A New Day {Caravan} [Tags Sel'n]

[Rowana]

It was just another day. All the days, summer, winter, spring, or fall, just melded into one as far as he was concerned. Roivao didn't care whether it rained or the sun blazed bright. What did it really matter? He barely even noticed the cold or the wet or how uncomfortable the heat sometimes was. His body registered it, but his mind just didn't care.

After he had been sent south with another group of slaves, he had been bought by a traveling merchant. The man seemed to care little for anything, but profit and treated Roi worse than he treated the pack mules. He wore ragged, casted off clothing that hardly kept him warm on cold days. He rarely got the chance to bathe either, except when his master grew tired of his smell. His tasks consisted of everything from caring for the mules to carrying all the heavy boxes and crates for his master to sell.

Two turns ago, Roivao would not have put up with such treatment or at least he would have shrugged it of with a smile or a joke. But two turns ago, Iloth had still be alive. Two turns, more like a whole life time ago, Roivao had been a much different person. Now he lived in silence, his body working at the monotonous tasks, while his mind retreated from the reality of what had brought him to this state. His shaded eyes were deep with sorrow and gone was the once happy spark of life.

Today the trader had stopped with several others of a caravan at Selenitas Weyr. The greedy man was hoping to make a profit selling food and drink to hungry dragonriders. Roivao didn't care. It was a place like any other. It made no difference to him. He went about his task of lifting the boxes of food and barrels of wine out of the cart to sell. He had done this many times in the past, but whether by design or fate, today he lost his grip on a barrel of Bendan wine. The barrel shattered on impact and the expensive drink flooded the ground and drifted away down the river.

Roivao stared at the mess dumbly, trying to comprehend what he had done. Then his master came up behind him. "Shardin' wretch!" he shouted furiously. "That barrel is worth twice what I paid for you!" He stroke Roi hard across the face and he fell down in shock. Not that he wasn't used to violence by now, but he didn't have the strength to stand up to the man. "I aughta send you back to the slumhole I found you at!" the master raged on. "I aughta send you down this river and let the felines deal with your useless hide!" He raised his hand to strike again and Roi braced himself for the blow. Maybe it would be better if the man just killed him and got it over with. He just didn't care.

[Rei]

Sel’n had been walking close to the river when he heard the shouting. His eyes couldn’t make out what was happening from his far away but he caught a surge of anger from Kaaoloth. That was bizarre. Before he could ask the brown what was up, the three legged beast was loping down the bank, eyes blazing an angry red.

Kaaoloth roared a challenge at the trader as he slid to a stop beside the fallen Roivao. Sel’n trotted up beside the brown and gazed with a disinterested eye at the fallen man. He was not opposed to violence but Kaaoloth’s behavior was odd. “If I may ask what is the problem here?” The brown rider kept his voice calm and collected even as Kaaoloth’s anger boiled beneath the surface. Shard it all Kaao. What is wrong with you. Mine it is R’vao. The rider of Iloth.

What! Sel’n took another look at the sorry slave. By Faranth it was him! he looked horrible. What had happened to him? The brown rider feigned disinterest. He had to find a way to help the man, but if he showed any weakness he was sure the trader would pick up on it.

Kaao calm yourself. The brown snorted but his eyes dimmed a bit. “Kaaoloth seems to have thought you were hassling one of our own. May I ask what the slave did to warrant punishment?” Sel’n had seen the broken wine bottle and an idea sprung to mind. Now if only he could make it work.

[Rowana]

The merchant lowered his hand and turned his glare on Sel'n. Why was the shardin' dragonrider getting involved? he growled inwardly. It was none of his business! But Kaaoloth's angry presence above his head had made him pale. He didn't like the idea of making a dragon mad, especially one so large and intimidating. He decided it was safest to answer the question, however reluctantly. "The fool dropped a full barrel of Benden wine!" he jabbed an accusing figure at Roivao. "A full barrel! Do you realize how much that's worth?!" His tone depicted that he highly doubted the rider had any clue about anything.

