Difference between revisions of "Logs:Too Much Adventure"

Of *course* 'Rand didn't show up at the appointed place, at the appointed time. Effing punk-ass kid ran out on his 'promise' to Ka'ge and the bronze who chose him. One of the girls from the lower caverns swore up and down that the young man was planning to return (if Ka'ge bothers to take her even slightly seriously, anyway). It doesn't change the fact that the youth isn't *here*...and is, instead - about 4 miles away - treed and terrified by a particularly large and aggressive southern wildcat.

The shadow that blots out the Southern sun is draconic by nature and gets no brighter as it spirals down to the landing field below. Alighting easily on the cobblestone, he barely bothers to fold his vast wingspan. The cloak of them hanging loosely about him, either meant as preparedness to take off again or to intimidate- both of which could be equally true. The equally dark-clad rider 'tween his neck ridges surveys the passersby in fairly clear annoyance. He'd expended this much energy in getting this kid on the Sands; one trip inside to ask after him was almost a necessity. The tale is easy enough to garner, but it doesn't improve his mood as he leaps from the paw to the straps of his bronze and takes to the skies once more.

Four miles is not a far circle from the sky, but a jungle is also no place for a large dragon to land. The shadow-masked dragon tips and soars low, grazing the tips of the trees with his silver-scarred underbelly. A frightening roar is emitted from the bronze, savage, predatory, as he comes so-close to the tree Rand has climbed up into, and passes by with as equal speed as he'd come in with. The pair would keep going, too, and disappear farther beyond the trees.

Okay, *that* kind of roar cannot come from a wildcat, even this big bastard that's currenly, if unsteadily, trying to climb the bole of the tree that Breirande is currently 25 feet up in. Already scared near-shitless, that draconic roar almost makes the teen piss himself...until his mind - exposed to various other dragon roars over the last couple of months - puts two and two together. Oh THANK SWEET FARANTH! His cry upward is frantic, and reaching the heights of what the average, adult human male voice is capable of in pitch and volume. Screamed for all he's worth, "HELP! HEEEELP! BIG CAT! HEEEELP!"

It's an unfortunate few minutes that pass by with no further aid to come to the candidate-to-be (or lunch-to-be if the feline has its way). The clearing must not have been too far away, at least, when the draconic shadow is abruptly above again, circling now, and riderless. There's no more roaring, no more intimidating, beyond the very low altitude at which he systematically passes- Just silence beyond the slightly red-orange change of the facets of his eyes. And then, from two or so trees over, there's some noise. Minimal, to be sure, but cracking of smaller branches, the harsh rub of boots on bark, all those effects that lead one to figure someone is scaling the tree at a fairly decent clip. Ka'ge settles on a branch perhaps ten feet lower on his tree, a "Psst!" sharply called up to the other. Whether it's to cut off the screaming or simply get his attention, either works. The bronzerider, conveniently, has a strung bow looped over a shoulder which he unburdens from himself with little flourish. "I'm not terribly good at this." He says, loud enough to be heard, but sounding quite blase about it despite the clear-cut danger beneath them. "Will probably miss." He adds, studying the feline at his distance.

That feline down below - still trying to work its way further up the tree - is a skinny one, to be sure. Perhaps that's what drives it to only flatten its ears and yowl in a mix of frustration, fear, and hungry outrage to Zymadiath's roar...then continue to crawl its way up towards this super-easy meal that can't seem to fight back. Another five feet up from where 'Rand is currently stationed, the limbs of the tree become too thin to safely support his frame, but the teen is more-than-thinking about attempting them, anyway, when that dragon disappears for a couple of minutes. Oh. My. Freaking. Faranth. He wasn't heard! Caught between suppositions, Breirande almost misses the bronze passing overhead, since he's currently staring bug-eyed at the mortal hazard down below, while one sweaty hand grips convulsively at the hilt of his knife at hip. It's only when those nearer branches in that other tree start snapping that the laborer finds his huge gaze lurching over *there*, the teen's brain already making him think there's yet another wild cat ready to leap for him. Just as he waveringly draws his knife, Ka'ge voice barely pierces his fear, makes 'Rand almost whimper in relief. Almost. At this point, all he can manage is to nod briskly to the other man, and swallow convulsively, those wide eyes jerking between big cat and bronzerider. That knife in his hand is held in a shaking grasp, though brandished correctly. At least someone taught him the very basics correctly.

