Goran, Kyara, G'tan


The head snake himself, Goran, is taken down none too lightly.

Violence and language.


Overlaps the end of Bandit Ambush.


Oasis Inn, Igen

OOC Date


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Oasis Inn

Tucked into a small fold of foothills along the road leading from the Weyr to the Central Pass, this inn truly is just what its name implies - an oasis for travelers coming from either direction. Stabling and board are available - though the boarding comes at a price, since there isn't much of it. The most well known part of the Inn is the tavern - a rustic bar built of solid skybroom and furnished in dark, oiled wood, leather, metal, and glass. Though well used and sometimes abused, the furniture is also well cared for and maintained, and the food and drink draw many a rider in alongside the travelers. The decor is eclectic, consisting in hangings, rugs, carvings, and other things from every region of Pern, bestowed upon the owner in barter for lodging. The atmosphere isn't one of a dive; it's cozier than that, though there is just a touch of harmless shady to be found - particularly in the evenings.

It is Summer and 109 degrees. It is a hot, miserable night.



Evening has fallen over the Oasis Inn, the heaviness of too-warm summer twilight summoning many a soul to the refuge of the roadside taven for a but of something cold to wet parched throats after a long day. Or after an ambush on the bandits that have been plaguing Igen's roads for months. But since that little incident is still winding down out at the River Hold, there's really only one person present right now who knows a thing about that bit of fun, and she's wandering through the door and looking not a bit as if she has a clue about it. Having changed quickly into an outfit looking very…appropriate to the weather, particularly for an Oldimer, the AWLM is currently knotless and ruddy with some exertion not long past, pulling her hair back as she glances around with a smirk worn on her lips. An act, of course; she left the ambush early for this, and while she looks just like a pretty little trader girl just ending a day of hard work, she's discreetly hard at work scanning the place for a face she's recently learned, even as she saunters up to the bar and orders from the 'tender with a playful wink.

Aaaaah. To relax after a hard day's work aka Watching OTHERS do your bidding, is a special part of Goran's day. He is not amidst the crowd thronging the interior of the Inn but is instead out on the porch with his ass parked in a rocker and feet up and crossed at the ankle, on the railing. A glass of something tall and cold is lightly grasped in one hand, condensation beading the sides as he stares out into the gathering night, faint traces of a smug expression in place.

Kyara is inwardly thankful that the current bartender isn't one familiar with her; she's around the Inn enough to be known to some, but thankfully, no familiar faces seem to be around tonight. Not to mention the greenrider may be a good deal less familiar-looking in her current state, her usual outfit of flying leather pants and fitted top traded in for a dusty blue skirt that swishes just above her knees and a white top with thin shoulder straps. It's more like something she'd opt for when Liareth is glowing, honestly, but she certainly doesn't wear it uncomfortable. What is mildly troubling, however, is the seeming absence of the trader she's after. Slowly scanning the room as she sips her drink and casting a coquettish look at a turned head or two to keep her cover solid, she glimpses not hide nor hair and pushes away from the bar, slowly wandering back toward the exit. Maybe she'll see him on his way in at some point? Or on her way out. There's someone sitting in the dark a little way down the porch to her right as she exits, and she glances over once, then double-takes. Outwardly, it's for his looks. Inwardly, it's because of recognition. "Evenin'," she greets with a rather impish smirk as she passes near on his left to lean against the railing, falling easily into the Big Bay accent she began her life with. Here's hoping her little plan works.

In that crafty mind of his, marks are being counted, fencing operations for goods purloined being planned and quite possibly, a visit to Rosie's later when he's gotten the word that he's waiting for. Within the darkness, up in the rafters, a creature so dark it blends in with the shadows shifts and wraps its tail about a beam. At greeting given in feminine tone, Goran doesn't bother to turn his head, in fact, he may not have heard the woman if it weren't for the sideways slant of calculating steel-blue eyes. From head to toe the woman is afforded a once over and then attention pulls outward once again. "Is it?" He drawls not bothering to drop his feet should she wish to pass. "Nothing good about it?" For usually people will always lead with that whether it holds true or not.

