Sakoru
Drudge
THE FEARSOME FIERY BEAST
Posts: 11
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Post by Sakoru on Aug 5, 2011 1:09:24 GMT -5
Once she made it to the exit of the kitchen, Mizu wasn't entirely sure what to do. She still hadn't noticed that she was on fire, and so she lingered there for a few long moments, uncertainly drifting in small random patterns. That is, she drifted until a huge figure loomed up in front of her and threw water on her arm. The greenrider jerked away in alarm, and then, incensed, opened her mouth to protest, only to have her other arm captured in one giant hand. Nearly dragged off her feet, she staggered after the tanrider and then glared when he shoved her. "Hey!" Alas, he wasn't listening, and he only issued an order to stay out of the kitchen and wet his mask before he returned to the flaming dining hall. How rude!
And why had he thrown water on her, anyway? Irritated, the greenrider glanced down at her arm, only to release a muffled cry of shock. Her sleeve, while it had been black already, was partly burned away, and through the holes she could see reddened, blistered skin. Oh! Ow! Now that she'd noticed it, the burn hurt, and it occurred to Mizuko, fleetingly, that half the reason she hadn't noticed she was on fire was probably because it had been so hot in the kitchen that she couldn't tell the difference between the flames around her and the flames on her arm.
Whatever the case, she had been shoved right at a healer, which she supposed was a good thing. Said healer was mostly occupied at the moment, tending to someone who was hurt worse than she, and Mizu stood awkwardly, watching him. Gaspeth's voice, however, shook her out of her dazed reverie. Mine! Mine, you're hurt! Are you burning? Are you okay? Where are the LittleMines? Though the rider couldn't see her, she knew that her green, crying, had taken off and was darting in rapid, panicky circles, wanting to go to Hers.
I'm okay, Gaspy, she promised, and turned away from the healer, heading towards the bucket line. I'm going to help put out the fire. I'm not going back in. She didn't want to go back in -- her throat and eyes burned, and she coughed occasionally. All of this, she assured Gaspeth, was minor, and there was no need to worry especially since she was not heading back into the fire. Her burn could wait. It wasn't like the healers were going anywhere with so many victims. Reassuring her dragon all the while, Mizu joined the bucket brigade.
Already bounding off into the fire, Tasakhori naturally did not see the look on Q'sis' face. Even if she had, her very personality dictated that she wouldn't have been much affected. Any efforts to cow her into obedience were doomed to failure. This was partly because there were people to save: and for all her faults and general silliness, the greenrider was not insensitive. She wanted to help those who were hurt, and she acted on that desire with foolish bravery.
This time, the tiny redhead at least remembered the goggles she had slung around her neck. She paused for a moment in the doorway to the dining hall and put them on properly, then dove back into the fray. All right! Now she was ready to go and rescue people! Ducking low (well, lower than usual considering her height), Tasa wound her way between overturned tables and chairs, getting smartly out of the way whenever someone passed by. It did not take long before the greenrider practically tripped over someone lying on the floor, and she backed up just enough to see who it was. All she could tell was that he was blonde, and that he had some nasty-looking burns to his back - clothes, and presumably also the skin beneath. However, he was definitely alive, and that was Tasa's main concern -- she caught the man under the arms and heaved him up so she could lock her arms around his chest and drag him out. His token efforts to resist were ignored, but the greenrider tried to be gentle, not wanting to hurt him further. Happily, it wasn't far to the exit, and she hauled Wrynri out to a blanket and laid him gently down on it, propping him carefully on his side so that his injured back wasn't touching the ground. Knowing her charge was conscious, if only barely, Tasa touched him on the shoulder. "You'll be safe now. Stay there -- there're healers around; one will come help you."
With that soft reassurance, the redhead was gone again. She returned to the lake, briefly, and threw herself in the water once more before taking off, back to the dining hall. For the third time she bounded back into the flames, properly dampened, and bent double to run mostly beneath the masses of smoke. The noxious stuff was irritating her throat; she kept coughing occasionally, but didn't concern herself with it. There were still people to help. And, now that she had her flight goggles on, the smoke couldn't sting her eyes. That was good, because it enabled her to dodge around a burning table that she otherwise would have failed to see. A brief check revealed no body trapped under it, and Tasa continued on her way.
By now, a fair number of the blast victims had been dragged out. The greenrider passed a couple, however, but they were obviously dead -- charred, black-and-red, unmoving parodies of humanity. She did not touch them, and instead headed further into the dining hall. Still there were flames everywhere, but she hoped there were fewer people. If not... well, she'd just have to haul them out. Aware of this, Tasa scanned her smoky surroundings constantly, searching for any signs of human life. She couldn't hear anything but the roar of the flames, and her clothes were drying out rapidly in the heat. As long as she didn't actually make contact with fire, though, she figured she would be fine.
She'd reached the back end of the dining hall without finding any more probable survivors. There were several dead Weyrfolk, but all were beyond saving. One, though... one man she saw looked like he might possibly still be alive, huddled near a table as if he'd been trying to get away from it. His shirt was on fire, though, and Tasakhori savagely beat it into nonexistence, rolling him on the stone floor to make absolutely sure it was out. The man was ominously unresponsive; not caring, the greenrider pulled the slack limbs about, and then positioned herself and heaved him onto her shoulders. It took a huge amount of effort; her rescue had to weigh at least twice as much as she did. She would have to make this quick -- it was not easy to keep him aloft.
The greenrider set off with as much speed as she could manage, weaving between tables and around chairs. Twice she came dangerously close to tripping, but avoided disaster both times and trekked steadily towards the exit, raising a sooty hand occasionally to rub still more soot off her goggles so she could see. It felt like forever before she felt the oppressive heat being swept away, replaced by the cool autumn air. Tasa sucked in a grateful breath, and then coughed violently when it hit the back of her irritated throat. The last leg of the trip, towards the healers' camp, took aeons; as soon as she reached a vacant blanket the greenrider dropped to her knees and awkwardly unburdened herself. The man on her shoulders had been heavy; she ached with weariness from carrying him.
And ached with more than mere fatigue when she finished laying out the injured man and straightening his limbs. He did not respond to anything she did, and with a sick sense of dread curled heavy in her stomach, Tasa crawled to his head and brushed the jet-black hair from his face. As soon as she did, the redhead froze, eyes wide. "Oh, no." She lowered her head, listened and felt for breathing and found no sign of it. And no pulse, either. Nothing she did brought any kind of response, and when at last she had done all she could to make sure he wasn't still alive, Tasakhori sat back and allowed herself to process the fact that F'del of purple Altith was dead. How sickeningly ironic -- he had been teaching her class to between when Olivia and Enerveth died, so long ago. Now she met him again in death -- twice she had been closely associated with him, and both times there had been tragedy.
The greenrider bowed her head, and then covered the dead rider's face with a nearby towel before rising silently and turning away. Her lungs and throat burned despite the cloth that had been protecting them, and Tasa untied it to inhale the fresh air of the outdoors. Immediately she began to cough, and she hoped vaguely that it would get the smoke out of her lungs, if it could even stay in them. At least it provided a distraction from the haunting sight of the dead weyrlingmaster; the greenrider carried herself away from the body and set herself off to one side of the dining hall entrance, out of the way of rescuers, healers, and confused persons alike. She'd go back in, but first she needed a break. Hopefully if she took a moment or two to recover some of the exhaustion weighing her down would fade away.
Sagarsk, suspecting that the door would be opened in some violent fashion, had the common sense to back up just in case. As it happened, his assumption was correct -- the entire locking mechanism, he could hear, got ripped out of the door. As soon as Damask emerged, the blue crooned worriedly to her. She was hurt, but he was more concerned about his own bonded -- Sagaral was still trapped and, no matter how much of an idiot he was, the wher didn't want his human to die. He followed the red anxiously, eyes whirling rapidly, and stopped a short distance from her, wings twitching in agitation. The presence of the two other whers did little to reassure him, though he remained mostly quiet except for one soft, worried whine.
All of this debris had to come off. It was hot, it hurt, and quite honestly the idea of burning to death under a table was not the way Sagaral wanted to spend the last minutes of his life. He heaved hot pans off of himself, ignoring the resultant burns, and then started battling the table in a bid to get free. It was heavy, and he was not in an advantageous position; the battle was getting more desperate and the bluehandler knew it. He heaved at the mass of wood and metal on top of his leg, unpleasantly aware of the blazing heat and his proximity to the main inferno.
Out of the blue, someone appeared to help him. Not about to question aid in a time like this, Sagaral helped her until everything was off his leg, and then let her pick him up though he loathed the idea. He didn't know yet what sort of shape his limb was in, but to be quite honest he was pretty sure that he wouldn't have gotten far on it. Suffering this indignity was far better than burning to death and so the wherling cooperated, trying not to be too much of a burden on the girl carrying him, inasmuch as that was possible.
He stopped being cooperative when he realized who, exactly, had rescued him. Twitching with irritation, Sagaral all but rolled off Damali's shoulders when she went to put him down, and once he was on the ground he glowered at her. He'd just been saved by the bane of his very existence. How many times had Damask chewed on him for fun? And now he owed his life to her sadistic handler! Great. Just great. The bluewherling's mood did not improve much when someone he didn't know put out the smouldering redhandler's jacket with a bucket of water. Not that he wanted to see her burn to death, but seeing her saved from the possibility of it didn't make him very happy, either.
Well, whatever. Sagaral tried not to concern himself with Damali, instead opting to draw a deep breath and check on his leg. His pant leg had completely burned away to the knee, and above that -- oh, Faranth, he was smouldering too. A beating with the corner of the blanket he was sitting on took care of that. The burn wasn't as bad as he'd feared, but it certainly wasn't pretty, either. Bright red and blistered, his entire lower leg appeared to have suffered under that table -- but he wasn't charred except for the streaks of soot where he had been in contact with the burning wood. It could have been worse. It could have been a lot worse, and in some unacknowledged part of his mind, Sagaral was grateful that Damali had gotten him out before it got to that point.
Perhaps Sebol knew he was coming, or perhaps it was just coincidence, but as soon as Xiro'el reached the man he found himself being dragged away a short distance from the injured people and those tending to them. Having no quarrel with this, the trader took the opportunity to survey the surroundings -- injured people, healers, and most of all the copious amounts of smoke pouring from the entrances of the kitchen and dining hall. None of it looked very promising for the livelihood of the Weyr. There were so many people injured and dead, and they were still being brought out, and even staggering out of their own volition. Seeing them like this and knowing that he had played a part in hurting these people made the cyanweyrling's throat constrict.
His own guilt had no place here, however. There was a job to be done, and he could assist in the doing of it. "I'll be fine! There'll be every opportunity to mend bad blood later," the trader responded flippantly, pausing for only a moment to eye the wherling and bronze wher in front of him. Interesting colouring on that man. With that observation, Xiro bounded after the traveling trough-bearers, dunked himself as Sebol had, and then turned and disappeared into the dining hall, fixing his mask tightly over his face as he went.
The place was dark, so dark -- but that didn't bother the trader, not really. He ducked low, staying as much out of the smoke as he could, and began to hunt through the dining hall, looking for those who could be saved. Burning, overturned tables lay everywhere, but not all, fortunately, had people under them. Glad of that, Xiro continued through the darkened room until he discovered, tangled in a wreckage of chairs, another body. It was a struggle to get the person out -- somehow the chairs had ended up tangled together, burning and interlocked. Sheer perseverance found the furniture coming apart as it should, and then the person -- a simple lower caverns worker, by the looks of it -- was free. Without hesitation the cyanrider seized the unconscious man's body and heaved it over his shoulders, turning and making for the exit. As soon as he was out in the open air, Xiro'el carried the limp body over to the healers, set him down unceremoniously on a blanket and headed back in the direction of the dining hall.
He would have gotten farther than he did, had Sebol not appeared out of the smoke just then. He didn't look all that great -- had something fallen on him, or was he just covered in soot from shoving things out of the way or similar vigorous activities? Xiro'el didn't know and didn't care; he waited for the giant to approach him and then dropped his gaze to the small figure in his blood brother's arms. Horror rippled unbidden through the green eyes, and then it was gone, replaced by a more appropriate generalized grief. The question brought a slight nod of the head from the cyanrider, and he answered quietly -- almost too quietly. Sebolaren passed by, and Xiro returned his attention to his mission: he had to get more people out of the dining hall, if he could. Entering the huge room, the trader swerved nimbly around the tall, body-laden form of Q'sis, and then disappeared back into the smoke, hunting for more bodies. He soon found one: a creche worker, he thought, probably on break when she'd been caught in the fire and trapped under a table. It was on fire, of course -- what in here wasn't? The cyanrider heaved it off, ignoring the burns it seared across his shoulder when he did so, and took a moment to survey the woman who had been trapped beneath. Her burns were serious, but Xiro could see slight movement in her chest and so he picked up the unconscious body, heading for the exit once more.
Khemres had not expected, upon coming back towards the dining hall, to be halted by Sebolaren. Of course he remembered the giant; he had only to note the man's size to know who it was. There was no smile upon the pale face now, but the wherling nodded and tightened his hand on the line of Khesk's dorsal ridges. "We'll help you," he agreed quietly, and then settled to wait while the candidate spoke to the other, smaller man beside him. Khemres was acutely aware for a moment of the smaller man's scrutiny, and then the lithe form was gone from his sight. He didn't try the diving-into-a-moving-trough maneuver, knowing that his inherent clumsiness and half-blindness would throw everything off-kilter, but he did accept the face mask Sebolaren held out to him. Tying it on one-handed was a challenge, but he managed to fasten it at least well enough that it theoretically shouldn't fall off without warning. If it did, well, there was going to be some serious smoke inhalation going on.
The foray into the kitchen was delayed only another moment by some unknown man, and then it proceeded as planned. Khemres followed the bigger man willingly, and with surprising ease considering his poor vision. Like Sebolaren, he had lowered himself in an effort to get below the level of the smoke, but it wasn't as difficult for him as for the dragon candidate. Next to him, Khesk had his nose nearly on the ground so that he could breathe the relatively clean air there. Khemres, for the first time in their partnership, was the navigator, and somehow, maybe out of desperation, he kept them from crashing into anything. Perhaps it helped that he could simply follow in the giant's wake.
As soon as Sebol scrambled to check a dark shape on the floor, Khemres stopped and so did his wher. Both waited, knowing that the big man had found something (even if neither could see what), and when Sebolaren inquired about carrying the injured body out, the bronzewherling nodded. "Of course." It didn't take long at all to carefully center the body where it would be balanced on Khesk's back, and then Khemres looked up with utter seriousness at the candidate's face -- what he could see of it, anyway. "Be careful. Come out safe," he said quietly, and then offered a faint, wry smile that was lost beneath his hat. "Otherwise we'll be coming back to get you." From his wher he could sense that the statement was true, and as soon as their companion was gone, the handler turned back towards the exit, keeping his good hand firmly on his bronze's shoulder to guide him. Come on. Let's get out of here.
