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|Nightwatch Weyr > The Rest of Pern > [META/OPEN] Set Fire To The Rain|
|Posted by: tuathade May 2 2012, 06:21 PM|
| It was raining at Ista, a cold hard driving rain that pounded on rock and weyrbowl. Through the rain bursts of dragonfire flashed like dying stars, and the frantic cries of the wounded mingled with the fierce clarion bugles of the fighting dragons of Ista. It seemed all of them were in the air today… including many who should not have ever flown again.
It was a strange contrast: the Istan dragons had the advantage of numbers by far, but taken by surprise they were largely scattered and disorganized, many of their wingleaders already taken out in the initial assault. Their enemies, by contrast, moved smoothly as a unit, damaged fighters withdrawing and fresh ones taking their place. The source of this invading force? Hanging high in the air over the Weyrbowl was a formation comprised entirely of Despairs, moving in a neat synchronous manner that no Deep One should be able to accomplish.
Incoming Nightwatch reinforcements might recognize blue Geth at the head of the formation, or Merceth with his death’s head grin scattering greens like wherries from a gunshot, or Brenath and Joaminoth darting in to double-team a living bronze. Even the newly departed Merrith, ichor still fresh and wet on his hide, had risen again white-eyed to join the fray. There were others too, and from the keening cries of the Istan dragons, many of them were Istan Despairs come back from between. Strangely, there were no signs of any other Deep Ones… No Tanglers or Firebringers or Panics here today.
As for Ramoth… Anyone seeking her would find the enormous long-dead queen sprawled smugly in state upon the Hatching Sands, splattered with blood and ichor and fragmented shells. There was no sign of Ista’s senior queen, or of the kidnapped weyrling.
((OOC NOTE: Okay, so this is a major battle, and will contain A LOT OF NPCs. It’s basically the entire dragonrider population of Ista, plus Nightwatch riders, vs. a large squad of Despairs. As a result, I give all players free rein with NPCs for the duration of this thread. Got a Candidate/Second you want to throw in but can’t find a player to carry them? Make a temporary NPC Nightwatch rider. Want to say you are trying to rescue an Ista blue from a brown Despair? Do it. Go ahead and write out their actions; no one’s going to call powerplaying on you here as long as long as you don’t showboat killing half a dozen Despairs in one post or anything. This is your chance to write any badass fight scenes you’ve always secretly wanted to write!
The exceptions are the following named Despair NPCS: Joaminoth, Merceth, Brenath, Ramoth, and Geth. These are playable only by staff or their creators, who will be dictating their actions throughout the thread.))
|Posted by: Firebird May 2 2012, 07:56 PM|
| Wilkith appeared in the air above Ista, silent as the night. Another dragon would be bellowing out a challenge to the Deep Ones, but he had something different in mind. There had to be survivors. Wounded. Noncombatants they could assist and take far from the chaos. O'ver, for his part, had brought as much numbweed, bandages, and antibiotics as he could carry. Before they'd left, it had seemed like more than enough. Now, he felt he hadn't a tenth what he would need.
Steer clear of the Despairs, boy. We're better for helping than hurting, and neither will happen if you get yourself killed, O'ver instructed.
Wilkith snorted and turned to spiral down to the Weyr proper, scanning for potential rescuees. With luck, the dullness of his hide would keep the Despairs from seeing him for just a bit. Though really, the rain would probably be better for that. I will start where the Despairs aren't, but if there are any children in danger near them...
O'ver wiped the rain from his eyes in an attempt to disguise his facepalm, though who he was trying to disguise it from was anyone's guess. Then they are lost. Save the ones you can save, not the ones already doomed.
I will save all of them.
|Posted by: Oshuu May 2 2012, 09:15 PM|
| With D’can already armed and ready, it didn’t take long for the Wingleader to get to Ista. Hell, he was already on top of Morgauth when Ramoth came and went, taking that sorry Istan bronze with her. Armed with flamethrower (and a tank of a green), the man called to his wing (what little of it there was) and went between to Ista. And oh, the hell he found there. Why were there so many? How did they manage to turn around so quickly? Merrith was flying with the rest of the Despair, what felt like seconds after his gruesome demise.
“Tol’ you we’d see ‘im again.”
Morgauth appeared uninterested. If she had said anything, allthe brunet got was a sharp blast of static, causing him to grit his teeth and suck in a sharp breath. The green was left to her own terms, and if D’can was thinking ‘over there, that one’s distracted’, the green was thinking something along the lines of ‘that fucker thinks greens are fun to pick on, does he?’, only it was more of him.
With eyes a brilliant red, the green dragon plunged through the pouring rain, a loud screech tearing from her raspy vocals as she sprinted towards Merceth. Chasing greens. She would show him chasing greens. D’can gripped his flamethrower tightly, eyes narrowing as he searched for the target his beast had locked onto. Personally, he was glad for the ran and the dimly light skies – the recent monochromacy left it very difficult to see in the day. This worked well for him.
As soon as they were near Merceth, D’can took aim and let a tongue of flame fly towards Merceth’s ugly, Despair-rotten wings. Perhaps they could crash it – that would be satisfying, wouldn’t it?
- - - - -
Volana and Fusrodath hadn’t been in the Weyrbowl when Merrith had crashed landed. In fact, they’d barely woken from a nap and poked their heads out of their weyr to see Ramoth swoop, motherfucking swoop with all the grace a zombie should never have, and take a bronze away. Ignoring the fact that a bronze in Nightwatch was weird as all get out (because weird no longer meant anything – she lived at Nightwatch), the woman quickly hurried to get Fusrodath’s straps on as quickly as she could.
The cries of “Ista” were good enough to give the pair some kind of idea.
Once saddled up, Volana climbed aboard, allowing her dragon to escort her down to the firestone stores. The brown gobbled down as much as he could without weighing himself down, and once his rider had gotten back onboard, the lightly-toasted brown rocketed back into this sky, this time betweening to Ista.
IT’S WET, he announced, head swiveling as the epic stage set in . This is…this is what they’d always dreamed of. A battle as massive as this. Surely, the time for Volana and Fusrodath was now!
“Git on!” the woman encouraged her dragon.
YOU OUGHT TO PLAY FAIR! the brown was roaring, broadcasting even more loudly than usual. Static buzzed in his head, but if he noticed, Fusrodath didn’t let that stop him. There were two Despair swarming one bronze – and while he had no particular feelings for the dragon, he looked in needed of a rescue. And Fusrodath liked rescuing things. With a mighty bellow, the brown swooped towards Joaminoth, belching an impressive streak of flame at the Despair’s flanks. (Or what used to be its flanks. It was hard to describe the undead, sometimes.)
|Posted by: Ferret May 2 2012, 10:11 PM|
| D'can and Morgauth were quickly joined by Doktorr and Donnath. Through the crackles of static, Doktorr still felt Donnath's horror at the despair-ridden night. The Green screamed and reeled back in surprise, her wings beating back against the cold rain. Never before had they seen so many----or so much----Despair in one place. The icy rain splattered, mixing with hot blood and ichor alike.
Where were rescuers even supposed to begin?
Like Wilkith, Donnath started heading for the ground automatically. In the air, attack could happen from any direction. At least on the ground, they couldn't be attacked from below. Plus, people on dragonback could escape; people without dragons couldn't. Donnath wasn't a small Green; she could take a few survivors at a time.
It wasn't much, but it was better than not doing anything at all.
|Posted by: Inkwell May 3 2012, 02:20 AM|
| V'monde had been in the air within minutes of Ramoth's appearance, and now he took in the scene of destruction at Ista from atop Gkikath's strong neck. It was difficult to see between the hundreds of fast-moving shapes in the air and the rain -- and of course it would be raining.
It could be worse! Gkikath reminded him, spinning up and away from an approaching brown with no face and entrails hanging from a slashed belly. It could have been our Weyr! Which is why we're here, yeah? Kill 'em here so they can't come calling back home. She sent a burst of flame at the brown for good measure, burning the already-rotting membrane from one skeletal wing.
Save your fire for defense!
She wheeled away from what looked like about half a blue, if one wanted to be generous. If you'd let me take more firestone--
You would have been too heavy to dodge, and we would already be dead twice over. Look up. There's far more of them than there are of us and every one of us they kill swells their ranks. We can't outfly them; they won't tire. We need to focus on getting survivors out and keeping down our own casualties.
She snorted, leaving trails of mist in the rain, and banked sharply downward into an erratic series of loops. It was an acknowledgement. It would do.
I promise, if we must fight, I'll let you flame all you want. But this is not the battle for senseless heroics.
Whatever you say goes, sweetheart.
I bet I could take that blue at the front, though.
|Posted by: Darastrix May 3 2012, 03:44 AM|
| Zira and Cielath blinked out from between...and straight into Hell. For a moment, all rider and dragon could do was stare in mute horror. Despairs. They were all Despairs, taking a Weyr for their own. Zira seemed beyond words, but Cielath had one for the both of them.
And then static. Static and Despairs everywhere and they weren't that experienced and what were they doing out here? For a moment, even Zira wasn't sure. He wasn't so much afraid of the fight, of the teeth and claws wielded by the Despairs. But the static...the Blight....
Cielath let out a frightened keen and he shook himself. He had to keep it together for her; she was not battle-hardened. Neither was he, for that matter, but they had very different fears and he was able to push his aside to keep her calm. That was the thing about Blight. It got you later--or at least it seemed that way, and he was willing to believe it for the moment. The physical attacks were a more immediate concern. And so were the people he could hear screaming.
"Get down!" he called to her, his mental call pushing futilely against the static as he echoed it aloud. "We're here for survivors, not a fight! There's Donnath--follow her!"
Cielath didn't need to be told twice, and dove toward the ground after the others. She'd much rather be near some of the older Nightwatch dragons.
|Posted by: Tawny May 3 2012, 07:12 AM|
| C'tis' interest in going to Ista's aid was exactly zero, but the weyrleader wanted a Weyrcaptain to see what the shaff was going on while he consulted swiftly with the other Weyrleader on the readiness of their own defenses should the horror beast come back to Nightwatch. C'tis was a Weyrcaptain from Ista who therefore had a reference point to jump to. The rest was recent, but bitterly resented history.
<There are some innocents,> Malcarreth pointed out, his voice distorted by static. <Many, in fact. We should aid them.>
He was right. Plus, he supposed, he might get to see J'ca's corpse. He still didn't like it but he pictured the awful place anyway and they jumped between, trying to ignore the faint screams still echoing inside his head.
It was wet, and there were despairs. A lot of them. Only despairs. He recognized some of them. He had a flamethrower with him today, and so as Malcarreth shot towards a blue on the edge of the formation two jets of fire assaulted the undead beast. He wished he had Rochelle with him, the extra firepower of a second would be really useful just now.
Making not a sound the dead blue, the flesh missing from the right side of its ribcage, peeled off to engage them. Spinning around Malcarreth sprinted to put some distance between them before turning again to give it another blast of fire. This seemed to bother the despair very little, it didn't even slow, and Malcarreth fell back once more; the more of it they could char off before they ended up close range the be-
A sleek metallic shape whisked past them, blasted the despair with fire, and tore off half of one of its wings as it shot on by.
<...Son of a snare!>
<Malcarreth, we did not expect to see you here. It has been some time.>
This should have been about fighting Deep Ones, and giving time for innocents to be evacuated. For C'tis it no longer was. <We will not let him humiliate us! After it!> Fucking J'ca! If the Deep Ones didn't get him, he would end the man himself!
Roaring a challenge that was directed at a living dragon rather than the dead ones, Malcarreth dive-bombed the blue despair and latched onto its back to tear at it.
|Posted by: Oshuu May 3 2012, 07:50 AM|
| A’ur took his time (all things considered) getting his antsy blue geared up. Hondath was full of firestone, the rider remembered to bring a sharding flamethrower this time (because Faranth only knew what your enemy had, as the bandits at Edinnu had so kindly taught him) and he’d checked over his riding straps three times, at the very least. If they were going to Ista… If they were going to Ista… If they were going to Ista, he sharding well wasn’t going to fall to his death this time.
We’re going to Ista, Hondath snarled, his eyes an alarming shade of red as the dragon pranced like an unbroken colt. It has been too long. It was our turn, to take back what they stole from us first!
Pride. Honor. Courage. W’il.
“Right.” The man grit his teeth, goggles around his neck as he grasped one of the leather straps and hauled himself up onto the small blue’s back. He didn’t die when he went to Edinnu, and Hondath had been shot. They’d be fine (relatively speaking) today. It was days like today he wished he had a Second. Even having Ianthe on board to watch his back was better than going solo – three eyes were better than one, after all. “Make no apology.”
IT’S DEATH OR VICTORY! Hondath bugled in reply, snapping his wings outwards as he prepared to take off.
[[OOC: While they aren’t actually there yet, they’ll be in a moment, waiting on a certain passenger before they go~]]
|Posted by: S'yal May 3 2012, 08:05 AM|
| << Tell Norion to make sure she's strapped in tight. We'll probably be chased. >> Angeth ordered, chewing on the firestone. << Make sure that you're secure. I will be... very angry if you fall from my back and knock yourself on the head. >> Angeth snorted, wisps of smoke escaping from her maw as she continued to chew. She turned her head to regard Z with one yellow-orange eye, watching as he tightened the straps.
"Yeah, yeah. Norion, be careful. She's not stupid, Angeth." Z grumbled, tugging on one of the straps. "Is that tight enough? It isn't uncomfortable, is it?" The last thing he needed was for Angeth's straps to be coming off, or distracting her in the middle of battle. Z was hardly paying attention to Norion- he was more focused on Angeth. Joaminoth might be there. He warned her, supressing a shudder as he thought of the undead brown. He didn't want to fight Joaminoth. It was hard to forget that the undead dragon was no longer the brown, but a deep one wearing his skin.
<< Then i'll skin him alive and decorate my weyr with his bones. >> Angeth hissed, her eyes leaning more towards red then yellow now. She bowed her head, pawing at her muzzle as a piece of firestone got stuck between two teeth. << The fake Joaminoth doesn't scare me. I'll rip him to shreds. >> How dare that thing wear the skin of her apparent former friend. << The straps are fine. >>
"Are you ready?" Z asked his (temporary) Second. "We're gonna fuck some shit up now. Please keep your limbs on the dragon at all times, and don't try to touch the Despairs." He checked over the rifle, hping that there were no harbingers stowing away to make it explode in his face.
<< Less talking, more murder. Where is C'ross? Are we not going as a wing? >> Angeth beat her wings, impatiently waiting for the humans to be onboard so that she could go.
"I don't see him." Z told her, as he hoisted himself up onto her back. "Maybe he'll show up later."
Angeth turned her head to regard Hondath. << Good luck. >>
She had a feeling that Nightwatch and Ista would need all the luck it could get.
Don't be stupid, Angeth. Who needs luck when they have us?
((Not at Ista yet, waiting for Fire to respond. ))
|Posted by: lithle May 3 2012, 08:21 AM|
| Knienth wanted to go. It was as simple as that really. Rudderless as A'tsu was, it took only that quiet pressure to push him into action. Ista was the world of his childhood, he still remembered the tunnels, his father's angry voice ringing after him. He prepared quickly, but not without care, buckling Knienth's flight straps and loading him with firestone. He loaded himself with weapons as well, a guard's habit. He didn't actually think he'd be taking down a despair with a knife.
When they appeared above Ista, he caught his breath. It was worse than he'd been willing to expect. Much worse. And there'd been a time, a long time ago, that he'd been happy here.
He didn't have to tell Knienth to land. They were not a chatty pair, each understanding the other's needs. They simply landed. A'tsu slipped off the dragon's back, slapped him roughly on the side, and began to run through the tunnels, toward the creche. It was the children he was interested in, and his feet still knew the way.
Knienth did not wait for him. He launched himself back into the air, flying to the Weyrling quarters, scanning the ground for survivors. He would not join the fight directly without his rider, but he would defend until A'tsu came back with children to ferry to Nightwatch.
|Posted by: Tawny May 3 2012, 09:18 AM|
| <You will provide us with a visual of Nightwatch, we have civilians to rescue.>
Malcarreth snarled hatred, but couldn't argue with the logic. <Here,> he flung the image at the hated bronze, <take it and get out of our way!>
<Keep your straps on, blue.>
With that parting shot the slight bronze dived steeply and landed outside the lower caverns. Malcarreth and C'tis just had time to see a lithe man leap to the ground and hasten inside before their attention was rather effectively captured by a despair to the flank. Roaring in fury and pain Malcatteth twisted around to claw the beast as it clawed at him, and both he and C'tis flamed it at close range. After a few moments it dropped away from them and vanished between, but there was no time to celebrate victory for even as it disappeared another undead dragon took up its place in the grisly formation.
