Who

Agertha & Kestrath, Cormir, Divale & Lukoith, Doji & Raktraeth, F'mond & Travith, I'dre & Mhiruth, Khulan, K'mine & Vedziyath, K'vre & Rhovvth, Th'bek & Tavuqth, Xanthee & Liowyth

What

Thread falls over South Telgar Hold and injuries abound!

Some language

When

It is afternoon of the sixteenth day of the eleventh month of the sixteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

South Telgar Weyr

OOC Date 28 Apr 2019 04:00

 

agertha_default.jpg cormir_default.jpg divale_default.jpg doji_default.jpg f-mond_default.jpg i-dre_default.jpg khulan_default.jpg k-mine_default.jpg k-vre_default.jpg th-bek_default.jpg xanthee_default.jpg
kestrath_default.jpg lukoith_default.jpg raktraeth_default.jpg travith_default.jpg mhiruth_default.jpg vedziyath_default.jpg rhovvth_default.jpg tavuqth_default.jpg liowyth_default.jpg

« Where's a good downpour when ya need one? »


spacer.png

South Telgar Hold

South Telgar lies below this middle sky. It's not much to talk about, but there are souls to save here.


Bright red and medium blue fly the standards of South Teglar in defiance of the silver thread that falls from the skies. The wings have already made the transition in from the desert weyr of their berthing, and flights fall into order with the upper flight already engaged in a frenetic fight. Surprise 'fall is one thing: this one, with the strange thermals that rise above the area, is quite another. A dragon shrieks as his rider is scored, and they pop ::between::. Below, ground crew and a hasty triage area set up shop before the tall gates of the hold, agenothree and numbweed at the ready.

Surprise it may be, but not one the Weyr is ever unprepared for. All those hours and days of practicing for just such an occasion has both infirmaries, human and dragon, flying to prepare their triage areas and field treatments. Raktraeth isn't flying with Mirage this afternoon. The behemoth brown has been playing packmule, but this last load is mostly people and not gear. Doji quickly slips down the straps to check on some of the last supplies that were fastened to his straps before turning to her passengers. "Sooo… anybody have any questions?"

Surprise Falls are just that — surprises! It'll be among the firsts with Divale at the head of Parhelion, but the brownrider has had a few Turns at least under Eala and R'xim and the wing will be rallied in time. Lukoith growls, physically and through his mindscape of primal forests beneath the light of a blood moon. Time to fight! Commands will be thusly relayed, even as they head into the fray and chaos.

Mirage has more than a fair share of riders aside from Igen's queens! I'dre is numbered among them, grim faced and tense as he settles firmly in Mhiruth's straps. They'll do their part, unless they are recalled to help with the injured back at the Weyr. His grim outlook worsens as the first shriek resounds and he utters a silent curse to himself.

K'vre and Rhovvth are here, in their usual positioning mid-roster the starboard line of Parhelion's staging. Rhovvth's bulk shores up the middle, his carmine wings flashing with fresh oil: they were caught mid-oiling when the alarm went up. K'vre checks his straps-buckles once more and throws his lifemate another chunk of firestone, his slate-blue eyes focusing on something yonder. Rhovvth's mindscape is battle-ready, all muted klaxon alarms and the brine of sweat and saltwater. Considering South Telgar is quite landlocked, it's a welcome change, if a bit… salty. « To ye port, » he calls to a green farther down the line, the song of the sea scenting Lukoith's forests with the assurance of the larger brown's confidence in the newly-minted wingleader's skills.

A break in the upper flight coverage winds in mysterious ways through the middle. Long, thin strands of thread break through to the lower flight, threatening Mirage on their way toward the ground. One seems to reach out to grasp at Mhiruth in particular, wind-swept, without rhyme or reason.

Her first dragon ride - and it's straight into battle. Or, rather, to the triage area outside of the battle, but it might as well be in the thick of things as Khulan is concerned. The infirmary aide might not be a knotted healer, but she knows enough of first aid to be useful. She definitely needs help dismounting from Raktraeth but, once she's on the ground, she straightens out her skirts, adjusts her headscarf and veil, and looks to Doji. "Where will I be most needed, saa?" is directed to the brownrider.. There is just enough time for her to look around for familiar faces - but in the controlled chaos, she is not successful. She is nervous, yes, but there is duty to be done.

