Logs:Barracks Collapse
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| RL Date: 12 July, 2013 |
| Who: Ali, B'rant, Ebeny, Elaruth, Khiabeth, N'dalis, R'zi |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: The series of quakes in the Fort area strike the barracks, causing it to collapse. |
| Where: Weyrling Barracks, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 22, Month 3, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| It's as a muddy, misty afternoon winds its way to a close and towards the still-wintery dark of evening that Laurienth paces back and forth outside the weyrling complex awaiting stragglers and the like for a summary of what has been learned during the day. Inside the barracks themselves, wandering up and down the row of cots, Ben awaits the arrival of the weyrlings from the younger class in training, making random spot-checks of cots and wallows as she goes, pointing out rumpled sheets and untidy presses with low murmurs and quiet nudges so as not to outright embarrass anyone in-front of the rest of the class. Suraieth is a dawdler, at times: when there's something to stop, and watch, and examine, or some new dragon to meet. So it is today, the little green pausing stock-still several times on their way in, still enough that Dal pauses, too: to look, to make some silent encouragement, and finally, to nudge her into motion again. Finally, they make it back to the barracks, the green tipping back her head to regard Laurienth as they pass. "Come on, Su," chastens the weyrling. "Inside." R'zi looks /exhausted/, practically dragging his feet on his way in. Tajireth is as much the demanding task master as any Weyrlingmaster might be, leading the way in - and the boy looks to be struggling to keep up. Once the brown's stepped down into his wallow, R'zi's dropping in after him, adjusting rushes here or there, making sure it's just /right/, which seems to require quite a bit of fiddling, R'zi looking over his shoulder in the direction of the Weyrlingmaster as if wanting to be done before she reaches him. « So much more. » Ugh, why won't he shut up about that stuff already? (To Suraieth from Tajireth) One obvious memeber of the older weyrling class appears to be in attendence, B'rant stepping into the barracks smartly, and bobbing his head in general greetings to whichever younger weyrling notices him. Spotting Ebeny, the tall youth makes his way towards her, first saluting crisply, then plucking a rolled-up hide from out of an inner jacket pocket to present to her. "Wingleader T'rev asked me to pass this to you, since I was passing by, anyway." While the pair likely converse, the bronzer flicks looks around at the state of the more youthful class, and can't help but twist his lips into a frowny-smirk. Been there, done that... do not EVER want to go back. And outside...Rhenth warbles low to the younger 'babies,' gently urging them with gestures and affable sounds to get themselves inside. The first little shiver might be felt as a cold rush down the spine; just a hint of unease that materialises into nothing. No sound rises above the low chatter of voices. There's no movement. Just that metaphorical cold hand at the nape of the neck. Tonight, Suraieth's reply is a placid one: still waters, deep ones. « Do you tell /your/ rider the same, as often as you tell me? I feel sorry for him. » (To Tajireth from Suraieth) "Thank you, B'rant," Ebeny replies, steps slowing to a halt at the head of the room, where she stops to accept the hide, though she doesn't immediately make to unroll it and read its contents. "I appreciate you--" Wait. Towards the back of the barracks, one of the baby bronzes has the pillow from his weyrling's cot in his mouth, teeth tearing holes and threatening to send stuffing everywhere, which will work just /fantastically/ with the mud and slush gracing the floor. "I /think/," know, "that we should do something about that, don't you?" she calls over to his rider. "N'dalis, R'zi - everything okay?" is not a half-second later in one of the greenrider's so-frequent changes of direction. "Everything's fine," Dal confirms for Ebeny, though he's lifted his hand to rub at the back of his neck uncomfortably, and it's distracted him from helping Suraieth into a comfortable position in the stone wallow they're standing in. /She/ seems abruptly on edge, too, as it happens: she's so very still, every muscle in her little body tensed and waiting. "Shh. Come on, Su. Settle down." "Fine, ma'am," comes the dull, rote response from R'zi: he's busy tending Tajireth. If something's amiss he doesn't seem overly aware of it, practically leaning over Tajireth in order to pull some rushes out. The dragon, however, goes still, tense, abruptly. "Taj-?" R'zi frowns. Outside, Rhenth finishes 'escorting' the younger dragonets when the sudden bawling and near-stampede of the penned herdbeasts and wherries out beyond the weyrling barracks draws his attention. Blue eyes peer out, up, over...but spot no dragons currently looking to get a meal in attendence. Snort. Crazy animals. Inside, B'rant's nodding to Ebeny, then peering along with her at that stuffing-ripping little bronze...the sight earning a low chuckle -- quickly concealed behind a hand -- from the older weyrling. Quietly to the