Admin
Administrator 
brect[M:-2154]
Posts: 3,754
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Post by Admin on Jul 29, 2011 19:43:43 GMT -5
If I die young, bury me in satin,
Lay me down on a bed of roses,
Sink me in the river at dawn,
Send me away with the words of a love song.
It was mid-afternoon, autumn growing later and a little bit colder as the days grew shorter. Winter wasn't upon them yet, however, and would not be for a good few more sevendays, so Rukbat still shone in the sky. Though the Weyr was between meals, its kitchens were hardly dead. In fact, they were more alive with activity than any other time of the day, though all riders but those who could bake or had chores were shooed away as soon as they appeared. Dinner preparations were in full swing; it takes a lot to prepare for two hundred riders and a lower caverns full of people. Besides that, there were pots to set candidates to scrubbing and dough to set to rising. Plenty to do, always plenty to do, never a moment of rest in the Weyr. Outside of the kitchens, in the dining hall, some whose wings weren't out or whose lessons were done sat. Conversation was a quiet murmur.
Near the edge of the room, by one of the two wide doors that opened into the kitchen, the Weyrwoman sat in the company of her fellows, the table adorned with those of copper and gold. With the focused, stern facade of Fajra sat Rayna, the youngest Weyrwoman of Dalibor, a young woman just shy of being ten turns Fajra's junior, and with them was also Kalenna of Kalesk, the Weyr's shining hope in new gold wher hide. Obviously expecting no interruption from her audience, fully believing Rayna and Kalenna would be paying full attention even if they could not be described as rapt, Fajra was going on and on about flamethrowers. No detail was forgotten, though she did not speak extraneously. She clarified as needed for her two pupils, but she spoke in the clipped manner that characterized her, her voice clear above the static buzz of confined life.
"Using a flamethrower isn't difficult, keeping in mind safety concerns that will always be present. The hardest and most important aspect of using a flamethrower in first-phase defense against thread is knowing how to properly maintain the equipment." The Weyrwoman had her own flamethrower lying on the table in front of her, so she could indicate parts and use it as an example. It gleamed dully in the light of the hearth fires and glows that lit the dining hall, far from polished and well-worn with use from practice but clean nonetheless. All of its parts were in order, not a single line or part of a clasp out of place. It was just as its owner expected it to be, a reflection of her that she was proud to share when required. She was not proud for the sake of her ego; she was only proud for practicality and necessity. "Keeping it clean is absolutely key."
"FIRE!" The first shout was echoed by others in the kitchen. One of the stoves had flared up. A towel had caught, then another, then a giant sheet of meatrolls was suddenly on fire. A cook's clothes had caught, and though he quickly dropped and rolled, that did not stop the spread of the burn as it ran across one counter from stove to stove. A bucket of water was found and thrown at one of the ovens, but when the cooks and their assistants went in search of another, they came up short. Outside, panic was quick to spread, but so was action. Fajra grabbed Kalenna and Rayna by their shirts and shoved them towards the exit of the dining hall, not above forcing them out if it was what it took. She left them only when she could see Rukbat winking down at them, running to grab the buckets they kept stored in one of the tunnels for bucket lines at times like these.
However, Fajra found no buckets. Jaw clenched, she strode back into the bowl, head tipped back. Kalith was alive and awake on the heights, wings flared, eyes red. "DRAGONS. RIDERS TO THE LAKE. BUCKETS. WATER. NOW." A telepathic order, a loud shout, two voices, projected into the mind of every dragon and a few hundred present humans as well. Kalith tried to slip away from Fajra's mind at that point, closer to rage than being any help at all, but she clamped down at that point, telling the copper that they weren't yet done. The Queen's voice was quieter the next time she spoke. Eriputh, take your rider and go to Fort. Bring healers. With that, Kalith tipped her head back and roared, far from ready to mourn the dead or dying. Fajra wasn't either and let her be, turning her attention to things on the ground. She took off towards the lake, moving with speed, expression fixed.
Eriputh was quick to respond to Kalith's order, or perhaps it was merely Fahra, the weyrling lunging onto her dragon's back as soon as she heard what the green was hearing. They were in flight in the blink of an eye, rising, rising, rising with the smoke as it twirled into the sky, listless and faint, as if it were doing no harm at all. Tideturners to me! Come along, little ones! Skystalkers, if you have your straps, follow Eriputh! Kerath's voice reached all of the weyrling dragons, breaking into their thoughts, waking any that were asleep. He had landed on top of the barrack, his rider clinging, no straps, hardly a good example right then, to his back. He wore a small smile, a bit strained around the edges, trying to project calm to those he was trying to locate. He prayed from the safety of his students, prayed to chance and luck and fate. Eriputh sent him an image of Fort, then winked out.
It was at that moment that the sound of an explosion rang out. The fire had grown and spread to the dining hall, the kitchens almost a lost cause by that point. One of the tables caught and it heated the flamethrower Fajra would promptly realize she had forgotten. The pressure had grown and with a giant pop, it exploded, spewing smoke, metal, and fire. Some near were lost from sight in the smoke, but those who could be seen being blown back from near the center of the explosion were Taavetti, Nadya, J'en, and Adaline, each body flying a different direction, back towards the kitchen or towards the lower caverns or towards the bowl. Those caught nearer the edge of the blast, all plainly visible, were a collection of riders, a candidate, and a crafter: Amara, Kjara, Samael, Osine, and Talyen. A few individuals were hit with bits of stray shrapnel, those at the back of the kitchens or the edge of the dining hall, namely Z'is and Carfen.
By that point, all hell has broken loose. Bri was running from the wher quarters, face set, no smile in sight, Brisk shrieking for her to come back. F'lan was falling from Seceth's back, rolling back onto his feet, running across the bowl in search of E'rin. Annith keened on the heights, the first to notice in all of the confusion as four dragons slipped between. She could not tell which, only that someone was gone. In his furs, P'nay moaned and curled into a tight ball around himself. K'ber, following Fajra's orders, was in search of buckets, running, jogging, trying to find something that would help; above, Detritath circled, restless for the first time in his life. Outside of the candidates' barrack, Traepsie stood dumbstruck, staring at the smoke billowing out of the dining hall. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do, but was anyone ever really sure of that at a time like this?
NOTES: I did my best to locate characters that were supposed to receive injuries and reference them. If your character is receiving burns and smoke inhalation while working to rescue others, that will happen after this point and is up to you. If I missed your character being injured or said the wrong name, let me know. No one knows who died yet. I will PM out names of bodies that will be found by individual characters once people post them. At this time, your character may locate NPC lower cavern folk and cooks only. There are plenty of them.
Lord, make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother,
She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors,
Life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no,
Ain't even grey, but she buries her baby. |
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Chek
Weyrlingmaster 
chekct[M:-15]
I'm so magical I vomit rainbows
Posts: 1,091
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Post by Chek on Jul 29, 2011 22:18:27 GMT -5
L'kie, sitting near the entrance to the dining caverns,, was slow to react at first to the sounds of a fire, but soon enough was on his feet, ushering people outside though the growing smoke and heat. He never expected the explosion that sent him reeling into a wall, the sound and the shockwave leaving him unsteady, with a nose bloodied by his impact impact with the wall, and a ringing in his head that muted all other sounds. He was able to stumble out of the smoke and into the open air of the Weyr bowl, pausing only to tug a dazed and bleeding bluerider to his feet and drag the man after him.
Outside, the world was still muffled, but, dragging the man, L'kie made his way off towards the lake, setting the man down by a few other coughing refugees from the dining hall and shrugging his emergency kit off his shoulder to begin treatment on the bleeding man. Still unable to hear himself, he bellowed at the top of his lungs, “GET THE HEALERS HERE! ANYONE WHO CAN WALK AND BREATHE, GET TO THE INFIRMARY AND HELP HAUL SUPPLIES BACK HERE!”
He couldn't wait until a senior Healer showed up and took command – deafened as he was, he was pretty useless as more than a field medic, but the wait shouldn't be long. He gripped Oferrath's presence in his mind, firmly telling his blue to stay with the Weyrlingmaster and do anything they needed him to do. F'reki, being tended by the weyrling healer, had to forcibly push Girieth away, sending the big blue winging back up to the rim of the bowl from where he'd been diving down to check on his rider. Ears ringing, he watched the younger man pull long splinters from the dining hall tables out of his now numbweed-slathered arm, wincing at the sight.
Damali, yawning, had just been leaving the wherling barracks to meet her brother, when she first heard the calls announcing the fire. She stopped dead, watching the dragons fly by overhead, and away, and the mental shout for riders to get buckets.
Buckets.
There would be no buckets. Or at least, not many.
And it was all her fault.
Face draining of blood and no longer drowsy in the least, Damali started jogging towards the lake, breaking into a run as soon as she heard the explosion, Damask screaming protests both in her head and out loud back in their room. She threw herself headlong into the water, getting her entire body soaked, and then was out again just as quickly. She lit off towards the dining hall and the kitchens, ripping off one of her soaked sleeves and tying it over her mouth and nose to filter some of the smoke, and pulling the other off to cover and bind her hair. She paused for just a moment, almost tripping, when she spotted her brother already out and tending to someone – there was blood on his face, but not enough to look serious – before she threw herself headlong into the smoke.
Over the roar of the flames, she could hear being crying and screaming, and others already helping to pull others out of the danger zone. She, keeping low, headed straight for the kitchens. She barely could feel the heat as she scrambled through the doorway and into the heart of the inferno. Right away, she spotted someone struggling weakly, trapped under a burning table that was blackening their skin even as she watched. Without hesitation, she slammed headlong into the table, gripping the burning wood without fear of pain and slowly shoving it off the body and to one side.
She was just trying to catch them under and arm with her foot to pull them out without dropping the table back on them when a large gray dog wearing goggles darted in from behind her and sank it's teeth into the burn victim's collar, dragging them back and away until she was able to drop the table safely. A dragonrider, wearing full flight gear was waiting when she turned, taking the still moving body from the dog and handing it to someone who she couldn't make out in the smoke and heat-haze.
He crawled forward, grabbing her arm to look at her hands, but she shook her head and yelled to him over the roar of the fire, “I DON'T FEEL IT!”
Ma'dai nodded, but pulled loose his spare gloves and yanked them over the redhead's blistered hands, before he gave her a shove, “VIGILANCE AND I WILL HELP YOU OUT, GIRL. LET'S MOVE!” he yelled back, before the pair followed Vigilance deeper into the blaze, pulling people -and bodies - out as they found them and handing to rescuers to evacuate.
Mith didn't understand what was happening, not really – she knew her Valha and her guardians were very upset, as was everyone else. She didn't really know what the dark smoke billowing into the sky meant, but she knew it was scary and she wanted to be back in her nice safe room, maybe with her head tucked under her Valha's bed. But the best she could do right now was draw her Valha deeper into her mind, curling up in her rider's presence like the girl was a security blanket.
Valha, for her part, was doing all she could to keep her panicking fair and confused dragon under control, not wanting to risk any of them despite her desire to help – also, W'al had told them to come to him, so there she was. Nearby, blue Oferrath was pacing in circles, looking up every few seconds towards the dining caverns and making the most unhappy noises she'd ever heard out a dragon not in the Infirmary. It took her a few seconds to place him, but then she understood – his rider was a healer, and probably in the thick of the fire.
It was because she was so much in her dragon's mind that Valha stumbled when she felt the loss of four dragons – she couldn't understand enough to know who, but as Mith keened beside her, not really knowing why except that it was very bad, Valha felt her eyes start to tear up in reaction. They needed water up there, in volume, before anyone else died – but how?
I drink a lot of water, Mine. Mith told her helpfully. Valha patted her neck weakly, agreeing silently, but not knowing how that would help.
Except that the thought triggered another, and Valha abruptly realized she had an idea. “Mith, tell them to get the water troughs from the stables!”
What? Noth really having time to explain, Valha instead reached with Mith, using her dragon's voice the way she'd seen and heard Q'sis do, Fill the troughs from the stables with water and use those! They'll work better than a bucket!
In the air above them, navigating the rising smoke, Eranikuth bugled and turned to dive towards the stables, Yiserah aboard her neck with only the most bare of riding straps on. As she landed, sending frightened beasts running, she announced loudly Mine and I will get them, but we'll need help to lift and carry them!
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Post by purnip on Jul 29, 2011 22:40:46 GMT -5
Before the disaster began, Wrynri was enjoying a quiet snack at the end of the dining hall, at the furthest point away from the kitchen. Breakfast, it was--for him at least. He liked to keep it simple; a cup of klah and a bit of bread to fill his belly. He liked to keep it quiet, hence his position far from others and alone at his corner. Even the curious, blue-eyed Candidate boy that had bothered him two days ago about fetching a glow for his room didn't make eye contact with him, which was something the Wherhandler had no problem with. He read over a manuscript he had been writing for the past month or so, trying to find any errors that stood out or grammar that needed correcting. He had gotten very partial to his project. Writing was all that really did anything for him anymore. He could speak his heart through it and betray nothing. It was a shame however, that his time was often cut short. He had Wrynsk to think about, and his duty to the weyr. He left his manuscript for the early evening hours and the peak of dawn, before he turned in for sleep. Normally, he wasn't bothered. By now, everyone could guess he wanted privacy.
The shouting did get his attention, as he glanced up from his notes and detected the smoke rising from the kitchens. He folded up his papers and got to his feet, staggering back as others were flat out running. Still...it all looked as if it were playing out in slow-motion. Something in his gut told him he couldn't move out of here fast enough, even if he tried. The smoke got heavier. Idiots like himself took their time evacuating, pausing in their stupid curiosity to see what was going on back there. He practically had to command himself to move. The wide-eyed Candidate he met earlier that week was still staring like a dumbstruck wherry. Wrynri grabbed him hard by the shoulder to snap him out of his trance. "Get out of here!" he hissed back at Ridley, coughing as the smoke poured into the dining hall. Light dancing from the edge of the fire indicated that it was spreading fast. The dry autumn air was not helping.
The little blonde boy cried out in protest, but he started moving nonetheless. He quickly recognized the Wherhandler, but as he opened his mouth to speak a fit of coughing sputtered out instead. His eyes burned, but as he moved out on Wrynri's tail he noticed other Candidates remaining. Adaline--the girl he went gathering with. He wanted to help her but at the same time he wanted to live. Tearing his watering eyes away, he quickened his pace and beat his savior to the exit with time to spare. Ridley could sprint like a rabbit if his life was in danger, never once thinking of going back for anyone's sake. Wrynri however, was not as selfish.
When he reached the exit, he turned to asses the situation one last time. Why was he doing this? Why did he care for these strangers enough to put his life in danger?
Suddenly, another blonde pushed past him--this time a much older man with a lot less sympathy than the boy ever had. E'rael wasn't about to stick his neck out for nobody, knowing few have ever done the same for him growing up. Outside, Harkenth was already going ahead and following other dragons towards the lake to retrieve water. He urged his rider to meet him there with any sort of object capable of carrying water that he could find. Maybe E'rael was at the pinnacle of selfishness, but he wouldn't deny his dragon when Harkenth was in his dead-serious state.
The force of the Bluerider's escape did knock Wrynri over, sending the frail handler to the floor. He picked himself up, just in time to see the flames reaching for the Queens' table. As his mind traced the flamethrower's curve, he had just enough time to throw himself back down before a great ball of fire broke loose.
The force of the explosion swept Ridley off his feet, whilst E'rael tripped over the boy as he was rushing just behind him. "Shards!" The blast deafened the Bluerider to his own cursing as he remained on the ground, pushing the Candidate from underneath him. Ridley started coughing again, but he too stayed down, reverting to fetal position until the air itself didn't seem like it was on fire anymore. If he could say anything without coughing up a lung, he'd chew E'rael out for not watching for where he was going. He'd also let the world know just how freaked out he was about the whole ordeal, because he truly was. Furthermore, he'd beg for his life and pray he makes it out alive. But for now, he could only resort to whimpering and cowering until he felt it was safe enough to start running again. The picture of all those still standing around in the dining hall as he left was still etched into his mind. He hoped they got out, but was well willing to believe the worst. They could all be dead right now. Even that bossy girl he had to pick herbs with. He survived, but a bunch of others had to die in his place. Raising his head very cautiously, he tried to see if he could find that older boy that helped him out earlier. Through the smoke...fat chance. He let his head rest again and waited to either be rescued or until he had the energy to run again.
L'am was in the lower caverns when the explosion occurred. The earth shook violently, and dust suddenly erupted all around them. The Bronzerider was just far enough away from the disaster that he didn't end up buried like the unfortunate souls underneath the 'hall. Before then, he had heard Kalith's cry for assistance as he was making his way to the surface. Lebeth was ready for him outside, looking about for His worriedly. When the young man emerged the two were off for the lake, prepared to do their part. L'am reached out for Aimeth, knowing he'd be ignored. If he could at least feel the Green's animosity, perhaps he'd know if Sonia was okay. In the meantime he kept his eyes peeled for her. A disaster and a half this was, and he wasn't hesitating on anyone's behalf. As if he already knew the Greenrider was in the heart of danger, he did the very best he could to be both fast and effective. Even the spacey Lebeth was suddenly focused on saving lives. If anything, it had always been the most important thing to him.
Out by the lake, Rhysia was already one of the first to be ready with water to douse those flames. The moment she and Raeterith received that message, they were lucky enough to be close by. D'ix, who was out as well, was not as quick or concerned by any stretch of the imagination, but Ressouth was dead-set on doing better than all the other dragons, so she urged the Cyanrider along despite his reservations. Pananarie joined the fighters on her Tan, ready with a couple of buckets she collected on her way to the lake. Demeth had just caused a mess rolling barrels both empty and occupied toward the lake, then filling one barrel with water by dunking it into the lake and scooping it out. Calling out to her sisters in case they hadn't seen, she did the same with another, dumping out all the firestone inside it and filling it up as well. Clean up was non-fatal. Fire was.
B'wie was not all that close to the weyr when he and Sjanseth heard the call. "Whatever is this ordeal about?"
Kalith is dead serious, Mine. Perhaps we should make haste?
The Whiterider shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought for a second. "Yes, but she always sounds dreadfully serious, doesn't she? Dalibor has hundreds of riders to spare. Whatever this emergency entails, it can't possibly be big enough to require each and every one of us."
