Logs:Thieves Caught In the Night
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| RL Date: November, 2007 |
| Who: A'son, A'zan, B'yan, Jolak, N'thei, T'rev, H'gor, Teonath |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| Where: Crom Hold |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Nearing midnight, cold and quiet and black as cromcoal, three bronze dragons land about a half-mile down the road from the Hold, tucked away out of sight at a little minehold. Like thieves, how appropriate, four men steal down the road to the courtyard gates. Guards, bought and paid for, look the other way as they slip into the courtyard and up the stairs to the fireheights. Creeping along the eastern walls, crouched below the low shadows of two crescent moons, they work toward a hatch leading to the inner hold. There's where the action begins... N'thei, his voice hissed, presses his back against the stonework of the fireheights so the three behind him can see toward the cracks of light from the closed hatch; "There. Has anyone seen the watchrider?" Bought or not, there's no sense in alerting the guards if they don't need to be. His voice would be lost beneath a footstep, a cricket-chirp in the dark. Joe is last in that line of four men, kneeling by the time he gets twoard the stonework since he's at the very end of it. His hand bunches into a ball and then unfolds in a cycle of nerves as he crouches low, arm slung limply over the bend in his knees, ready to pounce though as he carries his weight on the bend of his toes. His eyes squint in the darkness toward the hissing down at the opposite end of low backed creeping figures. A glance toward the way they just came quickens his heart beat as there is nothing to see but the blackness outlined in a shallow silver glow. He nudges the body next to him, giving a thumbs up to the all clear in his position at the rear. B'yan takes up the position next to N'thei, eyes darting restlessly about their surroundings. He's dressed in the garb of a man that works in seedy bars instead of a dragonrider, all but concealing his face. Sending a look back at Jolak since he takes up the rear, "He should be here," he hisses back to N'thei with open suspicion already. Nudging forward and keeping his posture hunched, "Whatever it is, let's be on with it now before we do find him!" and sends a quick glance towards A'son. A'son is somewhere in the middle of the group, any light colored garments having been traded for the darker variety hours earlier. Ducking his head low, he presses his back up against the wall. Narrowing his eyes in the dark, he looks towards that closed hatch. Once that's noted, he glances over his shoulder towards Jolak and then forward to B'yan. There's a nod of agreement, but this rider is silent for now. "Lead the way?" N'thei offers this to B'yan with unnatural levity in the rasp of his whisper, jocularity ill-at-ease on this night. His next words are more mouthed than spoken; "Stay low." A furtive glance cast across the courtyard is all he can spare. Hunched over nearly double, and still his back visible above the horizon of the wall, he scoots toward the double-doored hatch as fast as his position will allow. "A'son, have at the other door. Once we're in, Jolak in front. The storeroom's bound to be locked." The youngest of the crew continues to scan the route they just took, looking down toward the ground momentarily to inspect the weight of their foot prints in the spring softened earth. His immediate footing shows there's a slight impression, eyes dancing back toward the gloom of the darkened night. Upon hearing the scuffle of their feet again, Joe rises slightly to his feet, still using the spring in his toes to lightly carry him behind the other three men. He doesn't have to crouch as much as the others, but that doesn't mean his fear makes him stand any straighter either. The teen gives a simple and curt head nod at N'thei's voice about the stores being locked - ready to shift to the front at the given moment. With narrowed eyes at the ease of N'thei's return, B'yan only swings a hand for N'thei to continue on with a bland smirk and without further words. Crouching further, he follows after a quick check at those behind him and shifts to an angle to sight better once the double-doored hatch opens. He stays to the side as they prepare to enter, eyes falling hard on the door and poised to move quickly. A'son stays pressed against the wall, allowing Jolak to pass him when the moment is right. If the youngest