The Candidate boot raid

March 16th 2002
Logged by Miralwyn

Central Bowl
Seven spindles brush the clouds overhead, displaying a jagged, spired cotillion grey-stoned majesty. The bowl from here is expansively large, extending a full half-mile in both directions, and though a bit of a stretch at times, most of the hubs of activity can be easily observed. Hard-packed ground shows the common pathways, all of them meandering about the craggy bunch of boulders that form a centerpiece within the middle of the otherwise vast emptiness. .
The hatching grounds and leadership weyrs are located to the north, while the lows of herdbeasts noisily allude to the feeding pens slightly east of there. Constant traffic marks the entrance to the westward living caverns, whereas a glance southeast reveals the glittering, cold lake.
It is a winter midmorning.
Clinging to footholds in the boulder-mound are twenty-four firelizards.
Green Kelitath, green Zoryanth, blue Lainnoth, brown Revnath, bronze Telynth, bronze Rixesith, brown Sevareth, green Estsanth, bronze Jhanath, blue Wiranth, green Alymath, green Miravith, and bronze Nezdarvyth are here.

Quicksilver flares along bronzed adamantine hide, glinting in the faintest of light. Copper reacts blue-green down steely edges crystallizing at the peaks of serrated neckridges. Iron taints hot poker spines which prowl with single-minded purpose along vaulted chest before cooling, and skulking into the murky tin that vulcanizes strident muscles in thick limbs. From there scales broil upwards into the tempered facade of underbelly, obvious in pale caramel vulnerability and guarded almost secretly, as if it wasnt really there… Prisms of quartz and granite tunnel up whip-like neck, liquid metals melting along the lines of his wedged head, sheer 'knobs and pungent maw. Strength of form gives way to a dangerous elegance, however, at his slated wings. While spars of lace-like aluminium at first, deceptively, appear brittle, their flinty prowess braces wide sails, jetted with plum-streaked bronze, accentuating hues lurking within his gunmetal flanks.
Fastened securely to Nezdarvyth's neck is a pair of riding straps, well-oiled to keep them in good condition. Double folded and sewn with great care, though not great ability, they are quite sturdy. Two buckles glisten on the leather straps, one down on Nezdarvyth's middle, and the other fastening the straps together. The most time, however, seems to have been spent on dyeing the straps themselves, as they have been painstakingly colored a very dark black, streaked Yes, a very bright pink streaks along in places on the leather straps. It was all the dragon's idea, really.
Nezdarvyth is 3 Turns, 6 months, and 20 days old.
He is 71 feet (23m) long, with a wingspan of 118 feet (39m).

Thick brown hair frames a heart-shaped face, falling in a gentle wave to just brush her shoulders. Grey eyes appraise the world calmly, although a dry humour often lurks in their depths. The young woman is slim and petite, height rising to a mere 5' 4, with a smooth complexion of olive skin. While delicate in form, she possesses a quiet strength manifest in every movement, although she rarely raises her voice above a low and mellow alto, and travels with sure grace on silent feet.
Winter clothing consisting of black denim trousers, a charcoal grey knit sweater, and a thick black woolen jacket keeps the chill winds at bay. 'clook at Wyn' to see a full desc. A grey leather satchel hangs from Miralwyn's shoulder, several interesting bulges apparent.
Ice white, frozen by the chill of 'Reaches, a single loop knot denotes a Candidate.
She is a teenager of about 18.

Miralwyn strolls through the snows of the bowl, bearing a decidedly new and suspicious looking tan, despite being muffled in many many layers of winter clothing. She pauses in front of Nezdarvyth, peering up at the bronze, and clearing her throat slightly. "Psst. Excuse me, have a moment?" she queries. A twitch will be enough to encourage her to go on. "I have a… fiendish plan I need your help with."

Nezdarvyth ever so slowly…unlids his eyes. Blink? Slowly…carefully, the bronze's head lifts, a bit of a dark rumble quaking through his form. Hm. Who has referred the child to him? Tsk. They must know their stuff..he'll have to find that out later. Wait a second../she/ has a fiendish plan? The fiendish plans belong to /him/, sister. Rumble. least he's listening, right?

Miralwyn is fortunately the pragmatic sort of prankster who doesn't mind who gets credit as long as the job's done. And even more fortunately, /she/ can't pick up on Nez's thoughts. She nods, and steps a little closer, conspiratorily. "It's a multilayered plan, but to keep to the topic, myself and my Wraiths will be stealing… boots. A lot of boots. And dragonrider boots. So therefore, we must somehow get access to the various weyrs quickly and quietly, so that none will know what we've done… Could you possibly help us? I've been told that you're quite good at sneaking."

Nezdarvyth is quite good at sneaking? …Of course he is! Yeah! Yup! That's him! The great sneaker! Or is that a shoe..? Nevermind. Boots! Oooooooh… His head tilts, rumble turning into nearly a purr, the tip of his tail poking lightly against the corner of his jaws. Hmmm. How very interesting. Head lowers down to the ground, taking in a whuffle of the girl. Mmmwaahaaa..yes..tell him more..

Miralwyn permits the whuffle with nary a change of expression, although she /does/ raise a hand to make sure that her hat doesn't vanish up a draconic nostril, amusing though that would be. Dragon boogers are /hell/ to wash out, don't you know. She allows herself a slight smile. "We can access two of the sixteen weyrs on our own, but we'll need transport to the ledges for P'rru, Quara, Ciera, Jesha, Auri, Hyzen, Slippa, Kh'ryn, Lorsalia, Khena, Hiza, Chelle, Lis and Zi'n… Can you help? We were thinking of asking Dsalth again, if you don't consider yourself up to the challenge…" Just a little mild use of psychology.