Kyara makes no move to pass, instead letting loose a quiet snatch of a chuckle as she turns to lean a hip against the rail, sipping at her drink as amber eyes slide over the length of the man in the chair. "Aye, I could probably name a few things good," she answers, setting her drink down on the railing and reaching up to free her hair from the loose tie she had it in, tilting her head back to gather shoulder-lenth copper-blonde tresses back into a tighter tail. As he gaze passes upward, a flicker of movement catches her eye. His firelizard. Her gazes lingers on the creature above for just a second as she finishes tying her hair, and she looks down again, her smile widening. "You, though… Y'look like th' feline who just caught th' wherry." With another sip and a renewed lean, she notes, "S'pose it's a good one for you, then."

Rim of glass to mouth, Goran openly eyes the woman interrupting his personal bubble of patting himself on the back. Something shifts behind those unreadable eyes and he swallows, Adam's apple bobbing with the motion. Lowering his hand, glass resting on his upper thigh weeping a circle of damp from its sides, rugged good looks crook about a smile that's as empty as the man's heart. "Do I now." Flat return. Nothing given away, the coppery-blonde is afforded a slightly longer inspection and then Goran drops his feet and stands with the fluidity of a man that keeps himself in shape. "You one of Rosie's girls? Didn't think you lot plied your…" steely eyes openly meander over shapely curves, "wares all the way out here."

Kyara watches Goran's every movement carefully, her gaze glinting with something inscrutable in the near-darkness as it follows him up to standing. A shame such good looks hide such a slimeball interior, really. The wandering of his eyes makes her skin crawl and elicits the urge to just snap out a foot to nail him where it counts, but outwardly, the greenrider just relaxes against the rail, nursing her drink further and seeming to take as much of an appraisal of him as he does of her. "A man looks that smug," she says, "somethin' good must be goin' on." Then she snorts a bit, shaking her head. "Far off the mark, boyo. Ailea's the name. Wherz caravan. Worth a fat lot more'n any girl from Rosie's," she adds with a touch of hauteur and a deepening of her smirk.

Aaaah, girlie. Don't knock it 'til you tried it. All girls want a bite of the bad man. Or so that silent smirk tilted behind another raise of glass seems to broadcast. There is given a low hum of sound that captures in Goran's chest. Fixed somewhere between a grunt and the throb of amusement. "Might be that the barmaid finally mixed my drink just right." Ambling over to the railing, he slides in next to her, forearms braced over the rounded length of wood with hands dangling over the side. "Wherz, hmm?" Another of those inscrutable looks and then Reika man utters a snort. "You're a pretty little liar, Ailea." Though he doesn't divulge in what way he's sniffed out an untruth. Straightening again, the last of his drink is drained and he steps away as if he means to leave. "See you around," pause, smirk, "Ailea." After setting the glass down, he angles toward the steps leading down and out into the night.

Focus. Kyara steadies herself inwardly, knowing this could have gone any number of ways. There's a rather saucy grin given as he comes up beside her…but then he's calling her a liar, and she looks honestly insulted. "Hey now!" she snips at the trader as he starts to move away, moving as though she might grab his elbow and letting her fingers slip off it as he moves. "Where y'get off callin' me a liar?" Thumbing back at the entrance and stepping after him, she adds, "Got other of my people in there that'll speak for me, if y'think y're so fine a judge, trader man." The approach of other patrons along the path, robes fluttering softly in the breeze as they pass through the dark, is peripherally noted, but she ignores them otherwise.

With as noisy and mildy boisterous as the evening at the Oasis Inn is right now, it's probably little wonder that something seems to raise the hackles of a good dozen of the firelizards hanging about the rafters both within and without the place. Specifically honing in on the shadowy blue flitter that had been hanging about above Goran's head, a heavy, inexorable mind closes in and clamps down with all the suffocating weight and heat of a stifling desert day concentrated through a narrow canyon, willing the creature to remain silent and LEAVE, not to return until allowed. Which will be never. But it doesn't know that.