<Winning this by force is->
<-probably shaffing impossible. They have endless troops we->
<-can only buy time for the rescue effort. Right then, let's give it our all.>
<We shall show Ista what Nightwatch dragons are made of!> Bellowing another challenge Malcarreth reached out for the dragons under his command. <Specter Wing! Napalm Beat! Report, and form up! We must buy casualties and civilians time to escape!>
|Posted by: Firebird May 3 2012, 09:42 AM|
| ((Tag S'yal. Warning for injury descriptions in O'ver's section.))
Norion was far more excited than going off to assist a no-doubt dying Weyr called for. It was like something from a story or an epic tale, albeit one with a distressingly horror-based theme to it. Ista calls for aid! Send in the troops and the dragons to fight an ancient foe!
She was as ready for this as she felt possible. Musket? Check. More bullets and paper cartridges than she knew what to do with, stored in a waterproof satchel? Check. Flamethrower? Check. Nerves of sharding steel? Strained, but check. Sure, that had been an absolutely enormous Despair (even for a gold. Shards of Faranth...), but she had more important things to worry about than a Despair queen. Like Ista, and that gold hatchling.
There were few enough golds on Pern to ignore the possibility of losing two, even if she had heard horror stories about Ista.
"Ready as I'll ever be, sir," she said after checking her musket for a third time. "Let's fuck up that shit until it can't walk no more."
O'ver gripped onto his riding straps as Wilkith dived, having spotted a trio of noncombatants. An injured man laid propped against a wall, two young girls trying to tend to him. One of them was very young indeed, five at most. Neither of them seemed to know a whit about healing other than to put pressure on the wound, but this... Well, the man certainly wouldn't be recovering from that. Not with his intestines lying at his feet.
When Wilkith landed near them, extending a wing to shield them from the rain, the children shrieked and clung to the man. Their father, maybe? Or a mentor? Who knew, with creche children. I'm not one of the abominations. My rider will take you to safety, so please... Please what? Calm down with an Incursion going on around them?
Tell them we'll be back for the other once they're safe, O'ver interrupted.
Wilkith snorted, startling the youngest girl. You wrote him off.
Do you see them coming easily without him?
...Fine. I can't carry all of you at once. We'll return for your... father? We'll come back for him. Old man, how will you explain things once they find out?
I'll take that when it comes. O'ver unclipped himself from the riding straps and slid down WIlkith's back. "Girls, let's get you strapped in. Elder holds on to younger, I hold on to elder. You don't have a harness, so wind your feet under the straps and hold on tightly."
They were hesitant. O'ver very carefully did not curse, instead reaching out a hand to take that of the older girl and lead her to his dragon's side. This would take longer than he had hoped.
|Posted by: Blight May 3 2012, 09:44 AM|
| In the heavy rain, it was difficult to recognize one dragon over another, let alone distinguish Istan from Nightwatch riders. But two pairs of eyes had watched Merrith vanish from the battlefield after announcing his intentions to go for help... and two pairs of eyes had seen the awful great form of Ramoth go after him to drag him back. And now there were new fighters, blinking into existence over the weyrbowl, going after the formation with renewed vigor.
Here! cried out a sudden voice into the minds of the Nightwatch dragons lowest to the ground; any who chose to focus on finding survivors over combat would hear the call. Down here!
It was risky to draw attention, but the battle in the sky seemed to have the Deep Ones occupied for now. Selendrith stepped forward – through the rain the riders would see a flash of small, light golden wings, a weyrling no bigger than a green, half hidden in one of the ground weyrs that would normally be reserved for flightless riders. Whatever guard had been placed on her was forgotten now in the far greater chaos. Weyrfolk – crafters, Lower Cavern workers, and the like, all decked out in festive garments like they’d been at a celebration when they were taken by surprise, were packed into the small ground weyr as well... And huddled under Selendrith’s wings, three barely-hatched weyrlings, their dragons squalling in hunger and confusion.
Survivors in need of assistance!
Merceth grinned his awful grin at D’can, twisting around to face the two, willingly taking the blast of flame directly to the chest rather than scorching his wings. It didn’t matter. He bullrushed the green, but it was nothing more than a cursory first pass, a warning shot. Morgauth wasn’t his aim – he wasn’t interested in her.
He was, however, successfully distracted from chasing Ista greens. Good. The Nightwatch crew had shown up. It was time to cause some havoc.
He folded what was left of his wings and dove, dropping like a stone to the weyrbowl below – where crafters and other dragonless folk were already emerging to wait for evacuation.
Joaminoth, on the other hand, was far more willing to play, fair or not. He turned his attention away from the bronze when Fusrodath roared at him and flamed his flanks... At the same time, apparently responding to some silent signal, Brenath withdrew, allowing the badly wounded Ista bronze to escape. And then it was brown versus brown.
Join... make us...
Whatever Joaminoth wanted Fusrodath to make, it was lost in a shrieking burst of static, more deafening even than the loud brown’s shouted mindvoice. He reached out teeth and claws for Fusrodath’s throat, intent on only one thing: making Fusrodath into another Despair.
|Posted by: Zoomy May 3 2012, 09:55 AM|
| The Despair Ramoth had ...been unexpected, and for a while Ianthe just stood there, dumbstruck, like an idiot. What had just happened? What the FUCK was going on? WHY WAS THIS HAPPENING SHE DIDN'T EVEN --
And now there were dragons and riders suddenly blinking everywhere in and out of the weyrbowl, others exclaiming they had to go rescue survivors and some shit. Ianthe didn't exactly want to go -- she had decided that she'd stop getting herself in the middle of these huge death traps when she had gotten back from Edinnu -- but....there was something nagging in the back of her mind. ...And it wasn't Iantsk.
Because the wher had definitely sensed what his Handler was about to do in a matter of minutes, for he had smelled Hondath well before the blue bugled out some war cry out in the bowl. NONONONONOs were sent at Ianthe, the wher trying his damnedest to keep her from walking forward without actually sitting on her. But Ianthe was....Ianthe.
"A'UR, WAIT," she hollered, moving as swiftly as she could to the pair before they could take off. "You're sharding taking me with you, got it!?" Ah, there were the orders, boldly and brassily given. The ballsy Healer at least had the decency to pause and regard Hondath, adding in a forced, "Please," to go with everything else.
|Posted by: Tawny May 3 2012, 10:01 AM|
| Having checked defenses at Nightwatch and assigned grounded riders and assorted competent weyrfolk to handle and direct the influx of casualties K'in and Ilyath made the jump to Ista themselves. Appearing low down they took stock of the situation simultaneously, and found it grim.
At the young gold's frantic call, Ilyath hissed and cast her eyes upward. Reaching out to Selendrith and the hatchlings she said; <Calm yourselves, Nightwatch comes to your aid!> There would be plenty of compassionate hearts eager to dive down to answer that plea for help, she and her small frame were not required there for the time being at least. Instead of swooping down herself therefore she called to the members of Excidium Wing who had accompanied her rather than those who were with Garonath and ordered them to ensure dragons attempting the rescue had a clear path to land, and to take off once more.
|Posted by: Nozomi May 3 2012, 10:34 AM|
| Kr'stof heard the call. He'd been on his way to the bowl when Ramoth came out of nowhere and snagged the bronze. Okay, two stunned seconds of silence, the sight of others taking Flight and heading to Ista, and that was all he needed to book it the fuck to a storehouse. Firestone, right? Right.
<Storehouse, Xenath! Grab your straps, we're going to fucking Ista!>
<swearing, Kris? For shame.> she grabbed them off the hook with her teeth regardless, twisting on their couch to shove off and into the air. By the time Xenath arrived to her rider, he'd managed to procure a bag or two of extra firestone. He fed some to Xenath, the rest tied to her before he threw the harness on her. They had no flame thrower except her, but if there were survivors...
Hands were needed.
They went into the air, then, and blinked to the Weyr under attack. Xenath screeched as she ran headfirst towards a Despair, mouth open to flame the bastard in the face. A hard right, missing claws of death and disgusting, just barely escaping without being mauled. There were more and more coming, appearing, horrible.
The greenpair had become fighting instead of clutching since the last hatching, yes, but they were no match for the bronze Despair that had been trying to get them. Survivors were more important. They were easier to --
And voice from below. They'd already been heading downwards, as much to escape a Despair as to rescue any survivors and Xenath moved before Kr'stof had the chance to think, her wings folding under her to dive down towards them like a rock, wings flaring out only to duck and twist around those in her way. Kr'stof had already started unstrapping himself when Xenath landed, jerking the rider.
"I hate your straps!" He jerked free, body sliding to the ground. This is what Nightwatch practiced for - automatic responses for attack and defense. He always just assumed that he would have a flamethrower.
<I hate your face.> Xenath bared her teeth at her rider, head snaking towards the sky. She would flame any that got near! Kill them all and -- static through the bond. All the static forever. She could not reach Hers save for whispers and even that was blocked out by the cries of the dead in his ears.
Krissy! Kris, it hurts, they're hurting me-- Oh, fuck, sweet Ramoth, it-
Fucking ow. Ow and irony. He sucked in a hard breath, wavering on his feet. Safeish. Sort of. Ground weyrs. J'nas was dead and not a Despair. He was fine. Ground weyrs, right. Kr'stof bolted towards the weyrlings.
(Authors note: Writing and visualizing fights are something I am not the best at. If I got anything wrong, feel free to tell me. Promise there is no butthurt.)
|Posted by: Inkwell May 3 2012, 10:49 AM|
| Hoy! Gkikath let out a surprised cry and veered sharply away as Merceth plummeted downward past her, heading for the Weyrbowl and what few survivors were there.
Now we fight?
Now we fight, V'monde agreed. There was no point in trying to rescue the dead, after all, he knew that as well as she did. A Despair purposefully targeting survivors and the riders trying to get them out had to be stopped, and they were already close to the ground and in good position to attack.
Just be judicious with your fire.
'Judicious' was probably too long a word for Gkikath to pay attention to at the moment. It was one thing when the big bronze was chasing Ista greens. Even the survivors weren't registering terribly high on her radar beyond a sense of duty. But Merceth was also getting dangerously close to Nightwatch dragons and riders, and the bulky green simply would not allow that. She tilted and dove, letting out a bugle of challenge. Forget fire. She'd tear Merceth to bits if she had to -- more to bits than he already was, anyway.
|Posted by: S'yal May 3 2012, 11:03 AM|
| "I like you." Z grinned at Norion. "Alright, Angeth, let's fuck 'em up."
The green bellowed, her wings snapping open and her powerful back-legs pushing off. One leap, and Angeth disappeared Between, carrying Z and Norion with her.
Angeth appeared over Ista, the green snorting as she looked down and at the chaos brewing below her. She squashed down disgust at the lack of order, Z muttering reminders that there was no way the Weyr could have prepared enough for this, turning her head to stare at Malcarreth.
<< Angeth of Z, reporting! Carrying Norion as a second! >> She announced, turning to swoop down to where Malcarreth awaited. She could see Joaminoth in the distance, and every fiber of her being wanted nothing more then to sweep after the brown, to sear his flesh from his bones and reduce him to nothing. << What are my orders? >> But more then that, she needed orders. She would not be lost in this chaos, swept up into the mindless fighting that was taking place around her.
Z twisted, looking around the ravaged weyrbowl. "Where are the silences? Panics? Nothin'? Hey, Norion! Do you see anything other then Despairs?" He had to shout over the cries of the dragons, a frown on his face.
Angeth hesitated. She debated asking to aid Fusrodath, but the weyrling gold... She would wait to see what Malcarreth told her to do.
<< Torrent Wing! >> Trusith screeched as he appeared over the Weyrbowl from Between, beating his massive wings. Were any of his wingmates here? He didn't hear the voice of the wingleader, so he could only imagine that the green was either not here yet, or had chosen not to come. But he had more important things to worry about. << Yari, the gold, the Weyrlings- >>
He didn't wait for his rider's response. The big brown swooped down, narrowly avoiding colliding with a blue despair. He could see the baby gold and the weyrlings and he needed to help them. The rest of his wing hadn't assembled yet.
Trusith, can you carry the Weyrlings? Yari asked, her voice immediately business. She clutched the rifle in her hands, aiming at a green despair as it streaked by. The despair hardly noticed the bullet hitting it in the side, and Yari scowled. At the very least, get down there and protect them..
Trusith bobbed his massive head, swinging down and landing in front of the weyr and thus the young queen. He regarded Selendrith with yellow eyes, turning to snarl at the despairs that were no doubt drawing closer and closer. << I can carry a weyrling and a few survivors. >> He told her.
Yari leaned from the big brown's side, cupping her hands around her mouth to yell; "Trusith can take a few at a time without being slowed down. There will be no shoving or screaming! I'll take children first!" Faranth help her, if they endangered her dragon, she'd kill them herself. "Are these the only surviving weyrlings?" She asked, her voice harsher then she meant.
|Posted by: Oshuu May 3 2012, 12:38 PM|
| “Motherfucker!” D’can roared, his sweeping flame blasting the dead bronze’s chest. Useless. Fucking useless. Morgauth screeched her rage, narrowly shooting sideways as they were passed by Merceth. He didn’t even… He didn’t even try to attack. The bulky green turned slowly, screaming her rage to the sky as she locked her sights back on the Despair. The man gripped his flamethrower tightly – even if he was used to Morgauth’s rapid dives, they still sucked the wind right out of him.
She might not be built for maneuverability, but the green was one fast son of a bitch.
“Warn ‘em! Warn ‘em Morgauth!” the Wingleader bellowed, aware of the moving shapes down below. He didn’t know them, didn’t really care, but they were about to become Despair bait if they didn’t move.
INCOMING! the raspy green broadcasted, plunging still. All her rider got was a loud shot of static, making him bow his head briefly. Suddenly, Gkikath was at her side – if she wasn’t so intent on killing Merceth (for his second death, apparently), she might have acknowledged her wingmate. Instead, she challenged the Despair again, this time remaining slightly above and behind. While there was a possibility she could overtake him if she truly made the effort, actively diving instead of falling, she would probably crash into the ground at that rate. Instead, she had to remain the pursuer, allowing D’can to open fire on Merceth’s back again. He would torch those wings today, one way or another.
“PROTECT TH’ GROUN’. LE’S BRING ‘EM DOWN!” the Wingleader roared to V’monde.
- - - - -
The bronze escaped. That was excellent. Volana let out a whoop, turning as she glanced around for Brenath. Instead, however, Joaminoth decided he wanted to stick around and tussle.
I WILL JOIN NOTHING! the brown bellowed, even louder than usual. His rider heard nothing but static, reflexively clapping her hands over her ears (or rather, ear and that place her other ear was supposed to be) as she was all but deafened by her own bonded. BRAVE FUSRODATH WILL FIGHT UNTIL THE VERY LAST.
“FUSRODATH!” Volana screamed, hoping to Faranth above he would just stop yelling.
She got her wish quickly enough, Joaminoth swooping towards them. That certainly shut her overgrown lizard up. Unable to give him any directions, the woman felt a bit helpless as the brown made his best attempt to backwing in midair, blasting at Joaminoth’s head before teeth and claws met with his shoulder and forearm. Agony blasted through rider and dragon both, the brown kicking with his back limbs and striking with his free front leg. Better that getting caught directly in the throat, but that didn’t stop Fusrodath’s shriek of agony as ichor spilled from where Joaminoth’s muzzle met his flesh. GET OFF! he roared, twisting to try and flame the brown again at close proximity.
If Angeth wanted to aid the brown, now was a good time.
- - - - -
Ianthe! Had she read his fucking mind?
For a moment, the bluerider could only stare as the shouting healer came running up to Hondath’s side, saying nothing as she babbled at him. Even the deep blue dragon spared her a curious glance, his bright eyes focusing on the woman for several seconds before he dipped down closer to the ground.
Quickly, he grunted. A’ur offered the healer a hand with no real argument, shifting to make room for her behind. Reaching down, he rummaged through his small pack (which contained two knives and numbweed, for the most part) to reveal a harness for a Second. He had no idea who, or what, they’d encounter in Ista, but he wasn’t going to fly with any passengers not strapped in. (Hello, fear of falling.) “Buckle up.”
As the wherhandler got herself situated, the blue turned his head to his wingmate. We’ll look for you in the skies, Angeth, the dragon replied. If he could have smiled smugly, the beast would have been all shiny white teeth at the moment.
As soon as Ianthe was set, the blue turned and rocked backwards. A’ur barely issued a “Hold on” before he was skybound, rapidly gaining altitude as the brunet hung onto his flamethrower tightly. His knuckles were white as they blinked between to Ista and suddenly doused in the pouring rain. There were Despairs everywhere. Down below were the weyrfolk and any other survivors. Angeth had arrived too, and-
Malcarreth was calling them.