It was an ordeal finding their way out of the kitchens, as it happened. The smoke made everything dim, and its fumes made Khemres' eyes water. Still, he had to get out somehow, and he had to get his wher and this unknown man out with him. He tripped, once, landing his bad hand squarely on a piece of red-hot metal. The combined pain of the landing and the heat made the albino gasp, wincing as the hot air seared his lungs further. They had to get out of here. Happily, it didn't take long to do just that, and at last fresh air cooled his heated face. Glad just to be out, the wherling pulled the mask down off his face, drawing in a slow deep breath of fresh air and expelling it along with the smoke he had inhaled. At last he could breathe again, even if his lungs and throat itched and burned. Nose itches. From smoke, Khesk commented peevishly, and snorted before moving off alongside His to find an available space for their precious cargo.
For all that the healers' camp was horribly crowded, it didn't take long at all to find a vacant blanket (tapestry, really) lying on the ground. Khesk halted when his human did, and lowered himself cautiously to the ground, making it relatively easy for Khemres to gently ease the man off his bronze's back. Carefully, ever so carefully he settled him onto the ground. A certain amount of jostling was inevitable, but the bronzewherling at least thought he'd managed to avoid further injury. We'll stay here with him. He's hurt bad, Khemres decided, and settled down next to the unconscious body, getting Khesk to sit at the man's feet where he wasn't in the way. From there, the albino tried to flag down a healer, hoping to get the hurt baker the medical attention he so obviously required.
Having left Laemirath to deal with the ferrying of troughs (since she was entirely capable of remembering her task), X'mor had taken to helping carry the filled containers over to the bucket brigade. It was on one of these ventures that Sebolaren dove into the trough he was helping to carry; assured that the others could keep it aloft without him, the greenrider darted aside, pulled the flight goggles off over his head and shoved them into the giant's hand. Without a word, he met the candidate's gaze and then returned to his task, taking his place once more at the side of the water trough.
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Post by ferret on Aug 5, 2011 2:15:49 GMT -5
Once Z’is was safely dragged back into what was quickly becoming a sort of Healers’ camp, Oren turned his eyes back to the burning kitchen. Others were still being brought out. A bronze wherling and his handler were busy hauling out an unconscious man; Oren watched just long enough to reassure himself that the man’s chest was still going up and down in the easy rhythm of deep sleep. Briefly, he considered calling Orensk… no. He didn’t dare risk his blue wher in this blaze. Besides, the smoke was probably too thick for the poor mining wher.
Nope, better to do this on his own. Oren lingered just long enough to ensure that his poor weyrling was alright before resoaking his mask and putting it over his face once more. Again, the wherhandler returned to the room of flames. Smoke prickled at his throat and pressed against his eyes oppressively. Every single fibre of the miner’s being told him to escape now, to run back out into the open and allll the way back to the wherhandler’s quarters. He had rescued one person. Surely that was enough. But what if everyone else felt that way too? Clearly, that wasn’t enough. Oren coughed violently, his stomach trying to retch after all the smoke exposure. It was just this thick choking thing pressing down on everything around him. It was almost as bad as the heat, which immediately brought him out in a sweat. Worse than both of those were the flames. The few buckets that could be found, the few washbins or pails or whatever people were getting at, it wasn’t doing very much against that firestorm. It was like trying to spit at a thunderstorm, only with a lot more flames, heat, ash, and smoke.
A fine layer of ash was starting to coat everything now. The rescuers’ were leaving clear footprints in the floors. Oren battled his way to the kitchens, squinting against the heat when he smelled the distinctive stench of burning flesh. His stomach rebelled once more; only the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything that day saved him from a rather embarrassing situation. A pile of burned meat sat in one corner, near a pan warped beyond recognition. Something on the stove was boiling dry an… and… was that a hand by the meat?
Oh Faranth… Oren ventured closer, ignoring every instinct screaming at him to run away from this place. The hand was little more than blackened flesh at this point, licked by the flames, but, strangely, the body’s clothes were untouched. There was no other word besides ‘body’ for it. There was no way someone could live with that blackened skin. Well, at least not for very long. Oren made an effort anyway, gently putting his fingers to the body’s neck. Skin slicked off. With a surprised squeal, the miner jumped back and shook furiously. W-well…
That was definitely life deceased, he thought. There was blood on the body’s apron, black and thick. Perhaps the man had been a butcher? It didn’t really matter. Oren turned to leave; there were probably still living people out there to save, but something held him back. He couldn’t just leave someone behind. It would be like leaving someone behind in a mine. Whatever family the man----woman?----had, they deserved a chance to mourn their losses. With a hard swallow, Oren grabbed the body and tried to breathe as little as possible as he dragged it out. It wasn’t easy; things kept… slipping, a fact that he tried very, very hard not to notice.
Eventually, he got the body out into the open. With a fierce shiver, he dropped it off with the rest of the unclaimed corpses and resisted the urge to never, ever stop squealing like a little girl.
ooc| The corpse is K'ziel.
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Gray
Wingrider
grayct[M:-350]
Posts: 870
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Post by Gray on Aug 5, 2011 3:45:25 GMT -5
Teaque shook her head as Godrith prattled on about ideas. Cover me in towels! I will soak them then roll on the fire! I will save eeeeveryone! The pink struck a noble pose, sure her idea would knock not only her rider's socks off, but impress all the Wingleaders and Weyrleaders too! Godrith. Her tone was slightly exasperated as Teaque shook her head some, trying not to laugh. Yes Mine? You are to large to fit into the kitchens. Plus the towels would dry quickly and then set ablaze, burning you. How about we help ferry water along? Go. Find a barrel and fill it with water and place it near the entrance so others can fill buckets easily. There was a slight laugh to her words though. Teaque didn't get upset easily. Patting Godrith roughly on the hip, she joined the bucket line.
Godrith on the other hand went on search for a barrel. Where would there be barrels? She had to stop and think a moment. Perhaps near the Stables? Would they have barrels? Perhaps! Perhaps for feed and refuse! Yes. She would help. Eagerly, Godrith pranced towards the stables, her head held high. She was Godrith! Savior to all! There would be songs written about her and her heroism. Yes. Many many songs.
E'kiel swallowed, a bit nervous. Oh shards and shells why did this happen. He was doing his best to put a brave face on for Aldebarath. Truth be told though? He was terrified. What if C'ian was there? Or Shirath? He didn't even want to think about it. Hands shaking, he reached out and touched Aldebarath's flank as they walked. “Don't worry. Everything will be ok. You'll thee.” Shards. He was so nervous he was having a hard time controlling his lisp. Aldabarath looked to him with a bit of concern. His only spoke with odd words when he was concerned, hurt or happy. Mine, let us join the others. You with see Shirath and His, and they will make you happy again. We will see them. The black knew why his was scared. He lightly butted his head against E'kiel's side, reassuring him.
Kerath, uhh, Mine and I come to join you. [/i] He faltered a bit, nervous at speaking to the older dragon. He didn't want them to worry that the pair were being a bit slow. Everyone would be ok. They had to be. Dalibor needed everyone, of all ranks. Ercuth scoffed a bit as they entered into the Weyrbowl. So many people were running around like headless wherry's. She swayed her tail back and forth, looking at the humans and dragons as they rushed. Why do they fear Fire? She was curious. Fire was useful! It killed thread, cooked food, it kept them warm in the middle of the winter. She didn't understand it. Fire is good, but it's also dangerous. It harms more than it helps sometimes. It burns and kills. Tasia wasn't sure how to explain it to Ercuth. The dragonet had proved to be dense at times, and sometimes so stubborn she refused to listen. Let's show them strength. Our strength! We will save everyone. Ercuth wasn't doing it out of the goodness of her heart. Ercuth never would do anything with out getting something back. No, she wanted to prove they were the best. They were the strongest. She would make her siblings weep at her strength. Letting loose a low growl, she thrashed her tail, eyes whirling with triumph. What? No. No no no! We are not going in there! Tasia stamped her foot, glaring at the green. The thick dragonet would only cause more trouble, Tasia was sure of that. That wouldn't stop the green though. Getting behind her rider, she shoved her to the Dining Hall's entrance. Go. Save someone. Prove you are best. Scowling, Tasia pulled her shirt up to cover her mouth and nose in a make shirt mask. Thankfully the redhead had tied her hair back, making it less of a risk as she darted in to grab someone. Stupid Ercuth. Her and her insistence on proving themselves. Tasia didn't need to prove herself to anyone! … Except maybe Ercuth. The smoke was thick and made her eyes water, clouding her vision some. Who the shell was she supposed to save? That dimglow dragon. She wanted to shake her head but didn't dare too. So she darted around the smoke. She grabbed the first person she came upon. He was small, but still surprisingly heavy. She hefted him up the best she could, though there was some slight struggling. “Hold still!” Her voice was muffled but harsh. She was almost about to drop him when he settled down. Her lungs were starting to burn a bit, despite the makeshift mask, so she hurried the best she could back out to the Weyrbowl. Staggering a bit with her bundle, she made her way to the small camp. Thankfull when Ercuth stepped over to assist her rider in carrying the blond. Placing him on her back a bit, Tasia and Ercuth were careful as they walked over. “This'n's alive.” Was all she said as she laid Ridley down. On the other side was Kida. Lifting a hand, she wiped it across her nose and hiccuped. Why wasn't her mom there? Why why why? She hiccuped again as she cried. People kept passing by, but they weren't the right people! She was about to try and find her mother when a green firelizard started chirping at her. Wiping tears from her eyes she ran towards the Firelizard. Maybe she knew where Satin and Sequin were! Maybe they knew where Momma was. The dragon bespeaking her made her jump in surprise. Why was he talking ot her? It took a few moments for her to understand his words. Her momma? Fel? Oh! It made sense now. Kidanyr knew Fel. Following the firelizard, she approached Fel and Dhanuth slowly. Her sobs were rapid, despite the fact that she was trying to stop crying. She didn't say anything, but sat next to the dark blue. Lyr. Your daughter is safe. She is at the exit of the Dining Hall.Lyr had never been more thankful. She had been about to think the worst when Dhanuth spoke to her. Leaning against the wall, she let out a rough sob. No, she couldn't cry, but she had been holding that in so long it hurt. Her whole body trembled as she thought of Kida. As the thought of what would have happened if she lost her. Her hand pressed hard against her lips, holding in more sobs and horrid thoughts. She had to go. With a final cough, she pushed herself from the wall and started to walk. Arms crossed over her chest, and nails dug into her skin through the thin fabric of her shirt. Lyr looked like she aged from the worry, her eyes were bloodshot and tears were still waiting to be spilled. She was quick to call for Satin and Sequin, not wanting them to get in harms way while looking. Kida had been found and was hopefully not hurt. She tried to smile as she neared Dhanuth, Fel and Kidanyr. “Hello there little one.” Lyr's voice was a bit rough, but Kida lit up. “Thank you, both of you...” She trailed off as Kida hurled herself into Lyr's arms. She spent a few moments cradling her, before looking to Fel. “Fel, dear, are you ok? You look ill.”[/center] OoC: Tasia grabbed Ridley
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RhiaBlack
Wingrider
rhiact[M:45]
Resident Warcraft Addict
Posts: 328
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Post by RhiaBlack on Aug 5, 2011 7:49:42 GMT -5
((OOC - Are there still people who need to be rescued, or did we get everyone?))
Mine. Mine, come, quickly. Quickly, Mine, the kitchen is on fire. There was an explosion. We have to hurry!
N'tharon was deep in the smithy when the explosion shook the place. He had to double-check - was it really an...Sin's voice filtered into his thoughts, and he sighed with a slow nod. His shirt was pulled over his head from the side of the anvil, and he whistled at Acetone, the black flitt darting out of his chosen cubbyhole in the wall to accompany His out to the Black.
The pair wasted little time. Sintharith met His bonded outside the entrance, and slid on board with no use of his straps. They headed straight to the scene of the accident, and once Nel gathered that apparently the buckets were missing, or in use already, he slid off and pushed Sin's shoulder. Acetone betweened to go assist the other Flitts in soaking cloths and replacing those being used by people in the bucket brigade.
The basin outside the smithy. The one we were going to replace because the side was warped - retrieve it, fill it with water from the lake, and bring it here to me. Mine, don't go in there. I don't want something to happen to y- Sintharith, GO.
The Black didn't protest further. His was used to working in the forges. Smoke wouldn't bother him as much as it did the others. He was more accustomed to it. As Sintharith took off to do as he was told, Nel moved to the brigade line and took up a position closer at the forward point, dousing the towel he used to mop the sweat from his forehead and face, and wrapping it across his nose and mouth to stifle a bit more smoke. Setting into the swing of things, he used his upper body strength to both pass buckets and containers of water onward to others, and douse flames closest to him. ******************** Z'dyn was sharing a catnap with Baihujinth when the call radiated into his Iron dragonet's mind. Bai shifted immediately, shoving Zeke with his forepaw to rouse the former Drudge - it took only a connection with His' thoughts, for the groggy Westerner to know what was going on.
Rising, he pulled on his breeches and boots, jerking his shirt over his head and running with his Iron for the kitchens. The hike was a considerable one, but constant outdoor exercise had helped the dragonet be less gangly. While he was still growing into his body, his movements were more fluid, more methodical. Controlled.
When they finally reached the location where the rest of the Weyr was working, Z'dyn made a quick assessment of the goings-on, and though the former Drudge wasn't much to speak of, his mind worked relatively quickly.
Do you think anyone is hurt, Mine? Yeah. Yeah, there's gonna be people hurt. Just gotta fig're out how many. It makes me sad, Mine. Hurts me too, Bai. No time t'linger'n it, though. We gotta go help. We gotta. Tell me what to do, Mine. Water. We need water. Go help 'em haul it back'n forth, you're bigger'n some'a the others, it'll help. Find'a group, help 'em carry't. I'mma go help put this shardin' mess out. Please be careful, Mine. I do not wish to lose you. I ain't goin' anywhere, Bai. Don't you go frettin' on me.
Bai headed off to assist those at the Lake filling containers and carrying them back - meanwhile, Zeke retrieved a cloth for his own nose and mouth, joining the line. A quick assessment of those outside told him that most, if not all those remaining within were probably already long since dead. It was simply damage control at that point in time. With a heavy heart, he did his best to assist in putting out the fire. ****************************** Yva's head snapped up from the stables when the first people started running over. She was midway through emptying another wagon full of straw, and news of the fire had her quickly throwing bales off the back and off to the side. Wider surface equaled more buckets and containers to bring back at once, and she'd done more than her share of driving.
She wasted no time once it was empty, grabbing a broom and sweeping off the stray pieces of straw. Too easy to slip on once the surface got wet, and it would be soon enough. Retrieving a pair of draftrunners from the stables, she quickly tacked them up, rigging them to the wagon itself and taking position at the head of it. Grabbing the reins, she clicked to the pair, and headed down to the Lake to assist - careful when she backed the wagon up to ensure that the wheels didn't sink into the mud too close to the edge of the water.
"C'mon! Load her up, need someone to ride back there and make sure it doesn't fall off the back!"