Nezdarvyth nearly warbles, his head lifting with a slight annoyed rumble..though stops, midway through parting his jaws, and slowly looks around suspiciously. Nooo..they must not know. Grump. Down the bronzen head goes again, a brief snort given to the girl before him. Oh yes, he'll do it. He definately will. Mwahaa…his perfect little plan. His. Yes. Mwaha..

Miralwyn permits herself a tightly pleased smile. "Excellent," she intones. "We'll report out to meet you here in an hour's time or so… We shall be in disguise, so don't be alarmed." She reaches out to offer a hesitant pat to the nearest foreleg, before whirling away. "Together, we'll create such a prank as the Weyr has never seen!"
Miralwyn gives a final smile, and ducks back into the caverns. "I shall return."


Cobweb'd Caverns
Webspinners' gossamer silk silvers the upper edges of these caverns, catching at the turns of dust adrift on the rare breeze. The forgotten remnants of tapestries have fallen into disrepair, worn threadbare and thin where it once warmed these old walls. The glowlights are dim, and even when uncovered flicker with a faint, grimy light that only accentuates the rooms' disuse.
A footpath through the musty dirt follows a narrow and twisted trail, eventually ending at an old cave-in… or does it?
If you brave the shadows, you just might find a narrow crevice that looks out onto the sands. Try the secret passwords: <help here> to peek.
Lingering in the shadows are four firelizards.

Fyria slips quietly into the secret passage.
Lhana slips quietly into the secret passage.
Mimi slips quietly into the secret passage.

Fyria quietly slips into the small little niche, pausing to glance behind her then turning to give Wyn a blink, then a slow, sultry grin. "Wyn…glad to find you here. We all were just discussing your little 'plan', and thought it'd be wise to move things in here." Cackle. "You know, out of sight of those dratted winged gossips that are everywhere."

Miralwyn is seated near the gap looking out on the clutch, indulging in a little egg oggling away from teasing eyes. She looks up at the sound of footsteps, and gives a slight smile. "Great minds think alike, apparently," she muses. "I had a little chat with Nezdarvyth… We can count on his assistance. In about an hour or so, I was thinking…"

Mimi sighs in relief as she nearly collapses onto "her" rock, complete with little covering and small fluffy pillow. "/I/ was trying to escape the weyrbrats." Shudder. Arms wrap around the small pillow and she hugs it to her chest. "I think they lost me behind a tray of bubblies…" Mimi has a four-turn-old phobia, if you must ask. Well, maybe not a full phobia….But they scare her. Any children between four and seven. Another deep sigh of relief and she glances at the others,"Oh riiiight. Who's boots are scheduled for our raid?"

Lhana steps in, cringing away from the spinnerwebs as she always does when walking into the eggroom. She gives a little whimper, holding out the robe she's been working on and her sewing supplies as if they might somehow protect her from the evil bugs' wrath. She sets them down on a handy rock with a relieved sigh - she's not dead yet! - and steps over to look out at her favorite egg again, like she usually does. Then she nods in answer to Miralwyn. "Great! Glitter Boy told me you were out there talking to him, and I was hoping he's agree!" She glances over at the shadowy corner from which pink beads glint ever-so-slightly. "Does this mean we get to wear our robes again?" Oh, how she loves those. Then she blinks over at Mimi, giving her a sympathetic look. "I know. They made me cut a whole bunch of their hair the other day? /Not/ /Good/."

"Fabulous!" Fyria claps her hands together with delight, giving Wyn a nod. "I thought as much - if you've ever been around Nezdarvyth, he's the perfect choice for our little plan." Settling herself on a small-ish rock, she crosses her legs and glances briefly out onto the sands, then back again. "Mimz dear, did Siannen set the weyrbrats on you?" Faint hint of suspicion in her voice.

Lianta slips quietly into the secret passage.

Mimi shakes her head slowly,"No…They found me, themselves." Shudder. A blink at Lhana,"Robes? Oh….The prank robes. Lookee what I added to mine!" She leans over and grabs something from behind her rock, waving the bundleof blackness around and a faint jingling sound can be heard. "Bells!" She proudly shakes the thing out and holds it up,"They can signal the eerie sound of impending prank?"

Oh, don't use the word phobia around Wyn. She's more likely to offer treatment. Lhana gets a rather curious blink. "Glitter Boy…?" she queries, before shaking her head. "Moving on. Yes, we will decidedly be wearing our cloaks… One cannot be a Wraith without a proper robe, after all. Now, we can access G'deon's and Pyrene's weyrs from the gound, but Nezdarvyth will ferry us to P'rru's, Quara's, Ciera's, Jesha's, Auri's… Are those /bells/?" inquires the WraithLeader, looking pained. "Tell me you haven't added bells to your robe?" She sounds almost pleading. Poor WraithLeader.

Lhana beams at the idea of yet more accessorized robes. "Glitter Boy. Blue Flitter Boy." This offered as an aside, with extra giggle on the end for her clever(?) little rhyme, and she's back on the subject of cloaks again, lifting hers, with its florescent pink beads all over the hem, to show it off to the MusicWraith. "That's great!" she exclaims, eyeing the bells. "I love it!"

