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Post by dragon on Apr 21, 2009 10:06:09 GMT -5
Kindrith roared in pain as talons gouged into his shoulders. But he pressed the attack anyway ... only to get thrown onto his back. Flaring his wings out to keep from breaking them off in the landing, he kicked out and upward with his hind feet, intending to gut the bronze with them. He also brought his wings quickly to what to him was 'down', but which was really up. Slapping the wing membranes around the bronze's head as hard as he could, he hoped to stun and possibly disorient the beast. Though he hadn't bargained on breaking one of his own wingfingers on Trilyanth's head the process... maybe he should have pulled that punch!
And then he found himself flying sideways in a mose ungainly manner, his ribs hurting him badly. He crashed into the wall with a resounding boom that echoed inside the barracks proper. And there the big pale blue just laid for a moment, his wits stunned out of him. After a few seconds, he started moving again. But aware of every ache and pain and open wound, he crawled to his feet just in time to see the attack raining down from above.
Oh thread particles.
He turned toward the weyrlings. Inside! Now! Run! Don't get them get you! And more than aware that his own well being was a really good deal of a price to pay if he could spare the weyrlings and thier riders, the blue lunged into the fray again. Leaping over the nearest weyrlings and riders, Kindrith flared his wings outward to block any fire, and make it harder for descending dragons to find and pick off people. RUN! He urged them, aware that he was going to be in a serious bad way, when this was over. Not that he wasn't already, but ...
Mine ... I'm sorry. But I can't leave them... He muttered, to E'yan, before leaping smack into the middle of the clustering attackers. Starting a rather maniacly gleeful stomping spree, he bit two or three clear in half, slinging thier bits and peices at the others.
That should somewhat reduce the numbers of dragons descending... Kindrith may be a fool on some things, but he did have a small ... if miniscule ... sense of self preservation. These men right here were his key to reducing the damage that was fixing to rain all dragonfires on him. And now that that bronze was off the ground, Kindrith felt free to have at all the man-crunchies he wanted.
Kindrith really was an idiot. But he was trying to be a noble idiot at the same time... save the weyrlings. They would be a whole wing in number. Bronze, brown, and blue alike. Where as he was only one blue. If his gamble paid off, he would have bought the weyr a deal of additional strength, down the road. The thought flashed through Kindrith's brain ... if he survived this, he likely would not be flying again. At least, not for a very very long time. But ... in attacking the men, he bought weyrlings time, and stole the attacking dragon and men's attention away from them, allowing them to regroup.
To him, even though it was asking the ultimate sacrifice, it was a tactically sound maneuver. Now if only the weyrlings would all take the chance he was buying them, and obey and get inside.
C'oar ducked and rolled as suddenly there were dragon-bits flying everwhere. Tails whistling through the air, and giant bodies getting slammed around. And then shortly after that a dragon bounding and stomping ... He didn't have time to really get a clear idea what was going on. But he did notice that there were suddenly a whole lot more dragons around, and they were picking people off.
He ducked a swipe at his neck, and kicked upward as hard as he could, catching the man in the guts with his foot. The man fell back with an omph of lost air, and C'oar whacked him over the head with his wooden sword. Not bothering to stop and see if the man was dead or not, he hurried on.
"T'rid! Get her inside, now! I'll cover you!" He gestured at the barracks with one wide flung arm, and then spun on a heel to meet the oncoming men. With a burst of speed and aggression that was definitely going to cost him later, C'oar lit all out on the men, buying T'rid the time he needed to gather up Raylin's inert form and carry her inside.
C'oar tried to keep track of where T'rid and Raylin were, and backed after them to keep them covered, lashing out sometimes only to keep the men back, rather than actually kill. All he had to do was keep them safe. He did not intend to get himself mired in the thick of things so badly that he couldn't fight his way out. While he was slightly better off than the average weyrling when it came to fighting, he was by no means trained to handle this kind of thing.
Thankfully, Storm was there and flitting in and out and around and back, helping to guard C'oar's sides and fore. The stout lad took a punch to the ribs at one point and it knocked the air out of him, earning him a long cut down the outside of his left arm. Shards. He was tiring, and getting slow. This was not good. The slash meant to kill him, however, was deflected by a face full of fire from Storm, who sent the man reeling back in a pained cry of surprise.
Thank Faranth for flitters!!
Regaining his balance, C'oar slashed outward with his sword again, forcing the men to step back. The first three got missed entirely, but the fourth caught the speeding tip on the cheek. His face exploded in blood as the skin caught, ripped, and came off his cracked cheekbone. The sight was gruesome to the extreme, a gaping red bleeding hole for a face, where the man's cheek and nose should have been ... it'd been ripped clean off.
C'oar stared for a moment, flabbergasted. As did the other three men. For a moment, none moved. And then they all lurched into movement again, C'oar swinging his sword again, driving the three back once more, filling up the inside of the swing with slashes of his knife. What C'oar lacked in finesse and skill, he made up for in raw power and desperation. And the attackers were starting to get that idea... If any of them closed inside that range, C'oar knew he was cooked. So he did his level best to keep them at bay, continually stepping back, following T'rid's movements. He was infinitely glad to have his sword, though he wished it was steel, rather than wooden. But even wooden, it was giving him a superior reach on these blokes.
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Post by nightingale on Apr 21, 2009 11:43:07 GMT -5
We have lost Rioth, Irylth and Kyssith. Hold the line together. Keep the smaller dragons protected. They are frightened Mine. Rioth broke the line when Hers was killed. Shards...pull them back. Tell every dragon to call their rider back to the left wing of the barracks. Leave a space for the wounded to be carried through, but make sure that only our riders go near it. Once they're safe, pull back the blockade. The boy had been so distracted by his attempts to give coherant directions that it was only when he felt someone dragging him forward by the hair that he realized he had been moving too slowly. He hit the ground hard, an unintentional finch of his own blade opening a shallow cut just below his collar bone. Fight...shards, why not just ask him to transform into a salamandyr and do a tap-dance? Still, he staggered upright as he was bidden, just in time to receive a disciplinatry slash across his left cheek. Startled to attention, the boy threaded backward, raising his knife to block the next two blows directed toward him. Peripherally, he realized that only one of the men was actually attacking him. The other seemed to have hung back to enjoy the show.
He blocked one more strike before his opponent's blade sliced his right ear almost straight through. Three more blocked strikes and his shoulder received superficial, but bloody adornment. He realized with a slow, creeping horror that they were toying with him. He set his jaw a little firmer and caught the man across the front of his wherhide doublet -uselessly, for the fabric cushioned the blow- only to have another neat slice cut into his cheek. "Is this the kind of bronzerider Selenitas it turning out?" Laughed the rider not yet involved in the fight. He was tossing a dagger up and down with a gleam of sadistic pleasure in his eye. "He fights as if he's a woman with child! Another two blocks, and a red streak was slashed across his knife hand. Jaymith, move them! The boy demanded silently, feeling all of his dragon's attention focused on him. "Come on, finish him off already!" It took a moment for Ke'rin to realized that the fight was over. The pain that went racing across his chest was of the adrenaline-numbed, unimaginably intense variety that your mind can't take in all at once.
The moment his tormentor withdrew the dagger from his ribcage, Kei fell to the ground with a soft grunt, spattering it with crimson. Simultaneously, a blast of flame hit they weyrling blockade. Jaymith had his wings flared instantly and bowed his head against the scorching heat as it struck him. Had it been an attack from point-blank range, the young bronze would very likely have been burned to a crisp for his act of idiotic bravery. As it was he simply held his position, wings sizzling with the charred, coppery smell of seared dragonflesh until Triliyanth ceased his assault and launched himself skyward. Pull back! The bronze keened painfully, reaching out to touch the minds of his clutchmates with the plan his rider had detailed. If your rider is injured, inform Cherilith. If he calls upon you to act on behalf of an injured comrade, I order you to do so. The young bronze bushed against his rider's mind, but only found his pained, desperate attempts to keep breathing.
