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(Pre-fall)
Gathering in the Landing Field
Checking straps and other gear
Making sure all dragons and riders are fit to fly
Healers set up
Feeding dragons firestone
Last minute reports and checks
Groundcrew gathers
Mounting dragons
Signal from the Weyrleader
Dragons go aloft
Signal from Weyrleader
(Sky)
Dragons arrive at destination
Leading Edge appears
Thread begins to fall
Dragons sear Thread
Tired greens and blues are switched with fresh replacements
More Threadfighting
Two blues dive toward the same patch. A glorified descent, a stunning dive to chase that silvery trickle, a duo of simultaneous flames. As if to revel in their partnered glory, the blues spiral about one another in their ascent, rejoining their separate Wings - smugness almost palpable. A sharp mental rebuke from their Wingleading dragon sends them back into formations with some of the cockiness knocked off their wings.
Weyrlings resupply firestone
Thread winds down; Trailing Edge appears
Thread ceases falling
Sweeps to look for any remaining Thread
(Ground)
Groundcrew awaits the beginning of Threadfall
Thread falls towards the ground
Groundcrew destroys missed Thread
NPC poses
Firelizards helping
More Thread falling
Threadfall ends
Dragons, of various colors and sizes, begin to lumber or fly in to the landing field, accompanied by their lifemates. They, along with the healers, residents, and candidates, begin to prepare for the onslaught of Pern's ancient enemy.
Riders, residents, staff, and candidates rush about the field, each going about their separate duties. Dragons are spread out over the entire area with their lifemates nearby, checking gear
Dragons are examined by their riders, looking for any minor strains or pulls from the day before that might hinder performance later in fall, and checking straps by tugging the bindings and buckles. The wings then start forming up, each going to its assigned area and lining up as wingleaders start doing their inspection of each wing.
Dragonhealers and healers are the epitome of calmness in the sea of the chaos of Threadfall preparation. They go about their business, directing tubs of numbweed and redwort to be stationed at different points in the landing field, double-checking supplies of bandages, needles and water.
A crunching sound is heard as the dragons start chewing firestone. Soon the dry air is filled with the pungent smell and the constant munching noise.
The wingleaders and seconds pass through the ranks, giving last minute instructions and a good pep talk to their riders. A nod here, a headshake there and the leaders return to their lifemates to prepare for the final signal.
The ground crew seems to be ready for the last part of its preparation. Crewers pair up, or are paired up by crew leaders, checking the tanks and nozzles on the agenothree canisters. At last, arms go through the straps, crewers shifting and squirming until they're as comfortable as can be.
All throughout the field, the Wingleaders give the signal for the riders to mount up and prepare to head skyward.
When every rider is mounted and strapped in, ready to go, the Weyrleader raises his arm. The gesture is the undeniable sign to all the wings that now is the time to rise and fight.
Suddenly the deep grayish sky is filled with gold, bronze, brown, blue, and green as all wings are unfurled and the Southern dragons launch themselves into the air. Bugles and trumpets can be heard as the dragons voice their defiance to the deadly enemy.
Dragons depart
All the wings of dragons designated for this Fall appear in the sky from Between. Neatly organized riders within wings within the Flight are arranged in row upon row in battle formation. The sky is filled with a blanket of neatly ordered lines of blue, green, bronze, and brown, and gold below. The only gray in the sky, here far to the east of Southern Weyr, is the clouds forming a storm that has not erupted as yet. A few spurs of premature fire on the behalf of one or two excited young dragons roar into the air, lighting an otherwise dimming sky. Far to the west however, sun peaks through white clouds.
An ominous pause filters through the ranks. A stillness, so complete that the anticipatory rise of a heartbeat can be heard by rider and dragon alike, holds the wings at bay. Wingleaders lean in, reaching forward as if the mere action alone will break the tension and find that which they search for. And then it begins. The faintest trail of silver can be seen slithering from the sky so far away that some must blink their eyes to assure themselves it’s not the same illusion that had popped up before in anticipation of the moment. It is not. Slowly the leading edge rains forward.
There is a hissing sound against the silent afternoon, as the silvery sheets ripple towards shore and extinguish themselves on the waters edge. But the waiting is very short as the edge of the silvery rain ripples towards the front ranks of the wings.
An immense ball of Thread which has tangled upon itself roils across the air, jerking up and down with the eddies and air currents. A gout of flame from a brown dragon misses it, the hot air sending it flying upwards. Once the flame ends, however, the Thread quickly plummets down in the sky, its tangled mass getting tossed towards green < dragon >'s wingsails.
As a handful of exhausted greens and blues disappear *between* to rest safely at the Weyr, an equal amount of energized replacements move into position. The transition is swift and nearly instantaneous; no Thread manages to get through their ranks during this switch.
Coruscating flame bespeckles the ranks of Southern's wings as Thread is banished into dust at each heated touch. Here and there the grey strands manage to fight their way through to survival from the deadly breath of dragonflame, only to head towards Sunblaze's queens: dispatched there with daring antics by gold and flamethrower.
The end of Fall is near, but not here yet. Several strands spiral lazily toward a pair from < Name > Wing.
Among all the ash and spore remains, it is almost difficult to tell that the attack has thinned, and the Trailing Edge is fading. Sure enough, only remnants of the fight are left. The last flames are extinguished, sweeps are executed, and the tired dragons of Southern Weyr return home.
Signal from Weyrleader
Go home
As the groundcrew spreads out, preparing for the arrival of Thread, there is a sudden breeze as hundreds of dragons burst out of *between*. Heads turn skyward as people stop to watch the powerful protectors of Pern.
A single strand of twisting silver, shimmering with vile menace, slips between the attentions of two dragons whose attentions are diverted to heavier patches. The Thread hurtles downward, missed, too, by the queen's wing. It approaches Pern's surface, her greenery, with sinuous hunger.
The smell of agenothree and burning blackrock in the air is more of a nuisance and an irritant than an impairment as flamethrower-laden men and women dash to and fro to singe the remnants of Thread that have survived their fall to the ground. Orders shouted back and forth seem to conduct the movements of the gathered masses.
An errant Thread manages to get past the upper wings and the queen's wing, floating down to Pern with a sinister silence. A young huntress rushes in that direction, turning on her sprayer. Just before the spore hits the ground, it is smothered in agenothree and becomes nothing more than a bubbling, gooey mass.
Lead by an imperious little gold, a throng of firelizards maneuver their way through the groundcrew, chittering busily. As a small clump of the silver menace sails downwards, the 'lizards have charred it and gone before the crewers can even bat an eye.
A tiny, half-charred Thread comes drifting past the sky full of dragons, headed straight for a particularly leafy bush.
As Threadfall has tapered off, the duties of the groundcrew have become fewer and fewer. Sparse clouds of charred dust descend upon the watchful crew, but no more live Thread. Orders are still given to search for burrows, but shortly it is clear that no more remain.