Ka'ge exhales, drawing the bow up with an arrow notched, balanced on his knuckle. The moment drags on as he aims, but the release is exactly as the bronzerider had predicted- off by a foot to the right and wizzing through the air harmlessly with a sharply pitched whistle. Zymadiath passes by at the same time, his shadow heavy over the trio below him. The rumbling of a growl is notable, if fear hasn't entirely defeaned the laborer's ears. There's some sort of experience admitted, though, in the way the next arrow is already in place when the expected first-miss is still airborne. "If it gets any closer, you put that right in its eye." He says lowly, as if telling a story. The hooded rider, balanced on a foot and one knee on the thickly rounded and oddly angled branch, releases a second that would strike true to the chest or forelimb should the cat not stray from its current path.

That cat is spitting and hissing its anger as that first arrow whizzes by it, the big cat crouching lower, trying to dig its blunted talons into the wood, and baring its teeth up at the place Ka'ge occupies. "F-fuck...FUCK..." is all Breirande manages to gasp out between rapid breaths, the knife in his hand waveringly shifted to off hand for a moment so he can swipe his sweaty palm clean upon a pant leg. There's another nod, sans glance, for the bronzerider's steady words, the teen's throat bobbing wildly as the feline makes to move again. And, even as kitteh-kat decides things have grown too convoluted and dangerous for it to pursue even this frail game any longer - stalks about to give up the chase - that second arrow of Ka'ge's strikes the cat true in the chest. A hellaciously awful set of sounds follows, the beast yowling and hissing, growling and moaning, and finally falling down into the heavy foliage below. While the undergrowth rustles and sighs with movement below them, 'Rand groans in abbreviated relief, gasps up and over to his rescuer, "*Fuck!* You got it!"

It's again that Ka'ge has another arrow already leveled on the feline, perhaps just in case. But when the last arrow grounds the beast, he lowers his aim, relenting his balanced crouch to swing his booted feet over the side of the branch to sit. Whatever his expression may be- continued apathy or goading, it's hidden beneath his self-made shadow. His gloved hand now freed of drawing the string back, gestures from Breirande towards the flailing, yowling animal as his other slings the weapon back over his shoulders. "So finish it. You look like you can handle that thing," the knife, he implies, "Well enough. Get yourself a story to take back to your tavern girls."

Yeah...mHm. For a very long set of moments, Breirande just stares over and down at Ka'ge like he's out of his effing mind for suggesting that...and then - with the return of 'higher' mental faculties - comes the re-engaging of his teen sense of overwhelming pride. He's been caught looking and sounding weak by a proven tough guy...someone who's now calling him to step up to the plate and try to hit a single (after Ka'ge homer). Embarrassed, stung, yet still touched with ample echos of rightful fear... 'Rand very carefully, slowly descends his chosen tree, all the while watching and listening to the thrashing and coughing of the wild feline down below. It's sounds are growing softer, efforts to escape weaker. He's not *completely* insane, though...taking his time, and tiptoing around from what he judges to be the back of the beast.

There's eventually noise behind Breirande as he starts to close the distance between himself and the wounded feline, the light scraping of hide on bark and the soft rustle of disturbed underbrush as Ka'ge relinquishes his perch for the jungle ground below. Soft moss and fern-like plants make movements even quieter, but the bronzerider makes it no secret that he's a couple yards behind the other. Maybe it's another 'just in case' motive, maybe it's something else, but he's otherwise silent back beyond Rand's shadow. Waiting, watching.

You can bet your behind that Breirande's keeping track of where Ka'ge is...though the wounded feline takes the lion's share of the teen's attention. Between them, 'Rand finally reaches what's now *his* quarry, the big cat now mostly still as it bleeds out more of its life onto the jungle floor. No longer quite the active threat it formerly was, the big beast's half-starved state becomes even more obvious, it's mixed tawny and spotted coat dull from lack of nourishment. It's state barely degrades the presence the thing has, however, its pink tongue out and panting through two inch long fangs that it bares at the approaching humans. Stopping about 8 feet short of the feline, 'Rand simply stares at it, his knife in fist readied for a blow... and continues staring.

"You'll be killing something that's already dead if you wait any longer." Ka'ge's urging is as much true as it is meant to be instigating. "Sympathy, honor, revenge; take your pick." The bronzerider stopped at some point, allowing Rand's distance from him to increase once in view of the starving, bleeding feline. The sound of a leather pouch being unbuckled can be heard, the slip of metal from a sheath, and the ever-so-soft creak of glove shifting and partially tightening around a knife's grip. Better than a bow at this range, anyway.