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The moment she understood that Raylin had been injured, Saeo abandoned the idea of sending T'ke to safety. She was going to need backup if she planned on getting anywhere near the wounded, and retreating while her friends were still on the battlefield was not an option that she entertained for very long. A gentle nudge against Cherilith's mind provided her with the information she needed to find Raylin, and she passed off her dagger to T'ke in favour of gathering up her fallen medical bag and slinging it across her shoulder. "Stay close and stay consious." She told him bluntly, and took off at a run across the battlefield. Saeo was a rather small girl, which may have been why she managed to dodge the few blades that were thrust in her direction. Without her healer's knots, she was no more important than any other female weyrling, and almost certainly less impressive.
She was already running through a list of procedures as T'rid and his unconsious charge came into view. Having heard that she was bleeding to death, the greenrider had been the obvious choice for who she would treat first, but then as she dropped to her knees next to the girl T'rid's laboured breathing became obvious. It looked as if nobody was going to emerge from this unscathed. "Weayle...T'rid, were you stabbed or kicked?" She asked, unbuttoning her friend's shirt and hoping that the girl would forgive her one day for exposing her breasts in a public setting. A sufficiantly dangerous stab wound would take precident over just about anything, including...just a cut? The girl voiced her relief in a long, deep sigh. It was bleeding, certainly, but the damage done was far less lethal than she had expected. It was probably the shock of having her finger bitten off more than the blood loss that had gotten to her.
"Nobody's going to blame you for screaming darling." Saeo murmured to the unconsious girl, producing redwort and what looked remarkably like a needle and thread from her bag. "I just need to do a bit of seamstressing so we can move you safely." She soaked a wad of cotten in the pale pink solution, dabbing it around the bloody edges of the gash to preserve whatever sterility she could given the situation. The girl's dragon pressed against her thoughts only a moment after the first stitch was in place. Mine, Jaymith's has ordered all of us to retreat. You must come back to me. Not yet Cherlith. We can't move Raylin until I make sure that she's not going to split open and spill her insides all over the common room...Mine I am sorry, I misunderstood. I am to tell you who is injured, and you are to reach them if you can so that they can be brought to safety. Darling, I'm not even sure I'll be able to carry Raylin back. We don't have anything to use as a stretcher, and I'm quite convinced that T'rid shouldn't be moving about either....but we cannot simply leave them, can we?
Saeo cut the thread with one of her canine teeth and returned her supplies to their proper places. Ke'rin must have deadglows for a brain to think that this is anything less than a hopeless situation...ask Jaymith to issue another order. If someone spots an injured person during the retreat, they should help them reach safety. Weather or not they can be moved seems somewhat imeterial if they're going to bleed to death anyway. I'll return to you as soon as I'm sure that Raylin and T'rid are stable. Yes my Saeo. Stay safe...Jaymith, Mine requests that anyone able to help another retreat does so. She does not have the means to transport them. Very well. Everyone, please inform Yours to assist their injured comrades if they are able.The injured are as follows...
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Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
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Post by Avu on Apr 21, 2009 15:33:13 GMT -5
Fire. The warmth was not the tongues of flame emitted by firelizards, but by dragons. Of course. The Benden bronze had fire. T'rid drew in another breath, the pain of his chest overriding the momentary panic that had accompanied loss of feeling in his hand. Definitely cracked ribs. Mine. Breathe. Corinth's voice was a low croon, almost as breathless as T'rid was feeling. You /can/ breathe. You /can/. Don't panic, /breathe/. Resisting the urge to gulp at the air, the bronzerider shifted backwards warily again, one foot sliding towards Raylin -- towards Conspiracy and Mir. And then, out of nowhere, brain went flying across the scene, and T'rid couldn't help but grimace expressively. Ew. Brain? Honestly. So overdramatic, these Bendenites were. But nevertheless, a blade whipping out of nowhere distracted him very efficiently, and T'rid twisted, springing backwards in shock as the cold steel bit into his left arm, leaving a thin, deep slash as the blade was torn free -- and then flames flickered along the blade, burning the Bendenite's hand.
Conspiracy. And Mir. The brown firelizard's outraged shriek ripped through an octave as fragile wings folded, the creature dropping to tangle his claws in the man's hair, hissing out spurts of flame towards his scalp. Mir, however, was not as lucky, for the man's blade, in being jerked away from T'rid, caught the blue cleanly through one wing, the membrane ripping with a hideous sound and a spurt of ichor. The firelizard twisted, keening, and the man, snarling as T'rid staggered backwards, right hand (knife and all) grabbing his left arm, whipped the blade around, the steel burying itself halfway into the blue firelizard's neck. Ichor poured, and Mir flickered silently between without further thought before the Bendenite, still taking advantage of his human opponent's weak period, grabbed Conspiracy off of his head and sent the brown flying through the air, tumbling until he smacked onto the ground next to Raylin, hissing and spitting, positively writhing in anger.
He was aware of the dragons, swooping down, picking off Riders and dragons both, but it didn't immediately register. T'rid stepped backwards to avoid a second jab, just enough that the blade half-cut his shirt open. But, ultimately, it was Conspiracy who took the credit for that man, for the brown launched himself into flight again, his flame...setting the Bendenite's hair on fire just as T'rid dropped to his knees, grabbing the knife in his right hand. For that moment, the man was unprepared, busy trying to smother the fire in his hair, and T'rid half-tackled and half-fell on him, blade sliding in between the man's ribs, before scrambling backwards again, right hand coming up to his arm again, the ache of his chest and the struggle of breathing forgotten in the throbbing agony.
As Saeo ran forward, he nearly stabbed her out of instinct. Only Corinth's mind, pressing soothingly against his, repressed that instinct, and T'rid exhaled in a low hiss. Her question towards him drew a flick of a gaze. "Stabbed. Elbowed." If she wanted full sentences, the blueweyrling was looking in the wrong place: There wasn't any time. At least she was fast at stitching, he thought grimly, half-watching her. None of the other Bendenites had decided to jump at him yet -- maybe because of Conspiracy; maybe because they had different targets and they were mostly at the back anyway. Whatever it was, he was grateful. As soon as she was done, however, T'rid flicked one hand at the brown firelizard, and he hovered at head level, emitting ocassional warning tongues of fire as T'rid dropped to his knees next to Raylin and Saeo, his right arm sliding around the greenweyrling's back even as C'oar's yell rang out. "Look," he snapped urgently at Saeo, "I'm moving her. Don't try to stop me. You and all the other Healers can screech at me later."
Chest? He could deal. Kind of. He ended up half-carrying and half-dragging Raylin towards the Barracks, his right arm and chest taking her weight. The pain of his ribs was nearly unbearable. By the time he'd made it into the Barracks (thank you C'oar -- and Conspiracy) and let Raylin slump against the wall there, blinking tears of pain out of his eyes and instructing Stupid to bite the hell out of anyone who came by unless they were Selenitas, paused to wrap his left arm and palm with the hem of his pants, and made it back outside again, everyone had already frozen. T'rid stared, uncertainly, his knife tip pointing harmlessly to the ground, blinking at the damage. Ke'rin. The bronzeweyrling. He was on the ground, being...taunted, by two Benden Riders. And then F'rel spoke, and instantly, T'rid replied.
"Yes, because 'surrendered and was cut down anyway' sounds so much better than 'died fighting'."
Sarcasm was almost literally instinct, it was.
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Post by topaz on Apr 21, 2009 16:18:08 GMT -5
When Ebolath began to struggle even more against Mallowth's attempts to protect her, he threw all his weight onto the green to keep her from running off. Corinth's has Yours now, Ebolath. She will be okay. But we must wait until this is over to go to Ours. Until all the bad men are gone. the blue rubbed his snout along Ebolath's neck ridges below, in an attempt to sooth her. He could understand her want to go to Hers, he could! But they all needed to stay back and out of the way.