Roivao was surprised not to feel another painful strike. Instead, an oddly familiar shadow was loaming over him. He was not afraid of the large presence, but felt somehow safe. The new voice too, struck an odd cord in his mind. He knew that voice. For the first time in two turns, Roi took a tentative interest in his surroundings. His focus rested on the large, brown dragon, who stood on three legs. Three legs! He knew that dragon from somewhere, he was sure of it, but where? Roi tried to fight through the fog in his mind and reach old memories. It was painful and he shrunk away from some images like they burned. But he had to find his answer. Somehow he knew this was very important.

[Avu]

"Generally speaking, a Caravan tends to follow the rules of their host. Which includes what items are strictly not allowed -- which begs of the question: Why are you bringing Benden wine here?"

His voice was neither loud nor angry, but rather almost quiet, with amusement laced through it. The bronzerider, standing a few paces away, eyeing the scene critically and not unsympathetically, head tilted slightly to stare at the caravan's owner. His knots were plainly visible, and had they not been, the bronze dragon, sunning a distance away on the river, whose head came up, gleaming eyes focusing on the scene without error, would have been proof enough that he was, indeed, a bronzerider. T'rid rocked slightly on his feet, hands clasped behind his back, one eyebrow arching questioningly, before he spoke again: "And another thing -- smacking a servant around doesn't usually get you the results you want, poisoned wine or not. While I'm sure you're extremely concerned about our poor grass, which may very well die soon...it's really not worth it."

There was a distinct smirk by now, and the young man paused, shrugging. "And in any case, Corinth," with a gesture at the bronze dragon, "and I don't approve of manhandling servants -- or would you call him a slave? He doesn't look as if he gets paid any -- ah, any useable amount of money -- just because of a few lost marks." The bronzerider had come down to the festivities for that reason alone: To make sure no more poisoned wine made its way into Selenitas. Fortunately, the Caravan owners -- except this one, it seemed -- had chosen not to try to kill off dragonfolk. He had no interest in giggling and buying shiny earrings and pies himself; he preferred to stay alive, and since Selenitas Hold had not been precise on where this caravan had come from, he'd rather not sample their food and end up dying. And for once, Corinth agreed with him.

Stupid didn't agree.

Meanmeanmeanmean, he informed the caravan's master indignantly, poking his head out from T'rid's pocket. Not good no good noooo...no shiny ughhh...grassdie? he added curiously to T'ridHis, craning his head upwards to appraise His upside-down and in a highly awkward position. T'rid barely spared the Salamandyr a glance, patting his head deftly and shoving the creature gently back in his pocket in the same potion with one finger, before he raised one eyebrow expectantly at the man. The slave himself never really caught his attention -- he was just there. As was Sel'n and Kaaoloth. He didn't like the brownpair, not specifically, but he didn't particularly hate them either, so that was fine.

[Rei]

Sel’n forced himself to remain calm even if every bit of him wanted to beat the life out of the man. “Yes I know how much the wine is worth!” He snapped. The rider would have continued if another voice had not cut into the conversation. He spun around to regard T’rid.

Sel'n struggled to keep his face impassive as the boy spoke. He was so sharding smug, although to be fair he had ever right to question the trader. At least the bronze rider was seeming to take an active interest in his responsibilities to the weyr. Even if it took Shmee’s death to prod him into action. Sad that.

Kaaoloth rumbled and nudged Roivao. Please rise. I will allow no harm to come to you brother in arms. He swung his head protectively over the man and eyed the trader with disgust. Sel’n put a hand on his dragon’s head. “Yes if I was employed under you I would no doubt have quit by now. Perhaps this man has no choice in the matter. Is he your slave?” The brown rider raised an eyebrow and Kaaoloth snarled showing his yellowing teeth.

Vanity sensing the discord in her bonded slithered out of his sling and clambered to his shoulder. She frilled and hissed violently at the trader. Bad! Bad man! You kill grass! Minepet no like. You pay. She turned her attention to the brown mandyr and his pet. Your pet? Your pet not like dead grass? I get shiny. My pet says yes. Sel’n ignored his mandyr. As Vanity grew she displayed an increasingly frustrating level of intelligence for a green. He would much rather she be less verbose. However the mandyr had learned that more words gained her more attention. Stupid vain creature.

