Another rewrite. Sorry I've been bad about updating this, busy busy busy busy busy little writer. My main problem is that I already have the story completely mapped out, and re-reading these things just reminds me how many little things I forgot to include. Most of my changes are minor, but it may be helpful to keep an eye out for them. Reviews are always very much appreciated: they help me identify what I need to fix in order to bring you the best story possible! As always, what is mine is mine, what is not is not.

1248.08.21

Keroon Hold

The young bluerider's head was swimming with Keroon's heavy air and alcohol. The sun was slowly setting over the bay and the temperatures were starting to drop to bearable levels. Like most summertime gathers in the Igen region, the real crowds began to form once the sun went down. While the event had been extraordinarily peaceful, tensions were obvious. Almost all of the dragonmen present hailed from Igen. Unfamiliar faces were greeted with suspicious glowers and uneasy whispers. People clotted in tightly knit circles. Nobody strayed too far from their dragons.

It was a time of deep prejudices among the dragonmen and those that they were sworn to protect. Thread had not fallen in several lifetimes, and the rumors were that it was never coming back. They had fell into antiquity and apathy. Supplies were scarce and suspicions were high. The brilliant gather-time gluttony was an irritation to most of the assembled dragonriders. The tithes sent by Keroon had been exceptionally meager this turn, yet the hold appeared to be prospering. The gather was lavish and the message was clear; Keroon had no need for dragonmen. It was enough to drive any man into nihilism.

K'lain was one of the rare exceptions. He was content to cause chaos without the direct supervision of his dragon's multifaceted eyes. Aside from the blue threaded through his shoulder knots, and the slight bowleg to his swagger, he was indistinguishable from the holderfolk. His Ierynth was far out of sight on the beach, basking in the sun's last rays and flirting with his clutchsisters. K'lain felt no need to brood in the shadow of his beast in some passive gesture of intimidation. He was on the lookout for possible friends and lovers. He was free.

During his youth he took chance kick to the jaw by a runner. His smile was crooked and he wasn't handsome in the traditional sense of the word, but he had more than enough charisma to cover himself. He knew what sort of casual glance best sent knots of holdwomen into whispered conversations about the natures of certain male dragonriders, and how to insinuate to the right sort of men that his interest was more than just passing. And although he had a particular talent in exstracting forbidden fantasies from the mouths of properly bred holderwomen, he preferred more elusive prey.

He scanned the crowds with a carefully trained eye. The air was heady with the scents of sweat and sex and heavy cooking. It wasn't long before he caught sight of a tight tangle of young men. They were shirtless and were slippery with sweat. K'lain moved in. He was having trouble focusing his eyes on anything beyond the cobblestones in the street, and was far too drunk to make any accurate judgment on of their physical appearance. However, they were hooting and hollering like a bunch of rutting herdbeasts. Even from his current distance he could catch the heavy reek of masculinity.

K'lain raised his hand and jovially announced to nobody in particular, "Clear skies and all of that nonsense!" Although many heads were turned in disdain, he was greeted with a chorus of hoots and hollers: invitations to draw closer. He slung his arm over the nearest boy's shoulders and punched him in the arm like an old friend, "Y'all local holder's sons?"

The boy moved uncomfortably under the bluerider's surprising weight and unassuming familiarity. He was a lean adolescent with the dark complexion typical of the region. The boy couldn't even begin to formulate the appropriate response. K'lain however was familiar with the routine. He fought to find his own balance (maybe J'nah was correct when he told him that he should switch to water, where was the sharding greenrider anyway?) and squared his shoulders cockily, "Oi. None of you seem to know how to introduce yourselves. I s'pose I'm obliged to provide a model--" he cleared his throat with mock pomp, "My name is K'lain: born and raised Khelain of Katz Field hold, then sadly corrupted and abbreviated by Igen via a homely beast named Ierynth."

He was very pleased that he was able to proclaim such a complicated string of sentences with a minimum of slurring. A bolder member of the group, perhaps emboldened by K'lain's apparent show of camaraderie offered his own introduction, "There are far too many of us to properly name. You're standing in the company of Igen Hold's finest…er at least Igen's young trouble makers. What brings your company to us dragonrider?"

"A few too many glasses of Igen's finest."

This was answered by several approving chuckles. K'lain was quickly doing what many older (and sober) dragonriders had failed miserably at: socializing with holderfolk. He had begun a careful exchange of gestures and words that quickly established a temporary alliance between strangers. It didn't really matter to him that they did not know the telepathic touch of a partner, or how to pull into a wing pivot directly after a barrel roll without vomiting. The fact that they were willing to permit him into their tangles was all that he needed. K'lain was shuffled from shoulder-to-shoulder, before finally settling on a pale-haired boy (Yoras? Joras? Im-a-ass?). The group rapidly switched to plotting. Finally, somebody suggested something that appealed to everybody's ears, "Marks, hundreds of them. They brought in a prizefighter—huge bloke from the Southern, any lad who'll beat him in a fair fight wins the pot."

Liquid courage, K'lain laughed, "Some southern lad eh? S'pose Igen's hot enough for him?"

"Aye dragonman, but the world is a lot bigger than the Weyr. They breed 'em for size down there."