- - -
C'vin felt the hot, coppery smelling liquid pouring out of the wound he had managed to make in the enemy rider's stomach. it wasn't fatal wound however. Shards! that meant he had to stab the man again. But as C'vin lifted himself up to get into striking position over the rider, the man pushed him off and rolled away, clutching his side. His knife had been dislodged from his hand and now lay off to C'vin's left. Seeing he was unarmed, C'vin almost guilty about gutting him, but there was nothing else that would stop the man. After they had recovered slightly, the two combatants charged at each other. The rider dove for C'vin's legs and took him down, then began scrambling for his knife. Wriggling out and twisting around to hover over the rider's back, C'vin plunged the knife between two ribs, cutting into the man's heart. Pulling himself off the corpse, C'vin whirled around to relocate Ke'rin.
"On your four!"
Out of the corner of his eye, C'vin saw the rider F'ur warned about charging at him. Turning to face him, C'vin waited for the man to attack first, then sliced at his knife hand, pushing it from it's initial directory and slicing a nice deep cut on the side of his wrist. The man hissed in pain, but gasped as C'vin's second knife found purchase in his lung. Crumpling down to the ground, C'vin quickly removed his knife and again searched the battleground for Ke'rin. He was getting frighteningly good that this killing thing.
Suddenly C'vin saw the bronzeweyrling being surrounded by three riders, and against his own survival instinct, rushed in to help. He crouched down to creep up behind the man who was watching the beating. He fully expected one of the other riders to see him and call him out, but they were now too busy enjoying the sight of Ke'rin lying helplessly on the floor in a pool of blood. Using the man to shield himself from view, he crept up and stabbed the rider in the back. Not the most honorable thing to do, but C'vin felt it was necessary in this sort of situation. He could feel his knife grating against the man's ribs as he began to slid it out, but then he noticed the other two riders had realized what had happened and were turning their malicious intention from Ke'rin to him. So, instead of taking his knife out completely, he plunged it back in and shoved the dying man's body into one of his comrades, knocking him off balance. Rushing towards the other, knife now free, C'vin slashed at the man repeatedly. He dodged them all though as he quickly stepped back. The rider smirked at the blueweyrling's vain attempts to harm him, and finally parried C'vin's last strike, throwing him off kilter. The rider then began advancing, and managed to make a shallow slice from C'vin's collar bone, down diagonally to the middle of his chest. The weyrling groaned from the pain, but it wasn't that deep of a cut. Unfortunately, C'vin was forced to back up at the sight of the rider continuing to advance, slowly, tauntingly. Then the first rider got up from under his dead comrade and hurried to C'vin's back side, leaving him surrounded. Well, at least they were off of Ke'rin . . .
- - -
Suddenly a burst of flame erupted from the fighting dragons nearby and Mallowth screeched as it licked at his back. Ebolath, we must move from the flames. We have to get inside now. Maybe you can find Yours there. Go, go! As the second burst of flame washed over the blue weyrling, he let up on the green below him, and pushed her in the direction of the barrack entrance and followed behind her. His hindquarters and back were smoking slightly and were beginning to blister, but he had saved his sister. That was what mattered right now. That and His . . .
Mine you are hurting again, I can come to you now? NO Mallowth! Stay back in the barracks, or those dragons will pick you off. Go! He sounded harsher then he meant to, but C'vin didn't need the blue checking in on him when he was trying to think of how he would get out of his present predicament. With two Bendenites circling him, the only way he would be able to stay alive was quick thinking . . . or more like sheer luck.
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Post by ladybug on Apr 21, 2009 17:02:53 GMT -5
Ruskeath says thank you,[/color] Rudolth relayed to his rider. He couldn't keep a nervous edge from his voice. He was glad that A'fyr was helping another rider, but he wasn't happy about the fact that it left him vulnerable to another attack.
For once, Beauty didn't have much to say. She just repeated her earlier statement, a touch more gently now. No! Not die.[/color] She was far from an affectionate creature, but she was being as reassuring as she could. A'fyr couldn't really sure if the bleeding was slowing or not, and the shirt was soaked.
A'fyr was what to do next when more chaos erupted. He felt the warmth of flame and smelled firestone, and in the next instant, there was a burst of pain across his shoulder and part of his back. A'fyr yelped, momentarily letting go of the bloody shirt. It took him a moment to recognize that the pain wasn't his. Rudolth! What happened?
The flames got me! It doesn't matter! Just get out of there![/color] Rudolth urged his rider, fleeing back with the other weyrling dragons. The flames had licked at his back and the lower part of his left wing. It hurt, but the panic for his rider was worse than the physical pain.
Hang on, Rudolth! He turned back to G'tor, wondering if the rider could move, when green corpse flew threw the air and landed inches away. A'fyr screamed, rolling to the side. The falling body had missed him, but by less than a dragonlength. His heart was pounding loud in his chest, almost rivaling the sound of screams. I almost just died...again! For a second, ridiculously, he thought how stupid it would have been if he had escaped his captor only to be crushed. Beauty screeched. BAD GREEN![/color]
"Shut up, Beauty..." He made the mistake of looking over the corpse, and bile rose to his throat. As if the crunching sound wasn't enough, the ichor flowing from the dead green's wounds made it worse. And just yesterday, Irylth had been in training with them, healthy and strong. A'fyr wasn't quite sure whether to cry or throw up. Fortunately, the urgency of the situation precluded either reaction.
"You have to move," A'fyr told G'tor flatly, half standing and offering his support to the brownrider. A'fyr didn't care if he had to half-drag the man to the barracks. Suddenly, the fighting was quiet. A'fyr shook his head. "We'll never surrender," he hissed under his breath.
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Rowana
Hive Mind
Handler Roivao Rider G'tor Rider Merridan Rider T'ke Rider N'rik Handler Porita Rider Farryl Rider Kyr'n[/color
Posts: 1,550
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Post by Rowana on Apr 21, 2009 17:05:52 GMT -5
Mer stared at Sel'n in alarm. She had attacked the wrong man! She cursed herself for tens different kinds of an idiot. It was just lucky it had been such a poor strike. As it was, she was surprise he was being so lenient about it. Of course, there wasn't time for regrets now. She could worry about punishments later. Mer staggered as Sel'n pushed her side ways to engage one of the remaining attackers. She recovered quickly and glanced around sharply. There were two more and M'ta couldn't possibly handle them both.
Not so apparently. Mer watched him dispatch the last two with an amazing display of skills. Mer couldn't help but be impressed. She had never seen anyone fight like that before. She would have to get him to teach her when this was all over. Now that the immediate danger was over, the next step seemed to be to get help to those holding out at the weyrling barracks. Mer flashed M'ta a quickly smile at his praise. "Next time maybe you could leave me another one," she suggested brightly.
Mer sheathed her dagger, and beant to pick up two knives. She had learned to throw, for fun, but had never been the best at it. It would be too risky for her to try it if the Bendan riders were locked in combat with Selenitas forces. But if Selenitas was outnumbered, there would be plenty of stray enemies to take a shot at. She might at least distract one long enough to move in closer for the attack. When she was ready, she looked to M'ta and noted his confusion. She frowned deeply. "Don't look at me," she said with a shrug. "I only got here two days ago." Mer turned to glance at Sel'n. Hopefully he knew which way to go or they might be wandering around until daybreak!
~
For the briefest second, T'ke stared at the bloody knife Saeo was handing him as if it would come alive and bite him. But they didn't have time for him to be squimish. He took the weapon, holding it uncertainly in his hand as he ran after Saeo towards Raylin and T'rid. Screams and shouts echoed around him and covering it all was the wreiking stench of blood. T'ke kept his eyes and thoughts focused on getting to Raylin. If he thought about anything else, he was sure he wouldn't be able to keep moving.
Unlike the smaller girl, T'ke was a much larger target. It was his clumsiness more than anything, that kept him from being the victim of a hapless stab. He tripped and staggered, causing the blow to pass inches over his head. T'ke tried not to think about how close he had come to death as he right himself and kept running. He skidded to a halt next to Saeo as she began work on Raylin's wound.
T'ke didn't dare look the bleeding weyrling. Not from any concern for the girl's modest, but because if he looked at that much blood up close, he was sure he would pass out again. Indeed, the only thing keep him going now was Garaeth. T'ke clung to the blue's strong confidence as if it were a rock to cling to. It was Garaeth's strong believe that everything would turn out alright, that kept his rider from giving up completely.
