All Is Fair In Love And {War!}

[Admin]

It's apparent it's all over,
It's not fair,
And I think you're really mean,
I think you're really mean.

Night had settled over the Weyr, but it didn't feel like night. The air thrummed with anxiety and anger. There were rarely more than three guards on the heights at any point, but most of the Queens, lesser and full, draped the rim, shining out through the darkness and poised to kill. At the center of the bowl, alone with no one standing near, Fajra stood. She was dressed in full riding gear, the wherhide hugging her form, except for her gloves and helmet. She had left those so she could manage more adaptability on the ground. She gazed about herself. O'sho was up on the rim, with Daidoroth and Waroth's rider and the others who watched. They had sent out Zucherroth candlemarks ago, though not too long ago, and the moments stretched out. She paced, her boots making impressions in the dried summer grass and dirt under her feet.

Suddenly, a brown appeared above the Weyr. The brown. Abeneth. Kalith surged to her feet, flaring her wings and rearing back to let loose a roar. Fajra whirled and gritted her teeth. Her eyes flashed, and she made the oddest, hardest order. She made her Queen stop. She made her Queen make sure the others would listen. He had her son. They couldn't attack. They needed peace. Justice. Vengeance came in many forms. Hold; the copper hissed in disgust to every dragon mind she could reach as she watched the brown land below, near her rider. Despite her dissatisfaction, the single word held weight, from black to bronze to pink to red. Do not fight; she ordered more specifically to the weyrlings, a fierce strictness in her voice. It was an order meant to last. The just born and half-grown dragonets wouldn't fight. It would take effort to try.

D'ror slipped from Abeneth's back, glad to see some traditions still held from when he had been a proper rider. Weyr justice was an odd thing, with honor duels and simple punishments. Dragons didn't fight dragons. He held Osro in his grasp too, though the little boy was wiggling furiously. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he released the redheaded boy, who raced to his mother. He held no tactical advantage to the brownrider anymore. The middle-aged man raised his hands to show how he came in peace. The Weyrwoman didn't act surprised. Her eyes never left D'ror, even as she gathered her son up in her arms. "You still have things I want, but I apologize for the misunderstanding;" the renegade leader began. He took a step forward, then very purposefully stopped. He was trying to keep the stiff calm that held the Weyr.

Out of seemingly nowhere, W'al appeared, coming to hover like a protective puppy near his Werywoman. He could be surprisingly stealthy when he tried. D'ror eyed the purplerider carefully. Fajra didn't waste time. She hated her choices, the decisions she had to make, but she had always been one to make the right ones. She would do well by Osro. She carefully pried her son loose of herself and handed him to the purplerider, who hurriedly took him. He glanced across the bowl, but hesitated. He didn't want to leave the woman he happily served, as errand boy and weyrlingmaster, alone with the evil man in front of them. She sensed that, though her eyes stayed mainly on D'ror. She knew he was a threat. She didn't trust him. "Go;" she hissed at W'al. "Make sure there are people to guard the barracks and the commons."

Submitting to those responsibilities, W'al hurried away, setting his hopes on no regrets of his decision to leave the Weyrwoman alone with the kidnapper. He had to get Osro to safety. Across the bowl, Kerath waited. The door of the weyrlings barracks was barred with the long purple in front of it, locking the weyrlings and even a few stray candidates inside. W'al hurried for the safety that the strong building and his strong dragon would offer. D'ror and Fajra continued their face-off. They only had so many moments before someone else would show up. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen as it did. I wasn't going to hurt him. He was perfectly safe. I think he's fond of Y'nis;" D'ror said, taking another step forward, arms still spread wide. With that, the brownrider lunged forward, hand grasping for a knife hidden in the backside of his belt.

In that moment, there were two flashes of metal. The first was a bronze firelizard. Afzal descended with a shriek, not attacking but rather swooping past. He wished to defend his bonded, but he also wished to defend her son. In the conflict, he only served as a distraction, but perhaps he was still a savior as that. The second was a knife. However, it wasn't D'ror's. He stared down at it in surprise. It was lodged into his chest. It had missed his heart, but he found feel the mind erasing fire of it as blood began to seep out, staining his already patched and dirty shirt. The simply decorated but finely crafted knife had flown true. It had been thrown. Eyes losing focus, D'ror raised his head to stare across the handful of feet between him and Fajra. She regarded him coldly. It wasn't only renegades who could kill. She wasn't one for big moral judgments.

"I know how to throw knives;" she informed him in response to his gaze. It wasn't the sort of skill people tended to go and associate with the practical woman. However, she could, of course, fight. That made sense with her demeanor. Despite all of her talk, all of her control, all of her choices, she could fight, and kill. Rage ran through her veins, over the adrenaline, over sheer terror. She didn't question herself. All the self doubt was gone in that moment. Her son was safe. He had paid. The wound he had received wasn't a quick death. She'd missed the heart. With a knife, it was hard to hit. However, she'd hit something important. She didn't remember what but he was losing enough blood. No one would help him. Not in time, even as her brain informed the rest of her body, separated by an action based on instincts, that his friends were coming.

"I can see that;" he replied. He forced out his voice. His chest burned. He turned. Time slowed around him, even as it sped up on his body. He blinked his eyes. They threatened not to open again. His knees trembled. Prying them back apart, he was faced with the sudden image of an orange. Alizadehth. Varya. They had followed him. They were safe. They were safe, but in the heart of danger. They could handle it. They always could. It was why he and Abeneth had loved them. Did love them, right in that moment. Forgetting all else, his mind going numb, he stepped towards her, but she was too far away. He knew what was happening. He knew what he'd put her through, and then he couldn't reach her. "I'm sorry. I loved you as much as I could now. Not as best as I could as it was, but, but, as much as I could." He pushed the words out.

I don't know what to be sorry for. I love you; Abeneth said, adding his own words as he looked over at Alizadehth. He felt himself slowly slipping as his rider faded. Then D'ror fell, eyes closing and body going limp. He was dead. Looking resigned to the fact but sad, Abeneth launched himself just free of the ground, and then immediately disappeared. His mind broken, he couldn't even pick up the form of his rider, bleeding out the remnants of his gone life on the ground. Fajra watched them. The orange had come. The orange had been allowed to land. Peace was retained, for the time, by her sheer force of will over Kalith exerting her will over the others. She turned to face Varya. The others would come. Her hold began to slip, and Kalith gnashed her teeth, arching her back. A copper Queen didn't rule because she was the largest. She ruled because she was quick and more furious, capable of managing to duke it out beside a gold. She was a copper Queen.

A blue burst into the sky above the Weyr. Seceth didn't look himself. A playfulness still danced in the twist of his body and the flick of his tail, but he looked downright vicious. On his back, F'lan, a sword grasp in one hand, wore a set face. The placid, sometimes stupid, sometimes vaguely witty young man no longer looked the calm sort. He looked like a killer, ready to do what was required. Kalith no long exercised a strict control. She tipped back her head and let loose another roar. It shook the Weyr to its foundation. It turned D'bor and Paaie in their cold graves. All hope was lost. One problem fixed and another found. Traditions were abandoned. From the ledge of their weyr, Meta and Topeth lunged into the air, to defend their Weyr, despite what they thought. Others lunged after them, and, in the air, Seceth and F'lan met them in the first clash, claws flashing. Dragons fought dragons. People fought people.

Then I remember all the nice things,
That you ever said to me,
Maybe I'm just overreacting,
Maybe you're the one for me.

[Kila]

As O’sho rose and prepared to part company with Nim and Waroth, when a foreboding ominousness fell over the Weyr and a Brown betweened above the Weyr. The Weyrleader froze. It was the Brown. Abeneth. The one whose Rider had stolen his child. On the rim, Kalith reared up and let loose a thunderous roar. Daidoroth’s angry roar joined and echoed with hers, their voices telling all the unsavory emotions that their Riders would not show, and then stopped. O’sho wasted no time wondering; his feet pounded on the treacherous stone stairs and he raced down to the Bowl where Abeneth was settling.

His feet touched the ground as he caught sight of Osro. With more relief than he had ever felt in his life, he saw the Renegade, for reasons yet unknown, let him go. O’sho moved forward with deadly purpose as Fajra gathered their dearest little boy into her arms and D’ror spoke. “I apologize for the misunderstanding.” Misunderstanding O’sho’s ass. If it was indeed what he said, then the Renegade had a lot of explaining to do. W’al reach Fajra just before him and took Osro when he was handed to him. ”Go,” O’sho said in union with Fajra as W’al hesitated. When he obediently did, O’sho moved past his place and took his own place next to Fajra. His taller, sturdier frame stood solidly next to hers, making them both stronger than they were alone.

O’sho did not believe or trust a word that D’ror spoke now. The benefit of the doubt that he had strove so hard to give him lay in tatters. O’sho steeled himself as he took a step closer, and grabbed for his own knife in a flash when he saw the Renegade reach for his own. When Afzal flew in the way he gritted his teeth and froze, not willing to draw his weapon and kill Fajra’s beloved pet. O’sho’s knife was for defending, not for killing, for he was too much enamored with life. Fajra, however, was not so soft. When Afzal flew away, the handle of a knife O’sho had seen before protruded agonizingly from D’ror’s chest. O’sho’s Healer experience told him it had not hit the heart, but from the amount of blood that began to soak D’ror’s shirt and damped the grass he could tell that it had hit something. Unless he was helped immediately he would not make it.

But O’sho was not the only one who had been in time to witness Fajra’s mastery with throwing knives. Alizadehth burst into the sky with Varya as the fatal knife ceased to quiver in her weyrmate’s chest. She located him instantly and her eyes were drawn with dawning horror to the growing patch of ruby on his chest. She could see the tell-tale handle sticking out from him. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart began to ache. Alizadehth, go down! Go down! she said in a strangled mental voice. D’ror’s knees shook and he turned towards them as Alizadehth landed, looking around sharply. He turned to them, his eyes on Varya as she stumbled down, and spoke. He reached for her, but she was still too far. His words were forced, and as he uttered them they brought tears to her eyes.

No, she thought hopelessly, lunging towards him. She ran, but D’ror fell before she reached him. Varya slammed to a stop on her knees and pushed him back over onto his back, gathering him into her lap. She leaned down, trembling, and put her ear next to her mouth to his mouth to listen for his breathing. But no breaths came and his body was limp. D’ror was dead. Varya’s throat constricted and she squeezed shut her eyes as her heart threatened to burst. Already she could feel an aching hole there. Tears rolled from the corners of her eyes and wetted his face. This was all wrong. This wass not how it was supposed to be. Abeneth spoke to Alizadehth too. He had always loved her, always been the most smitten of beasts, and he showed it true to the end. If he had been able to stay with her he would have, but as D’ror had died, so had he. In the moments when he existed and the man did not he was only a shadow. I love you.

”I love you too,” Varya whispered in D’ror’s ear. Her hands were crushed into fists around the worn fabric of his shirt. She was loath to let him go, but he was only the first thing in a long chain of events that he had unleashed. She would make sure the dominoes continued to fall until there was nothing left. They could no longer coexist in this world. Pern would hate the Renegades for his actions, and she would hate Pern for what had been done to him. Varya stopped her tears and took a great breath. Her hand found the handle of the knife and pulled it free. She slowly let go of D’ror and stood up, smeared in his blood. Her eyes burned with passionate hate as she faced Fajra. Behind her Alizadehth let out a haunted, wounded, bellicose cry as her Abeneth disappeared. Words cannot express the most intense emotions, so with a cry that echoed Alizadehth’s, Varya lunged towards Fajra as Alizadehth flew at Kalith. She was oblivious now to the other Renegades who had heeded their leaders’ calls and were now appearing over the Bowl. It was war now. The traditions were dead. As dead as her love on the ground behind her.

