Logs:An Attempted Rescue
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| RL Date: 24 August, 2013 |
| Who: A'lorin, Ali, B'rant, E'ten, N'rov, D'lak, E'far, G'rev, Y'ral, Bijedth, Khiabeth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, Southern Boll Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: A rescue attempt is mounted at Boll while the stores are being delivered to the renegades as a distraction. Half of it goes to plan. |
| Where: Southern Boll |
| When: Day 10, Month 8, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Hattie/Mentions |
| It's two days since the renegades took control of Southern Boll. Yesterday most of the Weyr was engaged or helping with the packing of the stores, and today, on day ten, is when the supplies are due to be delivered to Boll by Fort's riders. There is, however, a smaller group of people who have been picked out for a slightly different mission: instead of escorting the stores their dragons are setting them down a ways away from Boll, and they have spent the morning slowly making their way to the Hold. Now, just after lunchtime, they have arrived at a small, lesser known entrance to the Hold, awaiting the signal that the Fortian riders have arrived with the stores to hopefully distract a number of the renegades. N'rov's hiked over with clear displeasure, keeping pace with Y'ral, keeping an eye on E'ten and those the other bronzerider has seen fit to invite along. Waiting doesn't seem to thrill him much more, and he can't seem to slouch back to ride it out, his back against the stone and /still/ looking outward rather than in for familiar or unfamiliar faces. It's nearly impossible to disguise his height from anyone -- not that only riders can be tall, of course -- but B'rant does his best to not stick out any further than necessary. His usually straight-backed frame is inclined a little over and forward into a stoop-shouldered posture, and his bright hair is tucked into and under a somewhat broad-brimmed, tan hat that shelters him from the sun. He too looks displeased, though not from the longer hike, the waiting making him tense and a little twitchy. From under the brim of his hat, gray eyes furtively dart around to check on their surroundings. E'ten had a handful of people that he wanted to bring on this little venture. Oddly, they're all the sort to know how to keep their mouths shut with other possible assets. Namely handy in a fight, if push comes to shove. Patient, it may bring him to consider crafting as a Harper... once upon a time. Not now. With the posture obtained for short periods of time, it doesn't suit him well. But it's something he manages because it has to be done. The dragons packed with Fort's supplies arrive at the Hold, the tension of both the Fortians and the renegades as they draw closer palpable for any dragonkind even from a distance. But the trick has worked. The added tension has turned the attention on them and away from the outlying areas for now. Helping the cause, too, is the caw and hiss of one slightly too /green/ Fortian dragon as a renegade brown inches too close to her for comfort. Was bringing a proddy green a tactic or an oversight on N'muir's behalf? Either way, the little green is earning her the attention of the male dragons and the bickering match between their riders has lured pretty much everyone else's attention too. And then it happens, earlier than expected and rather rushed: there is a tickling sensation passed to the hidden group of dragonriders laying in wait - the signal from Bijedth. Now is the time! Now is the time! Khiabeth's thoughts can be heard in amongst the dragons that arrive at Boll with the Weyrleader's dragon. She sounds /pleased/ to be doing something, even if the ignominy of being forced to carry food is something that rankles briefly in her mental tones, as is the attention being paid to that /other/ green. The rough map N'rov had passed around, courtesy of a consultation with family, doesn't rate to Hold standards but it's better than memory alone; the bronzerider glances over to try and meet E'ten's eyes, then hands the map to Y'ral before easing the door open and sliding on inside. Heading for the servants' corridors at a fast, quiet walk, either he knows what he's doing or is doing a decent job of faking it. Lifting his head high enough to meet that gaze, E'ten gives the oversized cloak about his shoulders a loose adjustment as he lifts the edge of the hood a bit higher. Not to settle over his head, but about his neck in a manner that accompanies his slouching. That measured step that is neither too slow nor fast. Following after his friend and Y'ral, his steps quicken quietly after the