glancing often at the gathering runners. As soon as is politely acceptable she breks off and heads over to the next contest.

The short Istan woman tries to appear as if nothing had happened back there on her beast - an 'I meant to do that' sort-of expression on her features as she removes helmet, then gloves - as she strides over towards M'yr and the gathering knot of arriving riders and dragons. Slowing, halting before the weyrleader, Caitlyn grouses, "Thanks for all the *help*." Grumble. "Not really. It seemed like a good time to visit, though. Maybe catch you outside of that hole you call a weyr, for once." Golden browns suddenly catch the grin that appears at her mouth, the woman stepping forward to grapple arms around M'yr's shoulders, and give him a huge hug. "Been...ages, man."

K'tel smiles back at D'kai, also in a great mood. He peels off his gloves and jacket while he moves away from Zmeth. He calls over to D'kai and C'ael, "Some good flying there. We were lucky to get anyone."

C'ael opts to be a spectator to the footrace. He's all smirks and smiles for teammates and opponents alike. So far the games have been a roaring success and he's feeling proud of Fort's showing.

Dichegi sniffs audibly, scrawling a few more names on notes before looking up to the next. His brows lift at Miraen, "Name, please? His stylus is poised and ready to take her name down.

As long-of-limb D'kai might be, the lad watches the accumulation of runners with no move forward of his own - he seems perfectly content to lean against Mikhuth and observe. K'tel gets a laugh of agreement, a toss of the bronzerider's head; "Good flying all 'round, man."

Miraen grins. "Miraen, from Ista."

Acadia walks over toward Dichegi, getting in line behind Miraen. She idly swings her arms and takes a few deep breaths.

K'tel waves a cheerful acknowledgement to D'kai. He eyes the runners then looks over towards the living cavern, torn. Finally, a decision is made. He heads towards the living cavern, calling to other riders that he'll be back shortly.

The name 'Miraen' is dutifully scrawled on the note and Dichegi hands it over with a firm, "Do not open it, okay?" Just in case. He then points to the starting line, where several others have gathered ... and then he's digging for another note and leaning to a side, motioning to Acadia, "And your name?"

Acadia says, "Acadia, from Fort. Inneth's rider." She leans closer and asks, "Hey, is tripping the Weyrleader allowed in this race?"

M'yr laughs, oofing loudly at the hug which is probably appropriate for the strength of this Istan woman. "That it has, Cait! How goes with you? Are you causing trouble with the Istan Weyrwoman as usual?" Twinkling eyes wink at her when the embrace completes, sables flickering toward K'tel when he leaves, then back to the bluerider.

Dichegi's brows rise oh-so-slightly and he leans in with a conspiratorial, "Only if you aren't caught!" Joking, naturally -- or is he? -- even as he hands over the folded and sealed note to the rider and then directs her to the line. There are a handful of others left to give notes to, but it looks as if things are close to getting underway.

"Oh come ON now. Since when have I been able to break you with my hugs?" Cait smirks roughly to M'yr after withdrawing just a little, the woman then turning her gaze out upon others. A squint at the Miraen's Istan knot, a quick little smile, and, "No, haven't met you yet. I keep to myself more, these days. Well met. I'm Caitlyn, blue Kintryth's." A bob of her dark head to Miraen, and then Acadia and Tegara both get wider, flashing grins. ""Good to see you again, Aca. Are you keeping this lout in order?" A jerk of her thumb at M'yr, and then Tegs gets a rough, friendly clap on her shoulder. "You and Ria were *great*, Tegs! Lovely effort!"

Acadia chuckles and waves to Caitlyn. "I'm trying, I'm trying. But I have to admit to a trifle less success than I'd prefer."

C'ael watches the runners gather, and laughingly protests someone's suggestion that he should join. "No, I've done my share for Fort today!"

Tegara manages to stagger in the general direction of Fort's Weyrleader and Caitlyn, the shoulder-clap just about sending her to her knees. "We both flew our hearts out," she says in her familiar mountain drawl as she gestures to Riaceth. "I've never seen 'er so intense -- not e'en in Fall. M'yr," she turns to the Weyrleader, "could I lean on Fort's hospitality for a few?" Another look at Riaceth. "An' your dragonhealers...?"