Lianta has suddenly walked into a bevy of Candidates, most of whom she hasn't met yet. Blue eyes widen slightly at the conversations going on. Something about pranks and cloaks. "Em, Hi guys. I'd guess that this is the Candie hideout? I'm Lianta, one of the recent additions to the flock." Fyria gets a happy little wave and is sat beside.

Weyrbrats - the second evil in a weyr. Fyria shakes her head, giving Mimi's arm a pat of comfort. "I feel your pain - and thank you gratefully for sparing me from the horror of that pack," she teases. The bells, however, earn a different look. "You didn't steal those from Lorsalia, did you?" Faranth, she hopes not. Well, at least they're not pink. "And…won't they be a /bit/ too noisy?" Wince. The sound does trigger a memory, however, and she brightens instantly. "Oh!! Nearly forgot! I managed to get not /only/ Chelle's boots, but her, um, 'friend' Derk's boots as well!" Fyria beams proudly at the crew, giving Lianta little nudge as she sits.

Mimi beams at her robe, poking at one of the bells. "They're just /little/ bells, Wyn." Well, they /are/. Little tiny jingly bells sewn about where the hood attaches to the robe and on the croked tip of the hood. A look over Lhana's robe,"Oooh, yours is /great/!" Fyria's comment about stealing the bells from Lors earns only an eyeroll and and waves at Lianta,"Yes, yes! We plot and plan and hide and lookit the eggs here. Oh, and I'm Mimi, but they," she gestures around,"Call me Miz or Mims or Mim or Mimsy…." The list goes on. DOn't let her keep going.

"…or, and this is stretching it here…Mimi," Fyria mutters with amusement.

Lianta nods at Mimi. "I getcher there. So, I hear that there's something about about pranks?" Despite her (feigned) innocence, she did sort of expect all this. "And I also heard something about cloaks hereabouts. And bells…" Her voice trails off into curious amusement.

Lhana gives Fyria a reproachful glance on behalf of Mimi. "No, they won't. They'll be just noisy /enough/." To be…forboding? Well, something like that, at least. An answering beam is given to Mimi's complimenting of her robe, as well as a spritely, "Thanks!" Then she turns, blinking at Lianta. "I'm Lhana." So much for long, drawn-out introductions. "We wear these cloaks when we go pranking." Her voice is oddly flat, almost contemptuous. Another of Lhaz's odd swings, perhaps? Well, she's not about to explain the prank, either. But then with a blink, she comes back to herself, pulling forth the candie robe she's been working on, its skirt now VeryVery short. "Does anyone here know how to hem?" Just a thought.

Miralwyn sighs, and simply shakes her head at the sight of the bells, feeling rather outnumbered by Lhana and Mims. "A wraith…" She intones. "Is ideally stealthy, shadowy and almost impossible to detect, if they don't wish to be. Neither pink beads 'nor jingle-bells are quite my definition of stealthy. But," she allows. "Wost comes to worse, it will be /you/ /two/ getting caught and getting extra chores."

Fyria leans back a little, fingering her own robe which carries just a hint of ice-lit sparkle within it's folds. A hint. "Now then…who's the first victim on our list of boot-theft? I suggest we leave Ilare's weyr for last, since she has the young twins within them - toddlers are better than watchwhers when it comes to shrieking at a stranger's entrance," she muses quietly.

Squaln slips quietly into the secret passage.

Miralwyn drums her fingertips together. "Our victims all have weyrs in either the bowl, the lake, or the northern bowl. I suggest we start with the bowl, which will be Ciera, Jesha, Auri, Lis and Zi'n… Then either the lake or the northern bowl…"

Mimi simply rolls her eyes at Miralwyn. That girl needs a bit more bounce. Really. "Well they're not /loud/. Only so /we/ can hear them." A slight sniff and she smiles at her robe then carefully folds it back up. "Besides, they're removable…So if they reallyreallyreally needs to come off, then they can. Oh, excpet for this one 'cause it kept falling off so I had to sew it on really tight."

Lhana eyes Wyn coolly. "Oh?" She crosses her arms contemptuously. "And how would you know, Wyn? You ever /met/ one?" No, she wouldn't think so. "Besides, pink is just as stealthy as any other color. It's just a testament to my sneaking ability if I can sneak in it." Then she turns away, offering as an airy aside, "Besides, it's not /my/ fault you want everyone to look boring like you." Those firey arrows thus delivered, she picks up her white robe again, showing it off to those assembled like a grand prize. "Hem? Anyone know how to hem?" Oh, you know you want to hem it. Yeees, you do.

Squaln creeps along and peers about the area with slight shock. And he thought he knew where all of High Reaches' hiding spots were.. Guess he was wrong. Heh. Noticing his fellow candidates, he nods in greeting. "'Lo ladies." he finally says. "What're y'all up to?" Pity him. He asked the question.

Fyria winces, not at the jingliness of the Mimi's bells, but rather at the barbed words that Lhana delivers towards Wyn. Ouch. Fyria guesses they'll roll right off of Wyn though, else Wyn will analyze something out of Lhana as Fyria's noted the Healer to do. Distraction arrives in the form of Squaln, and Fyria waves, saying "Usual plotting, evilness, chaos.." Ahem.

Mimi smugly shifts her shoulders and sets the robe down by her feet, then pulls her legs up to sit cross-legged. "Nope. /I'm/ borrowing my goldrider cousin Yulianna's lucky candidate robes." Beam. Of course…THat is if Yulianna remembers to stop by soon enough to give them ta' Mimi. WOuldn't want to be robe-less at the last minute. Oh well, she has faith in her cousin. She waves to Squaln, considering shouting something exceedingly girly just to see his reaction. "Oh, just plotting. And hiding from the brats," she decides on responding.

