[LOG] The Stranger.
Backstory: About ten years ago a girl named Marin was found dead in a patch of woods off one of the used roads leading into Bitra Hold proper. Now, not a lot is remembered of the occurence, except that she'd been attacked and brutalized violently before she was killed by one or more men. He or they were never found.
Docks, Ista Weyr(#450RJ)
Like fingers stretching out to sea, Ista's dockyards provide plenty of room to berth the ships that ply their trade here. Stone pilings support the wooden planking, the whole sturdy and well-worn from the constant traffic of the sailors and dockworkers that come and go with the tide. Thick posts march along both sides of the docks, rising half a man-height; from a few of them dangle salt-swollen and sun-bleached ropes. The ocean murmurs and slops at the pilings, rarely stretching itself to make the planks more than damp. A short distance to the east lies the Sandbar and out across the water distant shapes outline the small islands that dot Ista's famous black sand coastline.
The tides are gentle, the winds good, and the docks are therefore overrun with ships coming in this afternoon. With all the loading of unloading of goods (for the bigger ships) and fish (from the humbler ones), hectic activity is the default in this place, and it's people who aren't busy that stand out. So there's Skinner, standing out like a sore thumb, at ease on a big crate that nobody's gotten around to moving somewhere else yet. A tall, lean man with a square jaw has claimed a different crate just across the narrow pier; the two are facing each other and appear to be having a conversation, though their voices aren't pitched loud enough to be heard over the bustle.
The docks are a frequent pasttime for K'aus's brown and by association, K'aus. Every so often the dragon will sit on the beach with his hindpaws splayed out alongside him and his wings drooping, to watch the comings and goings and all the little humans doing all their little things, and he is fascinated. And because he is not so inclined to sit and stare at basically nothing for hours, K'aus finds other things to do to entertain himself. Like wander up and down the dock itself and poke around and generally make a nuisance of himself, asking stupid questions and being an idiot on purpose. He's further down from Skinner and his companion, whose back is turned to him.
Skinner's conversation takes a small turn, still inaudible, but visible through the slight change in body language. Skinner's eyebrows go up, and his shoulders straighten. The stranger leans his shoulder forward and makes a small, whirling gesture with his hand. They're both silent for a moment before Skinner breaks it with a bark of laughter that /is/ loud enough to be heard on the docks, and then he leans forward to smack the other guy on the shoulder. Said other guy turns his head to look at the place where he was touched, his lips pulled back in a strangely feral smile that still dimples his cheeks disarmingly, and for that moment his profile is visible from K'aus's angle.
It happens that easily. Skinner's laugh attracts his attention, he's looking when the other turns his head-- bam. It's slow motion and it's too fast, that profile is all K'aus needed. He's striding down the dock and pushing people out of the way without a care for where they go, one of them even topples over the edge into the water at the side of a boat. After that it's like Skinner doesn't even exist, the dragonrider has reached them and grabs the stranger up by his shirt to haul him to his feet, all in an effort to get a good look at his face. K'aus's is so completely dead it's scary.
Since he's facing the approaching K'aus, Skinner's the first to notice him. Something about that single-minded walk strikes him, and he looks more than a bit surprised even as he tries to inject a bit of normal behavior into things by greeting him, "Hey." He gets no further than that: K'aus hauls the stranger up to his feet and the stranger goes easily, his hands lifted up and his eyebrows finely arched. "Whoa. I sit on your stuff or something?" He glances back to check the crate.
By now some of those sailors are starting to react. They fall into one of two categories: they got shoved or they're friends with someone who got shoved. It's all the same, and they start to approach the scene, but get a little cautious when the brownrider starts manhandling someone. K'aus's hands make fists around the front of the stranger's shirt and keep him close. There are things battling for territory within the sudden cold anger in his expression and he completely ignores Skinner. One of his hands detaches and goes for his belt, for something that until now was somehow hidden from view; it's the handle of a small, cruel looking knife, the blade of which is then pressed to the man's throat.
Skinner spots the knife the second K'aus moves his hand onto it, and has jumped off his crate even before the blade reaches the guy's throat. No, he's not coming to help: the salesman slides back towards the crowd of sailors, remaining close enough to the front that he can act if he chooses to, but certainly taking himself out of range of this dispute. "What the fuck!" one of those sailors exclaims, and a cabin boy near the back bolts away to find help, or report the incident, something! Everybody else just watches warily, and with a mounting hostility that's directed squarely at K'aus. The knife wielder.
The stranger tugs his chin up when that knife comes near, but his eyes remain fixed on K'aus. There's something there - just a flash, surely invisible to anyone but the man he's looking at - some spark of recognition. But that's not how he plays it. "Hey, hey," he says, putting on a good show of innocent terror. "Whatever it is, we can talk it over, huh?"
