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 Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2020 6:45 pm
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Sinking into the over sized chair across from Weyrman R'mor's desk, Casgar splayed his fingers out on the desk before him. "We have," he said, leaning forward, "several problems."
As though the failed overtures to their beholden Holds weren't enough, the Headman knew all too well that his efforts to stretch the Weyr's resources would eventually wear thin. They were reaching that very breaking point... and if the Searchriders didn't stop bringing in new Candidates, and if they kept housing said Candidates... well. There were going to be some hungry bellies soon enough. As it was, he was trying to squeeze water from a rock.
"Those tithes won't last us. What of them aren't the worst of the harvest or already rotten are just... not enough to feed a Weyr of our size. R'mor, I can't make them stretch any further. We've managed to offend all but the most loyal Holds... and even those are still sending us only what they can. Between the last Hatching and the devastation of Thread, we're running very, very bare."
Nor could those Holders entirely be blamed. They had indeed been honored guests, and with the sour reputation Western had had before the Hatching... Casgar winced. "Not only are the holders sending us their cast offs, but they are still demanding to know what happened to their missing people. As you know, we don't have answers." Nor was it Casgar's responsibility to track this, but as it related to the health of the Weyr, he couldn't help but do so. "So... what can we do that we haven't already?"
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2020 8:11 pm
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The conversation didn't come as a surprise, though the timing could have been better. The recent rainstorms had caused trouble for some of the Holds both in the mountains and close to the ocean shore and its rivers--and even Western Weyr hadn't been unaffected. Some riders had the misfortune of finding their weyrs fully flooded and the huts in need of major repairs. While others were salvaging what they could, and hoping the weather turned. Worse, high tide still resulted in localized flooding, and every day it continued to rain, it made it worse and worse.
The brown-haired Weyrman heaved a sigh, sitting back in his chair as he considered what Casgar was saying. Though the riders continued to fight Thread, the almost five Turns of tithing seemed to be wearing thin on some of Western's Lord Holders. Not every strand was caught, and while they saved what land they could, mistakes still were made, and accidents happened. Crops were killed, even with ground crews trying to help sweep up the mess--and yes, even some people died. Men and women caught outside, in teh wrong place; men and women on seacraft that didn't make it to port. While Western Weyr did what they could to ensure every man, woman, and child was protected on the Western Continent, they were still only human--and their own sacrifice of life and limb didn't mean that Thread never touched the people below.
He heard it every time he assisted in sweeps post-Fall. 'Where were you riders when my boy needed you?' 'Where were you when Thread devoured the past thirty turns of cultivation?' 'What do you do up there!?' Dragonriding certainly wasn't all praise and laurels--for no matter how good a job they did, it was often only their mistakes that were remembered.
Times were hard enough without the Holders deciding to hold out on them... and while the bronze rider had tried to appeal to the senses of some of the most affronted Lords and Ladies--it wasn't enough.
"I suppose our options are threefold," he began, slowly. "We could cut Search, and put a stop on all but necessary transfers or crafters." While R'mor didn't accept everyone who asked to fly with Western Weyr, he also aware their numbers had taken a substantial dip since the rest of Pern's Weyrs had reopened. Riders had more options available than they used to. Cutting Search wasn't something he wanted to do either--with clutches getting larger and larger, it didn't take much to eat up their reserves. "If need be, we can return those in Halls or stable homes back to their Holds--and pick them up again once eggs are on the Sands." That would cut resources... but it also meant higher losses. Marriage, Journeymanship, pregnancy--who was to say they'd want to return?
"We'll need to start doing some heavier fishing on our beaches." Weyrlings, candidates, weyrfolk, riders alike. "Probably watch which dragons are hunting from our herds, too. See if we can't lean on White Cliff, a bit more--or see if some of our riders families might let them return home to hunt their beasts." That, unfortunately, ran up risks of upsetting the Lord Holders--or taking from their tithes. The cot holds and minor holders provided for the rest of the territory--and sent tithes. But dragons needed to eat. He'd have to talk to their Master Beastcrafters and see if they could focus on breeding their animals--and if they had the space.
"If that fails..." R'mor grimaced. He didn't want to have to talk to High Reaches Weyr about their plight. He didn't want to have to go to the next council of Weyrleadership and discuss the failings of Western Weyr. This was something the Weyr could and would handle--but if things didn't change over the next month or two, the winter would be very hard indeed.
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2020 8:37 pm
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"R'mor..."
Casgar sighed. This was, to say the least, not a pleasant topic to have to broach. "We are not High Reaches who have other Weyrs to lean on when it comes to Threadfall. I know you know this. But... even though Whitecliff may have some sympathy for our plight, I have no doubt they too are struggling with uncertainties." He worried at his lip, gaze cast down onto that desk. "I think we very well may need to consider sending the Candidates home between clutches. I know it's not a prospect either of us look forward to, but the burden of feeding their people should rightfully belong to the Holds and Halls from whence they came. Weyrs of old never had to worry about feeding more than their own."
As much as he and R'mor both wanted to consider Candidates very much as part of their Weyr, there were limits to what Western could provide. At least for the time being. "With the return of Threadfall we have only those Holds to rely on, and we have mortally offended them. You did your best to quiet the waters, but I think it's time to face the fact that we need other solutions. We can only prove ourselves with time to be more than they assume us to be." With a sigh, Casgar drew his hand down his face. "Send our people to fish on our beaches. See if our riders can hunt their dragons at their ancestral Holds. And... let's send overtures to Whitecliff." Shards and shells. Had it come to this?
"If all of that fails... then let's send the Candidates home."
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2020 9:09 pm
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"Unfortunately," he sighed, "It's not jut up to me. This change is going to require Western's council to decide on what we do to alleviate the strain." If this were any other Weyr, it would have been his call--but that wasn't how things worked. Rarely did change happen immediately at Western, no matter how badly it was needed.
"I'll call the Council together tomorrow, first thing. See if we can't vote on what's to be done." While R'mor thought some of the options could be implemented immediately, others would certainly require some thought. Sending a rash of Candidates back to Hold and Hall just before the winter months could backfire. And some of the Candidates, he knew, had troubling histories and backgrounds. Some hardly had homes at all... Arrangements would have to be made.
"That said, I know you're doing your best--but scour the store rooms. See if any riders have taken more than they need, cut it down to three meals a day, and limit how many trays of food and drink are left out. I don't want to have to start rationing how much each rider gets but... we'll see what happens. Get some sleep, too, when you can. We'll get through this... somehow."
Junenth--let the Council know we've a mandatory, emergency meeting tomorrow, right after first meal. Whatever plans the Wingleaders had would need to be put on Hold.
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