Weyrlingmaster: "Thank goodness Rhenth got out of his mouthy phase quite quickly." But his clumsy phase? Oiy vey! For whatever reason, the towering late-teen rubs a hand over the back of his neck to soothe... something. To Quartz dragons, Suraieth's waters, so often calm and still, are shivering ever so faintly. « It feels /wrong/, » she announces, uneasily. In response, that cool disdain typical of the brown rather than personal: « He requires my guidance, just as you do. You should feel pleased, not sorry. » (Tajireth to Suraieth) A pause, at that shiver of cold, reflected in the brown's thoughts. Curious, but not alarmed. (To Quartz dragons from Tajireth) To Tajireth, Suraieth is distracted, now, but not /so/ much that she can't say, « You are hardly older than I am, Tajireth. Shall you be my mentor? Like Laurienth and the others? » « Mentor? » He hadn't considered that; or more accurately, hadn't given their relationship a definition. But he seems to approve, if the brief receeding of cold is anything to go by, « Yes. » (To Suraieth from Tajireth) Calming, mellifluous bass scented with forest primaeval: « I'm looking. All is well, now. » (To Quartz dragons from Rhenth) « That, » she tells him, « is not logical. » (To Tajireth from Suraieth) To Suraieth, Tajireth disagrees: « I know many things you do not, Suraieth. » Not that he's bothering to /list/ them; he just /knows/. "I don't think Laurienth ever grew out of it..." Ben drawls lowly to B'rant, for once having to tip her head up a little to murmur the words close enough to his ear for them to be for him alone and not for the members of the younger class. "Right!" That's as she turns slightly from him and lifts her voice to address the whole class, giving them all a few moments to quiet down before she continues, expecting them to be quiet /just like that/. "I know today hasn't been--" /That/ is as far as the Weyrlingmaster is permitted to get. It's not so much a rumbling noise as a /creaking/ and scrabbling sound that one might think rock incapable of making, but soon a dull roar joins the eerie sound, growing louder and louder all in a matter of seconds. The ground doesn't shake; no cots or barrels tip over, but it becomes all too obvious all too late that the noise /isn't/ coming from the ground... but from the ceiling. Cracks like spinner webs reach out faster and faster, running through the solid (/solid/?) rock ceiling of the barracks, somehow there instantly when they were /not/ there before, and then... what else is there to do but for rock to loosen and start to come crashing down upon all in the barracks, unmindful of where it falls or who or what it strikes. The agitation in the air is creating waves in Suraieth's thoughts, and Tajireth's no doubt /infuriating/ attitude is scarcely helping. « And I know many things that /you/ do not, Tajireth. » Deep breath. « You must learn to control your ego. Your-- » She doesn't get to finish. (To Tajireth from Suraieth) N'dalis and Suraieth are /both/ aware of the noise, unquestionably, but it's the green who sees the cracks in the ceiling, and who throws her weight at her rider, managing to push them both clear of some of the first pieces of rock to hurtle downwards. There's a flurry of dust, and of flailing arms, legs, and wings; Dal's /yell/ is sharp and harsh. The awful, anguished roar of a noise that rips itself free from Laurienth might not immediately be a cause for concern. After all, it /is/ Laurienth. However, the howls that follow on its heels mark is as not a temper tantrum from the Weyrlingmaster's green, but a rare moment of genuine terror, fury and sickening fear. « NO! » Where once the entrance to the weyrling complex was open, now several large, jagged rocks lie in the broken mouth of the entryway to where the youngest dragons of the Weyr are housed. (To Fort dragons from Laurienth) On the heels of the Weyrlingmaster's words: "What the /shells/-" R'zi's all too Bollian bluster cuts short abruptly as he gaze snaps /upward/ with wide eyes, and he practically /throws/ himself across Tajireth, like he can somehow shield the dragon from the rock that's raining down around them along with the dust. It starts as a surprised yell and becomes something more frantic: "No, no, /no/!" A distant sense of amusement, like the way one might humor a youngster. Nevermind they're the same age - /mental/ age is much different in the brown's mind. From nowhere - like it's prompted by the falling rocks - comes a flickered, blurry image of a distant, non-distinct set of caves. (To Suraieth from Tajireth) A distant sense of amusement, like the way one might humor a youngster. Nevermind they're the same age - /mental/ age is much different in the brown's mind. From nowhere - like it's prompted by the falling rocks - comes a flickered, blurry image of a distant, non-distinct set of caves. (To Suraieth from Tajireth) The sharp, none-too-pretty rain of rock that falls down around N'dalis promises to pin down legs and scrape along and potentially /through/ wing fibre on its way to the ground, casting up a thick cloud of choking dust around the green and her weyrling. To Fort dragons, Suraieth's, « NO! /NO/! » may not even have been meant for anyone at all, but in her terror, she reaches out blindly. No