Sjanseth fluttered uncomfortably. Most of the time, he would succumb to his rider's speculations, but the tone in Kalith's voice was venomous, and he could sense death. It could be another attack. Dragons and people are dying. We must assist them. The White stepped up and nudged his rider, who was trying to test one of his latest apparatuses out on the field. A mess it was. Sjanseth humored His by pretending to understand, but so far he could see another failed experiment in the works. Besides, something was happening back at the weyr. Something terrible. Even if the two were reluctant about putting themselves in harm's way, they had a duty to Dalibor that needed to be upheld.
Kos'ei did not learn of the fire from Kalith, nor did he find out later due to the explosion that followed. No. He knew when it started, particularly due to the fact that Math knew--as he learnt of things far sooner than just about anyone else on Pern. The Black was sensitive to the emotions of others. Overly sensitive one might say. His eyes never tasted colors of blue or green unless he was far from other people. Yellow and orange were constants. The very subtle hints gave away his defensive struggle against the surge of drama this weyr circulated. Math's rider was in his weyr at the time--a rare place to find him. Normally, he would be out and about, assessing what he could, taking notes, making 'friends', and learning interesting facts about the human psychology and how best to manipulate it. Tonight however, he was working on something special. Something nice. He was putting together a gift basket for a friend. A friend who either failed to notice him or failed to believe in his being alive. It was pretty amusing to Kos'ei, rather than annoying as it ought to be. Frustrating perhaps. Grating. But somehow it worked itself out just fine.
Math began to tremble when the first victim was being consumed by flames. Trouble. Kitchens, he sent, a dragon of few words. Sensations flooded Kos'ei just the same, causing him to bristle. Suddenly his mood when raw. Suddenly he too wanted to shut everyone out, but now he had the skinny. People were in a panic. Fire was spreading in the kitchens. Then came Kalith's call. The Blackrider got up from his seat and joined Math at the ledge. "We haven't got a choice," he mused, looking down upon those who were already diving out of their weyrs. "Sorry pet, it appears we have to help the poor fools after all." Now wasn't the time to turn a deaf ear to cries of help.
The Black did not approve. Getting closer to this sea of emotion was the very last thing he wanted to do. He squirmed, then turned about and gave a hiss. No! Why did he have to fly towards the fire again? Just because those stupid humans managed to blow themselves up? He fought. He turned and glared at his rider dead in the eye with fear and malice, but said nothing. Kos'ei did not falter. His expression was calm and serious. Math gave another hiss, shrank back a little, and then threw himself forward in preparation to be ridden. Quick, he growled. I can't stand this madness much longer.
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Post by ferret on Jul 29, 2011 23:16:50 GMT -5
Ah yes! The kitchen was truly the heart of the Weyr, although Taavi was beginning to wonder if the heart should truly be this congested all the time. Surely that was some sort of health issue. Ah well, the Baker was in his element, perfectly at home within the chaos that was commonly known as a kitchen. Admittedly, it had taken a bit of sweet-talking to allow Sebol access to the kitchen during a busy meal-time, but that was just the sort of thing that silver-tongued Taavi lived for.
“You know what’s a good idea for our next lesson? Meatrolls!” he announced, one hand waving in the air as though he was presenting a magnificent exhibit instead of merely pointing at a stove. “Perfectly good staple of food, practically depend on them. Shards, the Weyr practically runs on them, along with fruits, vegetables, herdbeasts for the dragons, wherries…” ok, maybe the words were getting away from the Candidate again, but he didn’t mind. It usually happened somewhere along the line. Besides, that wasn’t really the point anyway. The point was, food was glorious and baking was the absolute best, especially on a cold Fall day, and doubly especially so with evening drawing in close. Technically, Taavi should have been paying more attention to the preparation of the evening meal than teaching Sebol but since when was he the sort to pay attention to rules like that?
Besides, if he could do both at once, more power to him.
“See, the really tricky part is knowing when they’re finished,” he said to Sebol. “Some Bakers like to cheat and use precooked meat. It saves a lot of embarrassment, so no one takes a bite into a warm meatroll only to discover something bloody and raw. I don’t care what you say about it, it’s gross.” And that, as far as Taavi was concerned, was the end of that, partly because he was already bored with the topic and partly because things were happening! He loved things! “It’d be like biting into a sausage and finding it raw. I mean, I love a good sausage and all bu…”
“Pfff, bet you do, Taavi…” another baker butted in, unable to keep his mouth shut.
“Aww, was that a comment about my sexuality? Man, I wish I had a mark every time I heard someone insecure in their masculinity say something like that. I’m not sure how many marks I’d have, but I’d definitely have on more now and a mark ahead is a good place to be!” Now, where was he? Oh yes! Talking to Sebol about things, stuff, and possibly even shenanigans. Even as he happily chattered away, Taavi’s eyes stayed on his project. “See, the trick to knowing when a meatroll is done perfect is to… to…” say, was it just his imagination, or was it suddenly awfully smoky in there? He blinked, tears suddenly springing to his eyes.
“FIRE!” someone called out, an unfamiliar voice. It was rather pointless, since a large fire, all blazing orange and red, spewing thick smoke, was rather hard to miss, even in a place as crowded as the Weyr’s kitchen.
Taavi’s eyes burned, prickled by the sudden burst of hot smoke. Shards, his lungs ached, suddenly wracked with spasmodic coughs that just refused to stop. Flames spurted up as some complete deadglow left a towel a little bit too close to the most temperamental stove. Taavi waved a hand in front of his face, but it was about as effective as trying to use a blade made out of hide. As he waved, more smoke just kept billowing closer. Hot ash sprouted as a large tray of meatrolls-----not the ones Taavi had been working on, he noted with a vaguely proud thought------erupted into flames.
Sebol shoved something into his hands and Taavi took it without thinking. Something made out of fabric. Over the roaring of the fire, he could just dimly make out words, but Sebol’s actions were more important: the other man was using scraps of shirt fabric to make a mask over his mouth and nose. Taavi wisely followed the example, and it helped almost immediately. Well, he liked to at least think it helped, and positive thinking was important.
Buckets! Taavi thought desperately. There were always buckets around, sand and water, to take care of situations like these. Unfortunately, as he looked around, he couldn’t see anything that even vaguely resembled a bucket. But there were some old washbins, full of filthy old water. He tipped those out at the fire, but it was like spitting at a thunderstorm, only far hotter and drier. His lungs felt like they were on fire now, only he was pretty sure that fire didn’t have to cough as often as he did. “S…” he wheezed, one hand gripping Sebol’s shoulder. The words would have been muffled anyway, by fabric and noise. Actions spoke louder than words.
He shoved the washbins into the other man’s hands. They weren’t much, but they could at least hold some water. That was better than the great big load of nothing that they currently had. Well, load of nothing and a bucket, he recalled fuzzily. He shook his head and fought to keep his mind clear, trying to focus on the task at hand. It should have been easy: leave kitchen! Get help! sounded like an easy enough thing to remember, it should have been instinct. In the very back of his mind was the fuzzy and much muted thought process of Cassia the firelizard. She was panicking, but staying far away from the kitchen. Good! Let her stay safe. She was too stupid to be allowed anywhere near the fire. Shards, she probably think that it was all hugs and snuggles.
He focused on Sebol and followed the other man, trying to keep him within sight. And he actually did a pretty good job of this----even though it felt like, each time he blinked, Sebol was further and further away. And then he walked by the unwisely placed flamethrower. Bits of metal pinwheeled away from the epicenter of the explosion as more flames rose like… well… red-edged roses, if flowers were routinely associated with images of death and flames. Taavi was literally blown off his feet and not in a very fun at all sort of way. His back collided hard with a wall with an extremely nasty crack of a sound, although he couldn’t tell if that was his skull, back, or ribs. Judging by the pain that radiated across his chest every time he breathed, he was pretty sure he’d broken something.
…
Maybe he ought to rest for a little while. Just a bit. That sounded pretty easy right about now.
ooc Note| I got permission to use Sebol here. >3> Ruin and I have been plotting.
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Ruin
Wingrider 
ruinct[M:-786]
We build the worlds we wouldn't mind living in
Posts: 1,137
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Post by Ruin on Jul 30, 2011 0:31:10 GMT -5
Many don't get to see tomorrow
Many will be missed It was a pleasant day as they go; cold-kissed air tasted against the warmth of the Rukbat-bathed Weyrstone and served a constant reminder of the coming season, but he wasn’t privy to the wind’s delicate kiss here inside the caverns. Really though, he couldn’t complain: Who was he to turn his nose up at easily pilfered food, good company, and further knowledge in a skill he otherwise wouldn’t have. True, as he had explained to a certain Trader-friend of his, he had done his fair share of charring meat on a fire while on Watch, but that was nothing compared to the delights Taavetti was showing him how to craft. So that was where this beautiful day found him; deep within the recesses of the kitchen caverns, and doing his best to dutifully hover over the young lad’s shoulder and learn everything amidst the superfluous knowledge granted through the boy’s tendency toward chattering.
It didn’t help his concentration that he still received mistrustful looks and somewhat dark commentary from the kitchenfolk, but they were slowly coming around: He hadn’t destroyed a single food item since beginning his lessons—although that might have been due to the food being moved away the moment he stepped foot inside. Although they couldn’t move everything, he was still able to pilfer himself a bellyful throughout the lesson—probably even a bellyful, if he wasn’t possessed of a bottomless pit in place of his stomach. ”Meatrolls sound fantastic,” he agreed with an increased pang of hunger: As if he were starving, which everyone present knew he was not. Sea-grey eyes followed the wave of that hand as it introduced him to yet another stove-top, a new one this time as their usual was currently occupied, and he bit back a chuckle. Traderborn this man may not be, he certainly was possessed of the habits; such as selling anything to anyone.
”I am inclined to agree with you, Taavi, I definitely require them to run: I consider them my firestone.” Lame, but true, he was terrible at chores when his stomach wasn’t full. Who could work when part of their body was attempting to eat the rest of it? Yes, life as an Apprentice to Tytallen had been difficult at times, and he had definitely been robbed of a typical holder childhood, but they had always been well-fed: The runnerstock was far too important to risk even one inch of hide to a boy consumed with hunger rather than focused on dangers. As the Baker spoke on, Sebolaren could not help but allow his eyes to wander the kitchen; even an easier life couldn’t erase turns of habit—always a man at watch. Always. ”I prefer my meat still bleeding, but I understand the need for thoroughness when feeding so many: Easier to be certain of fresh meat when you cut it from the beast with your own hands.”
That was true, wasn’t it? There hadn’t been much of an opportunity to partake of naturally flavoured meat here, but again, he wouldn’t be caught complaining: It still amazed him that the Weyr provided for everyone, even those who did not ride dragons. They cared for their own here, in every way possible; never had he experienced such closeness—not even with the other Herderboys in the Ruathan fields. Not even against stormy nights or wild whers. Threadfall would only make the bond stronger; perhaps even between those who did not have a dragon—he would not fly for the Weyr yet, but he would still serve it: Even if it meant packing firestone for long hours or riding with the ground crews. They still did that, right? Granted his knowledge was old and possibly fiftieth-hand—as it was—but he would be needed. Yes.
A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as Taavi was riled by one of his own; the boy certainly had the ability to shrug off obvious jabs, and that was a great talent to have amongst the crass Dragonriders. Mouth open, he was about to reply, but his eyes were drawn to a stove across the room: Alighting on a fire which had literally just burst into existence. He moved quickly to intercede, but it was too late—if Beastcraft knew anything about fire it was that the inferno's voracity could not be matched; especially in an environment of soiled cloth, greasy counters, and flammable foods. The blaze spread quickly as if a tunnelsnake of heat across the kitchen. Stable fires, training, and more drills than he could count forced his body into action that was thoughtless—he pulled his knife from its sheath and cut free the bottom handspan of his tunic with quick savage slashes. Halving that loop of fabric he doused both strips in the closest stone basin of water; returning to Taavi and pressing one of them into the boy’s hand; "For the smoke! Cover your nose and mouth!"
The other strip was tied around his own face and served to put a water, and fabric, barrier between the dangerous fumes. It was secured at his neck as one of the cooks went down in a catching plume of fire. Sebol followed the man to the ground and beat at the licking flames heedless of the angry scores they lapped against his palms; thankfully the cook’s training had impressed upon him the rolling action required to smother, and both were on their feet again. On their feet and into the full force of the noxious smoke which had gathered in the stone-forged room with nowhere to escape: It was a heat against his face unlike any other, and even through his mask he could feel every breath burning in his lungs as if he inhaled molten sand. A hand on his shoulder brought his attention around to Taavi; he couldn’t hear the lad over the angry growl of the blaze, but his singed hands felt the washbasins as they were pressed into them—water. The heat was tremendous, and the flames had surged well out of control; the only water-source in the kitchen was already locked behind a wall of fire, but there was the lake. A scream cut through the buzzing hum, a scream that pulled his attention toward the ceiling to the angry agitated Blue that had come into existence above his head—Sigard. You damn fool! The firelizard screamed again and made as if to dive at his bonded, but then he was gone—to where?
That wasn’t for Sebol to say, or care about, he was gone; that was what mattered, and there was no hope for the kitchens now. The ex-Herder squeezed on Taavi’s shoulder and then pulled; releasing him only when the boy’s feet started leading him out to safety on their own, but there wasn’t time for anything else—water. As if bidden, the Copper Queen’s mindvoice invaded his head like a steel spike, and he found himself propelled ever faster toward the lake; or possibly toward the floor. If he had thought his friend’s dragons were loud, then certainly the Copper’s thoughts must have carried to Ruatha itself, but he kept his feet. Out into the brilliant light of day, his sensitive eyes lidding in protest for the sudden change, heading like an arrow for the lake—he didn’t make it far.
What had even been in there to explode? He damn near jumped out of his flesh as the crack was amplified by the cavern and rendered him temporarily deaf to the cries, screams, and agony of all that suddenly occurred around him. Dragon’s keen; it meant something—somewhere in his head he knew this, but that was for later: Everything was for later. There was work to be done now; people who needed help—people who would have done anything to help if they hadn’t been in there. Where had had only just been moments before. Billowing black smoke was pouring out of the gaping maw of the entrance-way, and he managed only to hand the washbasins off to someone he didn’t recognize before his long legs carried him back into that destruction alongside a woman with hair to match the licking flames.
Destruction indeed. Later it would take his breath away and render him lost in brooding contemplation, but now there could only be action. Everything smoldered. That which could not burn, sizzled and seared, even some of the rock remained red-hot : Tables flamed, or were like embers, and there was a stench he could have gone his entire life without smelling more than once—burning human flesh. Teeth gritting against the reality of that smell, he worked his way deeper into the ruinous masses of twisted metal and charred wood as the heat burned at his legs; swathes of his trousers slowly smoldered away as he came into contact with tables and chairs that marked his clothing, and flesh, like brands: Later he would find his legs had been crossed with burns from the contact, but for now he felt no pain. Searching, searching, and then suddenly.
There. Buried beneath the wreckage of a shrapnel-laced table. The person lay crumpled face up and pressed into the twisted wreckage that quietly hissed and crackled against delicate flesh: Sebol reacted quickly, his large hands sweeping away strewn pieces of wood earning only further cauterization of the injuries sustained in the kitchen, but the table was a lost cause. It was actually multiple tables that had been molded together by the force of the explosion, as if dough—they could not be moved. He would not be dissuaded. Leaning over he hooked his arms beneath those of the victim, his large palms scraping against fire-mutilated flesh, and then he threw his left shoulder into the table with all the force he had within him. Like a massive counter-lever the Candidate-called-Giant was able to lift the table enough to pull the person free of that flame-wrought prison. With one great lunge he wrenched his shoulder from the smoldering wood; not even sure if the hiss he heard was only cloth or in fact his own flesh, and then they were both clear. At least of the burning tables, but not the burning room. The person in his arms was a mess of blackened flesh and blacker cloth; the smell of burning human hair was acrid in the ex-Herder's throat as he pulled the victim closer.
The Weyrperson had to be carried; there was no other way to ensure they stayed clear of the smoking wreckage that surrounded them, but it had to be done safely. As he had been taught many turns ago at Ruatha. Quickly, Sebol swept the person around to face him and then took a knee, hooking his head against that injured ribcage. He stood again, locking both arm and knee around his neck using his own hands, and balanced the victim’s torso levelly across his shoulders. Dragging in another breath he made his slow, but steady, way out; he was aware of others moving—rescuing—reacting, and he took note of where. Where would he be needed once he had delivered this one to the Healers? For once there was no blood, at least not from him—not yet anyway: Fire kissed him, it did not cut him, but he could see blood elsewhere. There might have even been blood of the one he carried on his shoulders, but fire was clean. Would Thread be clean?
Rukbat light bathed him again, and he was surprised to see how black his arms and legs were from roiling smoke and brushing against charred wood. Perhaps clean wasn’t the right word. His raw throat couldn’t choke out the request for a Healer, but he saw them working over other injured Weyrfolk, so that is where he went. Gently he slid the burned person from his shoulders onto a blanket which would protect the wounds from gritty dirt; he coughed softly into his now dry mask even as his large fingers flashed across blackened wrist and throat for a pulse—there was none.
He lightens the beacon,
Light at the end of world |
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Boo
Jr. Weyrwoman
booct[M:-425]
Shirath: THOSE aren't spirit fingers... THESE ARE SPIRIT FINGERS!!!
Posts: 1,917
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Post by Boo on Jul 30, 2011 2:04:26 GMT -5
Pain.
It was the feeling that brought concentration back to his cooking. With a sigh he brought his finger close to him and stemmed the blood, sucking the cut with more annoyance than anything else. He hadn’t cut himself in a while and somehow considered it a failing in his skills that he had. Walking over to a sink he washed his hand and cleansed it so he could continue his work
Have you almotht finished?
Not really…
Well! Hurry up I am thick of thitting around here!
He started towards the entrance to the Dining Hall, wiping his hands vaguely on a towel.
It’s just a few more-
Darkness.
The pain he felt again was not what he expected. He awoke to shouting and frantic calling. Trying to get to his feet, pain shot through his side and he cried out to hear renewed frantic calls from some unknown source. In all honesty, he had never been more scared in his whole life.
Z’ithMine! IT HURTTH!!! WHAT HATH HAPPENED!?
He whimpered a little trying to move himself but pain wracked his side and, looking down, he saw blood on his shirt. Was that his? He could hear other screams and turning his eyes he saw a fire.
He’th hurt thomeone do thomething!! BUCKETTH YETH! I WILL COME FOR YOU!
No… I see people.
He blinked hard trying to focus through the pain. His whole left side hurt and he was fairly certain something was wrong with his shoulder. He groaned and dropped his head back it being far too much effort to keep it upright. His eyes started to close when he realised something.