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Reky
Alphahandler
rekyct[M:-999]
SO PRO
Posts: 1,554
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Post by Reky on Aug 5, 2011 10:03:25 GMT -5
Osine's lungs and nose burned. Her eyes watered. The heat coming at her made her feel as though she were being cooked alive, worse that any summer day she had ever experienced, but her mind wouldn't let her turn back. She was hell-bent on making sure she helped, somehow. On saving someone. She started to feel sick, unsure of whether or not it was from the heat or from how deeply scared she was or how she was worried she was doing this just to make a name for herself and not truly for good reasons. Osine stumbled forward.
She didn't know where she was in relation to the door. Snakey was still shivering against her neck and wailing. Her forehead and shoulder still throbbed with pain. The walls were drawing in and she swooned out of dizziness before she realized it was just a transition into a hallway. Had she left the dining hall? She must have. Or had she been past it for a while? She panted and looked around wildly. She needed to know where she was. How else would she get out? And then she saw something she didn't want to. A hand.
A hand attached to an arm and a body, clothing on fire and nearly gone, and the bubbling face of her roommate. Pen. Snakey screamed at Osine's distress, the girl stumbling backward only to double over and retch. Pen's body swam in her vision. She couldn't believe it. Pen... She had known Pen. Now that she was gone, Osine felt like they had been the best of friends; like a gaping hole was left in her life. She saw the flames lick the dead girl's body. There was no way she would be able to bring Pen's body out for a proper burial. The fire would turn her to dust... Snakey screamed again, and Osine snapped back to full attention.
The feeling of illness struck her hard again and she gave Pen one last look. She couldn't bring herself to say goodbye and ran. She found it increasingly hard to keep up the pace, hot and sweating and dizzy as she was. Eventually, though, she and Snakey made it out, stumbling past the tail of the bucket brigade before being ushered away by one of the assistant healers. They tried to dab her forehead and shoulder clean and it hurt like the Red Star. Osine screamed and shoved the healer away, eyes wild out of loss and anger. When the healer came back at her, she let them clean her wounds. She couldn't even see how bad they were and didn't care.
---
Samael was trying to find the exit, crawling along like she was, coughing her lungs out and wincing each time her injured palms came in contact with the hard floor. She heard a voice and hastily looked up and found herself coughing again.
"I'll be fine," she called back to Yalenia. She was exceedingly grateful for the candidate having arrived. Her head was fuzzy from heat and pain and all she wanted was to get out. She wanted Naireth. She wanted to cling to the great tan beast and hear her heartbeat and have her make a tent of her wings and calm down in the shade. She grabbed at Yalenia's hand and the other woman would have felt the rough and sticky mosaic of burns and gravel and shrapnel. Samael winced.
Getting to her feet, she used her other hand to gingerly raise her shirt about her nose and mouth. She felt her arms throbbing as she moved them. "We need to get out of here," she choked, watery eyes wide and fixed on her savior. Naireth, she called, Naireth, I'm coming, love. I'll be there soon. I'm okay.
You are hurt, SamaelMine. Naireth should have protected you.
Naireth... Naireth, it's alright. I'm alright. Don't worry. But the tan would worry anyways. [/blockquote]
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Post by claire on Aug 5, 2011 14:10:27 GMT -5
Swimming in and out of consciousness, over the roar of the flames and the all-pervading throb of pain, Talyen was dimly aware of brusque hands on burnt skin and someone leaning over him. The instinct was to speak, to move, to so much as open his eyes; with so much smoke in the air, however, consciousness was a fickle thing. He managed a hoarse groan before slipping away again.
A short distance away, J'en wasn't capable of even that much; limp, unresponsive, and to all appearances dead to the world even as he was unceremoniously deposited at the healers' makeshift infirmary. The burnt and shredded remains of his shirt were stiff with blood, dry around the edges from the heat of the blaze even as fresh blood continued to soak wetly into the centre of the stain.
Blood loss had left any unburnt flesh chalk pale, contrasting starkly with smears of soot and ash. Apart from the faint flutter of a pulse at the hollow of his throat the continued bleeding was the only sign of life.
Even in the chaos of the moment, a survivor with injuries so extensive garnered immediate attention from the healers. Calmera cast the little knot of activity a worried glance as she passed. For all those currently requiring the attention of the healers, until now there hadn't actually been a great deal of blood.
Shaking her head, she pulled her attention back to the task at hand. The tray of numbweed salve jars in her hands was in high demand with so many major burns. She delivered a jar to every healer she passed until the tray was empty, only to return to where delivered supplies were being offloaded and begin again.
In the back of her mind she knew that Minanth had ceased her eerie keening; as far as Cal could tell, her bonded was curled up in the Weyrling Barracks, hiding from the world. It was probably for the best. Plenty of dragons were helping, but she knew full well that Minanth had neither the maneuverability nor frankly the attention span to be truly useful. Better that she didn't get in the way.
Those of the dragons who were helping were truly excelling themselves. Astrid and Nadderth were currently working as what had turned out to be an effective relay of dragon bearing troughs, shuttling back and forth between the lake and the blasted doors of the dining hall. Black smoke billowed up into the sky, twisting and curling in eddies under Nadderth's wings as he landed. Astrid quickly detached the ropes holding the full troughs in place.
Mere moments later they were in use, buckets being filled from them and joining the chain. Those manning the end of the bucket line wasted no time in swapping them for empties. In the space of a few moments Nadderth was airborne again, heading back to the lake. A certain Viridianpair were waiting for them with full troughs already roped up to reattach.
Emptied of troughs, the stables were quiet again; Allele moved from stall to stall, calming the still-skittish runners. Seeing the pinkrider - she didn't know his name, but the knots at least she recognised - take his mount had inspired a similar idea in her. Choosing two of the steadier runners, she fitted them with saddlebags and took the reins. The gelding on her left shied a little as they emerged into the chaos of the weyr bowl, but to his credit did not spook. She gave him a congratulatory pat on the nose before tugging on the reins again to lead both animals to the infirmary.
Back in the inferno of the kitchens, Talyen was stirred to a semblance of consciousness again by the shocking sensation of icy coldness and a shrill shrieking in close proximity. This time his attempt at opening his eyes was more successful. The first thing he saw was a roiling wall of smoke scant inches above him. Of course; smoke tended to rise. Being sprawled at floor-level had probably saved his life.
The shrieks continued unabated. Looking down - and oh Faranth how could so small a movement hurt so very much - revealed a green flitt perched on his chest, creeling insistently. Wasn't that the green who had tried to eat Huginn?
A stirring in the smoke heralded the arrival of a larger being. Talyen didn't immediately recognise the other man, but whoever it was, he'd never been happier to see anyone in his life. He closed his eyes tightly as he was hauled to his feet and consequently back into the smoke, his frame racked by tearing coughs. Though he managed to keep his feet under him, ultimately he did not contribute very much to the rescue effort.
All the time the fire-fighting effort was still going strong. Some parts stronger than others of course; for his part Carfen was feeling rather light-headed, and the muscles in his arms had taken to twitching spasmodically. He kept at it for as long as he could, but when a particularly strong spasm nearly caused him to drop the basin he was passing along, he bowed out and made for the healers' camp. The line reformed seamlessly behind him.
Squinting against the sunlight in the bowl, he pulled the damp cloth away from his face and took a deep breath of fresh, clean air. Every part of him was covered in soot; sweat and stray splashes of water had left it streaky and smeared, particles of ash dripping down to irritate his eyes as he lifted the tinted forge-goggles he had been wearing up to sit on his forehead.
His arms were tacky with half-dried blood, flaking off in places where the heat had got to them; a few of the deeper gouges were still bleeding sluggishly. They would start afresh when the shrapnel was pulled out, he knew. He supposed he had been fortunate in avoiding any real injuries. Aside from the shrapnel embedded in his arms, he had got away with only a few burns to his hands and upper chest.
Though his intention had been to ask one of the healers for help, when he arrived at the camp and saw the rows upon rows of severely injured or dying weyrfolk, he couldn't bring himself to distract any of them from their duties. It wasn't as though he'd never patched himself up before.
He retrieved a shallow bowl of water and some bandages and sat himself down in an empty space near the edges of the camp. It was far from the first time, but a grimace still passed over his face at the fresh blood that ran down his arm as he pulled the first shard of shrapnel free.
{I can has healers to fix my boys nao, y/y?}
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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 6, 2011 1:49:08 GMT -5
Shards! This man couldn’t have come at a better time. As Q’sis, guarding himself from the smoke, pointed the way out to her, she nodded to him in thanks. She had the most solemn look on her face, not getting too good of a look at him. Finding out who had aided her and the girl in her arms wasn’t really important right now, getting the unconscious girl out, however, was. Krysthanine had to hold on, she’d be just fine, she had to be. She hated the idea of someone dying in her arms, she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to bear it. It was too much. Eclipse darted through the exit now that he was sure Tieler knew where she was going. There was no chance that he would’ve left His hanging.
Tieler ran on through, breaking out of the danger zone. She made her way out to the healer camp, coughing up a storm. She still gripped Krys as if it was the most important thing in her life to do. Which, really, it was at this point. ”Someone take her!” she called out. She looked around for an available healer, ”Now preferably!” she hollered again. A man came running up, taking the burden from her arms. She bent over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. He gave her a once over, waiting until she stood back up, and seeing that she was fine he rushed off with the unconscious girl. Tieler made a mental note to check on her later.
Dawn came at her suddenly, crashing into her body, clinging to her for dear life. Eclipse was hovering above her, admiring His from afar. Tieler held Dawn tightly against her, and grinned up at Eclipse. He was a hero, and from now on she’d refer to him as one now and again. Not only to boost his ego, but because it was the truth. She pet Dawn carefully, shushing the shaking blue. He had been concerned for her safety, and she could understand because she’d been concerned for her safety too! She released him, prying him from her shirt and tossing him up so he’d take flight. He did, hovering uncannily close to Eclipse. The black shied away, not at all interested in comforting the blue at present.
You’re safe! Good! Mine, I was so worried! Please don’t go back in there! Please don’t. You have no need to, there are enough people helping to get the others out! Go fill water buckets, that would help just as much! Klaisath could feel a sorrow sweep over His, and if he’d been concerned when she was in the fiery dining hall, he was even more concerned now. He didn’t like the thoughts brewing in her mind. Mine? Before she had a chance to answer Eclipse was looking down upon her thoughtfully once again, and then he darted off, back in the direction of the dining hall. He made his way inside, twisting this way and that to avoid taking damage from the flames all around him. When he spotted the tanrider, Samael, being aided by Yalenia, he chirruped at them. They needed help, he was smaller than Tieler, and he would help the people! He could move more freely than His could. He wheeled around and made for the direction of the exit, turning back to see if they got the gist of what he was trying to tell them. “This is the way out!”
Tieler sank to her knees, holding her head in her hands. The voices of the other dragons, their agony, their pain. Its not like she could block them out! How had she not heard them sooner... their sorrow, their fear! She groaned, trying to stand back up, only making it up half-way before she resorted to sitting back down on the ground again. "Stop talking!" she shouted out, it doing her absolutely no good. They wouldn't stop talking, they feared for Their's, just as Klaisath feared for her. "Please stop!" she shouted out uselessly. Klaisath said nothing, not wanting to add to her agony, how could she focus on his voice when there were so many others? But he had to try! He had to...
I am here, Mine. It is okay. I'm here. I'm here...
Klaisath, she thought, panting. Dawn disappeared /between,/ far too afraid. He was in their weyr, having jammed himself under the blankets tossed back on the bed.
~*~
Both weyrling’s had chores that morning, and as such they came down to grab something to eat before going off to do them. The bluerider, and the greenrider, waited in-line. Zane, rider of blue Panith, had decided to leave Volcom resting in her room. The blue flitt had so much energy, and there were days when he expended it all in one go. She preferred that he get caught up on his rest before he burned out (pun.) Tristen, on the other hand, only had Calyth to worry about. The camo-coloured green had still not forgiven her, and Tristen wondered if she ever would. She knew that she’d risked a lot, a whole lot, by doing what she did. She hadn’t been able to help it! Not at the time. The older bluerider had been there for her, and she’d found herself getting caught up in the moment of it all... She looked around, expecting to see Paralee pop up all of a sudden.
Zane heaved a sigh, hating the crowded spaces, and one of those constantly crowded spaces was the dining hall. Once finally close enough to a tray she grabbed a meatroll off of it, putting it onto a plate she’d procured for herself. There was a girl in front of her doing much the same. She had quite an unsettled look on her face though, and Zane couldn’t help wondering what it was that made her look that way... Hopefully she’d done nothing wrong!
I am sure you have done nothing wrong to upset your fellow weyrling, Panith told her comfortingly.
Oh yes! That girl was a part of her weyrling class. How could she have forgotten? Her cheeks were set aflame in embarrassment, and she kept her head down, as if the other girl could read her thoughts. Tristen sighed, and all worry that she’d be discovered left Zane’s mind, worry for the other girl setting in once more. She reached out a hand gingerly to tap her on the shoulder, practically shaking out of fright. Contact was not her strong suit, no matter how quick, or slight.
She didn’t even have a chance to get the attention of the other because a load explosion took them both by surprise. Zane dropped her plate, it breaking on the floor beneath her. Normally she’d be freaking out about the fact she’d just broken a plate, and be rushing off to tell the kitchen-workers that she’d pay for it. Not now though, everyone was screaming, everything was being set aflame!
”Are we under attack?” she shouted out to no one. No one was about to answer her any time soon. Tristen had already set her plate down on one of the trays and was standing still, in shock. She looked all around, watching everyone run about, screaming and rushing for the nearest exit before all of the exits were blocked off. Zane finally did make a move to touch the other, shaking her arm. ”You have to go! G-get out!” she stuttered. Tristen turned and looked at her, only acknowledging her second sentence. She nodded rapidly, her sea green eyes wide like a startled feline’s. She moved away from Zane, following the others to the dining hall exit.
Zane made to follow her, her heart pounding in her chest. It was then that she slipped on a broken piece of her plate, and fell, landing on her elbows, flat out on her stomach. She winced, one eye winked closed as she gazed into the face of the flames spreading before her.
NO! ZaneMine, get up! Do not be clumsy now my dear heart! GET UP! Panic struck the blue, and just like many of the other dragons he left their weyr and perched in the Weyr bowl, whipping out his wings as he bellowed. His Zane was in danger! Someone had to help her!
Tristen looked behind her to see how fast the flames were approaching. The exit was trafficked, people needed to move! It was then that she saw the girl that had shaken her out of her stupor. She was on the floor, not getting up. Had she been winded? Tristen ran back, not even needing a second to think on it. She bent down and hauled the girl up by her arms, as awkward as it was to do. There was no time for the girl to simply take her hand and be hauled up. They had to get out, right now. Looking around the place was starting to clear out, somewhat, but it wasn’t completely empty. Not by a long shot. Tristen let go of Zane once she was standing on her own two feet, and the both of them were wide-eyed, looking around at the chaos about them. People were on fire, others were on the ground looking far less conscious than Zane. These people needed help!
