Second Nabol
Who: Br'ce, R'vain, Vanya, Tavaly, E'sere (NPCing L'ret and 2C), Nerat (Running the fall for us, warm round of applause here), N'ka, Issa, Cassiel, J'lor, D'ven, T'zen
Where: Mountain Clearing and Skies Above Nabol
When: Day 1, Month 8, Turn 2
What: Wings 2C, 3C, and various other riders gather to fly Thread over Nabol. The fall goes well, except for one major complication--the arrival of a mysterious wing of dragons led by a bluerider. WHO COULD IT BE?!!!! DUN DUN DUUUUUN.
And for the quote, I couldn't resist, this was my favorite part, describing Tavaly's Immath.
Mountain Clearing
Br'ce stands in the middle of the Mountain Clearing outside the bowl, Trellazoth curled sinuously behind him. Flanking him are some of the riders of 3C and Benden who have decided to join him, though more are still trickling in. There's a grim, but patient expression on his face as he watches the riders come in silently. Apparently he's waiting until there's a quorum to begin speaking.
Ruvoth soars down from places not High Reaches Weyr, as if this is just his last stop in a chain of mountain pleasure trips. His talons dig deep into the turf as he lights, and R'vain, with an expression rather admirably unremarkable for him, remains aseat and crosses his arms while the big bronze shifts about beneath, finding a place out of the way of anyone else landing from which both he and his rider may see and hear.
The wingsecond L'ret and his brown, along with a handful of other 2C riders, are among the first to trickle in, lazily soaring downward to land on the ground with the other already assembled. For the next little while, more of 2C--the same riders as last time Nabol was flown, with one notable and noticeable exception--collects around him, the cluster chattering amongst themselves, some nervous, more excited.
Up the mountain road comes a runner only barely under control. At the lead, is Vanya and another woman, both recognizable as healers. Vanya is dressed in utilitarian trews and tunic, and on the runner's back is what looks like an odd assortment of bags and wrapped items in nets and whatever she could get to carry it. The runner is decidedly /not/ happy, either because he's being used as a pack animal, or the fact there are dragons near by. At any rate, the healer does finally manage to get him secured to a small tree, and quickly they unload the animal, whose eyes are wild with near-panic. After a moment, it's apparent the burden is medical supplies, things needed for helping minor injuries. Vanya chooses a place out of the way, and simply starts setting up a make-shift aid station. Not large, not well equipped, but enough so she can slap some numbweed on a minor score, or bandage some small injury. Anything worse will have to go to the weyr. After all this, she moves toward where Br'ce stands, just watching and listening.
Once the animal is unloaded, the other woman mounts him and the leave, perhaps at a faster pace than they arrived.
D'ven is standing to the side of Br'ce, Teraneth standing next to the curled Trellazoth. While his Wingleader's expression is grim, the Wingsecond's is that of barely supressed excitement and adrenaline. It's clear just keeping still and quiet is proving a challenge for him right now, but he's doing his best to follow the tone Br'ce is setting.
Br'ce shades his eyes, watching as L'ret and 2C arrive. There's a respectful nod of greeting given. A moment's further pause to let the riders get settled, and he takes a short step forwards, holding a hand up for silence. Another short pause while he waits until he has everyone's attention. "Ladies and Gentlemen," The modulated voice is projected with a bit of an effort; usually he has D'ven be the one to shout at large groups of people. "You know why you are here. Think about it. If any of you are here looking to be heroes, I would like for you to turn around and go home, right now. There is no room for self-aggrandizement in this 'Fall." He folds his arms grimly, fixing the assembly with a stern eye.
R'vain's expression grows more and more unpleasant as he lifts a hand, shading his eyes so he can squint over the members of 3C assembled. It might seem that he's looking for someone specific-- and unhappy, to the extreme, not to find them. But then there's the soft sound of a late arrival, of wide-spread dragonwings, and V'to's young and barely-tried brown comes to a landing not far from Ruvoth. The Weyrlingmaster's long-time lackey does not so much as look at R'vain, nor the bronze R'vain still sits astride-- but he does turn his face upward toward his Wingleader, eyes wide and fearful as he catches the last few words Br'ce has to say. But V'to does not leave. No one said cowards had to leave-- and V'to, well. Like his Weyrlingmaster, V'to is not so much the stuff of heroes.
2C quiets when Br'ce begins speaking, and though some, the youngest of them, can't hide their grins, they're at least properly silent while Br'ce begins to speak. L'ret, at their fore, is blank-faced calm, the wingsecond setting a better example for them in his steady regard of 3C's wingleader.
"We cannot save Nabol." Br'ce declares at the outside. "What we can do, however, is minimize the damage. Our numbers are too few to save all of it, but we can more than adequately cover the populated areas of the Hold, and prevent lives from being lost. We are on a humanitarian mission, our primary aim is to keep as many safe as possible. This /includes/ yourselves. Through carelessly injuring yourself, you will be doing your weyr, and the hold, a major disservice." He turns slightly, to gesture at Vanya. "The journeyman here has volunteered to set up a small aid station, with what supplies she could garner. Those with minor injuries will report here for treatment. Those with major injuries will, of course, report back to the weyr itself." There's a small gesture, and at the cue, Nari, the slender greenrider, steps forwards and hands Br'ce a hide. "The assignments are as follows--T'vek, S'rek, T'pas, S'leta will be joining..." He reads off the assignments--the various riders from different wings are mostly clumped into elements of 2C, while the Benden Riders are mostly placed next to some of their transferred companions.
D'ven bites down on his lip at the comment about 'carelessly injuring', but manages to avoid saying anything inappropriate. Ironically, there's a small bead of blood that shows exactly how much effort that took. It's licked at experimentally, the bronzerider sucking on his lower lip to get rid of it.
Vanya has done all she could. By having those with small injuries come here, perhaps no one will realize how many riders are actually taking part in this illicit flight. She'll do her part, and has at least alerted the few healers she knows well enough to trust, there could be some bad injuries heading their way. She looks around at those gathered, recognizing quite a few, and hoping if she doesn't see them here, that will only mean they aren't injured, not ... anything worse. Other than a nod when Br'ce mentions her, she says nothing, just listens and hopes for the best.
Speaking of heroes. Over the rise of the mountain wall a trio of young dragons appear. Two of them are obviously just out of weyrlinghood. The other has been out for a turn or two. They form a small 'V' in the sky as the begin to drop down toward the clearing. Immath opens her maw and honks at the gathering below, Tav raising a hand in greeting. Behind her, atop a burly brown, B'rute, too raises hand in greeting. To the left is an unknown bluerider - the two-turn'd rider. They descend low enough to land and Tav catches the last of Br'ce's speech as she slips from Immath's shoulder. "Where y'want me, chief?"
R'vain, though Ruvoth has started slinking toward some of the 3C riders, lifts a signal salute to V'to as soon as he has a chance to send one the lad's way, then with a slap upside the bronze's thick neck sends his dragon prowling over toward 2C to fill out the ranks there as bid. A laugh escapes the red man, rumbling out over the clearing in a soft, raspy pitch, but he stifles it quickly. His glance toward Tavaly could be missed; there's a lot to see and attend to today.
"Tavaly, I want you and your two companions with the rest of your wing, L'ret, you may assign them as necessary." The litany of assignments is finished, and Br'ce pauses for a moment. "When we finish this 'Fall, you will return individually and directly to your weyrs. We are not here to grandstand or make a scene. Unless you have major injury that requires treatment, or are aiding such a companion, returns forthwith to your weyr." He looks down briefly, seeking some words that are a little less warning-like and a little more inspirational. "We are doing this in defiance of our lawful master. We are defying centuries of tradition, and the repercussions may be more than we can fathom. But we do this not for our own sake, but for others. We are following the oldest tradition of all, and obeying the most basic of the laws that govern us. When Thread falls, dragonmen must fly. That is all." Said curtly, and he follows up his statements with immediately swinging up onto Trellazoth, and strapping himself in, to launch up into the skies, and to Nabol, followed by the rest of the dragons.
Skies over Nabol
Below, Nabol is not looking its best. Cropland that should be vibrant and in full fruit is not much more than a few sparse plants surrounded by uneven curcular patches of dead brown. The Hold and those cotholds surround it are closed tight. Metal shutters and metal roofing are the only protection these people think to find today, and nobody...not a single soul...is outside. The sky is overcast and a hazy gray. In the distance that grey begins to intensify and thicken.