pair. Hopefully, N'rov does know what he's doing. At least, they've gotten this far. That map was studied in their waiting time, and now, with that signal from the Weyrleader, B'rant's itching to /do/ something. Good thing the others directing this shennanigan are older, and hopefully more experienced than the teen. Still, he's good at applying force when necessary -- likely one of those drafted for his physical capability, and perhaps for his area knowledge -- B'rant following along in his very neutral colors and slightly beaten-up clothing. He remains silent and light-footed, keeping a weather-eye out on what's beyond their surreptitious little group, given he's got a spare handful of inches on many folk. Vhaeryth's been /around/, but now he checks with greater purpose. « Isyath. » Speak to him. Or /Elaruth/ will get to know first. (To Isyath from Vhaeryth) As they enter the Hold, there's an oddly oppressive /silence/, eerie even for those who aren't familiar with Boll. Normally at this time of day there would be plenty of people moving about, preparing meals or doing their normal daily duties. Instead, there is a faint, echoing silence as they pass through the small corridors, undetected. Of course, the noises radiating from the Great Hall echo faintly: the call of renegade riders, and the echoing voices from Fortian's riders in the Courtyard beyond that. She's here. Not-quite-asleep, not-quite-awake, comfortable in neither, a state reflecting her rider's own thoughts, perhaps? (To Vhaeryth from Isyath) A'lorin has really been here all along, but the young teen has been rather quiet up until this point, following his betters and watching how they take lead. The brownrider purses his lips as he looks around, coming to a stop as they walk inside. His eyes glance after E'ten, stepping carefully after the bronzerider as he does so. Each movement is carefully planned and he tries not to make too much sound as he follows after the others. An excited grin is shot over towards B'rant, since the other is similar in age. Perhaps Vhaeryth should talk to Elaruth, Elaruth's rider having more of a reputation for dissimulation, but it /is/ Vhaeryth and so he seeks out Isyath. « Quietly, Isyath. 'The sun also may move behind a cloud.' Ask your rider to pretend she is not looking, and then to look. Where is she? Show us so we can find her. » Which part of this vast-for-humans hall that he images? (To Isyath from Vhaeryth) She rankles. /He/ does not order her, anymore than those /dragons/ down there do... and yet somehow Ali defers to them. The cold stars mount, surging around him, sweeping, /scouring/ until she is satisfied. « Vhaeryth. » Familiarity. Possessiveness. Silence, and weight. A flickered image of a hall, but fading away. Not /there/, not anymore. A hall. A door. Two doors. /There/. Along with it emotion: fear, dread, anxiety. She does not know where they have taken Hattie. (To Vhaeryth from Isyath) A quiet whisper, N'rov's to Y'ral towards E'ten and whichever of the other young men it must pass through along the way: the women have been moved from the Great Hall, or at least /Ali/ has, and Hattie's thought not to be with her. Can E'ten and his troop search out the senior weyrwoman? There are more of them. He's rankled Isyath, but in all his pride, Vhaeryth will hold still for such a scouring when it comes from her; just now, the possessiveness is welcome, and he's thankful for it as well as for her sending. « We come for her. » Someone else will tend to Elaruth's. Not his problem. He focuses in on the hall, the doors, the details, pulling a sense of the room: is it richly decorated, or plain? Is it familiar? Where are the humans? (The /bad/ humans?) (To Isyath from Vhaeryth) Pressing his lips together, E'ten takes count of the numbers between his group and N'rov's with a frown. They don't match up. Not if he sends /and/ goes with his group of riders. Not for security's sake. Nodding briefly, he looks over his shoulder with a brisk gesture to some of those accompanying him. Not the younger riders. They stay with him. But the experienced riders? Those are the ones he sends on such a task. Trusting that they can find the Weyrwoman first with little to no problem. And if there are problems? They're strong enough to be a force to be reckoned with, he hopes. There are more details, fleetingly: tapestries, richly appointed. Some sort of place where they greet humans. Men around a table, but she is not /with/ them, she is with the hated one. (To Vhaeryth from Isyath) Those who came with E'ten look at one another and then back at the group and the signals between them are unanimous: you get Ali, we've got Hattie. SO with