There's many things that manage to slip out from under his precarious emotional control... things that distort Breirande's features when Ka'ge speaks that way. Anger, fierce pride, pity, nausea, fear...the mishmash is a scene in itself. It's finally the bit cat's slow shuddering that finally decides his actions, the dying feline all but paralyzed now and presenting no likely ability to harm its former quarry. Stepping in from the back, that slightly trembling knife is gripped more firmly as 'Rand squats down, and finally shoves the long blade up from below into the cat's throat...ultimately finding its home in its brain. A feeble twitch later and its over, the young man suddenly gasping and pulling his bloody knife...and hand free. Jerking to his feet, stumbling a couple of steps backwards on rubbery legs, all he does is stare blankly at the corpse...and turn two shades of grey and green.

"Hmh." Could be amusement as Ka'ge steps beside him as soon as he takes those wobbly steps backwards. It could also be approval, but there's little but a crooked grin on his face as he moves past Rand to squat beside the other's kill. The rider's hand that holds his own knife pulls back the hood to fall in wrinkles behind his neck and over his shoulders, gloved fingers scratching roughly through his black hair as if it wasn't messy enough, with the blade's angle just-so it doesn't slice his own hide. "Been awhile since I've seen one of these." Calm, a conversational sort of tone that seems intended to be by some manner comforting in light of his grey-green-hued 'companion'. "Impressive situation you got yourself into. So desperate to not go back to the Weyr that you thought you'd make yourself someone's dinner?" Gloved fingers curl around the cat's jaw, his blade angled to free those impressive canines from their deep-set roots.

Ka'ge's approval and/or amusement means not much to Breriande, right now, the teen dragging the back of one of his sweat-stained forearms across his mouth as he watches the bronzerider approach the body of the big cat, squat down. Finally breathed out is a strained sounding, "Never...*never* seen one, before." His light baritone is still touched with the vestiges of fear and awe...and something even more strained. The rest of the bronzer's words only touch a fragment of his reeling brain, make 'Rand mutter a little weakly, "Thought about it..." Swallow, cough, spit. Maybe even attempted it, but he'll not admit to such. "On my way... when it ran after me." Which way he was going might be up for debate, however. When Ka'ge starts for the feline's big teeth, 'Rand finally has to avert his gaze to the side. Hawking and spitting the bile from his mouth again, he finally mumbles, "Where's Zymadiath?"

"On your way from where?" Ka'ge's curiosity seems earnest enough, though there's clearly distraction in his tone with the effort it takes to cut and wrench the fangs out of the sockets. He gets them all though, efficient of motion and yet not in much hurry at the same time. When he rises, it's to display the four teeth in an open palm towards Brierande, with stilled patience to await the passing of the nausea. "Your trophy. To remind yourself you're damn lucky you've got the teeth and not the scars." Blue-green gaze falls back to the cat, a displeased flicker fading his lopsided grin. "Shame to waste the rest." Is more to himself than Rand. The question is answered with a vague shrug, exaggerated by the rustling of his clothing, "He's in the clearing to the east waiting for us." And then, more interested, "Raring to go back already?"

"Huh?" is inquired rather thickly, 'Rand's mind somewhere else at that point. He's searching for some kind of answer, only comes up with, "I don't fucking know...walking around. Just taking it all in." He seems a little addled, still. Fear can do that. Blink. Those offered teeth make him shudder just a little, though his hand extends...slowly. A bit thinly, "You keep two. Your shot...it was first." The teen can't look at 'the rest,' right now. His eyes averting again, "Will Zymadiath eat it?" Funny; he's not been bothered by scenes of dragons chasing down and eating Fort's tended flocks. A hollow little nod for the dragon's current location peters out finally, transitions into a slightly stung glare back at the rider. "Are you always such a dick to people?" Frown. "*Said* I'd accept your terms." Mutter. "Still want my drink." Or twenty.

The remaining two fangs are pocketed without arguement, his bloodied knife cleaned on the tawny fur of the beast and then sheathed. Too-practiced fingers secure it into place with its clip at his lower back. "Probably, but the hide and bones are worth more than dragon fodder." The curious disappointment in that statement lingers, but he does relinquish whatever ideas he'd had to face east and begin walking, leaving the invitation to follow unspoken. "Aye." A simple confirmatory answer to the next question in line. "But I keep deals. You can get as drunk as you want, as long as you keep it down. You vomit on Zymadiath and he might just drop you off Between." This, a much lighter joke and much less likely to be true given the humored curl to the last of his words.