[Nia]

She wasn't prepared for this. She'd never been prepared for something like this. Junior Weyrwoman of Dalibor? It was just all fun and games, wasn't it? No. And for the first time, Avalle realized this, as she sat rigid on Callistath, watching the sky, waiting for something, anything to happen. This couldn't be right. Why, why was something like this happening? It didn't make her dispair, it only made her rage. She wanted to fight with Fajra and Kalith, she wanted to do something to hurt those renegades. She really, really did. But was the brunette prepared for what she was about to see? No. She wasn't.

Avalle didn't talk to anyone, she didn't even try to smile at Fajra. She didn't want to kill the mood. She was... kind of scared, in all honesty. It wasn't her child, she didn't have the pure, maternal rage that Fajra was moving with... she only had her loyalty to the Weyr she loved and Callistath's guidance. The Gold, she was quite mad. She was tense and silent, which was how Avalle knew she was furious. Avalle wanted to go stand near Fajra and O'sho... but she knew it wasn't her place. She stayed on the rim where she was supposed to be, Callistath's large, golden body providing the threatening backup they were required to do.

But she could fully see, from her perch, just what Fajra had done. She didn't feel sad. She didn't feel much of anything towards these renegades, only anger. Her heart was pounding, but she was focused and her thoughts unwavering. Is he dead? she asked Callistath, and even in her mind her voice was cool and completely un her own. Callistath didn't respond until after Abeneth had betweened. Yes. He is gone,

[/i] she said simply, shifting to a more offensive position. They were going to fight. The renegades had a few dragons, but not enough to do much damage. She wasn't scared. Hers wasn't scared. The only one that posed even a smidge of a threat was perhaps that Iron... but even Callistath was confident she could take him. There was only one slight problem.

Can you take a life,[/i] Callistath said calmly as the two watched what was going on below. Avalle thought for a moment, wondering if, indeed, she could kill someone. Yes, she thought immediately, but that wasn't right. Even a despicable renegade... no, she could. Fajra did. She could do what Fajra did... for the Weyr's sake. She could do whatever was necessary, play whatever part was needed for the threat to be diminished. I can. Give no mercy, she replied boldly, her voice not betraying any ounce of fear or weakness. This was her fight now, and she would do whatever it took. Callistath joined her own roar with Kalith's. They had two full Queens, and the renegades no longer even had a leader!

Above, a Black appeared, looking down on the scene with a flat expression. Shard it...! This was all D'ror's fault! But now D'ror was dead. He had no one to blame anymore. The Blackrider hesitated, Thauth simply hovering above the scene. They didn't want to get into the fight. M'kiru was one to pick fights with those of a higher rank than him... but those two Queens looked furious and scary. And... M'kiru was rather scared himself. They had so many more sharding riders! A flat out war would do nothing, and they'd already lost D'ror! This was over before it had even happened, and M'kiru knew it.

So let's go out fighting,[/i] even with the tragedy, Thauth still sounded crazily violent and ready for a fight. The two circled in the air, searching out someone that would possibly be a good target... someone that wasn't the Gold and her rider, who were also circling around, threatening those that dared to approach them. He also sought out the familiar, silvery hide of... well, you know. He was sure to be a target, he wouldn't blend in as well as Thauth could. Not that M'kiru was worried, or anything like that... he was far to worried about his own skin to care about anyone else.

Callistath rose above the fighting as though supervising, not wishing to blend in, but merely to be an overriding gold mass that would threaten any more renegades, should they dare to try and join the frenzy. Her eyes whirled violently, a snarl fixed on the dragon's usual calm, almost lady-like face. No one would dare try to interupt the fights below, no other renegade would try to help that Orange, Callistath would make sure of that.[/blockquote][/size]

[Lan]

Nim heard Waroth give a cry before the brown appeared. She glanced to O'sho, fear in her human eyes, and then just as he took off in a run she strapped on her helmet and launched herself on Waroth's back, tightening the fighting straps as she did so and preparing for war. As the Weyrleader, her recent companion, reached his Weyrwoman's side, she stopped her worry for him and found Waroth's anger seeping into her own veins. She felt tense muscles on Waroth's back and neck underneath her and her muscles tensed in response too. Slowly, the red dragon's mind began to possess her lifepartner's, so that Nim was becoming more and more like a blood-thirsty crimson demon herself.

Waroth was through and through pure wrath when the brown appeared. She snarled, angry, fierce against the warm summer night. Bloodthirst crawled through her veins and she shifted with hot ire beneath Nim who was astride her. 'Abenath.' The name was spat, hissed, with cruel intentions and harsher accent. A deep growl began to build deep in her belly and she crouched, ready to pounce and ready to kill. Nimara, the usually calm redhead with a passive demeanor, fed off of the red dragon's vengeful mood as strongly as if she had been in flight. Usually calm, collected, and forgiving, Nim had been turned into a smaller version of Waroth. Small, strong, agile, and ever angry. Her lust for blood matched her lifemate's as they watched their common enemy land with the precious cargo that had been stolen earlier that morning.

'Hold.' Waroth hissed and cried in response, not one to take orders quietly, even if it was from a Senior Queen. Her claws dug into the rock face as she crouched further, muscles tensing and stretching and twitching in response to the agonizing wait at hand. She wanted to kill. She wanted to pounce upon the brown abomination and let him know who was the better dragon. But Kalith's will was still stronger than hers. So she waited. She waiting in tantalizing anguish. Her eyes swirled faster and faster until they were just a whirl of black-red fire. Nimara too held a fierce gaze upon the intruders. Waroth had possessed her -she was no longer herself. A long knife was at her belt. Waroth held her claws. They were prepared for battle. Prepared for anything. War lingered in the air.

Osro was released. Comments were exchanged. Neither Nimara nor Waroth heard them. But they could feel the tension. Anger from Kalith drizzled among all the dragons in the Weyr, and it raised still more Waroth's already heightened sense of violence. Fajra was keeping Kalith under control, but that could only last so long. Peace was a rare commodity that was quickly dwindling away. The purplerider and weyrlingmaster took Osro from his mother and retreated into the weyrling barracks. Fajra and D'ror were left alone to face each other yet again. Anxiety could be cut with an ax. Nim could no longer fight to hold Waroth under control. Kalith and Fajra were the only ones now. The redrider was now already too drunk with her dragon's rage to be conscious. If it came to fighting, she would fight like a red dragoness, all ferocity and talons and rage enough to give strength to overcome overwhelming odds.

Two flashes of metal. A knife lay buried in D'ror's chest. All was quiet in their collective minds as he kneeled, dying. Then he fell. Abenath launched himself into the air and went between. It took a beat for them to realize what had just happened. The leader of the Renegades, the villain that had stolen Fajra's hatchling, was now dead... and so was his dragon. An orange dragon appeared in the sky, carrying her rider -another Renegade. The nerve they had coming here! Waroth's growl began again, starting as a faint hiss and building until it was a steady rumbling. Her anger was not to be quelled. Then something snapped. Kalith let out a roar, no longer under the steady control of her rider. Waroth gave a roar in response, stemming from her growl and growing into a fierce and angry trumpeting that announced her will to attack. Nim held tight to the fighting straps and merged with Waroth as the mighty red Sub-Queen released the tension on her muscles and took off swiftly from a crouch into a dive-bombing flight. Her talons stretched to kill. Nim was poised like a fierce animal in the fighting straps, ready for anything. The red demon pulled out of her dive sharply and stretched her wings, riding air currents high into the sky before she swooped down again. This momentum and trend continued while she sought out her prey. A black caught her eye. She so wanted to kill, but he was too puny for her efforts. Where was the enemy worthy of her wrath?

'Who among you smokeless hatchlings will face me?!' Waroth-Nimara cried, their voices blending together in Waroth's mind and subsequently in the minds of the dragons around. This was war. This was blood feud. This was the chaos that the red dragoness craved and would thrive in.

[Reky]

A small, lethal feline of a dragon burst forth from nothingness, and with her, laughter. Loud, piercing, echoing laughter, comprised of nothing but insanity, joy, and bloodlust. It rang out through the night between the roars of dragon throats, like a silver thread through a dark and rumbling background. This laughter was echoed by the rider's dragon, then, in a shriek of pure sadistic happiness. They did not care that D'ror was dead. They did not care that Abeneth had left. They did not care about anything, about the Weyr before them, about the life behind them. Right now, they cared about one thing, and that was enjoying themselves. It was time! It was time for fun, time to take a blast to the past like the old day, but... better! Dragon versus dragon! Oh, it was too good! Too good!

Claws flashed, teeth were bared, and Enlith shot through the sky, deadly fast with killing on mind. She shrieked again. X'ni's eyes were wild, shot wide open, and he was grinning like the devil, ever laughing. So, so much fun! In his hand, he held his knife. He wouldn't have any of this sword business. Far too long and ungainly. No, no, short, manageable, concealable, maneuverable - that was the way to go. Besides, he liked getting up close and personal with the people he was hurting. It was much more intense that way. Swords? You were too far away more often than not. Plunging a knife into them, on the other hand... You got to see their eyes. You got to see them die, up close! Front row seats! Best in the house! Oh, yes!

X'ni was practically standing on Enlith, feet in the stirrups, dangerously lacking in attached straps. Oh well! That was what practice was for. That was what his feline balance, his crazy skills were for! He wouldn't fall - no he wouldn't. His free hand was clutched, deathgrip, on the longer of the riding straps, though, for good measure. He could see the blue of Seceth, and grinned, knowing his F'lan was getting in on the fun, too. He called himself a renegade, but for very little reason. He had nothing against Dalibor. He had nothing against the rest of the world. The rest of the world was just his plaything, that's all. All just for fun.

And thus they rode forth, and thus they clashed.

[/size]

[derek]

He hadn't even been at Dalibor Weyr two weeks, for Faranth's sake! J'kan paced briefly, his emotions and morals being tugged in two ways, before making up his mind.

The Renegades had stolen his Weyrwoman's son, and tried to kill Farja, too. They were murderous scum, not fit to walk on the face of this Earth. They all--every single one of them!--deserved to be killed in the worst way possible, beheaded or something. Burned, hacked into pieces, eaten by canines, thrown into the ocean, burned, frozen, drowned, stabbed, anything! These monsters did not deserve to live!

J'kan was not sure if what he was doing was right, but he was going to do it anyway.

Ninety-nine percent of the time, J'kan was level headed and stoic. Anger did not come easily to the man. He did not like fighting, and he especially did not like killing. However, kidnapping and threatening to harm an innocent child as beyond vile. It deserved punishment. J'kan did not get angry on very many occasions, but by the first egg was he angry now! Fire snapped in his light blue eyes, reflected in the whirling eyes of his dragon.

We must wait!

J'kan had watched Farja stab the Renegade, watched as he fell, heard the copper Queen Kalith order the dragons not to fight just before these events occurred. As men died, dragons disappeared between, only to be replaced with more men and women and dragons circling above the Weyr Bowl, emerging from between with a cool blast of air. It was with a horrified shock that J'kan realized all of the Renegades were excited for the blood-shed that was undoubtedly about to occur, a crazy light showing in their eyes.

