LOG: Run back to your island
Date: Backdated to a couple of days after the escape
Location: Stables, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: The escapee exiles are caught, alas.
Stables, High Reaches Weyr
Taking advantage of a natural overhang in the side of the mountain for its roof, this building boasts sturdy stone construction braced by beams of tough-as-nails skybroom. Just inside a pair of broad doors, the ceiling rises a full two stories high for the full length and half the width of the building. Beneath the overhang, wide windows admit light and more fresh air, while opposite is the second-story hayloft.
The stables' main focus, however, is the double rows of stalls that line the walls below: one large stall serving as tack room, the rest housing a remarkable variety of beasts.
It's been a handful of days since the exiles made their great escape from the barracks. The first day or two was rough, on edge and always looking out for random weyr-folks that happen to stumble in to care for the runners, but their little nest in the loft has seen little action. This time of the turn most of the hay is down bellow so the loft is not visited. The worry has become what the next step might be, they can't stay in the stables forever but there's been no solid agreement on what direction to escape to. To make matters worse, they are not without food limitations during this in-between times of Celadion's grand plan. Tonight, the exiles are gathered together in their blankets to talk about that next plan, not expecting anyone beyond the stables to even realize that they've gone wandering. "So," Celadion is saying quietly, making an addition to the map carved in the wood of the loft with the makeshift sword, "I think from the informatino we've gathered, we can head out of the weyr this way and find our way sea-ward."
"Is it far?" is Rilka's question as she eyes the map dubiously. She's gone back to not saying much again, and her voice quavers visibly. As she looks, she tightens the blanket around her shoulders, twisting white fingers around each other in an endless, uneasy kind of gesture. A number of the group are desperately regretting her inclusion, by now - and probably not without reason: will she really make it as far as the ocean? Really?
The door of the stable opens and then closes again. Probably some stablehand just passing through to check that the beasts are all still here and in good order. Except that the sounds that follow aren't of steady footsteps moving up and down the row of stalls. Instead there's - laughter, whispering, a giggle. Then a young man's voice asks, "Hey, where's that ladder go?" The other answers, "Just the hayloft."
"Shhhh..." Delvin lifts a finger to his lips and makes the noise almost as silently as the action is suppose to make everyone else. He lifts an eyebrow, and points down towards where the voices came from below. There is a wild shrug as if to ask now what, and a look as if to say, 'Told you so!' but there is no time for that now.
If Celadion is disapointed that Rilka's involvement in their group will slow them down, he's not saying anything about it. "I think we'll be able to move faster once we are outside of the Weyr and away from the flying beasts." One or two other heads and several agreements but more than one voice murmuring in dissatisfaction: "How do you know what to expect out there?" There might be an answer from Cela except for the voices down below. Delvin's hushing is followed easily enough as Celadion crouches down low, scooting back deeper into the loft on bare feet.
Rilka shivers, her thin shoulders shaking visibly through her too-big clothes. But that's before the sound of voices: after, as the group stills, she outright freezes, her expression set into something akin to pure panic. She's not making any noise-- well, not exactly. Her teeth chatter, no doubt from fear more than cold. Dark eyes seek out individuals in the group, pleading silently: don't let them get caught!
There's more laughter, and low-voiced conversation, as well as soft wet sounds - kissing? Then that first voice says, "Let's go see what's up there." The other man answers, "Just hay bales. They've got those down here." He adds a crudely-voiced suggestion for a possible use for one of the hay bales, then says, "Hey! Get back here." But there are feet already clump-clumping up the ladder. Then more laughter, and /two/ pairs of feet. They're coming up.
Delvin points the frozen Rilka then to a large pile of stacked up hay, as if to say, over there. Now! He, himself, tries to scramble that way as quietly as possible. Hopefully everyone else hides too.
The sounds bellow make several of the exiles exchange uncertain looks from their places amoung the hay bails. It's not until it's obvious that the steps are coming up those stairs that there is real worry for Celadion. "Oh Crabshells..." Snarling the oath, he makes the drawing impliment ready as a weapon. Too bad he only has experience in gutting fish. Pushing people back behind him, he tries to scoot out of the line of sight. HOpefully the love birds won't trip too far in, and won't smell the dozen or so unwashed bodies up there.
But Rilka doesn't seem to know how to move anymore: she's stuck, frozen despite Delvin's helpful indication, her eyes on that ladder in a desperate, pleading kind of gaze. It takes another of the little group grabbing her by the shoulders to get her to move, but even then, it makes more noise than it ought to; a suspicious amount of noise, even.
