Logs:Cave In, Trapped Perspective
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| RL Date: 2 April, 2015 |
| Who: Ghena, H'kon, Keysi, Leova, Lycinea, Rafevan |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Cave in! People get trapped. This is part 1, from the perspective of those who get trapped. |
| Where: Trapped Hallway, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 6, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Storyteller: Irianke/ST |
| OOC Notes: Dragon chatter included for the sake of how it matched to what was happening. Please do not tag the dragonriders who do it as a separate, more complete, dragon talk log will be posted. Thank you! And thank you everyone, again, for being such peaches! Log continues in Cave In, Rescuers Arrive. |
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| It's just before dinner time on this warm, sunshiney day. Not far off from this somewhat vacant hallway, people are streaming like lemmings towards the living cavern for food, drink, and the company of people they may or may not like. The end of many people's work days and there is a crowd forming to see what new foods Tillek has tithed early. Without Anvori, without Via even, herding is harder. 'Fresh' after a day's work in the dragon infirmary, Leova's hanging onto the newly-picked-up twins by their wrists, very serious about their not escaping into the shuffle and getting to see tithes sooner the way they vocally would like. "No, they won't be alive," the greenrider tells her offspring. "No, the fish won't be alive. Yes, it's better that way. They're fine." Vrianth's no help, restless from spending the day sunning instead of sweeping. Keysi is moving briskly, not unlike her normal pace, through the tunnels. She'd just deposited a large satchel of supplies to the storerooms and is rolling her shoulder to stretch it as she moves against the crowd. She'd forgotten something in the barracks again, and is taking a detour prior to investigating the newly arrived foodstuffs. If there's anything left when she gets there, that is. This is quite a bustling. The twins being dragged along by the dragonhealer catches her attention, and though she glances down as she catches a bit of the 'conversation' she keeps moving. Since becoming Irianke's assistant, Lya's days are never predictable. She should be taking the fancy dress Irianke wants taken in directly to the weavers. Should. She probably had the best of intentions until she ran into Tomic and he asked her about Little Kitten, their shared (but now mostly hers) responsibility. Then she detoured, because even though she assured the big candidate that Z'riah was taking good care of her while she worked that day, the truth was... she hadn't seen the cat since she was hungry for breakfast. So now she searches, with the dress, carefully draped over her arms, calling, "Little Kitten?" Every now and again (and occasionally a few more unkind names). A muted thump is felt throughout the Weyr, as if a giant were stomping in the far far distance. It's dismissible by many who are in places with too many people around. Less so if you're alone. If you notice. You wait. You listen. But nothing else twinges funny. Maybe it was just your imagination. H'kon is coming back up the passageway, hands pressed into the pockets of his riding jacket (in this weather, a sure sign of recent activity with Alpine). They press deeper, when the hall that had seemed quiet enough, for the Weyr anyway, a moment before now starts to bring him hints of echoed voices. His eyebrows set in a flat line, his jaw squares. He keeps his eyes up, but moves nearer one of the walls of the passage. For those in the Weyr entrance, that thump is far far more distinct and noticeable. But it could be a number of things: a tithe wagon doing ... something? Someone banging on drums. But the Weyr itself seems to stir uneasily. Oh, if these walls could talk. "Kitten? Kitten!" Now Leova's in for it. That thump disturbs her at the perfect moment for the twins to be able to twist free and make tracks... in different directions. What Leova mutters under her breath is a short phrase belonging very much to the old days. For a man of H'kon's stature, looking up is second nature. This is what he does at that sound, his footsteps hitching, pausing, turning. The man's face takes on that look so well-known in Weyrs. Did Arekoth hear that also, from his position at the top of the rim? Does he see something now, if he looks? H'kon himself sees little. So next, he listens. Keysi's pace slows, but as she's going against the crowd, she's pressed towards a wall before she's able to stop. And wait. And listen. She felt something. The healer turns just the wrong way and quite nearly trips on Lya, only distractedly figuring out the words she's calling. "-Sorry." Dry tone says distractedly, "...Kitten? There's a feline here?" Maybe the thump wasn't anything major. Maybe it's a Weyr thing. (To H'kon): Listen hard. Listen. What do you hear? Preternatural senses, or maybe that's just your dragon highly attuned. Do you hear it? Does it sound like little mice running up along the ceiling? Should you look up, nothing. No mice. Nothing. Lycinea's