Hath crouched low to the ground before thrusting upwards, beating his over-large, yet strong wings to bring him into the air. His hide rippled as he drove his body up, up, up, higher into the night sky already hot with the intensity of battle.

J'kan felt his mind disengage from his body. His fingers let go of the straps, and pulled a sword from a sheath. He felt a scream tearing from his vocal chords, but was not sure if it was him that screamed and Hath that followed, or if Hath had uttered the alien screech and he that had taken up the cry.

It did not matter, however, as the great Brown dragon back-winged, screaming his ire, and dropped down onto a rather feline-looking Green and her rider.[/color]

[hatori3070]

Jasra plopped on her cot, the makings of a headache beginning to throb at her temples. Geree, Anthe, and Dioia had long since fled under the covers, curled up together for comfort. They didn't understand why Jasra had brought this angry dragonet into their lives, but they were stuck with her now. Izkeeyerdath had been pacing in their room all night, cursing the thieves that had been so stupid and cowardly as to steal a hatchling. She was still one herself, but Iz knew that human hatchlings were far more vulnerable. Her angry mental voice had been shouting at Jasra for the past hour or so, describing in detail what would happen if one of those responsible happened to cross her path. Only now had her anger abated enough to allow her rider some respite. She had just begun to settle herself, preparing for some much-needed sleep, when Kalith's angry roar shook the weyr.

They are here! They dare! Izkeeyerdath surged to her feet, claws digging into the stone of the floor on her way to the door. Her mother's order stopped her short just as Jasra blocked the way. She growled low in her throat, frustration coloring her eyes a whirling mixture of red and orange. You know you can't do that. Jasra said, trying to provide a grounding point for her friend. You think I don't know that! Her tail was lashing back and forth and all of her muscles were tensed as she crouched in front of Jasra. I will not go against her. But that didn't mean she had to like it. Her mother was right. Dragons didn't fight dragons, and they definitely listened to their Queen. So she would wait.

Jasra felt her partner's frustrated resignation and relaxed. Her muscles had been tensed, and she had been prepared for an injury. If Izkeeyerdath had thought she was getting in the way, if she had truly wanted to get out that door, there was no doubt in her mind that she wouldn't have been able to stop her. She crouched next to her friend and reached out to rest a hand on her neck. One day soon we will be strong enough to help. Yes. Izkeeyerdath said, determination coloring her mental voice. We will. Jasra smiled and hugged Iz around the neck in an impulsive gesture. She was abrasive, and fiery, and Jasra could feel no moral center in that mind of hers, but she loved every inch of her determined red body. Izkeeyerdath nudged her, a short expression of her own love for her partner, before curling around her. Jasra released her neck and leaned into her warm hide. Nothing could be better than having a dragon curled up around you, even if she was practically vibrating from contained hostility and anger. Though she would never admit it to anyone, it was oddly comforting. Her headache was even getting better.

[purnip]

Lebeth wouldn't be the one to inform him about the horrors committed; the young Bronze was either protecting himself with ignorance or trying very hard not to let it get to him. L'am received the information of this battle from the images that Suede displayed in his mind. A ghastly slide show. The boy covered his forehead, his hand sliding over his eyes. He could not aid in battle, nor did he wish to. This was a fool's fight. Had Lebeth been of age, no doubt he would be fighting alongside the lot of them, but not before reasoning. Emotions never clouded his judgment as crudely as it had done with so many others he had come across. L'am maintained a firm hold of them. Then of course, was that Hatching. It wouldn't have killed him to lose grip then, as it would have in combat. He wouldn't let expose his soft core when it mattered to keep it protected for survival.

But it was a foolish battle. The renegades were idiots for provoking the Weyr and involving their dragons into their human nonsense. He didn't think they wanted to fight--those dragons of theirs. They wouldn't refuse to fight on their rider's orders either. Their riders were so selfish. As for the Weyr, they had fault in the matter as well. Though they were the ones being attacked, they could have attempted to strike a bargain. They could have tried to make peace with the renegades long before this mess got out of hand. Renegades weren't evil. They weren't all stupid. They simply live by their own rules, but that doesn't mean they are beyond negotiating with. They've committed crimes, yes, and attempted murder. No man gets like that on his own. A series of events lead to such a betrayal. People simply did not coordinate themselves well enough when dealing with others. Such was a trade of this boy's to keep himself in a safe and respectable place. L'am sighed as he sat by the glow beside him, his eyes drifting on and off the note he was writing for Suede to send first thing in the morning.

The firelizard was outraged by this war, but he remained haughty all the same, perched on the edge of the bed in a hunched position after being strictly instructed by His to stay put. Some people were frightened and uncertain; Suede felt like he could help those poor Candidates that didn't Impress before this ordeal. He thought of the Weyrlings that felt powerless. He wanted to be by their sides and keep them strong. His could be so cold. It was odd for the Blue to be in this state. Normally he couldn't live without company but for now, he was alienated from both L'am and Lebeth in his brooding mood.

L'am dropped the pen and stood from his chair, making his way to the bed in his growing state of weariness. He glanced to Lebeth to make sure the Bronze wasn't suffering from any sort of trauma. The young dragon was eerily pensive, as if he was trying hard to ignore something but simply could not. Yes, if anything should be affected by this war, it would be the dragons that were putting aside their silent truce and drawing blood from their brothers, sisters, and cousins. He stared at Lebeth for about thirty seconds, studying the Bronze before he sat down on the edge of the bed and spoke up. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Lebeth looked to L'am, his expression stressed into something confused and hurt. It wasn't in his nature to feel this way, as his rider knew well. It was obvious that he could not remain oblivious to the carnage outside these walls. They make so much noise. I cannot put it out of my mind. I want to tell them to stop, but they will not listen. His voice lacked at cheer it usually had to it. Instead, it was haunting. His eyes focused on his rider in search of something to be lost in. Something to drown out the battle cries in the distance.

"I'm sorry, Lebeth, but there is nothing we can do to stop them now. They were in too deep. Both Dalibor and the renegades," He sat hunched by Suede, who started to lose some of that anger of his and he glanced up at His, who for once looked to be somewhat forlorn. That didn't last long though. The boy looked up to Lebeth again, right in the eyes. "But the time will come when you and I can fix this system. We can prevent battles like this from occurring again. You and I."

Lebeth didn't seem to get too comforted by all that. It wasn't going to stop the bloodshed tonight. The Bronze strode across to his rider. I do not understand why they must fight like this. Life is a wonderful thing, yet they take it from one another. Can they not enjoy it together? As we do? Why can they not enjoy life as we do, L'amMine? His voice was so sad that it was even beginning to haunt L'am. He reached for the Bronze's head and stroked him.

"Humans are not as wise as you are Lebeth, oblivious though you can be." So L'am supposed. "Most cannot simply enjoy life. Personalities and ideas clash all the time and in different ways. Some people get into mild disagreements while others engage in combat." His gaze was far away as he spoke, focused on nothing but his insight. He only understood other people due to his intense analysis of their ways, but that didn't mean he approved of it. L'am couldn't remember the last time he ever defended an argument himself. He normally didn't get into any. "But don't let that fight outside these walls cause you so much pain and confusion. I am here with you. As long as you are by my side, we will avoid such horrors to the best of our abilities. We will embrace life, even when no one else does."

That made Lebeth hopeful. This was the first time he had hear L'am say such a thing. He will embrace life with me. We will embrace it. He still was haunted by the cries at the bowl, but with His here, he could rest easier. He could forget for a while, just as long as he needed to, and know that His will not get into such a predicament as the others had. Yes. I will hold you to that. Some of that cheer return, though that hint of troubled mind couldn't be erased. Not with the war still going on outside. They would have to wait this out together.

L'am laid back on the bed as Lebeth stayed beside him on the ground. Suede was still not in the best spirits, so he remained where he was in just as much unease.

[Kila]

They’re here, Eccolath’s voice sounded without missing a beat. She did not scream and rage as did the Queens and their King, but watched with sharp, whirring eyes as Abeneth appeared above the Weyr and landed in the Bowl. Sol was at her side in an instant, watching the Renegade Brown arrive and deposit his Rider. Sol had left the feast obediently after Fajra had ordered it, not having the opportunity in the brief time she was there to congratulate any of the new Weyrlings, the Starseekers, and gone to her weyr with Eccolath. At first she had sat on the ledge and watched and waited with Eccolath, but slowly she had come to sense something in her bonded that disturbed her.

Even in her first moments of life, Eccolath had been a dreamer. It was her specialty- what she had been born to do. She has stood beside Valleth to be Callistath’s bodyguard for a short time, and among the many visions of possible futures that had crossed her mind was one of her and her chosen flying fearlessly into battle. Eccolath was fearless and she sensed battle coming. When Sol felt this she had become nervous. There were few things that she and her bonded were not on the same page on, that was why Eccolath had chosen her, but some part of Sol, the most human part, was afraid, and Eccolath’s unwavering stead unnerved her.

Eventually Sol had retreated into their weyr, feeling the need to have that physical separation. She threw herself on the bed and tried to sort out the thoughts storming about in her head. She was scared for Osro and she was scared that all of this would come to more than blows. A fistfight was one thing, defending yourself and even coming out on top, but killing was another. Sol did not think that she had it in her to take a life. She was scared to think that Eccolath could. Dragons were not supposed to fight dragons.

When Eccolath had called, Sol had come out and now the two stood side by side, watching the proceedings below intensely. The first and strongest emotion that Sol felt was relief. Spotting Osro as he ran to his mother she let loose a sigh of relief. He was safe, and even as they continued to speak being hurried off inside. There wasn’t a single soul in Dalibor who trusted D’ror as he stepped forward, even if his arms were spread open innocently. Sol cried out as he began to lunge forward, leaping onto Eccolath as though to rush to the rescue, all the while not knowing what she could do. Fajra was more than capable of defending herself, however. It was not the handle of the knife that alerted Sol to this, but rather the growing blossom of blood on the Renegade’s chest.

Almost simultaneously, a snarling Orange broke into the sky above them. The dying BrownRider, blood pouring ever down his front, marked the arrival too. He turned to the Orange and Hers as they landed by his Brown, but fell before the young woman who could only be his weyrmate reached him. The Weyr seemed deadly quiet to Sol as the woman threw herself down beside him and gathered his body into her lap, desperately listening for a breath or a pulse or any sign of life. Varya’s body language was enough to show that D’ror was dead, but much more too. No sobs racked the air and Varya did not rock or shake to and fro, but she looked broken. Heartbroken? Sol’s own heart felt like a lump of firestone. Did no one else feel Varya’s pain? She was a Renegade, yes, but she was human. And it hadn’t been her who had stolen little Osro away. Mine?

Sol’s eyes were glued to the woman below even as other Renegades began to dot the sky. She rose, and when Varya charged, dagger in hand, her head reeled. Dragons roared and took flight as they Weyr exploded into chaos. Sol was caught up and pulled along in the current. She hung onto Eccolath instinctively as the Cyan launched herself off with a roar.