“Fuck,” A’ur cussed. “Hang on, Ianthe.”
The blue maneuvered towards Malcarreth, bugling at the older dragon. Hondath of A’ur! We have Healer Ianthe with us.
Whom, A’ur suspected, may not be thrilled to be airborne. She would be more useful on the ground. “We should go below!” the man yelled over the drumming of the rain, motioning with one hand to the Weyr.
|Posted by: giftwrapped May 3 2012, 12:46 PM|
| There were maneuvers you weren't supposed to do, no matter how well-practiced you were at them. No matter how desperate the situation. Things like going after a Tangler with a sword, or punching Wraths in the face.
D'ros was never good at telling the difference between good ideas and bad ideas. Blight hadn't helped with that.
Which was why, at the word 'Ista' and the appearance of that thing, he had loaded Urdnoth up with all the firestone the enormous brown could carry, hooked more onto his harness, and gone between, coming in over the Ista Weyrbowl at a height that would have made every Weyrlingmaster on Pern cringe and ban the pair from flying ever again. What they did next would have gotten them permanently grounded on the basis of sheer stupidity, if it didn't get D'ros killed, first.
Dropping off your dragon's back in flight, even if it's into the Weyrlake, was insanity and suicide and - for the love of little green dragons, this time it worked. The day D'ros's luck ran out would be a strange and sad day for everyone. But the sopping-wet figure that hauled itself out of the lake and went charging into the fray proved today was not that day. The ex-Ista wingleader was already running flat-out in the direction of the gold Weyrling. Urdnoth - find them! Find all of them! Liara and Beneziath, K'dan and Sparatuth, the wing - all of them. Keep them safe!
Don't have to ask me twice. There was something almost resembling humour in the brown's voice as he looked up, baring his teeth and roaring a furious challenge as he took skyward once again. Despairs everywhere, Ista dragons scattering, and all the brown had to do was kick Deep One ass until D'ros needed a pickup? This was his kind of a game.
He went after a little Despaired white first, tearing into it with the veracity of the top killer he was. The static didn't seem to bother the brown, nor the screaming, which only deepened the red in his eyes to the maroon of freshly-spilled blood. He broke its neck and its wings and the crumpled thing vanished between. The brown bugled delight, a noise that was equal parts thrilling and terrifying, before turning his sights elsewhere. Plenty of targets. All of them waiting. Just waiting.
...And there was Merrith.
He'd always wanted to make that bastard of a bronze pay for everything.
D'ros, soaking wet and thanking the stars that he had decided to make a watertight powder horn after a similar incident turns ago, was loading his rifle as he ran. Flamethrowers would have been nice, but he had a flaming dragon - and a brown, too. D'ros had never owned a flamethrower in his life.
It was harder to bludgeon things with a flamethrower when ammo ran out, anyway.
Rifle loaded and he drew alongside Selendrith, stopping, looking at her through the driving rain, her and - no. He recognized these Weyrlings - he recognized them. The daughter of one of his friends - a boy who'd always been afraid of Urdnoth - three, only three. "Where are the rest of you?" he asked. There was no way. There was no way there were only three. He looked at Trusith, looked at Selendrith. "Where are the rest of them?"
|Posted by: Zoomy May 3 2012, 01:22 PM|
| Why yes, yes Ianthe may or may not be psychic.
Seeing that she wasn't about to be denied and told to STFU and GTFO, the Healer grabbed the offered hand and clambered up behind A'ur. The second pair of straps were taken without word, though she admittingly had to take a few seconds of just staring at them before she remembered how they went.
You CAN'T, stated the wher on the ground, who was snarling and whining and being all sorts of conflicted and angry.
I need to. You stay. For real, this time, was all ianthe got to say before she fastened the last clip and suddenly clung to A'ur's shoulders as Hondath rocket launched them.
Between was not a fun thing, even though now Ianthe could say she'd been through it... 5? 6 times now! But coming out of between and seeing what was happening at Ista, well, that was worse that between... and it honestly took a lot of internal effort for the Healer to not scream at A'ur to TAKE HER BACK RIGHT THE FUCK NOW. SHE'D CHANGED HER MIND.
But no, no, she was stuck, and she stared wide-eyed and soaking wet at the chaos they were flying through. Suddenly some things made sense in regards as to why A'ur constantly didn't want to actually be able to fly again; this was not something anyone wanted to tangle with. She looked over at C'tis and Malcarreth, but immediately found herself jumping at the proposal of getting her on the ground.
"YES. THAT. YES. GROUND NOW."
|Posted by: Ferret May 3 2012, 01:46 PM|
Really, that was all Donnath could think about. It was easier to focus on one singular goal, especially with Doktorr's mind going a million dragonlenths an hour. More so than his frantic mind usually did. The static didn't help, making her catch even fewer of his thoughts than usual.
She landed by Trusith and added her words. I can take a weyrling as well, and one extra human. she said. It would weigh her down a bit, but she just had to depend on the fighters in the sky. Hopefully, they'd keep the Despairs distracted.
ohfaranth, the weyrlings were so tiny. So very small. Something flopped in Doktorr's stomach. By the feel of it, it was probably his heart.
"Was there a Hatching going on?" he asked, once his voice was working again. Those dragonets, they looked barely out of the egg. And the fancy clothes, those looked like a celebration.
Mine! There are weyrlings in danger! Ceylith's voice came through clear through the static, as clearly as though it sprang from C'ren's own thoughts rather than from the dragon's. The Green tried to go to ground, desperate to help the babies.
"NO!" C'ren screamed, audibly and mentally. There's no way we could carry any extras, he reminded her. Our place is in the sky. We have to keep flying and buy rescuers time to get the survivors out.
Keepflyingkeepflyingkeepflying... Ceylith burst out of between, her wings working overtime as she dodged Despairs. Every now and then, she managed a divebomb, teeth and claws digging into dead flesh. For the most part, her attacks were based on staying the fuck out of Despair-ing distance.
At Malcarreth's call, she angled closer to the Blue, coming up nearby him. C'ren and Ceylith here! she called to him.
|Posted by: tuathade May 3 2012, 02:02 PM|
| C’ross had not been in the weyrbowl when the bronze had arrived; he’d heard the call, of course, but by the time he’d roused Randaath from the beach and returned to the weyr, Ramoth had come and gone. (Ramoth. Fucking Ramoth. Fucking zombie queen from between. He still didn’t quite want to believe that one.) Still, he’d suited up Randaath and latched on an extra sack of firestone and grabbed his gun, despite the still-mending injuries from the fight at Edinnu. Because Ista was in trouble, and C’ross’ sense of honor and duty wouldn’t let him simply ignore it when his weyrcaptain was going.
He hadn’t been expecting to jump straight into hell, though. This was… this was Telgar all over again, and C’ross’ knuckles went white on the riding straps as he struggled to keep himself calm and focused.
There were Despairs everywhere – everywhere. Moving in far too crisp a coordination for his liking. They were reacting like intelligent beings, like hunters, like a hive mind – not like the mindless killing machines that Deep Ones were supposed to be. This was wrong… And he spotted Merceth with two greens trailing after him flaming, and Randaath screamed aloud in wrath; it was all that C’ross could do to turn him away before he went charging in blindly and did more harm than good.
It was Malcarreth’s presence that brought Randaath back to attention and forced him to pay attention to something other than a blind grudge. He drew alongside the spined blue and called out. Weyrcaptain! Your orders? The pair were still a little clumsy in the air from lingering injuries and shock, but adrenaline would override that soon enough.
Qu’an, meanwhile, was attending to his own wings. Trinity Wing, Torrent Wing, hit fast and hit hard, then retreat! Don’t give them a target they can converge on, but keep an eye on your wingmates – lend a hand if you see a dragon in trouble! Trying to use the traditional formations against these Despairs was likely to end poorly; they seemed to be working together too well, trying to keep the small dragons off-guard and teaming up to tear apart the larger dragons. Kzerzath roared, pouncing on a green Despair and shaking it violently by the neck until the creature blinked between, then turning to snag another mouthful of firestone from the sack on his back.
While Ista had been badly hit, the living dragons still outnumbered the dead ones… And provided they evacuated the injured rather than letting them become more Despairs, they could keep it that way. Whether they could save Ista from meeting the same fate as Telgar was uncertain, but at the very least they could ensure a decent number of survivors.
Then… something strange. Kzerzath went still, wings beating hard as he nearly hovered in place, eyes fixed on the formation of Despairs above them. There had been… something… A flash of green wing. Something familiar.
He ascended towards the formation, gaining speed. Qu’an’s frantic shouts from his back went unheeded – stop! It isn’t her! She didn’t come back! Kzerzath, stop, it’s a trap!
Do you know that for certain?
There was no sign now. Plenty of greens, but from this distance, so difficult to pick one from another… Kzerzath roared again, fury and frustration apparent in his voice, and he aimed directly for the formation leader. He would tear that blue apart, and then he would find her, if she was truly there. His jaws gaped, flame licking around his maw as he struck Geth full-on. The formation merely parted like a flock of birds, allowing him in…
Then it closed again, with terrible speed.
If any consolation could be had, it was that between dozens of sets of teeth and claws, at least Kzerzath would be torn apart quickly. There was no lingering, no slow death. Just efficiency.
|Posted by: Darastrix May 3 2012, 02:03 PM|
| Zira drew in a sharp breath when he heard Selendrith's call and saw the little gold. So the rumours were true. But that wasn't important at the moment. Dimly, he heard Melcarrath's call, but it was so garbled by the static he and Cielath were hearing, he wasn't sure what the order was, or even if he'd been giving an order as opposed to, say, shouting a challenge. And, oh Faranth. Weyrlings. Newly-hatched weyrlings. If the Deep Ones had come during a Hatching or the Feast following, Ista must have been taken completely off-guard.
Babies! Cielath drew her wings in tight to speed their descent toward Selendrith, shooting forward like a rocket.
"We can take a Weyrling!" Zira called as Cielath set down next to Donnath. "We'll come back as many times as we can for the rest."
|Posted by: Tawny May 3 2012, 02:43 PM|
| Addressing Specter and Napalm Beat riders again, Malcarreth called; <Loose defensive formations, hit and run! Keep them off the ground, and don't allow yourselves to be pinned! Look to your wingmates and lend aid where it is needed, and call out immediately if you are in trouble. If you are badly injured fall back to Nightwatch! We do not need to swell their ranks this day.> Or any day. Then privately to Hondath he said; <Get the healer onto the ground where she can help. Remain with her to ferry wounded if you deem it necessary when you land, if not rejoin your wing.> How long could they hold the line? The enemy was tireless and endless... somehow he didn't think that all the Istans would be making it home, nor all of their own riders for that matter.
A moment later he felt as though he had cursed them.
As the mass of despairs closed around dragon and rider Malcarreth roared fury and grief. <Kzerzath!>
C'tis' head whipped around as Malcarreth bellowed, just in time to see.... "Qu'an." His voice was carried away by the wind, even as teeth and claws ended his fellow Weyrcaptain. There was no time to think about it though, no time for anything except surviving. <We'll make them pay for that!> Stars and shells he hoped Kzerzath wasn't about to return as one of those things. The old brown deserved better.
Bending low over Malcarreth's neck C'tis urged the blue into a sharp turn that brought them around to face Joaminoth. Malcarreth opened his maw and C'tis pulled the trigger on the flamethrower, bathing the monster in fire, careful of Fusrodath who was already locked in combat with it. They couldn't bring fallen friends back, but the could do their damnedest to make sure none of their riders shared his fate today.
<Kzerzath is dead.>
K'in's face hardened, and he looked through his dragon's eyes at the pack of despairs that had just closed around one of his Weyrcaptains. <Damn fool, he shouldn't have charged like that!> He had liked Qu'an, and the man would be suitably honoured... once nobody else was in immediate danger of following him into death by those same claws now coated in his dragon's ichor.
Sending a feeling of agreement to her rider Ilyath raced to intercept a swooping green despair, flaming fiercely and latching onto its neck. <Morgauth, Alamanth, you will report direct to me now,> she sent. <Continue with your wings as you are for the time being, and do not allow any rider to rush off into the thick of them!>
|Posted by: Blight May 3 2012, 02:58 PM|
| Thank you. Selendrith briefly touched her muzzle to Trusith’s, as he was the first to land. This is not our home, but we tried our best regardless. Telth is... The goldweyrling’s eyes clouded. Ista’s gold is no more.
A ginger-haired young woman, apparently the gold’s rider, spoke up. “I don’t know much. They hit suddenly, very suddenly. Middle of the Hatching. I don’t know if there are other weyrlings hiding somewhere else, but... I doubt it.” As she spoke, she was already shoving the first pair, a tall boy with a tear-streaked face cradling his keening blue in his arms, towards Trusith. “Take them somewhere safe – anywhere safe, they haven’t even been fed yet and I won’t have any of them betweening on my watch.”
The other two weyrlings, a green and a brown, hung back until Donnath and Cielath had landed, then under the goldweyrling’s direction the brown went to Donnath and the green to Cielath. “Don’t overburden yourselves on one go,” the young woman told them, though she kept a worried eye on the enormous form of Merceth encroaching. “We can retreat into the ground weyrs and stay safe for a little while, if they come after us down here.”
Merceth, for his part, put on the brakes the instant that the formation closed on Kzerzath. The bronze went from descending to ascending so fast that in all likelihood the two greens would overshoot him, unable to pull out of their dives with the same physics-breaking impossibility that Despairs managed so easily.
Then he went straight for Gkikath, roaring at the top of his lungs, all four sets of claws outstretched to catch and tear.
At the same time, a tiny white Despair, something clutched in its claws, shot downwards towards him, little wings working furiously as they moved on a rapid intercept course.
He is... with us...
Was it possible for a Despair to sound triumphant? Joaminoth seemed to manage it all right, greeting Malcarreth with what could only be deemed a taunt. The Despair twisted away from Fusrodath, though the brown’s hindlegs left Joaminoth’s belly gashed wide open and a moment later Malcarreth left the dead dragon burning.
...Whiiich unfortunately just meant that the claws that now reached for Malcarreth were now ON FIRE. If Joaminoth was at all concerned about being assaulted from two directions, he didn’t seem to show it at all.
|Posted by: giftwrapped May 3 2012, 03:01 PM|
| This wasn't a fight, it was a massacre.
But Ista was doing well, for all that they did so little fighting against Deep Ones. Elizabeth dashed between a pair of blues who had worked to cut a green Despair off from the bulk and were systematically tearing it to ribbons with tooth and claw, bugling encouragement to them and dropping down to gouge at the eyes of a nasty-looking brown as it set upon a trio of greens. J'ax didn't recognize most names or faces; it had been too long since Ista. But he remembered the Weyrbowl. In the back of his mind, he prayed he wouldn't come face-to-face with the reanimated corpse of any old friends, but he wasn't going to count on it.
He could feel the fury of the green under him as Elizabeth darted and dashed, never staying long enough in one place to make herself a target. Flame licked from the corners of her mouth as she nearly stopped in midair, twisting up to flame at the talons of something that passed just above her head.
And then Kzerzath's voice in their heads. J'ax's eyes snapped up. Where was the rest of Torrent Wing? Qu'an must have been addressing something...
If we are all of them, then we will kill them like a wing of dragons, Elizabeth snarled in his head, and J'ax nodded, tossing a chunk of firestone to the dark green head that snaked back, begging for more. Elizabeth swallowed it quickly, dropping like a stone to spew a gout of flame between a torn-up green and her white quarry. There was too much going on, no way to concentrate, forming up would result in everything going wrong, and then -
KZERZATH! Elizabeth rarely spoke the names of other dragons, but the green shrieked and twisted upwards, nearly jerking her rider out of the straps before he got a better handle on them. The green was moving, pumping wings and twisting toward where the brown had been. J'ax caught sight just in time to see the Despairs closing, a blue that looked...everything about this was wrong. They were too organized.
Lizzie, that blue, he said quietly, forcing shock and the noises of tearing flesh out of his mind. We need to take that blue.
Yes. Elizabeth snarled, snapping at a dragon who came too close and twisting out of the way. They would not dash foolishly into the Despairs, but something needed to be done.
Broadcasting in her twisted way, the green gave another earsplitting shriek to the dragons around her. DARK BLUE DESPAIR - RIP - TEAR - DESTROY.
And she pumped her wings, moving to the edge of the group. If she could break through and get above them -
The claws of pair of greens, identically dark but for a faint green stripe (over the right eye of one and the left of the other), glinted in the rain. Elizabeth snarled. J'ax braced his musket against his shoulder. The pair engaged.
|Posted by: Firebird May 3 2012, 03:05 PM|
| ((Tag S'yal))
Black, blacker, blackest. And cold beyond frozen things...