A brow hikes upward lazily when Ailea aka Kyara rounds on him. “Careful, girlie.” Goran pauses in his outward path, the look in steel blue eyes as cold as the icy wastes of the High Reaches mountains. Named a trader by the young woman, his gaze narrows dangerously. “You speak as if I should know you.” Not that he keeps his designation in life a secret but he would have remembered meeting the coppery blonde. In the rafters above, pressured by that heavy mind, the firelizard that had been lurking utters a low hiss and spins away Between.

Kyara arches a brow, her expression making it seem as if the answer should be the most obvious thing in the world. “‘Course y’don’t know me,” she counters, unperturbed by the coldness of Goran’s gaze. “But I’ve eyes in my head. I’ve seen ye from afar once or twice on th’ grounds,” she notes, edging into a coquettish glance up at him a bit through her lashes. “Y’stand out enough t’be remembered.” Tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, she allows her eyes another roaming of the length of him, memorizing, and then shrugs. “Though apparently I can’t just strik up a friendly chat with a guy, so I’ll take m’leave, ‘f it’s all the same.” She slips a quick smile askance to one of the incoming patrons before sliding her gaze back to Goran and letting it linger as she starts to turn away.

In seemingly impassive silence, Goran hears the explanation given, the smile that pulls to one side of his mouth carving a line down the side of it, about as predatory as they get. But not for the reasons she might think. Hands slide into pockets and he rocks back on his heels. "I'm not the chatting kind." He finally reveals, turns back on his path, walks another few paces out into the darkness and then pauses again to call out. "Beware the wher that hunts at night, Ailea." And off he goes heading for where a runner is tethered in the shadow of a scrubby tree.

Kyara, after hearing Goran's last…laughs, an almost harsh and somewhat incongruous sound amidst the noise filtering out from the Inn and the undercurrent of evening insect noises creating the evening's soundscape. "Oh, I could warn ye of the same, boyo," she calls back in turn, a few good strides behind. For if he keeps on toward that runner, he may find out what she means a great deal sooner than if he heeds her words and stops. But which will he do?

Oh he'll keep on toward that runner of his. Goran is not the sociable kind unless he's working an angle. And threats from a slip of a girl? Bitch, please!! The only response Kyara will get for her last is a wave of hand in the air above him. It could be dismissing her threat or it could be a signal to another hidden in the dark.

Kyara smirks at Goran's turned back, senses on full alert as her steps slow and her hands make quick slips to a few places around her outfit, though to most it would simply look as though she's adjusting her clothes. If there is someone else about to spring at her, she likely won't be caught completely off guard. Particularly with the unseen set of eyes watching nearby. Meanwhile, Goran can just keep moving on toward his runner…

Crunching over the gravel, Goran is soon at his runner's side and unlooping the reins from the post they'd been tethered too. In one smooth movement, he's mounted, adjusting the angle of the knife sheathed at his hip and with one last look back at the cheery glow of the Inn, setting heels to flank and riding off into the night down the path that leads even further away from the Weyr.

No sooner has Goran ridden a good dozen dragonlengths down the path, where a couple of rises flank the road, than a couple of things happen at once. One - one of those creatures for which such lengths are named for seems to drop in from almost directly overhead. It's one of the bronze variety, in fact, eyes whirling crimson as he unleashes a deafening roar straight at the man and runner and spans the path with his lanky bulk, easily blocking it off. Two - at nearly the same instant, a dark figure springs from the dragon's neck, aiming to land straight atop Goran himself. There might be a bit more movement in the darkness somewhere behind…but who's paying attention to that right now?