that, they break away from the rest of the group, slinking quietly along the wall and into the shadows. There's a leap of his rider's excitement, his now, because /that/ is familiar. But which is the hated one? Vhaeryth wants to know. How near is that one to Isyath's rider, and can Isyath's move freely? They will need to be separated. /That/ one must not be allowed to get her again. (To Isyath from Vhaeryth) B'rant gives A'lorin a small grin and a scant nod -- teenagers in action -- as he 'plays' lookout for the group. Once the whisper's been passed down the line to him, there's an inner pang for a moment: which 'side' does he choose? Hattie's senior, and somewhat more crucial to the Weyr, but he has more emotional investment with Ali. And then E'ten's making the decision for him, the tall bronzer sighing internally in relief. As their group follows shaded hallways, the young man can't help but looking thrice at a particular passage that they just might be taking, then jogging through his own internal memory. If it serves him right... In quick whispers along their chain, his message hopefully gets to E'ten and the leaders of this rescue mission: That passage dead ends, now. Try the passage two before it; it's newer, a longer way, but leads to the same place the old one did. Fury. /Frustration/. If she could, she would. But she /can't/, and she can't leave /Hattie/. « /Find/ her, » is Isyath's perhaps unhelpful order. (To Vhaeryth from Isyath) Between B'rant's familiarity of the corridors and N'rov's supplied information about the junior's location, they make their way slowly but surely deeper into the Hold, down a bedecked corridor. The door at the end is partly ajar - it looks like some sort of reception room for visitors. Through the crack, they can see four riders seated around a table playing dragonpoker. They're familiar faces - seen around Fort here and there, but they lack Fort's knot, like all the renegades. It's a heated game, likely because there's marks involved. "You're so obvious, E'far!" "You wish!" "Your eye twitches whenever you're bluffing." "Try me, G'rev!" The other two are chuckling at the pair of riders, having already folded. Despite the arrival of the Weyr's riders in the courtyard, this group looks like they're not moving, like they're guarding something. « Yes, » is Vhaeryth's quick, purposeful assent. If there's an echo of some human thought muttering how no, they were just going to wander around and smell the flowers... well, that's just N'rov. (To Isyath from Vhaeryth) There are two doors to this room, and only the one is ajar. Time for a consult instead of unilateral action the way certain bronzeriders might prefer it. N'rov slips back to whisper to E'ten, and it's barely a whisper at all: there are the men playing the game, but it's not just a matter of taking out those four, because there's another one with Ali. Should one of them, should /he/ attempt to edge through that door while the main group distracts from the shut one? The trick is getting to her before that /other one/ does... because they all know what happens if they don't. « He has found the room, » the bronze reports, sending a dim vision of it from the ajar door's perspective. Technically 'they' have, but Vhaeryth's not counting. « He is searching for the best way to get to her so that she is not /gotten/. She should be careful. » (To Isyath from Vhaeryth) There's a flicker of something that rides low and brief over the dragons gathered at Boll, like a wave of energy. It's a blip, an emotional reaction that she attempts to keep in check. The queen circles above, watching both the renegade dragons gathered on the fireheights as well as the Fortian dragons landing in the courtyard, frustration lining every circling movement. (To local dragons from Isyath) One ajar door and one closed. It begs a thought as to whether or not there's a lock. If there's a lock, it needs picking or more blunt force. Given their numbers, they may be able to take out two, maybe three. But it's that third... which could be a problem. Should he take some of the men to the other door and play it calm? Or another idea comes to mind as he becomes agreed to the idea of an interruption. Then E'ten can knock on the other door as if relaying a message. There could be /more/ than one with Ali, B'rant thinks to himself. But he's not the super-experienced one in this group, so he shuts his mouth, this time, since he has no facts to back up his worry. Speaking in their guarded whispers, B'rant volunteers himself to sneak in and deal with the renegade(s) holding Ali, the teen basing this on the fact that he's quite fast, with a long reach and some knowledge of the