As a green in Whirlwind, Liowyth stands out from the males, but her agility combined with being one of the biggest greens at Igen makes her invaluable to the upper flight wing. She's in her usual position, around the edges of the formation, Xanthee on her back, feeding her firestone before the first Thread is quickly met. With grace and ferocity combined, she keeps to her area, turning on a dime to flame to ash the menace as it falls in clumps around them, and keeping a close eye out for her closest wingmates.

F'mond and Travith are quick to rise with the rest of Parhelion, even if the bronze might appear a bit more damp than he'd prefer to fight that ancient enemy. As he manuevers into place not too far behind the leading point of formation, a finely controlled blast of flame zips out to char a strand that tried to sneak by. The sands of Igen aren't completely left behind as Travith brings his own sandstorms and blistering heat to mix with that bloodmoon and seabreeze of his wingmates. « I wasn't gonna be doing anything today anyways. » Not like he had a big nap planned or anything.

Those available wings sorted into their hierarchies of altitude, Th'bek is at the Weyrleader's left hand and S'tol on the right. As Whirlwind is among those first contact units, Thread is unthinned and buffeted by the air fronts reshuffling over the Hold. « Give them all the fire in your gullets! » Tavuqth's love of fighting without any fear is a far more aggressive approach than his rider. Th'bek uses the hand signal for turbulence as a fresh jet of warm air wells up from below.

Cormir was part of the Doji crew when she asks for questions he shakes his head "No Ma'am, though this isn't how I thought my first day would be" He slides down the dragons side walking awkwardly in what is obviously borrowed boots. He glances around looking for a place not right in the action.. Oh look a Healer, they always need a weaver right? He pulls a satchel that was shoved into his hands full of bandages and walks over to Khulan "Um I think these are for you?"

Liowyth is lovely, isn't she? Thread seems to think so, or at least one wouldn't be remiss in saying so. There's a big patch that comes straight for Tavuqth and then angles strangely in the wind currents, netting toward the big green like a hankerchief floating in the breeze.

Mhiruth will make short work of that clump of Thread, even though is flame is more of a powerful stream than a broad burst. It's effective enough and the blue will rumble in satisfaction before wheeling back into position among Mirage. I'dre will release the breath he was holding, and resume focusing on the fight ahead of them.

Vedziyath is ready go to, impatient as talons knead into the air around her like a kitten. A low rumble emanates from the small green, sharing a little anger on the outside and fury on the inside. K'mine tilts his head as he listens to other notes being shared amongst the Arroyo riders through their lifemates. The greenrider isn't a fan of suprises and this is definitely one of the reasons why. Vedziyath? Oh, she loves surprises, especially the kind thats flammable.

Parhelion, it's raining thread: literally. Sirocco is caught in a deluge of sudden thread directly above the guard-fighting wing, and the aftermath of patchy flames means that scattered clumps of thread fall down toward Parhelion. It's not Sirocco's fault - damn winds! - but it means particular danger to Parhelion, with some silver clumps no larger than a man's fist meandering downward, sometimes too small for a dragon to see.

Raktraeth is at least pretty helpful with offering a foreleg and trying to hunker down as close to ground as he can, although a more seasoned healer lends a hand to make sure Khulan gets safely to ground before bustling on his own way. Doji takes a quick glance at the blessedly still empty (for now) temporary 'yard. "Inventory for the moment? Make sure redwort, numbweed and bandages are all quick at hand." There's a nod for Cormir. "Hopefully this will be brief. Do you mind helping her? Some of the tubs are pretty heavy." Dragonsized quantities, after all!

Bolstered by Tavuqth's war cry, Liowyth's flame is broad and hot as she dips down to catch a stray strand that almost slipped down. It's a good thing Xanthee is paying attention to Th'bek's hand signals though, his warning giving her just enough time to see the shifting of that large clump in their direction and she quickly alerts her lifemate to this fact. Flipping her head up, Liowyth takes a hard left to vear slightly out of position and come at the clump from the side with another roar of flame sustained until the danger is turned to ash and she gets back into her previous position, ready for more.

Vedziyath. The thread is preferring to target blues and greens today, or so it would seem: a trick of the wind sends a curlie-que of coquetteish death toward the Arroyo green. Surprise!

There's a blink for the satchel that's shoved in her hands and Khulan dips her head to Cormir, if with a fleeting bit of confusion. "Of course, sha. Thank you." The satchel is shouldered after the contents are examined, and then it's off to where she's directed. "Thank you, saa." That to Doji, of course, with another curt nod of her head. Come, come," she motions at Cormir to follow, brisk and matter-of-fact in her bearing. Whether or not the lad wants to help- well, he's not going to be given much of a choice, is he? The bandages are the most logical place to start and that's where it begins, with her quickly starting to take count of the stock, with a tip of her head to Cormir to direct him to move this or that as she goes.