Ista was a mess. Dragons everywhere, ichor falling from the air. How much of the Weyr was already lost? Would there even be enough left to repopulate it after the battle? Norion felt it was more likely that the survivors would spread out into the other Weyrs, or even the holds. Who knew if the Deep Ones would return later to pick off any attempts at resettling?
At Z's words, she craned her head around, looking for anything not made of teeth, claws, and wings. "Just Despairs. Fuckin' tons of Despairs. And dragons, some tore up bad. Some could be mistaken for Despairs, so bad."
Wouldn't that be a way to go, being mistaken for a Deep One and flamed? Not her problem, as long as she went out fighting. Never give up, never surrender. And hopefully never get flamed to death by your own friends.
"I'll keep an eye out for Silences, but I'm not seeing any yet. Any particular Despairs you want I should watch for?" she called to Z, readying her flamethrower.
Wilkith winked back to Nightwatch and unloaded the two girls as quickly as possible, shooing them towards the closest Healer. Then it was back to the fray for another set of refugees. This time, he answered Selendrith's call, swooping in to aid the weyrlings.
Or he would have if there weren't other dragons going to their aid first, so instead he stopped just short of the gold's hiding place. Child-gold, are you or yours injured? he asked as O'ver slid down in order to help an older man strap in. My old man is a Healer. If you need help, we will provide it.
|Posted by: Tawny May 3 2012, 03:27 PM|
| He is... with us...
As the voice screeched through his brain C'tis gritted his teeth. No, no, no! It was true though, no escaping it. Qu'an and Kzerzath, and suddenly a dragon screaming in despair for their rider. S'tin, whoever he was, had passed too; the proximity to so many Deep Ones was making the voices come back and-
Joaminoth. Coming towards them. On fire.
This was not going to be pleasant at all. Rider and dragon shared a heavily distorted feeling of resigned dread and flamed at Joaminoth again; it was already on fire after all, that much couldn't get worse and they might just do enough damage to send it between. As the burning despair came within range Malcarreth lunged for its neck with jaws open and claws extended.
C'tis meanwhile aimed his flamethrower at Joaminoth's nearest wing, trying to ignore the hubbub of voices rising inside his head once more but they were so loud! Another dragon screamed and unconsciously C'tis called aloud for their dead bondmate too as he pulled the trigger. He was C'tis. Weyrcaptain C'tis. He had a job to do. Fight. Keep fighting. Stay above the cries of pain and grief and terror. C'tis. Flame. Keep fighting.
|Posted by: Blight May 3 2012, 03:38 PM|
| Sparatuth was gone, and K’dan could think of nothing else.
Numbly, he watched the familiar brown come swooping in low over the weyrlake. Of course D’ros and Urdnoth would be here. Of course. Right in the fucking nick of time again.
Except not this time.
His gait turned into a stumbling jog, then an outright run as he sped towards the direction he’d seen the distant figure emerge from the lake. That, too, could only be D’ros, surviving what he had no business surviving. The dark-haired ex-bluerider paid no heed to Selendrith, to Trusith or Donnath or Cielath or Wilkith. He was headed straight for the brownrider he recognized, his former wingleader.
And then he punched D’ros in the jaw.
|Posted by: giftwrapped May 3 2012, 03:50 PM|
| For someone with so much experience punching things in the face, D'ros did not have all that much with being punched in the face. So the crack of a fist connecting with his jaw caught him off-guard. He reacted instinctively, twisting to grab the hand, aiming a punch back - when he saw the face of the man at whom his fist was aimed, he pulled it immediately, letting go and dropping his hands in shock. "K'dan?"
Where was Sparatuth? The blue and his rider were never far separated. The two of them - the four of them it had once been, though Urdnoth had never cared for the serious, occasionally-pompous blue - Urdnoth, where's Sparatuth?
-- negative -- was all he got from the brown.
And K'dan, his wingsecond - his weyrmate - had punched him in the face.
|Posted by: Ferret May 3 2012, 03:57 PM|
| The Green Despairs around Kzerzath had opened to allow him into their formation, scattering like birds... and then they closed around him like jaws. On the ground, Donnath keened softly, but tried to stay calm for the sake of the weyrlings. She nudged the tiny Brown weyrling closer to her, covering him and his new rider with her wings protectively.
We'll take them to Nightwatch, she told the Gold weyrling. There was the risk of drawing an attack to their home, but at least Nightwatch was prepared for things like this. Worst case scenario, it would split the Despair forces.
Hopefully, Kzerzath wouldn't return...
Doktorr slid off of Donnath and worked on reconfiguring the riding straps so they could carry a draconic passenger. He didn't like the idea of Donnath trying to carry the Brown in her front legs; that would leave two fewer weapons if a Despair came after them.
The Brown weyrling honked uneasily as he was strapped to Donnath's chest. His eyes whirled white and gray, terrified mourning. More than anything, he just wanted to curl up with his rider right about now, but Doktorr was busy getting the human half on Donnath's back.
DARK BLUE DESPAIR - RIP - TEAR - DESTROY.
That was Elizabeth. No one else had her charming way of inviting others to a bloodfest. At least she and her rider were safe.
"Righto! Got everyone all buckled in!" Doktorr said in tones of false cheeriness. "Let's go!"
The large Green took to the skies, searching for an opening in which to between back to Nightwatch.
|Posted by: S'yal May 3 2012, 04:07 PM|
| Z flinched as Joaminoth caught fire, his eyes focused on the brown through the rain. That was Joaminoth. But no, it wasn't Joaminoth. It was a thing wearing the skin of his mentor's brown.
Angeth wanted to rip him to shreds, to kill him. She began to move, and Z cursed. NO! He growled, his fingers digging into her hide. Angeth, no! Z grimaced, looking at Norion over his shoulder. "See the big, flaming brown bastard? Keep an eye on 'im. His name is Joaminoth." He wasn't sure why he felt the need to give out the brown's name. It made him feel a bit better to talk about it.
<< Why can't I go after him? >> Angeth asked, turning on her wingtip to make the involuntary movement seem intentional. She rushed forward, catching a green despair that had been harrying an istan blue by surprise. Angeth dropped down on her like a parody of a bird of prey, her forelimbs crashing into the other green's back. Angeth let out a savage scream as she backwinged away from the green despair, unleashing a torrent of flame as the despair turned to face her.
Then Angeth was gone, retreating as the Istan blue re-engaged with his enemy, taking advantage of Angeth's quick interference. The green had no intention of staying around long enough to actually properly fight an enemy, but quickly smashing into a Despair long enough for another dragon to gain the advantage sounded... fun.
She wasn't having fun during this battle.
"I don't think any Silences are going to show up." Z announced, a frown on his face. He flinched as Elizabeth's... 'voice' rang through his head. Angeth turned his head towards the formation. "Do you think we can break through?" He asked her.
<< No. They'd be on us in seconds. >> Angeth told him, tilting her head to one side as she narrowly avoided a fighting pair of dragons. << We would never even get near the blue... >>
<< There's no need to thank me. >> Trusith replied. << This is my job, miss. >>
Yari scowled at the goldrider, her pretty face set in a very severe expression. "Alright. That makes your group our priority. We're going to take this Weyrling to nightwatch, goldrider, and then I'm going to come back for the rest and you. Try not to die." She climbed halfway down from Trusith's back, grabbing the blueweyrling by the arm and hauling him up. "We have to strap in your blue. Keep him calm. If he panics, we could die." She hissed to him. There was no attempt to soften her words.
The blueweyrling nodded dazedly, the tears continuing to come down his face as he muttered reassuring words to his blue. The tiny blue dragon cried out weakly as Yari and his rider hauled him up, Yari hurriedly doing her best to strap him in. "I'm taking you to nightwatch. Is the blue going to be okay?"
The hatchling bobbed his head, doing his best to be brave. He was a brave dragon, and one day he'd be big and this would never happen again, right? He had to be brave, for his rider and for the Weyr and for-
<< You are safe now, little one. >> Trusith told him, twisting his head around so that he could see the progress. Yari tugged on the straps, before turning to the young rider and doing the same. The blue hissed a bit in protest, consumed with the need to protect his rider from all these confusing, scary things.
"We're ready. Stay alive, gold. We'll be back for you." Yari told her, buckling into the straps. With a great leap, Trusith was off the ground. The big brown looked about for an opening, trying to find a place that had been at least slightly reclaimed by the nightwatch riders.
|Posted by: Darastrix May 3 2012, 04:32 PM|
| Zira jumped from Cielath's back and set to work getting his weyrlings strapped in.
We're not overburdened, the white assured the goldrider. I could carry more if Mine asked me to. This, she had confidence in. Zira had never asked her to do more than she could, so if he asked her to carry three more people, then she knew she'd be able to carry three more. Of course, there was the question of how much ROOM she had on her back, so it was probably a good thing he wasn't asking her to.
The weyrling was shaking like a leaf as Zira got them situated, and though she was keening softly, the little green was doing her best to keep Hers calm. She was scared and upset and SO hungry, but Hers needed her. Cielath looked back and gave a little croon, trying to reassure them.
"They'll be cared for at Nightwatch," Zira said firmly. None of the other weyrs would do. Even if no Despairs followed them, there would be confusion and questions and other things they just didn't have time for. He spared a moment to hug the weyrling tightly, murmuring, "Hold on tight; we'll get you out of here." Or die trying.
Then he was seated on Cielath's back and ready to go. "Take us home, Ciel," he told the white, and she took to the air, zipping off to find a spot to between into.
|Posted by: Inkwell May 3 2012, 04:52 PM|
| [Tag D'can and Merceth]
"Right!" V'monde shouted in reply to D'can, glad for the solid presence of his wingleader and his monster of a green. He knew Gkikath and had no doubts she could do Merceth some serious damage if she wanted to, but there was always strength in numbers, especially when it was green against bronze.
And then, suddenly, dragons were screaming a chorus of Kzerzath! and V'monde had only a few seconds to realize what that meant before Merceth was rocketing back up toward him and D'can with alarming speed.
More toward him, actually.
Gkikath didn't seem to share the sentiment, and certainly wasn't changing her trajectory any. She let out a gleeful trumpet, extending her own claws and flaming as Merceth rose to meet her. Following D'can's lead, she was aiming for the wings. If they could knock Merceth out of the air, slow him enough to keep him down, taking him out would be much easier.
Don't engage with him! You'll get us torn to pieces--
Relax, darling. I won't let him get too close. She didn't plan to, either. She may have been big for a green, but she was still a green, and her wing muscles weren't as well-developed as they were for nothing. She could dance circles around the bronze Despair, she knew she could.
Neither of them noticed the incoming white. And of course, it was just at that moment that Vmonde's sense of hearing went completely dead.
|Posted by: lithle May 3 2012, 08:21 PM|
| Flying low above the Weyrling quarters, searching and listening, Knienth was among those who heard the young gold's call for aid. He joined those who rushed to the aid of the new hatched dragons, but, he did not land as they had, seeing well enough that others were seeing to that duty.
A green despair, small and ragged, flew close to him, unexpected, and he felt the rake of claws across his haunches. A glancing blow, though painful. He turned, flaming, catching the green in the side of the face and chasing her off.
He did not try to actively engage in the fighting, though, did not give chase when the green despair backed off. His goal was to keep the area close to Selendrith as clear as he might.
And then, the call to arms in his head, the call to attack the blue. But he did not want to fully engage without his rider on his back.
Hurry. He sent to A'tsu.
A'tsu had made it to the creche. It wasn't that he didn't think that the people lining up for rescue wouldn't have tried to get the children out. It was more that he had been a child in that creche, and so knew how it could be. Knew that sometimes, for some children, chaos meant hiding. And when a child was one of many dragonriders children, fostered from one person to the next, perhaps that hiding was not noticed as it might be for ones own child.
He found her, hiding where he might have hid, tears running down her face, snuffling. She was holding a small white kitten, and crying.
"Parents?" he asked her.
She shook her head. He did not wait or explain. He was not good at such things. He simply picked the girl up, gently but firmly, and began running back the way he'd come. She was young, perhaps six, and seemed to weigh nothing at all. She did not attempt to kick him, and he was glad of that.
Soon, they were in sight of the bowl. "Close your eyes." He did not look down to see if she did.
Knienth! The brown dove to him, coming in to a pained landing that echoed through their bond. He tightened the riding straps, holding the girl, who cried more loudly as they took to the air. Nimble Knienth found an opening among the mess of wings, taking them between to the place he knew best, the spot just above their new Weyr ledge. It was not the best place to leave a child, but there wasn't time for such niceties.
"Stay," he told her.
And then, into the air, the cold of between, and Ista. Once home. The pair did not land this time, but watched the fight, looking for where they were most needed.
|Posted by: Meesh May 3 2012, 09:21 PM|
| Another roar reverberated through the weyrbowl, lost amongst the shrieking of fighting dragons.
Isith barely paused in his roar as he appeared from between and headed straight towards a brown Despair, eyes whirling red. M'del only just barely had time to toss firestone into his brown's waiting jaws before the two dragons clashed in midair, forelegs grasping one another while hind legs attempted to kick and tear the other. M'del leveled his pistol and shot once, twice, at the Despair's neck, causing it to creel in pain and break away. Isith, roaring defiantly, blew a spurt of flame at the ascending brown.
Well, at least until it came diving back at the brownpair, surprising them both. Isith gave a bugle of alarm and anger, flaring his wings and flying up to meet with the brown Despair snarling. Oh, come at me bro, I DARE you to get closer
|Posted by: Oshuu May 3 2012, 10:06 PM|
| To Ianthe’s credit, the healer was doing a good job holding it together, even as the riding pair answered to their Weyrcaptain’s call. A’ur wanted to apologize to her, or offer some kind of comfort, or something. But what was there to say? The air was full of Despair, Despair and death and the dying. Instead, the bluerider kept his eyes on the older riders – he had to focus on his job. They were here to get things done.
Done, Hondath barked to Malcarreth, already whirling away from the two wings. The blue spared them all a brief glance before plunging quickly, not wasting any time as he descended where folks were gathering below. He hadn’t hit the ground yet when Kzerzath was suddenly ripped away, the blue shrieking for the brown as he was lost. Kzerzath is gone, he informed his passengers, landing near D’ros just as some deranged rider punched him in the face.
“WHAT THE SHIT!” A’ur roared, twisting on Hondath’s back to see if a brawl was about to break out a few dragonlengths away. “Fucking hell. What the fuck. Ianthe, do you need us to stay with you?” he asked, willing Hondath still long enough to allow his passenger to dismount. “Protect you, maybe?” He watched D’ros and the stranger, presumably Istan, from atop his perch.
- - - - -
Fusrodath was perhaps less aware of the Weyrcaptain’s departure, his focus solely on the talons and claws sinking into his golden-brown hide. Joaminoth seemed to care little for the brown trying to batter him off. Only when Malcarreth bugled a challenge did the Despair pull away, allowing the brown a single moment to breath.
ARE YOU ALRIGHT? he inquired after His. Volana did not reply, blasted only with the sharp scream of static as she pushed matted hair away from her face. The woman was shaken – it wasn’t every day you lost a commander in an Incursion, she wasn’t used to no communicated with her beloved brown – but she was alright, all things considered. Only when she felt her bonded pause did the rider encourage him onward. “KEEP GOING!”
Their target was ignited now (fantastic), this time setting on Malcarreth. If the blue could pry the Despair of them, the least they could do was make sure another Weyrcaptain wasn’t lost today. Ignoring the ichor flowing down his shoulder, mixing with the rain as it dripped off his claws, Fusrodath charged Joaminoth from behind as Malcarreth went for his front. The living brown went for the undead’s neck with outstretched talons, his full intent to try and snap the Despair’s neck. At the very least, he could try to grab the wing C’tis wasn’t flaming.
“WE GOT YOUR BACK, ‘CAPTAIN!” Volana called to C’tis. The Weyrcaptain didn’t look good – but then again, if one of her direct comrades had just been shredded before her eyes, she might not be feeling so hot, either.
- - - - -
Morgauth had not intended to surpass the dead bronze. So when Merceth suddenly slammed on the brakes and hit reverse, the tank of a green went whizzing by. Snapping her own wings with an enraged shriek, she fell several more lengths before reversing her dive, swiveling through the air as she struggled to round again. D’can gripped at his flamethrower once more, head bowed as he glanced around for his wingmate. Shit.
