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Post by rii on Feb 23, 2010 0:10:29 GMT -5
"GO!" A pointless cry, but R'ven shouted it as soon as he judged that the green dragon's course was heading in their direction. He didn't know if it was Selenitas or Fort, but the way she winged toward them told him she belonged the latter. It was plain to see that they wouldn't be making the tree line before she would be upon them. Shards. R'ven flung his arms over his head to block — nothing. A shadow cast over them and R'ven paused long enough to watch and listen as Kaaoloth took the flame. His heart sank at the mere sight.. but they had to keep moving. Only a few more quick strides before the group was forced to an abrupt halt when the Fort dragon barred their path. On pure instinct R'ven reached to take the green weyrling's hand only she was– "Lena!" He caught her arm before she could draw too close to the fallen dragon and the injured rider. He missed what Roi said to Erilena, but he didn't care at that moment. "Leave him." His grip was firm, although not to the point of being paiful. There was no way he was going to allow her to go to the fortian's rider aid. Crying. Shardit. She was crying and R'ven's expression hardened–she could hate him later for it. "Kaaoloth didn't get himself flamed just for us to stay out here for another round. Dmitri and Nautic need help first." Not him. Not the enemy that was responsible for the wounded; that would have carelessly slaughtered them all. "Let Roi deal with him." And possible get cleaved for his trouble. R'ven didn't trust getting near the foreign dragon. Wounded animals, even humans, had the tendency of striking out in fear even if the people that approached were only trying to help. Yes, came the simple reply to Feyrianth. The fawn colored brown, although barely a few months out of the shell, was angry that he could not fly in that moment. Oh so enraged that he could not sink his claws into those responsible for this entire mess. It took a great deal of restraining, on R'ven's part, for Trilaranth to not just rush toward fallen fortian rider and crack the man's skull between his jaws. Instead Trilaranth came up along the opposite side of Dmisk, urging the blue wher to keep going in the direction that Roisk had gone with the two injured handlers. And, whether she complied or not, R'ven took the lead to steer Erilena in brisk wide arch around the tail-end of the dragon (taking no risk of possible flaming) and into the trees. __________ Time had slowed to a crawling pace, seconds turning into eternity as he stared. As much as F'lix wanted to look away from the scene he could neither turn his head nor close his eyes. It was foolish of him to think he could just look away; keep listening to that voice in the back of his mind that screamed no and somehow all that he saw would all be a lie. It was the fear, as he had never known it–of losing someone he cared about–that kept him paralyzed where he stood in the trees. No, no, no, no.. It was all rapidly unraveling inside of him. A heart sinking war between cold rationalization and that stubborn little hopeful cry. The truth had never been a pretty thing, but for the first time F'lix wanted nothing more than to believe a lie. The lingering smoke stung his eyes, and before everything could metaphorically crash and burn inside of him, F'lix's gaze shifted into one of his more typical glares. All the fear and panic had run it's course and now was being thrust aside. F'lix took off at a sprint, out into the open without the assurance of having Saboth's watchful gaze from above. Reckless, perhaps, but how much more could he lose at this point? Instead of sorrow, F'lix let the emotions transpose into a more familiar, manageable feeling–anger. The pain still trickling down the bond from Saboth helped to keep the fiery temper alive. With slitted eyes on Tenlie, F'lix only came to a stop when he stepped one foot over F'ur's vulnerable form so that he was crouching low over the blue rider in an action that clearly protective – and highly possessive. The fact that F'lix didn't have a blade in hand was the only show of 'friendliness' toward the woman. Nothing was said as his eyes shifted down to his weyrmate and slowly tracked over the set of visible wounds. F'lix pulled the black cloth down from his lower face, exposing the slight frown while touching his other hand feather light to the side of F'ur's neck–against skin; warm skin to assure himself that the older bluerider really was still there.. for the time being. Very softly, as to not betray the emotion behind the words, F'lix spoke while his eyes searched F'ur's. "Leave behind a bitter past lover at Fort? I think she's been harboring a grudge.." Yes, making a joke–because humor made it all easier to deal with. F'lix shifted his weight to the side of F'ur's dislocated arm, not giving his weyrmate the courtesy of a warning before he put it back into place (the only thing he could recognize as an injury and knew how to fix). The hand that again touch the side of F'ur's was starting to lightly shake. Damnit. F'lix eyes narrowed further and he shot a fierce look at Tenlie while pulling the blanket from F'ur's legs. "Spread it out. We need to move him." Afraid. So afraid. His eyes snapped back down to F'ur before he tacked on in a softer tone, "Please."