water, now: just dust and pain and-- /pain/. From her usual perch high above the Weyr, Isyath can see all: but it's not until Laurienth calls that she /looks/, and the junior queen's alarm is palpable, stars flying in all directions, radiating across the Weyr. /She/ dives, immediately, for the ground. (To Fort dragons from Isyath) It looks like R'zi might be one of the lucky ones. Or is he? There may be no smattering of dust and hail of fragments for him, but then... there is that awfully large diamond of rock that falls neat as an arrow, right in line with his shoulders. Or is that his neck? It shows no sign of stopping. "How's she doing?" B'rant's asking of Ebeny, since he got to witness the green's 'breaking away' earlier this sevenday. With the tall woman's turning back to instructing her newest charges, the elder weyrling makes to depart...and then that weird creaking and scrabbling sound hits the air. It makes him jerk his head around to peer here and there, the youthful bronzer's gray gaze then sinking to the floor. Wrong way! The last way to glance is /up/, and it's there that he can't help but notice those spreading cracks and the first falls of gravel from the ceiling. His training serves him in good stead even now, honed reflexes inciting the bronzer to immediately pivot back around and grab at Ebeny so that he can try and shove her out towards the exit. Even in motion, his slightly cracking baritone is shouting to everyone, "Get OUTSIDE! NOW!" No sooner has he spouted that then the part of the ceiling nearby is crumbling, cascading down...a fist-sized chunk of debris striking a clipped, glancing blow off the back of the young man's blond head, sending him to his knees in an instant daze. Outside, Rhenth's witnessing the cave in of the entrance to the Barracks, the bronze's eyes spinning alarmed yellow and fearful white as he gets and echos Laurienth's communication. A sudden, deafening bellow emerges from Rhenth for the first time in his life when he feels his rider's shock and injury, and with need and urgency, he's trying to grab, dig at the tons of stone and earth keeping his rider and others trapped inside. For some, this will be the second time they've heard Dal scream - and this time, even if he /wanted/ to get up, it's simply not possible. This time, too, his scream is echoed by Suraieth's, for though she hasn't been pinned down by the cascade of rock that has trapped her rider, she hasn't exactly gone unharmed. Choking and gasping, Dal doesn't seem to have enough air to /keep/ screaming, after that, though those chokes at least confirm that breathing continues. "No, /nonoNO/!" Panicky and audibly afraid, the brown weyrling tenses, but /doesn't/ move from Tajireth's side as the large chunk of rock falls towards him. The yelling from R'zi's direction ceases mid-syllable, dust swirling around Tajireth's couch as the rock /crashes/ down onto the brown weyrling's wallow with an audible shudder. Cold. Pain. CONFUSION. Rocks, caves, rocks /everywhere/, PAIN, and then the cold, colder than that of before - of /Between/ - then silence. (To Fort dragons from Tajireth) A fleeting touch of cold, then /gone/. (To Suraieth from Tajireth) Calm spreads, by measures, into Isyath's thoughts - no doubt assisted by her rider. /She/ is supposed to be the calm one, even if- « We come for you. » That is directed at the trapped dragons, and their riders, backed by a certainty of purpose and reassurance - and no doubt the cooperation, willing or no, of other Fortian dragons near enough to rope into assistance on the other side of the collapsed barracks. (To Fort dragons from Isyath) To Tajireth, Suraieth reaches out, startled even out of her pain. Tajireth? /Tajireth/? A stretch of silence, far too long for Between. The radiating cold of Tajireth's usual disapproving presence is merely /empty/. (To Suraieth from Tajireth) And that? That is when Suraieth begins to panic. (To Tajireth from Suraieth) If she remembers or realises what B'rant tried to do, perhaps Ben will be grateful if they make it out alive. As it is, she only hears the scrabble of rock and the beginnings of panicked cries from her charges, instinct driving her to lunge for the youngest of them all, a weyrbred girl whom she tries to shield with the curve of her own body. The pair of them go crashing to the floor as rock continues to fall, her grip on the girl meant to prevent flailing arms and legs, whilst the weyrling's green attempts to hide beneath a cot already covered with dust and shards. The dragonet doesn't quite make it, leaving her tail exposed, which is promptly trapped as the rock falls begins to ease off. A scream rings out from Ben's direction, not from the Weyrlingmaster herself, but from the girl she shields. Maybe the Weyrlingmaster has blacked out already - one of her wrists bent the wrong way. Still, she doesn't let go of the girl. « TAJIRETH! » Suraieth is panicking. She's hurt, she's having difficulty breathing, and /Tajireth/, where is Tajireth? « Where is he? Answer me. TAJIRETH. » (To Fort dragons from Suraieth) He looks around in a strange daze, one of B'rant's hands lifting slowly to the back, side of his head while his eyes lift towards where Dal is heard screaming, then gasping. His slightly numbed brain and body haven't