There's a lurch in Br'ce's heart as he surveys the once-verdant now-desolate wasteland that is Nabol. A grim expression on his face, one that is reflected in his dragon as well--the normally brash brown is quiet, observing a respectful moment of silence for the destruction that Thread had wreaked. And then come the orders--heavier dragons ascending towards the top, lighter ones towards the bottom, though with a few heavier ones mixed in--V'to and Br'ce, for instance. D'ven is relied upon to organize those who will be taking the brunt of the fall in 3C.
Below, And they come, the pairs of 3C, 2C, and scattered members of the rest of Reaches' fighting forces; they come to face that intensifying gray, that threat on the horizon. Ruvoth slings out of between and starts arching upward on Trellazoth's command, wings curled to catch the sky in his sails' embrace. His rider's attention is keen and sharp on L'ret their leader, the beast's mind open to the second's dragon and to Br'ce's. For further command, they attentively await, adrenaline high, anxiety poised for the battle.
Below, On his brown, L'ret takes his place at the head of 2C's part of the formation, settling into position there, having his dragon relay orders on to the rest of them. The riders of 2C have flown with him enough that they've no trouble in their formations, and a few quick words is enough to help the newcomers fit in. Then, assembled thusly, L'ret waits, expression becoming grimmer as he surveys the remains of Nabol.
Below, Settling into position as if it were any other Threadfall, Sevath and N'ka seem almost unaffected by the scene beneath them. A chance glance down is all he gives to the devastated Nabol, and then it's back to business.
Below, Waving a good luck to her two wayward companions, Tavaly and Immath steer themselves into position; the green's hide marred by straps and the bluge of firestone stacks dangling there from. Her place in 2C's formation is just behind the larger hard-hitters. And this time, she's directly across from Ruvoth and his rider. To them, she raises her arm. Good luck, the gesture conveys, and then her own sights fall upon Nabol, drinking in the destruction. IT's a sight to give any rider pause for consideration, and she is not unaffected. Immath opens her maw wide and lets out a long, low creel of mourning for lands once lush.
Below, The vibrant green of Oshisyth's hide blinks in over that patterned brown landscape, a fact that seems almost cruelly mocking of the desolation below. But it's a far more benevolent motive that brings them here along with the rest of this patchwork wing. Rider and dragon have eyes only for the impending fall, riveted on that edging of silver that those clouds have gained. Issa's hands loosen then clamp down tighter than before and they begin a downward path, taking up their place with the rest of the greens and blues at the bottom of the formation. Oshisyth's wings tremble in the along with the upper air currents as they hover, waiting in this calm before the storm.
Below, From atop Teraneth's back, D'ven is quick to organise 3C and those who have been temporarily placed within the wing. The formations are instinctive and long practiced, and the Wingsecond's manner as he makes sure everyone is where they should be and aware of who is around them seems equally instinctive. Unlike so many of the others, D'ven dosn't seem to react to the ruin below. That's probably because he isn't looking.
Below, As the last of the expected riders gather into formation...something unexpected. A third wing winks into view, the icy chill of between radiating off of wingspars. There are thirty in the wing, ten each of green, blue, and brown and although they are clearly in a formation, it is certainly not one that is found in any of the training books. For one, it has various dragons staggered sharply on multiple tiers, as if they are several tiny wings in a small flight of thirty. For a second, the dragon flying in the lead, the wingleader...rides a blue. They are heading towards the edge of where the fall will begin, but there is a sharp veering of th wing off to the side as it is realized...there are other dragons here. A touch, probing, quizzical, is extended towards the unknown wings from the leading blue. << We have come to help. We did not expect others. There are many of us now! >>
Below, As the last of the expected riders gather into formation...something unexpected. A third wing winks into view, the icy chill of between radiating off of wingspars. There are thirty in the wing, ten each of green, blue, and brown and although they are clearly in a formation, it is certainly not one that is found in any of the training books. For one, it has various dragons staggered sharply on multiple tiers, as if they are several tiny wings in a small flight of thirty. For a second, the dragon flying in the lead, the wingleader...rides a blue. They are heading towards the edge of where the fall will begin, but there is a sharp veering of th wing off to the side as it is realized...there are other dragons here. A touch, probing, quizzical, is extended towards the unknown wings from the leading blue. << We have come to help. We did not expect others. There are many of us now! >>
Below, Among the group of greens, at what appears to be the head of one of the mini-wings, Chiavelth flies. The green seems unpleasantly surprised by the sight of so many foreign dragons, and that section of the tiers falter for just a moment. Even at the distance of dragonwings, the tension in her rider's form is obvious. Cassiel is not pleased.
There's a long moment's scrutiny of the new arrivals, before Trellazoth transmits a response. << Welcome, noble ones! It is good to see others willing to brave Thread with us. >> A group of unknown riders, led by a blue? Br'ce's eyes narrow, as he hesitates. Lips are licked nervously and another moment passes. << Wilt thou join us? If our fleets do cooperate, we may yet be able to save some of what remains of Nabol. >> The invitation is broadcast in the clear, to all dragons.
It was all, from Ruvoth's perspective, going so well. He knows, as dragons know their kin, before his rider does. R'vain refuses the knowledge and, as a murmur of dragon and human voices goes up in some of the Reachian wings, stares long and hard from Ruvoth's neck at these riders from time past who seem bent on helping. But in time he, too, must admit the obvious, and does so with a lowly uttered oath. << Br'ce leads, >> remarks Ruvoth, after Trellazoth's somewhat more linguistically challenging welcome-- a tendril of acceptance outreached, but with a price. The bronze gets, for his trouble, a smack of his rider's heavy paw upside the neck, *whap.* "Shuddup," growls the Weyrlingmaster, and bends low against the forward neckridge with teeth grit against the wind.
Below, L'ret is shocked, yes, surprise lighting up his face, but it's a brief pause he makes, his brown crooning beneath him his own greeting to those newcomers. L'ret stares at them as behind him 2C watches as well, some faces shocked, others delighted, dragons rumbling and crooning in anticipation of both 'Fall and unexpected allies. The wingsecond's dragon is silent, letting the others do the welcoming.
Below, Sevath is steady in his place as the foreign dragons join them. N'ka, however, is not so steady. He jerks, noticably surprised as he stares across at them. "What's going on?" he asks, as Sevath joins his fellows in welcoming the additional dragons.
Below, The jaws that had moments ago vented misery now rise in triumphant greeting. Immath's piercing howl will come as a terrible wake up call for the new comers. Those around her, however, are pretty much used to it. << Welcome! We fight! >> She broadcasts to the new group, the green bird of her thoughts winging its way through the new brains. They all feel so different! And some of them are just downright /old as dirt/. Upon Immath's straps, Tav's fist once more punches the air and the girl's own mouth opens as she hollers an non-verbal shout of raucous glee that ends up as a laugh. The kind of laugh you just have to laugh when something so unexpected, and so needed, just pops out of thin air before you.
Below, D'ven looks as suprised as anyone present and, while Teraneth rumbles a greeting to the newcomers, the bronzerider turns his gaze away. The expression on his face is black and unpleasant, but it's tinged with other emotions. Worry, and guilt, seem to be quite prominant among the various emotions mixed in with the blackness.
Decision made, Br'ce is firm in following it up. << It matters not who you are, but what you do. We have no names or weyrs today, we fly for Pern! >> roars Trellazoth with the howl of sails flapping in a stormy sea and with his physical voice as well. There's a glance up and over his shoulder at the reactions of the other riders, making sure that they are cooperating, and a few more quick orders barked. Spreading out the formation to cover more room, now that they have even more support. Br'ce's own personal feelings on the matter are tightly guarded, hidden behind riding goggles and distance. Eyes turn to watch the approaching line of Threadfall resolutely.
Below, Astride Ruvoth, R'vain lets out a low, aching groan. He hits his head a couple of times against the neckridge to which he's holding, then drags himself upright. One last look over at the intruders-- is he unaware of what his dragon, the very beast beneath his seat, is up to?-- shakes his head, and faces forward. Resigned, he swings down an arm to steal up a 'stone from his bags. A familiar gesture, to some, at least. The 'stone goes to Ruvoth's mouth in a much-practiced game of toss-ball. << We fly, >> rumbles Ruvoth, crunching.
Below, If N'ka has any objections, it's kept silent. In fact, he doesn't show any outward sign of emotion at all save a quick, jerky bob of his head and a waver in the thin line of his mouth. As stoic as his lifemate, Sevath simply stays in formation, bent once more on the business at hand.