"Have /you/?" inquires Wyn of Lhana, even more cool and bland. "And boring… has security value. I wonder why you're so fierce about being an individual, however. Could you perhaps have some self-value issues…?" And a mark to the lady who's name starts with 'F'… "Never mind, however," she grants magnanimously. "We have pranking to do. Wear your pink beads in peace. So, I'm thinking it would be most efficient if we had Nezdarvyth drop us off at various weyrs and then retrieve us later… I believe we can trust him not to double-cross us like a certain brown…"

Lianta has disconnected.
Lianta wants a nap. She's going to get one.

Lhana turns to wave at Squaln happily. "We're going to steal boots for our chessboard prank! You have to have a wraith-cloak, though. Lookit mine!" And pink-beaded, otherwise frightening cloak is offered for his viewing pleasure. "Isn't it great. And no I haven't Wyn. Which is why I think that they could just as well be pink as any other color." One never knows, after all. Then she blinks at Wyn. "Nono, it's just that I like pink, and I think things are boring if they don't reflect who /you/ are." Then she narrows her eyes, fuming just slightly. "Though I /do/ wish you'd quit trying to analyze me all the time. It gets terribly annoying." Oh, and there she goes, letting her mouth run away with her head again. Like usual. Then she nods to the rest of Wyn's comments, and attempts to pay attention to the subject at hand, but…she has just one more tangent to go off on. "I wonder what would happen if you didn't have a robe ready by the Hatching. Would you just have to go out in your underwear?" Now /that/ opens up some interesting speculation.

Sikkyen slips quietly into the secret passage.

…and a shaddow creeps, as the ominous rumble of the moving rock is heard. Silver flecks, glinting harshly, all flash in light at once, catching a long, dark cloak on fire; two simmering circlets, identical in icy-silver, glare out, before Ike steps out of the oddly lighted shadows, flipping his hood off. "Someone started a party and didn't call me?" is sussurated idly, baritone rumbling out with bemusement.

As said before, Squaln won't plan any pranks but he'll glady participate in them. Nod. Blue eyes blink as he gazes around once more, taking in his surroundings and memorizing every corner. His boots scuff against the floor as he walks around slowly, spurs clanking quietly. "Well, that's nothing new." he comments to Fyria. After Lhana's brief explanation of the current prank plan, Sqa nods and grins lopsidedly. "Aye, I figured that all of you were doing something crafty down here, so, I brought along my authentic green garment." Which happens to be the tailor made cloak that he pulls from his rucksack. Always prepared, he is.

Miralwyn simply arches an eyebrow at Lhana, musing with just the fainest hint of a wicked twinkle that "Perhaps I'm doing it strictly to annoy you, hmmm…?" She then shakes out her own WraithRobe, and swirls it about herself. "Yes, Squaln, a robe. Preferably without pink beads." A sweet smile for Lhana. "Wouldn't want to… infringe on PinkWraith's individuality, after all." A beckon to Sikkyen. "Ike! Perfect timing, sirrah. We're readying for our assault on the boots… Nezdarvyth awaits us in the bowl."

Circlets alight; "Nez?" The minion's tone is positively delighted. "Ahah. That's.. perfect." Sikkyen smirks, and leans back. "Who're we stealing boots from, again?"

Mimi giggles excitedly and hops up, slipping her robe on, leaving her hood back, the bells jingly everso softly. "I still think the bells are a nice touch," she declares softly, adjusting her hood and twisting so that the nicely ragged hem flutters about her feet.

Lhana just glares at Miralwyn, muttering, "Well if you are, you'd better quit it." Though her voice takes on more the tone of one who rather knows she won't. The green cloak is eyed, and she smiles. "That's great! You're all prepared and everything!" And she begins to fold up her candie-robe, placing it back in her sewing basket. "But anyway, about robes." Yes, she's not about to let /that/ particular sidetrack slip away entirely. "What would they do if you didn't have one? Just give you one? Make you use a sheet?" Following MusicWraith's lead, she slips into her pink-hemmed cloak. "Or would you just not have one? Could you Impress without one? …Why do they make you have cloaks, anyway? And speaking of which…" Somebody do cut her off, please. She could go on forever, otherwise.

Sikkyen idly eyes Lhana. "They wouldn't let you on the Sands," he calmly responds. "You'd have to go get your robe before they would. Unless, of course -" he shudders, "-a dragonet was dying because they didn't have enough people." A shudder. Again.

Miralwyn shivers slightly. "That is a thing I never wish to experiance again. It happened at Benden once, when I was four… I still recall the dragons' keen." Another shiver, and she pushes the memory aside. "Anyways, yes, you have to have a Candidate robe, and let's go meet up with Nezdarvyth, if we have no furthur questions?" She begins handing out large black sacks. "Each of you take one of these…"

Fyria wraps the black-shone cloth around her petite form, seeming to disappear into the shadows like an invisibility cloak. She lifts the hood over her head, adjusting her hair and tucking beaded strands back into the folds before reaching for a sack. "Nezdarvyth /better/ not leave us on a ledges, like Dsalth did," she mutters quietly.

Mimi struggles with a pair of black gloves before grabbing one of the sacks. A grin flickers across her face and she pulls her hood up with a quiet jingle of bells,"Mwuahahaha," she taunts, then ruins it and giggles, letting the hood slip back past her forehead. "So we're doin' the central bowl first?" she asks as she carefully readjusts the hood to shadow her face.