T'ke wished Saeo would hurry. They were dreadfully exposed here and with T'rid hardly doing well, that left T'ke alone standing over them. If circumstances had not been so dire, he would have laughed at the irony. Here they were, racing against death, and their only defense was him. They were so dead, T'ke muttered to himself.
Burning pain launched down T'ke's back and he whirled around wildly. Had he missed an attacker?! Then he realized the pain wasn't his. Garaeth! I am here. The blue had managed to avoid most of the flame from the big bronze, but some of it had scored down his back and singed his tail. I am fine Garaeth assured His firmly. Worry about Ebolath's. T'ke mumbled unhappily but did as he was asked. He wanted to see if his dragon was really alright, but he was just going to have to trust him for now.
T'rid's words made him turn. He wasn't sure moving Raylin was going to be very good for her, but it had to be better than leaving her here. They were far to exposed. Grasping the knife carefully in one hand so the blade pointed out, he bent for her legs. Together they managed to drag her through the madness and into the relative safety of the barracks.
~
Farryl was almost to N'lai when the bronze's tail came down. One second she was on her feet and the next she was on the ground completely winded. She had managed to put her hands back to break her fall and they stung terribly from the impact. Grey matter speckled her clothes and skin, causing her to frown in momentarily confusion. When she looked around however, she came to a sickening realization that it was what was left of N'lai's brain. Farryl turned away. She couldn't look at his mangled corpse or she was sure to throw up.
Irylth! Farryl spun at the sound of Peppeth's voice, in time to see the green's bloodied and lifeless corpse crash to the ground next to A'fyr and G'tor. No! Z'ax! Farryl jumped to her feet and turned at the boy's scream, only to hear it cut off. By the time she looked, he was dead, throat cut just like T'rea. Farryl turned away and fought back tears. It was probably a mercy. She couldn't imagine life with out Peppeth and she was sure the others felt the same.
She could feel Peppeth's fear and sadness like an infection in her mind. She had to keep her calm or she would be plucked away like Irylth. Peppeth! Stay close to the others! Peppeth needed no second bidding. She huddled close to Jaymith and her larger brothers. When would the hurting end? Why did so many of her friends have to leave her? She didn't understand. She only wanted it to stop. Fortunately, her small size turned into a blessing. She didn't even have to duck to avoid the flames completely.
Trusting the other dragons to keep Peppeth safe, Farryl quickly assessed what she should do next. Ke'rin was down and bleeding. He looked bad and C'vin's attempt to help him had placed the blueweyrling in an impossible situation. They needed help fast or they were both dead. Farryl started running again. Two men surrounded C'vin, and he wasn't looking too good himself. If she could help deal with them, then they could both get Ke'rin to safety.
Thankfully, this time her targets were firmly destracted with C'vin. She didn't even give the first a chance to turn around as she took a running leap onto his back. One hand clawed at his face as he swung his knife behind in an attempt to dislodge her. The blade dug into Farryl's thigh as her knife found his neck. With a deft movement learned from watching T'rea's murder, she slit his throat and rode his corpse to the floor.
That still left one attacker and this one wasn't going to be taken by surprise. C'vin was between him and Farryl and she could never get around before he attacked. She wasn't sure how badly C'vin was hurt, she could only hope he had it in him to take down one more. A sudden familiar cry filled the air as Tille reappeared and dived on the remaining attacker.
Where she had gone to lick her wound, Farryl never knew, but Tille wasn't fleeing now. These men were bad bad men! They ruined everything! They did not want to have fun, they did not want to eat food. They were being mean to all her friends! She wanted them to stop. Tille tore violently at the man's face, ripping the skin above his eyes. With a cry of fury, the Bendan rider reached up and snatched her from the air. Injured as she was, the little green could not get away fast enough.
Glaring angrily, the man ignored the creatures squirming attempts to free herself. He grasped her by the neck and in one swift motion, he snapped it. Farryl screamed shrilly. The pain of her fire lizard's death was like a knife in her heart. Not Tille! So fun loving and playful. Always getting into trouble and distracting her from lessons. Farryl couldn't stop the tears this time. She knew she had to get up and help the boys, but she was in too much shock. Little sister! Peppeth's high pitched keen of mourning ripped even deeper into Farryl's heart. Tille was gone.
~
G'tor's eyes went wide as the green's corpse nearly crushed A'fyr. He felt a pang of guilt and remorse. If only he hadn't gotten hurt, maybe he could have done something. He knew it was unlikely, but that didn't stop him feeling responsible. He was an older rider, he was supposed to protect the weyrlings, not watch them die.
Wincing at the pain, G'tor nodded let A'fyr help him to his feet. He certainly didn't want to stay here anymore. He was just getting in the way and putting the boy in danger. Holding the shirt to his wound, G'tor was able to take unsteady steps towards the barracks. The bleeding was slowing, but he was definitely going to need stitches to hold himself together. He would ask a healer to look at it later. Saeo had more important people to see to.
The silence drew G'tor's gaze towards the center again. It wasn't looking good. Several weyrlings were dead already, and a few others were badly injured. At least they seemed to be making a good show for themselves, which was more than G'tor could say for himself. F'rel's ultimatum didn't even warrant attention. Surrender and they might live? And what kind of life would that be? G'tor had to agree with T'rid. Going down fighting sounded much better in a Harper's song.
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Rei
Administrator
Rider Cr'oph Rider Er'ani Rider Elysia Rider/Healer Erilena Wherhandler Sydney Holdbrat Emitre Holdbrat Dileina Weyrbrat Elias Weyrbrat Terilyn
Woooo~ I am a fox!
Posts: 3,021
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Post by Rei on Apr 21, 2009 17:27:54 GMT -5
Ebolath watched T’rid fight off the attackers, unable to raise more than her voice in the direction of the enemy. Each mark against T’rid brought the green that much closer to losing all self control. They were hurting hers, her friends, and killing her clutch siblings. Forgiving the Ebolath might be to those who wronged her, but she could and would not forgive the wrongs committed this night. A low hiss escaped her and she barely registered Mallowth’s voice or his nuzzle.
As the fighting went on the Ebolath watched in horror as Kindrith was thrown by the enemy bronze. His cry to them made her flinch. How could she possibly leave hers? She couldn’t. Her head whipped back around to watch T’rid and his mind mates. Mir’s heroic death earned a death keen from the half grown green.
Flitter he might have been, but he had been special to her in his own way. Somewhere not to terribly far away the keen was echoed by a pale blue. Vega, mourning the death of his snuggle buddy. The pale blue was still too terrified to move so he stayed put. For the moment he was completely stunned into stone stillness.
As Saeo drew close to hers a low whine escaped Ebolath’s throat. T’rid and hers where hurt and she would make the thread loving grubs pay. A flash of hot air and Mallowth’s screech distracted Ebolath and she crooned low in her throat. Oh Clutch brother mine! Are you ok? Her voice expressed her concern as well as her madly whirling eyes.
Ebolath, we must move from the flames. We have to get inside now. Maybe you can find Yours there. Go, go! Hers? Yes Frosstyth‘s, T’rid, and Saeo would surely bring her back to the safety of the barracks away from the steel, fire, and dragons. Ebolath sprinted back into the barracks in search of hers. The need to find her foremost in her mind.
It didn’t take Ebolath long to find her. Crooning lovingly she approached Raylin quietly, as if to avoid startling anyone. T’rid was already walking back outside but nevertheless she pressed her mind against his with a wave of love and thankfulness. Thank you T’rid. You better come back to us alive or Raymine and I will never forgive you. I owe you more than words can express my friend. Truly the green was grateful beyond what words could express to the bronze rider. He had rescued hers, that in itself made her adore him all the more.
Lowering her head to Stupid’s level Ebolath crooned to the mandyr. Oh so brave you where my little one as you protected mine. We must make sure yours comes back to us unharmed. You will help me protect mine until yours returns yes? Saeo was given a gentle nuzzle as the green curled herself around them in a protective embrace. Ebolath would die before she let them come to any more harm.