”Name?” Tristen asked quickly, expecting a quick response. It usually took Zane a while to get things, now was no different.
”Zane!” she said after a moment. By then the greenrider was already looking back at her, not having understood why the other was quiet. She chalked her slow responses up to her being scared, because she didn’t really know the girls nature.
”Okay Zane, we have to get out of here. Yesterday,” Tristen announced, trying to sound calm, but it was obvious that she was in a panic.
Tristen, do not tempt the fire! Leave there at once! The weyrling detected clear worry in the voice of her dragon, taken aback and unfocused by the sound of it.
”Lets go!” Tristen shouted, realizing Zane hadn’t moved. She couldn’t blame the girl, this whole sudden occurrence was more than enough of an ongoing shock for a person. She was just glad that the girl wasn’t alone. Or more like she was glad that she wasn’t alone. They both stumbled towards the exit, stepping over debris, coughing as the smoke pounded down on them. It filled their lungs, and Tristen found herself seeking Zane’s arm to keep her steadied and on-track. Zane, already as unbalanced as she was, tried to keep upright as they went along.
It was then that flames reared up before them and both girls jumped back, Zane inhaling sharply while Tristen was screaming at the top of her lungs, a shriek that pierced Zane’s ears. She raised her free arm to cover her one ear with her hand, her shoulders hunched. Tristen ran off in the opposite direction they’d just come from, pulling Zane along with her. The both of them stopped dead, and if Tristen had been screaming before, well, nothing compared to the volume she’d reached at what lie before them. A body of a girl neither one of them were acquainted with, Javyk, lay before them. The body had many singes, and was broken—maimed. The fire had eaten away at them like a crow does to its roadside meal. Their features were hard to make out, their skin melted off. One of their legs was twisted right around, as if they'd broken it somehow trying to escape from deeper in the kitchens. Tristen kept on screaming, one un-ending note. She was firmly attached to Zane’s side, clinging to the girl so fiercely that she was causing her to go numb on the one side. Zane found herself clinging back to Tristen just as tightly, so its not like it mattered one bit. She felt dizzy, from the smoke, from the sight before her, and from worry, and fear. Tristen was breathing so heavily Zane was sure she was going to pass out. She wouldn’t be able to carry the greenrider out of here. She had to get her somewhere else! But where? Tears were streaming down Tristen’s face, and Zane wondered at that not being her. How was she the composed one right now? Maybe in the face of danger she became a different person entirely, she’d read of that happening before.
Either way, there they were, clinging to one another, thoughts rushing through both of their heads. They both needed to get out of there, that much they both knew. Zane found the contact too overwhelming and jumped back from the other, her arm being seized once again! The bluerider took a few steps back from the body and raised her head up, looking around to see who was about. She could barely see beyond the smoke, her eyes were watering heavily, not in the same way as her companions.
They were not injured; they could be helping themselves right now! Zane was thankful that Volcom had still not awoken, she could feel that he was asleep. He could probably sleep through anything, maybe. Unless she... died.
Do not even try to think that way Mine! Get out of there! Find someone who can lead you to the exit! Both you and the girl are unharmed! You must keep it that way! I cannot get to you! Please, listen to me! Zane always listened to her blue. He was like her life coach. She nodded her head, even though Panith couldn’t see. She would make him proud; she’d get both Tristen and her out of there. She had to.
She seemed to find a renewed energy, even though all of the smoke they were inhaling was making it hard to see and it made their bodies weaker. Zane turned back in a different direction, hollering out: ”Someone! We need to find a way out!” Tristen was still crying, and Zane wished she could stop to console her, but now was not the time. She just needed to drag the girl along with her. She was much more of a tomboy, she could tell just by the others body language and dress. She could be tough enough for the both of them! Just then Tristen was wiping at her eyes, and apologizing over and over again. She tried to see past the smoke, helping Zane call out to whoever could lend them aid. ”Help us! We need an exit!” she shouted out, hoping their voices carried past the roaring flames.
Someone help my Zane! She is inside! The blue was having a heart attack himself! His poor, defenceless, Zane could get hurt, or worse!
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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 7, 2011 3:27:40 GMT -5
Z’is was still trying to crawl closer to the fire when he was aware that someone had just grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back. He tried feebly to fight his way out of the hold but it didn’t really achieve anything except making him more tired. Z’ithMine! Thtay with me and lithten to me! Thomeone ith thaving you. Your mother may be thafe… Z’is just tried to focus on what Hephaeth was saying as he was brought outside by his rescuer. He couldn’t speak even though he tried to having inhaled too much smoke from the fire. Hephaeth was standing a little way off watching them anxiously.
Oh thank you for thaving Mine! I am in your debt if there ith anything I can ever do for you, Pleathe let me know! Z’is was not so far gone that he wasn’t a little surprised that Hephaeth was speaking to someone else. The dragon had rarely spoken to anyone but himself. He could only nod his agreement very faintly before he was aware that a healer had started working on him and then slipped into unconsciousness.
Hephaeth keened softly but could still sense His alive and well. Feeling worried, he watched as the healers patched up Z’isHis and kept an eye on the one whom had rescued His. Whatever happened, he would be eternally grateful towards that man. Whatever he asked for Hephaeth would make sure it was done if he had to beg and plead with all the Queens of the Weyr.
Yalenia, on the other hand, pulled Samael through the gap and stood there for a moment. It appeared that the tanrider had some burns on her hands but they were nothing compared to what might have happened if she had stayed in the flames. Now that she was out in the fire again she wasn’t sure of the way out.
“I think it’s this way…”
Fortunately, at that moment, a firelizard popped into existence before her. She coughed and looked at it as he chirruped at them inviting them to follow. Well, he was probably the best option they had so she shrugged, glanced at Samael and then started following the firelizard hoping Samael would do the same.
“Apparently he knows the way! We’ll be out in no time.”
And shortly after, Yalenia walked out of the burning fire and breathed in the clean air.
Dhanuth was so pleased to see that the young girl was safe that he visible deflated, releasing the breath he had been holding. She had trotted over following Moss as the green then took her place with the other firelizards near Fel. The young Wherling whom had been there had stemmed the bloodflow somewhat and then moved off to others just covering up wounds so the healers could move the worst wounded away. At the moment, there was an older healer working on a blueweyrling, trying to patch up his side. He watched as a Runner charged past taking supplies to the healers along the lines and occasionally dismounting to help the odd injured person.
Fel looked at Kida and tried to smile to reassure the little girl that she was all right. Dhanuth shifted his wing to hide Fel’s wound from the toddler not wanting to scare her. As Kida sat beside him he turned to look at her, trying to be as comforting as a dragon could. Moss moved towards the girl and chirped sadly at her, nuzzling her hand.
Turning his gaze, he spotted Fel’s brother speaking with another and froze as he stared at the body in the other man’s hands. No. That could not be possible. He was a hatchling barely out of the shell! This was not at all possible. He released a short keen and then stifled it. He could not upset His. Osro, the boy he had considered so clever, was passed. May he become a dragonrider in the life after this, Dhanuth thought bowing his head respectfully to mourn the loss.
Fel had noticed the keen but had understood that they were surrounded by death. As Lyr approached them she smiled at the older woman as Kida ran into her arms and Moss followed chirping happily, shortly followed by Coral who started performing flashy moves before they both returned to Fel.
Dhanuth nodded to Lyr as Fel propped herself up painfully. She was feeling better now that she knew at least some of her friends were safe. It almost made the pain subside! “You’re like my family! Dhanuth knew that... Anything to help family! She lay back down when the pain became too much and spoke again with a small smile. “It’s my leg. But a girl put some numbweed on it so it feels better now.”
C’ian was so frustrated he couldn’t help but then thought of a way he could. Cirrus betweened near him and chirped excitedly at him. C’ian sent him an image of leading people out of the fire. He loved the firelizard with all his heart but knew the blue was able to do just about anything. He also moved too fast for people to catch him let alone a fire.
Cirrus, noting the serious emotions, betweened into the fire. Chirping loudly, he started searching for people to lead outside. Eventually he found two girls and started trilling at them excitedly. FOUND YOU! Go hide somewhere else silly people. This is a stupid place to hide! Don’t you know there’s a fire here? Gosh, some humans were so silly. He chirped again, flew about them in a circle and started leading them out of the flames and towards an exit.
Too bad! You’ll have to find somewhere else to hide. He flew above the fire, near the rising smoke but close enough to the girls that they could follow him out to a better hiding spot.
Ooc: the two girls are Tristen and Zane ^^
[/blockquote]
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Post by theknightwhosaysni on Aug 7, 2011 12:17:40 GMT -5
ooc:|| This post probably isn't going to be the greatest. << I have a lot to catch up on. Anyone who would be available to rescue Amara and Kjara would be awesome, though I can have them crawl out on their own if no one's interested.
bic:||
Rayna had been intently watching Fajra, determined to learn now so that she could be great in the future, when Thread fell. However, the fire definitely put a damper in things. The Junior Weyrwoman definitely wasn't going to get involved. A bit of it was self-preservation. A bit of it was also that she was an important part of the Weyr and Rayna was aware of that. Losing their Junior Weyrwoman in something like a fire would not be good. So Rayna allowed Fajra to push her out of the Dining Hall, breaking into a run as she exited the Dining Hall, Cou, do you know where any buckets are? [/i] Rayna definitely didn't. She didn't pay nearly enough attention to the present to note small things like that about her surroundings. Couineth didn't know. So Rayna joined the bucket line, definitely not intending to go running into the fire. There were others who joined the bucket line with her as well, particularly purplerider T'lar, bluerider G'night (though it was pure blind luck that the bluerider hadn't been in the Dining Hall getting more klah when everything went to the Red Star in a handbasket), cyanrider N'at, blackrider S'do and greenrider Akira, as well as a weyrling named F'bee. Rayna knew very few of those around her, but she passed along whatever came her way, having ended up towards the middle of the line, determined to help, but not in a manner that risked hers or Couineth's life. The gold needed to survive, if only because the slight glow to her hide promised that she would Rise soon, and if Couineth had to survive, that meant Rayna did too. So she would help, of course, and would wonder if her few friends were all right. Zane, for example. She hadn't seen the Weyrling that she was on pretty good terms with enter the Dining Hall, which was good. But there was always the possibility that Zane had already been in the Dining Hall and had been hurt by the explosion or something. Still, Couineth could do something useful, couldn't she? Couineth, ask Kalith what she wants you to do.[/i] With this much chaos going on, Rayna didn't want to add to it. If Couineth could contribute in a manner that didn't cause more trouble, Rayna wanted her to do it. Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.[/i] Couineth whined unhappily. Unlike Hers, she didn't care about the stupid, self-centered people. They didn't recognize her as the most amazing thing ever, so why would should she bother with helping them? They were all so stuuuuuuuuuupiiiiid. Couineth was definitely getting snappier as she drew closer to impending maiden Flight, but she grumbled to herself and bespoke Kalith anyways, Kalith, how would you have me assist the Weyr?[/i] Her voice sounded like a sullen child who was being forced to apologize when she wasn't very sorry. --- Amara had been eating, seated as far away from everyone else as she could get, and so she'd been pretty far away from the blast when it happened. At the first cry of fire, Amara had frozen up, terror evident on her features. Fires were scary! They killed people! And that was how she'd ended up, still right there when the explosion rang out. She'd been at the edge and definitely spared from the worst of it. Her arms instinctively shot up to protect her face, but that didn't stop the pain from exploding. Amara gasped for breath, tears filling her eyes and blurring out her vision. The smoke made it hard to breath, so Amara's breath came in quick, panicked pants that were punctuated by violent coughs. The idea of moving didn't occur to her. Somehow, she'd ended up on the ground, but at least that meant that most of the smoke was higher up. Faranth, it hurt. Amara wasn't very good under pressure and it was obvious then, when she remained frozen, tears stinging her burned face as they slid down her face. Shards, even crying hurt. Back in their weyr, Veejarth crouched, tail lashing from side to side as his eyes whirled in anxious shades. AmaraMine![/i] The black dragon knew that His was in trouble. Shards and shells! The black was too large to get into the kitchens and rescue her, which meant he had to wait for someone else to rescue her. Going down there would just cause more confusion and slow down the rescue efforts, and that kept Veejarth in their weyr, his mind focused entirely on His, who took comfort from the closeness of Veejarth's mind. There was another person nearby, someone who had Impressed at the same Hatching at nearly the same time. Sometimes, the universe was full of coincidences. Kjara had been eating as well, towards the edge of the Dining Hall. She'd overslept that morning and that had thrown her schedule off, but the pinkrider had wandered down to the Dining Hall, quite hungry, and she'd settled in to eat. It had been a normal day, up until the shouts of fire. Kjara had glanced up, then hurried to finish her food, because shard it, she was hungry, and fires had to be pretty common occurrences in kitchens. Surely, they'd be able to handle the fire without too many problems. What Kjara didn't expect was the explosion. She reacted slowly, trying to throw her arms up and get away at the same time. It didn't quite work out. Kjara found herself thrown aside, hitting the ground with a thump. Pain exploded through her body, making the pinkrider cringe. Her whole body was in pain, and the smell that filled the area made the pinkrider cough violently, which only hurt more. Bailarth's panicked mindvoice reached Kjara almost immediately. Mine![/i] The brightly colored pink's voice was loud as the pink stomped one foot anxiously and thumped her tail against the stone floor of their weyr. The dancing comforted the pink more than anything right then. Hers was hurt, Hers was in trouble! The tempo of her dancing picked up a bit, like a wildly thumping heart. For the moment, Bailarth wasn't feeling (or hearing) anything. She was dancing in a frenzied tempo, panicked about the state of her rider. It took Kjara a long time to get her mind together in any semblance of being ready to answer Bailarth. Relax, Bail.[/i] Kjara forced the words out of her jumbled mind, closing her eyes and fighting against the pain, I'll be fine.[/i] And with that, Kjara forced herself to crawl forward, cringing every time that her hands touched the ground. She was crawling blindly, moving in the general direction of the exit, but Kjara had no clue how far away it was or how long it would take her to get out. She just knew she had to do something. --- Tyta hadn't realized anything was going on, really. The pinkweyling had been down by the lake, bathing Arratoth. The pink was growing rapidly, and Tyta intended to oil the pink as soon as her bath was over. However, when the first cries of fire reached Tyta, the weyrling set about getting Arratoth as far away from the Dining Hall as possible. They'd been making their way back to the Weyrling Barracks when Kerath's call came, and that only made Tyta and Arratoth pick up their paces, hurrying to Kerath, their Weyrlingmaster's dragon. Kerath and W'al would make everything all right, or so Tyta believed. Arratoth was all for going to the fire to try and learn more about the world, particularly about fires, but Tyta was very firm about them going to Kerath. They reached the purple dragon at long last, arriving just at the tail end of his explanation of what they were going to do, and standing awkwardly around. Tyta glanced around for B'an, her only 'friend' in the Weyrling class. Arratoth had forced her to talk to him, but the pink seemed to mostly enjoy his black's company, and she wasn't going to begrudge Arratoth companionship, even though Tyta wasn't social herself. B'an wasn't around, though. Tyta looked rather worried as she glanced around. There were very few of her fellow weyrlings there. Shards, that wasn't good, was it? She really hoped that the others weren't hurt! Or sick. Because being sick was bad and pretty high up on Tyta's list of bad things. Still, Tyta kept mostly quiet as she watched. Arratoth didn't bother to do that, though. Instead, the pink turned her gaze towards Kerath, curiosity burning in her mind, waiting impatiently to hear how to play Kick the Chair. She wanted to know everything! Her curiosity about the fire already forgotten, the pink leaned intently forward, her eyes whirling as she watched Kerath, eager to hear this. She wanted to know! Tyta, however, just settled down on the ground, imitating those around her and leaning against Arratoth, looking worried. --- Far away from the Dining Hall, on the opposite side of the Weyr, Flayn, Frino and Der slept on, completely ignorant about the chaos that was currently dominating the Weyr.[/size][/blockquote]
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
azhct[M:-1490]
Totes.
