Logs:Capturing Bea
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| RL Date: 5 December, 2011 |
| Who: Avaryk, Bea, E'dre |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: An investigation of a possible Bea sighting proves fruitful -- and life-threatening! |
| Where: Southern Boll |
| When: Day 3, Month 6, Turn 27 (Interval 10) |
| It's a hot, humid afternoon in the Boll region, several hours left before anyone can expect to get relief. While uncomfortable, the sun still closer to mid-point than it is to horizon means that there's still plenty of light left in the day. Avaryk, more comfortable in these climes than with the cooler northern weather, still manages to look crisp in his Southern Boll guard's uniform -- or as crisp as one can in an outfit that's been pulled from stores and isn't sized entirely right. After sending his message via Squeak to Fort Weyr, he found a visible place to wait some ways off from the far-flung cothold he'd been visiting, perching on a stone fence bordering a field until reinforcements arrived. He spared little time in formalities, his greeting for E'dre consisting pretty much of offering his name -- the real one -- before he produced a copied map and filled the brownrider in on where the person who may or may not have been Bea was sighted. "There's a cave system here, not far inside the forest," the undercover storeskeeper concludes, finger indicating the spot on the map. "It's the likeliest place near here I figure for her to have found shelter. If we start there, we can do a radial search outward." It would seem highly unlikely that E'dre was hand-picked to go and follow-up on the note from Southern Boll, but here he and Wroth appear from Between. The brownrider does not waste much time with more than a sweeping assessment of Avaryk, his uniform, and personal appearance. Wroth is beside himself in his excitement for the chase, his head angled close to the two humans to try and 'see' the map. E'dre shoves the brown muzzle away from them as he looks up from the map and out in the direction Avaryk's finger is indicating. "I think I remember that cave system, from when I was younger. All right. If you want to lead, I'll follow. Wroth, I'm going to have you go up and circle around us in case you see her from the air." There is much grumbling, wing-shuffling, and tail-tapping from the brown on this but eventually, with more mental pushing, Wroth moves airborne so the pair of men can hunt on the ground without him. Avaryk at least seems as comfortable as anyone can be with a dragon breathing down their neck, not sparing much more than a glance for the interested brown. "I just hope he doesn't decide to come barrelling down through the trees if we /do/ spot her in there," the young man observes with dry humour. Then with a nod he's off at a jog, making an assumption on a dragonrider's usual state of fitness as he follows the fence toward the treeline. Might as well make use of the relatively smooth, open ground while they have it. A sharp, trilling whistle sends his tiny blue firelizard winging off ahead of them, disappearing into the trees well ahead of the two men. Aryk only slows once the verdant shadows are reached. Low-voiced, "I'll head off to the right a few yards. I'd like to approach the caves at angles. If she's there and happens to be watching, if she only spots one of us it might draw her out and give the other a chance to get behind her." Not that he's really expecting that to happen, but better to have a plan in place than get caught with their metaphoric pants down. "Running?" E'dre grunts out, watching Avaryk quickly move forward at a pace the brownrider would rather avoid. Even so, he heaves a sigh and stretches his legs in front of him into an even-paced jog. He's not out of breath when they stop to discuss tactics, but his face is ill-pleased. "Let's stop running then," he murmurs, eyes flicking out and around the trees. "If you like, I'll go first and offer myself up as 'bait'. Then you can swipe her if she comes out." He's no tactician by any means. Wroth, for his part, has not broken his casual circling of the tree-tops. E'dre's eyes flick upwards and then his head tilts to the side in thought. "Hmm. Maybe. Maybe if we need to, it wouldn't be /bad/ if Wroth does barrel down and encircle her with his claws." There's not a sound save for the rustle of leaves as wind rushes through the trees; not so much as the scrabble of boots against bark, keeping the dark-haired figure who sits crouched on a sturdy branch hidden in all their unnatural stillness. The greens and browns of 'borrowed' clothing easily blend in with surroundings, concealing the presence of the woman tucked close to the trunk of her chosen tree. A quick flash of white teeth betray Avaryk's amusement at E'dre's