quite put two and two together at that moment, however. But when the the ceiling collapses in major fashion up the brown pair, adrenaline suddenly kicks in, has the tall young man jerking up puppet-like to his booted feet and racing over towards R'zi and Tajireth's location without thought. Outside, Rhenth is sucking up every ounce of his 'aunt's' calm as if his life depended on it, and he slowly grows less frightened, more concerned and determined. It likely helps that his rider is thinking again, even if he's hurt. He's digging like an unlikely badger, still. Slowly calming, more determined than ever, « We hear you! We're coming! Listen to Isyath. » It'll be okay. (To Fort dragons from Rhenth) Not from Laurienth, but from Elaruth does the next anguished cry sound, senior queen's voice lifting in mourning for a mind she can no longer hear. It's a high, piercing keen, full of confusion as much as anything else, mind reaching, reaching, reaching... (To Fort dragons from Elaruth) "/SURAIETH/," N'dalis manages to get out, choking her name as he attempts - without success - to tug himself free. In the shock of everything, he seems to have forgotten how to talk to her mind-to-mind, because what follows is a stream-of-conscious babble of attempted reassurance: "I'm here. We're okay. We'll be okay. They'll come and get us out. No, Su, it's fine. It's /fine/. Shh. We must not fear, remember? We'll, uh, let it pass over us. It'll be fine. It'll be /fine/." The sounds of rocks being shifted from outside might be welcome - the cease of that sound might be less so. On the heels of Suraieth's call, Isyath /follows/, seeking the brown's presence. « /Tajireth/. » It is an /order/ to respond, and order that is not obeyed. The cracking sounds of keening can be heard from outside, echoing oddly against the scattered rocks that cover the barracks, now, twining with the sound of her senior's mourning. (To Fort dragons from Isyath) For Suraieth, instinct takes over: the instinct to keen, raising her voice to match the voices around her, even if her voice cracks and quakes, even if her thoughts are a storm that rages onward. /Tajireth/. (To Fort dragons from Suraieth) That large section of rock that fell on Tajireth's couch, while cracked in two, is far too big to be shifted alone. Certainly, though, there's no sign of the boy nor his dragon visible. Here, too, Khiabeth's normally bubbly tones are dull, lifted in low keen to join the other voices of Fort for the loss of one of their weyrlings. (To Fort dragons from Khiabeth) « Tajireth! » No! He can't waste a moment; he doesn't /know/! But oh, the anger at the rock in his way, it grows! Dig dig dig. « Help them! » Even now, he can't give up... (To Fort dragons from Rhenth) In a rare moment, both Ben and Laurienth's voices seem to hit the same shrieking note, as the Weyrlingmaster rolls onto her back and abruptly /cracks/ her wrist back the right way. With the ceiling seemingly no longer outright /falling/, she lets the girl dive for her tail-pinned green, then rolls back onto her front again to cough up what cannot be lungs full of dust, though the rasp and dull rattle that accompany her coughing sure make it sound that way. "Oh..." Maybe curses would follow - should follow - but that single syllable, half-sob, half tormented exclamation, is all Ben seems to be able to manage. Around rubble and through the clouds of dust, she staggers to her feet, calling, "...R'zi...?" But he's not there. /He's not there/. And there's nothing she can do. And so, she lifts her voice to shout, "N'DALIS!?" through the murky, broken cavern. That keening tone remains the backdrop to Isyath's voice - she does not reassure anymore, but she /resumes/ digging away at the rock, together with Rhenth, and several other bronzes. « We come. » They /are/ coming, trying to be careful about it so as not to cause another collapse. Every moment likely sends shuddering through the rocks and dust to fall underneath, and occasionally the glimmer of welcome light here and there. (To Fort dragons from Isyath) "Here." N'dalis' voice is almost calm, when he makes his reply to Ebeny. It helps that some of the dust is settling, though that doesn't stop him from pausing to cough and splutter, afterwards. His exhale, too, is one of pain. "We're - my legs are stuck, and Su's wing, I think. I'm not sure. I think we're safe for now, ma'am." 'Safe' does not mean /well/, but he's obviously working hard to keep that newfound calm. His head turns, his gaze seeking in the direction of Tajireth's couch, but he can't see that far from this position - and it may be that he doesn't /want/ to, not really. A gentle touch, oddly maternal for Isyath, and a more personal reassurance, « We're coming for you, Suraieth. All will be well. » (To Suraieth from Isyath) The queen pulls at the larger bits of rock, occasionally requesting Rhenth's assistance, determination - if muted by grief - in her voice as she digs. « Mine asks if yours is well? » (To Rhenth from Isyath) Much like his dragon, B'rant is on autopilot right now, his grit-smeared features a mask of Rhenth's as he ignores all except trying to dig out R'zi and Tajireth. Part of his brain peripherally notes that N'dalis and his green are getting some sort of help, and that there's