Posts: 1,627
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 7, 2011 15:28:01 GMT -5
Adaline and the drudge woman were laid down side-by-side, like a matching set of dolls, one fair-haired and the other ebony. Striking colors, but he had seen them before. They were not complete and utter mutants, like his various redheaded acquaintances. Or like the child's hair poking out from under a sheet nearby. Q'sis got up and staggered away from them, not bothering to beckon a healer over. If these non-dragonriders were to be treated any time soon, that was the experts' prerogative. Tasakhori's method of coating the cloth mask in water had worked; he was coughing much less this time.
When he lowered the mask into a spare water pan he found his hands gray with soot. Touching his burnt fingers to the water produced a biting sting at the tips; nothing he wasn't used to. The pan turned black before he finished soaking the mask. His headache had not dissipated with the rest of his symptoms, and was now accompanied by a profound lightheadedness that put fuzzy white borders around the periphery of his vision. Immediately Unath began to touch at the back of his thoughts, the gentle press of her breaking up the cloudiness. Q'sis gave her a mental prod in return to find out her purpose.
I forgot what was going on,[/color] the Tan told him wistfully. She recalled it was an important event, but the hows and the whys had escaped her. Her rummaging through Q'sis yielded a sharp, concise explanation-- which she still did not understand. I am staying here,[/color] she reluctantly concluded. You are there.[/color] Unath shifted her head against Mith's neck so that she was looking straight down the Bowl at her rider. Her vision lacked none of the dragons' typical predatory accuracy, and Q'sis had a good view of himself coated head-to-toe in the black refuse of his efforts. He agreed with Unath's sentiments before she could ask any more questions.
Healers began scurrying past him, flashes of green dotted with crimson souvenirs from their tended victims. Apprentices mostly, they were streaming toward the infirmary. Q'sis followed their path to its goal and saw a single stream of smoke snake out of the rock. He was more offended than shocked by the destruction's spread. Just as well the bulk of the infirmary's supplies had already been evacuated into the Bowl. With the additional helpers from Fort, what was left would be readily secured.
How many long-term patients needed to be moved out? One was G'dan, his fellow Tideturner. The inventive idiot had managed to cripple himself before graduation-- and the injuring incident had not even been training-related! Still, there was more than one life to be spared there, and one of them would supposedly be useful. Q'sis' focus flicked to Naireth: the big Tan had calmed, though he would not say she was at peace. Turning toward the black gap of the dining hall, Q'sis spotted a girl leading Samael out. Women of the Weyr certainly had a disturbing tendency toward bold action, but in this case he marked Yalenia's face as he found and dipped another cloth in the water pan. He headed towards the women-- or rather, towards the dining hall entrance.
He saw the burns on Samael's arms, or he might have patted her shoulder as he passed by. As it was he said nothing, took a breath and sprinted down the corridor where the smoke was at its most concentrated around his face. He detoured briefly up to the front of the dining hall, and located the metal bit he had not been able to retrieve before. He squeezed a little water from the second rag out on it, then picked it up with the wet cloth between his fingers and the surface. It looked like some sort of silvered nozzle, but he could study it later. Q'sis pocketed the object and moved on to the connecting tunnel between the hall and the infirmary.
The fire had not spread any further than the tapestries he had torn down earlier, but smoke was not bound by what it could feed on. The remaining unburnt tapestries were nonetheless ruined, soaked in ashes. Q'sis glanced at the dragon wings and firestone flames protruding here and there from the woven darkness, but kept moving. A keen echoed through the hall as he dashed past the murals, like one of the fallen, smoke-obscured beasts sewn into them had been given voice.
The main infirmary, capable of housing a dragon at nearly any size, had a forgiving high ceiling similar to the dining hall's. Only smoke crawled in, and Healer Apprentices sprang about checking the pottery seals on the salves in the remaining stores. Q'sis stood to his full height with an easy view of all the proceedings, then proceeded at a fast walk to where G'dan had been deposited.
Someone was already there. Someone who referred to G'dan by his dragonless name. Someone Q'sis recognized by his silhouette as he stepped into the room. He moved past Sebolaren without a word and picked up the slate clinging to the foot the bed. The Weyrling slung back the curtain sheltering the invalid and withdrew the wet cloth from the bag on his belt. The metal bit he had collected had cooled, and the cloth itself was warm but not scalding. He turned it around to identify the clean(er) side, then dropped it over G'dan's face.
"There you go. I know you're really busy being completely useless here, G'dan, but just in case we should probably move you out. After all, there are probably supplies and things in this room the healers will want to check on," he said, coughing afterwards. His voice was weak, choked to a dry monotone-- or perhaps that was the point. He had to consider the slate for a little while; body parts, injuries, and treatment prescriptions had not been the thrust of his literacy for most of his life. It did not help that whoever recorded everything had horrific handwriting. But eventually Q'sis released a mock-impressed "wow," then leaned over the bed and tucked the slate in-between G'dan's uninjured right arm and side. "Hold on to that."
He smiled reassuringly behind his mask at the Greenrider, the general flavor of the expression making its way up his cheeks into his eyes. Then he turned around to face Sebolaren and, like a magic trick, the mirth disappeared. "Get over by his feet." Ignoring the Candidate beyond that remark, he grabbed the other, uncurtained bed in the cavern and dragged it over beside G'dan's. "So G'dan, you know this Candidate?" the Tanrider inquired lightly. He finished prepping the second bed so the board could be rested on it till G'dan was transferred. "He doesn't need to go far," he added, this time to Sebolaren. "Just out of the smoke's range. Get the legs. Watch the ankle."
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Rii
Wingleader
riict[M:420]
RP demon hungers...
Posts: 803
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Post by Rii on Aug 7, 2011 16:35:39 GMT -5
G'dan smiled faintly at Sebol's arrival, even if his brows creased with worry - his friend did not sound well at all, nor look it. He was going to need tending to; Gess would himself, given the opportunity. "Sebol," he called back as the tall herder made his way over, then covered his mouth and nose again with the sleeve of his unbroken arm. Not that it was needed quite yet, but he knew from the last few days that coughing was currently an agonizing experience. "You're a mess... can you help? Prith wants to get me out of here, and I agree."
And then Q'sis arrived in his rush of smugly stinging words. G'dan shrank back under the man's dry taunt of the greenweyrling's uselessness, the determined intelligence shriveling and retreating to its shell of safety. He snagged the mask from the air with an instinctive quickness and surety of his uninjured hand, hooking it around his nose and mouth and securing it in a one-handed tie. There was a resentful tension in his voice. "He is Sebolaren, and I claim close friendship with him. He's come to help me evacuate." It was all he could find the courage to say, daunted by how... depersonified Q'sis made him feel. Useless garbage and nothing more. Gess tucked the slate more firmly against his side and nodded meekly to the tanweyrling's directions.
Prith - bastion of calm that she was usually - was not content to let it pass. Not with how his treatment of Hers made G'dan's grey thoughts return. It was no fault of G'dan's that he was injured when he wanted to assist. Rising and stretching her full length, she extended her head to face Q'sis, her eyes whirling in oranges and reds. Subqueen-bonded he might be, but the once-trader had not earned respect in the wise green beyond that given any other human. She hissed open-jawed, showing teeth. Not another word to hurt my G'dan, or you will miss more than a finger.[/color] she warned with a terse firmness that spoke of the disturbance in her zenlike nature. Rare were the words she shared with anyone but her rider and fellow dragons, but this she would not let pass, pressing matters abounding or no.
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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 7, 2011 16:44:47 GMT -5
”Fire,” he said with a grin forced to chipper; as if the Greenweyrling wasn’t entirely aware of the situation at hand. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to move G’dan alone, and that help was indeed on the way if the images Sigard flashed at him were any indication, he started casting away the bedcurtains to expose the any of the other occupants. Thankfully most of those other occupants weren’t as mangled as G’dan, and if they hadn’t already left under their own power all they required was a lift up and a firm push in the correct direction—and into the waiting arms of those Apprentices who were coming to remove them in the first place. When he turned back to the Greenweyrling he was momentarily surprised to find Q’sis there.
Laying the backboard across the nearest bed, Sebol moved through the space that separated Prith from Q’sis and to the nearest cabinet where one of the Apprentices was filling his arms to spilling with extra supplies. Scooping up the various dropped oilcloth satchels and returning them into those waiting arms Sebol then pushed the boy towards the exit. As he followed behind he spied the glider which had caused so much trouble; snatching it up he turned and nearly collided with Prith’s triangular head which had turned inexorably toward Q’sis her facetted eyes like angry flashing gems in her skull—jaws open. Lips pursing he stuck the glider into that open mouth and used his large hands to push her face to the light streaming through the entranceway; while he was certain her mood was warranted—it would not help them now. ”Go, Prith; we follow with your Rider.”
His own words suffered from the heat that had stung his lungs, but thankful to his training he’d soaked his mask from the beginning and it had served to preserve him more than those who hadn’t—or who went without entirely. After lifting the backboard from its resting place he waited for Q’sis to finish his prep of the second bed and then placed it square upon it; nodding to the man in agreement. ”Watch his left arm.” Moving with the Tanweyrling he lifted the legs and thighs in time with Q’sis’ movement on the shoulders and hips; then he tossed one side of the securestrap over so he could tie it off. At least they were of equal height and wouldn’t jostle the man badly, but who knew what was left in this burning Weyr to explode and send them off balance. Or you know, Sebol tripping.
Waiting only long enough that they could lift in tandem, Sebol swung wide of the bed to allow Q’sis to follow him out from the far side without clipping it; from there the ex-Herder adjusted his hold so he could walk forward out of the smoky infirmary and back into the streaming light for the third time in what seemed like an eternity. Once they were clear of the billowing acrid mess, and now under the attention of the Healers, He turned and lowered the backboard. Pulling his grime-covered mask from around his mouth he nodded his thanks up at the Tanweyrling before untying the strap and standing to make room for Prith.
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Post by aikastarr on Aug 7, 2011 21:36:43 GMT -5
Whiting spun in a tight circle around Rethalt’s head as he brought more and more people, dead or alive, out of the blaze. Once he put down yet another out of a dozen or so bodies – unfortunately, this one lacked a pulse – he removed his mask to let loose a bout of hacking coughs. It had been a while since he had doused himself in the lake, and his mask was dry as sand. Dragging himself up to his feet, he turned to re-enter the dining hall. As the day grew old, less conscious people were found, and more charred bodies were turning up. However, none had been his beloved sister. However, Emith had reassured him many a time that she was fine, but it didn’t help him. Sure, her dragon would know this, but how come he couldn’t find her?! Desperation began to crawl into his mind as Tunnelsnake creeled sadly into his ear.
But then, as if blessed by Faranth herself, Emith’s proclamations showed themselves. A red-haired girl clung to Krys with the fierceness of a hero, and came running at the sight of the rescuer holding the one other thing important in his life. Tears pricked his eyes when he saw her, however; her clothes were burned, skin blackened with soot, and the only signs of life were her shallow breaths and fluttering heartbeat. He took his sister from the woman with a gratifying smile on his face. ”Thank you so much for saving my sister,” he said as the other girl handed off the unconscious. ”I don’t know what I would have done if she didn’t come out.” He failed to notice the lingering of his twin’s hand on Tieler’s arm.
Drahaus, seeing that His was saved, betweened near Emith to relay the news. The grey had just finished hauling yet another full trough of water to the bucket brigade when the news graced her mind. She was about to thank the person herself, but when she found out who it was, she went to find Klaisath’s mind. Klaisath, I am forever in Yours’ debt. Please tell her that, [/color] she informed the black as she backwinged towards where Rethalt had laid her body. She, Whiting, and Drahaus curled around Krys protectively, allowing only healers from Dalibor near her. Slowly, but surely, her eyes fluttered open, and Emith nuzzled her face affectionately. A weak smile passed over her face as she rubbed the grey’s nose. Knowing his sister was in good hands, Rethalt jumped into the lake again, resoaking himself and his mask for yet another endeavor into the slowly dying flames. His arms, by now burned at least some, stung a bit as the cool water came into contact with his skin. But there was no time for little pains like this! People needed to be saved! It wasn’t long until he found a woman on the ground, very much alive. ”I got you!” he cried over the flames as he hoisted her up into his arms and dashed out. He set her on one of the many tapestries being laid about before heading back in. What he found made his stomach do a flip. Trotting towards him with her tail in the air was Tunnelsnake. Now, that would be a normal occurrence if, y’know, a severed hand wasn’t in her mouth. He nearly retched at the sight of the blackened limb in the green’s jaws, her eyes whirling shades of blue and green. ”Tunnelsnake? Where did you get that?” he asked in a strained voice, trying to keep his empty stomach from emptying further. Chirping through the lost body part, the green turned tail and scampered towards the crumpled and bloodied body of a Rider. If he was in a better shape, Krys would have easily identified the body as F’ix, but as it were, there really wasn’t anything to go by except where the arms and legs were. However, Rethalt wasn’t one to leave something behind, even if it was horribly torn and misfigured. It took all of his mental strength to keep from retching as he removed his shirt and wrapped it about the remains. Once he got the tunic about the waist of the viridianrider, he began the process of dragging it out. The left side of the body seemed crushed, as if caught under a falling table. The right arm was missing its hand, and Tunnelsnake made sure to keep a firm grip on her find. ((The woman is Amara, permission given by Knight. ^^))[/center]
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
azhct[M:-1490]
Totes.
Posts: 1,627
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 8, 2011 13:55:19 GMT -5
Close friendship, naturally. G'dan rode a female fighter. He had gotten himself into trouble. These were all symptoms of a person connected to Sebolaren. Q'sis had just started to contemplate the Ruathan's involvement in G'dan's injuries when toothy yellow-green jaws flicked open before him. Somehow he had missed the young dragon's presence; hadn't been looking high enough, perhaps. He bit the inside corner of his lip and started to rock back a step from the immediate threat when Sebolaren intercepted her with an unfamiliar device. Then the Candidate touched her, and Q'sis frowned far more severely than he had over the prospect of his head being excised in the fighter's fit of irritation.