“MOVE!” he bellowed to Gkikath and her rider. With the deafening static between himself and his brute, he couldn’t count on Morgauth to pass on any commands. The green rallied as strongly as she could, sprinting after the green as she rushed to meet Merceth head on. “V’MONDE, GI’ OU’ A’ TH’ WAY!” he roared, but the winrider did no such thing. Motherfucker.
Giving Morgauth a boot to the side, he spurred her on like a war stallion, closing one eye as he changed tactics. He couldn’t get Gkikith killed. With her going for the wings, D’can aimed for Merceth’s ugly, faceless head, letting a tongue of flame loose in hopes of distracting the bronze.
The incoming white was noticed only at the last second, the bright color a sharp contrast on the Wingleader’s monochromatic field of vision. It was too late to change their trajectory, too late for him to even redirect his flame, so D’can simply ducked his head as Morgauth banked right and fucking prayed.
|Posted by: Zoomy May 3 2012, 11:15 PM|
| It was the landing, and A'ur's sudden expletive, that made Ianthe stop staring all wide-eyed and terrified up at the sky and its occupants. She had heard the death cries and keens quite sharply, and she hadn't needed Hondath's announcement to tell her that someone had died -- nor whom. But that was now the past, and even though her shoulders were shaking, her heart was pounding harder than the pouring rain, and she was clinging white-knuckled to A'ur's shoulders, she needed to focus on the Now.
"N-no," she began, voice raspy, uncharacteristically weak. She watched D'ros and K'dan for a couple of seconds, mind working hard to get her back into a more familiar Ianthemode. "No -- NO, No --" buckles were fumbled at and soon enough she was moving to slide off of the Blue.
"Go, get! I'll deal with the two dumbasses," there she was, " or let them do whatever it is they're doing." With a thick squish and splash, she landed in the mud, and then turned. "...GO."
She realized she probably should've said something along the lines of 'ohay, don't get dead,' but. ...nope. Instead she moved around the two dueling dumbshits and went to the gold weyrling and her bonded. "I'm a healer. You the only one left, or are there others inside?"
|Posted by: Blight May 3 2012, 11:19 PM|
| No, we are uninjured... But these people are families of those rescued weyrlings. Can you make sure they are reunited safely? Selendrith inclined her head to indicate the small knot of frightened people still huddled near her in their Gather best. D’ros’ friend was not among them – most likely up in the air fighting the Despairs. Nonetheless they needed to be evacuated, and Selendrith couldn’t go between herself.
The goldpair had a fairly realistic view of their chances of survival through this incursion. But at least they could save a few.
Not smart, C’tis. Larger and heavier than the blue, Joaminoth more or less gripped Malcarreth in a visegrip, letting the fire and superior weight do his work for him… with a healthy dose of claws in the equation as well.
He couldn’t simply let the fire burn indefinitely, though. Even a Despair, immune to pain, would eventually be inconvenienced by having all their flesh scorched away. So once the brown deemed that sufficient damage had been done – and when Fusrodath hit him like the first of an angry god and with a rather alarming crunch of vertebrae – Joaminoth was jostled loose, letting go of Malcarreth and pulling away. Likely he left a good bit of charred flesh behind.
Not that it mattered, though. He had others to visit. A quick blink between extinguished the fire… and hello, Angeth. Joaminoth has come to play. He’s not looking so great with his neck all kinked at an unnatural angle like that, and he’s a little late to the party, but he’s come to see you! Isn’t that nice.
“You bastard!” spat K’dan. “Don’t you realize what you’ve done? Don’t you realize whose side you’re on? You brought them down on our heads!”
Logic? Screw logic. Nightwatch were the ones who’d been taunting Deep Ones for the past thirty years. It was Nightwatch dragons leading the charge of the Despairs that had torn through Ista. K’dan wasn’t capable of thinking about anything beyond pain at this point, and seeing D’ros again was salt in a raw wound that he didn’t want touched.
So help him, he was going to do something drastic if someone didn’t stop him.
“Get him the shards out of here!” snapped the goldrider, already stepping up to try and move K’dan herself if needed. Not that her little lightweight self was going to do much to budge the belligerent bluerider.
Merceth, too, wasn’t looking so great. The fire was taking its toll; there was nothing left of his wings but charred bone held together by black nothingness at the joints. Those wings still continued to beat incongruously, generating no lift and yet impossibly holding the creature aloft, in the same way that other Deep Ones flew seemingly without propulsion.
He held off the attack for the moment, merely defending himself from the two greens. If Gkikath wanted to dance, he could dance. At least until that white arrived…
And arrive it did. Something small and sack-shaped dropped from the white’s claws into Merceth’s waiting jaws: the firestone sack just now ripped from Kzerzath’s back. Merceth crunched down, gulping down most of the sack in one go before discarding the rest…
And turned his head, unleashing a long gout of flame in the direction of the two greens.
|Posted by: Guenivere May 3 2012, 11:36 PM|
| T'vek was holed up far into the barracks when everything started going to shit. He had set today apart for working, studying, and generally doing the techcraft he loved. It had been too long since he'd had a chance, and he wanted some time away from everyone. Maybe tonight he would learn the lesson of not having so secluded a work room. But shard it all, he wanted time to himself without all the buzz and noise of the rest of the Weyr. From here, when he was hyperfocused, he could generally ignore the goings-on of the outside world.
Tonight, however, the cries and hubub of the catastrophe outside were scraping on the edge of his mind much more than usual. It was around the time that he decided he should probably go investigate when Moxanath bursted rudely into his mind. She dumped all the cries and voices of the surrounding dragons into him and he almost toppled over from the force. Steadying himself on the table, he sorted through the thoughts to hear D'can calling the wing to come.
Come, he will! T'vek ran to meet his bonded on the ledge, already knowing from her mind that she had taken her share of firestone, and he wasted no time in getting her loaded up. From what he could tell, children were in danger. And his wing was riding out to meet them. What's happening? He asks her as he straps down extra stones, gunpowder and threw on a coat. Despairs at Ista. Many. Ramoth has killed a bronze. On our turf, and left.
... He just didn't even want to have to deal with that last part right now."Despairs? Many? How many?"
Right. Strapping on a spare rifle and more gunpowder then. He shoulders a flamethrower and straps on two pistols and a knife. He was willing this time to carry a little extra. The firepower was probably needed. All right. get on and get out.
The pair take off, spending only moments in the air before betweening out into hell. "Son of a Bitch." Moxanath was not kidding. There were exactly too many despairs that were exactly everywhere. T'vek was very, very grateful for Moxana's agility as they swept through an unbelievable cloud of murderous carcasses. Somehow they had managed to arrive in the thick, and T'vek was almost immediately flaming left and right as Moxanath barrel-rolled their way out of danger. A particularly beastly green closed its jaws just inches from T'vek's leg, and he blasted it right in the face. TAKE US DOWN, MOX! They were in highest danger way up here.
Moxanath clipped her wings and dove cleanly away from the faceless teeth, swooping back up and toward the cries for help weyrlings! was her only explanation as she booked it toward the caverns on the wide of the weyrbowl. T'vek had no argument for that, so he kept a weather eye out on her blind spots, looking for the rest of his wing. Announce us, Moxanath! The static may be too thick for it to make through, but he would feel more comfortable knowing where D'can was.
Moxanath and T'vek reporting.
T'vek was going to make a comment about how she could be a little more enthusiastic when a lot of things all started happening at once. A great big blue dropped down out of the sky, taking them by enough of a surprise that he clipped Moxanath near the tail. She screeched, veering away just in time to avoid a second blow, and just in time to hear almost all of Nightwatch cry out in grief. One of theirs had been lost. Qu'an and Kzerzath were taken by the despairs. There was absolutely no time to grieve, and almost no time to acknowledge. T'vek and Moxanath were still in immediate danger. She trumpeted a brief cry of loss before rounding roughly on the chasing Despair and unleashing a furious stream of fire.
It was enough to let her make a get-away, and they were almost to her destination. Close enough, in fact, to see a Despair SHARDING BREATHE FIRE??? T'vek felt his stomach drop out of his body. Nothing could possibly be worse than this. Nothing. Absolutely noth--
That was D'can and V'monde fighting that flaming bronze wasn't it? It just got worse.
T'vek! That white! Firestone! Clearly his Bonded had been paying more attention. Thank stars for that. They didn't need to share any more words. It was clear what had to be done. That white had to be stopped. And punished. No time to think on the implications of Despairs being able to flame, only time to think of prevention. Static hit both of their minds, but it didn't matter, Moxanath was already on a crash course with the tiny dragon, and for her, crash course speed was breakneck. T'vek felt the skin stretching on his face as they plummeted toward it. She pulled back at just the right moment to hit the fucker feet-first, knocking her hard against it, hoping to throw it off course, and tearing as deep with her claws as she can. T'vek, for his part, was flaming it's right wing from point-blank.
|Posted by: Zoomy May 3 2012, 11:38 PM|
| There were a fair bit of nods and owlish looks into the dark passageway as Ianthe listened to Selendrith. It became very clear though that she actually needed a dragon, and she hoped -- FORCE ONCE -- that the one she had just come in on hadn't left immediately.
"A'ur, Hondath, wait! --" she yelled, turning around to go back to them. But while the words she needed to get out indeed got out, she cut herself short as K'dan's tirade reached her ears.
Their fault? Nightwatch's fault? Selfish stupid bastard; they were the ones saving the weyr's stupid pathetic asses! A growl escaped her, and she balled one fist while raising the other to point strongly at the air -- and suddenly Goldrider. Yelling.
Ianthe gave her enough of an extension that she heard the queen's orders -- wishes, whatever. She knew how to handle that command.
"A'ur! Take that dumbshit -- drop him at Nightwatch. ....Then come back!" Would it work? Would Hondath be able to uh... grab the idiot and leave? Or was she setting the pair up for a really nasty escaped with some seemingly half-crazed lunatic?
She kinda hoped it wasn't the latter.
|Posted by: Oshuu May 3 2012, 11:48 PM|
| “Ianthe! Wait!”
Hondath went lumbering after the healer as she scurried towards the gold weyrling. “Take this.” The bluerider tossed his flamethrower at the healer. “He flames. You’ll need it. Don’t hesitate.” There was no ‘if’ in A’ur’s mind. There was no ‘might’ need a weapon. He had to take back to the sky, but he wasn’t about to leave the wherhandler defenseless, even if that meant she’d live another day to bitch at him. Especially if that meant she’d live another day to bitch at him.
The pair paused to look at the pair of riders again. They were about to heed their Weyrcaptain’s orders and take back to the sky when the goldrider called for someone to help. WELL she couldn’t, she had a Weyrling, Ianthe was the size of a toothpick IF HE MUST.
NO! Hondath shrieked angrily, feeling A’ur slide off and go darting across the open space. OUR FIGHT IS ABOVE!
But A’ur did not heed his dragon and left the blue to dog after him like an overgrown watchwher, rumbling ominously as the bluerider swung for the back of K’dan’s head. Was it a low blow, attacking from behind? Oh, totally. How many fucks did he give? That would be a resounding none.
At Ianthe’s word, Hondath moved in, growling ominously as he reached for the dragonless man with one claw. (Since when had Hondath started taking orders from Ianthe?)
- - - - -
It had worked! Fusrodath and Malcarreth had fended off the large Despair, sending the flaming brute back between. The brown gave a roar as he backwinged, inspecting the older blue after that collision. ARE YOU ALRIGHT? he inquired of the Weyrcaptain’s mouth, oblivious to his own wounds and the static blast he had all but defeaned his woman with.
Volana gave a fierce shake of her head, the sharp blast of white noise dizzying even as her dragon maintained a steady height. Leaning forward, she tried to peer down at his wounds – she could feel it, oh Farnath she could feel all the ichor running down her arms, but Fusrodath still wasn’t stopping. “Weyrcaptain! Are you okay? Are you-“
HE’S BACK!! the brown screeched in shock. Weren’t Despairs supposed to stay put once you damaged them badly enough?? DIDN’T THEY RE-DIE OR SOMETHING??
While the static meant nothing, the swivel of Fussy’s head did, and Volana’s eyes widened when she realized Joaminoth had set on Angeth instead. Fuck. As long as she wasn’t about to lose the other Weyrcaptain today, she’d go over and help…
- - - - -
Thank his lucky fucking stares he had banked left. Morgauth screamed a blood-curdling noise, the sound ringing in his ears as the green’s left wingtip was scorched, the membranes starting to tear as the skin scalded and blistered. But where was Gkikath? The Wingleader glanced sideways as his green carried them away for a moment, regrouping before circling back towards Merceth. “They flame,” he hissed to himself. “MORGAUTH. WARN ‘EM.’ WARN TH’ OTH’RS!”
DESPAIRS. FIRESTONE. FLAMING! The green’s halted mindspeech broadcasted to anyone in the vicinity – her own wingmates would be used to Morgauth’s awful vocabulary, but it made be more difficult for other Nightwatch riders. Scrambling towards Merceth, it became even more imminent they stop him. Now that he had…firepower.
“V’MONDE! C’MON NOW, LOOK SHARP!” Hopefully the kid wasn’t too badly damaged.
Morgauth was rocketing herself at Merceth again, taking a new tactic this time. Clearly his wings didn’t matter – maybe she had to sever his fucking head from the rest of his fucking body. Mouth agape and claws outstretched, the brute of a green rushed for the bronze’s lanky neck. “Arright, fuck’r. Time ‘fer y’ t’ go,” D’can hissed, firing his flamethrower at the bronze’s face. Fight fire with fire, right?
|Posted by: giftwrapped May 4 2012, 12:15 AM|
| It took a moment for D'ros to understand. K'dan coming at him, attacking him, K'dan - a man who had been so attached to his blue that even leaving him briefly for a flight with D'ros became physically painful - oh no.
"Oh no," he said quietly. "No, no, no, no, no -"
And then A'ur moved to strike at K'dan and D'ros snarled, lunging forward, ignoring his own personal safety as he put himself between the other man and his weyrmate. "NO!" he snapped, fury overtaking anything else he might have felt. "You will not touch him!" His voice was more a snarl than anything else, and he faced A'ur for a moment with a look of desperate fury. "No," he added, more quietly, though no less desperate. "Let me -"
"K'dan," he said quietly, reaching to take the other man by the arm, moving away from him - an attempt to draw him away from the goldweyrling. "K'dan, come this way." Away from Selendrith and Lyandei and A'ur and Ianthe, away from everything. He knew now. He knew, he could feel it in the sky, even as Urdnoth collided with Merrith in a mass of talons and furied shrieks. Gone. The blue was gone, and with him K'dan.
This would end only in tears.
[OOC: WHILE YOUR ATTEMPTS TO AID D'ROS AND NIGHTWATCH ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED, it would be a huge favour to me were you to leave K'dan to his own devices. <3 He is personal plot device with pre-negotiated ending and it becomes difficult to break my own character if his NPC gets stolen. XDD]
|Posted by: Inkwell May 4 2012, 12:58 AM|
| [Merceth, D'can and a mention of T'vek!]
It was surreal, watching the battle happen all around him. There should have been screams, and the bugel of dragons, the snap of bones and the hiss of flames and the incessant pounding rain drowning out everything. V'monde heard absolutely nothing.
That included Gkikath. He could still feel her in his mind, the comforting otherness that was her consciousness, and he could feel her fury at Merceth and the other Despairs, but even the ears that normally heard without sound were deafened by his blight.
Even without D'can's encouragement (that he couldn't hear anyway), V'monde knew when to let her fury loose and when to rein her in if he wanted to live, and now was a time for the latter. There was only so long she could dodge around the larger bronze, and now -- now he had firestone, and they were in the line of fire.
Pull up! "Pull up pull up PULL UP--"
He felt his mind and mouth form the words, though he had no idea if Gkikath heard him over the other noise. It didn't matter. The flames came, and even as Gkikath's fury turned to surprise and fear, even as she tipped her wings and tried to dart out of the way of the blast, it wasn't enough. Fire seared across his left side, licking across his left arm and leg. He probably screamed -- he couldn't tell. Gkikath dropped, attempting to get out of Merceth's range. Her left shoulder, leg and underbelly were badly burnt, but her wing seemed have taken minimal damage and since they weren't plummeting like a stone he assumed she was still air-worthy. Thank Faranth for small favors.
Come on, he thought, unable to speak because he was too busy gritting his teeth against their shared pain. We can do this.
Where was D'can? If he couldn't communicate with him, at least he could keep an eye on his position. He cast around for a few moments before realizing the fire all around Merceth was not entirely his own. Fight fire with fire indeed! And was that -- was that T'vek and Moxanath fighting the white?
He felt a rush of protective worry from Gkikath that matched his own. Her wingmates were in danger! Her rider's weyrmate was in danger! He couldn't hear it, but he was certain she was letting out frustrated growls.