brows rise as her call attracts (distracts?) two non-kittens. The thump gives her greater pause though. The kids aren't her responsibility after all, and the kitten? Well. Wherever it is, it is. The greatest item of note is the candidate that twists away from instinctively to guard the dress, stopping short. "I don't know," is the brisk answer for Keysi, the beginnings of a frown on her lips. The seconds pass into minutes, and when most people have shrugged off the thump as nothing to be concerned about, a low rumbling BOOOOOOOOOOOM is audible within the lower caverns. Even if you don't hear it, you most certainly feel it, this fine evening just before dinner. Whatever this second event is vibrates the very floor you stand on, the walls you cling to, the knick knacks on your shelves. It isn't quite so shocking as to unbalance most, but it is distinct and certainly not your imagination. To local dragons, Cadejoth projects « What was that? » Cadejoth's thoughts are agitated; alarmed. « What just happened? » To local dragons, Rasavyth is still, too still. He might as well be a statue. What indeed, is echoed sentiment without words, concern lancing through with his oozy thoughts. « Boom. » Lythronath is helpful. (To local dragons from Lythronath) Pain mixes with smoke, a sharp thing that comes from the foreign dragon in the infirmary in the wake of that shaking. But Etrevth doesn't have an answer for Cadejoth, or an answer for anyone. (To local dragons from Etrevth) Just as Hraedhyth is getting comfortable, there's a stutter of her drums at the feeling. The rumble is ominous, low, « I do not know. » To her mate, and to the rest of her tribe. (To local dragons from Hraedhyth) To local dragons, Ilicaeth projects « He might be somewhat irked, still, by the Weyrleader, but Ilicaeth's a stalwart soldier, and chimes in to the bronze, « Dunno. Heard 'em both. » While he's not worried, the blue is definietly alert, and inquiring of enough other dragons. » To local dragons, Niahvth projects « The Weyr is shaking. » Shit. Placid, brooding queen be damned. « The Weyr is shaking. » Whatever his rider's feelings, Olveraeth reaches out. « The eggs. Do you need anything? Can we be of assistance? » He's unfailing polite, his slightly nasal, odd voice solid and serious, now. (To Niahvth from Olveraeth) (To Leova): Your kids. Where are your kids? What a time for them to run off from you? Leova, where are your children? The explosion, it sounds like it came from down there. Did they? Could they? Oh, surely not! Alert on the sands, even moreso than usual now, watching over the previously dozing dam and their clutch, Reisoth does not ask the obvious question, but he does wait for answers. Who has answers! (To local dragons from Reisoth) To local dragons, Arekoth is suddenly not on the rim, where he'd been watching the Weyr. He leaps up, and then drops down, fast. To local dragons, Cadejoth's tone is abruptly all authority. « Where. Report. Is there any damage? Does anyone know anything? Report. » (To Lycinea): Did you hear a cry? Is that the sound of someone crying? But where is it coming from? There, right there. Down that hallway. Do you dare go alone? But if you move there, the sound seems like it's coming from somewhere else. Damnit! "Where," but Leova's paled as much as her warm skin can, looking, now calling. "Vey! Vari! Come back now!" Only, when there's no answer, her gaze can't help but go to where... to where... abruptly she runs, down into that tunnel, toward the source of that more-than-sound. H'kon's stance broadens, those short legs of his jerking him instinctively toward the main corridor, the Weyr's entrance - and then stopping. One hand withdraws from a pocket. The other does not. He turns and goes back. Calls back into the warren of rooms - that were empty when he'd first arrived - once, loud, drill-volume. He'll await his dam's favor for now, but Ilicaeth's mind is whirling through those of the Weyr's dragons that are his friends and acquaintences - and even just chatterboxes - the blue looking for any news as to the whats and whys of these sounds. (To local dragons from Ilicaeth) To local dragons, Niahvth is too distracted, too distraught to report. Generally a pleasant dam, post-clutching, she projects nothing but fear, paranoia, and a healthy dose of don't you dare come near me and my eggs'. Except Reisoth. He's allowed. Hraedhyth's drums are a different kind of boom as her fire spreads, wild and sudden. It doesn't burn through the thoughts of the Weyr, but it is there. Who? What? Is she needed? She will fight. It's instinct that drives her, that has her echoing Cadejoth's verbal commands as she listens. (To local dragons from Hraedhyth) The dress is momentarily forgotten (sorry, Irianke!). The arm that previously supported the bodice comes abruptly free and Lya reaches to grab Keysi's arm, wherever she can get a grip, expression unnerved but not yet panicked. "Do you hear that?" She swallows hard, "The crying?" And yet, she doesn't move. She might just look a little scared. That paranoia ups Vrianth's, the green broadcasting it amidst her rider's sudden focus and fear on a higher frequency, a chill, tooth-aching