[05.27.3575 WW] Bowl & Infirmary: CLOSED

[Tsunake]

Aerden had been working dutifully this entire time, alternating between helping with numbweed, to rolling bandages, to... well, to whatever else the Healers could possibly use him for. He was currently running across the Bowl with fresh redwort, grimacing occasionally when he heard the sound that he now identified as keening whenever a dragon was lost to Threadfall.

"More redwort here, sirs," He spoke in a mild, but loud voice so to be heard over the din of the flurry of other activities going on. He recognized Veikel at once, but hadn't realized there was a problem--not until the man turned and suddenly paused with a shake of his head. Aerden's brows knit immediately with concern, wanting to ask if he was alright... but duty came first before anything, and he held his tongue.

Mr Cheri

houllow

 

[houllow]

"Oooh, Aerden. Didn't think you'd be here, did Mom ask you to help?" Veikel turned at the familiar booming voice, business smile still in place on his lips. "Make sure you and Tristram stay hydrated and wash your hands. Lots of bloody folks here needing help, I'd best get on it - so no, Tristram, I will not be sitting down. Sitting down happens when either my leg breaks off or we're done for the entire day" There was a laughing pause. "Whichever comes first. But if you both need more numbweed or redwort, I have a few jars. I also should go and check and see how the supplies are holding up."

This Fall hadn't been too bad, but it was worse than what he'd expected so there'd be no surprise if their stock was depleted. Much more would be needed over the next few sevendays if they were to keep both riders and dragons in a healthy enough shape to fight. "Instead of tea I probably should have worked on cultivating a much larger patch, or maybe attempted to make a hybrid between the two. It's something fun to think about." And Veikel certainly would be thinking about it, likely even attempting it, ignoring everything else. Even now he was starting to think about how such a thing would be possible, and anyone who knew anything about Veikel and how much like an open scroll he was could practically read the thoughts on his face.

"Er, yes, where was I? Supplies. You two, drink water and patch people up. I am going for supplies." A few more steps prompted another shake of his head, but at least he was able to keep moving away.

Mr Cheri

Tsunake

 

[Tsunake]

Veikel needed to sit down? Aerden still held his tongue, but nodded to Tristam quietly. He didn't know the man well, but he recognized him, having worked around Veena long enough. His eyes darted back to the other soon enough though, and his brows remained furrowed with obvious concern. "No," He responded quietly to Veikel, noting the smile but not.... quite sure he trusted it. "No, she's busy elsewhere. I was just trying to help where I could."

He shot a quick glance at Tristam as the young man set off for supplies, speaking quickly, but quietly. "I can accompany him, if necessary. ...There are plenty of comfortable places to rest, near the supply room." He might not dare on his own, but if Tristam thought Veikel needed rest, well. That was an order that Aerden would dutifully carry out.

Even if Veikel might protest the whole time.

Mr Cheri

houllow

 

[ShinosBee]

All around them—pain. Agony. Death.

At first they had thought it a boon, that threadfall was not over the Weyr today. That they would not have to... have to see the dragons wheeling, winking between, being scored and flamed.... not have to hear the roar of the fire, and their piercing, squealing cries overhead. That they would be spared the fatal glitter of that fateful foe, shimmering down like the most insidious of rain to kill, and kill, and kill all it touched.

Even if it had been overhead, though, they could not retreat themselves, could not hide away. Please... myX'il he had said, begged her as he hauled himself to his feet, and flung himself into the sky before they had had the time to grab hold of him, either to hold him back or be taken with him, ...myX'il, you must be strong. Must fight. ...Keep working, until you cannot, anymore... He had been so weak, but somehow found the strength to hold himself aloft, and speak to her before he'd gone. ...Once the fighting is done... then, only then... come to me again. I... will... wait...

How could they reject their dragon's final wishes? No, they had to fight, to work... but they had hoped the distance from the thick of the fighting would help it to weigh less heavily upon them.