On the beach, Ehrudith has approached as far as he's able. He stands, wings folded, still. But if the spark of yellow in his gaze is any indication, he's ready. A dragon in any fight is tipping the scales too far one way, besides he needs to concentrate. His hand is steady, his jaw is clenched and K'aus's eyes burn black death into the stranger's face. He presses the blade of the knife in a little deeper, not deep enough yet to draw blood, when he sees that flash of recognition or something. It's enough. "Did you scare her like this? Was it good for you?"
The stranger flicks a look back over his shoulder, like he's begging the crowd for help. A pair of big men do start to move forward, but an old tar stops them by flashing a hand out. "He'll use that knife before you get close enough to do anything," the old man warns, and the two sailors stop advancing. They crack their knuckles, though, frustrated and clearly wishing they could take it out on someone. Like, say, K'aus. "I've got no idea what you're talking about," the stranger insists, his eyes widening at the touch of the blade. He pulls his elbows back, moving his still-raised hands out and back a little bit. "You've got me confused with somebody, please don't hurt me."
There's madness in the way he looks at him, too singleminded to realize the crowd's being played against him. But though the desire is there and so strong, he does nothing with that knife he hasn't already done. On the beach, Ehrudith takes another step; his rider's chin jerks. "I know what I'm doing, don't fucking /tell/ me this isn't right." And now he's talking to himself and not painting a pretty picture for the sailors surrounding them. It's too easy to side with the un-crazy guy. His fingers unclench and tighten again on the knife's handle and he puts pressure on it.
It's the crazy that does it, that and the inexperience of a young dockhand. This lad's had a hoisting hook in his hand since this commotion interrupted him at his work, and the words of the old sailor haven't done anything to dull his stupid courage. The hook's not very sharp, but it is heavy, so he chucks the thing at K'aus's back, where the brownrider can't see it but the stranger can. Taking advantage of the brief second's opportunity, the stranger pulls violently away from the knife and shoves his foot down at K'aus's instep, then brings those dropped elbows forward to hit him in the gut, conk his head, or block that knife-wielding arm from coming back in. Whatever comes to him. And the crowd, seeing this motion, roars happily and advances en masse, rapidly, led by the two burly guys who're now roaring for violence. In half a second, they'll engulf the pair.
Ehrudith makes a surprised and chuffing noise and rears his head when the hook meets K'aus's back, knocking him forward and down, breathless. The stranger's already made his move, so the blows that follow make their marks here, there and there, but the brownrider hasn't dropped his knife. He's in the process of trying to suck air into his lungs, all of it completely knocked out of him, and keep his balance, when the crowd converges on the both of them. The arm he puts out to ward them away won't do any good.
No, it won't. Somebody grabs the arm and twists it painfully, and somebody else grabs his other arm to wrench the knife away from him while he's winded. Then it's just a crazy mass of punches and kicks thrown in at random, and K'aus'll be lucky if he blacks out and gets to miss it at all. As for the stranger - he takes one look at that mess, then slips quietly back onto the main part of the docks. With everybody's attention on the brownrider - and those who can't get close enough to beat him up themselves are cheering for those who do - only a few people notice the stranger, and nobody stops him. By the time the mob around K'aus has dispersed (and it doesn't take that long to beat the shit out of a person, though it might feel long), the stranger has disappeared. Here's a mystery: with Ehrudith standing guard on the beach, how did he get away unnoticed? But he did. One of the big guys deals K'aus a few farewell kicks for good measure, then drags him behind a crate where the sight of him won't have to bother anybody.
The stranger is allowed past Ehrudith likely only because the dragon is so entirely focused on two things: making really pissed off noises at those sailors and trying to keep K'aus alive inside his own head. The commotion the dragon is making is bound to attract some attention; he is in turns taking rushes at the crowd that don't get close enough to actually put him in contact with them but do send up great waves of sand, and roaring in huge sudden barks of sound. There is a law amongst dragons-- do not harm humans. K'aus, suffering, has given up. He obediently lies there slumped against the crate where he's left, his arms hanging and his head lolling. He's bleeding from a few spots on his face and there might be a broken rib or three, maybe a damaged finger. It's hard to say.
Called by Ehrudith's angry barks, a blue dragon from Riptide flies in to find out what's /wrong/ with the brown. It doesn't take much figuring out before his rider's gone trotting off down the docks, looking frantically for her wingmate. "Ah, hell," she exclaims when K'aus finds him, and kneels at his side to keep watch over him and scan the wounds. Another wingmate's already been drafted to find and bring a healer: whatever these folks think of K'aus, he's one of their own. They'll see to it he's looked after.