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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 Feb 23, 2010 16:17:39 GMT -5
This is fun.
The ‘words’, even in his mind, were breathless, as A’emi tightened his grasp around Kyrahth’s straps, a shiver of pure adrenaline running down his spine as the green twisted tightly back towards Rinagth again, snapping at the green’s jaw and upper neck as she surged upwards, intending to shred the wing closest to her. Kyrahth’s intentions were to press up as close to Rinagth as possible – push most of her weight onto the other green, negating the need for injudicious flailing around of wings where the other green could bite them and hampering Rinagth’s movements.
Most would not agree with you, dearest. A low hiss escaped her as Rinagth dropped down, her eyes narrowing as her teeth bared; her momentum had carried her up and slightly diagonal to Rinagth. Kyrahth flared her wings, almost preparing to dive, when a light touch from A’emi to her mind and to her shoulder stopped her as Rinagth rolled over, exposing her underbelly – and her claws. His intentions were not to get Kyrahth shredded in the process of destroying their enemies.
Between, darling, he murmured. Close, go for her head.
In hindsight, it was absolute luck that spared Kyrahth from Behruth’s weight slamming directly into her neck. A’emi felt the wind that signaled the brown’s proximity the same second that Kyrahth dove forward, feinting, and he panicked at the last minute, the rush of sudden awareness flooding his mind as he caught for a new set of coordinates for between – out of the fight, away, away, there were more and sharding – why hadn’t he been looking around? The coordinates he picked were closer to the ground, but away from the main party of those evacuating, so they could look up and see everything, everyone…
But Kyrahth was not quite fast enough; the green shrieked, a mixture of pain and fury, as two sets of claws made contact, one ripping down her spine and the other shredding her left wing – a sound cut off as she blinked between. She reemerged, hissing, near the ground, but the damage to her wing was considerable. Behruth diving so quickly hadn’t helped; the membrane had been punctured near the leading edge and ripped sideways to drag roughly across the entire length of her wing. It hurt, it hurt – and worst of all, it prevented her from flying.
So land, A’emi instructed briskly. We’ll get one of the others to help you up later. Those trees, for protection, Kyr, don’t want to sit out here in the open.
Kyrahth hissed in frustration as she spiraled awkwardly to the ground and slunk towards the treeline, curling half-beneath the canopy so she could peer up at the aerial battle as A’emi looked back anxiously at the long scratches down the green’s spine. They were ragged, ichor streaming out of them, but all things considered, the worst had probably been the injuries to her wing; certainly they’d hinder her the most. As the greenrider drew his breath in a sharp hiss of disapproval and undid his straps hurriedly, Kyrahth didn’t seem aware of her injuries save for the fact that she made no move to leap back into the fight; her eyes flashed across the skies intently.
Operath is down, she reported in a voice utterly devoid of emotion, coiling around the nearest tree; a low growl that was more vibration than sound pulsed in her throat as her claws absently dug into the soil underfoot. And – Ysaloth. Now an audible hiss ripped from the green. And Ysaloth. We’ve orders to get back to Fort. I can’t fly. They’ve all left. Her voice cracked of sharp fury before she drew her injured wing awkwardly closer to her body.