general structure of the Hold itself. Of course, he'll never admit to his want to protect his good friend. N'rov's also not the super-experie... well, comparatively he might be, perhaps, now that the older riders have left in that other group and since they aren't in E'ten's territory. He certainly gives the youngest of the bronzeriders a look and a low, creative curse that's the equivalent to /no/; while he doesn't bother sharing his Bollian bona fides for B'rant, not with the accent he's got, N'rov does tell E'ten that if he thinks the giant can be quiet and unobtrusive with the actual sneaking part, he can come too. Once everything's arranged, it's a one, two... and in N'rov edges, alert to the first creak of the door, less alert to the men at the table than he is intent on looking for Ali and getting to her before the hated one. They aren't his job. She is. There's an instant hard look for N'rov when he vetos B'rant's idea, the teen's eyes balzing for a few moments before he regains control of himself. Damned kids, git offa' my lawn! As far as quiet goes, well, N'rov gets another stare. He's been bloody quiet the whole time, and he's /not/ a giant, damn it! But the plan's decided on after that, and -- feeling rather like a keystone cop -- the youngest bronzer (tm) cranes his neck and shifts his gaze all about once again as he tails N'rov, making certain nobody's seen them. His well-worn-in boots make nary a sound upon stone floors, the youth even trying to breathe as softly as possible. It's kind-of tough, given how his heart's racing. Meanwhile, while the group has conferred, the back-and-forward of E'far and G'rev's escalating one-up-man-ship has continued. The marks in the middle of the table is considerable, and G'rev's on his feet down, dramatically throwing in first one mark piece, then another, to the hoots and hollars of the other two. "Call. Come on, show me just how good you /don't/ bluff, E'far!" The bronzerider's jaw clenches, and it's with an exhale that he displays his hand, to the hooting delight of G'rev: "I knew it! You're so transparent!" The renegades are fixated on the game-in-play, allowing N'rov and B'rant to reach the door at the back. It's not locked, but the second someone goes to open it, it'll let out a betraying /creak/. With B'rant's decision to go with N'rov, E'ten and Y'ral take up positions close enough to the door so that when it's really opened for real? They'll be able to serve as a distraction, given that they didn't come entirely unarmed. He didn't, balancing himself to be ready for movement as he looks over to N'rov. Ready here. The rider that's going to be watching his back? Well, it's beyond a foregone conclusion that they're both very likely armed with knives. That /creak/ means that as soon as N'rov hears it, he's bursting in the rest of the way, his aim to find Ali and grab Ali and get her out without her getting a knife to her throat. Or his throat or anywhere else, actually; wherhide can only do so much, and he can hope he's not running right onto someone else's blade. And B'rant's right behind N'rov, his rushing form branching out from the other man's to hopefully intercept any secondary interference that might exist in the room. If no one else besides one renegade and Ali are in there, he's whirling back around on a boot toe to face the singular renegade, and perhaps rushing in, given what the circumstances are. The room beyond is a comfortable looking reading spot, with couches and chairs - well lit. Ali's currently seated - more like tied - to one chair, while another rider with a brown stripe in his knot is seated directly in front of her, leaning forward, talking in low, leering tones. The junior looks /white/, gaze fixed on the other rider, mouth pressed into a thin line. As the door creaks open, there's a yell from behind, "D'lek!" and the brownrider spins, straightening: he's got a knife in hand and he's backing /behind/ Ali, though it'll be a close bet whether he'll manage that before the other two reach him. Meanwhile, the riders in the room outside are moving. They're unaware of the presence of E'ten and Y'ral behind the other door yet, and they're surging in behind B'rant and N'rov when the arrival of the other two Fortian riders makes three of them pause in surprise, glancing over their shoulders. Brownrider with knife. Big heavy-looking chair, nothing that's easy to shove aside. N'rov has a knife, /knives/ as it happens, but he doesn't have them out and, as he runs, doesn't even try. It might slow him down, when his goal is to keep that knife from Ali, angling over her if that's what it takes to attempt a block with a strike for the other man's wrist. But