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Sky emits are for the dragonriders, and are the actual Threadfall. They can be NPC poses, general descriptions of Thread falling, atmospheric descriptions, and usually there are a number of emits that are targeted to one specific dragon, as indicated by something like < name > or < dragon >.
July 11, 2000:
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.
The onslaught is pitiless, and even the bravest hearts can't hope to catch it all. Threads slides through the lines, and nearly a whole clump drops down almost on top of < dragon name >, missed by the dragon flames from above.
The battle is fought in earnest, failure meaning the end of the green below, victory meaning the chance to defend it again. Dragons dance through the sky, the roars of the giant, enraged creatures keeping time to their dance of death. A Cloudchaser's green is struck, a glancing blow, and she winks from existence, returning moments later. Yet that one brief instance allows a cluster of ominously twisting thread to slip through the formation. Only < insert rider's name and dragon's name here > are close enough to protect the full and vibrant life below.
The sky is now lit by intermittent flashes of Thread-searing flame. Intervals between the flashes at first can be measured in seconds, but in an instant, the leading edge has become a solid curtain, and the flickering is constant over the entire formation of airborne dragons.
Nearly worn out, many of the chromatic colored dragons slip faster and faster into between. Reinforcements are slow in coming as there are not that many to replace those that have gone. Young weyrlings of all colors are pale-faced with effort and exhaustion as they bring sack after sack to depleted riders. Like hope, life and other enduring things, the Queen's wing below seems immutable, untouchable. Their bravery is unmatched as they surround and char the dreaded thread clouds that slip through the patterns of dragons above.
The cloud is now directly before the fighting wings of Southern Weyr, more a solid shimmering wall than a cloud now, approaching, approaching faster and faster.
As the fall begins, the clear skies whose tranquillity was broken only by the beating of dragon wings just a moment before become marred by the writhing silver strands of Pern's ancient enemy: Thread! The first clumps are swiftly approaching Firedance's Wings; one, < insert dragon name >.
A scream of pain serves as a warning as an Nightveil blue disappears into *between*, his wingtip scored. What Thread does not go *between* with him continues its descent towards < insert Name of dragon and rider here >.
With many of the front-line dragons busy clearing the sky of a sudden spurt of clumps, it is little wonder that a few ragged patches manage to make their way towards < insert name of dragon and rider here > .
Yaneth wheels, ready to char, showing the agility characteristic of her size and colour. The blue directly behind her slows and dives suddenly, leaving the green to dart *between* just in time to avoid a collision. The tangled clump of thread slips though to the Queens' wings.
At the height of the fall, thread streams down endlessly, without a pause, a burning silver rain seeking to eat its way through the Weyr's defenses. Strands slide over tough dragon hide leaving scores and screams behind. Still more is decimated, ash dissipated in the wind.
No less than *four* small patches target a single Stormfall bronze at once; while he manages to deal with two with admirable speed and precision, the second pair are coming too close, too fast. His bugle serves as a warning to dragon name >, the < color > left to deal with the remainder as he winks *between*.
The soft hissing of thread burning through the air dominates even over the wings of a hundred dragons beating wings. The odd scream of agony as the deadly mass hits home, overwhelming the sibilant sounds, and the vacuum of *between* appearing and disappearing as dragons zip in and out. One clump heads down towards Moonsweep, heading right for X.
A conflagration of burning sears across the sky, as several dragons in Starflame dart in to burn away a large section of thread, instantly disappearing as the sheet continues to cascade from above. Their job is mostly done though, the few strands remaining wriggling down through the wings towards X.
Flashes of flame appear all around, their colour a contrast to the grey mass of thread, and the ash-covered dragon hides, muting even their appearance in the sky. Shouts come from all around as a sudden gust of wind blows a sheet off course, sending a multitude of mycorrhizoid towards X in X wing.
Tangled threads fall, weaving their shimmering splendour through the massed wings, and dangling just out of reach of a few Skyfurian riders. Instead, the threads fall further down, touching on the outer edges of Starflame, tangling tighter and tighter as they fall lower in the sky.
T'pilic's brown Juninuth emits a scream of pain as he is caught on his flank side, writhing in agony a moment, before disappearing *between*. A wingmate, a fellow Cloudchasian, pulls into position in time to kill the thread with a great burst of flame, moving out of the way as the brown pair returns, this time winging lower to the ground.