He faced a decision. He couldn't hear his wingleader or his dragon, and his attacks tended to last seven or eight minutes so that wasn't likely to change any time soon. He could trust Gkikath to follow orders given, or he could remove himself from the fight so as not to be a burden. Either way, he couldn't just hang in the air indecisively: they were both in pain and Despairs were still all around them. Gkikath had just dropped several more lengths to avoid a festering green.
Do what D'can and Morgauth tell you, he said, making his decision. ONLY what they tell you. Remember: no heroics. She'd listen. He had faith in her ability to understand that this was the best choice.
Hoy, Morgauth! I need orders! We're a bit singed but we can still fight!
|Posted by: Oshuu May 4 2012, 07:15 AM|
| For the love of little green dragons, A’ur hadn’t even tangled with Deep Ones yet and things were already looking pretty hopeless. At the last minute, D’ros had switched positions with K’dan, and fortunately the sudden movement caused the rider to miss both men. Hondath withdrew (but not without plenty of hissing and snarls) for a moment as the one-eyed man took a step back, watching as the Nightwatch rider tried to escort his…what? Were they friends? Who knew? (But why else would you protect the guy who just punched you in the jaw?) Whomever it was, A’ur knew enough about the brownrider that he could probably handle himself in a fistfight and took a wary step backwards.
He reached for Hondath blindly, the dragon coming up behind him and bumping his hand. The brunet climbed up onto the deep blue fluidly, giving himself a little shake before glancing back down at Ianthe and the gold weyrling, offering the three females a shrug. He did what he could, he tried to obey their wishes, he did, really. His mount gave an impatient hop. “We have to fight. Ianthe, do not do anything-“ dangerous “-stupid. Use that flamethrower if you have to. I’ll be back for you when the call goes to return, so be here!” And for the love of anything, just don’t be dead by the end of this.
Before he could so much as salute the Healer and the goldrider, Hondath had bolted into the air, frantic to get a piece of the action. They climbed through the driving rain quickly, glancing around for their wingmates. He couldn’t see C’ross. C’tis was with some brownrider, he couldn’t find I’ssac or C’ren in the mess. His blue looked for Angeth, and found the green over yonder. With all that in mind, the deep blue decided to heed Elizabeth’s call and flew in the green’s general direction.
Plan? the blue rumbled, his eyes awhirl as he swooped in and closed the gap.
[[ OOC: Right-o gift~ A'ur and Hondath will depart~ ]]
- - - - -
Morgauth gave a jolt when Gkikath reached out for her. Gkikath, she rumbled to her rider, but all the man heard was static. He didn’t reply, never taking his eyes off his target. The green had a split second to order anything before she collided with Merceth.
With the Wingleader at the bronze’s head and his brutish green rushing at his neck, they could only hope their wingmate would charge in time. Surely, Merceth couldn’t fire at two targets simultaneously.
|Posted by: Tawny May 4 2012, 07:25 AM|
| As the Despair slammed into them Malcarreth screamed in pain and fury, flaming and clawing and-
-then it was gone. Thrown off balance by the beast's departure Malcarreth tumbled out of control for a few moments before getting himself back under control, panting and taking stock of his injuries. Not good but not yet bad enough for him to retreat, yet being operative; he couldn't fly around bleeding like this forever. For now though.... <We fight on! Our thanks!> he called in response to Fusrodath, casting around to seek another enemy. What he saw was Joaminoth reappearing by Angeth. <Angeth! Watch out!> With this cry of warning he pushed himself into a sprint, heading for the green and the monster that had homed in on her.
He didn't notice Merceth's gout of flame, but he certainly heard Morgauth's warning cry. Despairs could flame. He tried to speak to C'tis, and failed. This day just kept on getting better.
C'tis meanwhile clung onto his flamethrower, and tried to cling onto his own thoughts too. It was getting harder, voices getting louder. Flame the despairs. They were chasing a Despair, and when they reached it they would fight it, and that was all that mattered.
|Posted by: S'yal May 4 2012, 08:04 AM|
| First, there was chaos and death and horror. Then, there was nothing but Joaminoth. Z may have screamed, though he would never admit it, when the brown appeared from Between. Angeth had been diving, trying to pursue a blue despair, when suddenly there was Joaminoth, in her way and on a direct course to collide with the green. "Angeth, move!" It went without saying, but somehow yelling made him feel better about this situation.
The green turned, narrowly avoiding falling right into his claws. The green shrieked, her eyes whirling yellow and red and white, trying to avoid being grabbed by Joaminoth's horrible claws. She didn't want to die. Not by Joaminoth's claws. << Get away! >> She screamed, ignoring Malcarreth's voice in her head. Joaminoth. Joaminoth who was ruined and battered and burned, who was no longer a mentor but a horrible undead abomination that wanted to drag her and her rider to the depths of the dusk with him. << I won't be like you! Get away from me! >>
Her bond with Z suddenly filled with static, buzzing along the lines between them and blurring whatever he might have said to her to calm her down. Probably a good thing, as Z was no doubt just as panicked as she was by the sudden appearance of the brown. Worst, even. Z actually remembered Joaminoth. Z's fingers clenched around the riding straps until his knuckles were white. Joaminoth should not be here. He shouldn't be like this.
Z wouldn't let him be like this. As Angeth swerved to avoid Joaminoth and instead went by him, the greenrider hoisted up his rifle and aimed for the remains of Joaminoth's eye, not really thinking that the bullet wouldn't do much, if anything, to stop the despair. He needed to protect Angeth. He didn't care if he had to throw himself at Joaminoth with only a knife, he couldn't let Angeth die the way Zalsk had. Not in a flurry of claws from someone she'd once loved. Not as another nameless soldier that'd never be remembered. "You won't get my dragon too, you sick fucking bastard! Norion, can you flame at him whenever he tries to make a grab at Angeth? If he actually gets a hold of her, we're so fucked."
He was doing his best to sound like he didn't know this Despair, but it showed. His voice shook and he looked honestly terrified, his wide eyes focused on the ruined corpse that had once been Joaminoth.
What he didn't tell Norion was that with Angeth this angry and terrified, the static in their bond was bad enough that something, a command or a warning, might be lost between them. He hoped that it wouldn't be that bad.
<< I'll kill you! >> She wouldn't let him make her like him, dead and... well, a zombie.
This was not, by any means, normal behavior for Angeth in a fight. Despairs were bad enough. Joaminoth was worse. So, so much worse.
|Posted by: Zoomy May 4 2012, 09:27 AM|
| Aaaaaaaaaaand instead the outcome was None of the Above, with A'ur almost getting punched in the face by a man who was ten times both of their size. Luckily no actual hitting came to fruition, but that didn't keep the Healer from expending some energy in the form of imagining herself kicking both of their asses (what, she didn't know one of them had just lost his bonded). When she finally gave up on that act, though, A'ur was shrugging at her and all she could really do was glare one last time at D'ros and K'dan and then shrug herself.
His words managed to bump her off guard for a moment, some sort of irony about the whole thing trying to bloom into her mind. She was the one who always told people don't do stupid things, especially A'ur. But apparently in this mess, this dripping chaos, a lot of tables were being turned (to which she only hoped most were moving in favor of the living rather than the dead).
"Yes, fine," she nodded, agreeing. Even though she could use the pair, and still needed someone to ferry survivors, Ianthe couldn't find that enough reason to tell him to stay; he had to do his job, she had to do hers. A glance was spared to look down at the flamethrower in her arms, its wet, cold metal and mechanical parts heavy, and as far as she was concerned... useless. She wasn't sure if she even remembered how the damn thing worked, but whatever now. The thought had been clear enough, just as his order for her to be there when he got back had been.
The angryhealer wasn't sure how to respond to such words, especially with them coming from A'ur. She also wasn't sure how she felt about the sincerity she knew she heard in them. ...Or even if she could promise to act on such an order (she didn't exactly plan on NOT being there at the end of all this, but one never knew what could happen). None of that mattered, though, because seconds later the pair were launched into the air, and Ianthe was alone with the gold rider and those in the passage way.
"C'mon, back inside," she snapped half-heartedly, turning and heading back to said area of safety. "We'll all wait for the ferrying dragons to get back, and if a brown comes," she looked over at the gold rider, " you're going first."
|Posted by: Firebird May 4 2012, 09:54 AM|
| ((Tag S'yal.))
Oh shit that Despair was far too close for comfort! Norion swung her flamethrower around to point at the brown, wishing it wasn't so much bigger than Angeth was. Augh why were the differences between colors so pronounced? Her musket wouldn't be very much help here, would it?
Okay, flame the zombie brown when it attacks. She can do that. She can burn that bastard nice. "I'll flame him more than that if I can. See if I can get him in the face." She paused for a moment. Did Despairs hate face attacks as much as normal dragons would? "Though if you know any better places, now would be the time to tell them. Do Despairs even need a working head?"
O'ver looked at the gathered family members and did a quick count in his head. Okay, this would definitely take multiple trips. Best to start quickly. He already had a passenger, however. If Wilkith was willing to strain himself, he could take another, but that would slow him and possibly leave him open to attack and horrible things-
You worry too much, old man, but I will restrict myself for the sake of your nerves, Wilkith interrupted. I can carry three children or one adult and one child. I already have an adult. Load me up.
A woman brought forward a young boy and helped O'ver lift him up onto the blue's back. Once the boy was safely clipped in, she grabbed on to Wilkith's riding straps and said, "Before you go, let it be known that if you let any harm come to him..."
O'ver disguised another facepalm as an attempt to clear rain from his eyes. "I take my duties seriously, miss."
"I still have to say it. If Roroan is harmed when I get there I will personally wring your neck. And now that that's done..." She released her hold on the straps and took a step back. "Go on with the rescue, rider."
Wilkith didn't waste any time in leaving. There were civilians to save!
|Posted by: Inkwell May 4 2012, 01:04 PM|
| The moment Morgauth’s order came through, Gkikath rocketed upward toward Merceth. The big bronze had burned her, and she wanted more than ever to make him hurt, to take him down and show him what a real dragon could do to a monster wearing a dragon’s hide -- and now she had permission! She'd flame until she got close enough to bite, and then she'd rip him in half.
Flawless life decisions.
|Posted by: Pamelot May 4 2012, 11:15 PM|
| Everything happened so fast.
The commotion in the weyrbowl, the monstrous dead thing snatching the bronze into between. And then came the screaming images of Ista Weyr, where it was raining ichor and blood and broken dragons some of whom looked too familiar to bear. The dark blue at the head of the formation, for instance, could only be one dragon.
Kirraheth burst out of between at an angle, just in time to see Kzerzath vanish into the formation, hear Elizabeth's message , and spot a blur of eerie pale green dart beneath him. Ta'li hoped, with all her heart, that it was an Istan wingrider.
Until the green screamed and wheeled upwards with her claws aimed at Kirraheth's vulnerable stomach with every intent to gut him. The lithe blue quickly folded one of his wings and tipped away from the screaming green, turning a killing blow into a few scrapes across his shoulders and side. For a brief moment, Ta'li got a clear view of the thing that almost gutted her dragon - it was slim, small, with bowed wings that granted speed that had been rendered unimaginable by death. And then it betweened, like a Despair would do when it died (re-died?).
For a moment, they could breathe.
The ghostly, wailing cry came from above once more, followed up by teeth and claws and white eyes. Kirraheth only had time to glance upwards and twist aside, forcing his riding straps to jerk Ta'li aside with uncomfortable force. The pale Despair's claws raked at nothing, missing the blue's back by a hair's breadth, and Ta'li, in a horrified daze, raised her shotgun and fired at it. The shot sank into its side, and the green turned, and looked at Ta'li with cold white eyes.
Then it betweened once more, and reappeared straight where Kirraheth was headed, her claws extended in a welcoming gesture, a mockery of a Flying green inviting a chaser for a dance. Only this time, Ta'li took up her gun and fired. Once. Twice, this time the buckshot tearing through the green's jaws and out through her neck. Ta'li could almost smell the fetid ichor that oozed out of the Despair's wound. It shrieked.
And Kirraheth dropped suddenly and heavily, like a hawk, screaming his rage and defiance back at the thing that almost snatched his Ta'li with its talons. It followed closely, only to between once more, and reappear straight beneath him. Only this time, Kirraheth met her with a blast of flame to the face. The green blinked between, only to pop back into real space near Merceth, and slightly above Gkikath. It flew towards the charging green, trying to tear at her back and her rider.
Ta'li, white-knuckled and wide-eyed, had time to breathe, which meant assess the situation (Despairs everywhere, survivors on the ground, Geth in the air) and the well-being of her dragon.
Kirraheth! Talk to me! Even in her thoughts, she sounded shaky.
Minor damage. Survivors in the Weyrbowl, they are being tended to. Assisting Elizabeth, he said tersely, completely focused on the matter at hand. He knew, from Ta'li, that Geth was dangerous; that Geth's strength was in numbers; that if you take away the numbers, Geth would be nothing; that Geth had to be dealt with as soon as possible. He angled towards the formation, joining Elizabeth, where a small and sinewy brown oozed out of the swarm to meet them. Ta'li reloaded her gun. Kirraheth expelled a gust of flame, and reached out his claws to meet the brown's own.
She did so, gun at the ready.
|Posted by: Meltain May 5 2012, 12:07 AM|
| It had started as a calm, if not rather uncomfortable, day. Tsinga had battled with a lack of sleep, only to come up with the idea of going flying with Myrith as a solution. This had gone swimmingly until her dragon got word of a bronze pair in the weyrbowl. They arrived just in time to see them snatched up by the gold despair that the once Ramoth.
They then proceeded to fly to Ista, Myrith going on about how dangerous this was every inch of the way. How she had said she wanted to be a clutching dragon for a reason, how she wasn't the type to fight. Tsinga responded by telling her that this was Nightwatch, violence was not optional.
Once again they where late. She blamed the delay on the fact that her dragon had been deliberately delaying them as she tried to convince her rider to turn around. For a moment the greenrider couldn't make heads nor tails of the flurry of action happening around the weyr. Her eyes scanned the masses, searching for a target. After a moment her eyes locked on to a large gold figure, Ramoth. Without pausing to think Tsinga exclaimed, "Myrith, the queen is our target."
Instead of rushing head first in to a battle that they would surely lose the dragon remained still and exclaimed, "think for a minute, Mine! Thats a gold, a huge one at that. She would beat us to a pulp if we took her on alone. I told you that we shouldn't have come, but you insisted. Now I insist that we take of someone that we have a chance against."
A sigh left her mouth, but it occurred to her that she was not wrong. It only took her a moment to glance around and select a new target. With a silent order to Myrith the pair dived in to the throng, pausing when they reached Joaminoth. For a dragon that was against going in to battle Myrith showed an awful lot of ferocity when she lunged at the despair, aiming to claw it along its shoulder.
|Posted by: Nozomi May 6 2012, 07:57 PM|
Oh good! Weyrlings were safe and one less thing for Kr'stof to think about. He skidded to a half near to Ianthe and the goldrider. Whites showed all around his eyes and maybe his smile was pressed into a too tight a line, but there he was, hair a mess of floppy curls and a dragon flaming shit from her position on the ground. Xenath started to edge closer to the humans when hers clapped his hands together, eyes skating from the Healer to the goldrider and the fancy weyrfolks therein.
"Wait, precious! I'm no brown - so sorry, goldrider, my heartfelt apologies - but Xenath can take at least one passenger with her. Two, if one is particularly small." His lips twitched at the edges, thin fingers steepling together. "Kr'stof, non-Despaired rider, pleased to meet you. Now, darlings, one of you come with me, please." He held out his hand, jaw clenching periodically from the voices screaming in his head. He couldn't communicate with Xenath with so many Despairs nearby, heard only static that quickly turned back into screams and sobs, the voices of the dead and - sometimes - what he imagined to be the voices of the Deep Ones.
Hallucinating, probably, he hoped.
Xenath crept closer to the weyrfolk hidden there and her rider, screaming bloodied murder to anyone and anything that came too close. She'd worry when they got into the air. She didn't hear the voices he did but the Despairs - they crawled under her skin more than any voices could. Perhaps it was best for everyone she had not yet spotted Ceylith.
Do you know what would be a most wonderful occurance today, K'yne? Ogbanuth stretched out on his couch, eyes closed as he all but oozed around. He hadn't bothered to move even after the bronze screamed for assistance, too busy lounging with his rider cleaning out the barrel of his gun. K'yne didn't seem too concerned; Ista's Weyrwoman probably broke her nail and kicked the bronzeriders ass for it. Same old, same old.