if he has to take it on his forearm instead, that's what he'll have to do. As soon as N'rov and B'rant enter on their side, it's not long before E'ten turns the handle of the second and as of present, unopened door. With one hand already on the hilt of his own knife, it's a grip that can be quickly used from underneath the folds of his oversized cloak. But first, he'll at least go with the idea of sowing confusion. That is, if his face isn't as recognizable given that they were all at the Weyr at some point. "The rider on duty was looking for the two of you. We're supposed to take over." He and Y'ral that is. There's the renegade rushing in to be dealt with, and nearly without thinking, B'rant -- who's already pivoted about once noting that there's only one renegade to deal with -- is rushing the guy entering the room with Ali and them inside it. /He's/ had enough time to draw one of his own knives, but the young bronzer holds it perhaps rather oddly: the solid horn pommel facing 'fore, blade back and to the side. This isn't a glorious rescue; it's something swift and likely dirty, meant to extract Fort's junior out of harm's way, no matter the cost. Or so says B'rant's teenaged mind. There's a sharp intake of breath from Ali as she recognizes both B'rant and N'rov. Her gaze doesn't linger on them though, but rolls sidelong, trying to keep an eye on D'lak. The brownrider grunts with surprise at N'rov's rush, his knife sliding along wherhide without being able to get purchase. It'll /hurt/, but at least it won't scar. E'far, the bronzerider who tails B'rant and N'rov inside, is running at full speed, with the intent of knocking B'rant to the ground under his rather solid weight: he doesn't seem to be aware of the other's knife, yet. Meanwhile, the confusion in the outer room works for just a moment. Two of the riders frown uncertainly at E'ten, but G'rev's yelling, "He's one of N'muir's lackeys, you fools!" even as he's launching himself at E'ten, the other two a little slower at moving to join him. It shouldn't be news to anyone that N'rov swears, and at the impact of that knife is no exception, sliding though it is. Momentum still carrying him forward, his arm angled to keep forcing that knife back, while his other hand's become a fist aiming for the brownrider's neck. His jaw will do, or his nose, and really at this point N'rov's not picky. B'rant may not be Smith-like in build , but his excessive height and athletic frame give him some honest bulk and force, especially now that he's in motion. Just as it seems he and E'far are about to slam head-on into one another like rutting rams, the taller bronzer sidesteps -- thank you for tactics, Ebeny! -- and seeks to use his own motion and that of his suddenly thrusting arm to bring his knife's pommel out in a stunning blow into E'far's solar plexus...hopefully knocking the wind right out of him. B'rant doesn't want to cause a potential dragon death by using the more business-end of his weapon. For /now/, anyway. "Aw, shards." Muttered underneath his breath, E'ten adopts a lower stance as G'rev launches at him with the intent of a take down. Only instead of that, the bronzerider is already setting up a fist for a good square clout along the other man's jaw to send him staggering back. Otherwise, he's going to set to dodging with a leap backwards into the space that's afforded. "I thought you would have figured out that I act solo sometimes." Or rather the rumors of his previous punishments never did reach these riders. "I wouldn't join him, if I were you," he remarks, as Y'ral looks all too ready to oblige either of the other two riders. "Unless you want to stay in bandages for the next two sevendays. I've been told that he's rather handy in a bar fight." Not that this is. In one of those fleeting moments, Vhaeryth's urgent with /pain/ and his rider's violence: if it pleases her (and maybe if it doesn't), /now/ would be a /very good time/ to mind-smack that other rider's dragon down. (To Isyath from Vhaeryth) While N'rov succeeds in keeping the knife free, it doesn't mean that D'lak can't fight back: his heavy, booted foot lashing out to try and strike at the bronzerider's knee. That punch of N'rov's connects at the brownrider's throat shortly after, making him cough and splutter for air abruptly, his grip loosening abruptly. A second too late, E'far spots B'rant's intention, but he's moving too fast to arrest the movement in time. That Knife impacts precisely, with E'far crashing into the edge of a table as he goes down, wheezing, dark eyes glaring. Things are, perhaps, not going as well in the outer room. That fist of E'ten's connects, and there's a shocked grunt on