A head pops up over the edge of the loft - amiable face, dark brown skin, black curly hair. The owner uses well-muscled arms to pull himself up into the loft and then scrambles to his feet, making his way deeper into the hayloft so that his pursuer will have to come after him. G'brion follows up onto the ledge, playfully calling out, "Don't make me come get you, Firistan." The dark-skinned boy starts to run, but he doesn't get four paces before he almost runs into Celadion. His eyes widen, and when he sees the weapon, he leaps back and lets out a yell of pure terror. G'brion is at his elbow in an instant. "Hey!" he says, more angry than frightened. "You put that down! Who the shell are you?" Firistan puts a hand on Gabe's arm and tries to draw him backward, away from confrontation. "There's /twenty/ of 'em," he says in a shaky voice. But G'brion isn't having it. "No there aren't. Who are you? What are you doing here?" he demands, his angry gaze going from one exile to the next, though he reserves much of his attention for Celadion and the weapon.
Delvin is at a loss. They're caught, but have they /all/ been seen. He isn't sure, so he stays in hiding. As motionless as possible. If some of them get caught there may be hope for others. Unless those around them are rats. He nervously eyes those that have already been spotted. They /would/ turn them in.
Celadion hisses like some wild, caged creature when he's nearly plowed into. The weapon is almost forgotten in his hands as the stranger nearly ends himself on the edge of the thing. A chance at saving the other's behind him from being noticed, he puffs himself up and takes a step forward, swaying side to side, pointing the weapon at one and then the other, "You just...you just go. Get out of here."
"No, I won't go back, I /can't/ go back, don't let them lock us up again--" That's Rilka, whose words start as a torrent of whispers, but grow steadily louder over time. She's rocking back and forth, now, and it's pretty obvious that those hiding in her vicinity are probably all done for; at least she's not /that/ close to Delvin. "/Don't let them hurt us/."
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Pterath reaches out, abuzz with anger so white-hot that she doesn't care if her rider doesn't want her telling where he is and what he is doing. << He threatens my rider with a blade! >> She blasts the warning to Cadejoth and the watchdragon both, even as she's already in flight on her way to the weyr's stable with the full intention of tearing whoever 'he' is limb from limb. If she can get in. Not that she's thought it out that far.
Dragon> To Pterath, Cadejoth's gentle jangle of chains turns into a maelstrom of concern in the wake of Pterath's anger, her words. << Backup is coming, >> he informs her, a moment later (isn't it a good thing the weyrleader's wing was engaged in evening drills!). << It's going to be all right. We'll get him out. >> Evidently, he's registered the location from the green's thoughts somehow-- or perhaps she's a visible target to follow through the dark night sky.
Now G'brion gives Firistan a shove backward, moving as though to shield him even as he fumbles at his belt. Did he even wear a knife today? The one he produces is tiny, well-suited to carving butter but not much else. He does his best to make up for it in bravado. "Drop it," he hisses angrily at Celadion. "Firistan, get out of here!" Firistan doesn't need to be told twice; he scrambles back to the ladder and starts down, calling after Gabe, "YOU get out of here, too! He has a knife!"
"Just drop it," Delvin mumbles at Celadion, "It'll only make it worse." He nods a head to the scampering Firistan, "Do you think that he's going to leave this one up here alone?" Of course not, backup will be here in moments, damage control time. "Shush." He hisses at Rilka, "This why no wanted you to come to begin with." He stands and quickly assessing the people who have already been spotted mutters, "It's just us..." Rilka, Celadion, me, that other guy, "Four..." Ho hum. If nothing else perhaps it will distract G'brion that another body just appeared.
It might be that he's been pushed into this corner too long, or the plea from Rilka, but Celadion snarls out at G'brion. At the flash of metal come unsheathed, "Don't you dare. I'll not have you hurt these people." At least seeing Firistan's backside out of the loft giveas him some courage that the other youngman might not have the salt to stand up to the group of them. Then there's Devlin and his remark earns a savage growl, "Coward. Why don't YOU scamper down the ladder too." Since he's going to cave in so easily. "I'm not going to die in the barracks like a fish in a bucket."
Delvin's words shut Rilka up, which is probably for the better, but they leave the girl in stunned silence; it looks as though she's holding back tears. She rises, unsteady, with a wild look in her eyes, and begins to walk towards G'brion, as though she intends to get right up to his face. Her mouth opens, and she's clearly about to say something, but a moment later, there's the noise of more footsteps down below: a lot of them. For the second time tonight, she freezes.