“Mum! MOTHER!!!”
Rolling, he tried to crawl his way closer to the fire, having been blasted to the fringes, knowing that his mother must have still been there. He saw an older female run into the fire closely followed by a Purpleweyrling.
“Did you see what happened?” Yalenia demanded of the male following her.
“No. Shirath heard the call whilst we were walking past.”
They charged into the fire and Yalenia promptly lost sight of the young Weyrling, worrying about both him and his dragon. She pulled her shirt over her mouth and reached out to grab the nearest person, a female, whom she dragged from the fire swiftly. She had been just about asleep when she’d heard the mental call from their Weyrwoman and had rushed to the kitchens. Thus, without having found any buckets on the way, she merely tried to assist the rescue efforts. Coughing, she emerged from the flames already feeling the heat on her face and left the woman to an older male healer whom she was certain had the name ‘Tedaon’.
COME BACK NOW! I will not have you scarred more than you need to be! The Weyrlingmaster called us!
I will help them Shirath, whether you like it or not! What if my friends are here!
What if something happens to you!?
It won’t, don’t worry!
He had just pulled a member of the Lower Caverns staff from the flames and dumped her with the healers seeing the woman he had run into the fire with doing the same with a woman of the Kitchen staff. They exchanged a look and then Yalenia charged back into the inferno whilst C'ian hurried to join the rest of his class, realising he might be needed there.
He found Shirath and hugged the Purple before making his way over to join the rest of his classmates, Shirath looking somewhat anxious as he trotted over to them his usual confident and flirty demeanour somewhat disappeared.
Oh dear oh no! There was a fire! Oh dear! Kire fretted in her room for a moment before making a decision. She would tell Kisk to remain whilst she offered her assistance to the healers. Knowing nothing of the craft she could at least wrap some bandages.
Where go?
There’s a fire!
OOH!! KISK AM LIKE FIRE!!!
Stay there! Don’t follow me! I’m going to try to help.
She sent an image to Vesta of the pink guarding the door and not allowing Kisk to leave. Reassured, she rushed into the fray, presenting herself to the healer who had assisted her at the hatching.
“What can I do?”
“Just get them all out of harm’s way first and see who is conscious. See who’s breathing and then try to stem any blood flow on those who are. We’ll try to sort out those who aren’t as soon as we can.”
Tedaon rushed about tossing healing supplies left and right, trying to keep as many alive as possible. There were still a few people on the fringes of the fire, one of whom looked to be trying to crawl back in but he was needed for triage not rescue efforts… He rushed about trying to clear the airways of those who needed it, trying to get them to breathe and, indeed, managed it with some. It was going to be a rough day…
Fel awoke to screaming and calling out accompanied by the calls from Dhanuth trying to find out whether she was safe. Gasping, she looked up to see flames in the kitchen. She scrambled backwards but noticed that her leg hurt far more than normal. Screaming in shock she saw that there was blood on her trousers she looked about madly. She had just been running past when an explosion had rocked her, even now she could hear Dhanuth.
Where are you Mine!? I will come!
Her mind was sluggish and by the time she even thought to respond the black had come running towards her. She was not near the fire, having been thrown backwards by the blast but she was still scared for her dragon. Dhanuth looked down at her and, with careful claws, lifted her from harm's way, sitting up on his haunches for only a moment trying to keep her still as he dragged her towards the healers. He hovered over her, getting in the way, before he realised he should speak with their Weyrlingmaster.
FelMine is injured...
Dipping his head, the dragon reassured his young rider before stepping back, knowing he needed to be out of the way for the healers to assist her. He could feel pain in his own leg through their bond, it was the one that had slowly been getting so much better. How unfortunate...
{ooc: Je’kyll may turn up if needed… ^^ Probably saving Requias and no one else}
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Gray
Wingrider
grayct[M:-350]
Posts: 870
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Post by Gray on Jul 30, 2011 5:17:18 GMT -5
There was a certain... feeling washing dishes invoked in her. Annoyance. Plain and utter annoyance. Holding up a particularly flimsy plate, Adaline sneered. Thankfully she was being careful. Earlier she had broke one in half with out even thinking about it by scrubbing too hard. She was making progress, she gave a glance to the large stack of dirty dishes to her left and groaned quietly. Apparently not enough progress. Plunging her hands I nthe soapy water she gave the plate a final rinse before adding it to the stack of clean dishes. She was about to pluck up another when she heard someone call for her.
Turning around, Adaline tilted her head a bit. Who could want her? Drying her hands on the apron she wore, she noticed the drudge motioning to her. Dropping the rough material she sauntered over, twisting her way through the busy question. Ugh. Someone else had more work for her. Despite her thoughts, her face was bright and smiling.
“What can I help you with?” She asked, her tone bright and cheery. The world around her was crackling with energy. People were cooking, baking, cleaning, all sorts of tasks. The kitchen had a quick, rough bustle to it that she enjoyed.
Her attention snapped back to the drudge as she has wanted a couple of dirty pots, pans and spoons jutting out with them. She swallowed hard to diffuse her anger and give a strained smile to the drudge.
“Thank you, I'll start working on them right away.” As she turned her back though, there came a cry of fire. Fire? At first she didn't believe it. This was a kitchen. There were probably tons of small fires due to the simple hazards of cooking. They would know how to deal with it. But as a sheet of meatrolls lit up, her opinion quickly changed.
Dropping the pots and such on the counter she turned to grab a drudge.
“Get every one away!” She hissed. She was turning to obey her own direction when Kalith's call boomed through her mind. Too loud! Too loud! Some movement at the corner of her eye grabbed her attention though. Shards. It was a little kid. Great.
“Hey!” She called, running over to where the Weyrbrat sat, a sticky bun clenched in her hands.
Kidanyr looked up at Adaline with slight fear. Oh no! She was in trouble now. Tears were starting to form. Everything was so scary now! Flames were growing and all she wanted to do was go hide. She wanted to find someplace safe. Suddenly, she ran towards Adaline, dropping her bun in the process and clutched at her apron sobbing. All she had wanted was a treat! Rubbing her face in the thick, rough cloth she wailed.
She didn't mean to be rough, but she had too. Grabbing the little girl's wrist she started to pull her to the dining hall.
“Come on kid, you can't sit here and sob. You got to run come on!” Somewhere, deep inside, she felt a bit bad. The little girl was scared and confused, plus her legs were so short she couldn't keep up. They were nearing the exit when the gleam of the flamethrower stopped her. What the shell was that doing there? It didn't look right, during some of her apprenticeship she had seen flamethrowers. Shards. Turning to Kidanyr, she pushed the little girl forcefully towards a couple of drudges. She had enough time to see the girl swept away before it exploded.
Pain.
That's all she could think of. It all hurt. Any sounds were lost in the deafening boom of the Flamethrower's explosion. All sights around her were bleary and unfocused, the edges fuzzy with black. She wasn't even aware she had been launched through the air until she crumpled against the ground with a heavy wet thud. She didn't feel much though, as darkness quickly swallowed her.
Kidanyr was safe though. Scared witless, but safe. She stood back in one corner, tears streaming from her eyes, sniffling and mumbling softly. She couldn't even muster enough to properly wail. All she could think of was the lady who had helped her. Nice lady. Of course, that quickly focused on someone more important. Momma.
“M-m-mommaaaaa....” Lifting a sticky hand, she rubbed at her stining eyes and properly sreaming despite the pain in her chest.
Momma was not far away. Satin and Sequin had both chittered worrily, bombarding the woman with images of fire. Fire! They had seen fire! Well, not they specifically. But others had! No no no! Fire was bad! Their panic translated to Lyr some as she quickly dropped what she was doing to run. Run to he Dining hall and see what she could see. What if Kida was there? What is? Her heart pounded in her chest as she thought about it.
The usually kind, polite Lyr was practically grabbing and shoving people out of the way as she searched through the halls.
“Kida? Kidanyr??” Her yells were lost amid some of the chaos. The boom from the Flmethrower made her heart almost stop in panic. By the first egg. Her hand clasped over her mouth for a moment as she tried to calm down. Kidanyr wasn't in there. She couldn't be. Lyr had to.. she had to check the Creche. Yes. That was the logical place to start. Go see if she was with the workers.
She was shoved! Shoved! Who the shell shoved others when people were panicing? So rude! Teaque fumed a bit as she pushed her own way through the crowds. Godrith sat outside prancing eagerly waiting for her. She had thankfully been out of harms way, but that didn't mean she was in her weyr. No. Teaque had been gossiping again.
Mine hurry! Others are being more helpfulll! Godrith stamped a bit outside. She wanted to help! Yes yes! She was certainly the most helpful dragon in the whole weyr! Humans kept rushing by, but none of them were her human, how frustrating. But there was hope! With her superior draconic vision she spotted her shortyshortshort rider! Aha she found her! She was the best at finding.
I see you mine. Now! Let us go!
Teaque grimaced a bit, shifting the bucket she had under her arm. Sure, it was the bucket she used to bathe Godrith, but it should help. How was she supposed to get on with Godrith moving like she had a pillie in her pants?
If you stop moving, this will be easier. Her tone was a bit flat. This was not a time for fun. People could be seriously hurt, or worse! She tried to get Godrith to understand this as she climbed on, but the pink practically vibrated with exuberance. She got to help! How could she not be happy?
Come mine! Kalith has called for us to help, we must not be slow! They were late. But just a bit! The pink and her rider quickly took off to join their fellows in getting water.
Both Tasia and E'kiel had joined in with the rest of their class. The redhead looking a bit annoyed. Ercuth pushed her way through her siblings the best she could. Tasia was just trying to keep up with her green.
“Slow down!” she barked angrily. She was certainly not in the mood for Ercuth's attitude. Unfortunately, she had said it aloud, confusing the Blackrider beside her.
E'kiel had never really liked Tasia. She was rather scary, and Ercuth made Aldebarath more nervous than usual. The smallish black was trembling already. Placing one hand on the black's shoulder, E'kiel smiled.
Don't worry, everything will be ok Aldebarath, you will see. The back didn't really believe His, and his eyes showed it. There was a bit of white whirling in them as well.
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Post by aikastarr on Jul 30, 2011 12:13:34 GMT -5
What a beautiful day it was! Krythanine was happy to be alive today, what with the exceptional weather and the harmony practically buzzing in her ears. Emith was content to bask in the sun while Hers went to grab a quick mid-afternoon snack. She sure hoped that the kitchen staff wouldn’t mind the intrusion, but whe wouldn’t be staying for long! Just long enough to grab a couple of meatrolls and relax wasn’t too long, was it? No, not really. Maybe she’d say hi to Z’is if he was around…
The grayrider was met with happy faces, not-so-happy faces, and a few faces that betrayed nothing. A smile was plastered on her face as she flitted over to find herself some food. Everything seemed normal, nothing to complain about; it looked like a couple of candidates were baking, a few others were taking care of their chores, and an assortment of cooks bustled about with their daily duties. She nabbed three meatrolls from where they lay, hot and ready, and settled herself down near the entrance of the Dining Hall.
She was about halfway through her second meatroll with Drahaus and Whiting nibbling on the third when a cook yelled fire. Confused, Krys turned her head to see the blaze quickly spread throughout the kitchens. Kalith’s booming voice echoed in her mind, making her physically cringe from its volume. People were in a panic, trying to make their way out of the Hall, and her? Sitting dumbstruck as the writhing mass of reds and oranges crawled its way out of the kitchen, across tables, and… Oh shards, a FLAMETHROWER?! She ducked under her table just in time to escape the wrath of the exploding piece of equipment, her screams lost.
The fire wasn’t nearly done with the Dining Hall, and by now even Emith was in a panic. But there was no time for panicking! People neaded to be saved! Of course, even with that mindset, Krys was still frozen in place, switching between coughing fiercely and hyperventilating. It wasn’t until the table she was huddling under started to smoke and splinter above her that she finally moved from her frozen position. The young woman looked about wildly for somebody, anybody that wasn’t burning. ”Z’is?” she tried, but receiving no response (not that it would have been easy to hear through the roar of the fire), she went into a serious panic attack. ”ZEIS! Where ARE you?! ZEIS? LIO! ANYBODY!....” she was shrieking and staggering about like a deranged wherry at this point, and as her wailing faltered, she collapsed to the ground, coughing weakly. ”Just somebody help me..” were her last whimpering words before her vision faded to black.
Whiting and Drahaus betweened near Emith, eyes whirling with vibrant hues of oranges and yellows. The gray was flying about in circles, and keened when four dragons slipped away. However, her mind wasn’t on the dragons, or the flitters. No, it was on Hers’ mind, and the fact that she wasn’t responding to the small dragon’s pleas. Krysthanine? Mine! Why won’t you WAKE UP? [/color] she demanded of her rider. No response. No, she wasn’t dead. There were faint images coming from her Mine. She was alive, but she wouldn’t be for long if nobody saved her! Blue, go help the people going in; Black, go get Rethalt,[/color] she commanded the two flitters, who were on the job within moments. Emith landed near the lake, unsure of quite what to do. There were bodies everywhere, some charred, many bleeding, virtually all of them moaning in pain. If only there was something she could do... A green called out for help carrying troughs. I’ll help! Mine is stuck inside and unconscious, she will need assistance![/color] she replied, sending out the cry of help to the people dashing into the burning building. Rethalt was awake as soon as the little black bit his ear, images of fire and smoke filling his mind. Tunnelsnake cried out shrilly, and before Resk could protest, Rethalt and the two firelizards were gone. The handler dashed across the bowl, ripping the hem of his shirt and diving into the lake when he reached it. The water was cold enough to jolt him fully awake, and it would keep him at least a little bit safe from the fire. It wasn’t long until the makeshift mask was about his nose and mouth and the young man was inside. The heat was excruciating, but that wasn’t nearly as painful as the thought of losing Riders (particularly his sister) with Threadfall nearly upon them. Tunnelsnake flew ahead of him, screeching so that Hers could hear her. Over here! There was a young drudge under the rubble of one of the many collapsed tables. His muffled cries for help were faint, but still audible to the young Green. Rethalt wasted no time in diving at the burning table, pulling away broken wood and shoving away debris. The pains from the fire burning his flesh didn’t register as more and more of the table was pulled off and away from the boy. It was some time before he was able to finally free the drudge and hoist him up. The poor boy was whimpering, eyes as big as golf balls, as he was carried away from certain death and into fresh air. Rethalt lay him down on one of the many blankets that were set about to keep dirt from causing the victims any more pain than they were in before turning back. His sister was still in there, and the news from Emith only gave him more of a drive to find her.[/center] ((OoC: If you want to use Tunnelsnake and/or Whiting in your posts, I give you permission to; however, I'd prefer it if neither of them died. c: Whiting will be staying in the general Dining Hall area, and Tunnelsnake can go deeper into the tunnels where there's more smoke.))[/size] |
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
azhct[M:-1490]
Totes.
Posts: 1,627
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Post by Azhdarchid on Jul 30, 2011 12:40:45 GMT -5
The sawing of medical shears through bandage fabric was the only reminder that the world had sound. Threads ripped apart with growls of strain, and Q'sis placed the cut portion into his first aid kit. The larger bandage roll was tossed back in the bin, and then the room really was silent. His own breathing, the steady drum of his heart-- that was all filtered out. Q'sis was the only occupant of the storeroom and its associated halls. Unlike the caverns that kept the Weyr's medicine, and the painkiller fellis, a simple bandage store did not require minders. And-- through some wizardry of L'kie's, he suspected --certain healer items had always been allowed to him since he had dug out a secondary occupation in the Weyr's infirmary. The Tanrider rolled up the leathery folder containing his supplies and fit it to the pouch on his belt.
Then, through Unath's uncomprehending mental ear, he heard the Queen of the Weyr. Q'sis got out of his chair, but for once was struck as dumb as his Tan by the contextless command. Resting his hand on the chair's back, he partook of his dragon's vision as she floated by the waterfall. Smoke billowed from the west wall, but the bridge arch blocked their view. Q'sis' well-trimmed nails twitched into the wood of the chair and Unath climbed from the pool. She looked to the black tower beginning to rise from the kitchens, then blinked up at the shadow of Kerath spiraling down to the barrack roof.
Q'sis moved Unath obligingly toward the Weyrlingmaster and left the store room. Bandages would not be as important as the healers' salves, so he would collect those first. The big pots of numbweed and redwort were routinely divided into smaller vessels for various scales of use, and considering the population of the kitchens at this hour--
The Weyr shrieked around him. Dragon voices penetrated the deep tunnels of the healer's stores effortlessly, and Q'sis swore he could pick out Unath's higher note in the group lament. The subqueen, not so much a "little one" now that she was the size of a full-grown Pink, had opened her misted wings and closed her eyes as she screamed in the hellish chorus, drops of precious water rolling off her brown body. But when Q'sis checked on her, she did not seem to know why she had enacted the tribute. She certainly did not know who was involved. From her he could see the second fiery plume out of the dining hall, and ran the rest of the way to the main stores.
These caverns had guardians, but presenting himself with a cart and his considerable supply-hauling capacity earned Q'sis entrance. He loaded the cart with the big numbweed pots that required half a man's arm to reach the bottoms. At one point a caring soul stood on their tiptoes behind him and wrapped a white cloth over his nose and mouth. Q'sis barely noticed the addition to his wardrobe, which was at his colorful norm today since he had not predicted any messy work aside from Unath's morning oiling.
With the supplies stacked high as his chest, and some oil pots and towels thrown atop that, he set the cart off with the smooth velocity afforded by his muscle. The pots rattled at him some like grumbling aunties, but the pull-up boards at the sides of the cart ensured they would not go tumbling without some extraordinary mistakes on his part. Q'sis was about to make one of those: trying to cut through the outer edge of the dining hall to reach the healers' camp setting up just outside it. The route was shorter than trying to maneuver around the outside...save for the steadily lighting trail of tapestries stretched between the infirmary and the dining hall. Q'sis stopped the cart as he identified the spears of firelight darting toward him.
He sprinted to the first unlit tapestry and tried to pull it down, but it was tied to a metal bar fixed against the wall. Just that second of hesitation and the tapestry lit at its corner, so Q'sis migrated to the next. Reluctantly he seized the soft dyed fabric and tore it off, picking the scraps left on the bar away. The next three tapestries were dismantled in the same fashion, and Q'sis threw the pieces on top of his supply cart. Beauty gone, they could now be blankets, towels, and whatever else the healers would need of them. And the infirmary would not catch fire either, which was a nice bonus.