-----
Mer’s lack of apology did not surprise the brown rider. No use crying over spilled milk as it were. Sel’n watched M’ta dispatch his enemies with deadly accuracy. The only thought rising in the rider’s mind was that the boy had obviously been through a lot in his short time on Pern. Tearing a strip of the torn fabric from his sling the Weyrling Master wrapped a makeshift bandage around his arm before stooping down to pick up a few knives.
“The barracks are to the west. The silence bothers me. Something has gone wrong for us and right in Benden’s case. They probably had one of the dragon wings brought in due to Kindrith’s attack. I am sure we have just suffered heavy casualties. Kaaoloth informs me that Kyssith, Rioth, Irylth and Heith have passed between. Several of the other weyrling’s and their dragon’s are badly injured as well. Kindrith and Morendoth will likely end up dead. They are grounded and flameless while Benden has a whole wing of flaming dragons at their disposal.” Sel’n fell silent letting the two absorb what he had said.
“If we proceed to the barracks we must use utmost caution. Our other alternative is to pull back and return to the rider weyrs and possibly make a last stand there.” The brown rider looked towards the tree line. “Regardless of what you two choose to do I am heading towards the barracks. I have a responsibility to those weyrlings.” Sel’n tucked the procured weapons into various positions and slunk off into the underbrush towards the barracks.
Trained Fort rider he may be but Sel’n was no fool. He was vastly outnumbered and survival seemed rather unlikely at this point. Better to go out fighting than hiding like some coward. The felt a loving caress from his brown and returned the feeling wholeheartedly. My only regret is I can not fight beside you mine. Please be careful.
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Post by weaving on Apr 21, 2009 19:02:26 GMT -5
It seemed as though I’fael had jumped for C’oar at just the right moment. Pain radiated out from his calf, the result of a knife stab clearly meant for the weyrling rider. He found himself mentally cursing the idiocy of his weyrlings. They just had to try and be heroes, didn’t they? Did none of them realize that it was better to try and live than get themselves foolishly mowed down by Benden? Even disregarding skill, the sheer number of Benden forces was too much for them to take on. It was too late to do anything different now of course. They were fully engaged in a battle that they couldn’t hope to win. May as well take out as many as possible while they still had a chance.
The pain in his leg immobilized him for a few minutes and he was unable to move and let C’oar up, much as he would have liked. Laying on top of the boy wasn’t the most comfortable position, especially once he began squirming. Finally getting free, the weyrling ran off without so much as a ‘thank you for saving me from that potentially fatal knife thrust’. So much for that. Already down on the ground, I’fael remained unnoticed by both parties. He probably looked more like a corpse than a living being at the moment. It was probably to his advantage to lie low for the moment. He would be of no use trying to kill any of the Benden attackers with a bum leg. Thankfully F’rel had missed the tendons, though he’d managed to sever much of his calf muscle. Not good.
Of course, anyone with an ounce of common sense would quickly realize that he wasn’t dead. After all, Morendoth was still alive. Still, with his face toward the ground, hopefully anyone that wasn’t Selenitas would be unable to recognize him.
Speaking of the brown. Morendoth had quickly recovered himself after his failed jump onto Trilyanth and had backed out of reach of the dangerously sharp claws. Thankfully the blue, Kindrith, was distracting Trilyanth and therefore taking most of damage. While he felt badly about that, he couldn’t help but be relieved that he was not the one getting injured. As though his thoughts had caught the bronze’s attention, Trilyanth suddenly let loose a stream of flame. Immediately Morendoth unfurled his wings, flapping them in an attempt to deflect the flames from him and the weyrlings behind him. It singed his wingsails, but they were already torn. If anything it would at least cauterize the wound and while he might be able to fly again one day, he’d never be as strong as he had been before this. Further damage would change nothing.
I’fael was glad he hadn’t attempted to stand as broken bodies, both human and dragon, rained down on him. He’d been slowly but steadily crawling toward the barracks, but had now stopped, afraid to draw attention to himself. If they already thought him dead, he doubted that they’d grab him. The point was to kill riders, not tear apart already dead bodies. ’doth, get as far into the barracks as you can. Make sure that the weyrlings stay behind you! He’d be working his way toward there as well, though it would certainly take him quite a bit longer if he wanted to make it there alive.
At the sudden silence, he froze once more, his blood running cold at F’rel’s words. At T’rid’s instant snarky retort, the weyrlingmaster couldn’t help but let his face fall into his palms. Idiot. He was going to get them all killed. And then a thought struck him. If he could somehow sneak behind F'rel and hamstring the man, or better yet, kill him, they'd have a chance. A good chance. Benden soldiers were good at taking orders, but without a leader, they'd probably quickly fall apart. Of course, it would involve moving very slowly, and sheer luck. If anyone noticed him, he was as good as dead. Slowly, ever so slowly, I'fael began inching along the ground, stopping whenever it seemed his movements might go noticed.
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Post by glamourie on Apr 21, 2009 20:33:54 GMT -5
Her legs hurt. As fast as she could, Kalerary ran. She’d started in her father’s weyr, ended up outside Oquith’s… and then she’d bolted. No looking back, no second thoughts. From the day she arrived at Selenitas, she’d been planning her escape route. Her mother taught her to always know the best place to run and hide in case of an attack, a warning which the little girl took very seriously. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, through the rider weyrs, up the stairs and out into the darkness of the night where only fire and the sky could give away her presence. She was clad in black, and her knives were in sheaths to prevent metallic glittering. She moved like the shadows, and her breathing was strained from the sheer force that it took to run quite so quickly. Even though she was small and fit, she wasn’t holding anything back. She knew what was on the line if he caught her: her life. And she wasn’t ready to give that up just yet. She was very fast for a child, too. Fast enough that she’d lost her chaser somewhere in the corridors, though where was unclear. She didn’t know, and that did not stop Kalerary from heading outside. The cover of darkness and the trees was advantageous, and she wanted to survive. Surprisingly, she found her path almost devoid of anyone who could catch her. Dragons were in the sky, but it was dark and therefore unlikely they’d see her running around. Most of the focus was on the weyrling barracks, and Kalerary did not run there first. The jungle ran the risk of felines, but if the choice was to die to them, or to the men who killed her mama, she was more than willing to deal with the felines. Behind her, Kalerary had a trail of fire lizards, and not one of them looked to her. Leading the pack were three greens; her father’s Ophelie and Liette, and R’wign’s Roxie, with little Ophelie the fastest by far. Directly behind them were the blues, Collision and Stumpy. Hazard trailed behind, flying at level with the largest of the group, a glittering gold that looked more than a little upset. Her eyes were almost pure white from her distress. All of them chased after Kalerary as fast as they could, and still she managed to outrun them; her feet stung, her legs hurt, and her chest was tightening. The group was probably the most strange thing ever, and if Kalerary bothered to look back, she would’ve been upset; so many fire lizards chasing her made her much more difficult to overlook. She didn’t look back. Her mother’s voice lingered in her head: “If we’re ever under attack, find some place crowded with things too hide in. You’re small. Stay in the dark, stay hidden, stay quiet.”
“Don’t let them catch you, Kale; don’t ever let them catch you. Your father’s a bronze rider, and you’re the Weyrwoman’s niece. If they catch you, what happens will be terrible. It’s your life you’re running for, don’t forget that.”
“Don’t be afraid to hurt them if you have to, Kale. Your life or theirs - always pick yourself, because I won’t always be there to do it for you.” She came upon the trees and swung amongst them, trying her best to avoid rustling the branches. Through bending branches the girl wormed, wiggling her way to the back until -- movement. She saw movement. Stilling herself against the base of the tree, Kalerary took a deep breath, and the edge of a glade caught her attention. Then something that she recognized. The boy from the infirmary, the one that was R’wign’s friend. Her eyes widened, and then Kalerary ran, jumping through the branches and debris, until she came to stand on the glade’s outer edge, opposite where M’ta stood. The fire lizards swept around her and then landed on the branches nearby, perfectly content to fake being wild critters. However, the clearing drew her attention to … other things. Namely, five bodies on the ground and … a boy…? With him? Her head cocked, and Kalerary shakily said, “M’ta…? M’ta….”