expense, but he manages a mostly straight face when he says, "No more running." He pauses then, considering the brownrider and then himself, the guard's uniform in Southern Boll's signature red and white being more than a little conspicuous against all the greenery. "How about I act as bait and you be ready to pounce?" he offers an alternate strategy. "Besides, if she'd gotten herself a new blade, she might be less likely to draw on me than on someone in riding leathers." He flexes his right hand a bit, reaching in an automatic gesture as if he'd adjust something on his back but lacking anything there, he just makes a face and drops his hand again, muttering, "Wish I had my bow." Sigh. "We'll stay as parallel as we can for now," he decides, before he starts to move off into the trees. He might stick out like a sore thumb, but he still moves with the easy, fluid silence of a trained hunter. "Whichever you think is best," E'dre replies, shrugging and looking around him with a little unease. He rubs at the back of his neck and mutters, "I feel /eyes/ on me...," but that's the last of the commentary from the brownrider as he strides forward. His eyes are roaming the trees as they pass them, glancing up now and then, but otherwise he keeps his eyes trained forward. There are branches to not step on, bushes to not run into, and other objects that grab his attention time and time again. His fingers idly brush the knife that is jammed into his belt, his only form of protection against any sort of attack. The thwack of a blade into wood is made to coincide with the next significantly loud gust of wind, branches creaking in time to cover the sound and the smack of boots against tree trunk. The sound of the blade going in might have been drowned-out, but the crack of its being removed isn't. Or did some sort of critter just step on a twig? Avaryk's movements are shadowed by the flitting form of Squeak, the little 'lizard moving from tree to tree and not straying too far. Though largely futile, when that *snap!* echoes through the trees the young man crouches down, giving a sharp whistle: two quick, short bursts of sound. It brings the blue back to his shoulder, and he looks to see if he can spot E'dre through the trees. He doesn't call out, but a wave of his hand seeks to gain the brownrider's attention, a gesture that can hopefully be read as 'wait' given. Or it could be interpreted as a request to move further away or... who knows, really. But whether or not the message is received as intended, Aryk himself waits several long moments, head tilting this way and that as he listens for any new sound that doesn't belong before he begins to move forwards once more. Truly, E'dre is oblivious to the signals Avaryk is trying to send his way. He's got his back turned to the man, his head tilted up at the direction of the sound. His brows furrow and he pauses where he is, just beneath a tree. A hand reaches out to steady him against the tree's trunk as he turns to scan back to find Avaryk. There is now a considerable distance between the pair of them. As the guard is crouching, E'dre freezes. His eyes slowly roam upwards once more to peer up into the tree's branches.. That hand against the tree is just too much temptation to resist, especially given the riding leathers and brownrider knot attached to it. No-one's ever described Bea as a particularly slight woman and it's just as E'dre looks up that she leaps down with every intention of sending him to the floor with her landing. As she falls, she aims her reclaimed blade right at his hand, though it's unclear what sort of damage she intends to do. Relieve him of it? Of fingers? Slice his wrist open? It doesn't seem like she much cares, for in the next moment, she's throwing her weight forward to bring him to the ground with her. "Shit!" The time it takes to utter that single exclamation is all the time Avaryk devotes to being surprised at the attack upon E'dre, half-seen though it was from his peripheral vision. No effort is made at stealth, speed being favoured as he crashes through the under-growth in an effort to reach the man who has become, for however temporary a time, his partner. It probably also says something about the character of the Southerner that the weapon he goes for instinctively isn't the heavy club that could handily knock out even the hardest-headed of individuals, but his far more familiar hunting dagger. He also doesn't waste breath on shouting, not even to let E'dre know he's on the way, the only sound the snapping and crackling of twigs and rattle of leaves -- and the squawking of Squeak who shoots straight up towards the canopy. Coward, or possibly seeking help in the form of one large brown cousin named Wroth. There is no time for cursing from E'dre as the wind is knocked out