strange dragon sounds all around, but he can't stop. Dig, heave, shove, dig...the teen's behaving just like his bronze, who's out /there/, trying to get in to reach him. He will /not/ keen; they could still be alive in there! Alive, unconscious, /something/...but /not/ dead! Instead, loyal Rhenth digs alongside Isyath, and then the other dragons who soon join them. (To Fort dragons from Rhenth) Ice is closing over Suraieth's panic, and her pain too. She's forcing it beneath, forcing her calm until there's nothing but smoothness in her thoughts once more (even if it continues to churn and rage beneath; that's not her concern, not now). « All will be well, » she confirms. « We shall not fear. Please. Come soon. He hurts, and he should not feel like that. » (To Isyath from Suraieth) Pulled two ways at once, Elaruth leaves her rider's side for the first time in days to join the digging efforts at the site of the collapse, wordlessly pushing her way into the collection of dragons there without asking where her assistance is needed or if she can be of use; she is /there/ and though she might be smaller than her daughter or even some of those bronzes, she is going to /help/. (To Fort dragons from Elaruth) There's honest, dark anger at the rocks that tried to kill his rider, tried to hurt them ALL in there...the first time the gold has likely ever felt such fury from the bronze. « B'rant is hurt... but he tries to unbury Tajireth's. » (To Isyath from Rhenth) « We come. Tell yours we come, all will be well. » The muted tones of the junior might well belay that, but she's going for reassurance. « Protect the young ones. No more, no more, mine says. » (To Laurienth from Isyath) The queen takes that anger on board- dulling it - /rocks/ cannot be blamed, but such energy can be /channelled/. « Tajireth's is gone. We do not feel his presence, » comes Isyath's unusual muted thought. « He must rest. We will be there soon. » (To Rhenth from Isyath) Like his dragon outside -- B'rant's own denial and anger fueling Rhenth's mirroring of that state -- the angry weyrling keeps looking for the brown and his rider that /should be there/, yet aren't. They must still be beneath the cave in, yes! Dig! At least for Rhenth, however, his digging will net him life, sooner or later. Ben is not a healer, but it doesn't take a healer's eye to understand that she has two options: move the rock that traps N'dalis or leave it there and potentially cause more damage either way. "Stay still," she warns him, voice low and roughened by the grit in the air. "And hold onto her." Mentally or physically, perhaps both, for she doesn't specify. "I'm going to try moving the rock covering your legs. If she /tugs/, her wing could rip..." As more and more weyrling voices begin to ring out across the chamber, Ben gets to hauling those chunks of rock, bit by bit, one-handed and with weight thrown behind elbow and shoulder, though her efforts aren't without whimpers of her own pain. He holds that volcanic anger to him like a protective suit of armor, both Rhenth and B'rant unable to admit that the brown is gone, along with his rider. « NO. » This is the first time, too, that the bronze has ever gone against his elders. (To Isyath from Rhenth) « We are here. » Metaphyiscally, if not quite /there/- there's a wash of reassurance and warmth from the queen, easing that soothing away of panic. « Look to him. » (To Suraieth from Isyath) Isyath shares that emptiness, the cold space where the trail of Tajireth vanished. « I called. He would come if he were able to hear. » Her thoughts are a mixture of cold-hard-reality and sobbing apology- the former Isyath's, the latter her rider's. (To Rhenth from Isyath) « NO. » Everything outside of himself except B'rant is just a damned distraction! Digging, dig, heave, shove, growl. He should've known it was coming: the cave-in. Should've known. DIG! (To Isyath from Rhenth) There's sobbing from over in one corner, one of the blueriders curled tight around his dragon: the two look dusty but don't appear to be injured, but the shock of it has made them all but useless to help with anything. To Isyath, Suraieth acknowledges that, and seems soothed by it. « I am. I /will/. Come quickly, Isyath. » And, more quietly: « Tajireth /went/. Why did he go? » There's a slight easing of tension from Isyath, as if Elaruth's mere presence right /there/ helps the junior queen in some way. /There/. « Rhenth, move that last- carefully- I think I see them! » (To Fort dragons from Isyath) N'dalis breathes out a low gasp through his teeth, closing his eyes against Ebeny's efforts, for all that he acknowledges her with a nod. "Su-" He begins, reaching to grab his green more tightly, with arms that are, thankfully, unencumbered. Luckily, she's not a dragon prone to movement: she's stock still, watching Ebeny's process with rapidly whirling eyes that are... not /calm/, but no longer quite so panicked. "Please don't hurt yourself for my sake, ma'am," says the weyrling, opening his eyes again. "/Please/." To Isyath, Laurienth projects « It's always difficult to tell the difference between rage and fear with Laurienth, and today is no different. « It's /done/. It's /DONE/. » The damage? Does she mean it's over now? Her roar is not only mental, but