Sinuous silver strands begin their assault on the Flight almost immediately, raining down towards the dragons at an unpredictably oblique angle.
Slipping through the clutches of the wing above it, defying the dragons with a wicked twist, one large clump falls like a rock towards < name >.
The roiling Thread slants at an odd angle, falling swiftly, almost directionally towards < wing >.
The steady, sheeting Threadfall becomes more patchy; thicker portions here, thinner to none elsewhere. 'fall is nearing it's end.
Intermittently, Thread slips towards the dragonriders until the last Thread has fallen to be charred by the flame deterrents. Threadfall's over!
March 4, 2000:
The first clump of Thread drops into the sky and is immediately followed by many more. There is a slight breeze in the upper atmosphere, but just like on the ground, it is warm and only makes the heat worse. The current gently pushes a few clumps towards the riders of < Name > Wing.
A brownrider from Moonsweep Wing urges his lifemate forward to meet one of the tangled masses. The brown lets loose a large burst of flame which completely envelopes the Threads. Now they are no longer a threat, but a cluster of ashes drifting through the air.
After a short but powerful gust of scorching wind, the air is abruptly still. A clump that would have been blown past < dragon > now falls directly above < him/her >.
A clump! A bugle! And there's a blue, diving out of formation to catch a writhing mass of silvery Thread threatening one of his wingmates. There's a burst of livid flames and the wingmate ducks out of the way of the ashes, glancing up as the blue passes overhead with a fist raised in mute thanks.
Two bronzes flying in Firedance Wing bank to the left to battle several gobs of Thread that have become tangled in each other, making one big lump. Though they manage to char most of the silvery strands, some small clumps still get past and steadily approach Sunblaze Wing.
With a silence so thorough it's almost eerie, Thread rains down from the sky - clumps, masses, tangles... All of it pouring down in living, writhing tendrils toward the greenery beneath. Comforting bursts of flame seize it well before it reaches the ground, however, borne of bronze, blue, brown, and green muzzles.
This is turning out to be a messy Fall. Thread is raining down in clusters of all sizes, especially large blobs. One blob in particular grazes a blue, scoring his right flank. He screeches in pain and disappears *between*, fortunately reappearing closer to the ground. He makes a quick landing and is soon in the care of the dragonhealers.
Blown by an arid draft, a writhing mass floats silently towards < Name > Wing.
With an agility lent only by Turns of practice, Remarra leans far, far off the side of her gold, flamethrower poised to sear a patch tumbling her way. At just the right moment, Hannenth angles toward the Thread and - as one - the two char it from the sky.
Finally, the clumps are beginning to lessen in volume and size. Tired greens and blues return to the landing field, while other greens and blues take their places and attack the Thread with fresh energy.
A greenrider from Stormfall leans over to offer her lifemate some firestone, taking advantage of a clear patch of sky. It is all too brief, however, before the pair is once again surrounded by the descending enemy. The green soars deftly through the fray, a stream of fire making her a path.
A younger brownrider misses a patch that's tumbling toward him, his dragon catching it on the tip of his wing and screaming into Between to shake it loose. Errant Threads trail downward through the fighting Wings...
Still the skies pour with the silvery Thread, the mindless masses raining downward almost constantly. Dragon wings glint handsomely against fiery illumination as the leading trailing edge approaches.
The end of Fall is near, but not here yet. Several strands spiral lazily toward a pair from < Name > Wing.
Emerald greens, cobalt blues, mahogany browns, coppery bronzes, and below, the yellow gold dragons sail through the sky, burning the last bits of Thread into black cinders.
Nothing. Not one strand of Thread, not even a cloud. The sky is clear again. Jubilant trumpets ring out from the dragons as the last wisp of danger dissipates.
A devious gray spore hisses down out of a larger writhing mass, floating with the breeze toward the awaiting defenders.
A large clump of swirling, falling Thread drops slowly past one of the fighting wings. The wing veers, keeping perfect formation all the while. They duck underneath the clump, great dragon heads spitting gouts of flame up at the masses. Smoking, burning Thread dissolves in the air, but a few get through the attack and just barely skim a passing brown's wingtip. The brown disappears *between* with a bellow of pain, reappearing in front of the wing relatively intact, and rejoins the formation, which moves off in search of more clumps.