Once the racers are lined up, Dichegi eyes the line with a thoughtful look before lifting a hand in an echo of Oelgran's previous gestures. "Ready? Seeeeeeet?" There's a lingering pause, thrumming with ready tension and then: "GO!" And, as they say, they're off.

Oelgran, meanwhile, is off to a side, still tallying points and sifting through the collection of ribbons that have been made for the event.

M'yr chuckles, shaking his head. "Lout? I think not.. You totally misunderstand me, Cait." The expression turns serious as Tegara's question is asked. "Hospitality? Dragonhealers? Certainly! Is there a problem? Is your dragon hurt from the game? You're more than welcome to stay as long as needed..."

Miraen begins with a sprint from the get-go, running smoothly as one who does so often might.

The bluerider is supplied with a slightly known face's identity by her dragon, holding out her hand to C'ael. "I remember you now, I think. Been ages since I've visited Fort, it seems. Caitlyn..." A sudden look of concern is flicked to Tegara - between her and M'yr. "Ria pull something?" A poke is aimed at the bronzerider, then, "If you have time, I'd luv to chew the fat with you, oh impossible to tie down one." Grin.

Acadia is caught off guard, but recovers quickly. She takes off, chasing Miraen, determined not to eat her dust for long.

C'ael tkes Caitlyn's hand and gives a firm shake. "C'ael. Brown Enjanth's. Great to see you here. Will you be racing?"

Sunika has been watching this whole time, hands folded around the parcel of candies she'd purchased earlier. Oh, but now it's time for the foot race and she edges toward that knot of people, passing by M'yr and the others near him and pausing briefly to incline her head with a smile to the lot of them in a fleeting greeting.

A few other runners take off in varying degrees of readiness, though none of them are ahead of Acadia or Miraen.

S'lek was here all along, really, he was. He sprints off with the rest of the runners, neither the fastest nor the slowest of the bunch, but his long legs keep him in the race.

A young boy runs as best he can, but a sneaky rock hiding under the snow trips him up and he falls flat on his face. His tears are banished only when he is promised a dragon ride the next day.

As racers hit the halfway mark, the cheering from the sidelines is renewed and Dichegi keeps a keen eye out to watch for the winner -- not that he needs to, as a keen-eyed lass is waiting at the end, ready and waiting for someone to cross that line.

C'ael's voice raises with the other spectators, his cheers ringing out for Acadia.

Acadia turns up her speed when she hears the burst of cheering. One can only hope it's enough to beat the fleet-footed Istan.

Miraen keeps on running as quickly as she can, not looking back. Her initial pace does slow somewhat near the end, causing her to flag.

M'yr motions to a young Firefall wingrider who steps up to him and offers a smart salute. The Fortian Weyrleader talks in a low voice to him, motioning to the Istan pair and when finished, the rider again salutes and hurries off to fetch a dragonhealer. That taken care of, he takes the poke easily and offers Cait a smile. "I have a weyr to take care of, you know. No easy task. I get.. busy! But sure, I can find time for you, my friend." Distracted by the roar of the crowd as the runners intensify their efforts, he repeats loudly, "Fort! Fort!"

S'lek puts on a tremendous burst of speed at the end of the race, picking up his feet and propelling himself over the finish line, hoping he can catch up to the runners ahead of him.

Caitlyn also catches that cheering, bobbing her head to try and peer around others - most of whom are taller than her. "Who's winning?" is inquired only a little testily, as she can't gain a good vantage. Sunika's bob of head is noticed, the quiet woman given a polite nod back. To C'ael, "You have that aura about you. Stolid, dependable..." Brownrider. A quick chuckle, a playful wink to him, and then a certain laconic drawl answers M'yr back with, "THAT old excuse. You heard it once, you heard it a thousand times..." Seems she's intent on not giving the man a bit of slack. Snicker. "How about a drink after all this riotous fun is over?"