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Requiem
Weyrleader S'rei WM M?ta Rider A'nd Harper/Handler Dmitri Weyrbrat Miguel
Posts: 2,861
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Post by Requiem on Apr 21, 2009 21:36:17 GMT -5
Of course not. That would just be too reasonable. F'rel didn't bother with a verbal response. And, truly, he would have been disappointed if they'd actually surrendered. How...anticlimatic.
The ring of Benden riders suddenly exploded outwards in all directions, a single cry on many lips that was just as much an intimidation tactic as anything else. F'rel and Trilyanth pushed coordination, the relay of commands to dragons and dragons to riders instantaneous and silent to all outside the wing unless someone happened to hear all dragons. And Faranth knew there were hardly any left in the north; they were found and killed. Men leapt forward to clear the area of any remaining weyrlings and riders who hadn't yet retreated to the relative safety of the barracks...only to find that ridiculously idiotic, wounded blue barreling toward them. There was a moment's hesitance. Not because Kindrith was frightening - though certainly the men in his path probably thought so, and none would have blamed them - but because it was so utterly stupid.
What dragon sacrificed himself that way when he was still bonded to a rider, a rider who wasn't endangered? At least...F'rel was fairly sure the blue's rider wasn't here, because he'd attacked Trilyanth.
That moment of surprise cost three men their lives, wounding a few more, as Kindrith broke through the outer ring and plunged toward the center where F'rel and a few others still stood. Death keens screamed above, followed immediately by the roars of a multitude of dragons reacting to the imminent danger a dragon on the field presented to their riders. The central knot scattered, but one of F'rel's blueriders still stood frozen. He cursed beneath his breath. Sharding idiots, blueriders - and clearly their dragons! - were! The bronzerider kicked the man's feet out from under him and jerked on his wrist at the same time, sending the man into a stumbling fall just out of Kindrith's range.
F'rel dodged a clawed foot, darting around and beneath the dragon's belly, only to leap back as the blue's tail nearly snapped all the bones in his legs. By then, though, the dragons had responded. Trilyanth came from the side, one clawed foot digging deep into Kindrith's back as his talons clenched to find a hold, the other coiling around the neck. He was careful not to kill the blue. Yet. As Trilyanth worked hard to gain enough altitude in time to clear the heads of the other riders, F'rel was sent spinning by a glancing blow from one of Kindrith's flailing legs, another man killed by the sweep of the blue's tail. The bronzerider growled at the brownrider who'd caught him, and lurched forward, feeling the dull pain in his thigh and knowing the bone itself was probably bruised. Lovely.
Trilyanth flew high, higher, then dropped the blue. But Kindrith wasn't to be allowed to fly. As soon as he was released, another dragon swooped, claws extended, tearing into a wing. The next caught Kindrith's leg, nearly severing it. One, two, three more, all scoring hits, though the third managed to get her wing shredded in the process and plummeted as well, clinging to him as if she thought that, as long as he was on the bottom, she could somehow survive the fall. They crashed into the ground almost directly in front of the barracks entrance and F'rel smiled coldly. Nice aim, Tril. The bronze disregarded the statement. Of course his aim was spot-on.
If the remaining weyrlings and riders wanted to get to the barracks, they'd have to climb over the two dead dragons littering the ground.
**
"Well, that's certainly inconvenient," F'ur commented, apparently to himself. He'd finally kicked himself free of the corpse - after the rain of dragons ceased - only to find that he (along with just a few others) had been mostly abandoned to take on the Bendenites alone. He appreciated the vote of confidence. Really. Unreasonable though it was. Now would be a good time to take cover, Mine - if you get yourself killed now, here of all places, I shall be very displeased.
At least the distraction of the dragons was enough to perhaps spare the lives of the three little weyrlings, who were now between the two groups of Benden riders. Lovely. F'ur didn't pause to consider. He leapt for a man still staring at the fallen dragons, thrusting him aside, and sprinted for the weyrlings. Thrusting C'vin in front of him, he bent and looped Ke'rin's arm over his shoulders, nudging at Farryl. "Hurry, kids. They won't stand there gaping for long." Actually, a few were already responding to the small group's presence. Just...perfect.
For the first time since entering the fray, the bluerider got serious; he drew his dagger.
**
"If I have the chance, next time I might think about it," the brownweyrling responded dryly, though he flashed her a smile. At least the other two were better arming themselves. Even if you couldn't toss off a blade worth anything, it was easy to lose one and extras were always helpful. M'ta cocked a brow at Sel'n, but he didn't say anything or follow after immediately, instead turning to the candidate. "Maybe you should wait this out..." Probably anyone who seriously engaged in the battle taking place in the front of the barracks would be killed. Sheer numbers could overwhelm the best of fighters, and he didn't think Selenitas could claim even one as such.
Before he could elaborate - as he fully expected to have to argue with her - a noise drew his gaze around and he saw a small, dark figure, ringed by enough firelizards to...wait, weren't most of those R'wign's? As soon as she spoke his name he recognized her, though she was in the shadows. M'ta was across the glade in a few seconds. "Kale? What are you doing out here?" He instinctively looked over her head to see if she'd been followed. "No one's with you? Where's R'wign?"
**
F'rel gestured to the two men, muttering under his breath, "Smoke 'em out, boys." They made for the dragons' bodies, lighting torches as they went. The fire would eat through the Kindrith and the green's lifeless frames and eventually peter out, but not before the trapped weyrlings and riders started suffocating on the smoke, forced to brave the fire and the Bendenites or die of asphyxiation. Unless the torchbearers were stopped. F'rel didn't care to put another dragon on the ground just yet, after what had happened with Trilyanth.
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Post by dragon on Apr 22, 2009 17:17:24 GMT -5
Kindrith screamed a roar of pain as he was snatched up off the ground by his haunches. But it was the least of his worries after he realized what they intended to do to him... he'd somehow been thinking to have a few moments to deflect fire off the others below ...
Well ... he was. Just not quite how he'd planned it. The dragons were all focused on him in a fashion that undoubtledly left everyone below safe from being snatched up or flamed to death. The plan was working, just not in the way he'd thought of. Oh well.
But shards, that hurt! Kindrith had been wounded before, but nothing like this. He'd had no idea death hurt so much!! He thrashed and flailed and fought back for all he was worth, not truely wanting to die. But it seemed impossible to win against this number of dragons. And ... he was, after all, only a blue. A big blue, but just a blue. He slashed, bit, clawed, and pummled whatever got close enough to him, even as he could feel his own muscles ripping and tearing, pulling off his bones. Felt his bones breaking and pulling out of socket and away from each other at the joints as he was pulled on. It was a strange feeling, that. It soon got to the point where he couldn't feel it anymore. Whether from nervous overload or a severed spinal nerve, he had no idea.
He managed to fatally wound a few dragons, and he was content with that. He'd given the weyrlings and the masters half a chance to survive. And Kindrith was content to say he had given life his all, done his very best.
The final moments were oddly peaceful ones, as he plummeted down through the sky, toward the ground. Tangled with a green. Funny, that it took death to earn his second round with tangling a green to the ground ... ironic, that. He just grinned at her all the way down, showing all his teeth.
He was ready to die. Was she? No, not by the looks of it. She looked terrified, where as he felt peacful, almost happy. There was no changing it, so why fight it? And he'd had a good run, done a good job. He could find fault with nothing, as the end came on, and darkness rushed on. Kindrith would not be around to meet the earth again... he would die airborne like a true dragon, and in the service and protection of others. The true calling of any and all dragons, even if they'd forgotten it over the turns. His heart at peace, Kindrith made one last call before the darkness swallowed him:
Mine, I love you. He infused the message with all the love of his heart, unbrindled and wide open to his lifemate.
And then he was gone. An empty husk of a heavy body was what crashed to the ground in front of the barracks. Kindrith was not there.