K'yne slanted his eyes over to the dragon, his face flat and unamused. Ogbanuth shifted his weight, his skin folds piling into loose mounds on the stone couch. One leg lifted into the air, head craning in the direction of the Weyrbowl to allow one eye to open and watch. He couldn't see much, just a shiny form with ichor, a crowd gathering, expanding too much energy, really. Ramoth blinked from between and snatched the male up.
Ogbanuth waited a heartbeat before he murmured, Food.
"Did something just happen?" K'yne stood, shotgun in hand. He walked over to the edge, not even bothering to step around the blue - blue pebbled skin made a wonderful footstool. Ogbanuth rumbled for the sake of it all, his large eye closing once again. He reached out, brushed his mind over a violent blue at the Weyrbowl where people rose to the air abd started disappearing between. K'yne prodded him with the butt of his gun, the faintest of frowns curling his lips. "What happened."
Ogbanuth seemed to spread out even more, distaste rumbling in his mindvoice. Ista is disturbing my quest for gloriously plump herdbeasts. Caninth has stated that they are under Despair attack. The blue paused. He used much more colorful language. So much disapproval. Why bother spending so much time being angry and swearing and throwing a fit when one could just sleep.
"Get up. Straps." Ogbanuth hissed mentally at his rider, who poked a thim with the gun once more before he all but sprinted back into their weyr. He was jerking down the riding harness before Ogbanuth even bothered to move.
Food. The dragon insisted, twisting in order to lift himself from his couch. His skin rolled and sagged and when he pulled his lips back to glower at K'yne, the pebbled blue hide nearly blocked out his eyes. He looked demonic. K'yne didn't mind. "Shut up, don't complain. Food after. Celebrate."
Ogbanuth contemplated that for a moment and relented. With the battle harness came a bad of spare firestone. K'yne threw some into his waiting maw, the blue crunching them between his teeth. The rider went up, shotgun in hand, a smaller flamethrower at his hip, the pair slung into the sky. Ogbanuth roared in hi soul, though he made no sound outloud. It was time to go and kill things. They went to Ista in a quick, cold flicker and straight into hell. They hadn't been there for Qu'an nor had they spotted Weyrlings or anything else epic up until that moment. They did, however, spot Elizabeth and Kirraheth with a small hoard of Despairs. Delightful.
"It will end things faster," said K'yne. He didn't have to ask twice. They turned towards the herd of Deep Ones. Ta'li and Hers tango'd with one, a brown against a blue, a creature with no pain receptors compared to a woman and her very much alive blue. K'yne dug in his heels and they were off. Ogbanuth made a noise that could have been a roar, shooting out a blast of flame towards the brown. It was a long target, and undead. He had no issues flaming it and, if he got close enough, ripping it apart.
|Posted by: tuathade May 7 2012, 09:21 PM|
| The little white shrieked as Moxanath struck hard, and something went crunch inside its tiny body. It spiraled temporarily out of control, twisting and tumbling end over end, then blinked between and vanished.
With Merceth, at least, the damage was already done – but at least this particular white wouldn’t be delivering firestone to anyone else.
Speaking of Merceth…
The bronze twisted, narrowly evading getting his throat torn out by Morgauth’s first rush. Merceth wheeled, banked hard, aiming to come around for another run of flame…
And was blindsided, good and hard, by Randaath and C’ross seemingly from nowhere, followed immediately by Gkikath’s assault in a one-two punch.
“Round two, motherfucker. Let’s dance.”
Merceth howled and unleashed another long gout of flame, whipping his head around to spread it in an arc towards both Gkikath and Randaath at once. The brown responded with a hard body-slam to interrupt the blast. I’ll keep this bastard busy. You two rip his sharding head off before he can fire again!
K’dan fell silent, shoulders slumping – all the anger seemingly melted out of him, replaced by dull exhaustion. “He’s gone, D’ros. It’s too late. It’s over.”
He made no effort to resist the brownrider pulling him away; A’ur and Ianthe went completely ignored. It was as if K’dan couldn’t even see or hear them, or the goldrider and her little group of survivors.
“Selendrith and I can’t fly or between,” Lyandei told Ianthe curtly. “Unless you’ve got a plan a bit better than ‘load up the biggest dragon around and get a brownrider killed’, I’m staying where I am until everyone else is evacuated.”
She shooed an older man in the direction of Kr’stof and Xenath, giving O’ver and Wilkith a curt little nod of gratitude before they vanished. Then she glanced up at Selendrith, and in response to some silent exchange passing between the two of them, the goldweyrling withdrew back into the shelter of the weyr, no longer visible from the air.
“There. Now at least we’re a little less of a target.”
|Posted by: Zoomy May 7 2012, 10:16 PM|
| Ianthe really wanted to give a rousing round of 'NO WAY's. Really, she did (though the weyrling did look old enough to know how to fly... however Ista was full of dumbshits, so who knew what they were -- or weren't -- teaching their stolen weyrlings). The Healer held her tongue though, and instead opted to make some less sarcastic and catty comments about a different string of words from the goldrider.
"Yeah well it doesn't exactly matter if you leave now or later, your Highness, because unless you can pull a shiny bronze out of your solid gold ass, you're getting on a Brown. And it'll most likely happen while those Despairs are still flying." She moved back a foot as an older gentleman was shoved forward towards -- Oh, Kr'stof.
The Healer nodded towards the green-rider, glad he -- that SOMEONE -- had gotten back over here. "When you get back to Nightwatch, would you tell those other dickwads to get their asses back over here?" she asked him. She hadn't screamed, but there was definitely no politeness in her voice. Some of it was sadly misdirected at Kr'stof, but until she had the other ferrying yahoos here to yell at... well, he'd get the brunt of it.
|Posted by: S'yal May 7 2012, 10:21 PM|
| (( I will be temporarily taking control of Joaminoth. ))
"No idea! They don't really feel pain! Just try not to set the whole damn thing on fire!" Z shouted back, cringing as Joaminoth drew ever closer.
The brown despair didn't slow in his pursuit of Angeth, the scorched creature focusing dead, white eyes upon the green. >> Traitor! You... Zalsk, not me... << The brown hissed, not at Angeth but at the man on her back, his claws stretching as if to rip her passengers away. He was close now, close enough that Z was very much afraid that Joaminoth would reach out and snap him up.
The other dragons were closing in, though. Soon, Angeth would have back-up. As much as Z loved his green, he didn't think she would survive a fight with a beast that was much larger then her and was already dead. The last thing he wanted was to die, especially dragging a Second with him.
"I didn't- I mean-" Z mumbled to himself. He hadn't betrayed Joaminoth, had he? Joaminoth was dead and-
>> ...Hurts... why... you...hurting me!? << Joaminoth screamed, recoiling from a blast of flame that hit his face. The brown put up a big shown of thrashing in agony, his dead-white eyes focused on Angeth as he convulsed in the air. The screaming only grew louder and louder when Myrith struck him.
Angeth paused, her eyes going grey-yellow. Maybe half of it was the fact that something inside Z had snapped at the static and screams and the pleading from the despair, but she screamed and lunged forward again. << Get away from him! He's mine! >> She screamed...
Joaminoth would have laughed if he could, his claws sweeping across Angeth's face. Thick lines of ichor started above her brows, the claws just barely avoiding slicing her eyes to ribbons. One of her eyes was now covered in ichor- it was impossible to see if Joaminoth had truly hit it or not. Angeth howled, and Joaminoth lunged again, his claws scraping against her chest and legs as he struggled to get a grip on the green. He was not intending on killing her, no.
From the victorious bugle from the brown, he was intending to drag her Between. Luckily for Angeth, he actually needed to grab her to do this.
>> Join us! <<
<< Go suck a tail fork! >>
It was only at the last moment that Angeth was able to rip herself away, his claws leaving furrows in her chest. She quickly gained altitude, trying to flee from the brown and surely regretting her lunging at him. He began to make to follow her... but Malcarreth was in pursuit, and Myrith was no doubt ready to make another attack. Not to mention Fusrodath...
With a shriek of frustration and a final lunge towards Angeth, Joaminoth went Between. He was very obviously not dead, but the chances of him returning were slim.
Unfortunately, Angeth wasn't faring well. The wounds to her head were deep and bleeding badly- they'd no doubt scar. While the injuries to her chest weren't as severe, Z didn't want to keep her in the battle. "Norion! We're going down to where the survivors are to give Angeth a quick breather! If you want to Second for another rider, get off there!" He was doing his best to restrain the horrific fear and misery he felt, barely choking off stammers and maybe tears. Seeing Joaminoth like that took it's toll on him. "If not, just stay with us and we'll take you to the Weyr!"
<< I can still fight! >> Angeth protested, despite the fact she was having trouble seeing out of one eye- the ichor was making it difficult. The rain was not helping her problems- instead of clearing the ichor, it just made it run down into her eyes.
"Stop being a dumbass and take us down!" Z snarled, and Angeth folded her wings. She headed to where the golden beacon had last been, hoping that they hadn't been over-run by the Despairs. She hit the ground heavily, her good eye swinging towards the gold weyrling. "I'll take someone small back to Nightwatch."
A young girl, about fifteen turns, took the offer readily. Z reached down and shakingly helped her up, onto Angeth. He then waited for Norion's choice.
|Posted by: Firebird May 7 2012, 11:04 PM|
| Norion most definitely did not cackle at any time during the fight. No, not even when a stream of flame hit the massive brown bastard right in the face. She had half a mind to, but then the smell of burning rotten flesh hit her. Ugh, that was disgusting. So foul she nearly choked on her own breath. She would have to invest in a pair of noseplugs or a breathing mask or something if she survived this.
This did not stop her from shouting a variety of curses and insults at Joaminoth as he attacked. If Norion was using her mouth, her nose couldn't get the opportunity to crawl back into her brain. Or wherever the nose connected to; Healer she ain't.
When the brown Despair vanished between, she brandished the flamethrower in the general direction he had been in and settled back down. Carefully ignoring how shaken Z seemed to be, she said, "I can still Second. Shouldn't be too long until someone comes by wanting one. If your lady feels up to it, can she take a second kid in my place?"
Without waiting for an answer, Norion unclipped herself and climbed down Angeth's side. It wasn't exactly the most graceful dismount in the world, but she managed to avoid banging anything on the green's hide.
"Okay, Istalings. I'm gonna stay here with you until a fighter can take me up," she announced after getting her balance back. "If anything big and undead tries to come down, you lot run for cover while I draw off the fucker with fire and bullets." Hopefully it wouldn't come to that; Norion wasn't big on the whole 'heroic sacrifice' thing. Better than just waiting to die, though, and if a Despair came after them and she didn't do anything that's just what would happen.
O'ver rode back for another set of refugees, and found an injured green instead. Now what had happened here? No matter. She could take herself back to Nightwatch. And if she couldn't, well it wasn't like Wilkith was big enough to carry her. Rescuing survivors would do more good, so-
WIngrider, do you require assistance? Wilkith asked as he landed. Of course the dragon would disagree with the rider. When had that ever stopped being a thing? I can cover you until you can go between, if you want.
I am quite sure that if the infamous Angeth needed help-
Stop weighing things in your head for once. A Nightwatch dragon is injured. The least we can do is help them home.
O'ver turned away from the blue and carefully did not say or think anything particularly loudly. It didn't seem to do any good, since Wilkith snorted in his head anyway. He gestured at a mother and son to come over and climb on. If Wilkith was going to insist on speaking to Angeth, O'ver was going to use the time to get ready to leave.
|Posted by: Oshuu May 8 2012, 09:59 AM|
| Before Fusrodath could make it over to the brown Despair he had only thought he’d vanquished, the beast had started to tangle with dragons he’d know well in life. The dragon bellowed again, echoing a warning Angeth didn’t seem to need. Several others had flocked Joaminoth, and before long, the wretched Deep One had been pushed back to from wherever he’d come.
WE SHOULD CHECK ON HER.
All Volana heard was static, blasting between her ears as she gripped at her chest. There was no wound there, but she could feel the slippery ichor running down her arm, mixing with the cold rain as it dripped off her claw. The brown spiral downwards, landing near Angeth, Wilkith and Ianthe. The rider didn’t pay much attention to the dragons, not even the gold weyrling hiding further in the Weyr. Instead, she turned to the healer and made wild gestures.
“HOW BAD IS HE?” she hollered, no longer able to hear her own thoughts over the roar of white noise. “HE WON’T TELL ME.” Volana could feel it, but if she could feel it, some small part of her brain was vaguely aware it could be distorted. It could might not be all that bad, or the gaping wounds on his shoulder could be worse than she thought. Indeed, punctures where Joaminoth had collided with the brown littered his shoulder and neck, ichor running freely. Fusrodath gave very little indication of stopping, however, barely favoring the injured limb as he whistled to Angeth.
YOU FIGHT MOST BRAVELY, SISTER. SOMETHING TO BE SHARED FOR TURNS TO COME. Always the stories, with Fusrodath.
- - - - -
Fucking Merceth. This thing just wouldn’t die!
Like a twisting little snake, he managed to evade Morgauth’s bulrush and keep his fat, faceless head. The bulky green banked as hard as she could, practically spinning in the air to face the bronze head on when he was suddenly pummeled, not only by her wingmate, but by Randaath, too. The female gave a roar to the brown, beating her damaged wings against the rain as she raced towards the flaming menace.
Tcht. Randaath was offered a hiss, and her thanks was done with that. D’can was, perhaps, a bit more appreciative of the other Wingleader’s appearance. No matter how stubborn his bonded was, the man was aware that two greens were going to struggle to bring down a bronze Despair – especially one that now had flaming capabilities. Going now! Morgauth announced, to her rider and the other dragons both, lest Gkikath try to get ahead of her and steal the kill.
With Merceth turned towards the other green and the brown, Morgauth swung wide, approaching the Despair from the far side this time. Her approach varied very little from her last one, fangs and claws bared as she rushed for his neck – this time closer to his head and throat than the base of his neck. The female was completely silent, save for the beat of her wings and the soft click! of D’can’s flamethrower as he aimed. “Die,” he growled, letting loose a gout of flame moments before his dragon was set to collide.
- - - - - -
Hondath was hovering near Elizabeth when something caught his eye. A lone brown Despair, not flying in formation with Geth and his cronies, was overhead. Twisting sideways, he angled to get a better look when a scratchy voice pervaded the minds of rider and beast both.
The blue shrieked angrily, twisting in the air as he circled back on the Despair. A’ur swallowed hard, fingers shaking as he gripped at his riding straps. Rath. Rath. Oh, some of his rich brown hide had been torn away, it looked like his throat had been slit long ago and the ichor had long since run dry, but it was Rath. It was W’il’s brown. W’il. The man’s heart gave a painful squeeze as he thought of his best friend, thought of how cheerful the other youth had been that morning, the few hours before he had… Before A’ur had…
All this time, he had hoped, somewhere, in the deepest, darkest places, that W’il had lived. He’d gotten lost somewhere, was injured and recovering somewhere like A’ur himself had, had been… But this was Rath, the dragon W’il had ridden into Dusk, the dragon who’d never made it out. He was dead. He was a Despair. W’il was-
Dead. Why… Mine …left? the Despair croaked, diving at Hondath from about. The dark blue screamed again, his eyes a murderous shade of red as he fired at Rath’s head.
“NO! DON’T!” A’ur hollered. His dragon gave a hearty scoff as he backwinged and continued the rain of flame. He’s not Rath, the blue replied. No, don’t get so-
Teeth sunk into Hondath’s haunches and wrenched. Static exploded through the bond as Rath tried to pull them back towards the ground.
|Posted by: Tawny May 9 2012, 05:58 AM|
That was not entirely reassuring, but at least it removed the problem for now. With that problem dealt with Malcarreth scanned for other members of his wings and soon settled on Randaath. That despair had once been his wingsecond. Was there anything crueller than seeing a creature you had loved return in such a twisted form, seeking your ichor? Tucking in his wings the blue angled into a steep dive; even if one of his wingleaders was not involved, taking down the despair that had started flaming had to be a priority in his mind and as he couldn't ask C'tis what he thought his rider's opinion couldn't be counted.
<Coming in!> he called to the dragons around Merceth. <Aiming for the left wing!> The dead beast might not need them to fly with but they were delicate things all the same and enough damage sent despairs between eventually, and the planned blow ought to throw the big dragon off balance a bit which was (probably) good news for the forewarned living dragons around the despair.
Jaws open and claws extended Malcarreth plunged, aiming to rip at the tattered limb where it more or less joined to the shoulder.
|Posted by: Spiffy May 9 2012, 08:34 AM|
| Kitath appeared in the fray just in time to hear the call for rescue from the young gold.
Little Ones! We must help them! she cried, ignoring the call for her wing to fight. There were others, others who could flame, who were more suited to fighting Despairs (which after a quick look around at the scene she could see were the only Deep Ones there).