A seething mass of Thread falls near Travith, fanning out as if to ensnare him.

Travith receives a slight score on the neck!

Let it rain! Lukoith definitely implies that with the roar of challenge as the winds (literally?) change and up the ante for this fight. Divale grits her teeth as she reigns the brown in before it bleeds over to the Wing; sometimes there can be too much enthusiasm (read: blood lust)! « Keep alert! This is getting challenging. » Yet just as Rhovvth supports him, so does the brown have confidence that Parhelion can do it! Letting forth a wide spray of fire, Lukoith forges ahead, occasionally relaying commands from Divale herself as elements change and force the Wing to adapt.

Well, that's unlucky. A clump of thread makes it past the lowest flight and slams into the courtyard a dragonlength away from the triage point. Though South Telgar keeps their courtyards clean of greenery for this very purpose, there's still active burrowing going on now: but the coast looks clear in case any over-enthusiastic young'n with a flamethrower gets their mind bent on making it a memory.

A target? Of course, who wouldn't want this green lady in all her glory and finesse~ Armed and ready, Vedziyath puffs up and bellows out a torrent of flame, quickly tilting out of the way but staying close enough not to break formation. K'mine quickly fills his hands with more stone, leaning forward in preparation to feed her more as soon as that smoking maw swings back. The Arroyo rider does his best to keep a level head to combat against his own greens lust for destruction.

With a roar of all the fury of a desert sandstorm, Travith disappears between, only to quickly re-emerge with just a tiny spot smoldering on his neck. He'd prefer thread to just taste the heat, no meat today, but apparently the spores had other plans. They're quickly back into formation and attacking with renewed vigor. Out for some vengeance. F'mond also bellows out to that nearest wingmate, "Just a charring!"

Rhovvth roars up at the tiny bits of thread falling down. « Oy, ye couldn't send us real thread, ya bastards? » the brown rages upwards at Sirocco, really not genuinely upset at them but — the sting of a faintest threadscore has him bouncing ::between:: and then flaming a broad, flat arc of fire once the pair of them have reappeared in their spot, neat as a hiccup.

Tavuqth parts his jaws as a clump of Thread situates before them, preparing to turn it into its element components in ash but it snakes away and is caught instead by Liowyth's combustion. Though Th'bek can't see well behind him, doesn't have the side vision for it, Tavuqth's facets are able to see that the strands have been flamed and it is on to the next adversary. « Brightly fired, Liowyth. The strands are starting to thin. Wide flames. » Th'bek reaches down a hand secure in a thick glove and feeds another rock of firestone to his brown. Atmospheric winds are starting to tear apart the clumps in some instances, the strands separating like fishing line.

Cormir nods to Doji "Sure, Ma'am" is all he adds before catching up to the on the move healer. He falls in line with Khulan's instructions moving things and rearranging so the healer can get her self ready should the need arise. Sometimes he stops to look at the strange light show above with a "WOW..man.." before moving back to his tasks. He says to the healer "Like, how many times have you done this?"

An erratic fall over erratic skies: the hot-and-heavy onset of Thread has started to wane, with less regular spores blooming over the skies. Whirlwind is given a strange lull as the winds blow the current 'fall with almost targeted precision toward Sirocco, and Sirocco alone. Arroyo, underneath, will be in pain if R'ku's wing falters for a heartbeat.

I'dre, have you offended the thread gods? Maybe the bluerider shouldn't have been so quick to shuffle off Aderyna's strangeness, or maybe he cheated at dragonpoker last night, or… something. There's a snare coming for Mhiruth, and — more painfully — another one coming from the side. The blind side.

A sheeting ribbon of Thread drops alongside Mhiruth.

I'dre receives a deep score on the thigh!

Mhiruth receives a medium score on the wingtip!

As supplies are counted and sorted, Khulan keeps her head down. The sound of dragons overhead and the awareness of what's going on is enough to bring tension to her shoulders. "This is my first time here, sha," she explains to Cormir, pulling and arranging and setting aside materials as other Healers direct. A mental tally of supplies is made as she goes. "But I work in the infirmary, so this work is not strange to me." She is also, notably, not looking up. "Numbweed now," she directs, moving to the next section with haste. "Have you been to- something of this before?" She struggles a bit with how to phrase it, her exotically tilted Igenite accent betraying that she's still something of a stranger here in some ways.