True to Delvin's prediction, Firistan hasn't even cleared the stable door before he's bellowing loudly about how there are a bunch of crazy people in the hayloft and they all have huge knives and there are TWENTY of them, maybe even more... and then, there's a thud as of something very heavy landing on the roof of the stable, followed immediately by a loud, angry roar. "Just drop the knife and nobody has to get hurt," G'brion snaps at Celadion, though he does take a cautious step back out of range of the bigger blade. He darts a glance at Rilka, at Delvin, and it dawns on him that nobody except Celadion has made a threatening move. He lowers his knife slightly, trying to seem less menacing, without dropping his guard entirely. "Just... just put it down. I don't want to hurt you," he coaxes. "Nobody needs to get hurt. Right?" There's another roar, and the sound of very large feet stamping on the roof. Fortunately, it's quite sturdy and in no danger of falling in. Small mercies.
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Pterath roars her fury as she arrives at the stable to discover that she /can't get in/. The doors and windows are all too small. << Firestone! >> she demands. << I will burn him like Thread. He will not touch my rider. I will tear him to bits. >> Fortunately for the stable and its occupants, she hasn't been drilling and has no flame to breathe just now.
Dragon> Coaxing, gently, Cadejoth insists, << They're going to come in and help him. A lot of them. If you burn the stables down then your rider will get stuck in there. And lots of others, too. >> His chains jangle and jangle, agitated but working towards calm. << No one's going to get hurt. It's going to be okay! >> (Cadejoth to Pterath)
Devin grimaces, the situation needs to defuse and quickly, before the rest of the weyr shows up, but his anger at Celadion is over powering, "Yah, well, if you wanted this to be about /you/ then /you/ should have done this alone, but all...four...of us are in this together and the rest of shouldn't have to die because you're over reacting." He pleads in his voice that Celadion understand he's trying to salavage those left in hiding. A glance is shot to the rider, who has lowered his knife slightly, in response he takes a step back, a hand reached out to Rilka, "Come back here," Is whispered in a much softer, comforting tone.
Celadion's eyes flicker towards the roof, but it holds. HA ha. His smile says 'victory', air-monsters cannot get into the building. "No one gets hurt...right..." He almost sounds crazy as he laughs. "I. Don't. Believe you. You tell all my kinfolk who died and the babies your dragons ate." Poor Devin is distracting him again though, "I didn't twist any arms to come out here. We /all/ wanted to get away...we all wan....Rilka!" Forgetting the sword all together as he tries to get in between her and the dragonrider. "Damnit! They're going to kill us. Don't you touch her."
Rilka is solemn and determined - and perhaps rather stupid. She ducks out of the way of everyone, launching herself at the ladder, though instead of /climbing/ it, she seems intent on falling past it. There's someone at the bottom, though, no doubt part of the aforementioned cavalry - and he catches her. If her intent was to die rather than be caught, she's rather screwed it up. Her scream certainly suggests something along those lines, and it is followed by another masculine voice: "We've got one of them! Exiles. Must be. The shell did they get out? We're coming up!"
"What are you talking about? Dragons don't eat babies," G'brion says scornfully. "Are you /drunk/, or just out of your mind? I'm not in the habit of killing people, either." As if to prove it, he dodges out of Rilka's way when she makes a run for it, rather than trying to stab her. Then he darts forward, and his foot lashes out in a swift kick at Celadion's wrist, meant to make him drop the sword. Because NOTHING could go wrong with that plan.
There's more roaring from above, and then wingbeats, and a green dragon is clinging to one of the large window-ledges, trying to angle her head to see into the hayloft.
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Pterath lets herself be persuaded, reluctantly. << I won't burn the stables, then. But I will get That One. He cannot threaten my rider! >> Not and get away with it, as far as she's concerned.
Dragon> Shhh, shhhh, says the rustle of Cadejoth's chains, even if he's not saying anything outright - not immediately, anyway. << We will bring them all in, safe. No one will get hurt. >> Not even the one with the knife. (Cadejoth to Pterath)
"Shard'n..." Is all that Delvin can get out as Celadion runs towards him and Rilka and Rilka dives down a ladder and he hears the word "exiles" from below, "Next time I try a grand escape, remind me to do it with smarter people." He offers towards 'that other guy'. Still, let Celadion suffer his own fate, he's trying to keep up the illusion that these are the only ones. Hopefully, the rustling from behind him is drowned out by the landing dragon. Even he can't help but shrink back a little as it tries to peer in. A look is shot to G'brion, "Look, just take us down, and let's get this over with, alright?"