of the men doesn't brush past him, the older of the brothers will put his hand out and quickly utter a hushed "Sorry, kid." before dropping to the back of the group, keeping any eye out for what's behind them. Once they've moved forward and inside, the bronzerider will preoccupy himself with the assigned door, watching and listening for any noises. The chosen interior corridor is nothing remarkable, except that it goes down a short flight of steps from the fireheights, around minimal corners. As dimly lit as any part of a Hold at this time of night, it seems almost benign for all its nefarious purpose tonight. Past a few closed doors, some of which have the look of long disuse, it terminates at the storeroom in question. But not quite that far yet... N'thei pulls open his side of the door with a muffled grunt, those hold doors being things even bigger and sturdier than he is. When Jolak passes, he earns a warning by way of N'thei's forefinger pressed to his lips, shhhh, and only then does he pitch his voice again toward B'yan; "More fool Telgar for not putting a decent watchrider out here. Don't look so nervous. Hard part's over." With the lie still fresh on his lips, he slopes down the steps after Jolak, in to Crom. Jolak pulls a few things out of what appears to a home-made tool belt, fingering a couple long thin metal rods up against the index finger of each hand. His crouching movements are made with swift and steady feet, briefly glancing at A'son when he passes him by and his brother's hand catches him. The expression he flashes Ays is hard to read, shadows doing their part to mask them - but it seems the puckered brow is edged in a frown. The pause lasts for only a second before he continues passed the man, passed N'thei, and then passed B'yan - neither are given a look. His eyes are set with a certain amount of determination as they fix on the darkened grotto leading down toward the storage cavern doors. He skulks toward the one side, sliding his back alongside the wall, keeping himself in the shadows as much as possible. He stops every so often to listen before continuing. Then, when near enough, in two long strides, he closes ground to the storage room doors. Seeing if anyone was dumb enough, he tries the doors first to see if they are in fact locked. The door doesn't give, as expected; it holds with a solid lock. Kneeling, his body slants toward the lock as his hands lift with his make-shift keys. "I'm not nervous," B'yan quips back really low with a bear of teeth as Jolak ambles passed them. "And I wouldn't go breathing sighs of relief just yet, either." He seems to take the missing Telgari watchrider as a sign by the quick tanking of his easy mood; the further they move, the move sour and suspicious his expression gets. Hissing lower and swiftly to N'thei, "I don't like this," before he turns his back and follows on into the hold proper despite his words. Once to the storage door, he watches around them rather than what Jolak is doing, alert.
A'son remains in the back, keeping an eye out for their backs. As they move, he edges slowly along behind them. Once everyone has reached the general area of the storage door, he pulls closer to B'yan. "Think something happened to your man?" He asks, voice hardly more than a hushed whisper. Tone tight and shoulders stiff, he's clearly more alert than would be other other times. Occasionally he glances at his brother and N'thei, but for the most part keeps his eyes scanning their area. N'thei's eyes light all the brighter as they move through the corridor, his expression gone from grim to grand the deeper they move through Crom's belly. "No?" he hoarses back to B'yan. With dark relish; "I do. I like it a lot. Watch the hatch if you're going to be such a girl about it." He turns his back resolutely on his Wingsecond, leans one shoulder against the wall a few feet behind Jolak, teeth filed across his lower lip while he watches the kid work. The work at first seems slow going, especially since there isn't any lighting to help illuminate the process - yet practice had made for perfection in this case. Once he had his barrings straight, it's all about feeling. He sets his head in a determined angle, eyes narrowing in the darkness as he tests the lengths of the rods within the keyhole. Position the first is easy enough, the second comes with more difficulty as he slides the thin blade-lick tip into the keyhole underneath the first. One wrong move and the end will snap off and the lock will be permanent. Heart racing in