Q'sis backtracked to the nearest exit tunnel and wheeled the cart outside, pushing on to the gathering of healers and bodies. He began unloading the cart as soon as he arrived, noticing L'kie bleeding but working as he laid pots out on the ground and pulled their covers off. Next he spread out the towels and tapestries, dragging a few of the coughing victims onto them. He tried to get a better look at L'kie's face, but the Bluerider bled only from his nose. Q'sis, not exactly a professional reviewer of health, judged it a minor trouble.
The Tanrider had produced a bulk of the needed supplies, and other Weyrfolk were skittering out of the infirmary with the remainder. Healers multiplied in the Bowl, bent over victims like so many scavenging wherries. But not many people had been brought out. Q'sis looked to the boiling black entryways of the kitchen and the dining hall. Many more people were coughed out of the former location, and the explosion had been sited around the latter. He advanced on the dining hall entrance.
Another ear-splitting keen localized itself above him, pitch too high for a dragon. Q'sis started to look up but the noisemaker was plummeting and hit his shoulder, then fell off gracelessly. A firelizard surely, but when his eyes snapped to it he only had a vision of blue hide peeling back from the muscle, a split face coated in some kind of oil or grease-- he realized that prior to its escape Between, the flit had been completely immolated. It bounced once off the ground and disappeared permanently before it struck earth again. Ash-stuffed splotches of copper remained as evidence, painted on Q'sis' shoulder, and puddled on the ground.
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Reky
Alphahandler
rekyct[M:-999]
SO PRO
Posts: 1,554
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Post by Reky on Jul 30, 2011 22:35:42 GMT -5
The evening had been quiet. Just returning from wing practice, the pink's rider found herself lacking the usual appetite and opted to be dropped off in her own weyr. The calm that she savored was not to last, however. In an instant it was swallowed up by the roaring chaos of the Weyr and Kesviry found herself drawing into her bedroom. Her stomach was clenched tight. Kalith's call had been funneled into her mind by Karath, but the pink lost her composure. THE FIRE WILL COME, she shrieked, withering and holing herself up on her couch. The waterfall of anxiety poured into Kesviry's mind. She hated this. She couldn't do anything about it. She had no control over hungry flames and Karath's worry was infectious. What if it spread? If it consumed the Weyr? She felt ill.
The world swam before more than their eyes, though. E'rin's heart was shaking his ribs. What was going on? He didn't understand. He felt overwhelmingly frightened. First, Jarith said they were supposed to get buckets, and then that they were to follow Eriputh, and he couldn't make up his mind. Where was Eriputh even going? He swallowed hard and realized, in the instant of no breath, that he had been breathing so hard before then. MineLove! Mine! Buckets, love, lovebuckets now buckets go go go! Jarith spouted, wings flaring in a frenzy of sparkling sails. Where E'rin found his knees weak in an attempt to make a decision, Jarith was making light of the entire situation, as though it were a game. But E'rin knew it wasn't a game. Still, his wide eyes flick to the pail in the corner. Water sloshed over the rim.
Bucket bucket bucket bucket bucket-- [/i] Sh-shells, Jarith! I'm getting it! And he swallowed hard again, something uncomfortable rising in his throat as he scooped two full-grown pillies and two diminutive copies out and felt them cling to his back. He grabbed the large basin's handle and ran. Jarith was beside him as they came out from their weyrling home, hide flashing in the setting sun. Dragons were everywhere. His two firelizards flew overhead, signalling his presence more subtly than Jarith's glittering self. Come on, E'rin, just get... over there, he told himself. You're... twelve Turns! Shells... shard it! Run! Stupid legs! You can put out the fire. Be useful! Come on, you-- And he tripped. Jarith skidded to a halt, Levi and Lana wheeled and screeched. He lifted his sorry, scraped face to see his empty bucket skittering away and a pair of familiar boots. F'lan. "Daddy!" he choked, trying to push himself up. "I'm... I'm okay!"But there were those who weren't. Samael felt pain. Searing pain. She thanked Faranth that she had gotten her arms up in time; the fleeting notion of the pain having had a chance at radiating from her face made her stomach twist. She smelled the pungent odour of burning flesh and hair. Her ears were ringing from the blast and her lungs were choked with smoke. She only heard the pulse of her own blood through her veins and Naireth's voice. She... she was only the ground. Coughing, she tried to crawl, putting weight on her burnt palms and crying out in pain. SamaelMine! Samael! her dragon screamed in vain. Outside, her claws scrabbled at the rock that set them apart as if it would somehow get her through the tiny hallways. Naireth drew in a deep breath and let out a roar to shake the Weyr. Hers was hurt and she could not help. The sickening feeling of guilt and failure was the tan's worst nightmare. Samael continued to cough, her eyes watering. "Help!" she cried hoarsely, but only once. She felt around, crawling despite the pain, because she knew she had to keep low. She had not been that close to the explosion, but the fire was growing and so was the cloud of smoke. Someone rushed past her in the wrong direction entirely. "Wait, don't--" Samael tried to say, but her throat caught and she hacked violently. The girl was already gone. Osine ignored the pain pulsing in her temple and shoulder and from her weeping firelizard. She acted solely on impulse, the strongheaded girl she was. She was barely hurt, she told herself, unable to the see the damage inflicted by the licking flames and shrapnel. Something wet seeped down the side of her face but she snarled at it. There had to be people worse off than her. She coughed again and again, racking her young bones. "Hello? Is anyone there?" she called out through the haze and heat, scanning the floor for survivors... or casualties. Snakey's injured tail twitched. Something beyond the amputation worried her little green head, started at the shrill firelizards' cry, but Osine had no mind to calm her. Outside, the Jr. Weyrleader tugged down his makeshift mask for a brief word. "Form a line!" he called, projecting his words to reach as many riders across the bowl as he could. "We'll get held up if we all rush the kitchens! Pass the buckets down the line! Hurry!" He replaced his mask for good measure, blue Chicken flaring his wings where he perched on R'len's shoulder. Iron Kaezeth echoed the man's words to the dragons, and a line began to form. Among the helpful were Kesviry, fighting her fear; I'tier, a person of calm among the rushing; R'fus, Brekken, Lin. X'ni watched the people scurry like ants from his weyr high up. Pash and Ardith fled to Kerath, Audren bullied her excited red beast into submission, Hester and Hessk slept on. Cleo, arms laden with baskets of healing supplies, organized the infirmary staff for recovery and treatment of incoming patients and waited for backup from Fort. Another story to tell, she thought to herself. Another thing Dalibor could pull through.[/size][/blockquote] |
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Cathaline
Lady Holder
cathct[M:50]
Posts: 3,279
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Post by Cathaline on Jul 31, 2011 3:04:08 GMT -5
Kalenna watched the Weyrwoman's demonstration intently, though of course she'd been around flamethrowers since she was a young girl. It never hurt to brush up on one's training, and it had been a few turns since she'd actually handled one. As always, Fajra's attention to detail and no-nonsense attitude pleased the wherling; she was still happy to serve under this woman, at this Weyr.
It was strange to be apart from Kalesk, who had grouchily escorted her this far before condescending to be shooed back to their room to finish out her sleep, as she did not habitually rise until some candlemarks later. But it was clear to the young gold that Hers was quite safe in the company of the queenriders, and that it was important to her to be among them, learning from the elder of the two; so she had allowed it. But she woke instantly at the flash of panic that sparked in Kalenna's heart at the cry. A weyrbrat, she knew full well how deadly a fire in the kitchens could be. Yes, the caverns were made of stone, but there was plenty to burn. Towels, stools, clothing. People.
She might have never been a Headwoman, but that instinct still drove her to her feet, and she nearly headed toward the flames before she recalled her duties. Kalesk must be protected, which meant Kalenna must be protected. Though she hated it, she trotted to the exit, pausing only to guide one of the weyrfolk who had frozen along with her, by the elbow. Stay where you are,[/i] she told Kalesk firmly, knowing the gold had woken and let out a roar of dismay in the lower caverns, perhaps waking some of the other wherlings in the process. It is safe, the fire cannot reach so far. Protect the others.[/i]
Kalesk only wanted to protect Kalenna, but she could see the image in her mind of Rukbat, still far too high for her to venture outside. So she loped out into the hallway and positioned herself between the wherlings' quarters and the passage to the dining hall and kitchens, her eyes orange with warning. The wherets and Theirs would only crowd the place, putting themselves in danger, and that was Not Allowed. Only Audren or Ausk would move her.
Kalenna, for her part, once she had felt Kalesk steady, turned to her own tasks. There were plenty of people running to the river for water and buckets, and Fajra had moved off. The healers could see to the injured, so Kalenna moved aside and began directing, with a firm hand and firmer voice, the uninjured out of the way. It was human nature to stand and gawk, but all hands were needed, and the congestion wouldn't help anyone. The explosion shook her, but she was too far away to sustain any damage except a slight ringing in her ears.
---
Delilah was well-positioned, in a way; she was at work in the infirmary, with the fast-growing Agnith just outside, prancing around and doing her exercises so she would be strong. And her strength would be needed, for Kalith's voice filled both their minds at once. As used as Delilah was now to having a dragon in her mind, the senior gold's voice was new, and she momentarily froze where she was restocking.
But an order was an order, soon followed by the call for the Tideturners. However, Delilah was not only a Tideturner - she was a healer. And when the sound of the explosion rocked the Weyr, she knew her skills, meagre as they were, would be needed.
She was a weyrling before a healer, though, and she hardly even had to voice her thought to Agnith before the pink was speaking for her, directly to Kerath. It is Delilah's Agnith! We are healers, may we help here?[/i]
---
Another Tideturner was somewhat slower to respond, though at least once Ni'on and Devath moved, they moved in the direction ordered. They'd been resting down by the lake, and the calls were followed by a swarm of people moving toward them. The tall weyrling scrambled to his feet, and Devath flared her wings, head whipping around to gaze at the smoke pouring out of the entrances to the caverns. Images flashed through her mind, of heroism and daring, but that was not for her or her Ni'on.
They were not far from the weyrling barracks, and they headed that way, Ni'on's usually scattered mind sharpening in the face of a crisis. He might never make a great leader, or even a leader of any sort, but he was ready to do whatever he could to help. Devath crooned comfort to her fellow weyrlings - those who were there. Some were not. Injured, refusing to heed the call? Impossible to tell, at this stage.
"We need to find a way to carry water," Ni'on suggested to anyone who would listen, though this was the most obvious thing in the world right now. "Or, um - "
We cannot fly yet,[/i] Devath told all the dragons present, not because she was any great intellectual, but because she was still fiercely imagining what must be happening inside the great stone walls. And we grow too big now to go in, we will only get in the way. But if we could find something to put the water in, we could do that and give it to them, and it would save time. We would not even have to go very far.[/i]
---
Saia was well away from the fire when it started, down by the feeding pens doing a bit of fence-mending and chattering aimlessly away to Reylia's brother Daymar, who was working with her. Well, sort of working. At least he was trying. For Saia's part, so long as she had the distraction of company, she could go at this all day.
However, the sudden burst of activity brought her up short, and her eyes glinted. Fire. Fire was a beautiful thing, beautiful like a wild, rampaging stallion. No way was she staying away. She barely registered Daymar's squeak of horror before she dropped her tools and went bounding away, against the tide of people. She had to see it, and most importantly she had to help, of course!
In the panic and press, despite her mad red hair, nobody seemed to notice the tiny Candidate - if anyone did, and called to her or reached out for her, she didn't notice. The smoke was already heavy by the time she entered the caverns, pausing to help pass one of the few buckets available along. Already she could sense that something was wrong. There had been kitchen fires on occasion back home; she knew how a bucket chain worked. This one did not have enough buckets.
To her mild irritation, the smoke was too thick for her to see the flames. Thick and deadly. Saia was anything but a stranger to fire; burns were bad, but smoke was worse. Fortunately, the ground wasn't far away when she dropped down, hands pressing to the still-cool stone. Ah, there it was - a flicker of brilliant, deadly light.
Crawling closer, she met someone coming the other way and called out, "It's this way, the exit is this way!" Hard for someone blinded and choking on smoke to know where to go, except away from the flames. Well, Saia could guide them, though even down here, she wished she'd thought to grab a wet cloth to cover mouth and nose. Her eyes watered badly, and she blinked away tears that stung, searching for anyone else she could go to.
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Sakoru
Drudge
THE FEARSOME FIERY BEAST
Posts: 11
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Post by Sakoru on Jul 31, 2011 23:25:57 GMT -5
On a crisp autumn day like this one, it was difficult to be in a properly grouchy mood. X'mor, sprawled on his weyrledge with his shoulders propped against his bonded's foreleg, found it perfectly easy to be content. Nameleth was fast asleep, curled up on Laemirath's back, and the green dragon was half-dozing, gazing out over the Bowl. All three of them were in rest mode, since the greenpair had nowhere to be right at this moment.
I am content, Lae announced, and X'mor smiled, reaching up to scratch a spot on the dragon's shoulder affectionately. "Is that so?" he murmured, shifting slightly. In the next instant, all sense of contentment vanished as the mighty queen's voice boomed into their heads; as one the pair lunged to their feet. X'mor swung himself up onto his dragon, wrapped his thighs tightly around the sleek neck and soundlessly ordered her to go down to the lake. The green, anticipating this, sprang from the ledge, ignoring the shriek of the awakened firelizard, and made her way straight to the lake. She backwinged, dropped to the shore and issued a roar that dwindled into a keen as she picked up the yellow's mournful cry.
Unexpectedly, another voice filtered into her mind, and Laemirath swung her head to catch sight of the dragon who had spoken. It was one of the twins from Callistath's latest hatching... but she had an excellent idea. Another green was apparently already acting on it, and for once Lae did not hesitate to team up with another dragon. She sprang aloft once again, since her rider hadn't yet dismounted, and streaked towards the stables before dropping down right next to the other dragon. We will help gather troughs, she announced, and promptly bounded across the paddock to a spot where a water trough, mostly empty, stood. Two sets of foreclaws wrapped around the rim of the medium-sized container, and then Laemirath kicked off the ground, soaring back towards the lake. X'mor, upon landing, slid from her back and set about looking for more human-sized water containers.
Tasakhori was not an expert singer. She might not have been able to break glass with her voice, but it wasn't exactly beautiful. Still, she cheerily belted out inane little ditties that had been made up, fairly tunelessly, on the spot. The greenrider, multitasking, scrubbed her dragon's hide energetically to whatever tune she happened to be singing at the time. Pandemoniuth didn't mind at all, and she joined in the songs (sort of), roaring at the end of each line. Between the two of them, they were having a great time. Bathtime was the best!
Except that it wasn't. Kalith's bellowing cry paralyzed both Tasa and Pandy for a moment, and they simply stared at each other before both launched into action. Already in the lake, the greenrider tore a strip off the bottom of her shirt, then ducked under the water, and her dragon did the same before both rose, sopping wet, to leap into action. The rider turned to her green, slapped her on the shoulder to get her attention, and stared into the large, rapidly whirling eyes. Pandy, go to our weyr. I'm going to help get people out. Don't worry about me, she admonished, and the green crooned worriedly. But Mine, there's fire! Fire is burning people! I don't want you to burn! I---
Tasa grabbed the bright muzzle in both hands. "Pandy, go. I'll be fine, I promise." She kissed her dragon's nose, and then Pandemoniuth reluctantly took off, spiraling up towards the weyr she shared with Hers. Instantly the redhead was in action; she ducked underwater again (just in case), and then took off for the dining hall, tying the strip from her shirt over her nose and mouth. There -- that would do, for the moment.
It didn't take long to reach the doorway, and the huge, familiar shape located right in front of it. An energetic leap had Tasa at the tanrider's side, and she touched his arm to get his attention in case her voice, pitched high to carry over the din, didn't do the trick. "Q'sis! Help me get people out!" she shouted, and then bounded through the doorway into the dining hall, leaving the weyrling to follow her or not as he would. The place was a wreck. Tasa took a moment to look around, quickly evaluating the damage before she veered off to the left, towards a flaming table and someone she didn't know who was trapped under it. Screaming, beating frantically at the burning wood he couldn't quite push off, the person made a pitiful sight. The greenrider made straight for him, grateful for the water that soaked her hair and clothes. She crouched, wedged one small knee under the corner of the heavy table to lift it up a little and then began to heave mightily at it, trying to heft it off the unfortunate soul trapped beneath. He was still screaming, so at least he was alive. That was more than could be said of some of the people caught in the fire.
While she hadn't really taken over the kitchen operations today, Mizuko was quite contentedly wrapped up in her own little portion of them. She'd claimed a counter all for herself, and was busily engaged in making meatrolls, just the same as many of the other drudges. It was really amazing, how popular those were... either popular or just a staple of Weyrlife. Mizu didn't know which, but Weyrfolk certainly ate a lot of them. That was okay.
Meat is good, Gaspeth offered uncertainly, from outside. Her rider grinned, rapidly finishing off another roll before she responded in a tone full of affection. Meat is wonderful, Gaspeth! Especially when it's in a roll... but I suppose that's not true for you, since you eat it right off the herdbeast. Are you going to go hunting? The green didn't always remember to do that on her own -- she was more interested in other things. Still, on this occasion she listened to Hers, and Mizu could almost hear her croon. I want to eat, the dragon decided affirmatively.
Still smiling to herself, the greenrider wasn't paying attention to much else. A drudge was dutifully taking her trays of meatrolls whenever she completed them, so all she had to do was stand here and make her little creations. It was a simple existence, but it filled Mizu with joy. She was making food for hungry people! This was what she lived for, aside from her dragon!
And then the stove caught fire. Mizuko heard the rush of flames lighting instantly, and she whirled to see what was going on, just as the entire population of the kitchen started shouting 'fire!' Abandoning her task, the baker bounded to a side wall, seized a pot and was about to head outside to fill it when she caught fire. A shriek of alarm escaped her, and the greenrider dropped instantly, forgetting all about the pot in her hand. It didn't take long to roll out the flame, but when she did, she found herself surrounded by more fire. It was everywhere. Her kitchen, practically her home, was alight in every conceivable way. Counters were burning, food was burning, and worst of all, people were burning. The greenrider, forgetting about the pot, headed deeper into the kitchens, looking for hurt people she could maybe bring out with her.
She found one, but not in the way she would have hoped. Another one of the cooks, screaming horribly, rushed past, and the stench of burning hair, cloth and flesh followed her. No wonder, either, because she was on fire -- everything about her was on fire. Mizu nearly choked, but she followed the woman, shouting to get her attention. The drudge wouldn't listen -- she was too hysterical and in too much pain. Confused, she stumbled straight back into the fire. There was no hope for her now; she wouldn't let anyone near and, horrified, Mizuko watched her burn.