of him and he soon finds himself clattering to the ground, with a woman straddling him and moving with a knife to find flesh to connect with. The brownrider struggles, legs lifting up to try and lock around Bea in an attempt to flip her and gain the advantage. It's a tussle of movement, one hand trying to stall her knife-hand, while the other grapples for something to grip on to. There is no need for Squeak to come up, Wroth's bugle of rage is loud enough to shake wherries from the branches and scuttling into the sky. Unlike the firelizard, it is not as easy for the brown to make his way past the treeline but the sounds of breaking and snapping fill the space as he tries to 'dig' his way down to where his rider struggles. Avaryk's approach is not noticed but either - E'dre's focus on Bea and Wroth's focus on getting to him. "Stop it! Just stop it!" Bea hisses out, throwing her weight to the left so that she might draw back her right knee and administer a quick, hard jab to where it should be easiest to hurt a man. "It's easier if you don't fight. He'll be gone quicker. He won't suffer anymore," she mutters, bringing the knife down, only to miss E'dre's shoulder and get the blade stuck in the earth. As she tries to tug it out, she aims a fist at his jaw instead: anything to stall him. So set on her goal, she doesn't even register that Avaryk has noticed anything at all. Whatever worries Avaryk may have had earlier about a dragon crashing down through the trees, they're forgotten now, his only focus being reaching Bea. He ducks branches, leaps any bushes he can't just barrel through, trips once but that doesn't slow him much, as he hits the ground hard only to use the momentum to roll back to his feet. His dagger is held with the back of the blade flush to his forearm, a defensive hold better for slashing and block than for stabbing. Not that that should be an issue just yet, save for him being less likely to accidentally stab E'dre in his next move. Because as soon as he's close enough, he gives up trying to go through the underbrush, and instead goes /over/ it. A sideways jump and twist plants his feet against the trunk of a tree, and then with a wordless roar likely lost in the racket of both draconic and human struggles, he pushes off in a flying tackle aimed at hitting Bea to hopefully knock her right off E'dre. "Don't talk about him, you crazy bit--," E'dre finally manages to grind out a comment, his hand still grappling for leverage of the knife. The last of his words are cut off with a guffaw as his face turns stark-white. Bea's knee met its mark and E'dre gasps for air as he attempts to find the strength to ignore the black-flecks that have swarmed his vision from the pain. That knife that hits the ground is pure luck, because E'dre is clearly disadvantaged of the two at the moment that Avaryk enters the scene. Bea's attempt to connect with his jaw is finished, leaving Wroth to scream in fury once more. Still the brown has not made it through the treeline. Bea howls out her frustration as she's knocked away from E'dre and immediately starts struggling to throw Avaryk off of her and get to the brownrider. Whatever's going on in her clouded mind, the guard, as she sees him, is of no interest to her, only the one identifiable as a rider deemed a worthy target. "He's /hurting/ him!" she protests, voice hoarse. "Get off me!" No knife, no rock, no nothing, all she's got is brute force, which isn't all that much on her side after so long living as she has. Her eyes go glassy as she attempts to claw herself away from Avaryk with a desperate cry of, "Oroth! Oroth!" "/You/ are hurting him!" Avaryk bellows angrily. He risks his tenderest bits when he tries to wrap his legs around Bea's, taking whatever beating he has to as he pretty much simply lies on her, using his greater weight to as much advantage as it'll give him. He tries to catch at least one of her hands with his left, seeking to trap her arm against her chest. "Be still!" He brings his right hand around, allowing nothing of the affect her desperate cries have on him to show as he aims a hard strike at her temple with the hilt of his dagger. Not enough force to kill; his intent is only to knock her unconscious. E'dre manages to twist to his side, then his stomach, and push himself shakily up to his knees. It's a hunched position, eyes closed, and heavy breathing as the brownrider attempts to regain himself from the two blows he's taken. It is seconds, maybe minutes, that it takes for his vision to clear and then he's heaved himself to his feet and strode over to aid Avaryk in Bea's capture where he can. His own arms reach out to lock on to whatever bit of Bea he can grab, a clump of shirt and another hand pressing down on her shoulder to add pressure to keep her to the ground. At