scrape. (To local dragons from Vrianth) Hraedhyth doesn't come near, would not dare with the clear message the other gold is sending out. Still, she is here. For the Weyr, and especially for Niahvth and her eggs. « You are safe. » Or so the queen believes-- and promises. (To Niahvth from Hraedhyth) Keysi turns to face Lya, reading into the dress-protection posture oddly, but not able to really put words in to question it before there is a much more distinct noise that has her on much higher alert. Suspicious before, on guard now. "We need to get out of here." The young candidate announces, stoic. She's never met Lycinea before but she's the only one right next to her. But, she's stopped from progressing in the more appropriate direction by the hand that grabs her arm. "What? Crying?" The candidate hesitates, turning her intense gaze down the hallway, then back again. "Where is it coming from?" (To Lycinea): A streak of fur. You see it. That damnable cat. It's heading into a hallway. Do you protect the dress or the cat? Do you seek out the crier? (To Keysi): Crying. It's not crying. Is it wind? A rumble of.... something? What is it? There's too many people around, but maybe... just maybe, you want to follow that sound. Or that streak of fur you see going down a hallway. Daaamn, Vrianth! Quit that scraping! His mental teeth on edge, the blue finds himself grumpily standing up from cuddling with Hraedhyth, his coppery talons flexing into stone. While Niahvth's paranoia makes his muscles ripple with the urge to action, he confines himself to taking orders from either Hrae or Cadejoth...and neither have sent any. Yet. (To local dragons from Ilicaeth) In this moment of uncertainty, Rasavyth probably genuinely doesn't mean to make it worse. He just wonders without words a little too loudly: what if this isn't something that can be fought? (To local dragons from Rasavyth) (To H'kon): A mother has lost her children. She's calling for them. Shit, is that Leova? Does she need help? Vey! Vari! Not a dragon given to unnecessary displays of emotion, Reisoth is calm for Niahvth. As calm as he's capable of being, anyway, so near to the queen's emotions. (To local dragons from Reisoth) Rafevan isn't known for being especially animated. Not for running or yelling either one. But these may all be things he's presently doing, voice echoing down the hallway he's in, away from the others. "The roof's coming down!" Does the warning reach them over the deep rumble of crumbling stone? Maybe; maybe not. It fades, in fact: he's going the other way from them, if the echo is anything to judge by. They? Might just be walking into whatever it is. "There!" Lya points for Keysi. Then a squeak from the blonde, "Shit!" The dress is tossed over her shoulder and she's sprinting in the direction she indicated, accidentally yanking at the candidate's arm as she goes. (To Leova): Are your children in there? A man, he just ran by you saying something. Screaming something? Sky falling? Ceiling falling? Something? (To H'kon): Did you just see that man who ran by? What was he yelling? The ceiling falling? What if there are others, unable to get out? Do you go? Do you dare? Keysi shakes her head, then, as some noise finds her own ears the disbelief dissolves. "It's not.. but.. There's something..." The healer barely gets it out before Lya starts running towards it, with Keys in tow. There's very minimal resistance at first, and even less as she's keeping pace if not gaining speed towards the sound, and the sight that she caught just out of the corner of her eye. Rafevan's shouts never reach her. The man. Running by. Yelling. Leova can't yell, she hasn't that much breath, Vrianth storming in her head to go back but the children are... she has to get to them. To local dragons, Cadejoth's voice reaches out again, his chains silent and still-- so silent, so still; so unusual-- but this time he has purpose, sending out commands: one dragon to the Minecraft Hall; another to the Smiths, to the Woodcrafters. « Stay where you are, » he warns the Weyr. « There's damage. No one is to approach. Stay where you are. » H'kon carries on retracing his steps, back the way he'd come, back to all those rooms. He'd checked them, superficially, on his quest. Now, he looks with a purpose. From afar, Ghena looks wide eyed and panicked. "Gaela! Raleri!" The bluerider shouts, as she ducks down the hall, against her lifemate's warnings. She did see them heading this way didn't she? Bounding through the hall on long legs. "This is what I get for agreeing to babysit." She scolds herself. Ghena looks wide eyed and panicked. "Gaela! Raleri!" The bluerider shouts, as she ducks down the hall, against her lifemate's warnings. She did see them heading this way didn't she? Bounding through the hall on long legs. "This is what I get for agreeing to babysit." She scolds herself. There. The Weyr itself seems to sigh, and there's one last low rumble before silence. The good kind? Those in the bowl suddenly see a few dragons who live above the Weyr entrance area skittering off their ledges, lifemates in various states of dress or undress in tow. From a weyr, whose ledge is located just above the Weyr's