There was a pair present who was fully sympathetic to Varya’s plight and averse to being in the situation. Y’nis perched high on Yusriyath’s neck and peered down to see what was happening below them. Oh Faranath, Yu, he’s dead… Y’nis observed, feeling a little too cold for the summer night. He had known Varya longer than any of the others, and he could read her like a book. The way she stood still, the way her head fell and her shoulders drooped- there could be no good news below. Oh no, what is she doing now? They watched in silence as Varya collected herself and rose slowly to her feet. Uh oh, she is very mad, YuMine. Her feeling hurt to touch, Yusriyath said nervously, brushing against Varya’s thoughts and recoiling quickly. Y’nis would have shouted for her to stop, to wait, but he already knew it was too late for that. The two watched gravely as she wavered in place and then charged forward, aimed to kill. This is it, then, Y’nis thought softly as the cliffs and the sky leapt to action. Yes… Well, my lovely, he picked up cheerfully, It it what it is, then. Let’s do what we can, okay? Okay! Yusriyath agreed, flowering with cheer as easily as His. Y’nis and Yusriyath were never a pair to frown, and they would certainly not go out that way. Who would want to be remembered like that?

[Admin]

And worked it out,
Until the bitter end,
And I suppose,
I should've known.

Fajra watched Varya mourn the loss of her weyrmate. She knew O'sho was standing beside her. After a moment of pause, she turned to him, tearing herself away from the sorrowful sight in front of her. Even if it had been necessary, it wasn't a beautiful or wonderful thing. It wasn't the sort of thing at which anyone wanted to stare. O'sho seemed distracted by Daidoroth. He looked like he had something to do. For a moment, she just stared him, standing right there beside her. Adrenaline pounded in her veins, but it brought on a numbness. She was fading into the moment and into the background. Then she heard Alizadehth's cry. She gave O'sho a push, out of the way, and, for once, it wasn't to get him away from her. It was just to get him away, to save him. She didn't even pay attention to whether he was already moving or not.

It was Kalith who met Alizadehth. The copper Queen was nearly ten feet longer than the renegade orange. Without an ounce of fear, she met her defiant adversary, claws flashing. Something in her knew that it was wrong, to fight another. She had done it before, but the lessons of her life and some of the instincts designed into her genetics told her it was wrong. However, her very existence defied the designs of her genetics. She was a copper. With one last shriek, she lunged for the Alizadehth's neck with deadly intentions. She went for the kill. Fajra whirled, ripping her attention away from O'sho, as she sensed her dragon's bloody thoughts. She had been distracted. She had let herself stop watching Varya. The renegade was already on top of her when she turned. She ducked without thinking, dodging her own blood knife.

However, her advantage over the situation was long lost. She stumbled away, raising her hands into a position that wasn't helpful at all. She cursed herself. She'd let her guard slip! It was entirely unacceptable, not to mention stupid. She fixed her hands, adjusting their position, just in time to scramble away from another attack, avoiding getting stabbed in the gut. Straightening up, she waited for the briefest moment and then she lunged forward to meet Varya in her next attack. Her fingers grabbed for to the other woman's arm and found them. She managed to force the renegade towards the ground, but was dragged down herself. Barely managing to keep her grip on Varya's wild arm, she found herself pinned. Her back hurt, bruised. Her grip slipped. Her cheek was cut. Blood slipped along her jaw, and, with it, fear. Death faced her.

Seceth darted in and out, his rider sitting firmly on his back, sword held at the ready. He led the cyan he had drawn into battle along in a dance. It was a merry game to him, and he happily avoided all the sad attempts of the younger and less evil minded foe with which he was presented. He had every intention of keeping on going as it was, prickling his claws lightly into Topeth's hide with little damage and receiving the slightest of grazes from her in return. However, then his rider turned to watch as X'ni and Enlith appeared, distracting him from their game. F'lan watched as the greenrider and his dragon rode about in a maniacal fashion. Possibly before the green and hers did, he noticed the brown headed for them. His hands clenched tighter around the metal in his grip. His teeth gritted. His posture, perfectly set before, tensed.

Seceth. With that word, Seceth and F'lan were one. No more had to be said. Differences of morals and thought and simple being were set aside. Letting loose a cry that was unusually deep for him, the blue whirled away, pulling back from Topeth. She followed him, thinking to finally score some strike though she wasn't as sure as him. Light on his wing for one of his size, he took two strokes and then he spun back around. Flaring his wings wide, he faced her. She nearly collided with him, and he didn't let her get away. He wrapped her up in his hold. His claws dug across her hide with no thought to the consequences. His own body took blows, but he shielded his rider, who refrained from trying to put any useless sword strokes into the work. After just a moment, the damage done, Seceth released the cyan and watched as she fell like a rock.



It was doubtful that it was any comfort to anyone that she wasn't dead by him. Injured beyond much hope, Topeth and Meta, hardly conscious, tumbled downward. Out of nowhere, the much larger form of an iron and his rider, H'loric and Jrenrienth, appeared. They surged towards the falling youths, and tried to catch one of their wings. They knew the motion. Experience could be seen in what they did. However, a cyan was a catch for two Queens, not a singular iron, and she was confused. Her claws raked one of the iron's flanks as she flailed. She entangled her tail against his body. With a terrified shriek, she disappeared, and, with her, Jrenrieth stumbled between as well as he desperately tried to save her from what was happening. Four were gone, the first causalities for Dalibor. Uncaring, Seceth and F'lan surged to aid Enlith and X'ni.

We break the promise,
And we take it back,
We move in silence,
This is the end, the end, the end.

[Kila]

The great Bronze King stood atop the rim, shaking is perfect, silent rage. Even from the ground O’sho could see and feel the tremor on his body. Daido… he said sternly, glad to have a reason to look away from the hideous scene before him. He had hoped fervently that no would have to die in this conflict, but it was not to be so. The mourning was possibly even worse than the death. O’sho had seen the dead and the dying before in his life, and while it was not pleasant, watching the effect that death had upon the people who had loved whoever died was heartbreaking. Varya’s emotions were real and very much alive. Daidoroth, however, was neither focused on nor aware of such things.

Daidoroth, you must calm down now, O’sho said, his voice raising to a warning. But still the Bronze did not reply. It took both Kalith’s order to hold and his Rider’s command to barely hold him back. Dragons had once long ago been wild creatures. They had instincts that humans did not: eat, fly, call, kill. Dragons had more of a taste for violence than most humans, but they also had more self control. Tradition held strong in the Weyrs, but some Weyr were less traditional than others. Daidoroth bristled. Here were all of the Renegade scurge coming into his Weyr like it was their own. These, the same kind that had frightened the people, lain on their sands, and stolen away His’ hatchling. Here was his beloved weyrmate, on fire with all the fury of the world, unable to act. Below were His and Hers, forced to stoop to their level. It was almost more than the fatherly, protective King’s pride could bear. His kingdom was being breached, his subjects put in danger, and nothing was being done. All that was ordered was hold.

O’sho was rent from his attack by a sudden and forceful shove that sent him stumbling far to the side. Fajra had pushed him! Landing squarely on the ground he made to confront her and see what the shards she was thinking, but was distracted by a myriad of hides soaring from the cliffs over him, Bronze and Copper in the lead. He leapt to his feet and stared in disbelief at the sky. Dragons did not fight dragons, and yet… claws and fangs met flesh and swords flashed through the air high above. This meeting had escalated into a battle. Turning around, and even more frightening sight met his eyes: Fajra, his Weyrmate, the heart and soul of the Weyr, was nearly pinned to the ground with a knife in her breast.

Varya fought with no reservation or regret. She was at the top of her game and had every advantage in the doomed situation. The Weyrwoman had looked away, something Varya would never have expected from her and something that Fajra would quickly regret. While Fajra was strong, especially of will, Varya was made of nothing but strength. What little room she had made in her days and in herself for diplomicy and protection were now gone. All the noble thoughts and aspirations that had fueled her, that had compelled her to abandon her Weyr, were gone. Only hatred and revenge fueled her, and each was a fatally strong emotion.

Fajra was fast- she dodged one attack and then another, stumbling one way and then another in defense as her idiotic Weyrleader had when she had shoved him away. Bravery gets you nowhere, Varya thought bitterly as the two clashed again. They were close to one another now. Fajra’s hands and nails sunk into Varya’s arms, trying to push her to the ground, but that only allowed Varya to get a hold on Fajra. As the Weyrwoman pushed, Varya grabbed her arms in a death grip and yanked her down mercilessly with her own momentum. Fajra’s back hit the ground hard and Varya was on her in an instant, forcing down the blade. Fajra struggled and turned to the side and the blade only found her cheek, nevertheless sending a crimson stream along her jaw. Varya bore down with all her strength on the hilt of the knife, hoping as her heart throbbed that the damned woman would choke in her own blood.

Fajra had her hands on Varya’s wrists, but could not match the force that she exerted and the blade moved ever closer to the Weyrwoman’s heart. The Renegade Rider was so caught up in her own vengeful battle that she had not been at all in sync with the battle that encompassed her and Fajra’s other halves above. Roars had deafened her ears since she had lunged forward, but one wounded, piercing shriek blazed across her mind as an unfathomable pain seared across her body. She looked up in terror, pressure still on the knife, but the knife momentarily held. Directly overhead Copper clashed with Orange. Both dragonesses were covered in the other’s blood, but there was a clear victor in the match. Alizadehth seemed to hover in the air, her claws in Kalith’s hide but Kalith’s teeth in her neck, a her wings slowed and stopped beating. Varya felt as though the life was draining from her as well as she saw her beloved begin to fall. Alizadehth did not let herself fall far, though. As she plummeted, she vanished between like a shadow, there one minute and gone the next.

Varya felt a great and terrible emptiness eating away at her chest like acid and she fell forward on the knife, tears pouring from her eyes and landing on her opponent. Somehow she was not through yet. As long as sorrow could be transformed into anger she was not yet broken, but when the breaking point came, it would break her completely. Her entire weight now forcing the knife down, it sought its target true. Varya stared into Fajra’s eyes as they came closer together; her own framed with tears but now full of nothing. She had no words for the Weyrwoman, for that part of her was already lost.

Alizadehth’s death was what saved Fajra. From death came life. O’sho had little time to react as he saw Varya driving her knife towards Fajra’s heart, and the shattering pause that Varya took to look up as her lifemate fell gave the Weyreader enough time to close the distance between himself and the women before the deed was done. Even as Varya’s knife sliced through Fajra’s clothes and pricked her flesh, O’sho was behind her. Grabbing Varya’s wrists he yanked her back with all of his force, the most important thing to do being to get her and the knife away from Fajra. Varya was taken by surprise and fell backwards, sending them both towards the ground. Realizing what was happening to late she turned the knife to try to land on her attacker. Seeing the knife turn towards him, O’sho did what his instincts told him. Hands still on her wrist, he pulled them toward him forcefully.

When they hit the ground the knife had found its mark, but neither of the marks that Varya had intended it to find. She gasped as the blade pierced her chest and jarred about as she landed on top of O’sho, but that was about all she had the strength for. Once she knew that the fight was over she surrendered to herself. Closing her eyes, she embraced the death that took her so she could follow after her fallen friends.