his ears, he wipes his forehead on his shoulder as he jars the rods, leaving the first in place as his hand reaches down to draw out a third item. Shoulders block the rest of his work as he literally crams his weight into the lock, gritting his teeth with the third item he gives the necessary rattle to turn the crank inside the lock assembly. Only minutes after having started on the door's lock, the soft thud of the sliding plate can be heard falling back, the click signifying it's unlock. He peers back at the others as he tests the knob once pulling free his tools... it turns, the door pushes inward away from its frame. B'yan flicks hazel eyes over Jolak as his tools, then, "Then you're crazy," he returns to N'thei's taunts darkly. "Key's to -not- get caught and have your ass covered!" A dark look shoots at the bigger man, then he shifts that gaze over to A'son and nods towards his brother. "Can be solved," is all he quips to A'son, but the wingsecond is looking towards where they came from furtively now and saying nothing else until the door is unlocked. A'son sets his lips into a firm line, not a word from this member of the team. His eyes dart back forth between the two bronzeriders, looking more tense than previously. He pulls back from them, just a step or two. Enough so that he doesn't feel inclined to be pulled into their conversation. When the door is pushed open? His attention seems to literally be snatched in that direction, he's quickly slipping over to watch it swing. Backing up, suddenly more alert, "Back off," B'yan practically orders as Jolak undoes the door, eyes falling hard on N'thei. "It's too hot. Something's not right." Stepping closer towards the corridor off to the side as he hisses the warning, "We'll come back another night," and stops his eyes on A'son now. N'thei taps his knuckles on the wall, on a wall inside Crom at midnight, and him a thief, and snorts at B'yan's warning. "Will we? We've come too far to chicken out now, sir." As soon as the door gives way, he cracks a grin that grows while he puts his palm to wood and pushes the door open enough to allow his girth, which should more than allow the men behind him. "Shall we, ladies?" Ear-to-ear, he slips into the dark storeroom. Jolak has already slipped back from the door, not about to go charging into that unlit - unknown space. He presses his back again toward the nearest wall, sliding his gear back into the home-made tool belt of his. There's certainly a scowl on his face as he watches N'thei move into the room without pause or hesitation, seemingly sharing the thoughts B'yan voices outloud. Sliding the last of his pry tools into his belt, he lifts from his low crouch, one last glance toward the others before he decides to head directly after N'thei. A'son's head turns quickly, eyes flashing onto B'yan. Then his attention shifts back to N'thei. Common sense and caution warring with the resolution to go forward. "Joe, stay back here. Stay here until we at least know it's okay." The bronzerider hisses, one more glance is given to B'yan. When he looks back his brother his following after the other man. A slew of curses is muttered under his breath and he takes a hesitant step forward, followed by another and then he's after them. The door opens and for a brief moment there's nothing but darkness. And then suddenly there's plenty of light, a great globe of glows uncovered to chase the shadows from the stores. And sitting there amongst all the goodies, looking calm as anything, is a short, stocky man, swarthy and rough around the edges with a very clear and dark gleam in his eye. H'gor flicks a piece of lint off his shoulder and turns to his oh-so-expected visitors, passing a look over them, a quick headcount. His mouth spreads to a wicked smile. "Surprise." As the door swings open to reveal H'gor, there is a creak from further up the corridor. In the midst of unused doors is one which saw at least a bit of action today, and it's seldom-swung hinges protest softly as the door is flung open. A'zan strides through the doorway and into the corridor, silhouetted for a moment by the bright glowlight that spills from behind him. "Evening, gentlemen." The smirk on his lips is patently smug, arms folded across his midsection as he scans the Reachians, eyes landing finally on N'thei. "So good to see you again, bronzerider," he drawls. A step behind him is a man an inch or two taller than him with a good 20 pounds more of muscle and fists clenched and ready - a bluerider with a fight in his