[Rowana]

"Poison?!" The merchant looked horrified and insulted all at once. "What are you implying, sir?!" He turned his attention to the new arrival with a deep frown. There was no doubted that this man was a bronzerider, young as he was, and he spoke with the authority of a leader. Between him and the other rider, he was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He crossed his arms defensively. "And yes, he is my slave," he countered in a huff. "Last I checked it was not a crime to pay for some decent help, nor to sell good wine!"

Roivao stared at the brown dragon in shock, his expression pained. He rose shakily to his feet, using the cart for support. It was an action spur more from the need to follow orders than any personal desire. Memories came flooding back to him now. This dragon and a small blue one, sleeping in the sun. Flying behind him on the blue one's back. This dragon chasing a bright queen only to be struck down by angry bronzes. The small blue, bidding the brown farewell as he left the Weyr. Hot tears trailed down from once dry eyes. Yes, he knew this dragon.

"Kaaoloth," he whispered. His voice was barely a croak and sore from lack of use. It came out as barely a whisper that only the dragon could here. There was not hesitation in the voice. Roivao knew it was him and no other. But it hadn't been memories of Kaaoloth that pained him. The little blue dragon, that was a name he would never forget. It was etched into his heart with a sharp knife and burned like fire. Iloth.

[Avu]

Ooh, so was he supposed to be ganging up on the Caravan-man with Sel'n? T'rid cocked his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over Sel'n briefly as the man spoke. The Weyrleader shrugged impassively at the outburst. He knew how much wine was worth? Well, uh, good for him; it didn't matter. Not really. The man wasn't supposed to bring Benden wine into the Weyr to begin with, best wine on Pern or not. (Oh, T'rid was very much aware that it was, and he admitted to missing it on the ocassions that he did drink, but Blossom wine wasn't too bad.) Sel'n and Kaaoloth, however, were taking this way too -- too violently, as was given by the brown dragon's snarling and exposure of some unfortunately yellowing teeth that vaguely made T'rid wonder why exactly the brown's teeth were that shade of yellow -- it wasn't exactly typical, for a dragon's teeth to become yellow until very old age. And Kaaoloth was showing an odd protectiveness over the man, who was now -- crying.

Crying?

T'rid gazed at the slave levelly for a moment before he returned his attention to the caravan-man, his voice still quiet, firm -- he might not like leading, but he could have authority when he tried. "I am not implying anything. I am saying -- repeating -- that I, the Weyrleader, gave very clear instructions that not a single bottle of Benden wine -- much less barrels of the stuff -- would be allowed to be sold at Selenitas Weyr. Is that clear, or must I reiterate?" A slight tilt of his head instructed the man that asking for a reiteration would not be wise; T'rid was immensely frustrated by the lack of suspects -- or rather, the excess thereof -- and his temper was distinctly frayed. Any disobedience would be dealt with severely, and he wasn't above using force. Oh, no. Last he'd heard, Calistoth's Flight had wreaked havoc in the last Gather at Blossom, so he thought he was allowed to wreak a little more -- of a different kind -- in this one.

"As for your slave..." T'rid shrugged, his gaze flickering to the man for the briefest second. "It would be beneficial to your trade if he was better fed...but seeing as you've so rudely killed some of our grass..." His foot twitched, nudging the wine-soaked stalks of green "...I don't see why I really ought to care...he is, as you've so emphatically said, your slave...and funny, that." The bronzerider's voice was friendly and conversational: At his most dangerous. "Funny," he repeated. "When most people say 'slave,' they mean someone whom they do not pay...and yet you say you 'pay for some decent help', was it? A slip of the tongue, no doubt..." He was baiting the man purposely, a slight venom in his tones, a taunt.

"What are his wages and how often is he paid?" The question came sharply, without warning; the misleadingly gentle twinkle in the hazel eyes gone. In all fairness, the Weyrleader wasn't...honestly...at all concerned with the slave. There were worse conditions, worse places, to be in, than as a slave, and he recognized it, too, the unfairness in trying to take out his anger on the caravan-owner. To his credit, T'rid had had a reason to attack to begin with: The Benden wine, which he had specifically ordered not to be sold, but it had gone past that. It was just baiting now. Hmm. 'Hmm'? T'rid responded. You have your knife? Corinth asked impassively. As always. Hmm.

