Difference between revisions of "Logs:Guards and Puzzles"

Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr

At the heart of this oblong cavern is its meeting table: a long hardwood oval with a mirror's dark shine, High Reaches' sigil picked out in lapis and onyx at its center. Twenty chairs surround it, each softened by an embroidered cushion that's just a little too stiff for complete comfort -- meetings need to be kept short, after all -- with the chair at the table's head, facing the ledge, being somewhat larger than the rest. Interspersed between glowsconces upon the smooth walls, ancient tapestries depict the territories High Reaches protects in a particularly pastoral fashion, all fluffy clouds and fluffier llamas, or else fishing crafts sailing merrily out to sea. Among them is also a natural alcove, its several wooden shelves primarily stocking fine wines and liquors as well as the glasses to serve them, though the lower shelves also hold whatever hidework requires particularly frequent attention. A narrow wooden door leads to the Records room, while the tunnel that extends to the weyrleaders' ledge is wide enough for three men to walk abreast, with just enough kink in it to block the wind.

Sorrow and exhaustion has greyed out Szadath's mind; the hint of drums and fire underneath his own booming tones pay testament to the only things keeping him running (is that a hint of ocean surf echoing back to her?). « Taikrin looks for you and yours. Please. » (Szadath to Iesaryth)

It is still dark and stormy over the ocean, winds and waves high - so very unlike usual sunlight and sea breeze on calm waters. There is smoke still on the winds, though her connection is likely to calm the firey gold down. Iesaryth is always polite, but now also concerned for Szadath. « She is here. » There's a fuzzy council chambers image, the sense of bits of hide laid out like a puzzle - one she's trying to help with. Despite her own mental strain, « Have you slept, Szadath? Please take care. » Of himself, of his. (Iesaryth to Szadath)

Gratitude shows in renewed icy-cold of the gust that is pure Szadath, which ripples along the surface of her mind. « We are well. We will care for you. » A moment of withdraw, as they consult, and then: « She comes. » (Szadath to Iesaryth)

Come she does, not but a few moments later. Taikrin looks as though she's gotten into a fight -- and lost. The red swelling on her cheek and half-swollen shut eye promise to be spectacularly colored later. Still, despite a little stiffness in her walk she doesn't give a lot of signs that she even notices the injury as she strides confidently into the council chambers -- as if she belonged, as if she had every right to be here. "Weyrwoman Brieli?"

Iesaryth might be skeptical about Szadath's level of rest, but the cold winds are enough to convince her - though she lingers, the quiet, far off roar of the ocean soothing. Meanwhile, in the council chambers, Brieli looks as if she's been up for some time, her dark hair tied back for once, out of her face. Several of the chairs are shoved off to one side so there's space to stand over the long table; on it are bits of hide and paper with different notes or drawings on them, laid out like a puzzle. But it doesn't really look as if they'd fit together, despite some being color coded. She's holding a spool of thread between long fingers, musing as she looks up at Taikrin - at which point she just stares. "That... doesn't look good. Have you been to the infirmary?" As if people in fights ever do that.

There's no blood on Taikrin's clothes to go with the scab on her lip or cheek, so she must have at least changed. "Yeah, it's not a thing. Had worse. Don't worry about me none." It does make her attempt at a crooked grin look pretty ghastly, though. "Don't mean to interrupt none, I was just hoping maybe you had a sec? Already talked to Azaylia, and Lujayn's sorted, but I been meaning to talk to you, too."

Wincing, even if the brownrider isn't all that worried, Brieli doesn't look sure that she should believe Taikrin, but it's her face. Even so, quietly, "It looks like it was a thing, whatever it was." She tears her gaze away from the injuries, looking back to the table, the notes. "You're not interrupting. If there's an issue, people should come to me, I suppose. While Azaylia's..." She trails off, purses her lips. "Is she all right? And what do you need?"

"She's fine. Did her some good, last night. And we looked after her." Taikrin nods, firmly. The mess on the tabletop only earns a glance-- it's Brieli that she's interested in. "Set up a decent guard rotation for her, too, just to be safe. Good Glacier riders. People we trust." She's including Brieli in this trust, apparently. "I-- came to see if we could set up the same, for you. 'Less you got a mate watching your back already?"

The tall girl spins the spool of thread between her fingers, eyeing the mess on the table as if she could move the pieces with her thoughts, or force it all to make sense, suddenly. Brieli's lips twitch at the discussion of Azaylia - very nearly a quirk of annoyance, but not quite. "Good," she says, with a nod. "Good. Guard-- what?" Bemused, she looks over at Taikrin and her battered face again, fine brows arched. "I... No. I don't have anyone... with me regularly." She leaves out the dragon drama from last night, but there's that quirk again. Just a second before, "I appreciate the offer, and I suppose we don't know if Iolene... was the only target, or it's all of us. But I have a feeling... I don't know." Shaking her head, "I know how to handle myself. She was poisoned, not attacked."

"I heard she was a bloody mess, and there was a fight," Taikrin counters dispassionately. "Reckon you're perfectly capable of fighting, but what if it ain't one of 'em? What if it's two? Or what if someone'd been with the Weyrwoman, and maybe could'a got a healer?" The fixed gaze and cool tones are possibly noteworthy, given the topic at hand. "Way I see it, it ain't safe for any of you to be alone 'til we know what kind of killer we got on our hands, and 'til he's been punished."