eyes. Flanking the muscle, T'rev steps out into the hallway too, a slight smirk on his face at A'zan's words. "Telgar's duties, y'all." He adds on, posture casual though there's a betraying line of tension in his shoulders. His eyes too settle on N'thei at first though his gaze slides A'son's way and there's a brief but visible wince on his face. With N'thei tapping his knuckles against the wall boldly, B'yan shakes his head and doesn't even bother to approach the door. Instead, he presses his back against the opposite wall to the corridor leading away, slipping a few looks over to see if the hallway is deserted. "Shardin' amateur," he grumbles low then as he watches N'thei pushes open the door and beckon them all inside. Even with A'son hestitating, "We got time to escape this way with the guards on our side," he hisses as a final warning on his side, his words geared at A'son and Jolak now. It was the best he was going to do, the best he was going to offer as an accomplice. Seeing the light flick on in a previously dark room was all the proof he needed. Catching a glimpse of the Telgari riders and hearing the sound of surprise, the wingsecond makes a noise at the back of his throat and is slipping around the corridor faster than a tunnelsnake after its meal. Teeth bearing at what he was doing - abandoning the men to their fates - the Reachian bronzerider takes hasty steps down the hallway and out of sight with only just a blurred glimpse that could have been seen from where he once was. Surprise, indeed. "Well. F--- me." Fill in the blanks, boys. N'thei needs only a moment to count not faces but footsteps, his smile gone from the thief's delight to the brawler's revel. Grabbing the nearest thing at hand, which turns out to be a half-empty bag of potatoes, torn at the top, he lobs it full force at H'gor, taters flying everywhere, and pushes back with a hand on the door-latch intent to shove anyone behind him back into the corridor and draw the door to. Joe is minding his way in the pitch darkness of the stores, keeping close to one of the walls, moving unknowingly towards the left side of where N'thei is caught standing. When the glows are systematically unveiled in a flurry of chafting noises as basket tops are ripped off, Joe's becomes frozen to shock and then blindness - eyes having been keen to the darkness by then. Lifting his arm to shield his eyes from the intense light, the boy slowly lowers them, aghast by what he sees. "Shit..." is hisses from underneath his breath as he makes a wild panicked attempt to throw himself back out into the grotto leading to the storage caverns, knowing he'd be out muscled if he stuck around. A'son freezes as he hears the sound of a pair of feet beating a path far away from the trouble. "Bast-" Cue more under the breath cursing, definitely aimed at the friend-abandoning bronzerider. His eyes go H'gor, to A'zan and finally to T'rev. T'rev. There's a very brief look of something that crosses his face. Embarassment? Guilt? Whatever it is, it's quickly followed by a blank expression as he grabs the nearest thing to him. A... bolt of cloth? And hurls it towards the Telgari riders before trying to backstep his way out of the room. H'gor wasn't quite expecting potatoes, but twenty turns of catch firestone serves him well and while it's true he gets pelted with some of those loose tubers (one catching him in the eyes, which, lemme tell ya, doesn't improve his mood) the bag is caught one-handed, letting momentum swing it in his fist and turn it to a makeshift weapon of sorts. He starts after the retreating robbers, but his first blow is parried by the door. He shoves it out of the way with a growl, intent on letting that sack give at least -someone- a good wallop. "Nasty, filthy theives! You're not running off into the night -this- time." Lounging on your feet with arms crossed is not the ideal posture when smug surprise swiftly turns to the makings of a brawl. The smile is wiped from A'zan's face to be replaced by steely determination as A'son's bolt of cloth comes flying at his head. He manages to move quickly enough to bat it out of the air, wincing though as the heavy roll smacks into the forearm that shoves it to the ground. "Let's do this the easy way, gents," he attempts, though it is but a growl from between clenched teeth as he moves to try and intercept A'son or maybe Joe. P'nom, the muscle between weyrlings seems eager to it the hard way on the contrary, and he moves toward the thieves on the ball of his feet. "Goin' quiet