O’sho pushed her off of him, checking briefly to see that she was dead before going to Fajra. The knife that had killed both of the Renegade leaders had cut him as well on its way through Varya, but it was small and far from him mind. ”Fajra!” he called roughly, throwing himself down on his hands and knees over her before scooping her carefully into a sitting position. He checked her over thoroughly with the skill of his Healer parents and found no injuries of life-threatening importance. ”Hey, missy,” he said, relieved, tenderly brushing her red hair from her face. ”Do you feel okay? Don’t even try to get up.” He held her gently, but his soft-spoken words held more authority than they ever had or would when addressing her. He would be the one with the last word today. He picked her up in his arms easily and moved towards where Kerath stood protectively in front of the Barracks and to where W’al had disappeared. As O’sho had hoped, W’al appeared as he approached. ”Inside, now. Don’t argue,” he said firmly, handing her over to him. He put her down first on her feet, knowing how unacceptable she would find it to be carried when she still had all her limbs. It was perhaps unacceptable for him to carry her, but it might be mortifying for it to be anyone else. O’sho didn’t want to wound her pride as well. ”Let her go with Osro,” he suggested. ” And have the Healers see to both of them.” There would be more time for him to see to his red-headed family when the night was over, but it was far from that. Turning quickly, O’sho plunged back into the fray, searching the sky for Daidoroth.

[xena2009]

Arsana was silent as she kept watch with Nimara and Waroth. She didn't like to think about why they were watching. She didn't like it. She caught sight of the Renegade brownrider, and Vhreth hissed at the pair. They watched as the brownrider returned Fajra's child, and then died for trying to kill the Weyrwoman! She gasped. She saw everything that happened with Fajra and Kalith. She nodded her head in satisfaction when Nimara and Waroth swooped down to protect the Weyrleaders. She potted the intruders as they came from between. Vhreth roared in anger. And then she spotted J'kan and Hath getting in trouble with two Renegades! Vhreth!

I see them. We help!

In a flash, Arsana threw on Vhreth's riding straps and vaulted to the orange's back, easily straping in as Vhreth made for the ledge. She launched into the sky with a defeaning roar. Kalith, my Queen, we fight for you. Please stay on your ledge. With that, Vhreth flew straight at the blue going to intercept Hath. Dare you take on me?! The orange screamed at the blue. Her speed making her rapidly approach the blue, her talons exposed and her teeth flashing. She didn't flare her wings to slow her speed.

Arsana held on tight as her orange lifemate took on the blue.

[Reky]

His wild eyes were darting, searching the night, picking out his prey from his allies. X'ni's head tilted back, and for a split second the joy and insanity on his face was replaced with shock. It didn't take long for it to come back, though, and grin spreading across his face he shrieked, "Enlith!" He grabbed his riding straps with all he had. A brown was coming for them from above.

Cued, the green flipped. With X'ni holding for dear life, gravity dragging on him, she stretched out her claws and cried out and slashed at the incoming Hath. There was fire in her, and her heart was dead set on blood. You could not deny the ferocity, the vicious passion in her and in her rider. She rolled back to level almost immediately after, using Hath to push off of, wings unable to keep her upside-down at all. On her back, X'ni laughed again, between heavy breathing. Enlith lifted further upwards.

"Ha!" X'ni shouted. "You think you can take me?! YOU THINK YOU CAN KILL US?! AHA! AHAHAHAHAA! YOU THINK YOU CAN?!" He whipped his head to get his hair out of his eyes, standing up on Enlith again, arms wide open in a gesture of daring. "TRY ME, YOU SON OF A WHER!" Knife glinting, he crouched back down and clutched the riding straps. Still, he smiled. Still, his eyes were wild, and still Enlith's mirrored them.

The deaths of Meta and Topeth and H'loric and Jrenrienth registered briefly. There was no mourning for them. There was no twinge of sympathy, no split-second second thoughts. The only thing the deaths did was fuel their ambition. They would add to the death toll! Oh, how fun it would be! They would not go down without making their own little mark in this war. They would not.

They dove at Hath again.

[/size]

[kyrillion]

Ripariath, claws digging reflexively into stone, sat perched on the lip of his own weyr's ledge, orange-tinted eyes riveted on the scene playing out in the bowl. He was a live coil of potential energy, every muscle as tense as the steel his rider worked so artfully. He was crouched low, ready to move at a moment's notice, eager to fly to the aid of his queen and his Weyr. And yet, in the interim, he was perfectly and totally still. Devoid of motion. He was a statue, stained silver by the moonlight, and Kyril marveled at the icy calm she could feel keeping every breath, every impulse in check; it tempered the warmth of his anger, the underlying fire of defensiveness and spark of loyalty that cried that he should fly. That he should fight.

It was not a desire for battle, or a want of violence; it was against everything in a dragon's nature, to turn claws and fangs on a brother or sister. But as he observed that brown's weyrless rider conversing with his weyrwoman far below, all natural instincts were drowned in a desire to protect, to keep safe the riders and dragons of his own weyr. He would not be able to bear seeing any one of them hurt; they were his, and he would sooner give his own life than watch any of them suffer. Loyalty could be a heavy burden to bear, at times, but it was the quality that defined him, and he bore it with fierce determination and will. Kyrillion, dressed in riding gear and seated astride him, leaned over her blue's neck, arms around him in a fierce hug, as well as an effort to see what was happening in the bowl for herself. She was in complete harmony with him, in this; they were of one mind, now. More, perhaps, than they'd ever been. Two bodies occupying one heart, thinking and feeling and breathing in sync. Even Warren, usually so boisterous and energetic, clung gravely to the blue, tucked into Kyril's neck and radiating calm and love. They were dangerous, his human and her dragon; they felt dangerous, and the purple 'lizard's eyes were a tornado of anxiety. His concerns were only for them, and he crooned softly in worry.

Ripariath and Kyrillion remained quiet, stony observers, feeling intensely but refraining still from action. They shared relief when Ripariath confirmed that it was, indeed, little Osro who was set free to return to his parents. And it even seemed that D'ror intended to try and negotiate; but then the moonlight reflected harshly off of metal. Off of Afzal, whose bravery earned a soft hum of admiration from the blue; off of D'ror's knife, that sent an electric shock thrilling through Kyril's veins; and then off of Fajra's own dagger, that flew true and buried itself to the hilt in the brownrider's chest. What happened next - Abeneth and D'ror's declarations of love and Varya's despair, so obvious even from a distance - had a much stronger impact than Kyril could ever have anticipated. The display of devotion, the raw anguish of the orangerider and the shock of D'ror and Abeneth's deaths, jolted through Kyril's heart and ignited a brief, but overwhelming sympathy. A heartfelt sorrow and a sudden ache manifested into an almost physical pain; she did not even want to contemplate what it must be like, loving someone so intensely and then losing them. But while his rider had been struck with the human emotions, with thoughts of consequences and resolutions, Ripariath's attention had not wavered from the here and now for a second. When renegade riders began to blink into sight above the weyr, the blue was among the first to throw himself, fast and true like a tightly-coiled spring, into the fray.

The crisp, cool night air sharpened their senses and set their blood screaming through their veins; there was no boundary between their consciousness', now. Kyril could feel the blue's broad wings, buoying him higher, and his bared fangs set her own features into a snarl. Her hand clutched reflexively at her knife, hung as usual in its sheath around her neck. It would be no use to her, now, but it was an almost instinctual reaction in response to Ripariath's own lethal intentions. He was a fighter, a warrior of Dalibor, and he intended to be a killer if fate allowed him the opportunity.

Intent on finding a renegade to challenge, he was forced to swing in a wide, fast arc to avoid Alizadehth and Kalith, who clashed together in a mass of red and orange and rage, and a sudden gust of wind buoyed him higher. He could see his comrades rising to meet the intruders from this new vantage and, guided by his rider's logic and determination against making any hasty decisions, he paused, suspended, for the brief moment it required to see where he was most needed. In that moment, Topeth and Jrenrienth were lost; but Ripariath's attention was drawn towards a certain renegade Blackrider. Raelle and Tossiteth.

He watched as they met a greenpair mid-air; T'zar and Brecciaeth, easily identified as once-fellow-Weyrlings. But the more experienced, more agile black clearly had the advantage, and as he struggled with Brecciaeth, Ripariath pulled in his wings and dove, eyes a whirlwind of crimson and his form a blue-silver arrow slicing through the night.

They did not make it in time. With an agonized cry, the mortally wounded young green blinked between, but Tossiteth had only a moment to revel in his victory. Ripariath was soon on him, the mid-air collision echoing with a dull thud that seemed, to the pair, far less dangerous-sounding than the situation warranted. Claws and teeth found their mark, tearing furiously into the black, and the dragons twisted and struggled as they plummeted through the sky. Tossiteth fought furiously; he was a match for Ripariath in speed and manueverability, and Kyril could feel the pain as acutely as her dragon as the black's own claws and teeth sunk into Ripariath's previously unmarred cornflower-blue hide. But they did not relent, stubborn in their attack even as the ground drew nearer. Warren, who had clung resolutely to Kyrillion's shoulder as they joined the battle, found courage of his own and slithered in front of her, spreading his wings to turn himself into a shield. He resolutely protected His as Ripariath and Tossiteth struggled, a black-and-blue ball of fury and pain and ichor.

In the end, it was Ripariath who managed to find an opening, and he sunk his fangs deeply into the black's neck, the ichor a harsh and metallic stain across his jaws. Raelle and Tossiteth were lost between a moment later, and their sudden absence had the blue floundering, confused, until Kyril was able to reassert control and bring him back into focus. He pulled out of the freefall just in time, wings spread wide to check their descent, and they sailed low across the bowl. Warren returned to his place on Kyrillion's shoulder but, finding that insufficient, he then moved to twine himself around her neck, seekin comfort and warmth; she tried to ignore the fact that he was shaking faintly.

Adrenaline drowned out the agony of the blue's wounds, but every muscle screamed at the exertion as he angled them up and back towards the battle. There was a sudden and frightening emptiness, a hollow feeling and an absence of all emotion as they wheeled around to rejoin the fray. They were killers. Two lives were on their hands, in the still-warm ichor that stained the once pristine cornflower blue. The knowledge threatened to swallow Kyrillion whole right then and there - but the fight was not over, yet; the weyr was still in danger, the battle raged on, and the pair would not rest until the renegades were out of Dalibor. And so she fought down the numb shock, clinging desperately to Ripariath's still-steely resolve and anger. Where they had been silent as ghosts, before, Ripariath finally let free a deep, resounding roar, full of anguish and anger and perhaps a little guilt, but their resolve did not waver. There would be time for reflection later, but it could only be dangerous now. Now was a time for action, and the bluepair would do whatever was required of them, until the end.

[Lan]

As Kalith and Alizhadeth found fiercely below, Waroth circled above and around looking for challengers. She saw a brown and a green engaged in combat and trumpeted a call to give the brown dragon encouragement and voracity. Yet another cyan dragon was fighting a blue, and performing poorly. Waroth grit her teeth and banked away from such a scene. The cyan would fall. She knew it already. But this did nothing to fill or disperse her passion. She was not getting her fill. She produced another fierce roar, challenging again all who would dare to approach her. Meanwhile, the battle raged on between the copper and the orange below. Kalith had the advantage. Being a Queen dragon, there was no other way about it. Kalith would win, and fight admirably.

Then, suddenly, the orange presence was gone. But Waroth did not croon her passing. No, instead she hummed and growled in triumph, encouraging the Senior Queen of Dalibor Weyr and congratulating her on the successful fight. Now she would show her own skills in battle. Now she would fight to kill, maim, and ultimately destroy dragon and rider. She turned swiftly and carefully toward where the cyan and the blue had been facing each other. The cyan was falling, she would surely die. An iron tried to catch her, but it was already too late. As they both went tumbling, the cyan flicked between, taking both her rider and the iron dragon-rider pair with her.