MINE! The mental shriek was so loud it nearly dropped her, and the greenrider staggered, heading once more for the exit. I'm okay, Gaspeth! I'm okay! she promised the green desperately, but she wasn't, not really. She hadn't even noticed the smoke before, nor the coughing, but there was certainly a lot of it going on now. Smoke inhalation wasn't good; she knew that. Her throat was raw, seared by the heat, and the greenrider pulled up the front of her shirt, pressed it over her mouth and nose in an effort to keep the noxious fumes out of her airways. Making a beeline for the exit through the heat and smoke, Mizu didn't even notice that her left sleeve was on fire and burning the flesh beneath.
As usual, Xiro'el was up to no good. He was making a strong effort to train Avsiran to play tricks on Sebol; amazingly, the flitter was responding. They were doing quite well, actually -- the blue appeared to understand the basics of hiding and then ambushing people, and Xiro was testing him on those lower caverns folk unfortunate enough to walk by. The firelizard hid in the rocks near a footpath, and when people walked by, he exploded out of his hiding spot in order to startle them. As a rule, it worked; the flitter's owner, concealed behind a boulder, barely kept himself from laughing every time he heard the startled shrieks.
At last, he decided that Avsiran had learned today's lesson and learned it well. He called the flit back to himself, and gave his pet a rewarding scratch under the chin. "Good work!" he praised, and Avsiran puffed himself up proudly. Grinning, the trader rose to his feet and clambered atop the massive stone ledge hiding Tigreath from view. He crouched on the edge, and leaned over, looking down at her with a mischievous smirk. "You ready, Tigs?" The cyan twisted her neck about to look up at him, and crooned excitedly before bounding to her feet. Of course! came the enthusiastic response, and Xiro laughed. Bugling her delight, the dragon bounded around the edge of the stone, and came up behind Hers, spreading her wings eagerly.
Can I fly now, Mine? And make it dangerous? I promise I won't hurt myself! The cyan trilled exuberantly, flapping her outstretched wings once before she actually focused her attention on her rider. He turned to her, and then nudged at her mind with his own, getting her to tuck in her wings slightly, adjust this and that flaw in her form before he actually spoke. "All right. No danger stunts, love -- there'll be plenty of time for that later, when you're stronger." The trader smiled and then stepped out of the way, watching as his bonded gathered herself and leapt from the edge of the ledge. Broad wings swept up, captured the air, and then drove downward. Another wingstroke, and Tigreath was airborne. Brimming with pride, Xiro watched her fly in a slightly clumsy circle, and then his eyes widened as a dragon's roar, both mental and physical, shook the Weyr. Tigreath started in the air, lost her balance, and barely caught herself before she landed totally wrong. She made it to the ground without incident, but she was upset by the sudden commotion in the other dragons. I heard Kalith. And Kerath. Kerath is calling us, the cyan explained, sounding confused.
Buckets. Oh, shards, no! No. Heart pounding in his throat, Xiro turned to his dragon, keeping himself under control for her sake. "Tigs, go to Kerath. Go to him, and does whatever he tells you. I'm sure it'll be really, really dangerous. I need to see what's going on." He waited for a moment to be sure the cyan understood his instructions, then sent her off to the weyrling barracks. As soon as Tigreath was gone, he whirled and, with Avsiran on his shoulder, headed for the lake. People were filling buckets frantically... at least, what buckets they could find. More concerning were the clouds of smoke billowing ominously from the kitchen and dining hall. Xiro took a moment to get a cloth mask from someone passing them to potential rescuers, and then soaked it and himself in lakewater, just in case.
This was about when Sigard popped into existence above his head, shrieking in panic. For a moment, baffled, Xiro simply stared at him, and then he began to comprehend the images flashing into his mind. Green eyes widened, and the trader cast Avsiran from his shoulder, bid both flits to go to his room in the barracks -- now -- and watched them disappear. Sigard's message was all too clear: Sebolaren was inside, and caught in the flames. Or at least, that was his understanding of the situation -- there was fire, and Sebol, and it was hard to make any distinctions beyond that.
Dodging those who might have tried to stop him, Xiro'el raced for the wide-open doors. He bounded through them, ducked around several people, and then burst into the dining hall itself. Guilt replaced his blood with adrenaline, and the weyrling headed, fearless, for the middle of the disaster zone. He caught sight of Damali, but didn't go near her -- she had someone to help her, and there were other people to be rescued. The heat was already scorching his skin, evaporating the water he had so recently doused himself with, but that didn't matter. The trader lunged the two steps to another collapsed table, and heaved it off a trapped person in a bout of superhuman strength born of adrenaline. The person was crying, curling in on herself and trying to cover the blistering burns she had sustained. "Get up, if you can!" Xiro shouted over the flames, but she was too upset to hear him. Too late to be gentle. The cyanrider bent, grabbed the girl under the arms and heaved her to her feet. She could still walk; he grabbed her around one burn-reddened arm and dragged her to the entrance, then shouted at her to find a healer and pushed her through. She obeyed mutely, and Xiro turned to dive back into the flames before he noticed a sight he did not want to see.
Fel. She was hurt, cradled in Dhanuth's forelegs near the healers. She looked to be alive, but all the same, the cyanrider bounded towards her, skidded to a halt in front of the black and nodded hastily to the dragon before crouching and grabbing his sister gently by the shoulder. To hell with their many issues! "Fel!" he spoke rapidly, staring urgently down at the girl. "Stay awake, all right? If there are any healers available, I'll send one over, but just wait. Dhanuth, I know you don't need to be told but please look after her. Fel, I'm going to get more people out. You probably won't see me until a lot later. Hang in there!" He grinned down at her, more brightly than he felt. The only reason he managed it was because she didn't look like she was going to die. Another gentle squeeze on his sister's shoulder, and Xiro was up and moving again, back into the throng of people gathered around the dining hall. He shouted for a healer, but all of them were busy with those more seriously injured than Fel. None could be spared, not yet. Xiro pushed his way through, and then paused.
There! Sebol! He was coming out of the wreckage, carrying some poor broken soul. At least he was safe. That at least was a relief. Xiro'el dove back into the flames, almost instantly found someone passed out on the floor at his feet, and heaved them up. The person was smaller than he was, but unconscious, had become dead weight; it was a fight even to get the fire victim off the ground. Unable to actually lift the body, the cyanweyrling dragged it towards the entrance, then handed it off to some other rider, bigger than he was and more capable of carrying. Still, he didn't return to the flames yet -- he headed instead in the direction he'd seen Sebolaren going, and was rewarded by the sight of his friend crouched over a charred body, probably the same one he'd been carrying before. Xiro headed straight for him.
Wherlings slept in the middle of the day. Khemres was no exception to this rule, and he was quite happily curled up in bed, Zetri cuddled under his chin. Khesk lay sprawled out in the hollow in the floor that served as his bed. All three were quite comfortably comatose, troubled by nothing... at least until the echoes from the commotion outside filtered through the door into their room. The wher woke first, lifting his head and turning it towards the definite sounds of distress that emanated from outside. People frightened. Screaming. Running. Khemres up. Leaders help. We help, the bronze ordered, and rose from his place on the floor, nudging at the albino's wrist.
The wherling woke instantly at his wher's words, and sat up, automatically catching Zetri when the black flit fell off his shoulder into his hand. His pet woke, but for the moment Khemres ignored him. "What's going on, Khesk? Why are people screaming?" he demanded, and then froze, hearing the bloodcurdling cries of a wher that could only be Damask. So Damali was involved somehow, but that was nothing to go on.
Not sure. Need find out, Khesk urged, and padded impatiently to the door. Khemres rose and followed him, pulling on a long-sleeved shirt and his hat before thinking twice and grabbing another shirt. "Come here," he commanded, and the bronze obeyed, lifting his face to his bonded. The albino bent and quickly tied the shirt over his wher's eyes, knowing that it was day and that the sun would blind him. Now he couldn't see, but nor could his eyes be hurt. Both were satisfied with this solution, and they soon left the wherling barracks via the back exit (not even noticing Kalesk), heading down the network of caverns until they reached the kitchen and dining hall.
It was bad. It was very bad. The brilliant light from the fires burned Khemres' eyes, and he pulled the brim of his hat down, narrowing his eyes against the glare. Keep your eyes closed, Khesk. I don't want the light coming through the cloth and hurting you. One hand rested on his wher's neck to guide him, and then both stopped near a tangle of blackened wood and metal. Someone was pinned underneath, probably unconscious. Khesk, picking up the image from his bonded's mind, growled softly and approached the wreckage. His human didn't protest, and in fact moved to the other side. Both applied their shoulders at once, straining, and the mass of burnt materials shifted slightly. Bronzehandler and bronze wher heaved with all their strength, and the stuff tipped, just enough that Khesk could hold it up with his strong shoulders. Khemres caught the injured person under the arms and dragged them out, glad that he couldn't quite see the details of what were no doubt horrific injuries.
I carry. Stronger than Khemres. The wher lowered his forequarters enough that it was possible for Khemres to heave the injured body over his back. It wasn't exactly ideal, but Khesk had no problem standing up straight once more and following His towards the entrance. Still alive. Feel heartbeat.
Good. Let's get help, the albino suggested, and, resting a hand once more on his bonded's neck, he guided them out to the healers and the blankets that had been laid down. Once he had found a spot to put the hurt person, he eased them gently off Khesk's shoulders and laid them on a blanket. He didn't know them, but he leaned down to check for breath and consciousness anyway. There was life here. Khemres raised his head, and, unwilling to leave his hurt charge, searched for a healer, since he knew his voice, even after that brief exposure to smoke, wouldn't get loud enough to summon one.
For a wherhandler, this was prime time to get a midnight snack. This was exactly why Sagaral was in the kitchen at this hour: he wanted something to eat. Nothing more, nothing less. He was, in fact, minding his own business (for once), and had eyes only for the trays of meatrolls displayed for those who happened to get hungry in the middle of the day. Upon reaching them, the wherling reached out to get one for himself...
And was promptly assaulted by the cry of "FIRE!" that rang out from the kitchens. He looked up, startled and baffled, only to find that there was in fact fire springing to life across the room from him. Not good. Definitely not good, and it only got worse when something exploded in the dining hall. The flamethrower that he'd seen the Sr. Weyrwoman showing to the Jr. Weyrwoman and new goldhandler, he didn't doubt. Whatever had blown up, it had taken his hearing with it -- nothing seemed to get through the ringing of his ears except a dull, faint roaring he supposed must be the inferno. That was nice.
Though intent on heading for the door in order to get out (he did not like the burn of smoke in his eyes and throat), Sagaral's plans were almost immediately foiled by someone slamming into him and knocking him down. He didn't even try to pick a fight, mostly because he now had other concerns... such as the fact that a table, laden with pots and pans and on fire, had just collapsed on him. Both legs were trapped; Sagaral managed to yank one free but the other, his right leg (why always the right one?) was trapped under who knew how many pounds of burning wood and hot metal.
He began actively flinging metal containers off himself, heedless of the red patches they left on his hands. Burning to death under a table would be a lot worse than a few little burns. Sagaral! Hurting! Where be? The wher's voice burst into his head unbidden, and for a moment the wherling ceased his efforts to free himself. You're not coming! Stay in the barracks, Sagarsk! I'll be fine! Not at all a certainty, but the last thing he needed was a hysterical blue wher trying to save him and inadvertently catching fire. Hearing him, however, made Sagaral redouble his efforts to escape.
Frightened for His, and forbidden to go help him, Sagarsk slammed open the door of the room he shared with His, and scrambled down the hall to Damask's room, stopping outside it to give a cry of nervous greeting. Damask! Sagarsk be here. Open door? Sagaral missing, hurt somewhere. Damali gone too? Open door? he repeated plaintively, eyes whirling rapidly yellow with a great deal of white. Most whers would not head straight to Damask in hopes of seeing a friend, but then, most whers didn't have a handler who alienated everyone but their gleeful tormentors. Sagarsk pawed at the door, crooning worriedly. If His wouldn't let him find him, he at least didn't want to be completely alone. |
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Post by claire on Aug 1, 2011 14:44:40 GMT -5
Va'an was finishing a late lunch when the first cries of fire! rang out in the kitchens. Out by the lake Drakeith - already too large to accompany His into the kitchens with any ease - stirred uneasily as he caught the momentary flash of surprise and alarm from his rider. Mine?
There's a fire in the kitchens, Va'an replied, and Drakeith was pleased to note that after the initial heartbeat's worth of weakness His had pulled himself together.
DRAGONS. RIDERS TO THE LAKE. BUCKETS. WATER. NOW. Drakeith paused, listening, hearing Kalith's mental order even as Fahra's shouted echo carried to Va'an. In an instant both were moving: Va'an to the doors of the kitchens and the weyrbowl beyond, and Drakieth to meet His there. High above Kalith's roar shook the air
No buckets. Shard it. What do we do?
Mith's says to use troughs from the stables, Mine. A Queen had ordered them to help, and a Sub-Queen had provided the means to do so. Even if Mith was only one of his clutchsiblings - and not very bright, as he privately observed and His had occasionally had to prevent him from stating - she was still a Sub-Queen. An order was an order.
Va'an was less concerned with the chain of command; it was just a sharding good idea. They arrived at the stables just behind Yiserah and Eranikuth, and immediately set about filling and loading troughs. Allele, who had been working in the stables, was frantically fighting to corral the panicked runnerbeast, all of them terrified and ready to stampede at the fire and shouting and sudden influx of dragons. For them to injure someone in their panic would make an already awful situation even worse.
It was at this point that Naddeth landed just outside the stables, near Eraniketh. Mine and I will help too, he told the green as Astrid gave Yiserah a short, acknowledging nod.
Back in the kitchens, Carfen and Talyen were part of a bucket (or rather bowl/basin/trough/whatever else fell to hand) chain, while J'en was helping the injured to safety. It was plain to anyone with eyes to see that as things stood they were out of control. Where in the name of the first egg were the buckets? Swearing under his breath, J'en handed another burn victim off to the healers and ran back into the kitchens, toward another prone figure. The flamethrower failed to register intitially, but as he passed it he skidded to a stop and gave a double take. What the-
And then there was nothing but light.
At first there was no pain; just heat and light and falling, and sound so loud as to be not heard so much as felt deep in the chest. And then came the impact, and pain hit like a tidal wave. Smoke and pain stole the breath from his lungs, and he could only gasp futilely and try to curl around the cold pain in his gut as he lay in a crumpled heap at the base of the wall he had hit.
Outside Nimueth was shrieking, her talons leaving gouges in the earth as she howled out the pain and shock that Hers couldn't. NonononoMineMineMineno! No, the doors were too small, she couldn't get in, she couldn't help Hers! She had to help Hers!
J'en swallowed a cry of pain and spat blood. Every part of him hurt: the smoke seared his eyes and lungs, burns covered exposed flesh, and cracked bones and slipped joints formed a symphony of pain rising to crescendo of- Shaking fingers found the fragment of shrapnel that had speared his right flank. Pain and nausea made the world swim as the blackness reached up to claim him. The last thing he heard were Nimueth's screams echoing in his mind.
Further from the epicentre of the explosion, Talyen was struggling to regain his feet. It was to be a futile effort. In the fall the damp cloth covering his face had snagged on something and come loose. Another lungful of smoke was all it took to have him slumping into unconsciousness on the stone floor.
The basin of water Carfen had been carrying fell to splash uselessly across the floor as he instinctively threw up his arms to shield his face from the explosion. As the moment of shock passed and the screaming started he slowly lowered his arms. He was grateful that he had been wearing his thick and heavy wherhide apron, which had shielded his torso from the worst of it, but still a few pieces had made it through. His arms - bare and unprotected - were already trickling blood.
He hissed in pain between his teeth, wincing as movement exacerbated the injuries. And then the bucket chain was reforming, water being passed along once more. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep going. There were others in worse shape than him, and they needed every pair of hands to fight the fire. He'd suffered through worse; the healers would still be there when the fire was extinguished. With a grim set to his jaw he went back to work.
Coming out of the infirmary with an armful of supplies, Calmera froze as Minanth took up Annith's keening lament for the dead.
{Someone to rescue J'en and Talyen would be wonderful. Note to healers/rescuers: both have severe smoke inhalation and burns, in addition to which J'en has broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder from where he hit the wall, and has been speared through the right flank with a substantial piece of shrapnel. Also if anyone wants to drag Carfen off to the healers that'd be cool too...}
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
azhct[M:-1490]
Totes.
Posts: 1,627
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 1, 2011 23:48:53 GMT -5
When a wet figure grabbed at Q'sis, he certainly took notice, his first reaction being to drag his arm out of reach. Only the accosting Greenrider was even quicker, taking off in the opposite direction of his evasive step and leaving him with no reach to snatch her back. Q'sis' features worked into immediate frustration, though the most violent twitches of his jaw were partially sheltered by his black beard. He resisted his first and most uncharitable thoughts about Tasa's intelligence; there was more at work in her to forge that disastrous impulse than mere stupidity.
And if nothing else, her touch had broken him from a momentary lapse of focus after the dying firelizard's brief visual finale. He looked over his shoulder as orders went up from the Junior Weyrleader, and spotted several of the Weyrling dragons making their way to the stables. That was Mith's doing-- not Mith's. Valha's. He prodded his own Tan into following the other Weyrlings, gathering water in whatever ways their bulky young bodies allowed.
Nearby he heard a scrabbling of stone and draconic screams, the din soon overshadowed by a roar that had him covering his ears. Q'sis looked up and absorbed the culprit: Naireth. Naireth alive, not taking suicidal wing, but throwing herself upon the Weyr rock in useless defense of a rider she could not reach. Q'sis turned and sprinted after his overeager Greenrider summoner. The trader, utterly inexperienced in matters of indoor flames, was immediately surprised by the oily darkness of the tunnel leading up to the dining hall. The smokey air bit at his eyes, and the clean cloth over his mouth and nose did little to stem the flux of dingy atmosphere clinging to each breath.
"TASAKHORI!" he bellowed, still managing his usual volume-- and outrage --on the nearly oxygen-less air. The heat sunk into him from every side, oppressive. He had thought that with all that firelight he could see well enough, but the smoke made a black fog at the level of his head, and one of his first heroic acts was to stride into an overturned dining chair and fall straight to the ground. Another surprise: breathing became much easier down there. Thumbing the blood off his lip, Q'sis rose back to his feet, but bent awkwardly to keep himself closer to the ground. Once he hit the dining hall proper he thought himself able to stand again, as the high ceiling currently claimed most of the smoke.