Marks... Word of money to be made has the somewhat queasy teen suddenly looking to try and buck up more. "We could...drag it back out to the clearing. If he's willing to carry it." 'Rand still can't quite look directly at the big cat's corpse. Those fangs are quickly pocketed, however, a faint snort offered up at Ka'ge agreement of his own personality. "Got any real friends?" is inquired with a hint of his usual sass, the soon-to-be candidate following his 'saviour' of sorts, whatever Ka'ge decides. Yes, drink! Breirande looks relieved by that generous offer, nods a few times. "I'll try one of those froo-froo frozen drinks...but it's whiskey afterwards." He sounds a bit more grim than enchanted with the idea. Headshake. "Only time I puked was my first time...totally binged." Never going to happen *again*. Ugh.

Ka'ge pauses, turning to partially face Rand at the 'offer', taking it for what it's worth. "By all means." A gesture indicates the carcass, if the other would be willing to grab a limb and drag alongside him, he would follow suit. There's a slight pause in response to the sass, though not at the sass itself- he appears to take the question literally enough, and answers eventually with a resolved "No." as he hefts a clawed paw or moves on- depending on what Brierande decides he's willing to do. "Never found any use for the word. Implies too many things." The rider doesn't look at Rand again until they come to the clearing, 'less anything else interrupts them. It's a small clearing, one just wide enough for the bronze to mostly spread his oversized and strikingly dark wings. Zymadiath would lower to settle on the ground at the sight of them, a forelimb extended, a wrinkle over his muzzle that doesn't- yet- display his own fangs against the dark mask of his face.

Okay, he'll attempt this. Still a little green around the gills, 'Rand approaches the carcass with only small hesitation, slowly hefts up his own huge pawed forelimb, and drags with Ka'ge...though he still really doesn't *look* at their burden. There's a low grunt between drags to the other's 'no,' the teen continuing to grunt out more with, "I'd bet." Drag. "Like what?" Seeing how the bronzerider looks all about them, quiets, Breirande does so, too, goggling around until they're in the clear...his wariness and owl-eyed look returning for the duration. Fear; it does a body good in small doses. And then thank Faranth; there's Zymadiath! Surely a dragon trumps all big cats, and 'Rand's all for greeting the bronze quite happily...until that muzzle-wrinkle is noticed as they close. Jerking his grey-blues back over to Ka'ge, the younger man inquires, "Uh...how pissed-off is he?"

The dragging is a slow process since, even between two healthy bodies, it's a hefty weight. The effort, the work completed as they clear the trees, Ka'ge drops the limb and only turns back to wrench the arrow out from between the feline's ribs with a grotesquely moist sound and drop it back into the quiver he'd brought. "Liabilities, responsibilities. All those long-term obligations that you're don't seem so fond of yourself. You get plenty of ties just being a rider, wanted or not." There's a dismissive pause before he adds, "I just don't like the word." A beat, a return of a hint of his grin, "Surely a roamer doesn't make so many friends himself." The inquiry catches Ka'ge off-guard, as if he hadn't noticed. There's a glance up the shadow-wrought bronze, and a private exchange that awards a draconic snort, a loss of the wrinkled muzzle and a turn of those faceted eyes away.

Nightmarish figments of darkness dance, blackness writhes, steady in their constructing and deconstructing of figments not-really-there. « You put him at risk.» The low, rough mind voice of the bronze disapproves, «You may not care if he loses an eye as a lesson, but then all this effort would have been wasted.» (To Ka'ge from Zymadiath)

There's a breathy chuckle from the rider who vaults up the straps to the neck's hooked, spined ridges. "Not nearly equivalent to your feline friend. He says you aren't useful if you're mauled. Or dead. I guess he likes you. Kind of." The grin broadens darkly before he adds with an extended hand to help him up, "Let's go. Not enough rum for all this adventure."

That moist sound makes 'Rand turn grey-green again, the teen stepping away from their former burden to get some air while Ka'ge does...whatever. Listening quietly to his rider home, the worker finally mumbles a sludgy-sounding, "Got lots of acquaintences." Shrug. As the bronzerider said, 'friends' don't usually come with roaming. Getting his stomach back in hand, the teen turns about to watch the other man scramble up his dragon's straps, 'Rand finally moving towards the bronze, and giving Zymadiath a respectful nod before he offers his hand up to Ka'ge. Refraining yet again about talking about those pokey-bits of ridges they're seated between, the 'kid' manages a thin smirk for the bronze's unspoken words of his choice, offers Zymadiath a faint bit of a bow in return as he settles behind Ka'ge. "Why don't I feel all that reassured?" is noted with another return to sass, the teen nodding hearty agreement with the man before him. "Rum the first round..." he reminds Ka'ge. Then the heavy stuff. Beat. "Thanks. Again." For saving his ass, this time.