A’emi hummed quietly in response, busy leaning forward to press his entire forearm against the torn flesh on Kyrahth’s back to help stop the ichoring. Screw Ysaloth for a minute, darling, I don’t see him going /between/. You’re hurt, we’re either sticking around until you’re better or we’ll go out fighting, but crashing into the side of Fort Weyr isn’t the way I planned on going out. Stop squirming, lovely, you’re already ruining my wherhide~ His ‘voice’ was easy, almost singsong, soothing, but mostly a farce because he was absolutely furious at that stupid brown who’d hurt his Kyr. Scared, a little – but not too much.
Dying couldn’t possibly be too bad, after all.
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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 Feb 23, 2010 23:04:31 GMT -5
X'rx looked up at Mae's hand, blinking up at her, his eyes stinging from the smoke. Nodding slowly, he climbed to his feet, tugging on Eveyth where his arms were already around her neck. "Where?" he murmured. The green hatchling pressed close.
***
He was only half-conscious when his foot felt like it was being fed into a grinder. F'ur hissed something nasty, gradually coming to realize someone was putting the fire out. Well...that was good he supposed. Yes. But whatever gratitude he might have had quickly evaporated when the woman proceeded to poke the shoulder covered with dragon tooth marks, blood and saliva. He growled, regarding her through slitted eyes and fighting the roiling nausea in his gut. Pain could be ignored, to an extent, but he'd long since crossed that threshold. "Know how difficult it is to keep your hands off me, sweet cheeks, but do try to refrain," he commented, voice made soft from the effort it took to feed air into his lungs.
Familiar. F'lix. He managed a tremulous smile for the rider - though he'd half-wished the younger man hadn't seen, not while the battle was still raging - his chuckle terminating in a wet cough that brought blood to his lips. He ignored it. "Must be, considering I have no more feeling in my leg," he commented dryly. Normally something as simple as popping a shoulder back in place wouldn't have phased him, but on top of everything else, he found himself losing touch with reality again. His hand sought out F'lix's weakly.
***
Outside, a wounded wher evaded the brown hatchling, turning back as His slid off Roisk with no one to support him. The male snarled, setting himself over His, and this time he was unlikely to be cajoled so easily; the people who were supposed to be helping were doing a pisspoor job of it, by his calculation.
***
Behruth felt his claws catch, slide, and the angry determination seemed to evaporate the moment he felt the warm spray of ichor. The shock itself was enough, in fact, that M'ta had to yank his mind to pay attention as they continued to plummet earthward. Behruth flapped his wings, stalling out just above the ground and not far from the fallen brownpair lying in bloody, broken ruins. Before he could stop him, M'ta was already down and moving. Ruth hissed. Think they're really going to survive it anyway? The people here will want to keep them completely mangled as they are and call it merciful. Behruth didn't bother arguing, even though he knew that wasn't why M'ta stalked for the brownrider, drawing his dirk. It might sate the bloodlust. Maybe. (And even if that wasn't M'ta's true purpose, what he said still wasn't false; forcing the pair to live like that was probably worse.)
The wherhandler's back was turned. The greenweyrling was being dragged away by the mountain smith. Both rider and dragon were unconscious. It was a matter of seconds to slash his throat, the dragon's color fading completely. But as M'ta whirled to continue on the cold rampage that his rage directed, Ruth caught him in his claws. Enough. Checkoth's. Now you want to go? Ruth ignored the accusation in his mindvoice and sprung into the air, flying straight for the infirmary.
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Ruby
Shiny Hoarder
Jr.Weyrwoman Caden Bronzehandler Piden Bluerider M'kai Bluerider T'ri Greenrider Tenlie Greenhandler Serissa
Posts: 1,524
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Post by Ruby on Feb 24, 2010 2:10:07 GMT -5
Tenlie's eyes widened at the lewd comment, shocking her into action. OBVIOUSLY the downed bluerider was very far in shock if he was going to call her sweet cheeks; hers were too chubby, anyway. Well, realizing that the rider was in shock was enough to spark Tenlie into her usual state of capable action. Speedily but without rushing, she reached for the blanket at his feet... only to realize there was a foot in her way. F'lix had come at her from behind, and she hadn't realized he was there until he claimed the fallen man as his own.