"You should know how to control your dragon by now," he murmured to G'dan as they carried him outside. "You are the rider. You don't rely on others for that." After laying the Greenrider down, he wagged his cropped finger at Prith. "And you are not dear enough to have any part of me," he said, tone much kinder on the dragon than the man. The Tanrider noticed Sebolaren's nod as he was pulling off his mask, staring back till his gaze broke under another series of breathless coughs. Q'sis shook his head, then headed to the nearby healers' cart for one of their water skins. That he brought back and laid on G'dan's right side, pulling his own from his belt and unstopping it for a drink. "Get better before you miss so many lessons that you don't graduate," he ordered the Greenrider, then left him with his close friend.
Q'sis did not head back to the invalids strewn about the main healer camp, nor into the flames, which had mostly been reduced to steam and char by the bucket lines proliferating through the kitchens. He moved instead to where Unath and Mith huddled together. His dragon crooned in anticipation of his arrival, but did not skitter away from her twin to greet him. Upon reaching the pair, Q'sis sat down heavily between them and leaned against Unath's arm. Unath lifted her head off Mith's neck and laid down to give her rider an entire shoulder and forearm to balance with, smears of soot tattooing her hide and the Bowl stone.
Unath's breath ruffled the man's hair as she sniffed at him. When she leaned close to effect some proper grooming, Q'sis' hand intercepted her nose and pushed it away, her forked blue tongue licking the air fruitlessly. "I'll take a bath when they've no more need of me," Q'sis informed her, taking another swig from his water skin and swallowing hard before he continued. "These clothes will have to be tossed, but I can replace them at the Gather." Just another way to ensure all the Marks of his previous trade were completely obliterated before he was permitted the gratuities of a full dragonrider.
The Tan watched Q'sis as he rested against her, flexing her wing back over Mith to ensure her twin was not forgotten with the return of her rider. She rumbled to herself-- Q'sis could feel the tremors in the stone more than he could hear the noise --and glanced between the barrack and the smokey remnants of the fire in the distance. The barrack was more than a bath: it was safety, and sleep, and home. Unath's tail twitched against Mith's as she considered her bedraggled rider and how he fully intended to return to the field...if it was necessary.
They do not need you anymore! she announced suddenly, then peeked down at him for signs of movement towards the barrack. Q'sis looked up to her, briefly bewildered. Then he smiled and rubbed his hand against her arm.
"You are such a clever girl." He used the hand he had been petting her with to prop himself back onto his feet. Unath squealed as her plan backfired, only reminding Q'sis that he had been resting long enough anyway. There was still work to do.
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Post by ferret on Aug 8, 2011 18:47:57 GMT -5
Waking up was never a slow and easy experience for Taavi. It was more of a ‘woah, I am awake now let’s go cause shenanigans!’ sort of thing for him, since every moment he spent sleeping was a moment that he wasn’t doing something else. But this time… well, it was different. His eyes fluttered open and he very, very quickly regretted doing that. Clearly, his first mistake of the day was waking up at all. Maybe there’s a way to do that over… he thought groggily to himself. Shards, his ribs felt like he’d wrestled a wher!
Speaking of whers, there was one now. A… uhh… very wher-like wher, true to all definitions of wherishness. Taavetti blinked blearily at the bronze beast until it finally clicked in his mind that, yes, it was really a wher and, yes, it was sitting at his feet like a puppy. He is sitting there, he reminded himself, because it would be an exceedingly bad idea to accidentally insult the large beast who was sitting at his feet. Like… like a very large beast sit… Taavi attempted to skitter away from the wher and regretted moving since it turned every single muscle in his body against him.
“Sh-shards and ff…ff… kff kff kff…” whatever curse he was trying to make devolved into a series of hacking coughs, each one sending his ribs on a trip to Painland. It was not a fun trip. Taavi didn’t want to go there ever again. Memories trickled back to him now, like blood inexorably leaking under a locked door. The fire. The kitchen. Sebol. Ohshit, Sebol! His eyes widened at the realization that Sebol----that crazy man----had probably gone right back into the big dangerous flaming blaze, because that was just the sort of guy he was.
With an annoyed growl in the back of his throat, Taavi struggled to his feet. At least, he thought he had. With a decidedly bemused look on his face, he sat down abruptly once more, trying to figure out what had just happened. One second, he’d been getting up and then everything went very dizzy and…
Well, the point was, he was sitting down. Again. O… k… maybe he should just stay there after all, he decided reluctantly, but only because things weren’t working out right. Plus, he was coughing again, hard enough that he was legitimately worried that his body might have decided that lungs were an awful thing to have. Around this point, he became vaguely aware that someone else was there: a man so pale that he didn’t even look real, all snow-white skin and unearthliness.
“…I think I liked things better when I was passed out,” Taavi muttered in between coughing spasms. Shards, but everything hurt so much. It probably would have been easier to go back to sleep. But there were some important things to consider. Deciding that, regardless whether or not Khemres was a hallucination brought on by too much cooking (it was totally a real thing as far as Taavi was concerned), the baker asked, “Have you seen Sebol? Tall guy, built like a herdbeast and probably last seen doing something stupidly heroic?” Another memory sparked up a card. "And Xiro'el? Uh... dragonrider, Cyanrider, about my height, kind of pretty?" Because, shards, of Sebol was around here, Xiro couldn't be far behind.
They were not clear questions, as they were broken up by coughs and hacking from the baker. Still, when he finally got the question out, Taavi felt rather pleased with himself. He was Doing Something! That was helpful, right? He looked back anxiously at the burning kitchen, hoping that his friends had gotten out.
“Kree!”
Cassia creeled a welcome as she popped from between. The little green launched herself at Taavi and quickly snuggled up to the boy, regardless of his injuries. Taavi winced, but scratched the firelizard anyway. “Shh, it’s ok, Cassi. See? Everything’s fi… oh… is that what you wanted?”
In her jaws, Cassi held her favorite toy: a fluffy ball with a little bell in it. See, see, see, it always made her feel better! Maybe it would make her person feel better too! She shook her head and made the little ball jingle, a discordantly merry sound against the roar of flames in the background. Cassia didn’t like that noise, which clearly meant she had to shake the ball more!
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RhiaBlack
Wingrider
rhiact[M:45]
Resident Warcraft Addict
Posts: 328
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Post by RhiaBlack on Aug 8, 2011 23:28:01 GMT -5
The smoke was thicker, now that things - and bodies, he imagined - had burned. They were making the best of it, and progress, however slow, was being made. But it wasn't fast enough for him.
N'tharon's calloused hands gripped tightly to buckets filled with lake water, hoisted from others along the line before the contents were hurtled forwards to the base of licking, crackling, all-consuming flames. They had to put it out. There was no telling how far back it would set the Weyr if the Kitchens weren't in order - with Threadfall on the horizon, having a place to feed those fighting to protect their section of Pern would be fiercely important. He used a soot and grit-stained forearm to swipe at his eyes, wringing the sweat out of his mask and replacing it - his shirt had been removed some time ago, hung from his belt to keep the stifling heat from being insulated by the fabric. The dampness from his mask alone kept most of the smoke from filtering into his lungs - not that he wasn't already used to that. A life in the Forges had more than prepared him, and he was doing better than some of those on the line.
Just then, movement caught his eye from the left. He squinted, stepping back a moment to avoid a flare-up of flame from what had been one of the chopping tables. It was kicked forwards, fire blackening the base of his boot as he lifted a hand to block some of the smoke. Movement. There was movement, and it took him only a moment to realize it was someone still alive. Nel poured water partially over his frame to protect it from the vicinity of fire close to the charred doorway into the Dining Hall, and drew a deep breath, just long enough to hear Sintharith's voice radiate into his mind.
Mine. MINE STOP NO! MINE! Not leaving anyone to die, Sin. I'll be all right.
Diving past another flare up that seared the water on his skin into steam, N'tharon didn't shout, didn't so much as speak. The shirt hanging from his belt caught fire, and he removed it quickly, tossing it back towards the flames that had caught it to keep it from burning his knee, thigh, and hip. Removing the mask from his face, he knelt down and pulled the girl into his arms, hoisting her upwards to her knees in one fluid movement.
One arm went behind her knees, and he caught her with his other arm, pulling her up to rest against his chest as he forced the cloth over her nose and mouth. The only sound he made was to tell her to close her eyes, before he hunched over her and went back-first through the licking tendrils of flame. The water having been evaporated the first time he'd come to get her, it lashed over his back and shoulders, along the back side of his exposed arm, beneath her knees. It didn't take long for the pain to set in; mere seconds of exposure was enough to give him first and second degree burns in the specific areas that had been affected. It tended to happen that way when he was broader-chested than the area he was going through, but he wasn't about to let her be hurt more than she probably already was.
He staggered briefly, determined not to drop Kjara. Once outside, he gritted his teeth, moving towards the group of healers and those already being tended to. He didn't recognize the woman from anywhere, but it didn't matter. He was a part of this Weyr, now, and everyone's life was important. Thread wasn't going to fight itself.
Sintharith's mind pressed His, and the agony from his seared back and shoulder was echoed by panic from the Black. Nel did his best to calm his bonded, laying Kjara down close to a group needing attention. Without another word, he stepped away and off to the side, to reluctantly see to his own wounds. Four long swaths of reddened flesh, charred closer to the center where his skin had been slightly closer, and a swath across his shoulder had to be covered. He didn't accept numbweed - there were others burned far worse than he was, who would need it more than he.
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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 10, 2011 11:54:31 GMT -5
The problem with being outside, not in the fire, not hidden by smoke and the glare of the flame, not thrumming with adrenaline, was that outside you could see all the victims. See the people crying in pain, see the all too still bodies lying under blankets, tapestries and anything else that they could remotely be covered by. Even children – Damali had seen all too well who it was that Sebolaren had carried out of the inferno, and was not looking forward to the moment when the boy’s mother realized…
It was about that moment Damali realized that no one could ever know that she and Xiro had taken the buckets. She’d have to catch Xiro, talk to him about what they’d do.
She rubbed at her bad eye, her vision almost completely grayed out on that side – it was effecting her balance and depth perception, and that is what signaled a healer that something was wrong with her – luckily, it was a healer who recognized her, and knew what to do. A few seconds later, L’kie was stomping over to her – she didn’t even notice, looking at all the people working or hurting around her. She tried to jerk away in surprise when he caught her chin roughly and turned her head this way and that, “No obvious head wounds – why are you having trouble walking?”
“Wha…? I’m fine!” her brother’s angry stare was unrelenting, and she finally allowed, in a whisper, “Can’t see out of my left eye.”
L’kie’s vile swearing following that admittance would have been impressive if it wasn’t aimed at her – but despite the anger in his voice, his hands were gentle as he tipped her head back and pulled at her eyelid to examine the eye in question. “Debris in it, scratching it. I’ve warned you about this, Damali. Just hope you heal, or you’ll be one-eyed for the rest of your life. Now go find some clean water and flush it out.”
Uncharacteristically meek, she complied, leaving her brother to move back to treating actual patients, rather than just tending to the dead.
Valha, over cradled between Mith’s forelegs, barely noticed Q’sis’s arrival, most of her away directing the increasingly futile efforts of her flitters. Most of the people they were finding were unquestionably dead – it made Valha very grateful for the uncomprehending but still steady presence of her dragon. But the few people they were able to find were worth the effort…like Taylen, who she’d successfully had Hati call help for.
When Q’sis stood up, Mith picking up on Unath’s distress, Valha managed to pull away from the flits long enough to say a few words, “You should stay – if you collapse in exhaustion, Mith and I won’t be able to stop her from going to you. And if you’re in the healer camp, or somewhere dangerous for something her size…”
She left the rest unsaid, throwing herself back towards her flitters. Q’sis knew his dragon, knew himself, and knew the potential risks as well or better than she did – he’d have to make his own decision.
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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 11, 2011 18:12:44 GMT -5
Both Tristen and Zane had never been happier to see a flitt in their entire lives. Cirrus was most assuredly their saviour, and Tristen made a mental note to find out whose flitt the blue was. Even though they’d both seen him Tristen still pointed to where the flitt had emerged from /between,/ and shouted, ”There! There, go! Let’s follow him!” Zane said nothing in return, merely gave a rapid head bobble, indicating that she at least understood. Their clothes and faces were covered in black, and for once Tristen wasn’t at all thinking about her personal appearance. All she wanted to do was make it out of here alive, and Cirrus was making that possible for the both of them.
Both weyrling girls’ came out of the dining hall, and into the light of day, coughing and spluttering nastily. Neither could picture a time when they’d felt more relieved. They were alive! They were definitely alive, and in one piece. Tristen didn’t notice for a moment that she was still holding on to Zane, but Zane did. She regarded the other, waiting for her to let go now that their immediate fear had died down. Tristen was too busy scanning the crowd of people, glad to see so many had made it out all right. They were filling buckets and passing them down to try and kill the flames. She had to help! She started, surprised at herself for still hanging on to the other. ”Sorry!” she apologized, smiling sweetly. Zane just nodded, looking rather confused as she gazed about. What had started the fire? That’s what she wondered. Not to mention, what would have happened if she hadn’t of made it out? It would’ve been her fault when Panith went /between/ forever. She sniffled, fighting back tears of sorrow over what could have been.
Tristen pulled away from her, taking a few steps forward. She turned back when she heard the sniffling. Her smile turned to a frown and she placed both hands on Zane’s shoulders reassuringly, giving her a gentle shake. ”Hey, we made it out just fine, okay? I’ll see you around, I’m sorry about taking off, but we can still help. Both of us can, I mean. If you want...” she trailed off, quickly adding, ”I can understand if you’re too traumatized after that. That was... really scary.” Her eyes went wide, her touch broken from the other once more. Zane inhaled noisily, breathing out through her mouth. Tristen’s frown deepened, but she turned away from the bluerider again, this time for good.
She made her way over to the line that had started and announced: ”Here to help!” Over the cries and roaring of the flames, chances are she wouldn’t be heard unless she shouted. You’re a survivor. I expected no less.
Just what exactly what she supposed to make of that? Did Calyth sound regretful? Had she really been worried when they first thought they wouldn’t be able to find a way out, or had it just been self preservation? The green needed her to live, after all.
Zane needed to sit, she felt a panic attack coming on, her chest tight. She wandered over to the make-shift infirmary and found an unoccupied chair to seat herself in. Maybe someone could give her something to calm down? Her breathing became heavier, and she wiped her soot covered palms on her pants.
Deep breaths Mine, you’re all right now. You’re going to be just fine. Panith sounded awfully happy, and far more like he was reassuring himself than his rider.