vocal, impotent fury railed at the wall(s) between she and her rider. » « Sometimes the pain is too great. » The answer comes immediately, unsoftened by a perhaps more maternal figure. Undoubtedly there's something of Ali's touch in the warmer words that follow, though, « I see you all. I am here, we are here. We may talk about this later. For now, your rider needs you. » (To Suraieth from Isyath) « I dig! » Yes, and with a single-minded fierceness. With Elaruth's joining of her force to Isyath's, and her channeling of the bullheaded bronze comes Rhenth's willingness to more gently shift boulders and scree aside so that nobody else gets injured inside. (To Fort dragons from Rhenth) Some light begins to shine in from above; filtered by the lingering dust, though it's not precisely clear. More rocks shift, alarmingly, as the dragons move the covering shield of rocks from outside, slowly but surely creating an opening. The junior queen takes that anger in stride, letting it wash over, around her- soothing tones flowing backwards a moment later. « I see them. They will be well. » Simply because she /wills/ it to be so. (To Laurienth from Isyath) To Isyath, Suraieth understands pain, now, if not the need to /remove/ oneself from it. But Isyath's words make sense, and the green withdraws, agreeing: « He needs me. And you have work to do. I will let you concentrate. » Just as she, too, must concentrate: /she/ must keep hers calm, just as he believes he must keep /her/ so. A pattern to all things, indeed. « We need to make the opening it wider- careful, we can't let more rocks fall inside. » Delicate operations are /not/ Isyath's strong suit, and it's with reluctance that she eases back to let Rhenth and Elaruth start to do the more delicate work, the queen's lashing tail practically felt in her thoughts. (To Fort dragons from Isyath) There's only so long that B'rant can work with no visible signs of Tajireth, and with his head singing. After perhaps fifteen minutes of fierce, badger-like effort, the teen simply and suddenly slumps against whatever rocks he shifted, and slowly tucks his long legs up towards his chest, his bloody head resting upon knees as arms weakly hug his lower limbs. "/Be quiet/." It might be the harshest tone that Ben has been heard to use, her words uttered through grit teeth and with a desperation born not of her injuries, but of the need to get N'dalis free without causing more damage. It's not the most reassuring of things, yet it shows her focus if nothing else. "Don't move." For those last rocks that she's inelegantly shifting are closer to bone that muscle and all the more likely to cause damage if she gets it wrong. "Stay still. The healers will know how to move you. I /know/ it hurts. But d-don't move. /Hold her/." Since now she's going for the rock pinning down his lifemate's wing. To Fort dragons, Rhenth projects « And finally, with that sudden snapping of his lifemate's will, at the sad acceptance that Tajireth is not under the collapsed ceiling -- somehow just /gone/ -- Rhenth can't help but rearing back from the cave in he and Elaruth are working on, and roar his anger and loss to the sky, only the last bit of his vocalization scaling up and up into a keen. » Harsh, but effective: N'dalis does not need to be told again, and closes his mouth (but not, this time, his eyes). His head turns just slightly, all the better to allow him to watch the operation in progress on his lifemate's wing. /She/ too is still, so still she might not even be alive at all - except that, thankfully, there's still a light in her eyes, just so. Dal tightens his grip on her, holding her warm body close against him; he exhales. This is where that knowledge of how everything fits together and where everything should be is really damn useful. Elaruth is quiet as she - still wordlessly - directs paws with gentle mental nudges that carry the force of her colour behind them, images shared between all who dig, flicking from one view to the other with the ease of one fitting a puzzle together piece by piece. /Don't/ move that bit. Lift /that/ one away. /Stop/. Now move. (To Fort dragons from Elaruth) She is there, a steadyness underpinning his grief, silent in her support. (To Rhenth from Isyath) He can't let his grief stop him for long, even if it hurts much more than it should. Leaning heavily on Isyath for a long moment, letting the towering giants of his deep, old forest crash finally to the ground, the bronze moans...and then drags himself up, and starts digging again. His frenzy is gone, but his determination and some of that anger remain. The rocks may not be alive...but they still hurt B'rant, and so many others. (To Isyath from Rhenth) More light streams through from outside, although somewhat flickered with the movement of dragon paws and bodies occasionally blocking it as they gradually make the opening wider, now. Finally finished with his grief and tribute, Rhenth pauses only for a moment to shake his head and moan aloud...then returning to digging alongside of Elaruth, letting her delicacy be his own guide. And Isyath? She receives a nuzzle to her neck before the bronze goes back to work. (To Fort dragons from Rhenth) That rock is going to need two hands to move it. It's a realisation that dawns in Ben's