Somewhere in the corridors and halls behind the weyrs in the cliffs, a man screamed distraught heartbreak.
C'oar had been on his way back out again, to help those still outside to retreat. He jumped backwards again, though, when two massive dragon bodies slammed thunderously to the ground. "SHARDS!" He squawked. He stepped back, and then just stared at the wall of broken and seeping flesh for a moment, before striding forward again. Proding it, he determined that there was no life in that mountain of meat. That ... couldn't be good.
And it would not be easy to get out, either. Or in... He didn't know what to do. It didn't help any that every muscle in his body ached with strain and exhaustion. And a few of his bones felt bruised as well.
He turned back toward those who happened to be inside. "Looks like we're walled in for the moment. They're going to need to brind down a bronze or two to open us up again, methinks." He commented. Feeling weak all of a sudden, he almost folded up to the floor as his thigh gave way on him. Catching himself, he reached out to the wall with a hand, standing on his good leg.
That stab he'd taken in his thigh early on in the attack was starting to tell on him. "Everyone move back. All the way back. Frosstyth, let us past. And then form up again."
Jaymith said something similar ... we can do that. The brown looked at his mindmate sadly. His eyes suddenly betraying an age that he had never chronologically lived. So much had happened in the last few candlemarks ... Frosstyth would never again be the happy go lucky carefree hatchling. So much horror, death, and heartbreak. So much frustration. The look was partially mirrored in his rider's gaze. C'oar had known what could happen, had had to fight before. But nothing on this scale.
And never with a mind mate at risk. Tonight was a night that would never be forgotten by either of them.
Still standing somewhat near the entrance, C'oar heard the orders to smoke them out. And he cussed colorfully so suddenly that it startled Frosstyth into jumping and staring at him. "We have problems!!" C'oar hissed, finding the strength to move again. Striding across the common room, he helped people up again, and toward the back. "They're going to burn those corpses and try to kill us doing it. It's going to get hot and smoky. Find some cloth, get it wet. Tie it over your face. Take a dunk in that pool, there." C'oar ordered.
Fire. He knew all about fire and smoke. Not only was he a smith, someone who worked with it. But he'd also seen his father's smithy burn down once. Alarming as it had been, it still gave him some notion of how to deal with it.
There were vents in the barracks ceiling... there was no other way to air out the place where little baby dragons sometimes left huge piles of excrement. So there was a chance they could survive this.
"Get wet, stay low, and don't breath deep." C'oar instructed, helping people move around as needed.
What about us, mine? We don't have ... Frosstyth started.
C'oar strode back to his quarters, snatched up a shirt, and promptly soaked it. Taking it to his dragon, he tied it over the brown's nostrils. "Breath through the shirt, Frosst. And keep your inner lids closed. I know, that makes things fuzzy. But soon that won't matter. And it'll protect your eyes. Understood?" He asked. At a nod from the dragon, he went back to trying to help everyone else.
Frosstyth turned his attention back toward the main entrance. And then he looked off to the left at the feeding hall. Getting a notion, he moved off that direction. Going into the feeding hall, he sneaked up to that entrance. Was it blocked? Sneaking across the floor as swiftly as he could and still be silent, he made his way to the entrance there.
The doorway was only partially blocked by a dragon tail. And that was it. They had a way out, but it only led right back into the hands of the attackers. Now what? He passed the image to C'oar, who promptly informed the others around him of the revelation. C'oar didn't know what to do... should they make a break for it? Or try to weather the smoke?
They still had the weyrlings... and they had been riding them already. It was possible for everyone to load up on the weyrlings and then make a mad dash for the forest on them. But it was not risk free. In fact, it was completely dangerous. But so was staying put. C'oar presented the idea, just to give it air. But he didn't state it in a way that implied that they should do it.
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Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
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Post by Avu on Apr 22, 2009 18:06:42 GMT -5
There were people saving Ke'rin. That was good enough for T'rid, who held his position at the door of the Weyrling Barracks, knife still pointing towards the ground. He really didn't know what to do. Nobody was actually fighting: The last few struggles were tapering off by now, mostly. And to be the first one to begin the life-or-death dances again -- would only result in his own death. There were so many completely uninjured Benden Riders, and his chest hurt and his arm was bleeding. On impulse, he glanced askew at his left hand, just to make sure his fingers were still there. There were. Numb, which he supposed was better than hurting like crazy, but it still wasn't good. Nerve damage was never good, and whether or not it was permanent, he had not the slightest idea in the world. His mind, too, was slightly numb, as if this was a dream: A dream that he just had to deal with now. Mir's death had left a gap, a hole, but Corinth had supported him, and Conspiracy and Stupid had, too, pitting in what bond they had with T'rid to keep back the sharp sting of ridiculous aloneness. Ebolath, too, helped, by bespeaking the bronzerider with a threat...something about not dying or he'd never be forgiven, or something. Hazel eyes flickered around the clearing, labored breathing audible, and then...
Uh, what was I'fael doing?
Don't stare. Corinth's voice was softer than before, and there was a note that clearly said the bronze was upset. Obediently, T'rid's gaze returned to F'rel, steadily appraising the man. But he had seen that small motion, by the weyrlingmaster, whom he'd presumed to be unconscious. Not dead, or Morendoth wouldn't be there, but surely unconscious. He looked...completely and utterly ridiculous. Like some Weyrbrat trying to imitate a worm. Whatever...Distract Trilyanth's, Corinth suggested after a pause, his voice weakly amused. Give Morendoth's a chance to sneak up on him. Distracting him could be fatal. And anyway, what are the chances nobody else would notice? T'rid countered, gaze flickering from F'rel to I'fael and then back again in the space of a few seconds. A chance -- /Kindrith/! The bronze was positively writhing in agitation, half-anger and half-anxiety. What was the blue doing?!
T'rid instinctively stepped backwards as the blue barreled through the ranks, killing -- Three, Corinth said -- and sending the others scattering to avoid certain death via dragon foot. Unfortunately, neither F'rel nor Trilyanth looked hurt in the least, and the bronzerider ground his teeth together helplessly, squinting at Kindrith. Hmm, Cor? Is it honestly possible to have a suicidal dragon? The question wasn't intended to be sarcastic, though it could easily have come off as such. He really didn't get Kindrith. More precisely, he didn't understand why his Rider hadn't stopped him. Who was his Rider -- ? He had to be the biggest fool on Pern. You didn't let your dragon streak away on a suicide mission. And then Trilyanth dropped down, grabbing Kindrith and flying upwards. It was a good thing nobody was attacking, for T'rid was busy, staring upwards after Kindrith, eyes widening in shock, in a kind of morbid fascination.
And he dropped, and Corinth's wordless warning had him scrambling backwards into the hallway of the Weyrling Barracks to make sure Kindrith didn't land on him -- but he still watched, as the blue's body, a green clinging to him, slammed against the ground, lifelessly, limbs sprawling. He swallowed, half-nauseous, at the sight of broken limbs and ichor, half-wondering if he'd have to someday see Corinth like that -- but of course not. Corinth was small for a bronze, and slender with it, but he was still too big to pick up. But then -- smoke them out! What? T'rid twitched visibly, and then headed backwards towards the place where he'd dropped off Raylin. Stupid was crooning, urgently, to Ebolath, tail flicking possessively around Raylin's ear, claws gently grasping the cartilage. Brave, 'tect 'lathpet, hellbite meanies. But as T'rid reappeared, nodding absently at Ebolath, the brown Salamandyr crooned a greeting. Conspiracy's low twitter sounded as the brown wheeled to land shamelessly on Ebolath's back, and the bronzerider rubbed his arm absently as C'oar started shouting. Again.
Wet clothes. He wanted Stupid and Conspiracy to survive this, too, thank you very much, and he didn't think they'd be too pleased with not being able to see. Cloth scraps didn't come in firelizard- and Salamandyr-sized pieces. T'rid's glance flickered to C'oar, unreadable. Did he have to play the hero? "Well, excuse me for not wanting to crouch in here like a tunnelsnake," he commented out loud, one eyebrow raising as Conspiracy loosed another little spurt of flame. "Easiest way to stop the flames? Easy. Put them out before they get started. So someone with good aim, instead of getting yourselves all wet, why don't you throw wet clothes onto their torches? See how far the fire gets then." And, he added mentally, if he had to die, he'd much rather it be on the end of a sword than at the mercy of fire.