There may quickly be bigger concerns than inventory down in the courtyard. Raktraeth lets out a bellow as a piece of thread manages to make it all the way towards the courtyard, but the kid with the flamethrower is on the job. "Keep your eyes out," She warns her helpers even as she feeds Raktraeth a few more chunks of firestone just to be on the safe side and her eyes to the sky. There's a wince as a dragon lets out a scream above. "We should have incoming soon." Hopefully.

Vedziyath stretches her wings on a glide, carefully measuring her movements while smoke and flame trickle from her mouth as she carries on. K'mine can feel her fatigue, and he's urging her to save her strength as much as possible. The green takes in a deep breath, letting out a bellow to the thread, she hasn't given up the challenge! All her rider can do, is keep the stone coming for flawless transfer. The stench of firestone and thread clings to his gear, goggles growing foggy from ash. The greenrider quickly uses his sleeve to give a quick wipe before his surveillance continues. It's not over yet.

Oh, I'dre's been known to cheat at a lot of things, so perhaps this is karma? Karma in spades. Thread really isn't supposed to reach Mirage's level and yet… there it is! And on their blindside. Too little, loo late and Mhiruth is first hit. The shock is enough to jar through to I'dre and his control snaps an instant later. Where a more seasoned pair would weather it, he doesn't so much and his lingering hesitation in the throws of Mhiruth's pain has him the target next. Doubled by flare of agony, I'dre (or maybe Mhiruth) takes them Between. They reappear for a fraction of time, but Mhiruth's distressed cries hint that all is not well and they vanish again… and next are above the triage area, with the blue mustering the last of his strength not land too abruptly.

Cormir shrugs a little as he moves the numbweed for the healer "I did a few bandage runs while I was Ista, but like nothing this hands on." His own accent is clearly different than a few of the others, as he glances over at flamethrower wielding kid he takes an involuntary side step in the opposite direction. "Like this isn't how I thought my first day in a new Weyr would be.."

Whirlwind's brief reprieve is just that: brief. Suddenly and with zero warning, a tremendous clump appears to threaten the portside of the wing's V, apparently attracted once more to Liowyth's charm.

A tumbling ball of Thread slips past Liowyth, writhing in hungry eagerness to reach the ground below.

Liowyth receives a deep score on the foresail!

Xanthee receives a medium score on the forearm!

K'vre swears under his breath — not like anyone could HEAR him anyhow — as the blue on his port side falters, looking grey. « Switch out early, ye ain't doin' any good here, » Rhovvth advises, swinging to the left and back a notch to cover a broader area until the replacement comes in. It's not long from mid-way, now, with some of the lighter greens and blues showing weariness in the onslaught of these winds.

"Understood, saa," Khulan calls to Doji, though she will keep at the inventorying and pulling of things until directed otherwise. She does glance up briefly at the scream, but her expression is hidden behind her veil. It's only a short time later that the blue and rider are struck and she cuts a look sharply in the direction where the pair land. Recognition is not immediate and she looks to Doji for direction. To Cormir: "Such is the nature of destiny, sha. It is good that you are here to assist. Come, come, let us see what we can do."

Liowyth regains her position in the wing just as Tavuqth's words reach her, acknowleging them with a thumbs up sign made out of the pale pink clouds of her mindscape before she's quickly too busy shifting her flame as instructed to a wider flame for further communication. Xanthee continues to feed her green firestone to keep her flame strong. It's during one of these refueling that that clump of Thread decides it wants Liowyth as a dance partner. Catching it out of the corner of her eye coming straight at her, Xanthee yells a warning out loud. It gives the alrge green just enough time to duck and take the brunt of the scroe to her foresail with a shrill squeal of pain. Unfortunately, just before the emerald green can take them between, the tail end lashes out and wraps around the greenrider's forearm and her cries are added before being abruptly cut off as the pair go between.

Hi-ho, hi-ho, off to work thread goes… a dragon blinks out from Arroyo (Sirocco hiccuped) and appears below with a savagely scored mainsail. The brownrider associated with it is beside himself, blubbering and engaging in hysterics. Between Mhiruth's abrupt landing and this poor sucker, triage is about to get lively — and that's not even counting the scores hitting harder now, up there, as the first half defenders start to wear thin.

A tangled mass of Thread sinks, almost lifelessly, past Vedziyath.