eyes as she finds she cannot get one hand to fit to its jagged edges in a manner that allows her to gain any leverage. Dragging it is not an option, with the obvious consequences of damaging the little green's wing all the more, and so Ben grits her teeth, /leans/ right into Laurienth's heady mix of fury and determination and, broken wrist or not, pitches the rock away with both hands, the heel of her palm used when fingers won't curl. She /screams/ and, outside, Laurienth goes absolutely still, but the deed is done. It's that scream that helps to revitalize B'rant again... Ben's vocalization of pain making his head jerk up from knees. After a moment, his tall frame is struggling up from his awkward sit, and the weyrling staggers slightly over towards where the weyrlingmaster and the younger weyrling pair are...and silently kneels down to add the force of his own, uncertain strength to Ebeny's. Suraieth, too, screams - a bellow, a cry, and Dal shudders, but neither of them move until /after/ the rock has been removed. The weyrling's eyes shudder closed, and then open again, and he stares at Ebeny: awe-struck, managing not to go into shock, but only barely. "Thank you," he murmurs, drawing Suraieth closer to him - closer still. It's an understatement; he can't seem to put enough emphasis on it. And now, finally, he's shaking, but there's /light/ and he can see it. It takes a lot of restraint- no doubt assisted by Ali- for Isyath not to push back in and take charge of the more delicate parts. Rhenth's nuzzle earns a whuff of breath and a momentary cease from her pacing impatience. It's only when the opening is wide enough by her own measure that she intervenes, « Let the healers through. » (To Fort dragons from Isyath) For just a moment, Ben looks to run out of energy entirely, slumping down as she aims to rest her head against B'rant's shoulder for the briefest of moments. It's a slip that she doesn't let herself dwell on, either that momentary lapse or any shock or weariness on her part, as she makes to shove herself back to her feet as soon as she possibly can. "You're..." welcome? That's for N'dalis, but she doesn't get the second word out, favouring: "Stay still. The healers will know what to do." Desperately, and a little dazedly, she casts her gaze about the ruined barracks again, now heading after that tail-trapped green. Work to do. Don't stop. Can't stop. Slowly, Rhenth's anger dries up, fizzles out, the weyrling bronze moving off when he's instructed, his tail lashing unquietly in his silent urgency for those healers to /hurry/. « Oh... he's dizzy. Hurry! » the healers, however, can't hear him. (To Fort dragons from Rhenth) Slowly, the light grows brighter from that opening as the dragons move back out of the way. Beyond, various weyrfolk are gathered - waiting for the dragons to edge back to let their riders get inside to help the injured. First, though, the healers dart through with bustling, impersonal efficiency that is might even be reassuring in some way. Behind them, riders come in to help move rocks inside the small space, or begin to assist those the healers deem capable of moving out. More through his teeth than through his mouth: "Yes, ma'am." Dal can stay still. He can close his eyes and concentrate, instead, on the warmth of Suraieth, and the relief that they're no longer pinned down, even if they're not permitted to move - and even if there are others still in danger around them. Deep breaths. Careful, shuddering breaths. But still: breaths, one after another. There's no hiding the fact that Ali's been sobbing, even while she's trying hard /not/ to - her shawl is bunched up in her hand, held against her face as she carefully picks her way inside. Her gaze flickers around, trying to locate Ebeny, first- a little helplessly- "Weyrlingmaster-" her gaze flickers towards B'rant, and there's relief there, too as she spots him- "You've done all you can. Please, let the other riders help out. You need to get yourself seen to, and you can walk." And that's about when her gaze settles on N'dalis, and his green, with a shocked intake of breath and a chewing of her lower lip. At least the layer of rock that now makes up the uneven, awkward ceiling of the barracks appears to be stable. What rattling and scrabbling that echoes through air now filling with sobs and the shrill cries of young dragons sounds to be from the ground, as rocks are shoved aside and cots and presses upended to make way for freeing limbs and retrieving the ridiculous as shock hovers over most. One of the blueriding weyrlings has his blanket up over his head, his lifemate hugged to him like a stuffed animal. Ali. He knows her...she's a bastion of light in this dark bit of the world, right now. With a low groan, B'rant's free arm seeks to lash about the junior's shoulders, trying to tug her into him while he moves away from Ebeny. She seems to be able -- or wanting to -- deal with things on her own. Those groans, cries from his fellow weyrlings reach only dully into his mind, right now. As much as he's obviously trying to block out the extent of what is going on around him, Dal can't help himself: he opens his eyes again, and as he does, he catches Ali's glance. The corner of his mouth twists, almost like he's trying to