this point Wroth has broken off his attack on the trees and managed to move to a clearing not far from where the three are struggling. One last, despairing, "Oroth!" escapes Bea's lips as more an inhuman ache of a noise than true discernable name before she goes still, head snapping back with the force of the strike delivered by Avaryk. The former brownrider slumps, all the fight and tension gone out of her, head lolling to one side. Her chest continues to rise and fall, the only evidence that she still lives, her features too pale to suggest life themselves. She's definitely not in good shape, for all the sympathy it surely cannot elicit. Not one to immediately trust in appearances even if he's confident his blow landed true, Avaryk continues to hold Bea down even as he looks up at E'dre. "Are you two all right?" he asks, no thought given to including Wroth in his query; it's just natural to do so. Only when he's absolutely convinced that Bea's lack of consciousness is genuine does the fake guard make a move to rise, though only into a crouch next to the woman. "I hope you've got some rope with you, because I haven't," he says next, words rough as his breathing is hard from the adrenaline rush of recent minutes. "And I sure as shards am not sending you back to the Weyr with her unbound." Squeak, who from the point Wroth began attacking the trees had gone to find himself a hole to hide in, makes a sudden reappearance, trembling as he wraps himself around Aryk's neck. "We'll be fine," is the grim reply of E'dre. He has rope that he had initially wrapped around his waist - on the off chance they'd /find/ Bea. Now he unwinds it from himself and hands it down to Avaryk to bind the woman. He removes himself to a few steps away from the woman, his fingers rubbing at his sore jaw. His gaze is hard, no sympathy surfacing for the state of the former brownrider sprawled before him. Once Bea is properly bound, E'dre moves to help heft her with Avaryk. "Come. Wroth is beside himself in his need to /see/ me - and I'd best get her back to the Weyr before she comes 'round." It is a task to carry the woman between the two of them, but she's light in comparison to what she could be. Wroth is a rush of wings and brown as he moves to be near the side of his rider once they break into the clearing. "I'm fine," he mutters, trying in vain to shoo Wroth away. The dragon's breath is warm and spicely-scented huffing. E'dre turns to Avaryk, "Thank you. We both thank you. If you hadn't have acted fast... I'd be, well..," here's where a touch of shock comes in as he lets out a sharp bark of laughter, "quite dead if it weren't for you." Re-sheathing his dagger, Avaryk accepts the rope with a nod of thanks. 'Properly' bound means Bea gets unceremoniously rolled onto her front, her hands pulled and tied behind her, then her feet pulled up, tied at the ankles and lashed to the ropes around her wrists, only about six inches of give between them. Even if she does wake up soon -- unlikely -- she is not going to be doing more than cursing. "She should be out for a while," he assures as they carry Bea out to the waiting brown. He steps back to give Wroth and his rider some room, and even turns his back on the reunion for a couple minutes. "Make mention to have a healer look at her, just in case I did more damage than intended." When he does look back again, his jaw remains tense as he waves away the thanks. "I just did what had to be done. I'm glad I got to you in time. Here, let me help you load her up." He moves to do just that then, the dragonless woman being handled about as gently as he'd handle a sack of grain. "Tell Hattie I'll make a report to Boll that Bea's been captured and in Fort's custody, then try to exit 'Veronyk' out as quietly as possible within the next few days." Wroth's claws are digging into the dirt beneath him as E'dre and Avaryk settle Bea up between E'dre's riding straps. "You can't have your way with her, so lay off it!" E'dre snaps at the brown, giving a brown shoulder a fist-thump. "We have to let others deal with her as she should be." He's only down on the ground for a moment, hand reaching out to grasp Avaryk's in a firm shake. "I'll pass it on as soon as we land. I'm sure the whole Weyr will be rushing to see her downed. I'll make sure to let /everyone/ know my hide'd be on the ground if it weren't for you. Thank you again. I owe you." E'dre leaves that as his goodbye as he strides up Wroth's offered forearm. It's a short time for him to get himself strapped in and then Wroth's leaping into the air and gaining enough altitude for a quick trip Between and home. « We've got her!! » Wroth shouts to those dragons that are listening and then all is silent as the blackness envelopes him. |
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