But he still had trouble seeing, and his head had been taken over by the most terrific pounding ache. Unath asked him something, but her voice was hideously garbled and distant. Q'sis dismissed her with a note of reassurance, then spotted the Greenrider attempting the impossible. He squatted down next to her to see who the victim was, and grimaced to find it was only one of the Weyrfolk. Tasakhori seemed to be maintaining her usual energy levels, so Q'sis swallowed back his current nausea and grabbed the end of the table she had been working on. He shoved the entire thing out of the way in a moment, and dragged the badly wounded man into his arms. "Outside," he snapped at the Greenrider. "Come on." No number of side glances or hopeful looks on his way out identified the other nearby bodies.
And once outside, he laid down the screamer on one of the towels he had delivered earlier. He made no attempt to garner attention on the man's behalf. Staggering a few feet off the victim, he pulled off his mask as he took reflexive deep breaths of the open air. Some of those breaths turned into hacking fits, but eventually his body stilled enough that he could run a hand over his sweating face. His palm came back ashen with soot. He had thought it would be a simple matter of stepping in and retrieving a few survivors at a time. Instead he was spending all these extra minutes outside from just one dip in the fire. Red-rimmed eyes finally turned on Tasakhori, glaring. "R'len says go get in the bucket line. So go on. Don't go back inside, you can't do anything. You're too weak."
Q'sis looked up toward the Junior's formation. "They're doing to the kitchens first. Go on." He re-fastened the white cloth over his mouth and nose, furrowing his brow at the Greenrider. "I will be there in a minute." The Weyrling pivoted, checked on Naireth's struggling once more, then headed back into the dining hall.
This time he ran, taking a single long stride over the chair that had felled him the first time, then stopped to take a long survey of the inferno. It turned up nothing useful. Almost all the tables were lying on their sides. Anyone behind or between them, he just could not see. He thought he heard something over the fire, a plea, but it was only for a moment and then all he could hear was the popping of wood, flesh and late lunches. He thought he might have a better view from the front of the hall, where the Weyrleadership table...had been. Someone's stew bowl was frothing over on one of the few upright tables remaining nearby, but the large main table had burst into shards.
He did see a breathing figure resting against a wall as he approached. He headed towards it, and nearly stepped on a second survivor sprawled across the floor. The ex-trader paused, squatted down, and turned Talyen over. He checked the rank knots on the man's shoulder. Harper. Q'sis stood back up and headed toward the figure planted against the wall. This one was bleeding, broken. Again Q'sis looked to his shoulder. Greenrider. The Weyrling immediately stooped to collect the wiry old man. He used one arm to bear most of the weight, trying to keep his contact with J'en's torso minimal.
Nothing was to be done about aggravating the red burns across the rider's body; getting him outside to the healers was more important. Q'sis bore him there and laid him out on one of the repurposed tapestries, then stepped away to expel another few lungfuls of smoke. Even as he coughed, he waved to the nearest healers, pointing at the casualty in wordless insistence.
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Sakoru
Drudge
THE FEARSOME FIERY BEAST
Posts: 11
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Post by Sakoru on Aug 2, 2011 12:21:55 GMT -5
By the time orders were called out, Tasakhori had already disappeared into the dining hall. She, more than a foot and a half shorter than Q'sis, had far fewer issues with the smoke. It still burned her eyes, making her squint against the sting, but between her dampened mask and diminutive height, the greenrider's troubles were far fewer than they might have been. True, it wasn't easy to breathe... but it was possible, more or less. Once the water in her mask evaporated, life was going to get harder, but Tasa didn't even think about that.
Even over the roar of the inferno, the greenrider caught the sound of her name, but paid no heed to it. Well, at least Q'sis had noticed her! That was good. She knew perfectly well that she wasn't exactly powerful, so when she'd seen the single biggest person she knew standing right there in the doorway... he'd practically been giving her an invitation. Now, there was work to be done! The first obviously living person the greenrider saw through the smoke and flame was the first to receive her attentions -- and, though she herself was having some minor issues heaving the table off of him, this soon proved itself not to be a problem. Within a few short moments of her beginning to pry the table off the injured Weyrperson, her recruited tanrider appeared and did it for her. There, see? Big people were useful, even if they were annoyed with her. Tasakhori could hear the utter irritation in his voice, but where the big man might have cowed other people, he managed only to get Tasa's attention.
Happy to comply, the greenrider trotted at Q'sis' heels, nearly jogging to keep up with his long strides. True, that required her to inhale more smoke, but this was why she was wearing a mask! Unfortunately, it was beginning to dry out already. She'd have to wet it again, for sure. Until then, Tasa followed the tanrider outside. The tiny girl coughed a bit too, but not nearly as much as the weyrling. Unlike him, she paused a moment to reassure the new rescue, who astonishingly quieted though he was obviously in pain. Knowing he wasn't going to burn anymore probably helped, and though soft sounds of distress still came from the man, he wasn't crying out now. Satisfied, Tasa looked around, saw no available healers, and rose again just in time to meet the glaring green eyes of Q'sis. Tilting her head slightly, she listened to his orders, but upon glancing towards the bucket line, she noticed plenty of riders already helping to fling water on the fire.
And to her reasoning, people were more important than everything else that was burning. Yes, the greenrider did stay outside, but she didn't join the bucket brigade. No, Tasakhori, independent soul that she was, took the opportunity to deliver bandages and water to some of the healers where necessary. There were a lot of lower caverns and kitchenfolk helping with that too, though. Honestly, she'd never seen so many people working together. For a brief, shining moment, Tasa was proud to live in a Weyr that could bring such cooperation from its residents.
And, cooperation being the key thing in a disaster, Tasakhori made straight for Q'sis again as soon as he reappeared. This time she stole a bucket from a dazed-looking drudge, one that she'd seen one or two people using to wet their masks. "Sorry!" she called, but really, the woman hadn't been doing anything with the bucket. This water could be made useful! Ignoring the fact that the tanrider probably didn't want her to come back, Tasa bounded over an injured person, skittered around three more, and finally reached the giant. Too bad his height made him unmistakable -- she'd spotted him as soon as he emerged from the dining hall with his injured person.
The healers would take care of the hurt rider. Tasa, not trained in the arts of saving lives, ignored the man and stopped in front of the coughing, gasping Q'sis, holding up the bucket. "Wet your mask," she suggested, having figured out almost immediately that he was lying when he said he'd join the bucket brigade. By way of demonstration, she untied her own mask, dunking it in the water before setting down the bucket and tying the freshly dampened cloth over her mouth and nose. Brown eyes glinting with mischief, she held up the water once more. "Makes it easier to breathe in the smoke." The greenrider had every intention of going back into the smoke herself, and, shoving the bucket into a passing drudge's hands, Tasa offered a cheery wave and bounded back into the dining hall, ready for another adventure. |
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Chek
Weyrlingmaster
chekct[M:-15]
I'm so magical I vomit rainbows
Posts: 1,091
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Post by Chek on Aug 2, 2011 15:43:58 GMT -5
Yiserah slid down off her dragon, catching herself on her riding straps at the last minute so she didn’t break her legs on impact. She dropped the last few feet to the ground as a quartet of dragons landed, one already picking up one of the smaller troughs and taking off again. “Erani! Drag the two big ones loose!” she shouted as she ran and grabbed a few lengths of rope, knotting them expertly as she ran back to were her green was settling the near-empty troughs.
She looped the ends of her rope around the ends of both troughs, each nearly half a dragonlength long, and stepped back as Erani came forward to claim one of the makeshift handles. We will lift them and fly to the lake to fill them, then drop them at the lower caverns. Yiserah was already climbing back up her green’s neck as Erani explained the plan, settling herself as firmly as she could with less than half her riding straps in place.
“Pair up and lift when ready!” The dark-haired woman shouted to the other two riders, having Erani relay the same to the little riderless gray that joined them. Once she was sure her partner was ready, Yiserah pumped her fist into the air in the long acknowledged gesture to lift off.
Damali and Ma’dai had separated at last, having hauled a good dozen people out – Ma’dai had been chased out by the heat and a few burns of his own, but he’d left his goggles and jacket for the wherhandler who was still ignoring the, to her, painless blistering of her skin.
Damask quieted a touch in her and Damali’s room, leaning on the door as Sagarsk made his tentative query. Think, think, Damask had to think. She could break down the door…? No, the latch was easier, less messy – oh why did her Damali latch the door? Opening her impressive jaws, Damask clamped them down of the latch to the door and ripped the whole device straight out of the door with one violent twist of her jaws. She smashed down her own pain from the stunt, not willing to let her Damali be distracted in such dangerous conditions, and stepped into the hallway beside Sagarsk, blood dribbling onto the floor from were she’d ripped a tooth out.
Silent now, she walked through the tunnels and came up alongside Kalesk, giving the gold space, but taking up a sentinel position beside her fellow queen regardless. Damali get out soon. Danger. If not leave, come make. She felt Damali register and reluctantly accept the wisdom of it. Already, Damali was one of the few left that deep in the firestorm, and nearly all the bodies she was finding now were charred to the bone and very, very still. She’d made the decision to leave them, hating herself for it, but knowing that the time spend removing a body could mean the life of someone still trapped.
Retreating a little, she stumbled over one such person by pure accident – she couldn’t make out who it was in the heavy smoke, but she could tell they had a trapped leg. She probably looked a sight, in too-big goggles and the tattered, smoldering remains of a once-sturdy rider’s jacket as she started heaving the blazing debris off the trapped…man, she decided. Once he was free, she didn’t hesitate, catching his arms and pulling him up, slinging him over her shoulder with some effort and making a break for the clean air of the bowl.
Outside, she finally got a look at her rescue, and couldn’t help a small snort of amusement, Damask, tell Sagarsk I have Sagaral. As she carried him towards the healers, she blinked several times behind the goggles, wondering why she was having trouble seeing on her left side.
Damask turned to Sagarsk, Mine get Sagarsk’s stupid. Take to healer. She was still very much with her handler, and growled unhappily as Damali started thinking about going back in, which was, in Damask’s mind, a very bad idea, especially with impaired vision. She turned to Kalesk, Kalesk’s not let Damask’s in fire. Please. The ‘please’ was tacked on with utmost reluctance and a little snarl – but politeness to her fellow queens was, evidently (aka Damali said it was) important.
Ma’dai looked up from where he was getting his burns slathered with numbweed, letting out a quiet whistle as he spotted the girl he’d given his gear to. The jacket was definitely ruined, hanging in tattered, smoking and smoldering strips from the redhead’s lanky form. Wait. Smoldering? He dropped his hand onto Vigilance’s head, where the canine lay panting at his side, his pet’s wounds already treated.
“Someone should put that girl out. She’s slightly on fire,” he observed loudly.
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Boo
Jr. Weyrwoman
booct[M:-425]
Shirath: THOSE aren't spirit fingers... THESE ARE SPIRIT FINGERS!!!
Posts: 1,917
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Post by Boo on Aug 2, 2011 18:30:53 GMT -5
Fel kept her eyes on Dhanuth, focusing on him. She knew she wasn’t as badly injured as some but she was definitely scared and the pain was making her vision swim. What was more, she was probably going to be one of the last to be tended because her wound was isolated to her leg. A face turned up in her line of sight and she blinked away the tears.
“Xiro…?”
He was here in her time of need, just as he hadn’t been before. Perhaps he truly did care about her. Trying to smile her face merely became pained but the sentiment was there. He had come for her in her time of need, which meant he must have cared for her. She raised a hand and brushed the hand touching her shoulder as she tried to listen to what he was saying. After he had spoken she realised he was going to leave her. She shook her head and tried to grab his hand, stop him from leaving, but she was too tired and her grip slackened.
“No… Please stay here…”
But her voice was a whisper from the smoke and he had already left. Dhanuth creeped forward and lay his head beside her whilst her firelizards popped into existence to watch over Theirs assured by Dhanuth that it was now safe for them.
What if he doesn’t come back…?
Then you have me. For I will always stay with you. You must stay awake Mine.
Dhanuth looked up at the exit of the dining hall and spotted the girl he knew as one of Fel’s friends. Kidanyr. She looked confused and standing at the edge of the fire. He turned his gaze on Moss and sent her an image of the girl. The green flitted over and chirruped in the child’s face trying to lure her out of the flames and towards Dhanuth.
Come here Kidanyr. You will be safe. Do you remember Mine? Fel? I am Dhanuth. I will bespeak your mother if you wish it. Until she arrives, you may stay with me.
He then searched the minds of those in the Weyr.
Lyr. Your daughter is safe. She is at the exit of the Dining Hall.
Yalenia coughed and spluttered. It wasn’t quite the same as working a forge but at least she had built up some resistance to burns. She had just pulled another member of the Kitchen staff from the flames but by now they were too thick to simply run into. She would have to do as the others and douse herself in water before heading in once more. There must have been so many more people to rescue who were currently stuck in the thick of the flames. She rushed to the lake and jumped into the water before running back towards the fire.
Last time she had entered she thought she’d spotted a female under a table so, naturally, she went straight to that spot to see someone she was certain was a Tanrider she dropped to the ground and tried to move some of the objects out of her way earning herself some minor burns. This was a fire, after all.
“Are you all right?” She called hoarsely to the girl.
She kept trying to shift things so she could reach in and grab the female and eventually was able to reach out to her and, hopefully, pull her through the gap she had made in the wood. She could see still others in need of rescue including one of the two grayriders of the Weyr.
“Grab my hand and I can pull you.”
Of course, she wasn’t even sure whether the tanrider could hear her.
Je’kyll had been returning from some study when he spotted something that made his blood run cold. Dragons in the stables!? WHAT WAS THIS!? He gritted his teeth and shouted at Hydeth to land then jumped off her back, stumbling as he landed, to rush into the stables. Spotting Requias he raced towards her and calmed her as she stamped her foot anxiously on the floor.
“Sharding… What the shells has happened here!?”
There is a fire Mine.
Je’kyll stopped and looked over at the Dining Hall seeing the flames rising rather high. He turned his gaze back on Requias and then started to try to pull her out of the stables. He would get her away from the flames. Not to mention she could carry some healing supplies if they needed it. Any demands to leave her behind were ignored as he leapt onto her back and charged out of the stables towards the Infirmary.
Hydeth, grab some water and try to help them with it.
He reached the entrance to the infirmary rather quickly and jumped off Requias’ back. Running in, he grabbed as many supplies as he could, ignoring those already there, and tied them onto something of a strap. Running back out to the mare he draped the makeshift saddlebags over her and then jumped on her back again, directing her towards the fire. He was loathe to lead her anywhere near the flames but he spotted some of his fellow healers working with the wounded. It was a tribute to her temperament that Requias only tossed her head and stamped her feet at the sight of the fire.
Tedaon spotted the Runner and rushed over to grab the supplies, thankful for the assistance. They could transport things far quicker and easier in this manner than they would even with a dragon. A Runner could go basically anywhere a Dragon could not. He started working on healing those who needed it while he noticed the Wherling, Kire, stemming bloodflow on those few patients who needed less attention including a Weyrling whose Black dragon sat beside her. He nodded his thanks to Je’kyll who had jumped back on his Runner to grab more supplies.
Shirath understood the need for the water but he definitely did not want to get his hide dirty or burned. It was only the insistence of His that made him work hard to bring the water to those who would douse the fire with it. C’ian, on the other hand, was standing nearby just itching to race in and help those who needed it. The knowledge that if something happened to him then Shirath would pay was all that kept him from running in head first.
Kisk had managed to run past Vesta and skidded to a halt at the entrance to the Dining Hall. The firelizard caught up to him and chirped angrily in his ear as Kisk skidded to a halt before the Red and Gold Whers, a goofy sort of grin on his face.
Kisk am want see fire! BestKire be help others. What Kisk do? Want watch! Help! KISK AM HELPFUL!! He spoke to BossKalesk proudly, puffing his chest out as he did so.
Kisk! You stay there! This is not something to watch. Besides, it’s daytime.
Z’is could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness as he kept crawling towards the fire. He wasn’t sure where his mother was and couldn’t get to his feet to help. Hephaeth joined the keening of others as he called out to Z’is trying to keep him conscious.
{ooc: May add more later!}
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Post by ferret on Aug 3, 2011 0:23:47 GMT -5
“Pffshw!” Orensk sneezed and rubbed his nose against the ground of the wherhandler’s quarters, trying to get the stench of smoke out of his nostrils. It was a delicate tendril, just barely reaching around to the handler’s quarters, but, to the wher’s sensitive nose, it held all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Oreeeeeennnsssk’s, the wher said with a loud and audible whine. Make it stop! Orensk’s must make it stop! Orensk can’t sleep like this!
With a loud huff, the wher dramatically heaved himself on the pillows and blankets that he called his bed. A few soft toys-----including his precious Rrssk----decorated the borders of his bed, but most of it was taken up by his favorite blanket, a much loved and rather raggedy thing that might have been blue once, to match his hide. These days, it was closer to a very pale purple, due to many washings out and wher spit. “Rrrrrrnnnnk!” he howled, as though missing a few hours of sleep was the worst thing ever.
Oren stuffed his pillow over his head. And what? Just because you can’t sleep, no one else can sleep either? he complained. After turns of living with the wher, he was familiar with Orensk’s rather histrionic view towards life: if he was miserable, then he liked to become very democratic about it and spread it to everyone. Sleep certainly wasn’t going to happen now. Oren let out a yelp as a cold wher nose brushed against the soles of his feet. It’s just smoke. Probably some weyrling got overexcited and flamed badly.
Orensk’s must get up! the wher insisted, more urgency in his voice. The smell was becoming much stronger now; he needed to get his out of here before the flames spread. The wher wasn’t hugely concerned with how the fire started. That didn’t matter. What mattered was getting his o… Orensk stood stock still for several moments, a thin whine trailing from his jaws. “Eeeeeeeeeee…” he said, sensing the dragon’s death long before Oren heard the calls of the dragons overhead.
And that was when the orders started. Oren jerked, fully awake now. Another voice in a man’s head could do that, especially since it had been a female voice and all.
Orensk smells smoke, the wher said, resisting the urge to do an ‘I Told You So’ dance for his handler. As his handler struggled to get on some clothes and prepare to leave, Orensk trundled after him, only to balk at the bright sunlight. With a hiss, the wher lurked back into the safety of the shadows.