G'rev's part, though the bluerider's hands lash out to try and grip onto his forearm before he backs up. Verbal warnings aren't really working, as one of the riders moves quickly to engage Y'ral, while the other steps in to try and help G'rev by circling around to E'ten's side, snatching for his other arm. Oh, and Ali? She's dead still, still remarkably pale, gaze gone distant. "No," she moans. "No. /Hattie/." No? /No/. A fleeting image of the senior, of Elaruth. She /won't/, can't, in case... they'll /know/. (To Vhaeryth from Isyath) Frustration. /Desperation/. (To Isyath from Vhaeryth) That boot hits. It can't have been the direct smash to the joint that would mean permanent incapacitation, no audible /crunch/ with the scream that would surely have followed, but was that thin cracking noise just the stress being put on Ali's chair when N'rov lurched into it? Even N'rov's olive-complected face has gone pale, and there's only a flicker of hesitation before, unless the other man seems down for the count, he moves to repeat the blow. Resheathing his knife, then shoving a knee square into E'far's back -- once B'rant's recovered from his previous move -- the young bronzer pulls the renegade's arms up behind him, grasps the downed man's wrists together in one of his big hands, and undoes his own ornamental belt from pants. Remarkably, his hat's somehow managed to remain upon his head. Soon enough, there's a makeshift 'ziptie' restraint of wherhide securely in place around E'far's wrists at the small of his back, B'rant swiftly jerking his gaze up at Ali's words, then hissing, "What?!?" Reaching out unthinkingly to Rhenth, the youth barks to his lifemate, « What's wrong with Hattie?! Ask Elaruth! » Immediately, before he can reach out to the senior, Isyath's there. Pressing him, against him, the cold stars of her thoughts surrounding him. They must /not/. They must be quiet. She has wished it so, even if there's a sense of torn desperation and fear beneath. (To Rhenth from Isyath) He groans and gnashes his teeth in upset and anger at not being able to /know/, at having his senior queen pair in danger...but Rhenth obeys Isyath. Reluctantly. « WHY?! » is growl-groaned. (To Isyath from Rhenth) Oversized cloak. The other rider may have to reach to get E'ten's other arm. Either way, it's going to be a struggle with a kick aimed at G'rev to keep one hand free long enough to draw the belt knife at his waist. It's the ultimate goal in the immediate present with a slash aimed for the other who might have wanted to keep him in place. There's no way around it. Y'ral? He already had his knife drawn without relying on verbal anythings. D'lak /looks/ like he's suitably distracted for now, one hand pressed against his throat as he struggles to breathe, the other curled against one of the feet of Ali's chair. The junior's muttering a mantra now, barely audible: "You mustn't, we mustn't." Her eyes are rolling in B'rant's direction, now, twisting in the chair. With E'far safely tied, things look okay in here, but there's scuffling and yelling in the outer room. Y'ral's holding his own, mostly, the pair circling each other. He's trying to help out E'ten by edging in that direction, but the other rider keeps countering him. E'ten's kick keeps G'rev at bay, and he might get a chance to draw his knife but not before the other rider latches onto that same arm to drive that slashing motion safely downward. « They will hurt her, if they hear me press them. Vhaeryth asked, but I /won't/. » She won't be pressured, pushed, anymore than she already has been: a thin veneer of control over heated fury. (To Rhenth from Isyath) His own heated anger -- so rare for a kind soul like Rhenth -- joins hers at the idea that anyone would dare hurt Hattie. But, for the Weyrwoman's sake, he bides his time. (To Isyath from Rhenth) Given that, N'rov reaches down to steal D'lak's fallen knife to cut Ali's bonds whether she likes it or not, using his own beltknife if the other's not within range. "Got to get you out of here," he mutters, never mind her protestations. "B'rant! We clear to go?" If there's time, he'll yank her towards her feet, too, though if she fights him, there will be problems. B'rant is indeed done, the only thing he has left to do being to stand up. "Ready!" the young man calls to N'rov, then re-drawing his knife at the sound of scuffling outside their room. "Get back out with A'lorin... We'll cover your retreat and follow you, once we have these others taken care of!" And, without waiting for orders, the teen darts out into the outer room, ready to engage those others who trouble E'ten and Y'ral. E'ten has his hands and feet still free. Even if the