Squaln whirls the dark green, velvet to the touch, cloak around him and secures it swiftly. He then pulls the hood up over his head so that a dark shadow conceals his face and all that is seen is black - or so it seems. Mwahaha. Not only is he Captain Demolition, he's Captain Illusion too. But for now, he'll simply be known as GreenWraith; yes, it was he who dyed weyrwoman Hannah's dress green for Ista's previous Hatching. Green is just his color. Meh heh. Stepping forward to take his place amongst his fellow candidates, Sqa nods his head though no one can see his smirking expression.

"I heard a tale, once, of a dragonet that was dying on the Sands - they found a candidate who actually Impressed the poor little green, but she died anyway.." Sikkyen's skin positively ripples under the cloak, shuddering en masse. "Just is so.. wrong.." He accepts a sack, tossing his hood up and over. "Nez won't. He likes me. He likes /all/ of us. Dsalth just uses us." A slight smirk aligns itself over jaunty lips, before he eyes over the cloaked personae in front of him, giving each and every one of them a critical glance.

Lhana blinks over at Ike. "Oh." And a shudder, as well. "Oh, why'd you have to bring up something like /that/?" Shudder, again. "Yes…let's go meet Nez…" One of the sacks is taken, and she considers. "I don't think he'd leave us. Because…he'd want our plan to succeed, wouldn't he?" Just a thought. "Where are we going first? Nevermind. I'll just follow you guys. We -are- going together, right?" She wouldn't want to have to split up or something. Hood is pulled down, obscuring the upper half of her face. She doesn't want to pull it -too- low, after all. Well, not yet, anyway. Ike gets another glare, and she kicks at him. "Shut /up/!" Shiver, shiver. Shudder. "Anyway, let's /go/."

Sikkyen is kicked at. Wouldn't be the first time. "I shall shut up, Oh Pinkish One," he intones, briefly glaring at her through the shadow-enbathed cloak's hood, before shaking his head. "To Nez, we go. Lead us, Oh Leader."

Miralwyn chuckles, the sound ringing about her as she swirls her cloak about herself and pulls the hood into place. "Then follow me, my Wraiths! And, by the by, let Nezdarvyth think this is all his idea."


Central Bowl

Prankwraiths appear.

Sikkyen slips into the Bowl, silver streaks on his hide cloak catching on the afternoon's sunbeams - silvergrey eyes sweep the dragons, before landing on Nez. Ahah. He positively /beams/ underneath that hood, and he flips it off, moving at a simple stride - not skulking or slinking in the least - towards His Favorite Bronze.

Prankwraiths ho! A fair bevy of mysterious black robed figures has materialized in the bowl. Miralwyn, in her WraithLeader guise, likewise sweeps over towards Nezdarvyth. "I have returned. And I have brought more minions for you," she informs him, amusement well hidden beneath a self-contained exterior, and a large black hood.

GreenWraith snags his own carrying rucksack and pulls on a pair of dark green gloves as well - just for a safety precaution of course. Don't want them riders searching for finger prints or stuff like that.. it'd be his luck that he'd get caught for it, so, he'll take no risks. Taking his place amongst the rest, he'll simply follow orders this time around.

Nezdarvyth will slowly lift his head..just a fraction from the ground, leaving him at perfect leering level. Leeeeeeeer. LEER! Mwaha.. Oh. Hey, wait a second.. /That/ one is already a minion. A faint whufflesnort is given to Sikkyen.. Well, he's not /new/..but he'll definately do. Rumbling, the bronze checks out his new flock, the noise hacking into nearly a cackle. Teehee!

The cold, wintry form that is IceWraith pauses before the bronze, hoping that he won't detect the Fyria-scent that flows around it. Ah, well…perhaps he won't remember. Dragons do have short memories, yes? A breeze that chills even the hottest blood is left in it's wake as it grasps the equally dark sack within it's pale hands. Brrr.

Lhana sweeps in, allowing her pinkishness to sweep over the snow dramatically. Then she glides over to Nez forbodingly, pausing only to pull her hood down further. Now you have no idea who she is! Though the pink should give it away…but that's beside the point. And so Pinkwraith pulls on black gloves, following GreenWraith's lead, and lurks silently, eyeing the bronze from under cover of shadow cast by hood. Fear, feeeeeear the Pink One!

Mimi flutters into the bowl, bells a'jingling softly as she makes her way over to the bronze. MusicWraith raises one gloved hand to wiggle her fingers at the dragon, grinning in the shadows of her robe. MusicWraith Mimi the Minion.

Oh, yes, Sikkyen has been a minion for quite a while. He pulls his hood, and becomes LlamaWraith - even has the faint smell of a llama permeating his cloak, however - he's not fuzzy at all. "This will be an incredible fee-feat," is sussurated, before he cocks a hip to a side. "Shall we?"

GreenWraith gives Nez one of those authentic hand signs of his, a fist with only his fore finger and his pinky up as a greeting. Behind a shadowed facade, blue eyes blink and a grin is blindly shown as a result. Mwaha. "I think we shall." is said in reply to LlamaWraith's query.

Nezdarvyth is already low to the ground, watching each of his new minions carefully. Ah..the little minions. So much to much to do…so little time. Oh well. Plans must be carried out and manufactured, work work work. See? That's what he's been doing all day. He wasn't sunning himself. He's been /working/. Concocting plots, of course. And now..these new minions are part of his /new/ plot. Not anyone else's. His. His plot. His brains. Yeah. Whatever… He continues to lowly rumble.