Below, L'ret is quick to recover himself, to gesture to 2C as a few of them slow with continued watching of the newcomers. Then, quickly, the brownrider gets the rest of the wing in order, and together they turn back to the matter at hand, that approaching line of 'Fall.
Below, Barked orders gain a nearly immediate, absolutely obedient response from Oshisyth. As the blue to her left peels away to widen the ranks, she weaves that way as well, just a slight shift in the tip of her electric wings sending the pair careening on the wind to their new proper position. Three broad strokes gain them the altitude lost by the maneuver, but all else is gliding, conserving energy for the more pressing task ahead. Firestone finds its way with ritualistic motion into Issa's gloved hands and then into her green's waiting maw. Just two, with plenty left in their bags to last them for however long Oshisyth's wings hold out. The green then sends a wordless impression of her readiness to Trellazoth and Br'ce, wingleader of the hour.
Below, The unknown wing needs a minute to get the cadence correctly. Flying with the other two wings, they at first move forward too quickly and then not quickly enough. There is no collisions, and maybe a single near-miss, but once the kinks are smoothed, they wing in proper place, minds open, ready for orders from the blue or from the brown that has temporarily become their superior. Bags of firestone are opened and dragon maws clack and crunch as they prepare themselves for the silver threat.
Below, Chiavelth is all business now, her consumption of firestone swift and efficient. She settles into her place in the wing, though she's clearly more aggressive than most there, ready to charge ahead towards the leading edge.
Below, Thread falls, and dragons fly to meet it. The three wings vanish on a command from Br'ce's Trellazoth and appear just beyond the leading edge as the filaments come hissing down from the atmosphere. The goal is to keep the houses safe and what few patches of farmland still thrive. It is mostly the cotholds pastures, due to their inhabitants proximity, that were spared, and it is over these same cotholds that the riders now fly.
2C flies with steady reliability. There is nothing fancy in the way they move, but rather, a stead and steady rhythm, L'ret guiding them with sharp hand signals and the occasional shout. Tavaly and Immath keep close to the larger browns and bronzes, running interference for those clumps that would land on the backs or wings of the larger and less agile fighters. The green winks above one brown, beside another bronze, and her progress can be marked not only be the gouts of flame, but by the intermittant honks.
One of the bronzes Immath protects is the huge and steady Ruvoth with his once-drooping rider atop. Ruvoth plunges forward, his fire enormous as thread turns to char before him. He is no quick mover, and several of the blues flit around him like strange winged satelites, keeping him protected as he sears massive paths through the thread.
Another green, Oshisyth, flies wing and wing with a partnering blue, surging ahead as soon as L'ret gives the order to engage. The green's turns are swift and she winks between and back again, ducking and dodging with an elegant grace. The blue follows alongside and they seem to have, within their own wing, their own tiny patterns. Oshisyth belches a gout of flame when a clump falls to close to her companion blue's wing and the bluerider pumps the air in a gesture of thanks.
One brown is hanging back as much as he can, rider clinging tot he straps and quivering. The brown bucks and dodges and flames, but it is almost a panicked approach. A silvery strand burns through a wingsail and the brown screams, diving between to return to the waiting healer in the clearing. First blood
3C is led by D'ven and the wing pulls ahead a little, drawing a wider gap between them and the unknown wing than is normal. Teraneth is burning holes in the silver, lunging for lumps a little out of reach and once taking a chuck that should have rightly belonged to a young brownrider. There is a glare offered, but the brown winks back, offering the machismo bronze a wider berth.
Sevath keeps within the constraints of the wing, but just barely. He and his rider wink from spot to spot, trying to close gaps and char clumps before they make it to the green below. They are mostly helpful, though the lack of predictability in their movements causes a near-collision with a blue dragon.
Behind and below the two wings in Br'ce, his mouth constantly open, orders flying left and right. Tighten up over there, you're letting too much through!" "D'ven, switch with Nari, I want Teraneth dealing with that huge clump." Trellazoth is nearly walloped by a large clump, his rider is so focused on managing the wings, but one of Sevath's random jumps brings him besides the other brown in time to avert disaster.
The third wing moves with hits own rhythm and tries, as best it can, to stay near the other two wings without actually directly engaging with them. The formation changes and the thirty work more as a single unit than the other two wings. But an updraft makes all three of the wings shift to the left, 3C coming closer and one of the greens falls out of step. Thread slices through the rider's shoulder and the green dives between with a shtriek.
Below, As the leading edge of threadfall creeps towards the main hold, it begins to fall more heavily and intensely. In some spots, the silver almost seems to fall in waves instead of clumps, and Trellazoth gives the order to modify the wings. The formations are ordered to stack more deeply, with less width and more space between each dragon so that they can maneuver the increasingly heavy fall. A few of the smaller green and blueriders in 3C and 2C and sent back for resupply and to give their dragons a rest.
2C continues its diligent path, though the heavier fall suddenly makes it clear why riders must practice daily with their wings. There are certain shifts and nuances that must be learned, and now it is the new riders that have just recently joined that begin to pay the price for their impromptu good deed of flying. One brown winks between as his back flank becomes a mass of writhing grey and and blue screams not only out of the wing, but out of existence, when thread claims his rider's shoulder and face.
Issa and Oshishyth, one of the pairs sent for firestone, wink back, tossing bags, far too early to have rested. Oshishyth keeps up her wild ways with her blue cohort, though her side-to-side motions are limited as the fall becomes heavier. She is nearly claimed by a fat clump of thread, but it's great (in size if not in deed) Ruvoth that blasts the danger from the sky, nearly singeing Issa's hair and Oshisyth's wing in the process. She sends the word to Br'ce before winking out, spent, her duty done. Four or five of the other smaller dragons follow suit and Ruvoth shifts positions a little to compensate for two of them. Burn. Burn. He's like a bronze furnace plowing through the mess.
The curse of being big is that one cannot duck so well, and Ruvoth is nearly about to lose a fat chunk of tail before the screaming, honking, whirling dervish that is Immath dodges and swerves her way to burn it to that the only thing on Ruvoth's tail is ash. Tavaly pumps the air and gives a warcry, Immath's accompanying roar their declaration of victory and exhaustion. They too peel away to head home.
3C is faring with equal luck as a few of their riders fall to mild injures and one brown gets a more serious score across the throat. D'ven and Teraneth continue to burn thread with more flare than sense and as the bronze twists to the side to snatch a clump, a small cluster strikes D'ven on the upper arm, eating through his poor aces , through his jacket and into is flesh. Teraneth dived between to kill the danger with cold. It will leave, at the shoulder, four twisted lines where four individual strands tasted flesh. Warped claw marks. D'ven reappears to continue, but Br'ce curt order sends him off to the healer station instead.
N'ka and Sevath reign themselves in as exhaustion begins to take hold, but they continue their daredevil ways. Twice, they are nearly caught, and twice, sharp dives between save their lives and keep their faces pretty.
Br'ce on the other hand, becomes just a bit less pretty as, too busy watching the other riders, he doesn't see the filament tat with slice a burning path down his lower leg. Trellazoth dives between and then back again. Br'ce ignores his own orders for the injured to fall back and keeps flying, albeit, with a bit more care.
It is the third wing that is having the most difficulty. A full two-thirds are greens and blues that have worn themselves out. Five blue and five greens vanish midway through fall (four with minor injuries and one with a badly damaged wing), and the other ten fall back and out of the actual fall to coast outside and coach the ten browns onward. The leader blue is one of these, and while he tries, once, to wink back in and help, his own dragon's utter exhaustion demands he pull back out again almost immediately. So the ten browns work on their own, flaming and charing until, suddenly, there are nine. Thread hits one, a massive clump, and he vanishes in silence. Absent. Gone. The blues and greens on the outskirts set up a keening cry but its quickly silenced, and the remaining browns stop trying to wing it alone and try, instead, to fall back into the gaps of the other wings. It is in this manner that the last of the fall is fought. As the sky clears, the unknown wing vanishes to wherever it came from, leaving the other two to regroup and do as they will.
Mountain Clearing
About an hour's moderate hike down a gentle slope from High Reaches Weyr, this large mountain clearing is shadowed by the peaks and spires that rise impressively in the distance. Roughly circular in shape, it has been used over the turns as a place for weary tithe and merchant trains to pause for a night's rest before continuing upwards. At some point in the distant past, a Reaches Weyrwoman had a small racetrack built here as well. It circles the outside of the clearing, bare earth packed down under a layer of softer soil.