An enormous ball of Thread tumbles its way through the air, suddenly untangling itself and forming into an almost netlike pattern, the winds whirling it right towards < dragon >'s flank.
Tendrils of curling silver continue to plummet down towards the fighting wings. One such streak reaches out to entangle a young blue in its grasp, just as he blinks *between*. Moments later, the blue reappears at the back of the wing, letting the Thread continue its plunge towards the queen's wing.
One of the bigger bronzes belches out an enormous gout of flame, searing a whole clump in one breath. His rider, obviously proud of his beast, leans over to thump his lifemate on the shoulder, narrowly missing the next clump. Now it gravitates toward < dragon >.
A green screeches as she pivots without looking, and her wing brushes against a glob of Thread. She goes *between* and reappears in an instant, fortunately with no more than a burn.
A clump of thread drifts downwards, spreading out into a quivering silver net that stretches across the fighting wings. Weyrlings continue to fly re-supply, blinking back and forth and tossing sacks between the lines. One has his attention caught by a clump of thread, accidentally tossing the sack half-heartedly, making the bluerider reach out to barely snag it and send a glare at the pair until they *between* back to the weyr.
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.
The silvery menace continues to Fall, now taking a more dangerous turn as winds pick up. No more individual strands fall, but amazingly large balls of Thread are flung at the heads and sides of the Southern dragons.
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.
A tangle of Thread begins to free itself from the knot it has formed, spraying out surprisingly long strings of the noxious stuff no Weaver would dare try to sew with. Untangling, the clump spirals downward, missed by row upon row of dragon, now reachable only by the Queen's Wing. Perhaps Araneth or Feilynth can reach it in time?
An ear-piercing keen shatters the air as a vicious clump of Thread trickles its way down a young blue weyrling dragon's tail, seeming almost to caress the tail gently even as deep searing burns are left behind as if a thousand hot pokers had been driven into the dark cerulean blue's previously scoreless tail. Panic-stricken, the pair spiral downwards for a few moments before realizing the cold of *between* is their only savior. The keen is suddenly cut short as they blink out. A few breathless moments pass before they erupt into the air again, the agonizing keen now a doleful crooning as the blue emerges and then winks *between* again, for home.
Writhing and roiling, the thread streaks down in a seemingly endless cascade of silver-menace. Fiery tendrils of burning red flame swallow up a clump as they tremble in the sky -- though the ancient war rages on as a stream falls straight towards < wingname > wing.
Winds begin to flare up again as ever more Thread clumps reminiscent of tumbleweeds hiss through the air, seeking to drive themselves into a living target. In the fray, a wind tips the wing of a green dragon yanking her rider out of reach of the firestone sack that was just thrown by a weyrling. A curse is shouted against the wind, but the green and her rider are suddenly occupied by a clump of Thread heading their way. The firestone sack sails towards the ground, either to be caught by an attentive rider, or to crash upon the groundcrews.
The silver haze of Thread is soon no more than a vague gray tint in the azure blue sky. Vast clumps of the squirming spores become bits and pieces of burning ash. The agitated frenzy in the hearts of dragons and riders calms as the last flames disappear from view, and another Threadfall ends.
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.
Silver menace slides downwards in sheets, as if from a weaver's loom gone wild. Of course, a weaver's threads do not sear your skin - these are far more dangerous. The sinister strands slither down from the sky, intent on gorging on any organic material available.
The soft sibilant hiss of Thread falling from the sky pervades all with a deadly sense of calm. Filaments detach and spiral in endless circles, their path clear: the lush jungle and farmlands below. The deadly grey rain is thwarted in its plans by the wings of Southern.
Patches of widespread silver wriggle down, raining upon the wings of Southern Weyr. Two thick clumps first fall amongst < wing > and then find a back wind, heading directly towards < wing >'s < wingleader >.
High up, the battle rages in full force. The wings move with ferocity against the leading edge, those speedy greens and blues darting in and out, fiery tendrils searing the tangles into oblivion. A heart-rending scream is heard and a green *betweens*, the tangle of thread that caught her tail continuing down towards the Firedance Wing.
"< Rider >! Look out!" calls < NPC rider >, "To < dragon >'s left, there!" Sure enough, a slithering clump of gray tumbles down.