Cormir follows behind Khulan the tallish man clearly not happy about it his current lot in life, but there is work to be done so off he goes. The sounds of screams aren't helping his nerves any though. He says to the healer "Are we treating Dragons or people?" He never asked which kind she was afterall.

Vedziyath receives a medium score on the haunches!

K'mine receives a deep score on the hand!

Travith might be small for a bronze (okay, downright tiny), but he'll still hold fast in his formation. The flaming of the desert bronze is methodical and almost textbook as he clears on swath and then a next. « Where's a good downpour when ya need one? » A downpour would help, but that would make it too easy, right?

« Do it! » Lukoith's voice is primal snarl to the faltering blue, as the brown's attention is drawn to them over the chaos of many voices linked together (hive mind perks?). Backup will not be long in coming and they will go where they're intended with grim determination. Divale keeps a sharp, keen eye on as much of the 'Fall as possible but she is no super human. Details will slip past, though she'll be damned if Parhelion's numbers see the brunt of this fight!

Travith asked for a downpour, didn't he? Here comes a strange massing of thread from the west, when most fall's been flying sou'sou-east: South Telgar doesn't need reasons, it's basically Texas and does what it wants.

An arc of flame erupts before Vedziyath, catching as much as she can in a broad controlled sweep. She's tired, her wings straining to keep up with the chaos raining down on them over head. K'mine can feel it, it's weighing on him, too. He reaches out across her mindscape, soothing her as much as he can… A bloodcurdling shriek erupts from the green, her outcry drowning out her riders own as they are struck with thread. The sound is abruptly cut off as they vanish between, and soon, they reappear with a rough landing down to the triage area below.

It doesn't take long for Liowyth and Xanthee to reappear not far from where they popped out, but the green is staggering under the weight of her injury even as she tries to get back to the fight. Clutching her arm to her chest, Xanthee, pale faced, orders them to the ground, teeth gritted through her own and the shared pain. Liowyth can't argue there as she drops suddenly several dragonlengths when her injured wing gives out. Taking them between, she blinks in once more, much closer to the ground and the Healer crews as she shrieks with each desperate flap of her wings until her feet graze the ground and she fairly collapses into a heap as they give out from under her. The rough landing has Xanthee thrown against the straps, whimpering loudly when it jostles her injured arm.

Tavuqth tightens the gap between his jaws and lets the flame coming up his gorge be propelled by a short and quick exhale. What would usually amount to a wider spread is hampered by a sudden change in the wind direction. When Liowyth and Xanthee blink between, Tavuqth relays the order throughout the wings to bring in fresh greens and some blues into the wings' folds. The smaller dragons yield their spots to rest and lick their wounds. But still they rail at Thread from below, eyes spinning violent hues and roars of frustration and aches. « Liowyth, your status? » It has the consideration of Th'bek, less of Tavuqth's insistence.

Mhiruth whistles shrilly when he is forced to move his injured wing in order to land, but once he has he settles heavily and is quieted save for his concerned crooning and yellow, rapidly whirling, eyes. I'dre on the other hand is listing heavily in his straps but hasn't yet made a move to dismount. Beneath his goggles and mask, he's sweating and pale and it's evident that he's taken the brunt of damage to one leg. « He needs help! » Mhiruth will reach for Raktraeth or anyone on the ground who can hear him; they both need help, but he is putting his rider above all.

"Treating neither," Doji answers as she dips her own hands in redwort as the first of her patients arrive. "You'll be assistants, for the most part. Fetching what the healers and dragonhealers need usually. Sometimes holding a few things. Like numbweed please." She's going to go right for a that crashlanding gemstone green. "Just the leg, or anywhere else?" And then they're multiplying all at once and quicker than she can keep up. "Khulan, Cormir, go to I'dre. That blue over there." She figures the dragonhealer trainee should probably be able to point them on to the next place if he doesn't need the triage help, right?

The silver lining of the mid-flight swap is double-sided: as the wings are reinforced above, lines straighten and injuries lessen. The exhausted smaller dragons regroup on the plateau below, and suddenly, the triage healers and dragonhealers have extra hands — and boy does it look like they need them.

The satchel that had bandages is now repurposed to a degree; pots of numbweed and jugs of redwort and containers of oil are added to it and Khulan hastens along, pointing at those things and instructing, "Gather some of each of those, sha. We will bring them to the dragonhealers for now." As it seems they're going to be getting the main rush of injured souls. As more dragons descend, the veiled young woman's eyes darken and she clicks her tongue. Other - and actually knotted - healers move out to tend to those that need aid and, as Doji gives the direction, she motions for Cormir to follow her to I'dre and Mhiruth and, as she draws nearer, she queries, "How may we assist you? Breathe, sha." Because he doesn't look like he's doing so hot and keeping him focused will help. Hopefully.