ain't half as fun for us though." N'thei, once out in the corridor, holds up his hands as if he would surrender, who wants to come and test his authenticity? "I'm not running, lads. Why don't you show me the easy way." Much as he might like it, and much as he aims the offer at A'zan with the thickness of taunt in it, it's toward H'gor that he turns with a sudden and challenging smile. T'rev's head ducks in amusement actually at N'thei's sudden cussing an the flying potatoes. "Uh sure, N'thei. Just as soon as one of us swaps for skirts." He's awfully /merry/ for this whole shindig. But then there's a bolt of cloth flying at their heads and he has to try to sidestep it as A'zan bats the thing out of the way, eyes going wide. There's another flash of something in the weyrling's eyes but he too focuses on the immediate task at hand, stepping forward with a nod. "Yep. Caught red-handed n' all. Ain't pretty." He shakes his head sadly, keeping part of the hallway firmly blocked off. With his breath caught in his throat, Jolak skids to a stop at the sight of more meaty looking fellows coming at them from the corridor, their escape route. The hurled potatoes from the room lobbed through the door earn H'gor a terrified face from the youngster on the robbery crew. "oh shit... oh shit... oh shit!" The teen immediately sprints toward the corridor which seems like freedom but leads deeper into the Hold, and knowing the Hold's twists and turns will be the key to escaping. "Oh shit!" he gives one final glance back as N'thei decides to hold his ground, but this kid's choice has been made, he's making a run for it. Down the first right hand turn... A'son stops, eyes flitting from man to man like some sort of animal caught in a cage. There's a growl of frustration from his lips when Jolak takes off and runs away. His hands ball up into fists and when it looks as if A'zan is going to try and get in his way, he goes from being stuck in place to charging straight at him. Head down and fully intent it would seem on just mowing him down where he stands, that is, if he keeps on standing there and being in his way. Wyaeth> Teonath senses that Wyaeth is hot as desert noontime; « The little brats from Telgar caught them. A'son and his brother. B'yan ran like a girl. Satiet oughta act surprised. » H'gor is up for the 'easy' way. He moves towards N'thei slowly, that tubersack held at the ready. He swirls it around, letting the weight of a couple of potatoes build up some centrifugal force. "The easy way is you coming with us and getting strung out for everyone to see what sniveling skulking thieves come out of Reaches. That witch of a Weyrwoman put you boys up to this?" He smirks right at N'thei, too. "We've got a niiiice little room all set up for you boys." Wyaeth senses that Teonath doesn't miss a beat, responding with a dry heat to match, « Act? » A'zan casts a glance after the fleeing Jolak, a sneer twisting his lips as he mutters, "Thief /and/ coward," under his breath with fists clenching at his sides. That moment of distraction nearly does him in, as when his steel grey eyes lift there's a bronzerider barrelling down the corridor at him. "Don't let the little one get away," he shoots off to T'rev and P'nom, and then A'son is on him. He sidesteps just enough to avoid getting trampled, using the swing of his weight to aim a punch at A'son's kidney region. His usual grace at least makes an appearance, but he's not the sort to fight with fists rather than words, so it's also not an expert shot. The blueriding Telgari is still a few steps further on, looking ready to grapple with A'son should A'zan miss entirely, bouncing on the balls of his feet with hands outstretched. Wyaeth> I bespoke Teonath with « Exactly. » Wyaeth senses that Teonath might leave Satiet to 'act' such that it is, but her own disappointment in the group, Wyaeth and his in particular, echoes in the emptiness of her response, or lack there of. « Do not do anything stupid. » A beat. « More stupid. » N'thei takes the sack in the shoulder, thumps him hard no doubt, and it's the same shoulder that he drops to the level of H'gor's gut. All six-foot-four of him is set to topple the Telgari with the velocity of sheer mass given the chance, and hopefully to slam him into the wall on the way down. The ensuing scuffle should provide ample entertainment for all and sundry. There goes Joe and T'rev, after a second's hesitation as A'son tries to plow into A'zan, takes off at a dead sprint after the younger lad when A'zan indicates