Like a blanket, sent to smother all in its tenebrous embrace, the grey oneness that is Thread threatens to extinguish life from all around. As one dragon disappears *between* and back to the Weyr, a scream of agony left to fill the space the blue once flew, a brown quickly masks the gap left in formation, but the parasitic organism is left to slither through the wings, heading to < I >.
After going *between* to dodge a rather large clump of Thread, a greenrider reappears and flames it with a vengeance.
The thick of the fall reaches the Southern riders. Clumps of silver-streamed thread tumble from above, bearing down upon them. Once bunch heads toward < Rider >, another falls simultaneously at < Rider >, overlapping both is a pile that wriggles in < Rider >'s direction.
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.
Deadly scrapes of alloyed thread scatter, sending several members of < NPC wing > blinking between. Live venomous rain falls through the ranks above < PC wing >.
A bellowing challenge is issued from a Nightveil bronze, whose rider urges on the most magnificent of companions and steeds. The bronze meets a sheet of Threadfall with a long burst of flame, then winks *between* to avoid the ash, reappearing at a higher altitude.
Already the smaller greens and even some of the blues are starting to return back to base, ordered to do so by their Wingleaders. Replacements rise up, smoothly slipping into the vacated positions. A green goes to work and begins to flame away at the various clumps, her rider craning her neck around to get a fix on the silvery strands as they fall nearby. But in the midst of changing a position or two a rather large silvery clump was given an opening and spirals quickly toward < dragon name >.
Some of the smaller greens from Starflame head back to the Weyr, the exhaustion ladling their wings evident just before they disappear *between* . Wing members replace them almost immediately, bright flashes of flame searing thread into red-hot ash. The fight continues to vanquish this menace where it belongs: crackdust.
Silver streaks the blue sky as tiny threads detach from the larger clump and spiral downwards in a deadly dance heading for the left side of < name > wing. Though two spiral to head for the Wingleader, the rest detaches again and heads to duel with the flame of < dragon >.
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.
Telltale silver, slithering in a sideways slant, silent and certain, slinking through searing breath. Knotting, tangling, it descends heavier than the straight rain that glitters in the evening skies... dropping... dropping... angling near < dragon >, passing just beyond the reach of the < colour >'s breath.
Following the wingleader who signals down to < PC wingleader >, < NPC wing > adjusts their ranks to let < PC wing > take the lead on the incoming shower of Thread.
Seeking to feed this senseless hunger, Thread tangles itself about the wingtip of an ill-prepared brown, sending the dragon screaming into Between to emerge above Southern Weyr, safe but slightly injured. From the same patch, a single Thread pulls itself relentlessly toward the lushness of a < color > hide --toward the lushness of < dragon name >'s hide.
A flash of flame comes from < NPC wing >, but still the metallic strands advance forward, the flame merely curling the ends into charcoal black. The remaining thread spirals towards the Queen's wing, a wind whipping it at the last moment so it picks up speed and heads towards the blind side of < Queen's wingrider >.
Screaming in pain, a dragon/rider pair vanish *between*, then come back and head down towards the groundcrew for medical assistance.
All around, the deadly strands collide with dragon-bred flame. A triumphant shout comes from < NPC wing > as they successfully clear a wave of Thread. They reposition even as the next wave falls to < PC wing >.
A blue and bronze take up fronting the silver sweep forward. The blue goes down low to catch the tendril and a stray wind gust blows him up right into to the path of the bronze's flame. Both *between*; both do not return. No time to mourn their passing, no time to mourn their rider's unborn child. The tendril still spins down, heedless of the agony felt by those around, heading straight to the Queen's wing.
A scream of pain, too deep to be human, is heard just moments before < NPC pair > disappears between. Barreling in their wake is a twisted clump of vile, steaming Thread, falling down the ranks towards < Rider >.
A breath of wind, not gentle, but one of the rare thermals that rotates in on itself, tangles a bunch of Thread-like filaments together, and yet dissipates others like pollen in the air. The bundle twists and turns, heading towards < I > and the others drift left, right, and down: towards Firedance, Moonsweep and Sunblaze.
A viscous entanglement of glossy, searing thread speeds down through the sky, heading towards < color > < dragon >.
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.