Don't like the weather, just wait five minutes! Might as well be this 'fall's (and Texas's) motto. Travith snorts and flashes of bovine hooves are added to his mental landscape and while he gives a good flame, F'mond conservatively enough pulls the pair between just in the nick of time as the wind pushes the downpour into more of a curtain. They re-emerge unscathed to attack the clump from above as well.

The pain shared between the two leaves K'mine in shock as he doesn't move to remove the straps from his body just yet. All the man can do is hiss through his teeth, tilting his head back as he takes in one breath after another to calm the storm enough to focus on what needs done. He moves, but his lifemate's pain makes him freeze up, then he forces his uninjured hand to begin freeing him from his restraints. K'mine does his best to calm Vedziyath so he can get to the ground and sooth his fear, that no thread made it to the ground with them. The adrenaline has him focusing on her, and not the damage done to his other hand. Or the damage Doji is gonna unleash on them later for not being extra careful. Safety and all that.

In a reversal of the critical wind-shift that happened in the first quarter, Sirocco is left abruptly with nothing to cover: it's all clear blue skies for R'ku's wing, and it looks like they needed the breather. As the last replacement reinforcements shuffle in, Whirlwind gets the crux of the full hammer of oncoming Thread, Tavuqth's side of the formation especially brunted with flat, window-like shifts of tangled spores.

Twirling around like some spiraling child's toy, a group of Threads spin dizzyingly down past Tavuqth.

Tavuqth receives a medium score on the neck!

Th'bek receives a medium score on the face!

With her injured wing dropping as the ichor flows from the severe scores to her foresail, Liowyth's eyes whirl grey with pain as she continues to make pitifully painful noises her head waying slightly from side to side. Xanthee is struggling to get her straps undone with her non-dominant hand, her own face pale, but trying hard to put on the bravest face as the waves of pain from Liowyth seem to overcome her ability to focus. Doji's familiar voice registers, and she shoots the brownrider a slightly relieved look. "No, it's her wing, my arm…Shard it!" She curses as she decides the straps are just not going to cooperate, and instead pulls her beltknife, which she thankfully keeps sharp and cuts the leather of her belt to free her. It's an awkward climb down, but she finally makes, sinking to her knees when she does. "Just help her!" she pleads, holding back tears and gritting her teeth as she hugs her arm to her chest and gently rocks herself.

Boy it is a good thing he has these long arms, is what Cormir is thinking as he starts carrying things to and fro. He keeps up with Khulan but never ask him if he knows what he is doing as he is actively avoiding the blood and gore of the job. Nope not looking you can't make him…

Mhiruth twists his head around as the two approach on foot but merely groans in relief when he realizes their purpose. He's not a skittish creature, nor protective even in his (and his rider's) injured state. Lowering his head down to the ground, he tries to settle the rest of his body lower too in order to make I'dre's descent (or the ascent of those coming to his aide) easier. Liowyth's arrival is noted, familiarity to a fellow clutch sibling having the blue reach out with storm-tossed mirrored scape to touch upon hers. « Be strong, sister. » he whispers soothingly. I'dre on the other hand is breathing, just… way more erratically than normal. "Help me down!" he manages to choke out at some point to Khulan, some part of his overloaded thoughts recognizing her but not making immediate connection. His bluntness may need forgiveness, but now that she and further help are there, he is unbuckling himself and they best be prepared to hold the brunt of his weight. Catch!

Parhelion, you didn't think you'd get out of this scott-free, did you? Here's things floating down-down-down. They'll melt your face off, these things. Thread. It's what's for dinner (or what's for ash, at least): speaking of, the triage folks down there are probably dealing with more ash than in the first half, as winds finally, FINALLY start to die down.

A silvery tendril of Thread tumbles like a dandelion past Rhovvth, twirling downward towards the ground.

A writhing knot of Thread kites past K'vre, fluttering as it sails downward.

K'vre receives a medium score on the hip!