Mouth falling open, Celadion watches Rilka dash past him for the ledge. He cries out sharply in fear for her, some torn mangling of words that do nothing to stop her from actually making it to the edge though. So, it's not surprising that he does not see the kick coming towards his sword-hand and the resulting impact of foot on flesh makes him bark out in pain. The heavy metal stake falls to the floor with a clatter and it's obviously only a battered bit of metal. Anger rages in Cela's face and he lunges for G'brion, aiming a fist for his face. Sadly for the exile, it's his weak hand but lucky for the dragonrider. He might not be 'smart' but he's got heart, not that it's going to help him in this case at all.
Three more dragonriders launch themselves up the ladder, now, arriving just in time to see Celadion aim for G'brion. Two of them launch themselves at him; the third reaches for the dropped knife. It's that one that notices a few more of the exiles, hidden though they are: "Looks like there's a bunch of them. Shells. Come on, kids. Come back to the weyr with us. Where it's warm." Down below, Rilka's screams have faded into mere sobs, still audible despite the noise of the scuffle.
G'brion isn't, despite his bravado, all that much when it comes to fighting. He's not quick enough to avoid getting punched in the face, but he doesn't even try to stab Celadion, instead grabbing at him ineffectually with his off hand. Then there are people coming to his aid, and he backs off, finally sheathing his knife when it's safe to do so. He doesn't wait for the ladder to be clear, but instead crouches down and swings over the edge of the hayloft, dangling by his hands for a moment and then dropping the rest of the way to the floor with a grunt. As he does so, the green dragon disappears from the window, and Gabe makes for the exit, leaving the other riders to deal with the exiles while he calms his frantic dragon.
Devin takes a step back, various other curse words falling from his mouth as the rest are discovered. There really is no reason to stay calm now and two one one seems a bit unfair, he takes a few steps towards the dragon riders who are trying to grab Celadion, "Hey guys! No need for that!" As long as the whole group is going down he might as well go down swining and swing he does.
Celadion has his share of screams too as a solid wall of well fed and well muscled dragonriders drag him back. There's much struggling and gnashing of teeth but he's not strong enough to fight his way free of two of them. Oh, if only he could have Devin's cool head about this whole thing and go nice-nice, it's just not in his makeup not to put up the best struggle he can. In the end he is sweating and gasping for breath while his captors keep him pinned to the boards of the loft. Once he's quiet enough, his escorts haul his skinny ass roughly down from the loft along with the other exiles. At least he's not the only one who's pitching a fit, there might be a few scratches and maybe a black eye from the escapees before they are all collected.
As it happens, one of the dragonriders is more than happy to take a swing at Devin, too: unless the exile ducks in time, it's probably going to leave a mark. "Don't be an idiot," says the middle-aged rider, a man with more muscle than beauty. A lot more. "We're taking you all in. It's /done/." And the rest of the exiles? The ones still in hiding until this point? They're done, too: there's no way these riders are leaving without doing a full search.
Delvin is nearly lifted off his feet as the fist connects with his jaw, at least he'll have some mark of bravery, but for now he's too busy flying backwards to think of anything, and it's less than a second before he too is being dragged off.
"He didn't do anything you oaf!" Celadion roars as he witnesses poor Delvin go flying. The struggling starts anew for him and earns him a bloody lip from an elbow during the struggle. He might not remember that G'brion didn't stick him, but think he'll forget that punch? Time will tell.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," says one of the riders. It's hard to tell which, given they all have a couple of exiles in hand - but it's definitely one of /them/. "Come on. The Weyrleader wants you back where you're supposed to be before anything else happens. What did you think you were going to do, run back to your island? You'd be walking for months."
"You can't walk to an island." Delvin quips, rather inapproapriately since he's being dragged across a hayloft by the back of his collar. The rider makes it appoint to misstep and kick in the back of his head with his heel. "Umph..." Comes from Delvin as the pain escapes him, his head flops too one side and he grins in appreciation at Celadion, in the end still bound by this ill-fated escape attempt.
Celadion isn't going to just politely spread out their plans. Oh no. The riders are met by a tight jawed glower as he drags his heels against the overpowering strength of the dragonriders. Dark eyes regard Delvin worriedly to see if he's ok after taking that punch. The brotherhood of the escapee, he gives a nod in approval for the smartassed remark, but it could also be for his non-whimpering after taking the punch.
There's a low snort from one of the dragonriders, and then from another in reply. Between them: the three who came up, a couple more down below, it's not too difficult for them to get the whole group of them back to the barracks, where, surprisingly, there are... no guards? No restrictions on movement? No... what happened while they were gone?