Miralwyn smiles beneath her hood. "Indeed, wh sssshall…" she replies sibilantly. "Ready, Oh Bronze Leader? The central bowl first, if you approve. Ciera, Jesha, Auri, Lis and Zi'n…" And with that, and a swirl of her cloak, she approaches the bronze's straps-ladder.

Sikkyen shifts, patting Nez's shoulder. With a judged leap, he scrambles upwards, scrambling up the straps - then, leaning over, holding a hand out to help the others aboard.

PinkWraith hasn't deigned to say anything just yet, as she can't quite remember what her Wraith-voice is supposed to sound like. Something about hissing. Either way, she just nods ominously, cringing only slightly away from the rumble. At least it's not as scary as Druseth's. She sweeps forward and attempts to find a graceful way up onto the dragon…something else she has yet to remember how to do. Ah well…at least her cloak is still on.

The Prankwraiths mount up on Nezdarvyth.

She-known-as-IceWraith fixes the bronze with a cold stare from the dephts of her black-ice gaze, shuddering only slightly with frozen amusement. Then, with the faint crackling of a frozen lake in the sun, she climbs upon the bronze.

Nezdarvyth is scary! He /is/! Cower in fear from the dark prince of dragons! Or something like that. Yeah. Ahem. Rumblegrowling, he shifs, careful with all his sudden passengers, and looks back, quietly surveying them. Hm. They all in? Yes? Not going to fall off? Dar- umm…good! Yeah. Soundless, he crouches again, then simply springs from the ground. So it begins.

You take off.
Above the Bowl
The ocean's tranquil thermals settle within the center section of the bowl's airspace, unusually smooth and bouyant - though oft to switch as the seasons shift. Lingering beneath spires' constant presence, the perpetual activity of the weyr can be observed from every direction: from the testing rustle of dragonet wings, to the playful games sent aloft.

Miralwyn consults the Scroll of Doom that she's secreted in the sleeve of her robe. "First off… we work in pairs… Our first stop will be…" Pondering ensues beneath the dark hood. an unseen, beatific, smile. "Alymath's ledge. Just over there. T'will revenge us on Lis for setting P'rru on us…" She knew those tears and sniffles were fake!

You soar in for a landing on Alymath's ledge.
Alymath's Ledge
An older ledge, this one, and smaller. The fit is tight for the bigger bronzes, and don't even /think/ of trying to squeeze a queen on here. Though small, one can see any action unfolding below, the ground not far away at all. Smooth-worn stone is gouged deep with claw marks, telling the Turns of a ledge now occupied by some of the weyr's most infamous. How many hesitant, joyous or downright horny individuals have skipped carefully over the rutted stone is a mystery only the beast within can solve.
Seated right above the living caverns, the ledge is subjected to the delicious smells of food wafting in at all times of the day.

Miralwyn smiles to herself. "Smooth, Nez… smooth…" she approves, before retreating into the mien of WraithLeader. "Ssssqualn… Mimsss. Your quesst lies here." A dramatic pointing with a gloved hand.

Mimi giggles but turns it into a whispery cackle, grabbing her black sack. "Yesss, WraithLeader," she replies to Wyn, sliding down from Nez with a jingle and she glances around the ledge then motions for Squaln to follow,"C'mon GreenWraith," she says in her normal voice, then clears her throat as she remembers wraithliness.

GreenWraith says nothing and remains stoic through the mission at hand. As the Leader beckons his presence, he silently slips from his bronzen perch and lands on padded feet. Clutching his rucksack, he glances at his partner and shall follow her..

Mimi is freed from Nezdarvyth's clutches, landing with a soft thud on the ground.
Squaln is freed from Nezdarvyth's clutches, landing with a soft thud on the ground.

LlamaWraith is settled, silent as stone, upon the bronzen neck; eyes peer, unseen, from within the voluminous hood; he calmly awaits the bronze's decision on as which ledge to head to…

You soar in for a landing on Jakith's ledge.
Jakith's Ledge
The edge of this precarious ledge is scored smooth by generations of sharp talons cutting into stone. As a result, the sweeping view overlooking the central bowl of the Weyr is fraught with somehting akin to peril, as the rock has been worn close to the point of giving in places. Further back, though, while the view is not quite as spectacular, one can still see out to the multitude of similar ledges and the happenings in the bowl. Even during the warmest of weather, a dusting of soft snow survives in the shodows of this ledge, and in the deep of winter the weather often makes it diffucult to traverse the ledge.

Miralwyn continues to plot happily over her Scroll of Doom. "Fyriaaaa…" intones WraithLeader. "A special mission for you, if you wish it. A solo raid on Ciera's boots. Take a pair of boots, if you wish to truly reward the one who Searched you…"

Fyria/Wraith doesn't say a word, but simply nods her head - you could almost hear the screeches that might be emitted in another time, another place. With practiced ease, she slides off the bronze hide like ice slipping along a wet surface, landing quietly, then proceeding into the weyr.
Fyria is freed from Nezdarvyth's clutches, landing with a soft thud on the ground.

You soar in for a landing on Sevareth's ledge.
Sevareth's Ledge

Miralwyn's eyes sparkle brightly beneath the hood, the sunlight of a winter afternoon catching them and raising an unearthly gleam from under the dark depths of the hood. "Thisss sstop isss oursss…" she notes to LlamaWraith, slipping neatly down Nez's side, and sketching a bow to him. "My thanks to you, Nezdarvyth… Now, if you will retrieve the others from their ledges and then come for us, I should be eternally your servant." Nezdarvyth has PrankWraiths for servants. Does that make Nez Sauron?