F'lix's glare unsettled the Glasscrafter, but Tenlie wasn't about to let him do anything stupid. She did draw back, allowing F'lix to examine F'ur as he would, but she was not leaving. She reached out with a gasp as F'lix grabbed F'ur's arm and jerked it around, but he did seem to know what he was doing. The arm looked much less wrong after that. Ten stayed kneeling, trying to figure out just what was going on between these men while also trying not to impose. This meant that when F'lix snapped his order, Tenlie hopped to- even before the faint 'please'. That made her smile a little, sadly. Neither bluerider would be in good shape for quite some time after this, that was for sure.
She sorted the biggest blanket out of the mix, hastily unfolding it next to F'ur. He seemed to have lost conciousness, but in his state that was probably a good thing. "I do believe we must lift him, not roll him," she stated, expecting F'lix's compliance. There was no time to waste. "If I do lift the shoulders, you do lift the waist and legs?" she asked, then gently but briskly suited actions to words. Propping F'ur up first, she cradled his head on one shoulder and prepared to take his weight, at least long enough to move him onto the blanket.
Piden saw the Green swooping low, and swung onto Pidesk's back, booting the Bronze in the side like a common Runner to make him move. Absolutely refusing to take His out where things were falling from the sky and he could not see, Pidesk bucked wildly, throwing his Handler for the first time in his life. Piden still managed to get his Wher out of the main entrance, but it was too late- he saw a burst of flames just before flying into the air, landing on one shoulder with a sickening crack. Pidesk, now fully blinded, stood trembling in the doorway, utterly appaled at what had just happened. But still, no one was keening- no one was dead. No one on their side, anyway. Yet.
Stunned and confused, Piden struggled to his feet, cradling his limp left arm. It wasn't his arm that hurt, though- it was his collarbone that screamed pain. Totally unaware of the tears leaking from his eyes, the Bronzehandler stumbled back to his Wher, all heroic plans for distraction forgotten. It was too late anyway. Pidesk remained cut off from his rider, hurt and confused, unable to understand Piden for the moment. Red, still under Piden's collar, hadn't moved a muscle.
After a few corrections in coordinates, Futh, M'kai, and their passengers finally made it to the clearing where their siblings were gathering. The evacuation seemed to have gone smoothly despite their absence, for which M'kai was grateful. Shoving the baby and the two sisters unceremoniously off his Blue's back, Futh and M'kai gathered their wits about them and went back between, this time emerging where they were supposed to be. Anyone still needing evacuation could grab a ride.
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Post by midnight on Feb 24, 2010 19:57:26 GMT -5
Chaos was erupting around her, dragons and fire raining around her. Screams filled the air, and she felt the soft brush of fur on her side. A soft meow, and she knew all was well. As long as Mik and Cry, and their dragons, had made it... Nothing else mattered. She looked around her, looking for something to do to help. Deciding that she had done enough the girl went back to were they were gathering people for evacuation. She would probably be a better help on the other side.
She looked down at the cat, and nudged her with her foot. "Take off Gojji. Go hide somewhere safe, alright?" She whispered as she smiled at the cat. The cat flicked her tail in the females direction and then darted off, vanishing into the crowds. Meagen then turned her attention to what was going on around her. She felt the shift as more movements happened. The air changing temperatures from the cold bursts of... well something. She turned her head and saw M'kai, her eyes lighting up. She stopped for a moment, almost hesitating.
She took off towards him and waved her arm. "M'kai!" She called out as she came up to his side. "Can I get a lift?" She asked wearily. Soot streaked her face, and her hair looking a bit of a mess, but there was a weak smile on the girls face. All was well with her, beside for some off breathing.