The rest of the clearing is given over to soft grass broken with rocky patches. Tiny white and blue flowers are scattered through the meadow, thickest near the center. The outer edge of the clearing is ringed in small redfruit trees. They aren't large enough to provide a significant harvest of fruit and the thin mountain air has stunted the trees somewhat, but if the season is right they do provide for a hungry traveller.
Playful summer winds ruffle the landscape, turning calm waters into choppy whitecaps and smooth ground into a dusty obstacle course.
It's the rush of wings that draws Vanya's attention, and she's on her feet in a second. A few other things have been brought to the clearing -- food stuffs and wine skins, though not an over abundance of either. It's mostly fruit and meatrolls, enough for everyone to at least get one or two. Apparently, there's been support from the kitchens. But Vanya's looking for injuries, her eyes scanning dragons and people. She moves to a barrel -- how she got it here is anyone's guess -- but it's there in case it's needed. Numbweed.
Obedient to their leader's wishes, Ruvoth-- unharmed, thanks to Immath's attentions-- blinks out over Nabol, and in over High Reaches Weyr. He alights, and disappears into the weyrling complex, rider still astride.
Uneth has been standing sentinel in the clearing. As the dragons begin to appear, his head perks, and he offers a bugle to some of the dragons that come close enough. T'zen appears out from beneath the trees, on the opposite side of the clearing from Vanya. He starts scanning the sky, face neutral.
Part way through the latter end of the fall, an unmistakably large bronze descends. Dismounting with an unusually slow and careful motion, D'ven heads towards the healer station. The Aces that once adorned his flying jacket are gone, and there's a nasty mark on his shoulder. Four twisted lines where thread has begun to eat at him, before the cold of between bit into it.
It's the rush of wings that draws Vanya's attention, and she's on her feet in a second. A few other things have been brought to the clearing -- food stuffs and wine skins, though not an over abundance of either. It's mostly fruit and meatrolls, enough for everyone to at least get one or two. Apparently, there's been support from the kitchens. But Vanya's looking for injuries, her eyes scanning dragons and people. She moves to a barrel -- how she got it here is anyone's guess -- but it's there in case it's needed. Numbweed.
It's among the last of the green and blew arrivals that Immath is finally seen. Though her wing beats are tired, she still has the gumption to greet Uneth with a warbling call of triumph. Atop the green, Tav is already loosing her straps before Immath finds a good place away from the 'healing area' to rest. Whoosh. The girl drops from Immath's shoulder, yanking off helmet and goggles and still throwing up a hand in victorious exclamation. She rushes to T'zen, kissing his cheek and giving him a short, "Untouched. Both of us. Gonna see if I can help Vanya." Before she's pelting toward the woman and her little band of rebel healers and asking what she can do to help even before she stands still.
Oshisyth blinks into the skies amidst the haphazard return of several greens, before the bulk of the wings returns from 'fall. They glide down to the ground, visibly tired, but unhurt. The pair lands near where Uneth sits, near Immath, but Issa is slow to dismount, losing gloves and helmet before she even stands in the straps.
Br'ce leads the rest of the wings, exhausted, back to the mountain clearing. Many have small injuries, but by and large there are relatively few major injuries, given the circumstances. It could have been a great deal worse. Br'ce's face is pale with exhaustion as he slides off his dragon, injured leg nearly buckling under him as he clutches at strap for support. Wanly he looks around, accepting the uninjured Nari's aid to get him over to the aid station. "Those of--" his voice cracks, parched, and he swallows convulsively before trying again. "Those of you who are uninjured may return to your weyrs. Quietly, please." he gives the orders in as loud a voice as he can, given his hoarseness from shouting orders.
Vanya's already loosening the lid to the numbweed, preparing. She has redwort handy, and bandages ready to apply when needed. She's only one person, and the sight of Tavaly heading her way is a welcome sight. "Oh, thank you," she says, grateful to the greenrider, eyes scanning her quickly. "Send any injured this way, most serious first, please," she requests, moving with efficiency, readying herself to do what she can. As if they realize she's handling this by herself, some of the riders are helping others to where she and Tavaly are. The first one she notes in need of attention is Br'ce himself, and Vanya waves him and Nari over. "Wingleader," she says, nodding, and setting to work as soon as he's close enough, grabbing a bowl and dumping cold water into it.
"I could have stayed in it." D'ven mutters as soon as Br'ce passes within earshot, the bronzerider hanging around the aid station with a decidedly sulky air. It's clear he's half-ready to slink off, but the part of him that enjoys having a working arm and not being yelled at by a lot of people is keeping the desire to leave in check.
T'zen doesn't run out to meet Tavaly as she dismounts, but his walk is brisk. The meeting is far too brief and she's off again, but T'zen does relax some. "Good." He continues his walk to Immath, reaching a hand out to the tired green's muzzle. "Hey girl." Uneth croons to Immath, and warbles a welcome to the nearby Oshisyth.
Immath stretches her nose out to the bluerider and rumbles appreciatively, the light greenish whirl to her eyes a pure sign of her smugness. Yea. That's right. Uneth gets a good nuzzle once he's in range and after that, the greenrider folds her neck around and ducks it under one forearm. Quick time for a nap!
"Yes, you could have, D'ven, but we're scheduled to fly over River Bend next. I need you in as good a shape as possible." Br'ce responds wearily. "Besides, I needed you to set a good example, or else everyone with injuries would have stayed in." He seats himself gingerly on the ground, steeling himself for treatment. It's not a major injury, not very deep. "The rest of you, get going. Back home. You can rest there. Good work, people. I'm proud of you. All of you."
And then there's D'ven. The first thing Vanya notices is the jacket, the missing aces. She can't help but wince. "How bad, D'ven?" she asks as she carries the bowl toward Br'ce. To Tavaly, she adds, "Cold water and bowls beside the big box of bandages. Redwort under the white cloth." Not a harsh tone, but informative, quick. And then her attention is back to waiting for Br'ce or D'ven, whichever of them reaches her first. And it's Br'ce, so Vanya examines the injury. "I'll have to cut away the trousers," she warns, pulling a small belt knife from it's sheath after she sets down the bowl of water. "Glad to see you back, sir."
Issa slips down from the straps one-handed, still holding her helmet and gloves, the maneuver surprisingly graceful. Oshisyth, with her rider now safely on the ground, stretches up and gives herself a hearty shake, wings puffing out with the effort, and a quiet whistling greeting is returned to Uneth. Ash drifts down, finding its way onto Issa's shoulders and into her hair, but she cares little for that right now. She's dropped her gear to the ground and is lifting her hair, fingers probing gingerly at a small lance of reddened skin on the back of her neck. Exploratory fingertips come away clean, her quick survey finding so signs of blood, and so she leaves it for now, turning to T'zen with a sigh. "Another one done," she comments idly, a quick smile sent his way before she turns to sweep across those in the healer's area, and then those leaving for home.
"Bad enough." D'ven replies with perhaps more bitterness than he means, before softning slightly. "Sorry." He even manages a small smile. The comment to Br'ce gets an outright laugh. "Actually, scratch that, much better now I know someone is cutting Br'ce's trousers off." So professional, that man.
The muzzle of Immath is caressed by T'zen for the brief moment the green dragon allows. "Thata girl," he says quietly, and moves towards his dragon once the green curls up for her nap. He nods to Issa with a slight smile, and then looks over to where Tavaly is bustling about assisting Vanya. And finally, he reaches Uneth. With a tug on the straps, and a careful glance to make sure nobody's really paying him mind, he works himself up on Uneth's neck, and the pair depart into the sky.
"Just one leg of the trousers should surely be sufficient." Br'ce murmers to Vanya with a wan smile. "A quick bandaging should be sufficient. I have to get back to the weyr and see to the more injured riders that you sent on."
In actuality, Vanya was asking about his arm, but she accepts the bronzerider's answer anyway. Perhaps it's applicable, anyway. "Just one small area of the trousers," she agrees, and sets about her work with quick efficiency. Cut seam, clean wound with cold water and redwort, apply numbweed, and bandage. All accomplished with speed and sure hands. "There. You're done. See me tomorrow if anything changes. "Good job, Wingleader," she adds, getting to her feet. "Who's next?"
A nod, and a remount, gingerly assisted by Nari. "I will see you back at the weyr. Thank you for your assistance, Journeyman. Riders." And he's winging off into the sky, heavy-hearted, to see to the disposition of the unluckier riders.