You slide gently down Nezdarvyth's neck and land with a soft thud.

From Nezdarvyth's neck, Sikkyen smirks idly - he twists, awaiting instructions. Is he to raid this one? Eyes blink obliquely, and he rubs the MasterMind's neckridge. "Our stop? Yes - thank you greatly, Oh Bronzen One," he rumbles, throwing a leg over, and sliding down with graceful ease.

Sikkyen is freed from Nezdarvyth's clutches, landing with a soft thud on the ground.

Miralwyn smiles to herself as she readies her sack, creeping stealthily towards the opening to the inner weyr. "So…" she breathes to the other Wraith. "Do you suppose she's lurking in there…?"

Sikkyen pauses, sighing - pondering. "…maybe. If she is, we're dead, you know." However, he slinks forwards, into the inner weyr. "Let's face the dragon," he mutters.
Sikkyen saunters to the weyr.

You go to the Cher-Cher D'Jesha.
Cher-Cher D'Jesha
You notice Jesha asleep here.
Sikkyen is here.

Miralwyn steals softly around the doorframe, unseen eyes widening at the sight of a sleeping Jesha. With exaggerated care, she tiptoes towards a curtained off area she /hopes/ is a closet.

Sikkyen slips to the bed, however - and the rumpled clothes tossed hapahazardly. "'Leader," he hisses. "This'll make more an impression.." He points to the pair of tall, black boots - so very recently shined - and smirks.

A smile of wonderfully evil aspect slips across WraithLeader's face, visible as her hood has half-fallen back. "Excellent work, Llama. She will howl quite satisfactorily, I believe." She holds out the black sack approvingly. "Hmm… anything else we should lift, while we're at it…?"

Wraithleader is whispering, obviously.

Sikkyen smirks. "If only we could hear her screech," is melancholily commented, in his growling whisper, as he carefully places the shiny, tall boots into 'Leader's sack. "Hmm.. I don't know." He pauses, and shakes his head. "I don't.. think so. Boots only, sounds better to me.." He casts a look back at the wingsecond's visage - actually serene-looking in the depths of sleep. He jauntily waves at one of the half-awake golds, and beats a track towards the ledge - and Nez.

Sikkyen saunters to the ledge.

You go to the Sevareth's Ledge.

Sevareth's Ledge
Bronze Nezdarvyth is here.
Sikkyen is here.

Sikkyen gives a low cackle for Nez's benefit, and scrambles up a shoulder, finally vaulting with inherent, 'hand-cultivated grace.
Sikkyen clambers up Nezdarvyth's neck with the help of an offered forelimb, willingly offering themself to the bronzer's evil ways.

Miralwyn permits herself a quiet cackle as well, her hood now nicely casting her face into obscure shadows. "Excellent work. Now, let's pick up Music and Green."
You clamber up Nezdarvyth's neck and set yourself between two neckridges.

You soar in for a landing on Alymath's ledge.
Alymath's Ledge
Squaln and Mimi are here.

Squaln clambers up Nezdarvyth's neck with the help of an offered forelimb, willingly offering themself to the bronzer's evil ways.
Mimi clambers up Nezdarvyth's neck with the help of an offered forelimb, willingly offering themself to the bronzer's evil ways.

LlamaWraith, scented of grass and warmth inherent, cackles lowly. "You.. were sucessful?"

WraithLeader, coolly focused on command, holds out her black bag. "Empty the booty into here… That way, we may jettisssson it all at once, if we are intersssepted."

Beep! Beep! Beep! Or..yeah. Whatever. Well, it /is/ a large vehicle landing. Or..dragon. Whatever. Nezdarvyth lands, crouching precariously close to the ledge impatiently. Low rumbling given, he waits.

GreenWraith says nothing, but gives a thumbs up to Llama just before glancing at the rucksack that Music holds. Nodding, a smirk can faintly be seen through the shadow his hood creates. "Aye." is finally said in reply.

MusicWraith whisper-giggle-cackles and empties the boots from her bags into WraithLeaders. "Yesss. Very successssful." She shrugs her shoulders around so her bells jingle in triumph.

You soar in for a landing on Jakith's ledge.
Jakith's Ledge
Fyria, Lianta, and Tevya are here.

Miralwyn beckons, her gloved hand twitching fingers in a gathering motion towards the three Wraiths present on the ledge. "Come… show usss the fruits of your quessst, my Wraiths…" she urges, the other hand idly rubbing one of Nezdarvyth's neckridges.

The IceWraith holds out her sack, now full of - something - boot-ish looking. Her eyes lift to meet the others with a faint hint of..amusement?…as she nods, still saying nothing (lest her voice reveal her true persona).

Fyria clambers up Nezdarvyth's neck with the help of an offered forelimb, willingly offering themself to the bronzer's evil ways.
Tevya clambers up Nezdarvyth's neck with the help of an offered forelimb, willingly offering themself to the bronzer's evil ways.

Wings tired? Or you just want to feel solid earth beneath your paws…
Central Bowl

LlamaWraith pats Nez's shoulder, tosses a leg over, and slides down. Slip. Thud.

Prankwraiths dismount.