“Orensk, be a good boy and stay here. I need to do something stupidly heroic,” Oren said, scratching the wher’s ears. The sad news was that he was only half joking, he realized as he left the little room, leaving a sadly whistling Orensk behind. This is insane. You don’t know these people. It’s not like anyone would notice if you decided to just… pretend not to hear the dragons. Course, I would know and… well, that bit meant everything to him. With fear catching in his throat, Oren made his way to the kitchen. It wasn’t difficult to figure out where the fire was. He just had to follow the incoherent screams that made him sound normal.
Wrapping a wet cloth over his mouth, the wherhandler broke into a sweat that had nothing to do with the heat and everything to do with fear as he entered the dining hall. Flames were spreading quickly, but he could see some people; maybe they were still alive, maybe they were dead. Well, that one certainly wasn’t, he realized, eyes falling on a blue weyrling who was trying to struggle closer to the kitchen. With a strangled noise in the back of his throat, Oren moved forward and grabbed the other man’s shoulders and tried to drag him back.
It was then that Oren noticed the blood oozing through his fingers; whoever the weyrling was, he’d gotten hit by some sort… of what? Of metal bits? Shrapnel? But from what? The wherhandler shook his head. It didn’t matter what had happened, only that someone got the deadglow away from the flames before he could hurt himself further. The cloth mask was drying out quickly, though, and Oren could feel his throat starting to tickle.
ooc| The blue weyrling is Z'is.  Permission granted from Boo. |
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Admin
Administrator
brect[M:-2154]
Posts: 3,754
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Post by Admin on Aug 3, 2011 3:20:23 GMT -5
The sharp knife of a short life,
Well, I've had just enough time,
If I die young, bury me in satin,
Lay me down on a bed of roses.
I won't let her up; Aimeth assured L'am with a hiss, disliking that the bronzerider would dare to bother her at a time like this. Sonia groaned in protest, aware that her dragon was speaking to her existence's bane. However, Aimeth assuring L'am was the least of her problems. That hardly bothered her. She simply wanted to help, or at least see what was going on, but her green had pinned her to her bed with her neck. She did strongly dislike that Aimeth was actually conspiring or something like it with L'am. They WERE NOT keeping her doing nothing while the Weyr burned down, days away from her child's birth or not. Unfortunately, no matter how much she mentally pushed at Aimeth, the green was not budging, not this time, not this once. She did not want to fight the fire. She had no sympathy for the dead. She cared only about her rider and her safety, no one else.
It had been a long run for F'lan. He paid no heed to the shouted instructions and dragons that flew overhead. The tightness in his chest loosened when he at long last saw E'rin. With his son safely in his sights, he felt like he could breathe again. He didn't like that the boy was on the ground, paranoia screaming that Faranth, he had to be hurt, but he could accept it. He knew that his son, a young, growing boy, was prone to klutziness. Despite that, he did not feel reassured by E'rin's assurance that he was okay. F'lan hooked the skinny boy under his armpits, hauling him onto his feet and into a hug. Seceth floated over them, watching with vague disinterest. He wasn't really feeling this whole fire thing; he'd rather go play with Enlith. F'lan released E'rin after a moment, going from vaguely cuddly to rough and stern. "Go to W'al. Now. Both of you;" he said, glancing at Jarith.
W'al and Kerath continued with their supervision of the chaotically assembling weyrlings. They both retained an air of calmness and at easement, but it was stressful for them. Half of the fifty-eight weren't there, and W'al didn't have a clue where the others were, whether they were injured or dead or merely being brave fools. Kerath had the blessing of not having to care. As a dragon, he found it exceptionally easy to focus on what was in front of him and only that. Yes, you may; Kerath told Agnith with approval from W'al. If she was amongst the healers, she would be safe. He would have to entertain the others. Little ones, I know you wish to help, but you must wait here. How about we play a game? Riders on the ground. We're going to play a game of Kick the Chair. Ni'on, if you'll fetch a chair. Who is familiar with the rules of this game? Would anyone like to explain?
Bri kept low to the ground, below the smoke. Her knees and hands smarted, but nothing that hurt too bad through the calluses of her rashy skin. There was movement in the smoke around her and above her, but every time she turned her head to look, whoever or whatever was there was gone. Heat pressed against her from smoldering tables. Eventually, the fires would die out. Eventually, water would arrive. Until then, she was going to save anyone that she could find. Or save herself. She ran into the back wall before she found anyone, almost ram her nose straight into it, mistaking it for another mote of ashy smoke. Keeping one hand against the stone, careful to breathe as little as possible, she crawled along it until she reached the entrance to one of the back tunnels. There she found a body. It was man and he wasn't moving, not even breathing.
The young wherhandler grabbed the arms of the man, wincing when she pricked one of her fingers on a piece of shrapnel embodied in his skin. She peered into the tunnel, but found it quite thick with smoke. Laying him over her back, she sidled backwards, still trying to keep low while moving quickly. It was hard to see. It was hard to breathe, but it didn't matter. She had to keep moving. She nearly tripped once. She rammed a smoldering board into her temple on one occasion. It hurt, but she kept moving forward, dragging the body of her fallen comrade with her. At long last, she stumbled out into the afternoon light. She dropped the body and peered at it with her one good eye. The other was swelling, the skin from her cheekbone to her forehead burned. It took her a moment to identify the infamous, unmoving face before her. T'el of iron Sjueth was dead.
NOTES: You can't get to the kitchens from the wher quarters or the wherlings' barrack. They are on opposite sides of the Weyr and divided by the path to the beach and docks. Also, I think there may be at least one occasion of the same individual currently being rescued twice, so just be careful and read thoroughly!
Sink me in the river at dawn,
Send me away with the words of a love song,
The sharp knife of a short life,
Well, I've had, just enough time. |
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Reky
Alphahandler
rekyct[M:-999]
SO PRO
Posts: 1,554
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Post by Reky on Aug 3, 2011 9:28:17 GMT -5
E'rin clung to his father's body. He could feel the sting of a scrape on his elbow and fought with his eyes to keep from tearing up. He was dreadfully worried - about the fire, about his elbow, about whether or not F'lan would be mad or if X'ni was laughing at him somewhere for having tripped again. For the moment where he and F'lan hugged, Jarith's voice was silent in the boys mind. She blinked a few times, rather daftly, ignorant to the four pillies migrating to her flank. After a while, she made a little observation of her own. Love. [/color] Shortly after, E'rin was released from his little piece of comfort and given orders. "A-alright," he said, and his voice cracked. He swallowed as if to down the sharp note, but it hung between them as a reminder that E'rin was growing up, even if he wasn't quite ready. He shuffled over and bent down to pick up the bucket. "I have a bucket," he muttered, holding it out to his father who would recognize it as the gift he gave the boy for his birthday. "You can use it, dad." With that, he took a deep breath to bolster himself and ran off again, his fair of a dragon, four pillies and two firelizards following close. (ooc: Others to be posted later - gotta run.)[/size][/blockquote] |
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Zane
Drudge
zanect[M:0]
They see me rollin', they hatin'.~
Posts: 40
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Post by Zane on Aug 4, 2011 0:37:53 GMT -5
So this was supposed to be like any other day. She’d come down to get some food to bring back up to her weyr. She wasn’t feeling very social these past few days, too muddled in the head. She was starting to get over the lack of presence with her beloved cyanrider. It was easy to do when she was literally never around. Klaisath was even putting his attentions to other dragons. It was good for the both of them. If anything she’d seen an improvement in the black. He was maturing. He liked talking to Rowenth, or even being in his presence. He thought the blue made good sense, or at least that’s what he’d told her a few times now. Tieler agreed, from what she knew of him. But it was his blond rider that held her focus more so. She couldn’t help it, it’s what she did! She entered the dining hall, heaving a sigh. She pulled her boxers up a bit, realizing that they were riding a tad low, even for her. Could this line be moving any slower? She hated the morning rush where everyone just decided to get in her way and get their food first. What a bunch of morons. Did they know who she was!? Come on now!
You’re Tieler, the exploitive one. Do you know how many people have likely seen you half-dressed now? There he went again, trying to tell her what was proper and what wasn’t.
Klaisath! Do you have to-, and she stopped, ducking down when what sounded like a blast went off. ”What in Faranth’s name?” she hollered, looking extremely peeved. And then all she could see was flickering flames. Flames, on flames, on flames; spreading and engulfing things She wasn’t even sure where they’d started from! Her best guess was the kitchens. It didn’t matter now though! They had a huge problem on their hands. Eclipse and Dawn had been flitting about the dining hall, being a nuisance not only to each other, but to other people in the vicinity. ”Eclipse! Dawn!” she hollered. The both of them were frantic at seeing the orangey-red flames, the blue far more than his black companion. Eclipse managed to calm down enough to get to Tieler’s side. ”Out, now!” she screamed at him, sending him images of the Weyr lake. Water was good, water was where it was safe. He creeled at her, not wanting to leave. He had to protect her! ”Eclipse, now! Take Dawn with you! Save Dawn!” Dawn was still creeling at the top of his tiny lungs, not knowing which way to go, and therefore he hovered in place. Eclipse looked to His one last time before going back to the blue, crooning to him soothingly. Then, as commanded, he /betweened,/ the blue quick to follow. Tieler looked after them, looking rather sentimental for a moment before realizing that she had yet to get herself to safety.
Mine, what is happeneing? TielerMine! The black bellowed, plummeting from their weyr. She had to get out of there! Tieler was in danger, and he couldn’t very well get inside himself! Get out of there! NOW!
Why couldn’t she move? It’s not like she was scared, exactly. But everyone screaming, running, people trying to escape, trapped. It was keeping her in place, unable to move to safety, unable to help. She was frozen, and she felt like everything was going in slow motion. What a crazy morning... All she’d wanted was a meatroll.
There was smoke everywhere, and she was trying to play hero, for once. She was focused on everyone else and not herself. She should’ve been listening to her dear Klaisath’s orders to avoid becoming a victim of the fire as well, but she couldn’t, not when someone might actually need her. Klaisath! Make sure Maieouth and Lesa are safe! Talk to Rowenth! Make sure Jaci is away from all of this! Do whatever you have to. Klaisath could tell His was hell bent on dragging at least one person out of the fire, and yet he couldn’t stop trying to deter her.
You don’t know what you’re doing! Play hero another time TielerMine, when you can! When you’re not in danger too! She ignored him, causing him to bellow out again in fear. He was in the weyr bowl now, knowing all he could was follow orders...
Smoke was filling her lungs and she coughed, eyes watering while she wandered about, trying to see past the throngs of people to those that might need saving. She covered her mouth with her sleeve and remembered what she’d been told before as a child, ducking down to where the smoke was less. And then she heard it, cries for help.
”Just somebody help me...” The voice was faint, fading, but Tieler had killer hearing. Closer to where the explosion had hit, to where the fire was raging, she saw a girl, collapsed. She’d been here for enough turns to recognize Krysthanine, a greyrider.
”Hey!” she shouted at her, her voice muffled. Her clothes were becoming black with the ash flying about. She waved frantically with her free arm, but it wasn’t about to do her any good. The girl was unconscious. She stumbled over to her, landing beside her stilled form. She was still breathing, she hoped. She wasn’t about to check, they had to get out of here! The fire had spread like mad, and they were right in the midst of it all. ”I’ve got you,” she whispered reassuringly, wondering if anything she said would reach the other. ”You’re safe! I’ve got you!” She shouted over the roar of the fire, and the shouts of the people around her, still trapped, some dying... Flames were engulfing people and she couldn’t look, she couldn’t look... She had a life in her hands now, which was what was most important. Tieler quickly placed her one arm underneath Krysthanine’s legs, and another under her back. She lifted her up, trying to stay low, though it was difficult. An exit, an exit. They needed an exit!
Startling her, Eclipse burst from /between./ He creeled, and Tieler gritted her teeth, not able to focus on him when she was trying to get her and Krys out of here alive! But wait, no, he hadn’t come to her out of fear. He was showing her the best route out! ”Good Eclipse! Go!” He led the way, trying not to go too fast. His little lungs were far more susceptible to damage from the smoke than Tieler’s or the other humans. Regardless, he was going to bring His out of this alive if it was the last thing he did. Tieler followed, just barely, coughing up a storm. She had black on the side of her face, and she was sure that her hair was filthy by now. She quickly jumped off to the left when the fire came in closer. It seemed like everywhere was blocked! She held on to Krys tightly, not letting her go. Even if Krys made it out of this, even if just Krys did... She tried to think positively! It was all she could do now! She blinked her blue eyes, looking to her black flitt ahead of her as he darted through narrow spaces that the flame’s threatened to close over. She jumped through a gap, panting for air.
”We’ll make it out of this! I promise, okay?” she spoke to the other girl, sounding scared to death. How could she not be? This was all very real, it wasn’t just some dream. And Lesa--Jaci... If she could only ever say one last thing, ever, to either of the girl’s? Tell Jaci she’s beautiful Klai! Why had Jaci come first... odd.
Mine, don’t be ridiculous! Tell her yourself! You’ll get out, I know you will! Don’t leave me! Great, now there was water behind her eyes! It really wasn’t helping her any.
”I won’t leave you,” she said aloud, it meant both for Krys, Klaisath, and likely Eclipse too. The fire was so hot... The smoke was so thick... Where was the shardin’ exit!?
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Chek
Weyrlingmaster
chekct[M:-15]
I'm so magical I vomit rainbows
Posts: 1,091
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Post by Chek on Aug 4, 2011 11:02:25 GMT -5
Valha watched is satisfaction as several dragonriders followed through on her suggestion, lifting the troughs and hauling them towards the lake for filling. She wasn’t needed there, so she, with a guiding hand on Mith’s shoulder, moved a little way back towards the barracks to join the other weyrlings, many of them only the dragon half of the pairs. Spotting Unath, she angled in that direction – better to have the twins together in a situation like this, especially since it seemed as if Q’sis was elsewhere for the moment.
“Unath! Come sit with Mith while you wait for Q’sis?” she called to the darker tan in a soft voice. Letting Mith wander forward to nudge at her sister, Valha turned instead to her flits. Four pairs of glimmering eyes stared up at her, soon to be three as with a sharp command, Skadi popped away to acquire several lengths of fine cloth, dampening them in the lake before she returned.
With sharp mental pictures, Valha outlined her task to the firelizards, forcing even Fenis, who felt he had better things he could be doing, to understand and comply and before too long, the quartet disappeared between, each carrying a few lengths of cloth. They reappeared in the burning dining hall, dropping out of the smoke to scamper along the ground, seeking people who were still alive. Hati quickly found one such person, crawling quickly up to their face and wrapping one of her icy cold cloths over his nose and mouth, just like Hers had instructed.
She felt a jolt of alarm from Valha, watching through the quartet, as the girl realized Hati’s man was Master Harper Talyen. Hati plopped herself down next to his neck in response and began shrieking for attention, the shrill sound cutting through even the roar of the fire.
One person, at least, heard her. F’reki, long since escaped from the healers with a well bandaged arm, had made the journey back to the dining hall to see if there was anyone else needing to get out. He, like many others, had gone for a quick dip in the lake to soak his clothing through, and got a reluctant Girieth to bring him his flight goggles. Now wearing a mask and black with soot, F’reki squinted in the direction of the shrill noise and saw the outline of a body.
Seconds later, he was looping the harper’s arm over his shoulder, dragging him up and towards the exit. Hati went back to her task, looking for more people to put the masks on.
Out in the healer’s camp, L’kie was finally starting to get his hearing back, just in time for one of the other journeymen to snag him, forcing him to sit still long enough for the other healer to take a look at the damage to his nose. “It’s broken for sure, L’kie, and you’ve got quite the shiner coming through,” he was told. He forced himself to relax as the other healer very quickly tried to straighten out as much of the damage as he could.
“Not the first time, probably not the last,” he replied, gasping at the pain that shot through his face. He waved his companion off as he slowly cleaned himself up, spreading a bit of numbweed over the bridge of his nose once he got the blood washed off. He wasn’t quite fit to tending anyone, not with his eyes still watering, so he made the rounds of the all to still forms, identifying what weyrfolk he could and scratching their names into the dirt next to them, then covering them with whatever he could.
It was the best, and only thing anyone could do for them at the moment.
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
azhct[M:-1490]
Totes.
Posts: 1,627
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 4, 2011 16:05:26 GMT -5
Water darkened the dirt around the bucket Tasakhori had left to Q'sis. It dripped off the Tanrider's hands and his soaked mask. He tied the mask back around his face, coughed once behind it, then turned his drab green eyes after the departed wingrider. In the end, she hadn't listened to him. The ashen white of the fabric obscured the snarl of grit teeth he had for the Greenrider, even if she was long gone and would not have seen it anyway. Relaxing his features to a grimace, he looked down into the now unused pail of water. He could see the stretched shadow of himself in it.
"...she's slightly on fire," he heard someone say nearby, and narrowing his eyes the trader scooped the bucket up by its handle, scanning for either the speaker or the subject matter. A split-second's look made him think there was a girl whose hair was aflame, but when he focused on the color he realized it was only Damali. Her jacket was afire though. Of course. Q'sis snorted, walked over and was about to douse her with the entire bucketful when he saw a second female figure wandering around the kitchen exit with an entire sleeve engulfed. Any snappy rebukes he'd had on hand for Damali were dismissed along with half the bucket's water, putting out the fiery bits of the Wherhandler's jacket.
Q'sis sprinted away from her without a word, looming up before Mizuko next and using the rest of the water on her burning limb. Then he seized her unaffected arm and dragged her the rest of the way out of the tunnel. He gave her a shove toward the nearest healer. These women! All they did was run around and catch on fire.
"Stay out of the kitchen!" he snapped at both girls. He had to untie his mask and sop it in the moist film left at the bottom of the bucket; the cloth had already started to dry. The bucket he delivered to one of the drudges before he jogged back into the dining hall.
There were many more search parties at work now. He did not see Tasakhori anywhere. Yet another girl-rider, smoke-addled from the looks of her, was carrying a body in the general direction of the exit, led by a firelizard. "That way," Q'sis said, making his arm into a signpost pointing straight down the exit tunnel till Tieler passed him by. He had tired of all the smoke himself, but his work was not done yet. Still, it did not get any easier with repeat exposures. The eye-stinging, skin-lashing, air-charring heat fired his temper, dulled his vision and turned cries for help into tinny shrieks that could not reach his ears. He could feel his mask steaming against his face. With a sensible reluctance to the motion, he advanced on the center of the explosion site once more.