Any creature NOT a dragon is going to freak the hell out when one suddenly drops in right in front of its face. Which is what Goran's runner does. With a scream of terror the bay rears straight up, lashing at the air with its hooves and sends the trader tumbling from its back. The moment the trader hits the ground on his back, the runner takes off leaving him momentarily stunned and winded. But not for long, for lightning reflexes kick in, his hand drops to his knife and he's on his feet with it held expertly in hand still trying to suck air back into his lungs. "What the fuck is your problem!!" He snarls at the bronzerider that has leaped from his dragon.

G'tan misjudged his jump a bit, clearly, but thought he might; grunting as he hits the ground, he rolls to his feet, a blade of his own glinting along the outside of his leading arm as he drops into a fighting stance. Black, focused rage is writ clear on his face, even in the darkness, finding some release as he flicks his blade out in a couple of experimental narrow arcs. "Oughta be obvious, asshole," the bronzerider growls, giving the trader as narrow a target as possible with his blade arm leading. Meanwhile, another, smaller dragon slips lithely across to block the road behind, the green hissing in her wrath and moving a bit more deliberately, as if there's more too her. "Might wanna toss it down now and save yourself the trouble. By me or by them, it's gonna happen," G'tan suggests, jerking his chin at Goran's blade.

Where G'tan is all black rage, Goran is outwardly as calm as a sunny day in Nabol. If anything, cold amusement is what flickers in the flat steel of his eyes. "You're looking to die but your dragon won't take you Between?" Comes the trader's lazy drawl as he keeps an eye on that blade the dragonrider is waving about. He himself, is still as death. A steel spring wound tighter waiting for the other man to make his move. The arrival of another dragon is felt more than seen for Goran doesn't turn. "Now it's a party." He dryly states and then goes in for a verbal kill realizing that the only reason he's now being harassed by dragonriders out of the blue is because that babbling blonde bluerider has run her mouth off. "Did she tell you how she begged for it?" He goads, sliding a step to the side so that he can keep both dragons in view. "How she screamed my name?" Beat. "How she sold the fucking lot of you out to soothe her itches? Dragonrider honor." Spat with disgust. "I've got more honor in my left nut."

By now, with all that G'tan has been told, he's rather prepared for the goads that get sent his way. That doesn't mean they don't burn, setting his blood to boiling and his thoughts onto split-second, murderous tangents…but the bronzerider doesn't charge, doesn't flinch. Only bares his teeth to grit a counter. "Yeah. Such great skill you can't even trust your own words to get you what you want. Gotta mask it all in illusions brewed in a cup of tea. Still gotcha beat on that one." As soon as he finishes speaking, a fair of five firelizards bursts in from between - a gold, two bronzes, a brown, and a blue, all screeching red-eyed and diving in a swirling cloud at Goran, talons slicing and tearing at whatever that can touch.

Knife held in an easy grip that speaks to one very well acquainted with using its deadly blade, Goran merely sends G'tan a smirk bracketed by hard edges. "Working on the angles on that piece of snatch, eh?" He doesn't even rise to the taunt thrown out because business is business and that's all it had been from his side. Growing tired of the bronzerider's hesitation, the trader glances over his shoulder to the small drop off behind him, calculating the distance and the wisdom of throwing himself over it. But suddenly the air is filled with a tearing talons and raking razor sharp teeth. "FUCK!!" Wildly he slashes at the creatures, determined to take as many down as possible. "You fucking PUSSY!!" Goran growls, trying to guard his face and eyes with an arm thrown up only to received multiple tears and bites to his neck, shoulders and arms. "FIGHT LIKE A MAN!! Only a woman sends in—-" A yowl of pain erupts when a firelizard snatches a chunk out of his ear. "Firelizards to do her dirty work!"

Kyara's firelizards have been in such scrapes before, well acquainted with the dodging and darting need to avoid the bite of a blade and leading G'tan's pair quite ably in their attack. Amid all the flurry of firelizard wings, the greenrider herself sidles around her hiding spot behind Liareth's legs and slips into the fray behind Goran. Unafraid of being tagged by the fair, she jams the pommel of her knife straight into the soft spot at the back of his shoulder joint on the arm holding his knife - a spot rendering an opponent's arm useless for a time as nerves struggle to regain straight signals with muscles. "Indeed!" she affirms rather coolly for the situation, dropping to drag her other blade across Goran's right Achilles tendon immediately following the initial blow and the rolling out of the way. Not much longer now, particularly with Liareth and Zinakoth closing the circle around them and the firelizards renewing their efforts with Kyara back out of the way.