A blue, looking rather impressed with himself, then turned to head off in another direction. Well, that Waroth could not stand. She screamed and snarled, angry and glowing even more red in her insatiable rage. Then, the unexpected happened (or, rather, unexpected for everyone but Waroth). Orange Alizhadeth was defeated and went between, leaving her rider drunk from sorrow and anger. Her original intention to stop the blue dead in his tracks was set aside as she watched what unfolded below between the two women riders. The orangerider was eventually defeated by O'sho, who killed her to save Fajra. The Weyrwoman was hurt. Nim-Waroth dove quickly, knowing it would be best to give the Weyrwoman and the Weyrleader cover during such a tender time. The red dragoness hovered almost directly above them, snapping her jaws and threatening all lesser colors that even looked like they were thinking of coming close.

'WE will make sure those shell-traitors don't get too close,' Nim-Waroth passed along to O'sho, their combined voices a mixture of the tender empathetic Nimara and the fiery unforgiving Waroth. 'Don't stay on the ground for long.' Perhaps it was a bit of an obvious statement, but it was more Waroth's doing than her rider's. The crimson demon swayed back and forth as she hovered over the airspace of the Weyrleader, continually snapping and raging at whatever other dragon was getting too close for her tastes. In this moment, Waroth's protective personality was fused with Nimara's favor of O'sho, to the point where the two were cooperatively working to keep that which they both cared for (momentarily) safe.

When Daidoroth was certain to come quickly, Waroth felt free to scope out the blue Seceth that was to be her next victim. She could not let both the unruly green and the blue take on that brown dragon... surely their combined agility would make the fight off-balanced. She would lend a claw and a tooth as soon as she could lend it -and she was more than anxious to do so as soon as was possible for her. 'Come faster...' Nim-Waroth thought more to themselves than to Daidoroth. THEY knew that he would come as quick as possible to his beloved lifepartner. But THEY so needed to be over there to help that sub-king that would soon be taking on more than one swift fighting dragon, both of which looked more war-crazed than even the volatile red did!

Oh, but she could taste his hide between her teeth already, and already she could feel his flesh ripping at the command of her fierce talons. Waroth would overcome the tiny little pest, and how glorious it would be when she did so. not quite as magnificent as Kalith's performance, but she was sure she would get the same share of blood before the evening was over.

[Kila]

”Nimara, Waroth, thank you!” O’sho sang as they covered his progression across the Bowl. He looked up at Nim and gave her a fiery wink. He was beginning to fall into the groove of the battle chaos now. Though this was far from the ideal present he would have chosen, he thrived by living in the present and resigned himself to doing so for the moment. How he felt about it all could come later in meditation, but now was not the time to appear soft. ”Daidoroth, to me!” he bellowed after he had gotten Fajra to safety, but the Bronze was already swooping down towards him. Daidoroth did not stop to land, and, picking up speed, O’sho vaulted onto his neck when he skimmed low enough to the ground. I am here! he thundered to His and to the Red pair. O’sho gave them a final salute, appearing now as a man much younger in his turns, and surging off on Daidoroth.

Y’nis and Yusriyath were forced to keep moving as Dalibor dragons poured into the sky and began to clash with Renegades. Y’nis hugged Yustriyath’s neck and looked down in horror as Kalith and Alizadehth fought. Varya could win her own fights, but here the Orange was clearly outmatched. When Alizadeth fell Varya would not be able to survive. She’s crazy! No, but very sad. The Purple pair dodged an oncoming Dalibor pair and again peered downwards. Alizadehth was losing, and Varya’s gains on the ground were immaterial when compared. Y’nis gritted his teeth. What could they do?

The end came quickly. Alizadehth screamed a death cry and winked between as she fell and moments afterward the Weyrleader came to his Weyrwoman's aid, killing Varya in the process. His hands clenched as she was pushed aside like nothing. Yusriyath keened the Orange Queen's passing.

Eccolath keened as well. Sol was still looking in horror at the place where Topeth and Jrenrieth had disappeared. One of her fellow Cyan Riders and the brave King that had tried to help her were gone in the blink of an eye. Eccolath keened in pain for the loss of her Cyan sister, her heart afflicted by the loss when they already numbered so few. You must pull yourself together, Mine, Eccolath surely as things continued to escalate. We must help and I cannot do this on my own. I need you with me. Sol struggled to get a grip on herself, painfully aware of the truth in Eccolath’s words. Everything seemed skewed when she and Eccolath were not thinking and acting together. The Cyan was more suited to this, so Sol would have to trust and follow her. Sol resisting or doing nothing as she had been was only holding them back and putting them in danger.

[derek]

J'kan yelled as Hath dropped down on the Green, who flipped, her claws scrabbling against the Brown's hide, trying to find a purchase to rip him crown to sole. Hath screamed as her claws dug into his hide, drops of blood dripping from his breast and down into open air, and tried to retaliate as quickly as possible, but the Green pushed off of him, snapping her wings open to right herself.

As the Green's rider screamed, shouting into the cold, open night air, J'kan recognized the light of madness. His own blue eyes were cold, showing little to no emotion save for anger. He did not honor the Green's rider with a reply.

J'kan was not aware of the other dragons taking to the sky until a Blue dropped in front of him, only to be intercepted by Orange Vhreth and her rider, Arsana. He was aware of shouting at her to be careful, and thanks for the help, or something like it, but he was never sure if his words reached her, for the Green was attacking again, and Hath was retaliating.

The Brown slashed, claws seeking to draw blood from the Green. J'kan wished for the life of him he had some fire-stone to give to Hath so the dragon could scorch the Green from the sky. Turning, he wished the Weyrwoman and her dragon had not ordered the Weyrlings to stay out of the fight. If she hadn't, the weyrlings would be able to bring firestone to the fighters. The Renegades would have none.

J'kan gripped Hath as tightly as he could to the fighting straps as Hath dove, slamming himself into the Green, trying to knock her from the air.

[/color][/blockquote]

[matsi]

A small pink took of from beside the Weyrlings barracks and towards the bowl. The pink soon began to circle around, confusion flashing in her eyes as a multitude of colors. She stayed far back from the fighting, unsure what to do as her rider looked over her shoulder towards the ground, and around them.
p'rthMine, what is going on? Aith said softly to her rider as she looked around. A small growl escaped her chest as the scent of blood and ichor reached her nose.
P'rthMine, They are renegades. They are killingShe said as a deep roar, one that was unfit for a small pink, echoed from her chest and maw and into the air.
{Aith, I dont know what to do,} P'rth said. He had not been in a battle yet, and was unsure of who was who.
{Which are Renegades, and which are Dalibor?} He asked her, But his questioning was slow. The Pink was already taking her rider closer, trying to find a gold or Bronze or someone who could give them orders. She was ready to avoid anything as she flew towards the grounds, searching with mind and eyes. COnfusion was still whirrling in her eyes as she searched. A feeling of dishonor and fear poured from her to Hers.
{you are young, This is our first battle we have seen, dont worry my Rose} P'rth comforted her as he slightly agreed with her. In the back of his mind, he wondered why he had left Amara...

[hatori3070]

Izkeeyerdath snapped at the air, her fangs coming together in a loud clash. She could feel death. Dragons were dying, two from her weyr, and she was laying down in a room doing nothing! We have to do something! She roared as she stood, leaving Jasra to recover in her wake. Jasramine, they die while we do nothing! Her claws dug into the stone under her paws, leaving gouges in the floor in her anger. After tumbling into the space vacated by her dragon, Jasra had jumped to her feet to make it to the door first, once again blocking the way with her body. Iz, you know we can't. Kalith ordered us to stay here.[/b] In a different situation, it might have worked, but not tonight. Claws flashed and raked across her leg, bringing a gasp and a wince of pain to Jasra's face, but she remained in front of the door. Move! Now! Izkeeyerdath screamed, her mental voice full of her anger and frustration. She let out a roar, one that would one day rival her mothers in its intensity. There had to be something, anything she could do to help! They were dying!

Jasra just looked at her with eyes brimming with tears. Her three firelizards shot out from their hiding place to land on her and croon, cuddling close and trying to comfort her. In the back of her mind she knew she would have to go to the healers once this was all over, along with whoever else was getting hurt in the actual fighting, but now more pressing matters needed her attention. She didn't allow a single drop to escape her eyes as she looked at the thrashing, red-eyed, blood-stained form of her partner. Her emotions were beginning to cloud her own mind, but she fought them back. Yes, she was angry. Yes, she wanted them to pay for what they had done. But if they even tried to enter the fray, Iz would get hurt. She was no match for the fully-grown dragons waiting out there. There was no doubt in her mind that her life would be in danger if she was allowed to leave the building. As such, her resolve was absolute. It was no longer a matter of calming her down, simply a matter of containment. "It doesn't matter what you do or say. You'll have to kill me to leave this room."

That had an instant sobering effect on her dragon. Kill her? I would never do that, Mine. Her previously thrashing tail slowed to a slight back and forth movement and she sat back on her haunches, her anger curbed for the moment. She still wanted out, she still wanted to do something, anything, but she also realized she couldn't. Not without causing more harm than she was prepared to. She would have had to physically drag Jasra from the doorway in a manner similar to what she had done to Dekistee on the sands. That would have been unacceptable, so she retreated to her bed, curling up and staring at the window. You need to get that taken care of.

The wound in question had begun to throb painfully as blood dripped down Jasra's leg to pool around her foot. Instead of leaving to get it looked at though, she sank to the ground leaning against the door. Her leg stretched out in front of her, she began to tear strips out of her dress for a makeshift bandage. Leaving now would be a very bad idea. There was no guarantee that she could trust Iz not to break out the minute she was out of the room, so for now, she finished with her bandage and remained right where she was. She could be just as stubborn as Izkeeyerdath, more-so considering she was soon feeling slightly light-headed. Even though she hated to leave her, Geree sped out the window and back in through the front entrance to the barrack. Someone had to be there who could help. She zipped around, chattering as she went, until she spotted a man. He was important, she could remember something about him and his purple during the feast. They were in charge of Hers! That was it! Forgetting any attempt at grace, she landed heavily on his shoulder, flashed him an image of Jasra's bloody leg, and took to the air around his head. They had to hurry! Hers was hurt!

[Reky]

Enlith screamed. While she had put her mark on Hath, Hath was putting his on her. The brown's claws dragged through her flesh, leaving long wounds on her arms and chest, from which blood flowed and dropped to the ground far below. Still holding tight, X'ni blocked her pain from his mind the best he could. His teeth were clenched together now and his smile had faded to a snarl. It was taking concentration, not to feel Enlith's pain as well. It was still so, so sharding fun, but it was intense now. Very intense. Just barely, the green managed to regain balance after being slammed into by the larger dragon, wobbling in the air.

Enlith, honey, dear, up we go, X'ni commanded. Twisting through the air, much faster than the brown could dream of managing, Enlith climbed higher. Briefly, X'ni remarked at how dancelike it was. Each dragon and rider pair taking turns diving on the other, only to climb and do it again. He wondered how this all looked from the ground. It might look wonderful! All these silhouettes of dragons, fighting each other, blood raining down... Wonderful indeed! Whilst he thought, he hurriedly strapped his legs in tight to the straps.

Turning over in the air, it was Enlith's turn to descend upon Hath. Instead of reaching for him herself, though, she rolled dangerously close to him, probably knocking his wings. In the split second X'ni was upside-down above J'kan, though, his knife flashed out, aiming for the brownrider's face. After tumbling downward for a brief heart-jerking moment, Enlith found her wings and climbed again.