"I guess that'd be me." D'ven replies, watching as Br'ce goes. "Then I'd better get after him, he shouldn't be doing that on his own." There's a definite disapproval in the bronzerider's tone at being left behind, injured or not.
Where: Mountain Clearing and Skies Above Nabol
When: Day 1, Month 8, Turn 2
What: Wings 2C, 3C, and various other riders gather to fly Thread over Nabol. The fall goes well, except for one major complication--the arrival of a mysterious wing of dragons led by a bluerider. WHO COULD IT BE?!!!! DUN DUN DUUUUUN.
And for the quote, I couldn't resist, this was my favorite part, describing Tavaly's Immath.
Mountain Clearing
Br'ce stands in the middle of the Mountain Clearing outside the bowl, Trellazoth curled sinuously behind him. Flanking him are some of the riders of 3C and Benden who have decided to join him, though more are still trickling in. There's a grim, but patient expression on his face as he watches the riders come in silently. Apparently he's waiting until there's a quorum to begin speaking.
Ruvoth soars down from places not High Reaches Weyr, as if this is just his last stop in a chain of mountain pleasure trips. His talons dig deep into the turf as he lights, and R'vain, with an expression rather admirably unremarkable for him, remains aseat and crosses his arms while the big bronze shifts about beneath, finding a place out of the way of anyone else landing from which both he and his rider may see and hear.
The wingsecond L'ret and his brown, along with a handful of other 2C riders, are among the first to trickle in, lazily soaring downward to land on the ground with the other already assembled. For the next little while, more of 2C--the same riders as last time Nabol was flown, with one notable and noticeable exception--collects around him, the cluster chattering amongst themselves, some nervous, more excited.
Up the mountain road comes a runner only barely under control. At the lead, is Vanya and another woman, both recognizable as healers. Vanya is dressed in utilitarian trews and tunic, and on the runner's back is what looks like an odd assortment of bags and wrapped items in nets and whatever she could get to carry it. The runner is decidedly /not/ happy, either because he's being used as a pack animal, or the fact there are dragons near by. At any rate, the healer does finally manage to get him secured to a small tree, and quickly they unload the animal, whose eyes are wild with near-panic. After a moment, it's apparent the burden is medical supplies, things needed for helping minor injuries. Vanya chooses a place out of the way, and simply starts setting up a make-shift aid station. Not large, not well equipped, but enough so she can slap some numbweed on a minor score, or bandage some small injury. Anything worse will have to go to the weyr. After all this, she moves toward where Br'ce stands, just watching and listening.
Once the animal is unloaded, the other woman mounts him and the leave, perhaps at a faster pace than they arrived.
D'ven is standing to the side of Br'ce, Teraneth standing next to the curled Trellazoth. While his Wingleader's expression is grim, the Wingsecond's is that of barely supressed excitement and adrenaline. It's clear just keeping still and quiet is proving a challenge for him right now, but he's doing his best to follow the tone Br'ce is setting.
Br'ce shades his eyes, watching as L'ret and 2C arrive. There's a respectful nod of greeting given. A moment's further pause to let the riders get settled, and he takes a short step forwards, holding a hand up for silence. Another short pause while he waits until he has everyone's attention. "Ladies and Gentlemen," The modulated voice is projected with a bit of an effort; usually he has D'ven be the one to shout at large groups of people. "You know why you are here. Think about it. If any of you are here looking to be heroes, I would like for you to turn around and go home, right now. There is no room for self-aggrandizement in this 'Fall." He folds his arms grimly, fixing the assembly with a stern eye.
R'vain's expression grows more and more unpleasant as he lifts a hand, shading his eyes so he can squint over the members of 3C assembled. It might seem that he's looking for someone specific-- and unhappy, to the extreme, not to find them. But then there's the soft sound of a late arrival, of wide-spread dragonwings, and V'to's young and barely-tried brown comes to a landing not far from Ruvoth. The Weyrlingmaster's long-time lackey does not so much as look at R'vain, nor the bronze R'vain still sits astride-- but he does turn his face upward toward his Wingleader, eyes wide and fearful as he catches the last few words Br'ce has to say. But V'to does not leave. No one said cowards had to leave-- and V'to, well. Like his Weyrlingmaster, V'to is not so much the stuff of heroes.
2C quiets when Br'ce begins speaking, and though some, the youngest of them, can't hide their grins, they're at least properly silent while Br'ce begins to speak. L'ret, at their fore, is blank-faced calm, the wingsecond setting a better example for them in his steady regard of 3C's wingleader.
"We cannot save Nabol." Br'ce declares at the outside. "What we can do, however, is minimize the damage. Our numbers are too few to save all of it, but we can more than adequately cover the populated areas of the Hold, and prevent lives from being lost. We are on a humanitarian mission, our primary aim is to keep as many safe as possible. This /includes/ yourselves. Through carelessly injuring yourself, you will be doing your weyr, and the hold, a major disservice." He turns slightly, to gesture at Vanya. "The journeyman here has volunteered to set up a small aid station, with what supplies she could garner. Those with minor injuries will report here for treatment. Those with major injuries will, of course, report back to the weyr itself." There's a small gesture, and at the cue, Nari, the slender greenrider, steps forwards and hands Br'ce a hide. "The assignments are as follows--T'vek, S'rek, T'pas, S'leta will be joining..." He reads off the assignments--the various riders from different wings are mostly clumped into elements of 2C, while the Benden Riders are mostly placed next to some of their transferred companions.
D'ven bites down on his lip at the comment about 'carelessly injuring', but manages to avoid saying anything inappropriate. Ironically, there's a small bead of blood that shows exactly how much effort that took. It's licked at experimentally, the bronzerider sucking on his lower lip to get rid of it.
Vanya has done all she could. By having those with small injuries come here, perhaps no one will realize how many riders are actually taking part in this illicit flight. She'll do her part, and has at least alerted the few healers she knows well enough to trust, there could be some bad injuries heading their way. She looks around at those gathered, recognizing quite a few, and hoping if she doesn't see them here, that will only mean they aren't injured, not ... anything worse. Other than a nod when Br'ce mentions her, she says nothing, just listens and hopes for the best.
Speaking of heroes. Over the rise of the mountain wall a trio of young dragons appear. Two of them are obviously just out of weyrlinghood. The other has been out for a turn or two. They form a small 'V' in the sky as the begin to drop down toward the clearing. Immath opens her maw and honks at the gathering below, Tav raising a hand in greeting. Behind her, atop a burly brown, B'rute, too raises hand in greeting. To the left is an unknown bluerider - the two-turn'd rider. They descend low enough to land and Tav catches the last of Br'ce's speech as she slips from Immath's shoulder. "Where y'want me, chief?"
R'vain, though Ruvoth has started slinking toward some of the 3C riders, lifts a signal salute to V'to as soon as he has a chance to send one the lad's way, then with a slap upside the bronze's thick neck sends his dragon prowling over toward 2C to fill out the ranks there as bid. A laugh escapes the red man, rumbling out over the clearing in a soft, raspy pitch, but he stifles it quickly. His glance toward Tavaly could be missed; there's a lot to see and attend to today.
"Tavaly, I want you and your two companions with the rest of your wing, L'ret, you may assign them as necessary." The litany of assignments is finished, and Br'ce pauses for a moment. "When we finish this 'Fall, you will return individually and directly to your weyrs. We are not here to grandstand or make a scene. Unless you have major injury that requires treatment, or are aiding such a companion, returns forthwith to your weyr." He looks down briefly, seeking some words that are a little less warning-like and a little more inspirational. "We are doing this in defiance of our lawful master. We are defying centuries of tradition, and the repercussions may be more than we can fathom. But we do this not for our own sake, but for others. We are following the oldest tradition of all, and obeying the most basic of the laws that govern us. When Thread falls, dragonmen must fly. That is all." Said curtly, and he follows up his statements with immediately swinging up onto Trellazoth, and strapping himself in, to launch up into the skies, and to Nabol, followed by the rest of the dragons.
Skies over Nabol
Below, Nabol is not looking its best. Cropland that should be vibrant and in full fruit is not much more than a few sparse plants surrounded by uneven curcular patches of dead brown. The Hold and those cotholds surround it are closed tight. Metal shutters and metal roofing are the only protection these people think to find today, and nobody...not a single soul...is outside. The sky is overcast and a hazy gray. In the distance that grey begins to intensify and thicken.