~*~
Tieler had near dropped to the ground from the voices booming in her mind when Rethalt came and took his sister from her hold. She wanted to tell him to shut up, because she could barely focus on what he was saying, her head spinning, but she didn’t have the heart to when he was thanking her. Don’t have the heart? Shards Tie, you going soft? She nodded to him, finally managing to meet his gaze, the emotion that lied there unnerved her. She’d really done a good thing, she’d known that before, but she knew that more so now. This had been his family, perhaps his only family at the Weyr. The girl would live to see another day, and so would she. Rethalt might have missed Krys’ lingering touch on her arm, but she was gazing down at the girl’s hand the moment it happened. She studied the unconscious face of the other, it taking a moment for her to pull her blue eyes away from their simple connection.
”Yeah... It’s no problem. I’d, uh-I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” she confessed. She politely, or politely enough for Tieler, looked directly at him while speaking. ”You should take her to the healers, I’m sure they’ll have a better place for her to rest,” she advised. The voices in her head quieted, for the briefest of moments; quieted in the sense that she didn’t hear them as loudly. Though, they were still there, never leaving. Wondering about the meaning behind Krysthanine’s last action had her preoccupied for a short while. When that while was over, she chanced taking a look around. The world looked completely out of sorts, everything was hazy. Had she inhaled too much smoke maybe? She put a hand to her head, and it was at that point that she was on the ground, groaning from the shrieks and plea’s of the dragons around her. They just wanted their riders safe! They just wanted them to be safe...
Klaisath appreciated Emith’s noticing that His was in too much pain to be conversed with. Her thanks would surely be voiced to His, just at a better time. She will know, Emith, thank you. Thank you very much. The warmth in his voice could not be missed. The black wanted to help Tieler now, but he didn’t know how. He tried to get her to focus on his voice, and his alone, but it just wasn’t working...
The blackrider wasn’t moving from up off the ground.
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Admin
Administrator
brect[M:-2154]
Posts: 3,754
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Post by Admin on Aug 12, 2011 7:07:53 GMT -5
Life ain't always what you think it ought to be, Ain't even grey but she buries her baby, The sharp knife of a short life, I've had just enough time.
Fajra was not angry. She had rage, but she did not have anger, not that day. That moment. Sometimes, anger and rage walked hand and hand, one and the same, but they were not, at their core, the same thing. They were not the same emotion. Anger was a violent, selfish creature, prone to irrational outbursts and lashing out. Some mistook that for rage, but that was not so; that was only rage when it went to visit with anger. Rage was a quieter beast, the friend of passion that anger could not be. Rage gave one strength. Rage lent one determination. Rage could be experienced cold. Fajra had rage, watching riders and handlers, weyrfolk, all alike, rush to save who and what they could. She kept the anger at bay, because it was not useful, because it would merely make her upset and tired and frustrated. She was all of those things, but not right then. She was needed.
For the most part, the Weyrwoman was a silent, resolute presence, listening more than she spoke. She did not have the ego to try to constantly issue orders; she wasn't there to listen to herself speak, to listen to herself act. She listened, though it hurt. It hurt because she could hear the people crying, screaming, hunting for friends and loved ones. It hurt because to listen was to acknowledge the problems around her. Right then, there were a great many problems, but for the moment, she put the pain aside, pushed the hurt from her mind. She listened so that she could hear the stupid. Some of it she couldn't stop, though yes, she saw fools run for the flames. She was not as unobservant as some thought, though she rather suspected on occasion that the more sociable O'sho saw a great many questionable things and never mentioned them to her. She listened so she could stop what stupid she could, so she oversee the healers and the firefighters and everyone she could, all at once. There weren't enough souls available right then for her to focus on one thing; she had to listen. She had to be everywhere, though she did not move. Not one inch. Stable. Unwavering.
When she did speak, her voice cut through the air, tense and authoritative, a touch nasty around the edges. Yes, she was definitely close to anger, though she kept it at bay. There were no buckets. She did not have the time to wonder right then where the buckets had gone, but she knew, she knew, that there weren't enough buckets. She had been the one to write the original order for the many buckets the Weyr had needed, back when she was merely a Jr. Weyrwoman, Dalibor's first. She knew exactly how many buckets were supposed to be in the Weyr. The number she saw in front of her, dispersed on the staggered bucket line, holding water for the healers? Was not nearly enough. If there was one thing Fajra hated, it was thieves. The last thief she had met was D'ror. She'd put a dagger through his heart. She wasn't angry yet, but yes, she was damn close to it.
Fajra avoided looking at the dead. She knew they were there. She saw them out of the corners of her eyes, the neat rows of twisted bodies. The smell of burned flesh and hair was thick in the air. Up on the heights, Kalith turned up her snout at it and Couineth as she paced, claws carving lines in the stone until she worked them down to stubs and they threatened to bleed. She did not mind the dead, her mind too thick with her own anger. Her rider did not have the same sentiment. She could act cold, but to count the dead, that was a difficult task. It was one that would have to wait until later and one she was happy to save until that time. It was hard enough to watch her Weyr suffer. To face the burned faces of men and women she had seen find a new start, seen Impress, cold and lifeless was going to take a steel will she was beginning to wonder if she had. She had her doubts.
Some things, though, you can't avoid. You can't save them for another time. You can put off many things, but life has a way of catching up with you. Life can walk up to you and tap you on the shoulder and show you the worst, because fate decided to be cruel to you that day. Fajra turned when one of the crecheworkers gently touched her shoulder, face expectant, expression stern. She waited for the young woman, younger than the Weyrwoman now, she realized, to say what she had come to say. The worker opened her mouth to speak, but words seemed to escape her. Fajra frowned, not pleased with this interruption. Her time was being wasted. Sensing her Weyrwoman's disapproval, the crecheworker raised one hand to indicate behind her, towards the dead. "I just, I just, just. I'm sorry;" she said, backing up a few steps. Fajra's frowned deepened as she looked passed the skittish young woman. Need people in the creche with more backbone, she noted.
The Weyrwoman surveyed the true destruction of her Weyr for the first time, eyes sweeping over the long lines of dead. More were injured. People had acted quickly, but there were still a great many bodies. Cooks. Lots of cooks. Builders. Apprentices. She noted that T'el was dead before she saw anything amiss. She felt no guilt there; he was better between than walking Pern, though a rider was a rider when it came to threadfall. He reminded her of bitter memories, ones more bitter than what was before her; he kept her resolve strong, her anger close and her rage closer. Probably the most useful thing he had ever done for her, funnily enough, more useful in death than in life, even if that was terrible to think.
The form of a child drew her attention quickly. Her heart twinged as she was reminded of her own family. What a horrible thing, for a family to lose a child, for the Weyr to lose a child. Then she noticed the crop of red hair still intact upon the boy's head and her body went cold. The world slowed around her. There was no noise, only the faraway sound of her heart pounding in her ears. She didn't realize she was moving until she was kneeling next to the small, lifeless body. She knew who it was. His clothes, the ones she had helped him get dressed in that morning before she had sent him off to the creche, were badly burned, but she still knew that face. It was a face she would have recognized anywhere, a face she had expected to one day see as that of a man. The face of her son. She wasn't really thinking about what she was doing. Hands numb, she pulled him onto her lap, fingers scrambling to feel his cold skin. He was dead, gone from this world, though it took a moment to truly hit home. For one more moment, he was still alive. He was still that smiling, laughing, curious, adventurous, too-friendly-for-his-own-good boy. He was still the boy who tried to put his shoes on the wrong feet, wore his socks on his ears, made his sister smile, gave Kalith hugs, found flitter eggs, and dreamed of riding dragons. Then the images faded, replaced with just cold skin and a shock of red hair. She was numb, but the hurt was stronger than that. It welled up from deep inside of her. Her whole body shook with it.
Faranth, how could she have not thought about them? Her family. They had barely passed through her mind, one brief thought that they were alright, that they were safe and thank Faranth for that. How could she have been so stupid? She had thought mainly about O'sho and then he hadn't been her weyrmate, he had been the Weyrleader. He was gone. He was gone. He was gone. Faranth, he was gone. That was all she had thought. Didn't matter that O'sho was still there. Didn't matter that she still had her daughter. Only mattered that he was gone. Her son. Her Osro. Her little boy. She had tried so hard, so very hard. She had tried to be a mother, to be there for him and take care of him when she could, but apparently that wasn't good enough. He was gone. She would never get to see him smile again. He was gone and there was nothing she could to fix it.
Kalith was not numb. She had never been numb or dumbstruck a day in her life. She had felt the pain of a life that never was, but she had never felt the pain of losing a child. When a dragon betweened, it was the loss of a soldier, no matter its relation to her. She did not understand the way that humans cared for their young, but she felt her rider's pain. She knew that it hurt. She could feel it; there was an aching in her chest. Her response to the pain was anger. She roared, shrieked her defiance to the sky, her voice unearthly, earsplitting, louder than anything else. She brought her wings down in a powerful stroke, launching herself into the air. She banked to the side and dropped quickly. She didn't land. She slammed into the ground by the dead, claws cutting into the earth. Teeth barred, she snarled at anyone nearby. She shrieked again and then snapped her teeth shut inches from someone she decided hadn't fled quick enough. Dalibor's Queen raged. Dalibor's Queen would not be silenced. Hers hurt and so did she and she hated it. She would fix it. She would kill whoever it took to fix it. She would do whatever it took. She would make it better. Until then, she would scream.
"Quiet." Fajra looked up, meeting the gaze of her enraged dragon. Her voice was cracked, her throat dry, but it didn't have to be loud to carry authority. The copper feel silent, blinking her outer lids, her eyes swirling more slowly. Confused, she tested the boundaries of this order. Why was she to do be silent? There was a right to wrong! There was something to kill! But Fajra knew it didn't work like that. Death wasn't something that could be killed, so she soothed her dragon. Her son was dead and the mother inside her withered, but she was still the Weyrwoman. From somewhere deep inside herself, she found a new bit of strength. She started again. No matter what happened, no matter how much it hurt, she knew what she had to do. Her first duty was to her dragon. Her second was to her Weyr. Others may have selfishly forgotten these facts, but she had not. She never would. Her Weyr had to be maintained before her own needs. She had promised Paaie she would take care of Dalibor; she could not let her home fail. She would not allow it.
Gently laying her son back on the ground, the Weyrwoman smiled at him. It was a sincere smile, though the gesture did not reach her eyes, where exhausted and hollowness lurked. It was sincere for him, in his memory. With that, she stood, turning to her waiting dragon. The copper's head, as large as her body, was just in front of her. She stroked the Queen's cheek, soothing her, assuring her that she was alright. She realized then that there was tears on her cheeks; she hadn't noticed that she had been crying. Hurriedly, she wiped them away. No time for them right then. Tiroshel? Asleep in her crib. She is safe. None shall harm her; Kalith said, voice fierce. Fajra nodded. Giving her dragon a final soothing scratch, she turned and stepped away from the dead. Shoulders back, head held high, framed by bright copper hide, she strode towards where R'len stood in the bucket line.
"Break up the line and make sure that the fire is completely out. Break down anything that was burned. Check that every ember is dead. Then start contacting the friends and family of the casualties;" Fajra told him, speaking loudly and frankly so all could hear. She acknowledged that her Weyr was hurt, more than she acknowledged that she herself was hurt, but they were still alive. They would recover. "And assign someone to set up a makeshift kitchen and organize clean up. I believe both the head cook and acting headwoman are amongst the dead;" she said, clenching her jaw in mild frustration. She still had her determination. She still had her firm nature. She was still alive too. Knowing R'len was capable, she wasted no more time and pushed through the line, heading towards the lower caverns. She only paused to issue one small final order, the words stated with cold, dangerous vehemence. "Oh, and find out who took the buckets."
Kalith watched her rider disappear into the lower caverns. Then she turned her attention to the small form of Osro. Ever so carefully, she bent her neck and picked him up by the scruff of his mangled shirt. She cared him away from the rest of the dead; he did not deserve to lie amongst them, amongst renegades and fools. He belonged to her rider first and foremost, and thus he belonged to her. She set him gently upon the earth and then curled her body around him, hiding him from sight with one of her massive wings. She laid her head upon the ground near him, but her eyes remained open as she watched and waited. Until her rider returned with Daidoroth's rider and she carried him between, she would protect him. It did not matter that he was human or that he was gone from the living world. She would protect him. She would kill any who dared come near.
It was a long trek up the back tunnels, but Fajra hardly minded. She barely noticed. In her weyr, she moved purposefully to her daughter's crib. The young toddler was awake but bewildered and sleepy, rubbing at her eyes with tiny fists. Without a word, Fajra picked her up and brought her close. She cradled the young girl against her chest. The quiet toddler greeted her mother with a small smile before she wrinkled up in her nose in a grumpy face, wriggling, not noticing anything amiss. She was not as observant as her late brother, nor as empathic. "Where Ohro?" Tiroshel demanded. Fajra meant to respond, meant to say something, meant to try to explain. Instead she merely hugged her daughter tighter and began to cry as she kissed the redheaded girl on her head, rocking her baby as the tears came down. Outside, Kalith finally began to keen.
A penny for my thoughts, oh no, I'll sell them for a dollar, They're worth so much more after I'm a goner, And maybe then you'll hear the words I been singin', Funny when you're dead how people start listenin'.
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
azhct[M:-1490]
Totes.
Posts: 1,627
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 12, 2011 12:57:06 GMT -5
Q'sis stopped just one halting step away from Unath when he heard Valha's voice, turning to listen. The Tanrider's heavy, grey-smudged eyelids blinked slowly at her logic. Why would she have expected him to rely on her and Mith's influence? Did he? He thought on the question as he looked away from the other twinrider, toward the Bowl wall. Phantoms of steam he could barely see had infiltrated the smoke clouds. Scrutinizing through Unath's eyes yielded a clearer picture of the progress, both in the kitchens and the dining hall. Small figures of rescuers limped through and collapsed in the camp, while victims already lying down attracted flocks of healers that dissipated instantly whenever one of them lost their life.
Another cough rattled him, then he turned around and sat back down beside Unath's arm, tipping his head against her hide and drawing his water flask. He threw the container to the ground when it proved to only have a few drops left. Unath tilted her head at him, crooning softly, though she departed her attentions once to touch her nose against Mith's.
"I have never once in my life 'collapsed in exhaustion,'" Q'sis snarled at Valha. Then just as if the woman had invoked it, a dragon came tearing down through the air to land at the healer camp. Kalith, the only one of her kind at Dalibor. The backbeat of her wing could have blown over plenty of healers, but from what Q'sis could see she did not quite trample any of them. Instead she began screaming and lashing her shining tail, silencing abruptly a few seconds after. "What was that about?" he grumbled, entitled to critique the raging dragon now that he had not set off one of his own.
Unath, with her rider restored to her, was completely unperturbed by Kalith's outraged keening. Q'sis glanced up at her more than once to confirm the serene blue in her eyes. He could feel the steady drum of her heart through her chest. Unath laid her head back to the ground, nose angled toward Valha and Mith, inner lids contracting. "We would know if it was someone important," her rider continued. Even the Tans keened for dragon death. "I suppose it was one of the Weyrwoman's children." Kalith had settled, curling around something small she dragged away from the camp. "Her incompetent staff has served her accordingly."