Location: Stables, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: The escapee exiles are caught, alas.
Stables, High Reaches Weyr
Taking advantage of a natural overhang in the side of the mountain for its roof, this building boasts sturdy stone construction braced by beams of tough-as-nails skybroom. Just inside a pair of broad doors, the ceiling rises a full two stories high for the full length and half the width of the building. Beneath the overhang, wide windows admit light and more fresh air, while opposite is the second-story hayloft.
The stables' main focus, however, is the double rows of stalls that line the walls below: one large stall serving as tack room, the rest housing a remarkable variety of beasts.
It's been a handful of days since the exiles made their great escape from the barracks. The first day or two was rough, on edge and always looking out for random weyr-folks that happen to stumble in to care for the runners, but their little nest in the loft has seen little action. This time of the turn most of the hay is down bellow so the loft is not visited. The worry has become what the next step might be, they can't stay in the stables forever but there's been no solid agreement on what direction to escape to. To make matters worse, they are not without food limitations during this in-between times of Celadion's grand plan. Tonight, the exiles are gathered together in their blankets to talk about that next plan, not expecting anyone beyond the stables to even realize that they've gone wandering. "So," Celadion is saying quietly, making an addition to the map carved in the wood of the loft with the makeshift sword, "I think from the informatino we've gathered, we can head out of the weyr this way and find our way sea-ward."
"Is it far?" is Rilka's question as she eyes the map dubiously. She's gone back to not saying much again, and her voice quavers visibly. As she looks, she tightens the blanket around her shoulders, twisting white fingers around each other in an endless, uneasy kind of gesture. A number of the group are desperately regretting her inclusion, by now - and probably not without reason: will she really make it as far as the ocean? Really?
The door of the stable opens and then closes again. Probably some stablehand just passing through to check that the beasts are all still here and in good order. Except that the sounds that follow aren't of steady footsteps moving up and down the row of stalls. Instead there's - laughter, whispering, a giggle. Then a young man's voice asks, "Hey, where's that ladder go?" The other answers, "Just the hayloft."
"Shhhh..." Delvin lifts a finger to his lips and makes the noise almost as silently as the action is suppose to make everyone else. He lifts an eyebrow, and points down towards where the voices came from below. There is a wild shrug as if to ask now what, and a look as if to say, 'Told you so!' but there is no time for that now.
If Celadion is disapointed that Rilka's involvement in their group will slow them down, he's not saying anything about it. "I think we'll be able to move faster once we are outside of the Weyr and away from the flying beasts." One or two other heads and several agreements but more than one voice murmuring in dissatisfaction: "How do you know what to expect out there?" There might be an answer from Cela except for the voices down below. Delvin's hushing is followed easily enough as Celadion crouches down low, scooting back deeper into the loft on bare feet.
Rilka shivers, her thin shoulders shaking visibly through her too-big clothes. But that's before the sound of voices: after, as the group stills, she outright freezes, her expression set into something akin to pure panic. She's not making any noise-- well, not exactly. Her teeth chatter, no doubt from fear more than cold. Dark eyes seek out individuals in the group, pleading silently: don't let them get caught!
There's more laughter, and low-voiced conversation, as well as soft wet sounds - kissing? Then that first voice says, "Let's go see what's up there." The other man answers, "Just hay bales. They've got those down here." He adds a crudely-voiced suggestion for a possible use for one of the hay bales, then says, "Hey! Get back here." But there are feet already clump-clumping up the ladder. Then more laughter, and /two/ pairs of feet. They're coming up.
Delvin points the frozen Rilka then to a large pile of stacked up hay, as if to say, over there. Now! He, himself, tries to scramble that way as quietly as possible. Hopefully everyone else hides too.
The sounds bellow make several of the exiles exchange uncertain looks from their places amoung the hay bails. It's not until it's obvious that the steps are coming up those stairs that there is real worry for Celadion. "Oh Crabshells..." Snarling the oath, he makes the drawing impliment ready as a weapon. Too bad he only has experience in gutting fish. Pushing people back behind him, he tries to scoot out of the line of sight. HOpefully the love birds won't trip too far in, and won't smell the dozen or so unwashed bodies up there.
But Rilka doesn't seem to know how to move anymore: she's stuck, frozen despite Delvin's helpful indication, her eyes on that ladder in a desperate, pleading kind of gaze. It takes another of the little group grabbing her by the shoulders to get her to move, but even then, it makes more noise than it ought to; a suspicious amount of noise, even.