There's a lurch in Br'ce's heart as he surveys the once-verdant now-desolate wasteland that is Nabol. A grim expression on his face, one that is reflected in his dragon as well--the normally brash brown is quiet, observing a respectful moment of silence for the destruction that Thread had wreaked. And then come the orders--heavier dragons ascending towards the top, lighter ones towards the bottom, though with a few heavier ones mixed in--V'to and Br'ce, for instance. D'ven is relied upon to organize those who will be taking the brunt of the fall in 3C.
Below, And they come, the pairs of 3C, 2C, and scattered members of the rest of Reaches' fighting forces; they come to face that intensifying gray, that threat on the horizon. Ruvoth slings out of between and starts arching upward on Trellazoth's command, wings curled to catch the sky in his sails' embrace. His rider's attention is keen and sharp on L'ret their leader, the beast's mind open to the second's dragon and to Br'ce's. For further command, they attentively await, adrenaline high, anxiety poised for the battle.
Below, On his brown, L'ret takes his place at the head of 2C's part of the formation, settling into position there, having his dragon relay orders on to the rest of them. The riders of 2C have flown with him enough that they've no trouble in their formations, and a few quick words is enough to help the newcomers fit in. Then, assembled thusly, L'ret waits, expression becoming grimmer as he surveys the remains of Nabol.
Below, Settling into position as if it were any other Threadfall, Sevath and N'ka seem almost unaffected by the scene beneath them. A chance glance down is all he gives to the devastated Nabol, and then it's back to business.
Below, Waving a good luck to her two wayward companions, Tavaly and Immath steer themselves into position; the green's hide marred by straps and the bluge of firestone stacks dangling there from. Her place in 2C's formation is just behind the larger hard-hitters. And this time, she's directly across from Ruvoth and his rider. To them, she raises her arm. Good luck, the gesture conveys, and then her own sights fall upon Nabol, drinking in the destruction. IT's a sight to give any rider pause for consideration, and she is not unaffected. Immath opens her maw wide and lets out a long, low creel of mourning for lands once lush.
Below, The vibrant green of Oshisyth's hide blinks in over that patterned brown landscape, a fact that seems almost cruelly mocking of the desolation below. But it's a far more benevolent motive that brings them here along with the rest of this patchwork wing. Rider and dragon have eyes only for the impending fall, riveted on that edging of silver that those clouds have gained. Issa's hands loosen then clamp down tighter than before and they begin a downward path, taking up their place with the rest of the greens and blues at the bottom of the formation. Oshisyth's wings tremble in the along with the upper air currents as they hover, waiting in this calm before the storm.
Below, From atop Teraneth's back, D'ven is quick to organise 3C and those who have been temporarily placed within the wing. The formations are instinctive and long practiced, and the Wingsecond's manner as he makes sure everyone is where they should be and aware of who is around them seems equally instinctive. Unlike so many of the others, D'ven dosn't seem to react to the ruin below. That's probably because he isn't looking.
Below, As the last of the expected riders gather into formation...something unexpected. A third wing winks into view, the icy chill of between radiating off of wingspars. There are thirty in the wing, ten each of green, blue, and brown and although they are clearly in a formation, it is certainly not one that is found in any of the training books. For one, it has various dragons staggered sharply on multiple tiers, as if they are several tiny wings in a small flight of thirty. For a second, the dragon flying in the lead, the wingleader...rides a blue. They are heading towards the edge of where the fall will begin, but there is a sharp veering of th wing off to the side as it is realized...there are other dragons here. A touch, probing, quizzical, is extended towards the unknown wings from the leading blue. << We have come to help. We did not expect others. There are many of us now! >>
Below, As the last of the expected riders gather into formation...something unexpected. A third wing winks into view, the icy chill of between radiating off of wingspars. There are thirty in the wing, ten each of green, blue, and brown and although they are clearly in a formation, it is certainly not one that is found in any of the training books. For one, it has various dragons staggered sharply on multiple tiers, as if they are several tiny wings in a small flight of thirty. For a second, the dragon flying in the lead, the wingleader...rides a blue. They are heading towards the edge of where the fall will begin, but there is a sharp veering of th wing off to the side as it is realized...there are other dragons here. A touch, probing, quizzical, is extended towards the unknown wings from the leading blue. << We have come to help. We did not expect others. There are many of us now! >>
Below, Among the group of greens, at what appears to be the head of one of the mini-wings, Chiavelth flies. The green seems unpleasantly surprised by the sight of so many foreign dragons, and that section of the tiers falter for just a moment. Even at the distance of dragonwings, the tension in her rider's form is obvious. Cassiel is not pleased.
There's a long moment's scrutiny of the new arrivals, before Trellazoth transmits a response. << Welcome, noble ones! It is good to see others willing to brave Thread with us. >> A group of unknown riders, led by a blue? Br'ce's eyes narrow, as he hesitates. Lips are licked nervously and another moment passes. << Wilt thou join us? If our fleets do cooperate, we may yet be able to save some of what remains of Nabol. >> The invitation is broadcast in the clear, to all dragons.
It was all, from Ruvoth's perspective, going so well. He knows, as dragons know their kin, before his rider does. R'vain refuses the knowledge and, as a murmur of dragon and human voices goes up in some of the Reachian wings, stares long and hard from Ruvoth's neck at these riders from time past who seem bent on helping. But in time he, too, must admit the obvious, and does so with a lowly uttered oath. << Br'ce leads, >> remarks Ruvoth, after Trellazoth's somewhat more linguistically challenging welcome-- a tendril of acceptance outreached, but with a price. The bronze gets, for his trouble, a smack of his rider's heavy paw upside the neck, *whap.* "Shuddup," growls the Weyrlingmaster, and bends low against the forward neckridge with teeth grit against the wind.
Below, L'ret is shocked, yes, surprise lighting up his face, but it's a brief pause he makes, his brown crooning beneath him his own greeting to those newcomers. L'ret stares at them as behind him 2C watches as well, some faces shocked, others delighted, dragons rumbling and crooning in anticipation of both 'Fall and unexpected allies. The wingsecond's dragon is silent, letting the others do the welcoming.
Below, Sevath is steady in his place as the foreign dragons join them. N'ka, however, is not so steady. He jerks, noticably surprised as he stares across at them. "What's going on?" he asks, as Sevath joins his fellows in welcoming the additional dragons.
Below, The jaws that had moments ago vented misery now rise in triumphant greeting. Immath's piercing howl will come as a terrible wake up call for the new comers. Those around her, however, are pretty much used to it. << Welcome! We fight! >> She broadcasts to the new group, the green bird of her thoughts winging its way through the new brains. They all feel so different! And some of them are just downright /old as dirt/. Upon Immath's straps, Tav's fist once more punches the air and the girl's own mouth opens as she hollers an non-verbal shout of raucous glee that ends up as a laugh. The kind of laugh you just have to laugh when something so unexpected, and so needed, just pops out of thin air before you.
Below, D'ven looks as suprised as anyone present and, while Teraneth rumbles a greeting to the newcomers, the bronzerider turns his gaze away. The expression on his face is black and unpleasant, but it's tinged with other emotions. Worry, and guilt, seem to be quite prominant among the various emotions mixed in with the blackness.
Decision made, Br'ce is firm in following it up. << It matters not who you are, but what you do. We have no names or weyrs today, we fly for Pern! >> roars Trellazoth with the howl of sails flapping in a stormy sea and with his physical voice as well. There's a glance up and over his shoulder at the reactions of the other riders, making sure that they are cooperating, and a few more quick orders barked. Spreading out the formation to cover more room, now that they have even more support. Br'ce's own personal feelings on the matter are tightly guarded, hidden behind riding goggles and distance. Eyes turn to watch the approaching line of Threadfall resolutely.
Below, Astride Ruvoth, R'vain lets out a low, aching groan. He hits his head a couple of times against the neckridge to which he's holding, then drags himself upright. One last look over at the intruders-- is he unaware of what his dragon, the very beast beneath his seat, is up to?-- shakes his head, and faces forward. Resigned, he swings down an arm to steal up a 'stone from his bags. A familiar gesture, to some, at least. The 'stone goes to Ruvoth's mouth in a much-practiced game of toss-ball. << We fly, >> rumbles Ruvoth, crunching.
Below, If N'ka has any objections, it's kept silent. In fact, he doesn't show any outward sign of emotion at all save a quick, jerky bob of his head and a waver in the thin line of his mouth. As stoic as his lifemate, Sevath simply stays in formation, bent once more on the business at hand.
Below, L'ret is quick to recover himself, to gesture to 2C as a few of them slow with continued watching of the newcomers. Then, quickly, the brownrider gets the rest of the wing in order, and together they turn back to the matter at hand, that approaching line of 'Fall.