And maybe it was not just the Weyrfolk at fault. Remembering it now, Q'sis extracted the metal piece he had collected earlier from his belt pouch. He turned it over between both hands, brow wrinkling as his fingertips grazed the grated holes along the sides, traced the cylindrical shape. Looking over at Valha, he noticed her firelizards gathering around her in increasing states of frustration. "They're not finding anyone anymore?" he guessed, then tossed the part to her. "It's a flamethrower nozzle," he clarified, expecting her to be unfamiliar with the smith-work. His caravan had carried the parts occasionally. "It was in the dining hall, where that explosion happened. One of the queenriders killed them all."
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Reky
Alphahandler
rekyct[M:-999]
SO PRO
Posts: 1,554
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Post by Reky on Aug 12, 2011 12:59:39 GMT -5
As Samael stumbled out from the mess on Yalenia's arm, she noise of the fire was lost behind her and replaced by the comparatively dull roar of sloshing water and orders being yelled. Her eyes stung and watered and she blinked profusely to allow herself to see. There were a few faces she picked out as she went. Fajra, Q'sis. She saw Yalenia above her, but she had no mind for any of them. Swaying, she pulled away from the candidate's helping hands. "Thank you," she choked, offering a split-second smile of genuine gratitude. "I... well," and she turned and half-ran, half-limped, leaving her incomplete words to speak for themselves. She wanted Naireth. Needed Naireth.
She collapsed against her dragon's soft skin. Escaped smoke swirled in the sun's light until Naireth folded her great wings around the small creature clinging to her foreleg. Samael coughed, but there was a relieved smile on her face. She felt entirely safe, entirely better, just being in the presence of the tan. The distance between them during the explosion had amplified the pain. Now, she was beginning to feel more numb, her arms and palms throbbing instead of screaming. Naireth's muzzle came down to nudge the wounds into her view, snuffling agains Samael's chest. Then, she lifted her head straight and let out a bark, hoarse from all her screaming before. My rider requires a healer immediately! she projected to most of the minds around them. She would not accept tardiness.
R'len had watched people hauling out the injured and the dead. People crying, coughing as they finally broke through the flames. He had a front-row seat to it all, head of the bucket line, watching his Weyr in chaos and in pain. It was enough to make him feel sick. Kaezeth's support was constantly present in his mind. The great iron watched the tail end of the bucket line, those fetching water from the lake. He wished to help himself, but he knew he had to help vicariously through his rider.
As Fajra came to him, R'len left the rider behind him in the line as the front. The ironrider took in every single word, keen to take up his share of the load in these trying times. When she was finished, he nodded strongly. "Yes, ma'am," and again after her last added command, "Yes, ma'am." Kill the fire. Find the thieves. He turned to his line of determined people. Devoted, beautiful people, that he was glad to have by his side.
"Hold up!" he called, projecting his voice so that it rang as far as it possibly could. He raised his arms in wing drill fashion and made the appropriate flight signals. Kaezeth echoed him to those who could not hear or see, Stop. "Fill all the buckets and follow me! We're going into the fire. Break down anything burnt. Anything that glows gets put out. Don't give the fire any chance to come back! Get your masks!" Follow R'len into the dining hall and kitchens. Exterminate the fire entirely. Wear your wet masks. [/i] "Keep low to the ground! Alright, follow me!" Avoid the smoke. Go!And the team went. No flickering ember would have been left, no smoldering table. Any bodies that could be salvaged from the innards of the kitchen were carried out. Later, R'len would have found the cook Orizta, a broad woman he had seen work closely with the head chef and headwoman, and outlined the plan to erect a makeshift kitchen. A call for volunteer cooks would go out to Crescent and Western Hold via Ofeela and black Waedrith to make up for the dead. Then, R'len would return to his study, a list of the deceased in one hand and parchment and ink in the other. His stomach knotted as he wrote condolences to families abroad. All the while, the stench of smoke and death was stuck in his nose like a bad cold. He itched to get on the prowl. He would find who took the buckets. Until then, Dalibor would hold together and fight back. It was a strong Weyr. The best, in his opinion, to have bounced back so many times. He was proud to be a part of its leadership, but so much of the credit belonged to the people. As he wrote letter after letter, the feeling of loss welled up inside of him - but he had the utmost faith in Dalibor.[/size][/blockquote]
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Kila
Sr. Weyrleader
kilact[M:217]
Let's move to a cloud so we're never under the weather
Posts: 1,574
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Post by Kila on Aug 16, 2011 1:44:50 GMT -5
ooc: Many apologies for the belatedness of the post, but internet was rather scarce in the jungle XD
”Shards, shells, and tarnaaaaatiooooon!”[/i]
It was perhaps one of the first cries that rang out during the affair, but by far the least important. Followed too closely by the explosion of flames to be of any real warning to anyone and undoubtedly less constructive by the flurry of shouts and orders that followed, the cowardly yelp of a renegade was quickly forgotten in the fray. His hasty retreat, however, and his subsequent absence from the rescue effort, stood out with much more clarity to those who still beheld the small, absorbed subgroup within Dalibor with dislike and suspect. So, as Y’nis soared away to certain safety on Yuisriyath’s flashy back, the fire raged on and died below, indifferent to his presence or lack thereof. Later, however, his flight could have its consequences. ~ On the ground level, everything seemed to dissolve into chaos in the blink of an eye. Nadya’s presence in the kitchens at the time was due entirely to the loathed child growing inside her. It was hard to hide now, though she still made the attempt with minimal success. Craving food at all hours of the day and night peeved her and set the lines of her face into a permanent, dangerous scowl. She was hunched too miserably over a bowl of soup and virtual platter of rolls, a healthy buffer of space between her and everyone else in the hall, to notice the smoke leaking in towards her. As was her custom, she blocked out the voices of all the tedious other people around her, so shouts of fire didn’t penetrate her conscience until the fire penetrated the hall. She got up slowly and began to make her way out, thinking darkly on how everyone in the Weyr overreacted and was causing a sharding lot of unnecessary noise, when the force of an explosion knocked her forward and engulfed her in a cloud of smoke.
Nadysk was awoken immediately by the stab of panic that afflicted His when she realized that she couldn’t breathe. The steadfast Brown was barreling down the tunnels that lead up to the Bowl even as Nadya raised a hand to cover her mouth and cough out the putrid air she had inhaled. She was unsure how long she stayed in the blackened hall before someone helped her out. Several times the flames drew uncomfortably near her and she had to crawl away, greatly inhibited by the bump in her belly and the one hand she had to keep pressed to her face. When she did eventually emerge she had inhaled a dangerous amount of smoke and had a long burn down her right arm. Nadysk, who had worked himself into a frenzy, knocked aside her rescuer and wrapped himself around her to inspect Nadya with desperate concern. He would not leave her side, even when she was eventually seen by a healer, which he insisted take place. Though night fell before long, the light and the sinister sight of the Red Star on the horizon did not phase the nocturnal beast in the least. ~ The Weyrleader was, as usual, attending to duties of the written kind when the fire broke out. Daidoroth, ever observant over his small kingdom, alerted him to the danger before shouts broke out in the Bowl and Kalith’s message boomed throughout the Weyr. Shards and shells, it’s always something, he thought as he abandoned his desk and leapt onto Daidoroth’s back. The enormity of the situation at hand hit him when an audible explosion was heard from within the hall and sinister wisps of smoke began to leak out into the air. He saw Fajra handling things in the Bowl as he touched the ground and rushed to the threshold of hall. Catching an overeager volunteer by the collar as he prepared to plunge into the smoke, he quickly took order. There were surely people inside who needed help, and they would receive it from the courageous riders who were quickly appearing to offer whatever aid they could, including Sol and Eccolath, but it would be done in a way that kept the rescuers alive as well. Oblivion watched, unnoticed, like a well-hidden gargoyle over door, watching with loathable fascination at the mayhem and even death that was going on below him. Whatever this creature was that burned flesh and warped the air, he respected it. ~ O’sho did not discover the fate of his most beloved little son until after the fire was put out. The crechewoman who had imparted the tragedy to Fajra had not had the heart to repeat the task. Dirty, exhausted, and with lungs sporting a sore coat of black, the Weyrleader did not turn to begin dealing with their losses until he had seen the source of the problem extinguished. Looking up and down the row of dead and surveying the healers working like mad to tend to those injured, he then turned up his eyes to search for Fajra, then Daidoroth to inquire about the status of his more immediate companions. He found the Bronze sitting oddly still at the bottom of the Bowl, staring with dark eyes at his Queen, who was curled up several dragonlengths away. Daido, he called, his voice betraying the unease he felt at the bizarre situation he saw before him. Where are Fajra, Osro, and Tiroshel? The Bronze lowered his head, but did not turn back to look at His. Kalith’s and Tiroshel are in our chamber; he replied, his voice somber. Osro is with Kalith. There.
Many times a father, O’sho did not have to see to know that the little body Kalith undoubtedly held was lifeless. He became very still, his body rigid though his posture did not reflect it. O’sho suddenly felt very, very old. It was an odd thing to feel amidst the number of other emotions that suddenly filled his body like the smoke that had filled the hall. The emotions burned, just as the flames had, leaving him scorched and empty, but he could not crumble like any old structure. He turned, dry but pained eyes assessing the work going on. Everything, it seemed, was being taken care of. He was just as sure Fajra knew as he was that she had given final, necessary post-fire instructions before she had disappeared. See that it all goes well, old boy, he said, his voice light an impersonal as air. He headed towards the stairs to seek the remains of his family. Dalibor could sustain itself for a while without them.[/size]
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RavenSong
Jr. Weyrleader
songct[M:-364]
Posts: 710
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Post by RavenSong on Aug 16, 2011 3:47:05 GMT -5
From the time the call went out to the time R'len ordered the bucket brigade to douse the remaining embers, Nara worked unceasingly. Her long hair was burnt at the ends from the several close brushes she'd had with the fire as she and Simhath had attempted to put it out despite Kerath's calls to come sit and play a game. She'd singed herself twice, causing the green to protest vehemently. She'd pressed Kraka and Ranulf into service as well, ordering them to help Valha's fair deliver wet rags to people as soon as she figured out what Hati and Company were doing. Soon, though, the hard work was over, and she leaned against her beautiful Simhath tiredly.
"You did well," she said softly, praising the green for how she carried watering troughs to put the fire out. She glanced around for the first time since she and Simhath got to work, noticing the dead. A knot formed in her stomach, and Simhath nosed her.
NaraevhynMine, what's wrong? the green asked, crooning worriedly.
"So many dead," Nara said quietly, rubbing her soot-covered face. Her pair of flitters were only finding dead people, and were confused as to why these Big Ones weren't moving. Nara sighed deeply and closed her eyes, and the resultant wave of sadness caused Simhath to croon at Nara again. Naraevhyn quietly stroked her dragon's nose, shaking her head.
"I am okay, Simhath. I just mourn the losses. Find Mith, please. I... I need to make sure she and Hers are okay."
You need a game, Simhath said, nodding her green head emphatically. We'll make you happy again! Me, and Ranulf, and Kraka!
"Later," Nara replied. Simhath turned her head and started walking towards where the Twin Tans were. Nara quietly followed the Green. On finding where Valha and -- to her dislike -- Q'sis were, Nara settled down quietly. Simhath bugled a greeting to her sisters, fluffing up cheerfully.
Hello! she said, trying to cheer everyone up. Simhath knew that Something Bad had happened, and didn't want everyone to be sad. Come on! Cheer up! Nara shook her head.
"This isn't the time, Simhath," she said quietly. "This isn't the time at all." Dismayed, Simhath laid down beside Mith.
---
K'var had been in the kitchen, getting some redfruit-filled bubbly pies, when it all happened. He had dropped his pies and grabbed a towel when the fire started, and had tried to put the fire out. When he realized the fire was not getting put out easily, he grabbed the nearest two women and rushed to the dining hall door. Fire had already spread to that part of the Weyr, and after he pushed the women out of the Dining Hall he turned to go get more. At that point, the flamethrower blew up. With a cry, he turned away from the explosive, falling hard to the floor. His right leg and arm were burned, and shrapnel had sliced through his left shoulder. Outside, Argotath was roaring and carrying on, worried intensely about His. Bip screamed noisily and tried to go drag him out, but couldn't get beyond the fire. As others rushed in to help, K'var dragged himself out, waving them on to help the worst-injured.
Once outside, K'var collapsed. Bip nosed him frantically and pawed at him, screaming at the top of her tiny voice. Argotath landed beside his rider, eyes whirling red and yellow, and bugled commandingly.
Someone come heal Mine! he roared mentally.
"Calm it, Argo. I'm fine. Just in a lot of pain. Help me up." Crooning worriedly, Argotath lifted his foreclaw as K'var grabbed ahold, helping his rider to his feet. He then laid down on the ground as best he could, still making worried sounds.
Climb on, K'varMineLove, Argotath pleaded. K'var sighed and climbed atop his Blue, grunting in pain as he moved. With a creeling Bip following close behind, Argotath conveyed his rider to the healers. There they stayed until the fire was put out and K'var's injuries tended. K'var looked up at Argotath, who was hovering worriedly nearby.
"That's the last sharding time I touch redfruit," he said, closing his eyes.
---
Mine. Fire. Hemetath's words echoed through P'ryt's mind, followed by Kalith's orders. He and P'ryt had been in the lake when the fire started, bathing. P'ryt's immediate thought was that they were going to need a LOT of water. Without hesitating, Hemetath took a mouthful of water and clambered out of the lake, leaving P'ryt watching in bemusement before realizing his dragon intended to spit it on the fire. Hemetath trotted right up to the dining hall and spat as best he could at the fire. Unfortunately, dragons couldn't spit worth a damn, and all that happened was he made a puddle. P'ryt laughed despite himself, shaking his head.
"Well, at least that spot won't catch on fire," he said. He then snorted and quickly moved to go find buckets.
But there weren't many. In fact, the Ironrider couldn't find a single bucket, no matter how hard he looked. Annoyed, P'ryt went back to the kitchens only to find a crowd of riders and dragons. Back, P'ryt said to Hemetath, who decisively moved off to oversee water collection. He put his mouth to greater use there, helping fill troughs by getting mouthfuls of water and emptying them into the troughs. Of course, there was a more efficient way, but the Iron wasn't about to sit aside and let everyone else do the work. He was going to set a proper example. Leaving his Iron to do that, P'ryt went to help triage the fire victims. He had no training beyond a basic first aid level, but he was capable of triage. One of the riders he found in need of aid was M'alygos of Blue Sindragoth, who was unconscious due to smoke inhalation. Sindragoth sat nearby, eyes red, and hissed warningly at P'ryt as he approached. P'ryt ignored the blue and made sure M'alygos was breathing before he called attention to the bluerider's condition.
"He'll be fine, Blue... Sindragoth," P'ryt said, getting the Blue's name from his Iron.
Mine knows, Hemetath reassured the Blue.
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