A head pops up over the edge of the loft - amiable face, dark brown skin, black curly hair. The owner uses well-muscled arms to pull himself up into the loft and then scrambles to his feet, making his way deeper into the hayloft so that his pursuer will have to come after him. G'brion follows up onto the ledge, playfully calling out, "Don't make me come get you, Firistan." The dark-skinned boy starts to run, but he doesn't get four paces before he almost runs into Celadion. His eyes widen, and when he sees the weapon, he leaps back and lets out a yell of pure terror. G'brion is at his elbow in an instant. "Hey!" he says, more angry than frightened. "You put that down! Who the shell are you?" Firistan puts a hand on Gabe's arm and tries to draw him backward, away from confrontation. "There's /twenty/ of 'em," he says in a shaky voice. But G'brion isn't having it. "No there aren't. Who are you? What are you doing here?" he demands, his angry gaze going from one exile to the next, though he reserves much of his attention for Celadion and the weapon.
Delvin is at a loss. They're caught, but have they /all/ been seen. He isn't sure, so he stays in hiding. As motionless as possible. If some of them get caught there may be hope for others. Unless those around them are rats. He nervously eyes those that have already been spotted. They /would/ turn them in.
Celadion hisses like some wild, caged creature when he's nearly plowed into. The weapon is almost forgotten in his hands as the stranger nearly ends himself on the edge of the thing. A chance at saving the other's behind him from being noticed, he puffs himself up and takes a step forward, swaying side to side, pointing the weapon at one and then the other, "You just...you just go. Get out of here."
"No, I won't go back, I /can't/ go back, don't let them lock us up again--" That's Rilka, whose words start as a torrent of whispers, but grow steadily louder over time. She's rocking back and forth, now, and it's pretty obvious that those hiding in her vicinity are probably all done for; at least she's not /that/ close to Delvin. "/Don't let them hurt us/."
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Pterath reaches out, abuzz with anger so white-hot that she doesn't care if her rider doesn't want her telling where he is and what he is doing. << He threatens my rider with a blade! >> She blasts the warning to Cadejoth and the watchdragon both, even as she's already in flight on her way to the weyr's stable with the full intention of tearing whoever 'he' is limb from limb. If she can get in. Not that she's thought it out that far.
Dragon> To Pterath, Cadejoth's gentle jangle of chains turns into a maelstrom of concern in the wake of Pterath's anger, her words. << Backup is coming, >> he informs her, a moment later (isn't it a good thing the weyrleader's wing was engaged in evening drills!). << It's going to be all right. We'll get him out. >> Evidently, he's registered the location from the green's thoughts somehow-- or perhaps she's a visible target to follow through the dark night sky.
Now G'brion gives Firistan a shove backward, moving as though to shield him even as he fumbles at his belt. Did he even wear a knife today? The one he produces is tiny, well-suited to carving butter but not much else. He does his best to make up for it in bravado. "Drop it," he hisses angrily at Celadion. "Firistan, get out of here!" Firistan doesn't need to be told twice; he scrambles back to the ladder and starts down, calling after Gabe, "YOU get out of here, too! He has a knife!"
"Just drop it," Delvin mumbles at Celadion, "It'll only make it worse." He nods a head to the scampering Firistan, "Do you think that he's going to leave this one up here alone?" Of course not, backup will be here in moments, damage control time. "Shush." He hisses at Rilka, "This why no wanted you to come to begin with." He stands and quickly assessing the people who have already been spotted mutters, "It's just us..." Rilka, Celadion, me, that other guy, "Four..." Ho hum. If nothing else perhaps it will distract G'brion that another body just appeared.
It might be that he's been pushed into this corner too long, or the plea from Rilka, but Celadion snarls out at G'brion. At the flash of metal come unsheathed, "Don't you dare. I'll not have you hurt these people." At least seeing Firistan's backside out of the loft giveas him some courage that the other youngman might not have the salt to stand up to the group of them. Then there's Devlin and his remark earns a savage growl, "Coward. Why don't YOU scamper down the ladder too." Since he's going to cave in so easily. "I'm not going to die in the barracks like a fish in a bucket."
Delvin's words shut Rilka up, which is probably for the better, but they leave the girl in stunned silence; it looks as though she's holding back tears. She rises, unsteady, with a wild look in her eyes, and begins to walk towards G'brion, as though she intends to get right up to his face. Her mouth opens, and she's clearly about to say something, but a moment later, there's the noise of more footsteps down below: a lot of them. For the second time tonight, she freezes.