Unath had initially been sent toward the stables to help lift troughs, but she had only taken a few steps there before Q'sis' control of her had lapsed. She forgot what she was supposed to be doing, and sat down, looking around herself in confusion till Valha called her name. Even that much recognition only earned the other twinrider an over-the-shoulder glance, the dark Tan's eyes peppered yellow and orange. It was when Mith poked at her that Unath turned around and wandered all the way back to the barrack in her sister's company, then sat again and laid her head across the back of Mith's neck. Her nostrils puffed with a slightly explosive sigh, followed by a rumbling whine that never made it out of her chest and died away on its own.
Q'sis did not immediately locate any other dragonriders. Not even Samael. The Master Harper he had seen earlier had vacated his unconscious position, though the Tanrider did not know if he had been dragged off or gone by his own volition. Most of the people left were women. There were many more dead women around here than anyone else. And a few living ones, their aprons burning and bodies curled fetal on the floor. Q'sis ignored one who was breathing rapidly but sans an arm, and another who was black-and-red, even though her chest was rising and falling. He found pieces of metal near them both that he could not place to any sort of cup or utensil, but found he could not pick the debris up: it was scalding hot.
Flexing his burnt fingers, Q'sis approached a couple bodies piled behind an overturned quarter of the Weyrleaders' table. Both women, of course. These ones seemed to be in reasonable condition, aside from being bloody and unconscious. Neither of their shoulders had rank knots, but he could no longer be picky. He addressed Adaline first, who had more blood on her than the second woman. The second was only red around her skull, the color seeping out from the frayed ends of her blonde hair. Adaline was young, the other looked aged, and by her food-spattered apron Q'sis suspected she was a drudge. He hauled her up unceremoniously over his shoulder. Adaline he took in both arms, using one body to stabilize the other as he ascended to his feet.
He turned around, flinching as a firelizard wheeled right past his face. His legs felt heavy and it was a long walk back to the healers. Along the way he kept his eyes open for any rescue prospects that might be more valuable than his current haul.
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Rii
Wingleader
riict[M:420]
RP demon hungers...
Posts: 803
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Post by Rii on Aug 4, 2011 20:07:26 GMT -5
Fire. Fire everywhere, or so that first panicked look told her. Then Reylia's good sense took over, and she strapped on a wetted handkerchief as a mask and got to work. A kitchen drudge screamed, wailing about there being no buckets; the young woman grabbed the hysterical worker and gave her two slaps - not cruelly, but firmly, one on each cheek. "We will use pans, troughs, pots - anything that can hold water! You, go make sure the creche is empty! Check all the corners, those children could be hiding. You, go with her. Go!" She pushed the woman firmly in the right direction, and seized another to direct after her. Drudges generally responded to someone who had a firm voice of command. Reylia had that in spades. She'd mastered it from her parents.
The candidate continued inwards, helping pass whatever empty vessels were available outwards, assessing with quick eyes who was freezing to gawk, and who was being useful. The freezers she moved to, pointing them either to the task of handing the trickle of water-filled vessels inward, or sending the worst away, outside to be part of the chain. Reylia was afraid - yes - but she was the master of her fear, and she set herself to breaking up the bystanders. There was no time to stand and watch! Everyone could be doing something right now, even if it was just sharding getting out of the WAY!
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"DRAGONS. RIDERS TO THE LAKE. BUCKETS. WATER. NOW."[/color][/i]
The mental bellow - not his Prith's voice, that was easy to tell - jolted G'dan from sleep, where he rested in the infirmary, still recovering from the fall that had set Prith crying out to every dragon she knew. He uttered a soft cry of pain at his body's response to the call; the weyrling had half sat up before even being awake, and the cracked and fractured bones of his body - left arm and ribcage - along with the various sutured gashes he had sustained all protested.
It is a fire, mine. In the kitchens.[/color] Prith explained before he could even ask. She was even prepared to defy Kerath, the weyrlingmaster when the order came. G'dan should not be moved.
But the sound of an explosion had them both alarmed, and even curtained off as they were neither was deaf to the cries of mourning, screams of pain, and shouts of alarm and fear. Worse, that smoke was coming in here, to her G'dan. They could smell it first - and then they could see it. We must get out, G'dan. The fire could spread, or the smoke become thicker.[/color]
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Ruin
Wingrider
ruinct[M:-786]
We build the worlds we wouldn't mind living in
Posts: 1,137
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Post by Ruin on Aug 5, 2011 1:09:06 GMT -5
Into the sky you go
You go,
The fingers which had felt for life did not linger on neck and wrist for long; Sebolaren would not deny anyone a chance at life—none would be cheated of a moment if he could give it. So immediately upon finding, or rather not finding, a pulse, his hands began compressions on that wounded chest. Fingers locked he pumped downward with a fervent need to recall life, because he felt such a deep sense of guilt. If only he’d paid more attention; if only he had forced the man out. Perhaps his friends had taught him he was overbearing, and perhaps they had taught him that there wasn’t always a need to play savior, but in this case he had failed—wholly. He should have been more forceful. If he had been this damaged body over which he worked would be safe, and whole, outside. Again and again his clasped hands pushed down, and then a pause to return cool day air to charred lungs. Again and again.
Then a wonder. A shallow wheezing breath followed by the faintest hacking cough. ”Steady,” he breathed word like an oath and helped the boy to clear his lungs. ”Stay down, you’re safe; there’ll be a Healer here soon. Stay down.” I’m sorry the words wanted to come but they could not. There wasn’t time for weakness now, not in the face of the tragedy; not when others still needed saving. Glancing around swiftly he caught Xiro’el moving closer and offered the man a wan smile, and then found himself summarily pushed away from the broken body by one of the incoming Fort Healers. “We’ve got this one lad, git on with yourself!” He nodded in full agreement and then rose to join his blood-brother, taking the man by the arm and pulling him a bit away from the bustling group trying to stabilize those who were injured.
Standing beside Xiro’el, Sebolaren took a moment to skim the ordered chaos that had spilled out onto the Bowl in front of the Dining Hall entranceway. Even some of the Handlers had left the Wherhold to help, and of course Khesk had come out regardless of the burning light. Fel, J’en, damaged but out. Rethalt was heading back in, and Kalenna was already working to push those dawdling away so they didn’t add to the chaos. Je’kyll was using Requias, and even with the destruction Sebol’s heart sang to watch the two together, and he too felt a minor inner monologue on her steadfast constitution. The dragons were down at the stables, at the lake, he could see the Weyrlings gathered by the Barracks—except Delilah and Agnith who were of course here, where they should be: As long as she didn’t get it into her head to dive into the kitchen herself. For once he found himself agreeing with the demanding words Q’sis laid down on Tasa, but his attention had already turned elsewhere.
No Taavi. It didn’t occur to him that it shouldn’t seem strange; with so many Weyrfolk, Dragonriders, Candidates, and Fort Healers, one missing person shouldn’t be difficult to imagine, but the absence of the Baker drove a flag down squarely into his mind. The boy would be working the line, he would never have abandoned people to fend for themselves, so where was he? Dragonwings cast shadows on them from above like clouds that materialized then vanished over and over again as those same-said wingbeats billowed the acrid smoke in plumes away from the gaping chasm and down into the bowl. Eddies in the air alternated to cover the Healer camp in smoke and then clear it, but the smoke went unnoticed outside; not as it would inside. All his observations took less than a breath paired with a heartbeat, and he had already decided the task for which he was most needed—regardless of his safety. He had to find Taavi; they had been together and he would never forgive himself if he’d allowed the boy to fall behind.
He reached out to Khemres as the Wherling passed and gave him a supportive squeeze on the shoulder. ”You two holding up? I need you both to come with me; we’ll work faster with my eyes and your senses.” Another reason he would never fail to become friends with those of the Wherhold; amazingly versatile their beasts were, and he assumed Khesk would appreciate the smoky darkness to the barely-concealed daylight. He gave the pair a feeble smile before his eyes returned to Xiro’el, and there they became firm and seeking. Leave it up to the Trader to go and try to injure himself rescuing people he barely felt a connection with—and that unsettled him in a way; he had designs on fleeing the moment he was graduated: Why was he risking hide and hair and possible death? Something was amiss with this situation in the back of his head, but there wasn’t time to mull over it now—not while people burned.
”I have to go back in, there’ll be more. You have an opportunity to mend the bad blood between you and your kin, you shouldn’t waste that, or risk your dragon, but if you’re going to do it anyway at least wet your shirt.” He gave the man a squeeze on the shoulder and then turned to one of the incoming troughs of water, motioning for Khemres to follow. Without forcing the chain to stop, or allowing his own legs to do so, he managed to thoroughly soak himself in water by dunking into the depths of the trough. ”Should soak yourself as well, Khem,” he called over the din of the chaos and fire as his hands tore yet another part of his shirt away to become a mask for the Bronzewherling. ”Here, tie this off around your face; make sure it covers mouth and nose.” Ensuring both of their masks were properly fastened, he was turning to dive back into that billowing cloud of black smoke when a hand grabbed him at the shoulder. Turning, he found himself looking into the angry grey eyes of X’mor.
Sebol glanced down to find the Greenrider’s flight goggles pressed into his hands and he watched X’mor for one moment longer before beckoning to Khemres he slid the goggles over his eyes and stepped into darkness. The water line was doing its best to quench the hungry flames that had engulfed the kitchen and spread to the Dining Hall; even now there were tables that smoked instead of smoldered, and swathes of the stone floor were slippery with spilled water. The going wasn’t made any easier by his need to hunch below the roiling layer of smoke that clung to the stony corridor; at the very least his slow pace made it easier for the Bronzewherling to follow behind him. As the trio broke into the Dining Hall proper, he scanned the twisted remains of the tables and chairs for anyone left to be rescued; moving forward toward the kitchen to clear a path for those who were already carrying burdens back to the Healers.
It was then that he noticed the discarded crumpled body that could have been overlooked as a scrap of mangled wood. Taavetti. With a sharp exhale that could have been a gasp he scrambled across the space that separated him from the boy; who had been thrown back against the wall near the kitchen entrance and rendered unconscious: Probably from the explosion. If Sebolaren had hesitated but a moment longer this could have been his body, yet he could not find any semblance of happiness in himself for that. He should have been here—at the very least he should have never let go of Taavi’s arm when they’d been leaving the kitchens. He was here now, though; he had come back and found his friend. A quick check assured the ex-Herder that the Baker was still breathing, and his pulse was strong against the burns that laced his wrists. ”Khemres, can you and Khesk carry him out?”
At the affirmative Sebol lifted the crumpled body of his friend from its place against the wall, oh so carefully handing part of him off to Khemres so the two of them could properly center the boy’s limp form over Khesk’s powerful bronze back. ”Thank you, I’ll be out once I’ve made another pass” the words were spoken to both of them, though he knew they would know that having interacted with him—would take a lesser man to recognize the bravery both of them showed in being here, and the part that Khesk played as the power behind the act of saving. As weary, and worn, and burned as he was, and for how painful every drawn breath was becoming in his singed lungs, he was still able to give the faintest grin behind the scraps of cloth that covered his mouth. ”You too,” and with that he disappeared not further into the Dining Hall, but into the kitchen.
And what a mess it was. The fires had burned themselves down once they’d eaten through everything that could be consumed; likely there would be no one alive in here, but for peace of mind Sebol had to check—had to know. Had he really been standing right here such a short time ago? It felt like forever; certainly it was forever in terms of how much had changed since then: Those quiet moments of study were gone; washed away by the pain that would consume the Weyr once the dead were named, numbered, and buried—or sent between. Distinctly he could still make out the metal tray which had housed the meatrolls he and Taavi had been fixing for the ovens; the meat was long turned to black dust, but the pan still remained: Heat had twisted it into something that barely resembled a cooking sheet. Cooling racks still sizzled with a heat that seared at him even at a distance, and he felt the edges of his tunic drying by the moment from the pairing of remaining flames and hot metal.
Slowly he worked his way further into the wreckage; several times he felt the sharp scald against his calves and thighs as he slid across strewn metal that had twisted like rope between the spaces of the countertops. Luckily most of those were stone but he had to be cautious of the utensils that had been laid out upon them; once or twice he had brushed against them only to scald his already wounded flesh. Yes; there were bodies here: Most were burned to blackness so that he could not recognize if they’d been woman or man. Bone shone white against the dark of charred flesh and clothing; sockets devoid of eyes stared back at him with a somberness only death could bring: In the face of this destruction he could only carry on forward doing his best not to tread upon the pieces of the lives that were. He wasn’t even certain what he sought; what could have survived in this wreckage, but still he looked as if he could find an answer in the ruins.
Then, as if called out of the tangle of searing metal and chardust, a body appeared that was not wholly destroyed—and how he wished it were. Small; so small, smaller than any of those who had been pulled from the wreckage yet—probably the smallest that would be found. The child, for it was a child, was covered by the body of another; as Sebol took a knee beside the pair he could tell that the adult had tried to shield and save the one who died beneath them: It had been a brave act, and had cost them all that they were while allowing this child their identity so that they could be properly mourned. The guardian would probably die without a name, and be buried the same, but their sacrifice would be known and told by his lips. Though he searched the remains of that adult form he could find no distinguishing marks, not a scrap of metal survived wrapped around vertebra or wrist as marks of jewelry; no cloth had survived the searing heat to give sense to Craft.
Easy enough to assume the person had been a member of the kitchenfolk, a drudge, or a cook; probably even one of the women who had scolded him—perhaps the one who had chased him out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon so long ago and caused him to meet and befriend the Trader who would become blood-brother. Maybe even the woman who had ensured they had bowls of meat for the firelizards who had hatched on the very hearth near where she found eternal rest. Given no other option than to discard what might have been, he brushed away the bones and dust to reveal the form beneath. Only the outer edges of his—for it was a boy—body had been burned to black: The sacrifice of the woman had protected even a crop of hair on his head. It was his hair he saw first; like the hide of Dalibor’s senior Queen, or the flames themselves, it was a bright splash of colour in the smoldering darkness of black char and cold stone.
He recognized the child for the boy had always seemed as if everywhere, and as if he easily belonged within the Weyr to which he’d been born, but if the child had a name—Sebol did not know it. The body was easy to lift compared to all that he’d moved so far, and he might have gotten away unscathed save that the melted bolts which had held the pan rack to the ceiling finally gave out. Again there was a body between the boy and disaster, but this time one was alive while the other was not, and the ex-Herder had not been expecting heat to rain down from above. The bars of metal were soft like ropes as they lashed across his back and arms; before he could wrench himself out from beneath them they’d already burned away swathes of tunic and seared the flesh beneath; gasping with pain he pulled his burden to his chest and struggled away from the hissing mess of metal as it continued to slide across unyielding stone.
His breath came out like a hiss between his teeth as he forced his way back through the kitchen; where flesh had not been cauterized by his quick movements, or where instead it had been torn from the cloth that had melted to it, he bled, and he could feel the slickening against his flesh heavier than the sweat and water that remained. As the fluids dripped down along those strips of damaged flesh they stung, and that only drove him forward; if he could feel then the damage was not so great, and he had his burden to deliver. Sigard betweened in front of him a chiding mess of anger; how dare his human risk his life so? Sebolaren replied to his fuming with a gentle mental caress: All at once the ex-Herder was forced to consider the emotions of those that were helpless to do their part, and this made him think to none other than G’dan who was still laid up in the infirmary and was probably beside himself with worry.
As his legs carried him out of the kitchen he held the body closer; hunching over to avoid the acrid smoke and setting his back to burning with angry pain, but for Sigard he sent only calming thoughts and an order to make his way to G’dan—the Blue betweened and left his bonded to traverse the ruined Dining Hall alone; or rather in the company of the dead, dying, injured, and those trying to divest the ruined from the wreckage. Luckily for all the damage other parts of him may have suffered, his feet were still as strong as ever; and though he did stumble on occasion, even going once to his knees, it could be attributed to the water-slick floor and oxygen deprivation as his own predilection for clumsiness. Carried down into the slope of the entrance corridor, the smoke began to lighten as he grew nearer to the gaping maw; through the slowly piercing light of day he made out the approaching form of Xiro’el.
Stopping alongside the man he offered up a smile; well at least the actions of one that could be read through his mask. Looking down upon the boy in his arms his gaze returned to the Trader as he gave a soft sigh, but the man’s stricken look caused him to pause. Though his blood-brother quickly washed away that horror with a look of subdued grief, Sebol pressed a question he himself needed answered. ”Aye, a shame, do you recognize him?” The words that came from that silvertongue in response were not expected, and the ex-Herder gave a mute nod before his legs carried him on into the Rukbatlight once more. It was not unexpected how sharply his heart rang with grief; Holders raised their children, and even the smallest Apprenticed boys had been like children under his care. He knew that Weyrfolk did not raise their young, but here that was different: Here where the Weyr was separated by vast unforgiving ocean. This child, he knew, had been loved, and raised by his parents—by his Weyr. He tugged the make-shift mask from his face as he moved closer to the ring of bustling Weyrfolk.
Even amidst the chaos and the pain many heads turned upon the body which he carried as he drew ever closer to the makeshift camp, and he felt the sorrow in those eyes when he did not lay his burden down upon a blanket to be tended, but instead went aside to the ever growing row of those laid out to be named, and numbered. They remained as of yet uncovered, but soon they would be washed, and swathed, and then burned or taken to their final rest between: Here surrounded by his family, the Weyrfolk of Dalibor, Sebolaren laid the body of Osro. The light of day cast across his untouched shock of hair cast waves of burning red into the orange. The ex-Herder’s eyes lifted to where the boy’s mother stood, a defiant anger against the destruction of her Weyr, and for one brief moment he considered breaking the news to his Weyrwoman, but he could not—she was needed now. All could mourn later.
As if summoned by his acceptance of how it should be, Sigard came into existence before him: The images the Blue sent could not be mistaken. Smoke was crawling into the infirmary. Before he could throw himself headlong into action—or as headlong as he could manage with his injuries—a tapestry was laid across his wounded back by hands far gentler than he could have managed. For her care Delilah received a warm smile, but he took his leave with an apologetic wave as he heard the news spreading through the bivouacked Healers: His legs already carrying him toward that secondary opening along the Weyrwall. Pausing only briefly to grab one of the many backboards and then he was moving again; painfully and with a hitch from the wounds that crossed his back: Yet he did not stop until he reached that smoke-filled entrance, even after he traversed the stairs in doubles. ”Gess?” The query hissed from his seared lungs painfully as he pulled his tattered mask around his face and stepped into the room.
And I can't change it
I can't change it. |
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Permission granted from Boo. 