slashing motion is denied, it doesn't keep him from adjusting his stance into something lower so that his shoulder can possibly ram into the man without the intention of stopping until meeting G'rev, a wall or something that isn't Y'ral. Normally, such a tactic works with /more/ inertia. Here's hoping that the other rider's balance isn't as steady. At this tally, it means G'rev is still a force to be reckoned with. This particular problem first, though. There's a stifled gasp of pain from Ali as N'rov frees her and blood rushes back to her limbs. She's not exactly protesting being pulled to her feet, though she's not looking that great, pushing /away/ from him, or more accurately, pushing to get further away from D'lak as fast as possible, stumbling awkwardly. "Hattie," she croaks. "Nesri took her away to question her." Y'ral isn't going to be much help, though he /does/ finally score a hit against his opponent, pressing in now. It's more through surprise than anything else that E'ten's tactic is successful, pushing him back against the table and knocking marks all to the ground. G'rev's after them though, raising his knife, pommel first, with an aim to E'ten's head. His waiting for orders might have helped /N'rov/ out some, if not E'ten, N'rov sent staggering by Ali's push and then limping after her. Vhaeryth, a little less frantic now, can bespeak Bijedth about Elaruth's rider's predicament, but Vhaeryth's rider just mutters, "Yeah, they'll get her," and aims to catch up and then pull Ali along towards the exit and past anyone still battling. "This way. /Hurry/." Out. Chalk it up to teenaged hormones. N'rov and Ali clearly don't need his aid as much as helpful E'ten and not-so-barfight savvy Y'ral do, and so B'rant is out helping his more overwhelmed fellows. The wind's knocked out of that rider E'ten's rushed against the table, leaving open the perfect opportunity for a fist (or maybe the back of a knife), either way soon dispatched with. G'rev might be more of an issue - there's no time for E'ten to react to his approach, but thankfully B'rant's quick to intervene, G'rev unaware of the teenager's stealthy arrival just as Y'ral finally straightens from his own battle. It's not hard for N'rov to catch up- Ali isn't exactly moving fast, her unsteady pace slowing considerably as they make it out into the main room. "No, wait-!" She's resisting N'rov's attempts to pull her along as she catches sight of the fray-still-in-progress, "B'rant! E'ten? Y'ral!" It's only when she spots each of them that a shaky breath is exhaled, and an order given: "Hattie, now." Whether it'll be obeyed or not is another matter. The unaware G'rev gets a pommel to the side of his head, likely earning him a knockout and one hell of a headache when he comes to again, B'rant then making certain E'ten and Y'ral have their own opponents subdued before the three join up with N'rov and Ali again. For all N'rov knows, N'muir or some random lackey obeys her order, but he sure doesn't. Though he does say, "/Out here/," like Hattie just might be out there, before calling to the others. "Get her other elbow! Get her out, now." But a limping step or two later, he adjusts that to, "B'rant. Can you /carry/ her out. We've got to go." It roils out of the dark gleam of starlight off metal:« They're coming. » (To Isyath from Vhaeryth) "Sure can..." B'rant notes to N'rov while he eyeballs the other bronzerider. A look to E'ten might silently ask the other man to watch out quietly for N'rov while the tall young man grins faintly at Ali, and murmurs, "Your choice, weyrwoman: over the shoulder, or in arms." "Don't fucking give her the fucking choice, just /take/ her," N'rov growls. Does she believe him, or just /want/ to believe him? Ali's looking at N'rov sidelong, shaking her head, going /slower/, though not deliberately, leaning her weight on N'rov. "Once we get Hattie. Issy-?" She goes still, silent, reaching out, /seeking/, not listening for a moment. That starlight expands, searching now, pressing him to tell her: « Where? » Reaching for Elaruth, too, a warmth/worry/fear embedded in the stretch for her dam. (To Vhaeryth from Isyath) "Without a choice, I'd be just another cad..." B'rant smirks just a little to the older man, then suddenly scooping Ali up in his arms like a snowplow, and following N'rov. Along their way, he watches...and listens to what Ali is saying. Gladly he tells her, shows her, a sense of their movement in relation to him as though pulled on some lifeline. The hallways mean they have to travel crookedly, not as dragons fly, but the important thing is /out/. (To Isyath from Vhaeryth) |
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