he should get collared. "Got it Az." He hollers a "Hey you!" as he rounds the corner. Being still just a few weeks shy of getting out of weyrlinghood, he's still fast from all those daily sprints weyrlings do, perhaps increasing his chances of catching up to Jolak. Wyaeth> I bespoke Teonath with « Me? » There's a glance of N'thei in his present predicament, outnumbered and engaged in a scuffle in a corridor he has no chance of getting out of without being caught. « Ain't me that's stupid. » Was his brother right behind him? Jolak turned a look back over his shoulder as he rounded the first bend and sprinted a ways up, toward another intersection of caverns and stairs. Panting breaths are made as he remembers to actually breathe, realizing he hadn't actually filled his lungs since the trap was sprung. A moment spared as he tries to recall the lower cavern map drawn roughly of Crom Hold. Gnashing his teeth upon hearing the disturbances he left behind, the kid flicks a hand down onto his palm, two fingers held. His eyes search down the tunnel to the left. He doesn't have time to match up the tunnel with the map he was supposed to have in his mind - interrupted as T'rev's form comes sprinting around the corner. With a rapid leap, he ducks down into the shadows of the left corridor, appearing as if he's continuing to run... A'son grunts, a hand going to his kidney area, face wincing in pain. "Sharding Telgar people and my sharding abdomen!" He snarls, straightening up, his aim still A'zan. The original charge was likely from a fear of getting caught and a desire to get away. Now there's just a furious look in his eyes as he further pursues the younger rider. He curls his right fist up, aims and throws that and the rest of his body at him again. T'rev careens after Jolak, nearly missing the dodge into the side corridor. One hand reaches out to slap against the wall, slow his trajectory and spin him around into that darker passageway. The slight pause allows him to listen, albeit with some difficulty over the rush of blood in his ears, for Jolak's footfalls. Still, if the lad has decided to just stand still and sock him one, he might actually succeed given that T'rev's not totally halted his forward momentum. Sometimes it sucks to be the little guy. At least it means that N'thei has to bend pretty far down to catch H'gor in the stomach. The older man grunts for the blow, wind forced from his lungs and then some as he gets plowed against the stone. As as much fun as the tubers have been, now they're in the way and the sack is dropped so he can push off the wall like the wily little bastard he is and give N'thei a good shove backward, all the better for scuffling with varied blows and bruises. Really, who can keep count of such things. Having shaken any other pursuers than this one guy, Joe had the intention to put him down so he could really escape. Making a dash for the corridor alotted to the illusion that he had kept on going, yet he didn't. He slammed his back up against the wall so hard that he was sure some of the rock would leave marks on his skin for his effort. He had to though, to blend into the rock, to form and seem a part of it in the darkness. He waited, with air sucked up into a tight locking hold. He waited. Fists clenched. He meant to surprise his enemy rather than over power him. Thus, as soon as he saw the other guy's form whorl around the corner to speed after his prey, Joe went into action. In one long gliding step, he swung his arm low in an upper curve, aimed to take T'rev in the oh so soft middle-section. Nikoth and Wyaeth sense that Teonath could care less, really. Don't mind the fleeting touch of her desert wind whispering thoughts as they pass through the minds of her dragons, her bronzes, questing and a presence despite the strength, or lack thereof, of the touch. But her own pretense of a lack of caring crumbles about the edges at the agitation that leaks from her rider, and very deliberately designated as _Satiet's_ worry rather than her own. Words that carry a note of repetition to them is spared the two, « Do not do anything stupid. » There's a moment where shock registers on A'zan's features. His hand connects with A'son's abdomen and his eyes widen - it actually worked. Of course there's little time for that or for the teeth gritted scowl that he pulls on in its place, because A'son is whirling back on him within a beat. Even as he lifts his fists to his chest level to meet punch for punch or block or whatever it is brawling people do