"For size perhaps. I don't suppose any of you have ever seen a greenflight before?" There were no responses, K'lain gave his audience a wry smile, "Well, I've won my share of them: any my Ierynth is scarcely larger than some of the ladies he woos, you see. Size isn't everything…at least when it comes to enticing the female species to remove her clothing. Afterwards---"

More raucous laughter. The holderboys were under the bluerider's spell, transfixed by the words he spoke, and the subtle suggestions he made. K'lain, even in a completely inebriated state had a certain magic about him. He could tell fairly easily that it was unlikely that he'd get any of them to bed. Years of trial and error had made him an expert on such matters. However, although his original purpose had been completely redirected he still intended on having a good time, "Listen here boys. I have a proposition for all of you."

K'lain's proposition was in laymen's terms, a very bad idea. Dragonriders were generally "strongly discouraged" from participating in any sort of physical competition with holderfolk. They were told that they were far to valuable to Pern to risk on petty games. K'lain knew that this was complete wherry-dung. The Weyr had its Wing Games. He was fairly certain that claustrophobically scaled mock-threadfall (featuring falls of over three dragonlenths and burn-your-head-off-hot fire) was more dangerous than scraping with another chap (on the ground sans the fire). He knew that if one Igen's Wingleaders recognized him as a dragonman in the registration process, he would be barred from participating. His plan was simple.

"Okay you—" K'lain indicated one of the boys whom had a similar build as he. He wished there was more resemblance, but auburn hair was a rarity among southern men, "—you're gonna be me for about an hour or so. We'll switch clothing. You'll be the dragonman K'lain on the sidelines and I'll be eh…what's your name?"

"Nikolai"

"Ok, I'll be Nikolai from Igen. You and your buddies pay my entrance fee, buy me another round of wine and I'll fight. Believe me, the odds will not be in my favor. Makes some bets, I'll win…we all win."

"What if you lose?"

"They you can all have a jolly good laugh at a dragonman's expense. Sound good?"

And indeed it did. While Nikolai did not make an extremely convincing dragonman (he constantly scanned the skies, as if worried Ierynth was going to fall out of it and squish him) K'lain was a passable holderboy. Before too much time could be wasted K'lain was registered for the prizefight, and standing in the cue of challengers. Standing perhaps was a misnomer. K'lain was swaying slightly where he stood with an idiot grin on his face. He watched, practically quivering with boyish excitement as challenger-by-challenger was pushed easily outside the circle drawn on the ground. As his turn neared, he was able to get a better glimpse of the prizefighter.

He was vastly fat and effectively naked. The elaborate decorative markings made on his skin by soot and grease were well smeared, and he was cloaked in a film of sweat. The prizefighter looked impassively at K'lain as he was given a quick rundown of the rules for the fight. No weapons, no teeth, be nice to each other's masculine parts and the first one out of the circle lost. K'lain could hear the noise of coins being tossed in baskets. Odd were not in his favor—and save a handful of rowdy boys from Igen (and one rather scared pseudo-bluerider) most bets were being placed on the prizefighter.

A metal pail was struck once, signaling the beginning of the match. K'lain charged. The prizefighter, whom was very nearly twice his size and five his weight, did not anticipate such a brazen move. K'lain dropped his shoulder and struck the prizefighter in the stomach with as much force as he could muster. Although the impact created a fantastic slapping sound K'lain essentially bounced backwards, the prizefighter was momentarily stunned, but was not knocked off balance, as par K'lain's original plan.

The two circled the ring like cagey animals. K'lain scampering to and fro, the prizefighter moving with slow, deliberate steps that kicked up the loose dirt around the ring. Slight charges were made by both parties, but neither one could get in a hit strong enough to send the other out of the ring. The crowd's cheers grew louder and louder, "Splat the rat!"

"Hang 'um like a wherry over the roasting pit!"

"Toss 'um to the tithes!"

Every once of K'lain's being was focused in the slightly swirling ring around him. As the fight wore on be realized a bit retrospectively that perhaps that last glass of wine had been a bad idea…He hoped that J'nah wasn't watching. However he had stumbled his way through more than one wingfrill. He fought his deadened reflexes with a more animalistic control of his body. As Ierynth turned to K'lain's human intelligence during dragonflight, K'lain turned his mind inwards to his dragon's stabilizing his senses and limbs. A solid fist hit him square in the chest and he flew backwards.

The crowd went "ooooh" as he stumbled to the side, clutching himself tightly, but a left-skip to the side prevented him from being pushed out of the ring. The prizefighter moved in for the kill. K'lain jerked his head up and saw the huge man charging for him. His feet were already dangerously close to the edge of the circle, in addition to cracking a few of his ribs a direct hit would spell his defeat. He closed his eyes and leapt. Had he truly been a Holder's son, or an unfortunate Harper, chances are this action would've resulted in a rather humorous victory for the prizefighter. However, K'lain was a completely different breed. He was a dragonman. The prizefighter's shoulders, when he stood up fully, were probably closer to the ground than Ierynth's.

The unfortunate prizefighter could not have seen this coming. One moment he was charging full speed at what appeared to be a stunned target, the next moment he was oddly top-heavy, and staggering outside of the ring's boundaries with an unidentified weight on his shoulders. Those whom had found something they liked in the challenger were crowing victoriously over the angry shouts of those whom had not, "He's out of the ring!"

"No he ain't! Lookee, he's on his back!"

K'lain had the good sense to jump off of the prizefighter's back before he was thrown. The prizefighter's feet had touched the ground before the bluerider's, although his victory was unorthodox, it was a victory. He was awarded the pot and disappeared into the crowd before anybody important happened to recognize him. Tough meat and one too many tubers was much more favorable than threadscore.