[/size]

[jack]

”I guess its set then.”

A long muzzle dipped in reply, the lone eye closed submissively.

”No goin’ back.” A light laugh, and worn fingers ran through curled hair, the blackette directing his eyes skyward as he ground his teeth absently, a frown tugging at his lips. ”What a mess. Shards—never thought I’d be so angry with myself.” He laughed again, and licked his lips, rolling his eyes downwards to stare at the shimmering hide between his legs. A hand reached out, gently caressing the smooth flesh, and the dragon rumbled softly, ”Figures that when we had nothing to lose, we’d gain things we wanted to keep just in time to risk it all.”

T’el snarled, and bared his teeth animalistically, his eyes narrowing as Sjueth calmly relayed the goings on in Dalibor—listening to the dragon’s screams in his mind. Angrily, his gut swirling with the urge to fight back, the rider touched his heels to the Iron’s neck. Go. The dragon leaned back onto his haunches and surged into the sky, his wings snapping open and pulling him high into the air. ”Sorry Sju, my love!” He grinned as the silvery-scaled creature spun, his eye whirling as he prepared to between, ”I’m not about to let some damned rider steal anything that’s mine this time!”

The duo reappeared over Dalibor, Sjueth roaring his arrival with his lone eye whirling a crimson red, and his dead eye eerily pale. T’el was grinning as manically as ever as the pair dived down, nearly grazing the ground before—as the blackette gave a howl of challenge—they rocketed back into the sky. Sjueth drew close to Thauth, and T’el leaned as far over as he dared, expression softening as he smiled at M’kiru. ”Don’t get killed, M’kiru. I don’t do so well when I lose people I care about.” He gave a cackling laugh, and drew two long daggers from his boots, winking as he saluted the Blackrider with one in hand. Sjueth didn’t wait for the salute to finish, however, and the madman laughed cheerfully as the Iron rocketed into the mass of fighting dragons.

The Iron didn’t spare a moment for any of the groups, nimbly avoiding all the dragons and riders that should have been his allies. He seemed content to weave in and out, resurfacing to where Thauth was once and a while as though to make sure the black pair was out of danger before surveying more of the mob. T’el was busy observing, stubbornly keeping track of every individual he could see. D’ror’s body attracted his attention for a moment, but it didn’t last long. Soon, his attention was on the skies again, and just in time for a Brownpair to launch forwards into an attack.

Sjueth whirled, rolling to the side and out of danger. T’el snarled, and the Iron arched back into the sky, powerful pumps of his wings skyrocketing him out of Odyth’s range before he suddenly dove. Minds perfectly aligned, the sharp eyes of T’el directed the strong grace of Sjueth, and as the Brown moved to attack, Sjueth cut off his dive and dodged slightly to the side, all four claws raking out as the dragon surged past. The Brown’s screams echoed, his gut cut and mauled so thoroughly that he could barely stay in the air. But they weren’t done. Defense was exchanged for pure offense, and the Iron pounded after the gliding dragon. Merciful, my love.

The Iron caught up to the barely air-borne pair easily. He came above them, and slammed his body into the Brown’s body, his claws digging into wings and spine as his head snapped out. Almost gently, he nudged U’ar with his muzzle, almost asking for forgiveness before—as Odyth roared and curled to attack—his neck snapped forwards and his jaws snapped like a vice over U’ar’s head. Death was instant, and Sjueth released the lifeless corpse before a heartbeat had passed, snapping his wings fully open as he sailed back upwards and pounded his way back into the sky. The Brown screamed out in despair, and as he was bleeding to death, betweened with his rider’s corpse still dangling in his straps. Sjueth roared with him, slowly softening his cry as the other’s cut off. T’el grit his teeth, and with a snarl, flicked his head to the side. His glare rested on Varya and Alizadeth. Fajra and Kalith. O’sho. Daidoroth. D’ror’s lifeless body. All of them that had started it. All of them that had caused this madness…and the madness that had made him go along with it.

Sjueth sailed back into the sky, his muzzle streaked with blood as he circled Thauth again. T’el’s eyes were clouded, but light and determined. He grinned at M’kiru as he wiped a few strays of blood from his cheek, and he flicked the clean blades in his fingers. They would not die. They would not let him die. Sjueth lifted his head as T’el gave M’kiru a last lingering look, and they dove back into the fray. This was War. But war would take a backseat to his family.

ooc: And as ordered--U'ar and Odyth are gone.

[Admin]

Breathe in, breathe out, tell me all of your doubt,
Everybody bleeds this way, just the same,
Breathe in, breathe out, move on and break down,
If everyone goes away, I will stay.

Kalith screamed no triumph when Alizadehth disappeared after her killing blow was struck. Her own hide laced in cuts and slashes, dripping green ichor over the vibrant copper of her body, she watched the orange disappear with a mute satisfaction. She was drawn up into the struggle of her rider, too far below, within an instance. Fajra scrunched her eyes closed. Her muscle burned as she struggled with Varya, her gripe failing. She could feel that her dragon had won her battle, but success seemed far in her mind. Metal prickled her chest, drawing blood. She could hear her heart pounding, inches from the press of the knife. The moment seemed to have slowed and she couldn't move. Her back ached and her cheek burned. Sensible thoughts and cold logic gave way to the harsh knowledge that she was going to die. She couldn't breathe.

Then Varya and the knife were gone, yanked away from her body. She didn't bother to move. Her head hurt. She heard the sounds of a scuffle nearby, but she didn't stir. She slowly swallowed. Not too far away, something fell. Someone called her name. She slowly opened her eyes, not feeling the strong urge to rise, as someone raised her body into sitting position. She stared up at O'sho as he brushed her hair from her face. He asked her a question, but followed it up with a kindly order, and she didn't bother to speak at all. She just smiled to herself, the motion not actually reaching her face, where it would cause her pain with her cheek. He'd been worried. It was kind of funny, at least then. And sweet. She supposed it was supposed to be sweet. Right. Focusing on how sweet he was, she started to piece her thoughts back together. She noticed the dead body of Varya. She focused more on O'sho.

As O'sho scooped her up and carried her, she frowned vaguely up at the sight of Nimara and Waroth hovering over them. Why were they being so fussy? Kalith could cover them, or Kerath. She didn't bother to be offended by being carried. It would have required struggling to argue, and that would have hurt. She was perfectly capable of walking, but, if he wanted to carry her, she wasn't going to go around complaining. Pride was for when there weren't dead people and her chest wasn't leaking blood. Despite her compliance, she straightened up as soon as he set him down, cut face looking as cool as ever. An attentive W'al with Osro in tow was quick to appear when Kerath alerted him to approach of the Weyrleader carrying the Weyrwoman. He nodded sharply at what he was told. Unfortunately, Fajra was less understanding of her newer orders.

After O'sho disappeared, she shot W'al a look that made it clear that would be better if the purplerider didn't try to help her and focused on taking very good care of Osro. In the wake of O'sho, Kalith landed feet from her rider, eyes swirling intense shades of yellow and orange. Four of their own pairs were dead. Three of the renegade pairs were. Her entire body rippled with agitation. Turning away from W'al, waving him off with a decisive motion that, even in her state, did manage to rival O'sho's unusual manner enough to convince the weyrlingmaster to leave her be for a moment and focus his attention back on Osro. Fajra tilted her head and looked up into the eyes of the Queen that had, turns ago, become her other half. The time was fighting was past, and, despite their injuries, they had to be the ones to make that clear.

Understanding and agreeing perfectly with the intentions of her rider, Kalith turned away and tipped her head back to gaze up at the clashing forms above her. STOP! Her voice ripped through the mind of every dragon on that continent, from loyal wingrider to renegade. She gave them each one moment to see the sense in one order of one Queen. The war, only one quick battle but still a war in the mind of a dragon, had to be over. The order not forced through her by her rider, it carried a striking force. In the slight pause that she took, she lashed her tail. Behind her, Fajra stood, strong and fierce for a moment despite her injuries as she stood tall and straight. Both of them drew in a breathe they didn't need, filling themselves with a mighty force. They would not be defied. As Queen and Weyrwoman, they wanted their words to be heard.

Those not of Dalibor, surrender, flee, or die. We will offer you a pardon if you land now. You will find protection here. Don't expect trust. There will be demands of you. However, I doubt any of you will find much better when all the Weyrs of Pern are hunting for you. Make your choice; Kalith hissed. She spoke to all, with her rider influencing the words, even though the speech was obviously directed at the renegades. While it pained her, she had made her choice. The renegades would stay in the Weyr. What else were they do with them? The battle could continue and all of them could be killed, but that wasn't right. Dragonriders were only killed in duels. Executions weren't in the justice system of a Weyr. No other Weyr would want to take them. The others would be liable to hunt any that fled. Anyway, anything to settle the battle seemed better. They delivered their solution as an ultimatum.

The orange wasn't exactly subtle in her coming. Seceth snorted to himself in amusement at the challenges she offered and broke away from his path towards the brown fighting with Enlith. His rider grumbled on his back, disliking the change in the events, but he ignored it. Nimbly, he darted from Vhreth's path as she drew closer to him at her daredevil pace. She was going quite fast, but he'd had plenty of time to prepare and was more agile. Her claws added no more scratches to the collection that were already on his hide. He shifted his wings, preparing to dart in to show her that he would dare to take her. Then the piercing call of the Dalibor Queen ran through his mind. He wheeled back. He was willing to listen, as was F'lan, through him. She told them they could run, they could die, or they could surrender and be allowed shelter within Dalibor.

Seceth tucked his wings dropped like a rock, as if one of the many small marks on his hide was a mortal wound. However, he flared his wings again well before he hit the ground and he settled on the dry grass with a small thump. Throwing his sword far out of the way, F'lan slipped off his dragon's back and landed lightly on the ground. Standing beside the blue's flank, he linked his hands together and put them over his head. The motion could have been from him surrendering, but it looked like like he was simply relaxing and stretching. What now? His eyes hunted for X'ni and Enlith. He knew three of the renegades were dead, but the rest of them were alive. With any luck, at least X'ni would have sense like him and simply accept the new arrangement. Without Varya and D'ror, there wasn't much of a point. Dalibor was as good as anywhere in Pern.

The fight was over. Even if the surrender wasn't complete, the battle was over. The terms had been made clear. Flee or accept what was offered. No more ichor or blood would be spilled. The task of righting the world again done, Fajra leaned against Kalith like a rag doll. The cut on her cheek was clotted. It was shallow, a grazing mark, liable to heal up well with minimal care. The one on her chest was still bleeding, seeping blood all over the material of her stained and ripped dress. After she quieted some of the aching of her body to assure Kalith, who currently wore a furious but resolute face and kept firmly by the side of her rider, she moved back towards W'al. She took her son's hand from the purplerider and gave him a nod to tell him to go do something useful. She turned away, offering Osro quiet reassurances, and then paused.

For a moment, her thoughts pounded in her mind as a flurry. They needed a new wingsecond for one wing, a new wingleader for another. The wings had already been reorganized only recently so that each was smaller than before. She would have to look at the new transfers she'd been interest in taking. They had renegades in the Weyr. They had renegades as a part of the Weyr. She'd have to settle out terms for them. They still owed something, all of them. They were pardoned, not trusted. The other weyrleaders would want to meet with her. She would have to arrange that before they could start getting huffy with her over all the events. All of the things that she needed to do passed through her mind. Then they faded. Not even the knowledge of the renegades she had invited into the Weyr swayed her thoughts. With the deaths, they seemed trivial.