Below, Barked orders gain a nearly immediate, absolutely obedient response from Oshisyth. As the blue to her left peels away to widen the ranks, she weaves that way as well, just a slight shift in the tip of her electric wings sending the pair careening on the wind to their new proper position. Three broad strokes gain them the altitude lost by the maneuver, but all else is gliding, conserving energy for the more pressing task ahead. Firestone finds its way with ritualistic motion into Issa's gloved hands and then into her green's waiting maw. Just two, with plenty left in their bags to last them for however long Oshisyth's wings hold out. The green then sends a wordless impression of her readiness to Trellazoth and Br'ce, wingleader of the hour.
Below, The unknown wing needs a minute to get the cadence correctly. Flying with the other two wings, they at first move forward too quickly and then not quickly enough. There is no collisions, and maybe a single near-miss, but once the kinks are smoothed, they wing in proper place, minds open, ready for orders from the blue or from the brown that has temporarily become their superior. Bags of firestone are opened and dragon maws clack and crunch as they prepare themselves for the silver threat.
Below, Chiavelth is all business now, her consumption of firestone swift and efficient. She settles into her place in the wing, though she's clearly more aggressive than most there, ready to charge ahead towards the leading edge.
Below, Thread falls, and dragons fly to meet it. The three wings vanish on a command from Br'ce's Trellazoth and appear just beyond the leading edge as the filaments come hissing down from the atmosphere. The goal is to keep the houses safe and what few patches of farmland still thrive. It is mostly the cotholds pastures, due to their inhabitants proximity, that were spared, and it is over these same cotholds that the riders now fly.
2C flies with steady reliability. There is nothing fancy in the way they move, but rather, a stead and steady rhythm, L'ret guiding them with sharp hand signals and the occasional shout. Tavaly and Immath keep close to the larger browns and bronzes, running interference for those clumps that would land on the backs or wings of the larger and less agile fighters. The green winks above one brown, beside another bronze, and her progress can be marked not only be the gouts of flame, but by the intermittant honks.
One of the bronzes Immath protects is the huge and steady Ruvoth with his once-drooping rider atop. Ruvoth plunges forward, his fire enormous as thread turns to char before him. He is no quick mover, and several of the blues flit around him like strange winged satelites, keeping him protected as he sears massive paths through the thread.
Another green, Oshisyth, flies wing and wing with a partnering blue, surging ahead as soon as L'ret gives the order to engage. The green's turns are swift and she winks between and back again, ducking and dodging with an elegant grace. The blue follows alongside and they seem to have, within their own wing, their own tiny patterns. Oshisyth belches a gout of flame when a clump falls to close to her companion blue's wing and the bluerider pumps the air in a gesture of thanks.
One brown is hanging back as much as he can, rider clinging tot he straps and quivering. The brown bucks and dodges and flames, but it is almost a panicked approach. A silvery strand burns through a wingsail and the brown screams, diving between to return to the waiting healer in the clearing. First blood
3C is led by D'ven and the wing pulls ahead a little, drawing a wider gap between them and the unknown wing than is normal. Teraneth is burning holes in the silver, lunging for lumps a little out of reach and once taking a chuck that should have rightly belonged to a young brownrider. There is a glare offered, but the brown winks back, offering the machismo bronze a wider berth.
Sevath keeps within the constraints of the wing, but just barely. He and his rider wink from spot to spot, trying to close gaps and char clumps before they make it to the green below. They are mostly helpful, though the lack of predictability in their movements causes a near-collision with a blue dragon.
Behind and below the two wings in Br'ce, his mouth constantly open, orders flying left and right. Tighten up over there, you're letting too much through!" "D'ven, switch with Nari, I want Teraneth dealing with that huge clump." Trellazoth is nearly walloped by a large clump, his rider is so focused on managing the wings, but one of Sevath's random jumps brings him besides the other brown in time to avert disaster.
The third wing moves with hits own rhythm and tries, as best it can, to stay near the other two wings without actually directly engaging with them. The formation changes and the thirty work more as a single unit than the other two wings. But an updraft makes all three of the wings shift to the left, 3C coming closer and one of the greens falls out of step. Thread slices through the rider's shoulder and the green dives between with a shtriek.
Below, As the leading edge of threadfall creeps towards the main hold, it begins to fall more heavily and intensely. In some spots, the silver almost seems to fall in waves instead of clumps, and Trellazoth gives the order to modify the wings. The formations are ordered to stack more deeply, with less width and more space between each dragon so that they can maneuver the increasingly heavy fall. A few of the smaller green and blueriders in 3C and 2C and sent back for resupply and to give their dragons a rest.
2C continues its diligent path, though the heavier fall suddenly makes it clear why riders must practice daily with their wings. There are certain shifts and nuances that must be learned, and now it is the new riders that have just recently joined that begin to pay the price for their impromptu good deed of flying. One brown winks between as his back flank becomes a mass of writhing grey and and blue screams not only out of the wing, but out of existence, when thread claims his rider's shoulder and face.
Issa and Oshishyth, one of the pairs sent for firestone, wink back, tossing bags, far too early to have rested. Oshishyth keeps up her wild ways with her blue cohort, though her side-to-side motions are limited as the fall becomes heavier. She is nearly claimed by a fat clump of thread, but it's great (in size if not in deed) Ruvoth that blasts the danger from the sky, nearly singeing Issa's hair and Oshisyth's wing in the process. She sends the word to Br'ce before winking out, spent, her duty done. Four or five of the other smaller dragons follow suit and Ruvoth shifts positions a little to compensate for two of them. Burn. Burn. He's like a bronze furnace plowing through the mess.
The curse of being big is that one cannot duck so well, and Ruvoth is nearly about to lose a fat chunk of tail before the screaming, honking, whirling dervish that is Immath dodges and swerves her way to burn it to that the only thing on Ruvoth's tail is ash. Tavaly pumps the air and gives a warcry, Immath's accompanying roar their declaration of victory and exhaustion. They too peel away to head home.
3C is faring with equal luck as a few of their riders fall to mild injures and one brown gets a more serious score across the throat. D'ven and Teraneth continue to burn thread with more flare than sense and as the bronze twists to the side to snatch a clump, a small cluster strikes D'ven on the upper arm, eating through his poor aces , through his jacket and into is flesh. Teraneth dived between to kill the danger with cold. It will leave, at the shoulder, four twisted lines where four individual strands tasted flesh. Warped claw marks. D'ven reappears to continue, but Br'ce curt order sends him off to the healer station instead.
N'ka and Sevath reign themselves in as exhaustion begins to take hold, but they continue their daredevil ways. Twice, they are nearly caught, and twice, sharp dives between save their lives and keep their faces pretty.
Br'ce on the other hand, becomes just a bit less pretty as, too busy watching the other riders, he doesn't see the filament tat with slice a burning path down his lower leg. Trellazoth dives between and then back again. Br'ce ignores his own orders for the injured to fall back and keeps flying, albeit, with a bit more care.
It is the third wing that is having the most difficulty. A full two-thirds are greens and blues that have worn themselves out. Five blue and five greens vanish midway through fall (four with minor injuries and one with a badly damaged wing), and the other ten fall back and out of the actual fall to coast outside and coach the ten browns onward. The leader blue is one of these, and while he tries, once, to wink back in and help, his own dragon's utter exhaustion demands he pull back out again almost immediately. So the ten browns work on their own, flaming and charing until, suddenly, there are nine. Thread hits one, a massive clump, and he vanishes in silence. Absent. Gone. The blues and greens on the outskirts set up a keening cry but its quickly silenced, and the remaining browns stop trying to wing it alone and try, instead, to fall back into the gaps of the other wings. It is in this manner that the last of the fall is fought. As the sky clears, the unknown wing vanishes to wherever it came from, leaving the other two to regroup and do as they will.
Mountain Clearing
About an hour's moderate hike down a gentle slope from High Reaches Weyr, this large mountain clearing is shadowed by the peaks and spires that rise impressively in the distance. Roughly circular in shape, it has been used over the turns as a place for weary tithe and merchant trains to pause for a night's rest before continuing upwards. At some point in the distant past, a Reaches Weyrwoman had a small racetrack built here as well. It circles the outside of the clearing, bare earth packed down under a layer of softer soil.