"She... fell. It looks like." Brieli's tone is quiet. She blinks a few times, like she's trying to clear something from her vision, then; "Poisoned, then fell. I can't understand how it all got to... to here." The goldrider is still for a long moment before she shakes it off again, can look up at Taikrin like she's completely together. And she is, mostly - but the exhaustion is fraying her around the edges. She might not have slept. The arguments are sound enough that it's hard to argue without sounding purposefully obstinate. "We need... We need to do something about the kitchens. And I'm a private person. Is there a way to manage this without my... life being compromised?" Perhaps Iesaryth is behind the acquiescence; maybe she's just tired.

"Don't see why not," Taikrin responds, magnanimous in her acceptance. She pivots, checking sightlines to the doorway with an air of practice. "Know a couple people got experience with... guardwork. Riders. Solid sorts. Could be we put one or two outside the doorways. That way ain't nobody getting in without people knowing, and you got someone to call for, in case. But then they ain't got to be underfoot?" She paces a few steps towards the entryway she just used, peers down it, then paces back. "Do the same for Azaylia. Lujayn's easier, being on the sands and with that kid I'kris and having half a hundred dragons watching." Her swollen eye twitches, and she almost scratches it before dropping her hand. "Same as in your weyr-- someone outside, in the tunnels? And keep watch by the ledges. Unless there're other ways in I ain't knowin' about?"

"With 'guardwork'," Brieli echoes. She doesn't quite sound skeptical, but she's sorted out that they weren't actual guards, however they might be suited to this particular job. With another quirk of her mouth, this one seeming more amused, she considers Taikrin, then goes back to her table full of ...whatever. "Half a hundred dragons, half the Weyr in the galleries at one point or another." Though the mention of the kid in question has her touching a note, sliding it across the table. Wearily, clear it's making a concession, "All right. And I don't think there's any ways I know of - I've looked." Speaking of which, glancing up, "Do you know of any ways out of the Weyr we aren't aware of? I haven't been here long enough." There's a pause. "Thank you, Taikrin. For Azaylia and thinking of these things. We - Iesaryth and I - can't think of everything, not now."

"It's our job to protect you. Your-- we let one through. We were weak. We ain't gonna make that mistake again." For just a moment there's a crack, a hint of very real anger subsumed behind her mask of professional. "I don't know of any other ways in; maybe in the mess of caves that the craft folk moved into. Been a long time since I been back there-- we'll check it out." Taikrin's lips twitch in what might at some point have been a smile. "Know a couple folk that got experience with mines, too."

Brieli looks like she understands that anger from Taikrin, like it's something familiar to her, but that spark is gone from her, now at least. She's weighted, somber, but there's no fury for what's been done, only determination in, "We'll find out what happened. It's the least we can do. But don't blame yourself. Who would imagine someone would poison a dragonrider, a Weyrwoman, or even just... Io. There was no reason to..." She's lost for the words again, but just moves on - though there's a shudder for 'mines'. "Imagine that," she says with a touch of the wryness that's more usual for her. "I'd appreciate that. And I'll speak to the Headwoman about some way to limit the kitchen staff. No one should be in there right now unless they work there."

"Don't know a lot about kitchens, but I know a couple people who worked down there. You might know-- Damaris, she was in your clutch. Might be she knows something." Taikrin has no response to the rest of it, and though she stands quietly and accepts Brieli's absolution, she doesn't seem entirely convinced. "If it's alright, I'll go and set up the first set. You know Riorde, Sforzath's? Reckon she'll be down first, or if not then on second shift. We'll make sure you get introduced personal to everyone who's going to come in, so there ain't a question of who's supposed to be where."

"I've spent some time in there myself. I think everyone has - which is not something I'd really like to change, but..." Brieli shrugs, as diffidently as she can manage. "It's the way it has to be, yes? And Damaris might have some ideas." There's another moment where she stares at the table, one of those gaps lack of sleep brings on, but she snaps out of it soon enough, nodding over to Taikrin. "That's fine. And we haven't spoken much, but I know her. And I suppose that makes sense." The introductions. "It might be an idea to make sure none of them have issues with-- other weyrs." Fort, specifically, from gossip. And the fact that Hraedhyth chased off one of theirs the night before. As though the request embarrasses her, she moves on briskly. "Thank you again, Taikrin. It's all appreciated. And hopefully soon unnecessary."

"We can only hope we find that bastard fast. Way we see it, there ain't no hole deep enough this side of Crom to drop him in." That flash of anger again, quickly suppressed. "We're here for your benefit; reckon we all know how to follow orders. You tell us what's what, and that's what it is." As apt demonstration, Taikrin steps back and salutes as a weyrling might... and with the same total lack of humor. "We do what we can, Weyrwoman. Stay safe."

'Weyrwoman'. Brieli can't help but give another little shudder at that, but she knows how to play a part, so she salutes Taikrin in return. She should know how to do it decently - she's barely out of weyrlinghood herself. "Yes." That's all she has for the first, but she looks conflicted before, "Things are going to get done, one way or the other. It'll be all right. And thank you - take care of yourself, and Szadath. And... think about getting that looked at if it doesn't get better soon." She flicks her fingers towards her own lips, clearly meaning the brownrider's, then turns back to whatever she's doing with renewed concentration. If they just think hard enough...