with that posture, A'son's fist is flying above them. It connects soundly with A'zan's temple, splitting the skin at his eyebrow and leaving him momentarily dazed with blood beginning to seep toward his eyes. "You son of a..." he trails off, turning and flinging out a foot to use what is left of A'son's momentum to send him sprawling toward the ground. Smug and graceful are out the window as he dives after him, a scuffle on the ground ensuing with much flying of fists and feet. The silence is further broken by the trumpet of a bronze dragon in the night, rousing what guards remain unbought by Reachian coin, and an armed group comes rushing down the corridor within brief moments. Wyaeth> Teonath and Nikoth sense that Wyaeth flashes images in hazy ways, the glimpses through a dust storm, fists and sweat and brawling, the metallic taste of blood, grunts as breath is knocked loose. « Never. » It's enough to say that N'thei gets a split nose, a swell under his eyes, and a steady leak of blood from his left knuckles. By the time guards come rattling down the corridors, back-up in Crom's colors, he's trying his damnedest to put H'gor in a headlock. It takes a pair to get him off the older rider, and one of them gets popped in the teeth for his efforts. The shadows mask Jolak well, he does catch a hint of motion as the younger boy's arm swings towards him and he tries to jerk his body to the side a little to take some of the sting out of the blow, though he can't avoid it entirely. Jolak's arm connects with one side of his mid-section, knocking some of the wind out of him and he lets out a low-voiced 'oof', doubling over a little. He does however recover quickly enough to make a grab for Joe's arm, since he so nicely swung it right at him. Aiming to grab at wrist and elbow, the weyrling also starts to sweep one foot at the Reachian's shins to knock him off balance. Jolak wasn't much of a fighter as his seemingly smooth efforts to surprise his enemy don't work exactly as intended, coming up with nothing to counter-act the fast recovery of the Telgari. That split second hesitation causes his arm to be yanked forward without counter measures, the shin sweeping working enough that he's sent forward in his rushing momentum - a last punch attempted to be thrown over with his uncaptured arm as he twists about trying to get his feet back underneath him to save him from going down. It looks like T'rev's got the upper hand, the younger teen in easy position to tackle and restrain. That wildly thrown punch actually manages to connect, mostly by dint of the fact that T'rev's moving to lock his arms around Jolak's shoulder and torse cross-wise in a wrestling hold. "Pipe dow--" he breaks off as his chin is knocked about and he lets out an exasperated "Ow dammit. Cut it out. You're down, man. It's over. Let's go." With his mouth bloody enough to suggest there might be some teeth that won't go home with him, H'gor does his best to see if he can break a few ribs while fighting N'thei's headlock, or at least leave a good bruise to slow the big brute down. That said, it's probably a good thing that the guards come along when they do and the older man takes their capture of N'thei as a chance to get one more blow in. Fair isn't really something that enters into it. He's left with every heaving breath sending a spray of blood from his mouth and when his tongue goes to the empty spot where his tooth should be the realization that it's gone has fury claiming his face again. He lunges once more at the Reaches rider such that one of the guards has to hold him back. If there are words, they're lost in the spit of blood. P'nom, pissed at missing the good stuff, headed out with Kevruth's trumpeting and he at least gets to lead the guards as they come in. "Where is the little twerp, and that other Weyrling?" A'zan relinquishes his hold on A'son... or rather disentangles long limbs from the inexpert scuffle as the guards lend their aid. He stands, panting to reclaim stolen breath and wincing as he stretches out his back, rolls his aching jaw and angrily dashes blood out of his eyes. "Outnumbered, found out, hemmed in and still you idiot Reachians choose to fight instead of coming quietly." Blood tinges his mouth and he runs his tongue along his injured bottom lip, then hawks crimson-tinged spit at N'thei's feet. "I hope you've made your Weyr proud." He jerks his chin toward the corridor where the last sounds of T'rev and Jolak's scuffle can be heard, and a few of the guards along with the Telgar