Ahh! A little ugly not-green green! Stupid poked his head out of T'rid's pocket in order to hiss fiercely at Vanity. Though his small body puffed up in the effort, it was inaudible: He was simply too small. However, there was no mistaking the distasteful flush of anger in those beady eyes, the trembling of his frill that yearned to lift but dared not lest T'ridHis punish him for insolence, or for creating a disturbance. Nevertheless, speaking privately to her in an attempt for T'rid not to notice, the brown Salamandyr informed her in aggravated tones, Nospeak! Bad not pretty, nospeak, issa stupid worra-be. An emphatic nod, and then he darted swiftly out of T'rid's pocket to the tall bronzerider's shoulder, looping swiftly. A quick peek upwards to make sure His was unaware of it, and the Salamandyr frilled at Vanity. She wasn't a real green, no!

[Rei]

Sel’n tapped his foot as T’rid and the trader exchanged words. “No it is not illegal to sell good wine but it is to sell poisoned wine. Would you be willing to take a sample from each cask? If you don’t pass out, then it is not poisoned, and perhaps our good Weyrleader will allow you to sell it.” The brown rider raised an eyebrow in T’rid’s direction but otherwise steadfastly ignored the younger man.

Kaaoloth hearing his name spoken rumbled to the man. He did not speak again. It was obvious that Iloth was no longer in this world. If the blue had been living he was sure nothing would have kept him from his bonded. The intense pain and sadness in the mans eyes spoke volumes and the brown curled his tail tip almost possessively around the man. This one had been with them from weyrlinghood, Iloth his clutch brother was now dead but Kaaoloth still felt kinship with this person from the past.

Sel’n was aware of the emotions of his bonded but didn’t broadcast them. If he showed interest in the man the advantage would be lost. Kaaoloth’s own interest could be viewed as pity for another living creature.

Vanity hissed shrilly back at Stupid not willing to be as unobtrusive as the brown. Is not pretty? BAD! Me is pretty. Pretty more than you. You very ugly. You no tell me no speak. You Dunghead. She frilled and pranced along Sel’n’s shoulder throwing frilled hisses the browns way. Suddenly she shrieked in anger as Sel’n wrapped his hand around her. “Shut your mouth Vanity before I shut it for you.” I shut. I shut. She squeaked and he released her. The green mandyr frilled at Stupid once more but began to preen silently.

[Rowana]

The merchant was starting to grow considerably flustered and nervous. He had know the wine was baned, but he just figured the Weyrleader didn't want his riders getting drunk off the stuff. Blackmarket goods always sold better and he wasn't above a little "under the table" dealing. But poison?! The man was infuriating! Only the constant presence of two very large dragons kept him from loosing his temper. He certainly didn't plan on being made into a meal today.

He babbled out some nonsense responses to T'rid's ream of questions, none of which adequately answered any of them. It was Sel'n's offer that he taste the likely poisoned wine that really addled him. "Fine!" he snapped forcefully. He knew when he'd been beaten. There would be no business here anyway after this mess. "If you don't want my custom, I'll take it elsewhere! Get up, you cur!" he growled at Roivao. "Pack the stuff! And be quick about it! I'm leaving!" He turned away from the man and tried to busy himself, hoping they would leave.

Roivao was jerked out of him memories by an angry shout in his direction. An order. He was supposed to obey orders....wasn't he? Roi wasn't so sure anymore. Orders was all he had know for many months, but now he was starting to remember who he was. Or rather, who he had been. He didn't feel like he'd ever be that man again. But he was feeling slightly less inclined to follow just anyone's orders either. But what else could he do? It was all he really knew anymore.