True to Delvin's prediction, Firistan hasn't even cleared the stable door before he's bellowing loudly about how there are a bunch of crazy people in the hayloft and they all have huge knives and there are TWENTY of them, maybe even more... and then, there's a thud as of something very heavy landing on the roof of the stable, followed immediately by a loud, angry roar. "Just drop the knife and nobody has to get hurt," G'brion snaps at Celadion, though he does take a cautious step back out of range of the bigger blade. He darts a glance at Rilka, at Delvin, and it dawns on him that nobody except Celadion has made a threatening move. He lowers his knife slightly, trying to seem less menacing, without dropping his guard entirely. "Just... just put it down. I don't want to hurt you," he coaxes. "Nobody needs to get hurt. Right?" There's another roar, and the sound of very large feet stamping on the roof. Fortunately, it's quite sturdy and in no danger of falling in. Small mercies.
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Pterath roars her fury as she arrives at the stable to discover that she /can't get in/. The doors and windows are all too small. << Firestone! >> she demands. << I will burn him like Thread. He will not touch my rider. I will tear him to bits. >> Fortunately for the stable and its occupants, she hasn't been drilling and has no flame to breathe just now.
Dragon> Coaxing, gently, Cadejoth insists, << They're going to come in and help him. A lot of them. If you burn the stables down then your rider will get stuck in there. And lots of others, too. >> His chains jangle and jangle, agitated but working towards calm. << No one's going to get hurt. It's going to be okay! >> (Cadejoth to Pterath)
Devin grimaces, the situation needs to defuse and quickly, before the rest of the weyr shows up, but his anger at Celadion is over powering, "Yah, well, if you wanted this to be about /you/ then /you/ should have done this alone, but all...four...of us are in this together and the rest of shouldn't have to die because you're over reacting." He pleads in his voice that Celadion understand he's trying to salavage those left in hiding. A glance is shot to the rider, who has lowered his knife slightly, in response he takes a step back, a hand reached out to Rilka, "Come back here," Is whispered in a much softer, comforting tone.
Celadion's eyes flicker towards the roof, but it holds. HA ha. His smile says 'victory', air-monsters cannot get into the building. "No one gets hurt...right..." He almost sounds crazy as he laughs. "I. Don't. Believe you. You tell all my kinfolk who died and the babies your dragons ate." Poor Devin is distracting him again though, "I didn't twist any arms to come out here. We /all/ wanted to get away...we all wan....Rilka!" Forgetting the sword all together as he tries to get in between her and the dragonrider. "Damnit! They're going to kill us. Don't you touch her."
Rilka is solemn and determined - and perhaps rather stupid. She ducks out of the way of everyone, launching herself at the ladder, though instead of /climbing/ it, she seems intent on falling past it. There's someone at the bottom, though, no doubt part of the aforementioned cavalry - and he catches her. If her intent was to die rather than be caught, she's rather screwed it up. Her scream certainly suggests something along those lines, and it is followed by another masculine voice: "We've got one of them! Exiles. Must be. The shell did they get out? We're coming up!"
"What are you talking about? Dragons don't eat babies," G'brion says scornfully. "Are you /drunk/, or just out of your mind? I'm not in the habit of killing people, either." As if to prove it, he dodges out of Rilka's way when she makes a run for it, rather than trying to stab her. Then he darts forward, and his foot lashes out in a swift kick at Celadion's wrist, meant to make him drop the sword. Because NOTHING could go wrong with that plan.
There's more roaring from above, and then wingbeats, and a green dragon is clinging to one of the large window-ledges, trying to angle her head to see into the hayloft.
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Pterath lets herself be persuaded, reluctantly. << I won't burn the stables, then. But I will get That One. He cannot threaten my rider! >> Not and get away with it, as far as she's concerned.
Dragon> Shhh, shhhh, says the rustle of Cadejoth's chains, even if he's not saying anything outright - not immediately, anyway. << We will bring them all in, safe. No one will get hurt. >> Not even the one with the knife. (Cadejoth to Pterath)
"Shard'n..." Is all that Delvin can get out as Celadion runs towards him and Rilka and Rilka dives down a ladder and he hears the word "exiles" from below, "Next time I try a grand escape, remind me to do it with smarter people." He offers towards 'that other guy'. Still, let Celadion suffer his own fate, he's trying to keep up the illusion that these are the only ones. Hopefully, the rustling from behind him is drowned out by the landing dragon. Even he can't help but shrink back a little as it tries to peer in. A look is shot to G'brion, "Look, just take us down, and let's get this over with, alright?"