WraithLeader sketches a low bow Nezdarvyth-wards, made a trifle less than graceful by the heavy black sacks that she totes. "We are in your debt, and will see this scheme come off to the best of our abilities," she intones, middling formal.

IceWraith likewise nods his/her/it's head, pausing to peer at the bronze's jaws. No, no need for any scrubbing or flossing of teeth yet, it looks like. Then, whirling in a frozen swirl of inky black, it heads back toward's the caverns to disappear once more.

Nezdarvyth simply lands, once again crouching low to the ground. Mission completed. Mwaha…ahem. He watches his new minion squad carefully, making sure everyone is still there. Didn't lose anyone, right? No stains on the bowl floor? No? Good. Ahem.

Cobweb'd Caverns

Sikkyen slips quietly into the secret passage.
Fyria slips quietly into the secret passage.
Tevya slips quietly into the secret passage.

LlamaWraith slinks in, all shimmering silver and shadow'd black; hood is shlopped back, and he pauses, glancing at WraithLeader with a thoughtful look. "How is our catch of the night?" is idly inquired.

Miralwyn sweeps into the center of the Lair of the PrankWraiths, lowering the two black sacks ceremoniously into a favoured place beside the cauldrons, lime, and other supplies, and slowly beginning to catalogue the contents. "The catch is well…" she notes, pulling back her hood at last to reveal a predatorily pleased smile. "We look to have retrieved all the boots but those of G'deon and Pyrene." She reaches into one pocket, and removes a handful of… knots? Yes, knots. She begins affixing a pair of knots to each pair of boots, denoting the rank of the owner. "Care to help me with this…?"

Sikkyen shifts, and snags a few knots - he wrinkles, pulls out a pair of longboots, and attaches the proper colored knots. "With color ribbons and everything," he reflects, eyes rippling over one knot. "How'd you procure these - or should I even ask?" Quipped, he smirks.

"I came in late.." A quiet murmur from Tevya before she holds out a package, "But I did manage to grab a few boots. Not many, but..well here they are." Package is then held out to whomever may wish to take the package, and Tevya steps closer to the main group. "How many do you think we've got by now?"

Miralwyn takes the package with an approving nod. "Excellent work, Wraith," she congratulates Tevya, having a momentary laspe as to her title. The boots are removed, and placed in a row with the others, and she offers some of the knots around to the others, before offering Sikkyen a dry smile in return. "You can ask… the question is, do you want to know the answer." she drawls.

"Probably not," Ike laments, finishing attaching the last of his knots. He sighs, and leans back. "So.. now what?" Blink.

Miralwyn eyes the neat row of boots and muses to herself. "Now… we still have to obtain G'deon and Pyrene's pair of boots. We could begin preparing the whitewash for the others, but I'd rather do that when we have all of them. So, with our boots identified for use later, I suppose we ought to go up and act like the innocent little Candidates we are."

A dip of Tevya's head is all that she offers via words, and then she's pressing herself against the wall, turning gaze out onto the Sands. Brief lapse of thought soon send her into a silent stuppor, during which all convesation around her literally drifts through one ear and out the other. It's only when she blinks that she 'awakens' from the daze she'd been in, and turns to those gathered. And then it's time to play catch-up with what she missed.

Chuckle. "Innocent little candies.. Sounds good to me," is beamed. Ike shuffles, and pulls off his shimmering cloak, replacing it with a shorter, rougher chocolate-brown dyed one.

Lianta slips quietly into the secret passage.

Miralwyn removes her cloak as well, secreting it in an ancient wooden box she'd rescued from disuse elsewhere, sneezing as a clous of dust wafts up. "After all, who could possibly accuse /us/ of mischief." she drawls, and sneezes again. "Faranth, I'm going to need a bath, after wading through all this dust." she grouses, and then turns to ogle the inbred orbs resting on the sands.

"Innocent?" Lips quirk into a smile and brows raise as Tevya glances at those gathered. "Candidates and innocent arent exactly two words that go together well.." Hands then raise to fiddle with hair, strands tucked into place as she folds knees to her chest. "That and the fact that..we might get caught with all these boots.." The later a side comment that draws yet another grin to her face.

Fyria tears her gaze away from those large eggs guarded by an equally large gold out on the sands. The word 'innocent' perks her ears and she turns, giving Tevya a half-grin. "Yeah, I'd agree Tev. So.." Fyria swivels 'round to scrutinize the boots. "Think they'll be safe in here? Wandering weyrbrats, y'know…."

Miralwyn offers a thin smile, a plotting sort of smile. "Weyrbrats… Are still susceptible to terror. If they get too nosy, an appearance by the Wraiths, with appropriate threats if their lair is disturbed, should do the trick."

Lianta bounces happily in. Ka-boing, ka-boing, ka-boing. "Hi all! More pranks to be done? I'm starting to get the hang of it." Not that pranks don't come naturally to her. Then, digging around in her sachel, she hauls out a long, blotchily dyed, dark blue cloak. "Isn't it just spiffy? Not a bell to be found on it, though. I'm hoping it'll work for the Wraithing." Well, if it didn't have so many patches of lighter blue, it would service quite nicely for that particular use.

Sikkyen stares, and falls silent, sniffing. Shniff. He gazes at the inbred eggs, almost idly.

Fyria looks up quickly as Lianta comes - bouncing? - in. Her eyes narrow as she spots the cloak, then widen, a grin appearing on her lips. "Now that's quite interesting Lianta…do it yourself?" Reluctantly, she gives the eggs a final look before drawing closer to the girl. "ANd…it's blue!"

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