Roivao started to move, but was surprised to find himself surrounded by a brown snake along the ground. It took him a moment, be he realized it was Kaaoloth's tail. It was oddly comforting to be near the dragon, and yet painful too. It awoke feelings and memories he longed to remember and yet tried to hard to forget. Iloth had been more than a friend or a partner. He had been the better half of Roi's soul. All this made the man hesitate, swaying where he stood as he tried to rationalize what he was supposed to do now. It was all so confusing, it was almost better to do nothing at all.

[Avu]

He really, really wished that Sel'n would just stop talking. As Weyrlingmaster, he did rank a normal bronzerider, but T'rid was Weyrleader and perfectly capable of handling a trader. And besides, he was going all wrong. Poison there very well may be, but there was definitely no death involved if the trader only took a sip -- or even only a mouthful: He'd only get cramps, and even that might very well be postponed until after half the Weyr was dead. So unless the man drank half of each cask, he wouldn't be satisfied -- T'rid knew he was getting ridiculously paranoid, but he didn't really care; the way he saw it, it was the Weyrleader's duty to be paranoid about the safety of said Weyr. And besides -- where did he get the idea that T'rid would let the trader sell his wine after he'd specifically banned it?

No. He wouldn't. He just wouldn't. The bronzerider was in no mood for compromise, and he refused to budge an inch on that stand. Grinding his teeth together, the Weyrleader shot a glance that was distinctly repressive at Sel'n. It was a glance that said shut up -- very clearly. "Actually," he said coldly, "I was in no way planning to let him sell wine that I already stated would not be sold." He was done playing games with the man. If he ditched his wine and sold other things he had not disapproved of -- though he doubted that the snacks stall would be seeing much action: People were too paranoid about getting poisoned -- T'rid would let him pass, but not without calling Mir and making the blue firelizard thoroughly check the man's belongings. The blue fire lizard had little emotion, but he was obedient enough as long as T'rid didn't overload him with instructions.

The trader's incoherent answers made the bronzerider lift his eyebrow, looking more and more unimpressed with the man. Had he been able to frame some sort of defense for himself -- something believable -- he would have at least gained that much respect from the Weyrleader. The blatant breaking of rules, followed by a clearly unplanned mumbling of excuses, was frankly an insult to his -- and the entire Weyr's -- intelligence. Did the man honestly think there would be no checking? No -- he simply would not allow any wine to be sold. Not now, and not in the next Gather, or anything else, until the poisoner was dead. Preferably by the hand of a Selenitas Rider, and by poison. Just to get a taste of his own medicine. Vaguely alarmed at how distinctly malevolent his thoughts were getting, the bronzerider gave his head a slight shake.

Kaaoloth seemed unlikely to let the man get hurt, and as the trader stormed off, T'rid finally allowed the man some amount of attention, regarding him steadily a moment. He felt Corinth borrow his eyes, loathe to perch in the middle of the caravan train -- his bulk would not be welcome, he knew -- and then felt the bronze's flash of sympathy as the dragon put two and two together. The sadness. The lethargy. And Kaaoloth's surprising protectiveness. A dragon never acted that way to someone he didn't know previously -- never. And Corinth wouldn't have acted that way to someone that he did know, be it anyone but T'ridHis. He simply wasn't that fond of anyone; his own clutchmates had died, most of them, and the bronze, while on polite terms with many dragons, had no particular kinship with any people. He has lost His, the bronze stated simply. His? His, Corinth reiterated emphatically, and T'rid narrowed his eyes slightly.

Should he care? -- no. He didn't know the man, and if he cared about every dragonless he came across, he'd never move a step for running into them and sympathizing. With a shrug, T'rid stepped away, waving one hand at Sel'n. "You know him." It wasn't a question. "You must, if Kaaoloth remembers him." He wasn't entirely oblivious: He knew his Weyrlingmasters' previous homes. However, the words were uttered in a low tone as not to let the trader overhear. He refused to give the man any advantage at all. Stupid seemed to agree with this; he had studiously ignored Vanity. Let her scream: No self-respecting green would; they would already know they were green and therefore above screeching like some maniac. This was simply one more point proving she was not a real green. The brown Salamandyr yawned elaborately, flopping into T'ridHis' pocket and staring avidly at Roivao.