The rest of the clearing is given over to soft grass broken with rocky patches. Tiny white and blue flowers are scattered through the meadow, thickest near the center. The outer edge of the clearing is ringed in small redfruit trees. They aren't large enough to provide a significant harvest of fruit and the thin mountain air has stunted the trees somewhat, but if the season is right they do provide for a hungry traveller.
Playful summer winds ruffle the landscape, turning calm waters into choppy whitecaps and smooth ground into a dusty obstacle course.
It's the rush of wings that draws Vanya's attention, and she's on her feet in a second. A few other things have been brought to the clearing -- food stuffs and wine skins, though not an over abundance of either. It's mostly fruit and meatrolls, enough for everyone to at least get one or two. Apparently, there's been support from the kitchens. But Vanya's looking for injuries, her eyes scanning dragons and people. She moves to a barrel -- how she got it here is anyone's guess -- but it's there in case it's needed. Numbweed.
Obedient to their leader's wishes, Ruvoth-- unharmed, thanks to Immath's attentions-- blinks out over Nabol, and in over High Reaches Weyr. He alights, and disappears into the weyrling complex, rider still astride.
Uneth has been standing sentinel in the clearing. As the dragons begin to appear, his head perks, and he offers a bugle to some of the dragons that come close enough. T'zen appears out from beneath the trees, on the opposite side of the clearing from Vanya. He starts scanning the sky, face neutral.
Part way through the latter end of the fall, an unmistakably large bronze descends. Dismounting with an unusually slow and careful motion, D'ven heads towards the healer station. The Aces that once adorned his flying jacket are gone, and there's a nasty mark on his shoulder. Four twisted lines where thread has begun to eat at him, before the cold of between bit into it.
It's the rush of wings that draws Vanya's attention, and she's on her feet in a second. A few other things have been brought to the clearing -- food stuffs and wine skins, though not an over abundance of either. It's mostly fruit and meatrolls, enough for everyone to at least get one or two. Apparently, there's been support from the kitchens. But Vanya's looking for injuries, her eyes scanning dragons and people. She moves to a barrel -- how she got it here is anyone's guess -- but it's there in case it's needed. Numbweed.
It's among the last of the green and blew arrivals that Immath is finally seen. Though her wing beats are tired, she still has the gumption to greet Uneth with a warbling call of triumph. Atop the green, Tav is already loosing her straps before Immath finds a good place away from the 'healing area' to rest. Whoosh. The girl drops from Immath's shoulder, yanking off helmet and goggles and still throwing up a hand in victorious exclamation. She rushes to T'zen, kissing his cheek and giving him a short, "Untouched. Both of us. Gonna see if I can help Vanya." Before she's pelting toward the woman and her little band of rebel healers and asking what she can do to help even before she stands still.
Oshisyth blinks into the skies amidst the haphazard return of several greens, before the bulk of the wings returns from 'fall. They glide down to the ground, visibly tired, but unhurt. The pair lands near where Uneth sits, near Immath, but Issa is slow to dismount, losing gloves and helmet before she even stands in the straps.
Br'ce leads the rest of the wings, exhausted, back to the mountain clearing. Many have small injuries, but by and large there are relatively few major injuries, given the circumstances. It could have been a great deal worse. Br'ce's face is pale with exhaustion as he slides off his dragon, injured leg nearly buckling under him as he clutches at strap for support. Wanly he looks around, accepting the uninjured Nari's aid to get him over to the aid station. "Those of--" his voice cracks, parched, and he swallows convulsively before trying again. "Those of you who are uninjured may return to your weyrs. Quietly, please." he gives the orders in as loud a voice as he can, given his hoarseness from shouting orders.
Vanya's already loosening the lid to the numbweed, preparing. She has redwort handy, and bandages ready to apply when needed. She's only one person, and the sight of Tavaly heading her way is a welcome sight. "Oh, thank you," she says, grateful to the greenrider, eyes scanning her quickly. "Send any injured this way, most serious first, please," she requests, moving with efficiency, readying herself to do what she can. As if they realize she's handling this by herself, some of the riders are helping others to where she and Tavaly are. The first one she notes in need of attention is Br'ce himself, and Vanya waves him and Nari over. "Wingleader," she says, nodding, and setting to work as soon as he's close enough, grabbing a bowl and dumping cold water into it.
"I could have stayed in it." D'ven mutters as soon as Br'ce passes within earshot, the bronzerider hanging around the aid station with a decidedly sulky air. It's clear he's half-ready to slink off, but the part of him that enjoys having a working arm and not being yelled at by a lot of people is keeping the desire to leave in check.
T'zen doesn't run out to meet Tavaly as she dismounts, but his walk is brisk. The meeting is far too brief and she's off again, but T'zen does relax some. "Good." He continues his walk to Immath, reaching a hand out to the tired green's muzzle. "Hey girl." Uneth croons to Immath, and warbles a welcome to the nearby Oshisyth.
Immath stretches her nose out to the bluerider and rumbles appreciatively, the light greenish whirl to her eyes a pure sign of her smugness. Yea. That's right. Uneth gets a good nuzzle once he's in range and after that, the greenrider folds her neck around and ducks it under one forearm. Quick time for a nap!
"Yes, you could have, D'ven, but we're scheduled to fly over River Bend next. I need you in as good a shape as possible." Br'ce responds wearily. "Besides, I needed you to set a good example, or else everyone with injuries would have stayed in." He seats himself gingerly on the ground, steeling himself for treatment. It's not a major injury, not very deep. "The rest of you, get going. Back home. You can rest there. Good work, people. I'm proud of you. All of you."
And then there's D'ven. The first thing Vanya notices is the jacket, the missing aces. She can't help but wince. "How bad, D'ven?" she asks as she carries the bowl toward Br'ce. To Tavaly, she adds, "Cold water and bowls beside the big box of bandages. Redwort under the white cloth." Not a harsh tone, but informative, quick. And then her attention is back to waiting for Br'ce or D'ven, whichever of them reaches her first. And it's Br'ce, so Vanya examines the injury. "I'll have to cut away the trousers," she warns, pulling a small belt knife from it's sheath after she sets down the bowl of water. "Glad to see you back, sir."
Issa slips down from the straps one-handed, still holding her helmet and gloves, the maneuver surprisingly graceful. Oshisyth, with her rider now safely on the ground, stretches up and gives herself a hearty shake, wings puffing out with the effort, and a quiet whistling greeting is returned to Uneth. Ash drifts down, finding its way onto Issa's shoulders and into her hair, but she cares little for that right now. She's dropped her gear to the ground and is lifting her hair, fingers probing gingerly at a small lance of reddened skin on the back of her neck. Exploratory fingertips come away clean, her quick survey finding so signs of blood, and so she leaves it for now, turning to T'zen with a sigh. "Another one done," she comments idly, a quick smile sent his way before she turns to sweep across those in the healer's area, and then those leaving for home.
"Bad enough." D'ven replies with perhaps more bitterness than he means, before softning slightly. "Sorry." He even manages a small smile. The comment to Br'ce gets an outright laugh. "Actually, scratch that, much better now I know someone is cutting Br'ce's trousers off." So professional, that man.
The muzzle of Immath is caressed by T'zen for the brief moment the green dragon allows. "Thata girl," he says quietly, and moves towards his dragon once the green curls up for her nap. He nods to Issa with a slight smile, and then looks over to where Tavaly is bustling about assisting Vanya. And finally, he reaches Uneth. With a tug on the straps, and a careful glance to make sure nobody's really paying him mind, he works himself up on Uneth's neck, and the pair depart into the sky.
"Just one leg of the trousers should surely be sufficient." Br'ce murmers to Vanya with a wan smile. "A quick bandaging should be sufficient. I have to get back to the weyr and see to the more injured riders that you sent on."
In actuality, Vanya was asking about his arm, but she accepts the bronzerider's answer anyway. Perhaps it's applicable, anyway. "Just one small area of the trousers," she agrees, and sets about her work with quick efficiency. Cut seam, clean wound with cold water and redwort, apply numbweed, and bandage. All accomplished with speed and sure hands. "There. You're done. See me tomorrow if anything changes. "Good job, Wingleader," she adds, getting to her feet. "Who's next?"
A nod, and a remount, gingerly assisted by Nari. "I will see you back at the weyr. Thank you for your assistance, Journeyman. Riders." And he's winging off into the sky, heavy-hearted, to see to the disposition of the unluckier riders.
"I guess that'd be me." D'ven replies, watching as Br'ce goes. "Then I'd better get after him, he shouldn't be doing that on his own." There's a definite disapproval in the bronzerider's tone at being left behind, injured or not.