entrance, « Our floor is is crumbling. But not gone. » The blue sounds more fascinated than afraid. « We vacate. » He is not the only one, as a handful of others chime in in varied degrees of flailing. (To local dragons from Niahvth) Out there, thats what might be happening. Here? Here. There are no children. No recalcitrant nieces or nephews. No kittens. Just... you in a hallway. And the sudden roar of rocks pelting down and the ceiling, quite literally, falling on your heads. Duck. Run. Find cover. (To Leova): One large stone beans you in the forehead, the sharp edge of it drawing blood of the deep kind. Is that a large boulder coming down? Move quick. Quickly, lest you, or that lovely ankle of yours gets trapped. To local dragons, Lythronath wants to see. Lythronath's interest presses. An aging woman, having followed down after Leova calling for her kids, shrieks and skitters back, stumbling out of the hallway. "Run!" she cries. "Run!" Louder, now, and more insistent: « Stay. Until we know what's happening. Stay where it is safe. In the bowl, if you need to. Stay. » (To local dragons from Cadejoth) Stay where they are; a call to Smith, Wood, Minecrafts; thuds and booms; some dragons forced to vacate their weyrs from crumbling floors. Ilicaeth's (along with his rider's) mind puts 2 and 4 together to offer up a disturbed, « Cave-in, somewhere... » Are there people or dragos trapped? Yeeees, yes, bawss. *He'll* 'stay.' Gheeze. Lythronath gets a guard's brow-lifted stare. (To local dragons from Ilicaeth) She runs, Leova runs, smaller rocks falling and tumbling and shoulder and upthrust arm and a harder one gets her, she's bleeding now and into her eyes but a boulder's rumbling and she has to yank her foot away and something rips and this is all there is, rocks and falling and rumbling and blinding. As /H'kon/ crouches. Not fast enough, that search. "Gah!" It's guttural, grunted, and comes with the raising of one arm up above his head, instinctive, as he crouches and looks out of an (empty) room, and down into the hallway, where rocks are falling. (To K'del): A man wearing the colors of a Tillekian tithe master runs, his eyes scanning in that distinct way people do when searching for something. "The ceiling is falling! There are people! I saw a woman seeking her children go down there. This shell foresaken place." "Hells-" It's not a yell, it's a statement as Keysi clenches her teeth and turns on her sole to try to find- and then grab if possible- Lya. "Faster, move!" She demands, throwing herself back suddenly as a large hunk of rock crashes down where she'd been standing. Not fast enough to evade everything, pieces smack against her, ripping clothing where pieces graze instead of clobber. Larger ones coming, she's sure, but she seems focused on Lya. Lycinea was born to run (cowardly, self-preservingly). She's nimble enough. "The dress!" It might at first seem the cry of a too-dedicated assistant, but no, it's a cry with purpose as she grabs the full skirts and whisks it up over her head, and hopefully Keysi's too, with the practiced whip of one whose changed a lot of linens in her day. The dress doesn't provide a lot of defense, but if Keysi will think to grab it, when Lya said, "Stretch it tight!" it might afford them a little extra help to avoid being bludgeoned by the smaller stuff at any rate as they move. To local dragons, Rasavyth's ledge is sizeable, and evidently safe judging by the fact that the floor is still there (yay!). It might seem odd to some, but a wordless current of invitation allows for the stranded to come, to borrow his space for now, if they wish a higher vantage. And just as suddenly. Everything goes quiet. A few pebbles fall here and there, but the world is decidedly dark, except the few glow lanterns that were already here. But when were they last replaced? It is oddly, terrifyingly quiet enough now that every rock shift can be heard. Everything from breathing to whimpers sounds magnified and louder in this dead end warren of barely used rooms and one stretch of hallway. A few rooms are inaccessible due to rubble, but there are beds in others, blankets, a few chairs and desks that have escaped major damage. It is... quiet. It may not have been Cadejoth's intention to let it leak, but there it is: trapped. The thought is bit back as soon as it escapes, but too late; agitation does wonders for mental leakage. (To local dragons from Cadejoth) To local dragons, Arekoth's piercing shriek, the slice of brilliant green across his mind's nightsky, it all comes with motion. The brown is airborne. His rider is trapped. Ghena trips as the world goes dark and silent, tumbling against the debris with a sickening thud and hiss of lost breath. She doesn't move. Eventually, H'kon will move from where he'd thrown himself back, crouched, protected, not unscathed, but not badly wounded either. It will take him time to assess the situation, to begin digging his way out of the little room that, somehow, didn't come in on itself like its neighbour. When this is all said and done, his dragon will no doubt guess at what he has where, to have made him so lucky. |
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