smile one of those rare smiles, but even if he /were/ more practiced at such things, it's likely it would be a weak one. But he can wait: wait patiently for a healer, biting his lip against the pain, and holding tight, always, to his green. One of the healers approaches N'dalis- gaze flickering past to the green, but the woman's not a dragonhealer. "Can you walk? We need to get you and your dragon out of here." Even before he's answered, she's beckoning over a rider to help. "You're going to have to move this..." Ben is telling the trapped green's rider. "You just need to lift it. That's all. Lift it right away. You're strong enough." But the girl - sporting no physical damage - is shaking her head, her features pale and her hands shaking. "I /can't/. I /can't/." That's when Ebeny hears her title from across the chamber and looks round a little too quickly, making her sway on her feet. With her wavy hair having fallen free of its messily-pinned bun, it's been almost impossible to see the trickle of blood slowly making its way down her neck, yet now it stains the collar of her shirt and seeps down across her collarbone. "Ali...?" And then, for the girl: "Yes, you can, you have to; she'll be fine, I /promise/..." Said quickly, rushing and rushing towards the promise in the fashion of one trying to get out words before they throw up, except the Weyrlingmaster /doesn't/ throw up. She collapses at the feet of the girl she protected instead, out cold. Outside, Laurienth bellows. With assistance - a /lot/ of assistance - N'dalis can stand, though he's only halfway up when Ebeny goes down, and that's dramatic enough, even across the cavern, that it catches his attention, and has his legs wobbling. Suraieth, relatively unharmed aside from her wing, is support on the other side, though - and as a group, when Dal turns his attention back to the task, they can make it out. Safe, if not entirely in one piece. It's with some surprise, but no protest, that Ali lets B'rant pull her towards him; there's a somewhat forced smile over her worry as she looks up at the older weyrling. "Rhenth did well out there," she murmurs. There's relief in the junior's gaze when a healer steps over to talk to N'dalis, her shuddering breath probably noticeable to B'rant, at least, if not the weyrling. It's only when Ebeny collapses that she goes stock still, eyes wide for a beat, before she snaps, "Quick- B'mis, K'varl- get the Weyrlingmaster to the infirmary." Another rider edges past to help the weyrling, too, his forceful, determined tones seeking to override the girl's anxiety. Ebeny's collapse seems to spur the girl into action and it's through sobs that shudder their way through her small frame that she bends to slowly, slowly ease that chunk of rock off of her trembling dragonet's tail. She throws it away, across the cot that the green hid beneath, ruining the already damaged piece of furniture for good, then sinks down at the foot of a wallow now filled with dust and rubble, hugging her lifemate close as she dissolves into hysterics. Pale though she may be, Ebeny's breathing is still steady. Should anyone check, there are no noticeable cracks to her skull, only an open wound somewhere in the matted mess of her hair, not bleeding all that profusely at all. Perhaps it all looks worse than it is. As it is, they'll have to discover her broken wrist later. She doesn't regain consciousness as B'rant shakes her shoulders (and would undoubtedly be stunned by his reaction, were she awake to witness it), but her eyes do flicker briefly open as she's lifted by riders, once weyrlings she trained, and carried out of the ruins of the barracks. She'll be in the infirmary with all the rest. More healers - with the assistance of riders - are slowly assisting the other weyrlings out of the barracks. Some are worse than others, and are either carried out in someone's arms or in a stretcher. Ali's watching Ebeny with particular distress, her gaze following the Weyrlingmaster's escort out of the barracks. /She'll/ stay there until everyone's out, with the less injured weyrlings and their dragons being directed to the hastily made up beds set up in the empty junior queen's weyrs. With the removal of Ebeny -- and her former, if quick, opening of eyes -- B'rant can finally groan, dig knuckles harshly at his eyes, and list back over to Ali, who he leans on some again. Apparently he could care less about his own head wound and the blood trialing down onto his own collar, the weyrling remaining with her until everyone's out. Only then does he allow himself to be led to a Healer bed, as well. It's a more complicated job than instinct demands, getting all of the surviving weyrlings and their lifemates out of the barracks. Frantic looks towards the ceiling are made by many over the course of the time spent coaxing terrified young people and confused and hurt baby dragons away and out of what was once their home, yet the work is slow out of a shared fear of causing more hurt and harm to those pinned down by rocks or trapped between broken pieces of furniture. It's a small mercy that, once everyone is tallied up, only one pair are missing and mourned. If 'only' could /ever/ be anything of /any/ reassurance... |
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