Someone had to go clean up to the two corpses that were in the bowl. One of them still had her knife. She pushed those thoughts far from her mind, putting them away with the others. For once, she settled on the answer that someone else would take care of it. Not even sure what the senseless words she was murmuring to Osro were, she headed towards the infirmary on foot. She didn't even think about the fact she was defying what O'sho had told W'al to do with her. She focused more on the fact that she was alive and had her son in her hold. Kalith prowled along after her rider despite her own injuries. "Blood;" Osro commented, staring with wide eyes about at the forms of ichor stained dragons. A tired but walking Fajra made no effort to correct him. She simply covered his eyes. She doubted the infirmary ahead would be any better soon.

We push and we pull and I fall down sometimes,
I'm not letting go, you hold the other line,
Cause there is a light in your eyes, in your eyes,
Cause there is a light in your eyes, in your eyes.

[Nia]

The Gold flew over everyone, observing, not exactly taking part, but making sure no outsiders would interfere with the one-on-one fights. Avalle was a fighter. She wanted to get into the fray. She wanted to attack others and fight along side them, but Callistath's noble goal of watching over everyone who needed help prevailed in the end. Of course, that didn't mean that the two of them didn't roar together and snap at the few who came near them, as they were being quite menacing in their own right. The Gold's hide was flecked with red and green from the fights, where blood had sprayed and dragons had gone between. But neither of them had time for mourning. This was war. They would fight.

Then, Kalith ended it. Callistath didn't want to stop, and for a moment, Avalle thought she'd almost lost control of herself and her dragon. But they pulled themselves together, and Avalle felt her mind disconnect from Callistath's smoothly, though each of them were still angry. Idiots! Sharding idiots! It was their own stupid fault that this had happened! That two Dalibor riders and three Renegades were dead! It was their own fault for sharding kidnapping the Weyrwoman's son! They were all going to pay. Avalle wanted to make them all pay in their own blood. But she was loyal to Kalith and Fajra more than anyone else, so the pair stopped, hovering over everyone, the gold's giant wings casting a large shadow over the fray. Stop. They were stopped.

Breathing heavily, Avalle watched as the fighting slowed to a stop. That was for the better. She knew it, in her heart she knew it, but part of her wanted to keep fighting. Parts of her wanted to rip those sharding, idiotic renegades to shreds. They'd broken taboo! They'd started this war, not Dalibor! Mine,

[/i] Avalle's fists were still clenched tightly around her knives when Callistath's strict voice touched her mind, It is over. Kalith wishes it to be over. We will not go against them,[/i] the gold said, her voice full of the poise her rage had been lacking earlier. Avalle relaxed her fists and allowed her arms to drop to her sides. I know. I just... I don't agree. With how she's letting them stay with us, she said softly, her voice still full of fury, But... it's the right thing to do. Their leaders are gone... these are just their lackeys. They're worthless, her voice was full of cold arrogance that wasn't seen much in her lately, coming out because of the emotions left behind when the rage had cleared. I know. But we will follow her judgement,[/i] Callistath said, and Avalle gave a slow nod.

Callistath landed gracefully away from Fajra and the others. I just want to go to sleep, Avalle said almost childishly, her shoulders slumping forward. Don't slouch, Mine. This isn't all over yet,[/i] Callistath wanted to stay and wait for all the renegades to surrender. Fajra had been wounded and O'sho was taking care of her, so if the renegades were to go against Kalith (which both Avalle and Callistath highly doubted) they had to be there to watch. Their game was ending, and it would be wrong to leave before the closing ceremonies were over.

M'kiru almost glared at T'el and shot back some snappy comment, but the meaning of his words struck the Blackrider somewhere, and he stayed quiet for a moment. "'course I won't die. I'm not that weak," he said with a cocky smirk, though it faltered and wasn't quite what he'd hoped it would be. Cared for? It almost made the blond scoff, but the words were true, and he certainly didn't want the last thing T'el thought of him to be a stupid comment. "Make sure you don't die either!" he shouted after the Ironrider as Sjueth flew away. He probably didn't hear. But that was fine. M'kiru didn't care if he heard or not, all that mattered was that he said it... but of course they'd see each other again. These Daliborians weren't any smarter than a bunch of wherries!

Except they were, and he had to narrowly avoid quite a few of them in order to keep Thauth from sustaining serious injury. He cursed repeatedly, gripping his long knives tightly as he dove after a few riders, but kept his distance. Stop being such a coward! Let me fight![/i] Thauth roared angerly, but M'kiru didn't merge fully with the dragon. He didn't want to. He was a coward who didn't know how to fight, and he'd proved that countless times. They had two Queens on their side and countless Kings that M'kiru couldn't even keep track of. They were fools to think they could fight something like that. He stared blankly at T'el as the other rider sent a Brown between, and if he was watching with awe, wonder, or horror not even M'kiru could say. But he locked eyes with the other and kept his distance, watching Sjueth's silver hide disappear into the mess of dragons. What a mess. What a disgusting, disgusting mess.

The end came sooner than M'kiru could have hoped for. Kalith ended it after Alizadehth was killed. M'kiru didn't regret seeing them go. They'd started this ridiculous thing, so they'd paid for it. It was sad. But he'd get over it. M'kiru could still stop Sjueth's hide in the midst of the others. He was fine. The only thing he had to deal with... surrender. The blond frowned, watching as Seceth was the first to land and "surrender" to Dalibor. Shard it! M'kiru hated that Weyr. He hated their stupid order and their stupid Kings and their stupid Queens. Hated them! But where else could he go? A little Black like Thauth couldn't survive on his own, as insane as he might be.

Thauth made the decision for the both of them by landing. Why did you land?! I haven't even- Oh come on. You can't survive without others. You know this. I know this. You just can't admit it, so I picked for us,[/i] Thauth said lazily, settling comfortably into the ground. M'kiru slid off the Black without any grace at all, crossing his arms across his chest. It was a surrender and he was surrendering... but he didn't have to be happy or greatful about it. Stupid sharding Weyrs. He hated them all.[/blockquote][/size]

[kia]

Nia rushed out on to the ledge where Naikianeth waited for her. The Orange`s eyes were red with anger. She was ready to go. The war had started and they were already late out onto the playing field. Nia and Nikianeth rose up in the air. Dragons and dragons were fighting with one another. All ready several had betweened, including some of the recent Riders who had graduated from Weyrling lessons a few months back. Nikianeth bugled in pain with the deaths of the few, but she pressed on. Kalith was already fighting with Alizadehth. But where was the Renegade Brown. No matter, the Orange Renegade Queen was her target, and Kalith was all ready taking care of her. Nia knew she would not be able to turn her dragon`s attentions anywhere else under Nikianeth knew the Renegade Queen was dead. Instead of getting in the way of the Copper and Orange and possibly getting hurt, Nikianeth and Nia circled the two intently to make sure that the evil Queen would not try to escape. Their job would short lived as Kalith won, Alizadehth betweening to her end with her Rider.

M`grr was like Y`nis, dodging attackers and just trying to stay out of the way. What could they do against an entire Weyr? D`ror had been right. They had been seriously out-numbered. But M`grr was not going to give up easily. He sighed as some GreenRider approached him, obviously not going to leave him alone as ordered of their Copper Queen. He sighed. Taburith, do not kill. I do not feel like dying today, he said to his Green. The Green bugled with anger. She really did not like many Green dragons because she was prideful about her own hide and beauty. She raced forward to meet the other. They missed and dodge. Finally, because of Taburith`s speed for which she had always been known for, she warned her Mine to hang on. The Green raced to meet. At the last second, Taburith turned on her side as her claws raked into the hide of the other Green. M`grr watched at Marae and Hugeth fell back towards the ground. M`grr let out another side. If only the pair had just left them alone, then M`grr and Taburith would have done nothing to them.

Nikianeth, now obviously pleased that the other Orange was gone, turned her head toward the Renegades. Her eyes landed on M`grr and Taburith, furious that the Green pair had seriously hurt one of their own. She bugled and raced forward, heading toward the Green and ready to easily dominate her. But Kalith called for a stop. Nikianeth stopped and turned her head toward her Queen. It was over now that the Renegade Queen was dead and gone. She turned toward the Green, growled lowly, and then turned back toward Kalith. The Orange was very loyal to Kalith and would not disobey her. Taburith relayed the message to M`grr, but a growl was in her voice. We are not going back to a Weyr! It was a Weyr that betrayed us in the first place! I refuse! she shouted mentally and growled. But it is either this or be hunted and possibly killed later in life. For now, we need to accept. I dislike the idea just as much as you. I hate it... Taburith growled lowly.

N`tal watched from his weyr, quietly, with intent interest. He mentally sent strength and encouragement to Varya and Alizadehth. They fought beautifully and with a passionate fire that it inspired N`tal. He wish he could have been up there with Varya and Alizadehth, defending them, protecting them. But they had refused it. They had asked them not to do so. N`tal reached a hand over to Gulath and touched him lightly. They will be fine, he said to the concerned Blue. The next few seconds ran slowly. Varya attempted to kill Farja, Kalith attacked Alizadehth, words were spoken but not heard, and then they were gone. N`tal`s eyes widened. His heart stopped. Varya... Alizadehth... gone... He stared, his arms not moving, nothing wanting to respond to how he felt. Then, suddenly, he moved, moved toward the end of his weyr ledge. He was angry. His eyes screamed hate. "VARYA!" he screamed, his words being drowned out with keening of Gulath and the bugles of the others dragons celebrating victory. They were celebrating that they had won. But N`tal felt like he had lost. He glared at Farja. He hated her. He hated them all... except for Tesla. He could never hate her. She... She would not understand how he felt now. He swore that they would pay. He would make them pay. Varya`s death would be revenged!

[Reky]

Copper Kalith's message reached her, loud and crystal clear, and Enlith hissed. For a moment, she showed no signs of giving up her fight with Hath. She was bleeding, she was in pain, but she did not wish to stop. The heat of the moment was still holding hard to her. She still wanted to fight. She still wanted to kill. But she saw Seceth land. She saw Seceth and His land, and she thought of Hers, on her back, intensely focused as she was. So Seceth and His were giving up. She hissed again. She didn't want this to be the end. There was more to life. Hers hadn't had nearly enough fun yet to die, and neither had she. Without consulting X'ni, the green tucked her wings and dove down.

Enlith! What are you doing?! X'ni screamed at her.

I am saving us, Mine. Her wings snapped open, and she glided to the ground.

Saving us?! What? No, Enlith, we--

Daintily, she touched down. We have been offered a life at the Weyr.

No, Enlith! We won't-- You really think we can deal with this, honey? Honestly? Because I don't--

Mine, please shut up.

Frustrated, X'ni shouted through clenched teeth and slammed his fist down on Enlith's neck. He wasn't done, shard it! And the Weyr? How was he supposed to live at a Weyr? Faranth, as soon as he was able to he'd been kicked from his Impression-Weyr. He wasn't good at the whole rules thing. He hated it. He liked it on his own. He crashed heavily from his bloodlust high, doubling over on Enlith, nose touching her dark hide. He shook.

"Sh-shard it, sweet..." he sobbed. Then he screamed, "Shard it all to the Red Star, Enlith!" He wrung his hands through his hair. Worriedly, the dragon beneath him looked over at Seceth and His.

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