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Post by topaz on Apr 22, 2009 18:35:21 GMT -5
From behind C'vin he thought he could hear footsteps heading fast in his direction. Great. Because two sharding Bendenites wasn't enough! He was a strong lad, but his two chest wounds and the multiple scrapes and bruises across his frame were really taking their toll now. The adrenaline was slowly leaking from his cuts, which pulsed blood behind his shirt and the shirt-bandage he had wrapped around the first slice, whenever he dared use the muscles underneath them.
When the footsteps drew closer, C'vin looked to the rider in front of him and saw his eyes widen slightly as a dull thump and a grunt was heard. Before C'vin could even turn around properly, Farryl was already slitting the man's throat, spraying droplets of blood across the blueweyrling's side as he fell, Farryl sitting atop him. C'vin stared for a moment at the small girl who had saved his life but then quickly turned to see a little green flitter launch herself valiantly at the second rider's face.
Seeing his odds were even now, C'vin readied his dagger, poised to strike the man when Tille had finished with him. However, the flit would not get a chance to get away. As she clawed at his eyes, he ripped up and pulled her little body from his face as immediately snapped her neck. A keen from Peppeth confirmed that the little savior had died. For a moment C'vin felt incredible guilt as he watched the rider throw the lifeless green to the ground. Then he looked the man straight in the eye - brow wrinkled with a snarl forming across his mouth - and charged, plunging his knife deep into the man's internal organs. While inside, the blue weyrling made sure to twist and move the knife, searching his intestines with the blade. The rider gasped, an incredibly pained look on his face, and tried in vain to swat at C'vin's head. The blows had no power to them though, as the Bendenite's blood washed down his groin and legs. Pushing the man off of his knife, C'vin wiped his bloody hands on the sides of his tunic and turned to face Farryl.
The small girl had not even gotten off of the dead rider yet, and her face seemed to reflect exactly how he himself felt. "Farryl. Thank you. I'm . . I'm so sorry." He crouched down slightly and offered her a hand. "We have to get to the barracks. Come on." But just then the Barracks were blocked by the falling figures of two dragons, a blue and a green. The green was foreign, and the blue C'vin did not know by name, but he vaguely remembered him fighting F'rel's bronze with Morendoth amidst the blur of action. Shards and shells! How were they supposed to get past two dead dragon bodies to the door!?
F'ur reappeared then however, pushed C'vin towards it, and took up Ke'rin.
"Hurry, kids. They won't stand there gaping for long."
Right. Making sure Farryl was close behind them, C'vin made his way towards the blocked door, only to see some of the Bendenites had indeed stopped their gaping and had acquired torches. Torches? For wha . . . They stalked towards the dead dragon and lit them on fire. What in Faranth's name were they supposed to do now!? C'vin looked to his right, and realized that the entrance from the feeding chamber was still partially open. However, there was still a dilemma. If they went it, they'd be smoked, and if they stayed out here, they'd get picked off. C'vin hopelessly looked to F'ur and Farryl for any other solution they might have.
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Rei
Administrator
Rider Cr'oph Rider Er'ani Rider Elysia Rider/Healer Erilena Wherhandler Sydney Holdbrat Emitre Holdbrat Dileina Weyrbrat Elias Weyrbrat Terilyn
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Posts: 3,021
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Post by Rei on Apr 22, 2009 18:39:32 GMT -5
Ebolath’s voice rose in a keen as Kindrith passed, her eyes now a pale muted grey, yellow mix. Stupid’s word made her shift and the green craned her neck to view him. Yes my little friend you are very brave to bite the mean ones. She trailed off as T’rid approached giving a low croon. Kindrith is dead. She expected no response and lowered her head to lay it beside Raylin. Conspiracy’s landing was noticed but allowed. The little brown had helped to save hers as well. Besides she liked the little cousins.
Fire? Ebolath shuddered at the thought. Fire had hurt her clutch siblings. The green whined her eyes still whirling rapidly. Throwing wet clothes? Put out the fire. It sounded simple enough but there where dragon bodies barring the way. Kindrith’s body.
T’rid? We will not go to the black will we? Perhaps you should let Cherillith's fix you. You are hurt. Ebolath’s voice was laced with fear and her nostrils flared at the scent of smoke. She curled tighter around hers, eyes flicking up to Conspiracy where he sat upon her back. Where was her little cousin?
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Sel’n crouched on the edge of the greenery noting the positions of those trapped on the other side of the bodies. So they planed to set the bodies on fire to draw them out. It was obvious F’ur was going to need help. A flicker of movement caught his eye and he watched as I’fael crawled slowly towards F’rel. Perhaps if they could make a big enough distraction it would give I’fael a bit of time before he was discovered. It was worth a shot. All this standing around was beginning to annoy him.
The brown rider slunk out into the open and quickly began to advance on a Benden rider who was standing near the tree line. A quick almost silent movement and the rider’s throat was slit. As the rider crumbled to the ground, Sel’n stepped over the body. With most of the eyes trained on the two dead dragons and the small group in front of them his movement had for now gone undetected.
He had made an entrance, but it was only a matter of time before he was discovered. If a rider raised the alarm Sel’n would find himself at a disadvantage. Curse his useless arm.
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The sight of other fire lizards drew Vega from hiding and he settled close to them warbling softly, intense fear the dominate emotion in his quickly whirling eyes. Why where they not with theirs? He was oh so afraid to go out in the open. So much death was there and he could not feel his. It confused him. A flutter of his wings and he looked towards Ellie. She was a queen she must have some clue. Perhaps if he followed her it would make sense later.
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Post by weaving on Apr 22, 2009 18:55:54 GMT -5
Morendoth watched helplessly as Kindrith leapt into the midst of fighting riders, essentially dooming himself to death. His eyes whirled anxiously, watching the scene while being sure to avoid attracting attention to himself. This was not good, not good, but he didn’t dare perform a rescue maneuver, realizing that it would only put himself in danger. He couldn’t do that to I’fael, he couldn’t sentence his rider to a life without him. And so when Kindrith was picked up by Trilyanth and whisked skyward, he let out a keen, knowing that the blue would not survive this attack. Sure enough, he watched as the bronze let the blue drop only to get attacked by passing enemy dragons.
Realizing the direction in which the blue was falling, Morendoth managed to move out of the way, snapping his tail close around his body to avoid it getting squished by the two falling corpses. It seemed he wasn’t out of danger yet though, for while he’d avoided getting crushed by Kindrith and the green, riders were now approaching with torches meant to smoke out the weyrlings trapped inside. He needed to stop them. Unfurling tattered wings (he didn’t care what happened to them anymore. The chances of anything more than limited flight after this were close to nil), the brown flapped them, aiming the gust he stirred up at the approaching riders. Hopefully it would blow out the flames or better yet, blow the flames backward to light the riders on fire. As his wings continued to beat, he kept one eye skyward. He didn’t plan on getting caught off guard by that fat bronze again.
Sneak, sneak, sneak. I’fael continued crawling whenever the opportunity presented itself, slowly dragging himself closer to F’rel. Movement at the edge of the Benden ring caught his eye and he managed to sneak a glance only to spy Sel’n. He frowned slightly, but trusted the other weyrlingmaster’s judgment. As long as it didn’t get him killed, he was all for backing the other brownrider up. It might even provide him enough time to get close to F’rel. The distance was shrinking between him and the benden leader, but not quickly enough to be productive.
With that thought in mind, I’fael gritted his teeth, continuing his crawl. His injured leg protested the constant movement, but he ignored it for the moment, focusing instead on the ever shrinking distance between him and F’rel. As long as the man didn’t decide to look behind him and no one else noticed a supposedly dead person crawling on the ground, he’d be able to make it there unnoticed. Luck just needed to keep going his way and they might actually make it out of this ordeal alive.
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