Docks, Ista Weyr(#450RJ)
Like fingers stretching out to sea, Ista's dockyards provide plenty of room to berth the ships that ply their trade here. Stone pilings support the wooden planking, the whole sturdy and well-worn from the constant traffic of the sailors and dockworkers that come and go with the tide. Thick posts march along both sides of the docks, rising half a man-height; from a few of them dangle salt-swollen and sun-bleached ropes. The ocean murmurs and slops at the pilings, rarely stretching itself to make the planks more than damp. A short distance to the east lies the Sandbar and out across the water distant shapes outline the small islands that dot Ista's famous black sand coastline.
The tides are gentle, the winds good, and the docks are therefore overrun with ships coming in this afternoon. With all the loading of unloading of goods (for the bigger ships) and fish (from the humbler ones), hectic activity is the default in this place, and it's people who aren't busy that stand out. So there's Skinner, standing out like a sore thumb, at ease on a big crate that nobody's gotten around to moving somewhere else yet. A tall, lean man with a square jaw has claimed a different crate just across the narrow pier; the two are facing each other and appear to be having a conversation, though their voices aren't pitched loud enough to be heard over the bustle.
The docks are a frequent pasttime for K'aus's brown and by association, K'aus. Every so often the dragon will sit on the beach with his hindpaws splayed out alongside him and his wings drooping, to watch the comings and goings and all the little humans doing all their little things, and he is fascinated. And because he is not so inclined to sit and stare at basically nothing for hours, K'aus finds other things to do to entertain himself. Like wander up and down the dock itself and poke around and generally make a nuisance of himself, asking stupid questions and being an idiot on purpose. He's further down from Skinner and his companion, whose back is turned to him.
Skinner's conversation takes a small turn, still inaudible, but visible through the slight change in body language. Skinner's eyebrows go up, and his shoulders straighten. The stranger leans his shoulder forward and makes a small, whirling gesture with his hand. They're both silent for a moment before Skinner breaks it with a bark of laughter that /is/ loud enough to be heard on the docks, and then he leans forward to smack the other guy on the shoulder. Said other guy turns his head to look at the place where he was touched, his lips pulled back in a strangely feral smile that still dimples his cheeks disarmingly, and for that moment his profile is visible from K'aus's angle.
It happens that easily. Skinner's laugh attracts his attention, he's looking when the other turns his head-- bam. It's slow motion and it's too fast, that profile is all K'aus needed. He's striding down the dock and pushing people out of the way without a care for where they go, one of them even topples over the edge into the water at the side of a boat. After that it's like Skinner doesn't even exist, the dragonrider has reached them and grabs the stranger up by his shirt to haul him to his feet, all in an effort to get a good look at his face. K'aus's is so completely dead it's scary.
Since he's facing the approaching K'aus, Skinner's the first to notice him. Something about that single-minded walk strikes him, and he looks more than a bit surprised even as he tries to inject a bit of normal behavior into things by greeting him, "Hey." He gets no further than that: K'aus hauls the stranger up to his feet and the stranger goes easily, his hands lifted up and his eyebrows finely arched. "Whoa. I sit on your stuff or something?" He glances back to check the crate.
By now some of those sailors are starting to react. They fall into one of two categories: they got shoved or they're friends with someone who got shoved. It's all the same, and they start to approach the scene, but get a little cautious when the brownrider starts manhandling someone. K'aus's hands make fists around the front of the stranger's shirt and keep him close. There are things battling for territory within the sudden cold anger in his expression and he completely ignores Skinner. One of his hands detaches and goes for his belt, for something that until now was somehow hidden from view; it's the handle of a small, cruel looking knife, the blade of which is then pressed to the man's throat.
Skinner spots the knife the second K'aus moves his hand onto it, and has jumped off his crate even before the blade reaches the guy's throat. No, he's not coming to help: the salesman slides back towards the crowd of sailors, remaining close enough to the front that he can act if he chooses to, but certainly taking himself out of range of this dispute. "What the fuck!" one of those sailors exclaims, and a cabin boy near the back bolts away to find help, or report the incident, something! Everybody else just watches warily, and with a mounting hostility that's directed squarely at K'aus. The knife wielder.
The stranger tugs his chin up when that knife comes near, but his eyes remain fixed on K'aus. There's something there - just a flash, surely invisible to anyone but the man he's looking at - some spark of recognition. But that's not how he plays it. "Hey, hey," he says, putting on a good show of innocent terror. "Whatever it is, we can talk it over, huh?"