There are too many of them, we can't get there! Shea called out from her back.
Well then we'll have to fight our way through! she replied resolutely, tipping a wing even as she said it and making for a blue despair who was harrying another green. Shea only just had enough time to ready his flamethrower before she dropped on its head. Grappling with it briefly, she managed to get a good hold on it and twisted, its neck snapping with a loud crack. She dropped it, before it could drag her between with it. The green honked in thanks, winging away to continue the battle.
The rest of the way was clearer, with most of the lower despairs engaged in battle with the Istan or Nightwatch dragons, and those that weren't were in formation above. None of the ones she could see knew them particularly, and so she was not pursued. Her main battle was now ducking under fighting groups, twisting around to claw the underside of any despairs that provided the opportunity, Shea flaming many of the ones she couldn't reach. She gained a few scratches on her arms and legs for the trouble, but none that particularly troubled her.
Finally she could get to the ground ledge where the Weyrlings had been hiding.
"Are we too late?!" Shea asked, looking into the cavern. He could see no Weyrlings but the gold hiding at the back. Though there seemed to be some people there too, now tat he could see better.
I can carry two people if there are no Weyrlings left, Kitath added, to the gold Weyrling alone. She got the feeling that the pair had taken charge here.
|Posted by: lithle May 9 2012, 04:35 PM|
| Knienth and A'tsu were not at their best just now. They had come to the fight, yes. Some instinct, an old love for a place mostly forgotten, allowing A'tsu to agree with his dragon's quiet suggestion that their aid might be needed.
But in truth, neither A'tsu nor Knienth were prone to taking action without orders. Oh, they could act of their own accord, but they did their best as part of a unit, taking general orders and turning them to specific tactics. Now, they only had an overwhelming number of potential targets facing them from all sides. They'd only arrived at Nightwatch within the sevenday, they had yet to memorize which dragons were Wingleaders, or to be assigned a wing of their own.
So they hung back, watching, looking for the right thing to do.
But there was no one right action. In which case, Knienth eventually decided, any action would do.
Those. Knienth announced, moving in to follow the recently arrived Ogbanuth toward the despair that Kirraheth was engaged in fighting. He did not directly engage, but remained a bit above as Ogbanuth flamed. He did not, after all, want to get fried himself.
Knienth, at your command. He informed the two unfamiliar blues, sounding remarkably calm all things considered.
A'tsu, meanwhile, loaded his gun, and, from his vantage above the brown, took a shot at the creature's head when he could be sure of not hitting Kirraheth.
|Posted by: Zoomy May 9 2012, 08:49 PM|
| Suddenly ALL THE PEOPLE landed in her immediate vicinity. Some were yelling this, others were yelling that, blood was dripping absolutely everywhere, and it was really a bit of a miracle (or Volana's lungs) that Ianthe noticed she was yelling at her in the first place.
The flamethrower that she had been holding rather disinterestedly was abandoned in the mud as she skirted around a talking Norion and a few other Ista people who were getting on dragons. Angeth was noted, but the green looked like she wasn't about to have anyone fussing over her, so Ianthe didn't pause in her maneuverings to Volana and the Brown.
Wiping sodden strands of hair, and streams of water, from her face, the little healer looked as well as she could at the free-flowing wounds on the dragon's neck and shoulder. Even though there was a considerable height problem, it didn't take much skill to see they were some nasty punctures and shredded bits. Punctures were potentally fixable at that moment, shredded bits... well...
"I NEED HIM TO GET LOWER TO THE GROUND!" she yelled back up at Volana, perhaps a bit bitterly. Damn 5' stature. Damn huge ass flying lizard. "The ones on his neck may be problematic!" Shoulder was less of a problem, but the neck had many arteries, and while nothing seemed to be nicked, that was a definite problem spot.
So ianthe waited for Fusrodath to becomes friends with the mud, while behind her she had no idea that A'ur was being dragged to the same mud.
|Posted by: Firebird May 12 2012, 01:23 PM|
| And then SUDDENLY DRAGONS! Norion did not have a problem with this, not at all. Dragons were what she was waiting for. The green and the blue seemed to be more for rescuing people than fighting though, which wasn't a thing Seconds were needed for and besides that was boring. The brown, though... That was definitely a fighting dragon, albeit an injured one.
An injured one that was having a healer tend to him. Best to wait until that's done before approaching about possibly taking her as a Second. Interrupting healers never went well. Norion turned her attention back to the skies to look for targets, but anyone paying attention would notice the occasional glances being thrown towards Fusrodath. She wasn't exactly subtle about them.
|Posted by: Oshuu May 12 2012, 01:54 PM|
| Giving Ianthe a nod, Volana mentally asked her dragon to drop to the ground for the healer. He didn’t respond, the woman instead being inundated with a blast of static. Grunting, she thumped his shoulder with a fist, pointing down towards the mud. “DOWN. SHE SAID GET DOWN,” she said, unaware of how loud her tone of voice actually was. Fusrodath glanced over his shoulder, and only then noticed the wherhandler, and seemed to get some of the idea. Hunkering down, he laid himself in the mud. Fresh ichor seeped down his limb.
Unbuckling herself from her dragon, the woman pushed back and away from the beast, swinging a leg over to drop down from the brown’s back. Instead of dismounting gracefully, Volana hit the ground and stumbled backwards, incredibly dizzy with the sudden sensation of being two places at once. It was very much like having double vision, and the rider flailed uselessly before taking her own seat in the mud, splashing in a dirty puddle with a surprised noise.
Fusrodath gave a concerned croon, lifting his head to peer at his bonded. ARE YOU OKAY? he rumbled, but only got static in response. Volana made no reply, instead reaching around to pull her overshirt off and toss it in the mud, leaving only a light undershirt still on. It was so fucking hot, she realized. Why did anyone live in Ista when it was so freaking hot?
Glancing at Norion, she held out a hand and motioned the woman over. "Give us a hand up, would you, love?" she rumbled. "A little slippery down here." At least Volana was no longer yelling, though she was still talking with her outside voice, surely.
- - - - -
Oh shards and shells. This was not going the way he planned. Why had he given his flamethrower to Ianthe?
YOU FUCKING IDIOT! Hondath roared, twisting and writing in the air like a fish on a line. Below him was a dark brown Despair, teeth and claws sunk into his midnight hide as the smaller dragon tried to wriggle free. Rath seemed to have no such intention, staring impassively at A’ur with dead eyes as the living lizard continued to screech.
With a sudden, final wrench, Hondath managed to jerk himself free, though at the price of a large chunk of flesh. Ichor blossomed up, running in thick streams down the dragon’s leg as he clutched his injured limb close to his belly. It was shaking, the teeth and claw marks a stark contrast as he banked a hard right and fought for altitude. Rath was not far behind, the blue’s ichor dripping from his muzzle as he wheeled as well, pursuing the younger dragon into the sky.
A’ur glanced over his shoulder, grey eye narrow as he watched the Despair give hot pursuit. Rath had always been one of the larger browns, though he didn’t remember the beast to be quite this fast in life. His own bonded could out run him any day of the week. Right. Hondath banked a hard right and Rath swung wide. As soon as the brown was back on their tail, Left. The blue swerved left, losing their stalker again and giving them more space. Tipping his snout up, the dragon climbed again, this time snapping his wings and pitching as hard as he could to double back on Rath with a gout of flame.
The brown shrieked his fury, scrabbling and swerving off as his neck and face smoldered. Hondath screamed and stormed after him, flaming the Despair as he tried to regroup. Hold up! But this time, the order came and the blue didn’t listen, or perhaps he didn’t hear over the low buzz of static. Rath rounded and flew straight through the most recent flame, claws and teeth outstretched again. Up! The dragoon beat his wings as hard as he could, but did not climb quickly enough. The Despair got a hold of his tail and jerked, yanking Hondath and A’ur backwards through the air.
Releasing Hondath’s tail in the apex of the crest, he used their momentum to hurl the pair through the air as he hit the brakes. Back flapping, he watched the pair tumble and struggle through the air – with any luck, they’d hit another dragon or be unable to gather themselves before they hit the ground.
[[ OOC: Anyone feel free to be struck by Hondath as he sort of tumbles and flails uselessly. ]]
|Posted by: Guenivere May 12 2012, 04:17 PM|
| "HA!" A cry of satisfaction mixed with his dragon's roar when the little white popped between. No more flaming Despairs today! No, sir! The celebration didn't last long, however. There was still much to be done and many lives at stake.
Moxanath made a graceful turn, meaning to check on their wingmates, still locked in battle with the terrifying bronze, but this time with help! T'vek felt a little relief seeping into his mind. They weren't alone, and everyone was still alive. He could feel Moxanath's apprehension at joining the fray, and the concept of helping others escape that she gently sent him. He responded with a negative. He wasn't going to leave his wingmates, and this high priority enemy. The dragon pushed her apprehension out of her mind and fell into a very controlled dive toward Merceth
Ask for orders, Mox! It's busy down there. T'vek had no intention of getting in anyone's way, especially since he was riding the smallest dragon in the area.
Coming in! She spoke first to all dragons fighting Merceth.
|Posted by: Kestalì May 13 2012, 08:07 PM|
| Trinity's Wingleaders got the call while at the beach, and opted to fly back manually rather than teleporting; due to having only minimal harness, they weren't about to risk K'vyn falling off in between. By the time the Brownpair arrived, the Istan Bronze and Ramoth had come and gone, and they went straight to their weyr to gear up. Rosaryn and Nalunath met their brothers as they were leaving to pack their own kit, and greetings and well-wishes were swift.
Alamanth blinked out from between at high altitude, the better to avoid incidental head-butts with an ally or worse and get a feel for the battle. The pair took stock, and it wasn't long before the Brown collapsed his wings and dove, pulling upright at the last moment to ram talons-first into a Green Despair chasing down a living Green with a half-rotten Blue.
Despair or no, the combination of Al's superior size and element of surprise made the brief struggle no contest, and after a few moments the monster shrieked once in anger before disappearing between, looking even more horrific than before with one limb hanging by sinews and back flayed open. Its Blue partner wheeled away from its prey with a hiss of ire from mangled vocal cords, and darted around and down at Alamanth's belly. The Istan pair had no intention of abandoning their rescuers, however, and zipped past with a belch of fire at its wing; his attacker's attention diverted, Al twisted his head down and raked its back with his own flame, awkwardly backwinging out of immediate range.
A few bloody, desperate minutes later, the now charred and broken eldritch let loose a rasping roar and followed the Green back to its home realm. Tail bite-ridden and ichor running down his flanks, Alamanth peeled off from the equally battered Green, their riders saluting in mutual appreciation for their efforts.
Then... An emptiness. A void. Someone was gone.
Al, who -?! K'vyn forced through the static that had slowly but steadily been building, peaking briefly to deafening levels every time they'd come too close to or touched one of their opponents.
A flash of white heralded their sisters' entrance, and Al extended his mental voice to include them. Kzerzath. Qu'an. They have been consumed. There was anger, sorrow, and despair tangled in the Brown's deep voice, and was echoed clearly in His, their emotional bond cleaner of static, and the Whitepair. Their relation to the Wingcaptainpair had never been more than professional, but they'd trusted their elders, looked up to them as leaders, and the sudden loss, its savage circumstance, hit them hard.
Ilyath's voice broke through to the momentarily stunned young Wingleaders and their weyrmates, and Al forced back his shock and grief with a shake of his head. Dodging a stray blast of flame from a passing Blue Istan chasing a Green Despair, he responded with a terse, Understood, Weyrleader.
On the lookout for the rest of their Wing - K'vyn had spotted Doktorr and Donnath towards the ground among a surprisingly large cluster of others, while Al identified Isith locked in battle with Brown Despair - the Brownpair consulted each other briefly, Luna acting as go-between due to building static in their bond. Then Al directed his speech to those under his command, already powering towards his new target. Trinity, finish whatever task you're currently engaged in, then do your best to form up with your Wingmates. Even half a Wing against one or two Despairs at a time will be far more efficient and less risky. He sent private instructions to Nalunath to help Doktorr, then added to Isith, Brother, ware, I come! And with a roar he charged the undead brown from the side, withholding his flame for the moment and keeping an eye on his Second to ensure they didn't accidentally collide with each other instead of the Despair.
Donnath, I and Mine are coming to aid you. Nalunath spoke even as she dove, dodging gouts of flame and reaching talons on the way down. Seeing their passengers and realizing what they were about, she added, I can watch your back until you leave. Will you be returning?
They were late. Rhyn regretted the fact, but it couldn't be helped. The memories of Telgar were still too fresh, and West quailed at the thought of losing contact with Hers, the anguish of that time consciously forgotten but instinctively recalled. Kitting up had taken only a couple minutes, but they'd had to stop before coming, to take a few - or more - moments to brace themselves against facing another Weyr-wide Incursion and the inevitable static that was sure to come, at some point.
Finally, ready as they'd ever be, they lifted off their weyr and betweened.
They came in at a moderate altitude, just above the Weyrbowl. Westavirith hovered a moment, the Greenpair scanning the battle, then she banked, beginning to climb so she could use her speed in her favorite maneuver, a striking dive.
Then BLUE TAIL IN FACE OWOWOWOWOW!
Shrieking from the unexpected, painful blow across her snout, she lashed out reflexively with a foreleg even as the rest of the draconic bulk impacted her. Look out! she roared in warning, recognizing Hondath too late to do more than attempt to alter the blow so it wouldn't hit anything vital, like an eye - or A'ur. Or maybe she'd miss entirely, she didn't know; she was too disoriented to tell what part of the Blue she was looking at or what part would come in range next, and the paw-blow was anything but well-aimed.
Rhyn simply hung on for dear life and tried not to throw up from the sudden, familiar but thankfully non-Blight-related vertigo.
((If anything is incorrect or whatnot, let me know. I'm still new to actually writing battle scenes.))
|Posted by: Oshuu May 15 2012, 10:12 PM|
| GET OFF! GET OFF! Hondath screeched at Westavirith as the green lashed out at him. With a desperate sort of twist and flail, he avoided the majority of injury – or so he thought. It took a few seconds, but a very bright shot of pain suddenly burst through the patchy, static-filled bond. [color=2b4f81]What? WHAT IS IT? he roared into his bonded’s head.
It took A’ur several moments to respond in turn, partially because it took his mount that long to get upright again, and partially because he was grasping at his thigh. While the green had tried to pull back and the blue had tried to wheel away, the tips of her claws still raked against him and against Hondath’s ribs. Not enough to sever, barely enough to bother the dragon at all, but human flesh was much more fragile. Blood was already seeping out and staining his shredded pant. Fucking hell.
The blue, however, had larger concerns. Rath had taken advantage of the moment. The Despair swooped in again, this time launching at the green’s haunches instead of Hondath’s. He spared the blue a knowing glance as he bared tooth and claw. The living male roared his defiance and turned forthright, ignoring all and every wound. MOVE! he shrieked to Westavirith before belching at flame at Rath’s topside.
|Posted by: Kestalì May 15 2012, 10:54 PM|
| I'M TRYING! the Green shrieked back, wings flapping awkwardly in attempt to pull away without smacking the Blue. She'd have to apologize for the strike later, right now they had other priorities.
"WEST!" Rhyn yelled, both physically and mentally, "BEHIND!" Her flamethrower was still strapped in, there was no time to draw the rifle around her back and her vision still swam so even her pistol was out.
West roared in response and finally wrenched away from Hondath, snapping at the Despair and twisting so she dropped back - and Rider - first towards the ground, hoping it was fast enough to avoid the attack and give the Blue room to maneuver. Sharding rotting welp, come get me! she snarled in part terror, part adrenaline-fueled determination, talons bared to protect her belly. If it followed, she'd give it a run, and if it didn't she'd turn around anyway and help the other try and tear it apart. Syrhyna agreed wholeheartedly with her bondmate.
She did not want to see another Weyr fall to these abominations!
|Posted by: Firebird May 15 2012, 11:07 PM|
| ((Small post, I know...))
Oh hey, she was being called. Norion turned her head away from the fighting and looked over at Fusrodath and Volana, the latter of which had apparently fallen over. Had this brownrider been in the air so long she had to get used to being on land again? Norion supposed that if sea-legs were a thing, so were air-legs. Or it could just be the mud. Rain was a pain in the ass sometimes.
It couldn't hurt to get in the good graces of a fighting dragonrider. Couldn't hurt at all. Norion went over to Volana and held out her arm for the other to take. "No problem at all, ma'am. You're not hurt, I hope? Doesn't seem likely a Despair could leave an unnoticeable wound on a squishy human, but it doesn't hurt to ask."