Consider that bluntness forgiven; Khulan scarcely notices it, considering the situation. With a tip of her head to Cormir - considering the young man is presumably stronger than her - she calls up, "We will catch you. Come, come." She beckons him down, even as she approaches to blue to try to find some means of getting partway up; if she can provide some support on the descent, then I'dre will have a better chance of being caught at the bottom, right? And then the tending can begin. With so many others joining the ranks, it's a struggle to stay focused on the one they can tend to now. But, fortunately, that's why there are other healers swarming about, doing their duty with diligence and haste.

Don't worry, Xan. Doji-healer is on the job, although even as she gets to work, she's not going to sugar coat things. "This is probably going to sting." That's mostly to Liowyth as she begins to apply the redwort onto the injured wingsail. "But the numbweed will be coming soon." Buckets and buckets of it. What more could an injured green ask for? The healers are also well familiar with how injured riders are rarely going to leave injured dragon and a junior journeyman arrives, supplies and all, to look at Xanthee's arm.

« Vedziyath! Bear yourself well, sister! We will maim a mass of Thread in your name. » Though Tavuqth is not really siblings with K'mine's clutch, it's the collective relation of unity and the brown's belligerence. His boldness reaches out to Mhiruth, about to marshal some words about strength and honor but then a tendril dissolves into the hide of his neck, a tingling sensation that quickly grows hot and makes the brown find sanctuary in the abyss of ::between::. When the pair blinks back near Mirage's level, Th'bek's chin is bloody and dripping into his lap. Alerting H'rik and S'tol to their hit, Tavuqth claims he can still resume his roll but Th'bek pulls the straps to bear Tavuqth to the ground where they can be treated.

Kestrath is fresh, having just switched into the fray. Agertha's face is set in a grim expression as she looks around. Her green starts to chase Thread, flaming and calling out warnings as needed.

They almost made it. Rhovvth, the bloody bastard, makes it through scot-free, because he has no Scotts and does not care for them as a rule. K'vre, though, half-blinded by the twisting of his brown's neck to nuke the threadfall coming down at a strange angle, is mercilessly targeted by a tendril of leftover silver. It eats through his belt and the heavy hide of his leather pants on his left hip quicker than a thought, and only at the first burning of skin does Rhovvth shutter ::between:: on pure instinct, leaving a Rhovvth-size hole in the ranks as he re-appears directly above triage, angling down amongst the injured dragons with zero scots given for K'vre's utterances that he can make it, either. The white-faced brownrider is half-hanging from the straps anyway: falling would be a worse way to die than thread, all things considered.

Or at least Cormir thought he didn't have to touch the bloody stuff. But when Khulan tells him to he will put both his hands arms out to catch the rider, he is no smith crafter but he isn't weak either. It is clear that once he gets the rider to the ground for the others to work he takes a step back, and is clearly pale but looks to see what is next on todays list of things to give him nightmares.

It could be worse, far worse and not a complete loss! Divale curses silently as more and more riders fall to injury and among Parhelion's ranks too. Later, she will have to concern herself with those who may not be rejoining the ranks for some time — for now, there is only concern to see the end of this through! Lukoith rallies the Wing again, calling out for further reshuffling as more riders and dragons tire. Calls for resupply and adjustments to winds and thermals… it goes on and on. Rhovvth's absence is noted, as the gap is sealed when the brown does not return. Divale's expression darkens beneath her goggles and mask, but she is focused ahead.

Rhovvth, to Lukoith, broadcast on as public a channel as ever exists: « Oy, I'm sorry, but the wee bastard's done fucked his hip, and not in a good way. I could come back, but I've got no more firestone. » He scopes Cormir briefly as a potential replacement for his injured lifemate, but discards it as a bad idea. « Sorry mate, » for his wingleader regardless, and oh, he does sound contrite.

A combined hiss comes from Liowyth and Xanthee together as the redwort is applied, but the promise of numbweed is held onto with gritted determination from both the green and her rider now, stoically accepting the ministrations of the healers respectively. She doesn't look down at her own injury as the journeyman does their preliminary assessment, her pained emerald eyes turned to watch Doji work on Liowyth, cursing Thread silently in her head, and wondering how she is going to get hte news to her weyrmate. As patients go, the green dragon is taking it like a champ, her injured wing twitching a bit uncontrollably, but the rest of her she keeps still as a stone, the pain being expressed in the droop of her head and the rare groan or grumble of pain.