On the beach, Ehrudith has approached as far as he's able. He stands, wings folded, still. But if the spark of yellow in his gaze is any indication, he's ready. A dragon in any fight is tipping the scales too far one way, besides he needs to concentrate. His hand is steady, his jaw is clenched and K'aus's eyes burn black death into the stranger's face. He presses the blade of the knife in a little deeper, not deep enough yet to draw blood, when he sees that flash of recognition or something. It's enough. "Did you scare her like this? Was it good for you?"
The stranger flicks a look back over his shoulder, like he's begging the crowd for help. A pair of big men do start to move forward, but an old tar stops them by flashing a hand out. "He'll use that knife before you get close enough to do anything," the old man warns, and the two sailors stop advancing. They crack their knuckles, though, frustrated and clearly wishing they could take it out on someone. Like, say, K'aus. "I've got no idea what you're talking about," the stranger insists, his eyes widening at the touch of the blade. He pulls his elbows back, moving his still-raised hands out and back a little bit. "You've got me confused with somebody, please don't hurt me."
There's madness in the way he looks at him, too singleminded to realize the crowd's being played against him. But though the desire is there and so strong, he does nothing with that knife he hasn't already done. On the beach, Ehrudith takes another step; his rider's chin jerks. "I know what I'm doing, don't fucking /tell/ me this isn't right." And now he's talking to himself and not painting a pretty picture for the sailors surrounding them. It's too easy to side with the un-crazy guy. His fingers unclench and tighten again on the knife's handle and he puts pressure on it.
It's the crazy that does it, that and the inexperience of a young dockhand. This lad's had a hoisting hook in his hand since this commotion interrupted him at his work, and the words of the old sailor haven't done anything to dull his stupid courage. The hook's not very sharp, but it is heavy, so he chucks the thing at K'aus's back, where the brownrider can't see it but the stranger can. Taking advantage of the brief second's opportunity, the stranger pulls violently away from the knife and shoves his foot down at K'aus's instep, then brings those dropped elbows forward to hit him in the gut, conk his head, or block that knife-wielding arm from coming back in. Whatever comes to him. And the crowd, seeing this motion, roars happily and advances en masse, rapidly, led by the two burly guys who're now roaring for violence. In half a second, they'll engulf the pair.
Ehrudith makes a surprised and chuffing noise and rears his head when the hook meets K'aus's back, knocking him forward and down, breathless. The stranger's already made his move, so the blows that follow make their marks here, there and there, but the brownrider hasn't dropped his knife. He's in the process of trying to suck air into his lungs, all of it completely knocked out of him, and keep his balance, when the crowd converges on the both of them. The arm he puts out to ward them away won't do any good.
No, it won't. Somebody grabs the arm and twists it painfully, and somebody else grabs his other arm to wrench the knife away from him while he's winded. Then it's just a crazy mass of punches and kicks thrown in at random, and K'aus'll be lucky if he blacks out and gets to miss it at all. As for the stranger - he takes one look at that mess, then slips quietly back onto the main part of the docks. With everybody's attention on the brownrider - and those who can't get close enough to beat him up themselves are cheering for those who do - only a few people notice the stranger, and nobody stops him. By the time the mob around K'aus has dispersed (and it doesn't take that long to beat the shit out of a person, though it might feel long), the stranger has disappeared. Here's a mystery: with Ehrudith standing guard on the beach, how did he get away unnoticed? But he did. One of the big guys deals K'aus a few farewell kicks for good measure, then drags him behind a crate where the sight of him won't have to bother anybody.
The stranger is allowed past Ehrudith likely only because the dragon is so entirely focused on two things: making really pissed off noises at those sailors and trying to keep K'aus alive inside his own head. The commotion the dragon is making is bound to attract some attention; he is in turns taking rushes at the crowd that don't get close enough to actually put him in contact with them but do send up great waves of sand, and roaring in huge sudden barks of sound. There is a law amongst dragons-- do not harm humans. K'aus, suffering, has given up. He obediently lies there slumped against the crate where he's left, his arms hanging and his head lolling. He's bleeding from a few spots on his face and there might be a broken rib or three, maybe a damaged finger. It's hard to say.
Called by Ehrudith's angry barks, a blue dragon from Riptide flies in to find out what's /wrong/ with the brown. It doesn't take much figuring out before his rider's gone trotting off down the docks, looking frantically for her wingmate. "Ah, hell," she exclaims when K'aus finds him, and kneels at his side to keep watch over him and scan the wounds. Another wingmate's already been drafted to find and bring a healer: whatever these folks think of K'aus, he's one of their own. They'll see to it he's looked after.