A small girl suddenly joins the race, trotting along and waving to the spectators. Her mother pulls her free once the adults are past, rapidly explaining that only big people get to run it. The girl isn't convinced, but a bribe of hard candy distracts her nicely.

The lass waiting at the end of the race straightens, shading her eyes just as Miraen crosses the line first, followed by Acadia and, a scant moment later, a very lucky S'lek. A few youths run up, carrying cups and skins of water for the racers. Dichegi has joined her as well, ribbons in hand. He has to squint, trying to get a look at the names on the notes before announcing, "First place to Miraen of Ista, second to Acadia of Fort, and third to S'lek, also of Fort!" His voice then lowers to a conversational tone as he regards the winners, "Go ahead and open up your notes -- it's an extra prize, courtesy of a few of the crafters here."

M'yr hmms, stroking his chin thoughtfully for a few seconds as he thinks on Cait's question. "Drink.. Hmm.. Seems to me I recall a time not too long ago where that sort of thing led to more than one!" Grinning at that, he bumps Cait's arm with his own then claps exhuberantly. "Congratulations, Miraen! Good job, Aca and S'lek! Better than I could have done!"

Miraen looks between the drinks and the envelope, but eventually curiousity wins out and she opens it. She beams, saying "Oh, this is perfect!", before pocketing the contents and accepting the water eagerly.

C'ael's cheers extend to all the winners of the footrace. He beams at Acadia, calling out his congratulations for her placing second, eager to see what the runners have won.

Shortly after Dichegi announces the race winners, Oelgran's barking out, "Igen gets first place in the rope drill, Fort and Ista tied for second, and Telgar wins third place!" While the third place win is a mildly contentious one, someone's quick to point out that it wasn't against the rules. Ribbon distribution follows shortly after, with some riders getting theirs directly from the man and a few getting them from fleet-footed youths dispatched to distribute them to those who have wandered off to enjoy the rest of the event.

S'lek leaps into the air and pumps his fist jubilantly, celebrating his third place finish. Slowing, he trots over to Miraen and Acadia to tap their hands in congratulation. "Well run!" he says happily.

Acadia opens her note and whistles loudly. "Hey, I got a chit from the Minecraft! Cool!" She shows it to S'lek and Miraen and waves it toward M'yr and C'ael.

"Yeah ISTA!" Cait calls out when her fellow...Istan wins - one fist pumping in the air. And then the woman's smirkity smirk turns itself on M'yr and his chin-stroking. Odd how she suddenly ducks her head a little, appears just a tetch embarrassed - golden-brown eyes dropping for a few moments. The arm bumping nets the bronzer a rub of the back of her neck, a shy little smile, and then Caitlyn's mostly her more forthright self when the attention gets shifted away from her again. "Boy, am I ever lousy at running races. Not built for it." Laughter. "Oiy, we got second in ropes! WooO!"

Miraen beams happily at Acadia and S'lek. "Congratulations -- you gave me a run for my Weaver chit. I saw a sash before that has my name on it if it's not yet sold."

Acadia asks, "What did you have in your note, S'lek?"

S'lek rips his open and grins wolfishly as he reads it. "Winecraft! /Excellent./"

Miraen grins. "I might need that wine to bribe the laundry workers once they see what collecting those ropes did to my clothes."

Acadia looks at Miraen and starts to giggle. "I never thought I'd be glad that duties kept me away from the games, but now I am!"

"Ha, I'm going to see if they'll give me some hard liquor for it. Maybe if you lot are nice, I'll share," S'lek says, waggling his eyebrows at Acadia and Miraen.

M'yr claps heartily for the participants once again, enjoying himself thoroughly. "So shall we all stop in for a drink and perhaps a slice of bubbly? I can only imagine all you gamers are ready for food and drink!"

"Sounds like just what the Healer ordered..." Caitlyn chortles at M'yr's words, seeking to poke at him again to get the man going. "You're buying, sugar." Snort.

Acadia says, "Drinks sounds good. Hot mulled wine to ward off the chill." She sets off at a trot, clutching her note in her hand.

S'lek slips off to the winecraft booth to 'spend' his chit. He comes back a while later with a big jug in his hand, grinning triumphantly.


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