G'tan closes the distance, but otherwise watches as Kyara makes her move, ready to spring the second Goran makes a move her way - if the trader even gets the chance. G'tan is not so keen on the idea of sticking his head in the midst of a furious flurry of lizards if he can help it.

On a better day, without an assault from the air, Kyara wouldn't have stood a chance of getting in behind him like that. But this must her lucky day. Or his seriously UNLUCKY one. A flash from out of the corner of his eye as he plunges his knife straight a the soft underbelly of the gold, registers too late and while Goran does try to angle away, the hilt of her knife catches him square in the shoulder. "You BITCH!!" He snarls only to fall hard to one knee when she slices across the back of his heel. But it doesn't stop him from lunging forward to where his knife had fallen in the dirt off to one side, hard, flat eyes pinned to G'tan. "Fuckingnutlesswonder." The trader pants against the pain searing through him. "You let…a GIRL…do your dirty…" Out of nowhere, Goran begins to laugh. A harsh grating sound as black as Between itself, features twisted about an ugly pattern. "You ARE a pussy!! Didn' know they let castrated fucks…have dragons." Suddenly he lunges to his feet, weight on the good foot and jerking around aims a fist right at Kyara's head.

Blaze is too quick for the stab aimed her way, blinking between with a shriek of rage just before Goran's blade slashes at suddenly empty air. She's back a few seconds later, going right back at it. Kyara, meanwhile, is unfazed by the curse thrown at her; she's a female greenrider and has heard it all by now. She does, however, fall into a fighter's crouch, immediately sidestepping as Goran telegraphs in his pain and pivots to aim a strike at her. She knows how to deal with an off-balance fighter…but she also notes what G'tan is about to do and simply moves out of the way of the oncoming punch. G'tan lunges at Goran's turned back, bringing his boot down on Goran's sliced leg to drop him while snaking an arm around the man's neck and grabbing a brutal fistful of his hair, wrenching drown and sideways to try connecting Goran's head with the ground. Kyara, in the meantime, kicks the knife far beyond reach, slipping over to G'tan's left.

Kyara sidestepping his fist does little but spur the trader on further so that when he lurches forward, he has one fist aimed for her stomach and another reaching for her throat for he has no issue with hitting a woman. And then it all goes pear-shaped when G'tan attacks him from behind. "Motherfu…" Goran goes sprawling face first. But even then he continues to fight and taunt. "Take a man from behind? You fucking GAY!!" CRUNCH! His head connects with a rock when the bronzerider slams it downward and its lights out! No birdies, no stars. Just complete darkness and a limp trader torn and bleeding crumpled in the dirt.

"Fucking finally!" G'tan breathes, relieved at the silence. He uncurls his fingers from Goran's limp form and pushes him away slightly in order to shuffle back a bit and sit in the dirt to catch his breath. His two firelizards, the youngest of the lot, are soon perched on his shoulders, looking immensely proud of themselves and rubbing their heads against his cheeks.

Kyara's are doing the same, but the greenrider doesn't take too long giving them accolades. Those will come later. She calls Liareth closer, retrieving some sturdy rope from a pouch and tossing them at G'tan. "It was always going to be easier for you to shut him up. Nice teamwork!" she tells the bronzerider, summoning up a brief, somewhat breathless grin before it's back to business.

They can't get this one to the brig soon enough, and it's G'tan who's going to have the unfortunate task of physically doing so while Kyara, being the ranker, gets to handle the brunt of the work on reports. With Goran loaded onto Zinakoth and both riders mounted on their lifemates, the dragonriders return home, a crucial mission finally, finally, accomplished.

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