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Post by tarra on Feb 28, 2010 8:54:51 GMT -5
Katar and Sonarth Sonarth's focus on his target was complete; but Katar, as ever, played the sentry, his eyes and ears for his back even as he honed on the target before him. The instant she saw a flash of blue come from between was the moment she snapped a silent warning into her Bonded's mind, and with a hiss he whirled in mid-air as the Fortian blue slammed into his side and tried for a grip on his back. Ysaloth was already forgotten - even as the enemy's impact inadvertently sent his claws tearing through the brown's windsails, the lithe blue was twisting, squirming, writhing sideways as he did to slide clear as much as he could before the Fortian could take a good enough grip to secure him. The move cost: long slashes and scratches marred his side, ichor leaking and etching its surface. But it had worked - he was now shifted enough that, though the Fortian still had a solid grip, he was in range of both his hindtalons and his flame if he chose to twist his neck round enough. And Katar's mind, turning cold as she recognised the blue's rider, left no doubt as to which mode of attack he would choose.
T'soran. Deovath.
Sonarth arched his neck almost all-around, as if he were trying to take firestone from his rider, and unleashed a straight spray of flame into the other dragon's face. Deovath screamed, caught in the lash of fire, his eyes and headknobs and jowl withering into nothingness all at once. The sound etched itself into Katar's mind, tore at her senses; she cut it short before it could reach her heart, drowned it in a rising sense of justice. This blue deserved all he got, as the old scars across her Sonarth's belly proclaimed. Gasping in shock through blackened, flare-ripped nostrils and open jaws, the Fortian released him and flopped back, curling into a flapping ball as he spiraled hopelessly towards the ground. Sonarth was flapping too to keep his balance as he wheeled about to confront the foundering dragon. Ichor splattered his lower back and left flanks, tracing lines that flowed down his legs and belly. Katar cast them a quick glance, trying to ascertain the damage. They were vicious, but the slashes were superficial and would heal. Sonarth did not await her conclusion; he was already descending, tracking the movements of the screaming Fortian blue-pair beneath them. His mind prompted her.
Mine?
Katar's eyes turned to the two beneath them, and hardened, Finish it.
Sonarth closed with a stoop, wings held back and ready to stall. His neck, coiled, uncoiled at speed as he snapped out once, his jaws closing over the stricken rider's neck. T'soran never looked up. A sharp twist, and Deovath went between with a lingering keen as Sonarth leveled out his drop. Katar let out the breath she hasn't known she was holding, and even as the blue spiraled upwards again tried not to think of how that keen had scraped even as they went between. It was not the first time she had killed, and she no longer threw up whenever she did so - but there was always a lurch, a twisting in her stomach.
It will pass, Sonarth's voice was cold, calculated. He doubled upwards, seeking new foes and the height advantage needed to meet them, then gradually began to circle as they realised it was over. The Fortians were leaving, leaving three of their number wounded on the ground below. The blue pair floated slowly down towards them, both still wary and scanning the skies for more signs of their foes. Down below, M'ta stalked up to finish E'rel, and Operath with him; Katar watched them go with dispassionate coolness. It was hard to feel anything when you had just come out of battle, of bloodlust; when the loss of so much had already made your soul cold to its outer extremities. The reactions of emotion were all delayed. Later, maybe, she would cry when she thought of E'rel's death (he had been kind to her, in his own rough way), but for now there was no feeling at all. Just a keen understanding of what was and what had to be done. E'rel and Operath had been so far gone anyhow that to let them live would be cruel.
That left two Fortians, both clearly grounded and so stuck with them. Quite against his will, but in keeping with his rider's subconscious wishes, Sonarth alighted nearer to Ysaloth. He was reluctant and agitated: this was a Fortian, and Fortians were the enemy now, and wasn't he was a Wingsecond as well? He raised and stamped his feet in place, talons shredding earth even as Katar contemplated Ar'ren from where she was. There was no pity in her eyes, though she did not wish them to die. From her position she turned to glance over at A'emi and Kyrahth near the treeline as well, before turning back to Ar'ren. She knew she should be feeling something - irony perhaps, or bitterness - now that they had ended up on opposing teams, but she could feel nothing at all. It was a fact, just as E'rel's death had been, just like everything else in her life. Sonarth, at his rider's request, finally halted in his agitation enough to send a simple greeting over to the brown.