Mouth falling open, Celadion watches Rilka dash past him for the ledge. He cries out sharply in fear for her, some torn mangling of words that do nothing to stop her from actually making it to the edge though. So, it's not surprising that he does not see the kick coming towards his sword-hand and the resulting impact of foot on flesh makes him bark out in pain. The heavy metal stake falls to the floor with a clatter and it's obviously only a battered bit of metal. Anger rages in Cela's face and he lunges for G'brion, aiming a fist for his face. Sadly for the exile, it's his weak hand but lucky for the dragonrider. He might not be 'smart' but he's got heart, not that it's going to help him in this case at all.
Three more dragonriders launch themselves up the ladder, now, arriving just in time to see Celadion aim for G'brion. Two of them launch themselves at him; the third reaches for the dropped knife. It's that one that notices a few more of the exiles, hidden though they are: "Looks like there's a bunch of them. Shells. Come on, kids. Come back to the weyr with us. Where it's warm." Down below, Rilka's screams have faded into mere sobs, still audible despite the noise of the scuffle.
G'brion isn't, despite his bravado, all that much when it comes to fighting. He's not quick enough to avoid getting punched in the face, but he doesn't even try to stab Celadion, instead grabbing at him ineffectually with his off hand. Then there are people coming to his aid, and he backs off, finally sheathing his knife when it's safe to do so. He doesn't wait for the ladder to be clear, but instead crouches down and swings over the edge of the hayloft, dangling by his hands for a moment and then dropping the rest of the way to the floor with a grunt. As he does so, the green dragon disappears from the window, and Gabe makes for the exit, leaving the other riders to deal with the exiles while he calms his frantic dragon.
Devin takes a step back, various other curse words falling from his mouth as the rest are discovered. There really is no reason to stay calm now and two one one seems a bit unfair, he takes a few steps towards the dragon riders who are trying to grab Celadion, "Hey guys! No need for that!" As long as the whole group is going down he might as well go down swining and swing he does.
Celadion has his share of screams too as a solid wall of well fed and well muscled dragonriders drag him back. There's much struggling and gnashing of teeth but he's not strong enough to fight his way free of two of them. Oh, if only he could have Devin's cool head about this whole thing and go nice-nice, it's just not in his makeup not to put up the best struggle he can. In the end he is sweating and gasping for breath while his captors keep him pinned to the boards of the loft. Once he's quiet enough, his escorts haul his skinny ass roughly down from the loft along with the other exiles. At least he's not the only one who's pitching a fit, there might be a few scratches and maybe a black eye from the escapees before they are all collected.
As it happens, one of the dragonriders is more than happy to take a swing at Devin, too: unless the exile ducks in time, it's probably going to leave a mark. "Don't be an idiot," says the middle-aged rider, a man with more muscle than beauty. A lot more. "We're taking you all in. It's /done/." And the rest of the exiles? The ones still in hiding until this point? They're done, too: there's no way these riders are leaving without doing a full search.
Delvin is nearly lifted off his feet as the fist connects with his jaw, at least he'll have some mark of bravery, but for now he's too busy flying backwards to think of anything, and it's less than a second before he too is being dragged off.
"He didn't do anything you oaf!" Celadion roars as he witnesses poor Delvin go flying. The struggling starts anew for him and earns him a bloody lip from an elbow during the struggle. He might not remember that G'brion didn't stick him, but think he'll forget that punch? Time will tell.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," says one of the riders. It's hard to tell which, given they all have a couple of exiles in hand - but it's definitely one of /them/. "Come on. The Weyrleader wants you back where you're supposed to be before anything else happens. What did you think you were going to do, run back to your island? You'd be walking for months."
"You can't walk to an island." Delvin quips, rather inapproapriately since he's being dragged across a hayloft by the back of his collar. The rider makes it appoint to misstep and kick in the back of his head with his heel. "Umph..." Comes from Delvin as the pain escapes him, his head flops too one side and he grins in appreciation at Celadion, in the end still bound by this ill-fated escape attempt.
Celadion isn't going to just politely spread out their plans. Oh no. The riders are met by a tight jawed glower as he drags his heels against the overpowering strength of the dragonriders. Dark eyes regard Delvin worriedly to see if he's ok after taking that punch. The brotherhood of the escapee, he gives a nod in approval for the smartassed remark, but it could also be for his non-whimpering after taking the punch.
There's a low snort from one of the dragonriders, and then from another in reply. Between them: the three who came up, a couple more down below, it's not too difficult for them to get the whole group of them back to the barracks, where, surprisingly, there are... no guards? No restrictions on movement? No... what happened while they were gone?