Soon enough, the skies are clear, with not even a cloud to remind one of the death that rained down here today. Or not-death, as it turns out, since not a single rider lost theirs over South Telgar, despite the best collaborations of wind and fall. Raining injury sounds less… dramatic, but it's accurate. As the last green blasts the last bit of thread from the skies (thanks Kestrath!), the signal of clear-skies comes from Whirlwind, and wings start disembarking downward to the plateau or back to the weyr as indicated. Despite the injuries on the ground, and the few pock-marks of burrows still left to handle, Ice Cube would let everyone know the truth of it all. Today was a good day.

Travith shifts to help consolidate those gaps that were left by injuries. Without a word, those desert winds reach out towards Lukoith's bloody forest to confirm at least this pair is still here and stubbornly clinging to the fight. Extra stone is requested and thank Farnath for senior weyrlings because it's supplied smoothly enough although not much of that last sack is needed before the last thread is charred and the weary bronzed departs back towards the Weyr when dismissed.

It's a wayward look that brings Rhovvth and K'vre into view. Khulan's breath catches, but briefly; there is still I'dre to tend to, as well as others that have been downed earlier. She glances to Cormir and his pale visage and she clicks her tongue softly. Consideringly. Then: "Go and retrieve more of the numbweed, sha. And draw some deep breaths." There will definitely be a need for more numbweed distribution; there's never enough to go around, it seems! And, also, it will give the lad a chance to catch his breath and maybe avoid some of the horrors that are descending. At least the 'Fall appears to be over - and none have lost their lives.

Wingsails might be large, but thankfully they're also a rather convenient shape for just slathering on redwort and then the numbweed quickly after. It might look like Doji's just dumping a bucket on their but it's a controlled bucket dump. It's got technique! "She'll be fine. It's pretty shallow." Doji gives the reassurance to Xanthee before moving on to her next vic-errr… patient.

Cormir does take that moment to take some breaths that don't smell like burnt skin and such. He returns hear Khulan with numbweed and more wraps to hand out as needed, he looks around and says "Wow, man.. Like no one died that is amazing.."

Rhovvth's touched down, and there's a healer scaling him after consideration to triage K'vre atop the brown. His injury is one of the tricky ones for mobility, and there's a quick check to make sure that his score isn't down to soft-tissue and entrails. A patch, a lot of numbweed, and an extra belt — and the pair of them are off for the fireheights of the hold proper, the two of them deemed not-critical ater first treatment.

Once I'dre is on the ground, it's evident that he won't be much use standing (even if he tries, and he will until he's all but ordered not to move). Whether it's Khulan who helps him or Cormir, it matters little and through gritted teeth he'll direct them as needed… or dismiss them both. His injuries will need a Healer to tend to, but Mhiruth's are less severe and in an easy enough spot to reach if the blue is asked to extend his wing; the minimal preparations of numbweed and so forth can be applied, but as far as severity goes he will be fine. I'dre on the other hand? Is a mess in more ways than one and luckily most of that will fall to more experienced hands (or he'll be knocked out before becoming too irate and unruly).

"Thank you, sha." Khulan dips her head to Cormir and, as a proper Healer jogs up to help with I'dre directly, she hands over whatever the older woman needs to take care of things. The young man's odd parlance is worthy of a sidelong look from time to time, but she does not comment on it; there is only a nod for his observation. She will offer aide to I'dre until she's eventually dismissed, leaving the proper Healer to do the dirty work - and, from there, it's just doing as directed until, eventually, the injured are tended and it's time to return to the Weyr.

And so it ends and when all is clear, Lukoith will sound the call for Parhelion to return home. It's back to the Weyr for them, to regroup and for Divale to get the real tally of the damage done (among other things). It'll be a long day and night yet, with plenty of work to be done once she's seen to Lukoith's care. At least there is time for celebrating surviving yet another 'Fall, though the acting Wingleader won't be taking part herself; she has reports, other duties and, perhaps, a visit to the 'yard. Check ins with the injured will fall shortly in line after that and Faranth knows what else! At least Divale will be kept busy and that could be a relief for all!

Once the main triage is done for the emerald green, who is currently singing Doji's praises for her liberal use of numbweed, Xanthee's arm has been wrapped temporarily and also coated with the amazing numbing ointment and she's resting with her back against Liowyth's leg, the contact soothing. She doesn't even look that worried anymore, Doji said it was going to be fine, and the pain isn't too terrible. The greenrider and her dragon nod off for a bit while the arrangements for bringing Liowuth back to the Weyr are being made by other people. It's a tricky maneuver involving a sling even, but the pair are soon transferred back to Igen and the dragonhealer's Yard, where Xanthee will also have her injuries more fully tended to.

Add a New Comment