bluerider head that way to finish the roundup. Jolak wears a face of worry as his one arm was being dragged behind his back in a painful grapple move that carries him the rest of the way to the floor, save for the space he puts between it with his free arm. The other guy's hold on him makes the fire fade, his adrenaline slow. A half-hearted grunt is given as he hears the clatter of men storming down into the corridors, the sound of his utter defeat even if he was already put in a helpless position courtesy T'rev. "Damn..." he hisses as he goes loose, muscles relaxing as he knows he is done for. There will be no escape now. "I'll knock the rest of them out for you next time you so much as breathe her name." N'thei groans out the words, with the cracked ribs grinding them the harder, and fractures a hateful look at H'gor. They're high words for a man with his hands behind his back and irons clapped around his wrists, dignity held in the set of his shoulders even now that the game is up. He answers A'zan with a cold bruised smile; "I'd rather be a thief than a traitor, steal from holders than stab another Weyr in the back. --We're caught, gents, you have the upper hand. Where to?" Feeling Jolak go limp he eases up his grip and offers the other lad a hand up instead. "C'mon. Be a sport. Take your lumps," he says good-naturedly of all things. The guards round the corner and he clears his throat. "Down this way, one more!" T'rev did that. With shackles applied and a guard on each side of each Reachian, it seems that the evening's adventures are at a close. A'zan lets out a dry, mirthless chuckle though the effect is somewhat lost as it ends in a faint wince of pain. "We gave you back part of the tithe due us, we made an attempt at diplomacy. You are the ones who spit on our charity and robbed the very Hold you argue you are sworn to protect. And so I spit on you. And hope you rot in a cell so rank your lovely little Weyrwoman refuses to step foot close enough to visit." The thought brings a cruel twist of a smile to his lips and he nods to the guards. "You have the cells set up?" That's an affirmative, and the guards escort the Reachians away, and none too gently. Joe casts a scowl over his shoulder back at T'rev when the older lad climbs off him, regarding the hand extended with an odd quirk of a brow. An easy sigh escapes the defeated weyrbrat as he settles back on his ankles, taking the offered hand to get him back on his feet before those guards come to view. Once up on his own two feet, he seems to wait for his fate to come gather him up, eyes sliding briefly toward T'rev, "You know, if this was a different situation and not so serious, we might one day laugh about this..." He grits his teeth as those burly looking guys in Crom colours come around to collect him with rough hands. "Yeah maybe," T'rev offers over with a shrug for Jolak. "Just don't go raidin' no more holds eh?" There's a quirky smile from the weyrling then he trails after the guards, rejoining the group of Telgari in the main corridor. A'zan's speech tilts his eyebrows upward as he runs a hand over his bruising chin. A slight shake of his head follows and he watches as the Reachians are hauled away, expression somewhat thoughtful. "Back home, Az?" he asks casual-like. A'zan runs the back of his hand across his mouth, rubbing the last bit of blood from his lips with a glare after the shackled thieves. Once they are gone he sags just a bit, knuckling his back with a sigh. "Back to Telgar, I think that's best. Though I should warn you, it sounds like Gay and E'tyn are... well, less than pleased. Kevruth's been talking with Liabeth and Niereth." He winces at something that makes his eyes go distant for a beat and then his usual careful neutrality descends. "Regardless, that was a nice bit of work, lads." He manages the faintest of grins for his compatriots, then leaves those from Crom and High Reaches behind as he mounts the steps and heads for home. N'thei's said his piece. He casts a look to A'son, the two of them having looked better, and he lets himself be lead into the cell. Someone get him a tin cup to rattle on the bars, please, it's only fair. Wyaeth senses that Teonath sharply sarcastic, the desert voice rises, « You'll do no such thing. Be the puppy I know you really are. » Wyaeth> Teonath senses that Wyaeth sounds a bit more like a pissed off dog than a puppy, but he raises no objection. Far be it for him. « I'll be at Crom. » Feck it all. |
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