Ysaloth. Ar'ren. We meet again.
**************************** S'kor and Morreliath
The success of his attack thrilled him. The blood sang in his veins, rumbled through the gasp of breath in his chest; bloodlust streaked his eyes and turned them crimson, the ichor splattering his own shoulders and legs forgotten. It made him want to bring back his wings, come down hard on the fallen brown, finishing him on impact. The big bronze began to draw back his sails, talons brought forward, and suddenly felt the cool weight of his rider's mind in his thought.
Morry, enough.
S'kor sounded, dazed, exhuasted; his burns were throbbing incessantly, and his heart was churning at the sight of so many dead or wounded on the ground. The pain his rider felt was enough to bring Morreliath back somewhat. He stalled, hovering, even as an explosion ripped the air about them with a blast of soumd, echoing over the canyon and the remnants of the forest canopy. S'kor gasped as the burst of scarlet and crimson from the general direction of the Main Hall met their eyes, and struggled against his pains to sit upright.
S'rei, Dorava... and those other members of his Wing that had been there. Morreliath growled softly through his throat as he made a swift check, and then replied.
They are safe, they live, he omitted what he had felt (or rather, not felt), of Aonith's half-concious mind. The blast, however, was wakening the bloodlust in his veins once more. The brown he had savaged was gone, finished by M'ta whilst he was distracted by that distant explosion; but there still remained Ysaloth, and his wingrider green now trying to hide beneath some trees at the edge of the burnt area. She would do for a start. S'kor realised his dragon's thoughts only when he began to dive; it was all he could do to reach his mind.
Morry, no!
The mental shout screamed into the bronze's senses. He pulled up short to make an awkward landing, stiff-legged and wide-winged, between Ysaloth and Kyrahth with teeth barred. Talons ripped the sod beneath him as he snarled, Why do you stop me? They have wounded our riders, killed our people, destroyed our lands! They deserve to go out in glory as they saw fit to when they started this!
No, Morry, frustration etched the bronzerider's mind; the sight of Operath, of Kaaloth, of defiant Ysaloth and Kyrahth, were getting to him, Enough. Enough death this day. We must get help to the living, save lives, not end them. There's still people in the Hatching Grounds. Let's get them out.
Morreliath's rage cooled; as S'kor had expected, the suggestion to salvage things had gotten him thinking on how to proceed, and that in turn would take his mind off the vengeance he had intended to enact. The bronze turned to the Cyclone wing. Frosstyth, help get the people out of there, there is no more danger out here. Rinagth, escort Saboth back down. Mirazeth, take the top of the Hatching Grounds and stand watch - signal all of us if anything. Kierjaath, come down too, we are calling for healers. Sonarth...stop talking to that Fortian!
Enough anger sounded in his mindvoice that the blue snapped back a step, startled. Morreliath rumbled as he continued, Go get help for Kaaloth - we need healers up here as soon as we may.
He turned back to Ysaloth, glowering his head raised and wings mantled, Not so brave now, are we? The brown had fought well, yes, Morreliath could see that as well as anyone could, and had he been on his wing he might even have noticed him. But he had not; as a Fortian, he had used his considerable intellect against them, and the big bronze would not forget that for a long while yet, Fortunately for you, however, Mine has more mercy than me. You can stop cowering now - I will not move to end your life.
He paused as S'kor laid a hand on his shoulder; the bronzerider was watching Ar'ren, hazy brown eyes unreadable - or perhaps, unreadable because they were so suspiciously....compassionate? But that must be a mirage. The bronze dug his talons in, arching his neck, then abruptly released it in a shrugging shake as he sighed. He turned back to Ysaloth, eyes whirling back into milder orange as he spoke.
Mine would have me convey: it was a good fight and you fought well. We will not kill you unless you seek to hurt us again - or unless our Weyrleader decides so.
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