Such hope had lasted until perhaps thirty minutes after the first wings had taken flight. The weather was against the riders of Western Weyr, the planet herself turning on them even as they strove to protect her, and lashing out, throwing those who rose as her champions further into the clutches of the Great Enemy. Not even a quarter into the expected fall, dragons were reappearing overhead, limping in on tattered wings and weeping ichor from the swirling, tangling lines of fresh score and from blackened, pus-weeping splashes of friendly fire. By the first hour's mark, the numbers were nearly doubled. Assistants and candidates alike had been called into the fray, carrying supplies as fast as possible to the many healers shouting out, calling for aid, their voices seeming pitifully meager and thin against the background of brassy, unhappy dragon-cries.

X had thought they could bear it even then, through that first hour. Eyes down, hands moving, always working because if they stopped the working, they would have too much time to remember, and to think. Thinking was... dangerous. And so they'd fought, fought to just focus on their work, and leave the healers to their own as well... though each one of the wounded dragons' cries scraped into their ears, scratching and clawing at the inside of their skull, eating away at their focus like they were thread. Still they worked, more bandages, more jars of numbweed, more boiling water to clean bloody rags, soaked with red or green.

A keen went up. All around the bowl, those dragons waiting to fight, or fighting against the pull of death, raised up their heads, turned towards the east where distant flashes of fire amid the clouds still shone through, and sang their grief and loss. Someone had been lost...

Their hands were shaking as they fumbled through the next roll of bandages, the one after, three more, ten. In time (another hour? two? a thousand?) the bellows and calls of dragons and riders yet among the living slowly paved over the haunting memory of that echoing dirge of dragonkind, soothing the ache it left behind like a salve made not of numbweed, but of the stuff of life itself. One had been lost... but many more yet remained, and the fight went on, life went on, like it or not. There was no time to sit and lament the fallen. Not now.

But then, neither yet was death ready to grant reprieve to those who fought against her shroud, come dropping from her red and distant cosmic shoulder to steal away between those who drew too near without fire's touch to drive it back. Before the day was done she'd claim at least one more pair, and remind those who dared to fight against her of the horrid cost their will to live demanded.

Like a broken toy, a puppet with the strings all cut, she threw the brown dragon down upon the sands of the Weyr's bowl. The body—for so little life was left in it now that it was little more than a body—slid from the back of whichever gold had caught it, to slump, broken, burned, torn upon the ground. The rider slid from his back, sobbing already as she rushed to cradle the beast's head in her lap. The brown's whirling, faceted eyes strained open to try to see her... but they were dim, so very dim, and a moment later what last color they held faded, and the dragon's ravaged side gave a final shudder and then fell still.

The keening went up again, a haunting requiem that sent a shiver down the spines of all who heard it. The dragon's rider gave an awful cry, and then slumped to sit beside her fallen heartmate, eyes gone distant, vacuous; as dead as the creature beside her, and as dead as the woman now must feel inside.

X knew that feel. Knew that face, so distant, so empty, vacant of all emotion but pain. It was the same face they saw each morning in the mirror, or reflected in their fourth cup of wine at dinner, or staring back at them across the surface of a healer's eye. There as no joy, of course, seeing that same face now upon another, there across the bowl. No anger, either. No sympathy, no sorrow. Nothing filtered past their own self-centered torment, or the self-enforced numbness while it lasted.

They watched, hands still mindlessly rolling bandages as one of the healers approached the woman now. Spoke to her. Called out to another, who came swiftly to his side with what items (they knew which items, knew exactly which) they had requested.

A cup. A flask. A bottle.

One greedy, thirsty drink, as if the woman had been stranded in the deserts of Igen for a Turn and a day.

They watched as the desperate, ravenously empty look in the woman's eyes began to fade. The strain of her brow eased, the agonized rictus of her mouth, stained lightly red by the wine, loosing its grimace and falling into something like the ghost of a smile—and why not? The pain must be leaving now... Her body sagged. Fell onto the sands beside he brown.

They were together again. Their bodies would be carried between again, together. They would go, then, to wherever there was beyond between, together for always, and forever.

The healer stooped. Plucked the cup from her hands. They had been offered the cup too. More than once. Would still be given it freely, if they wanted, if they asked... They could go too, be together beyond between too...

X's eyes trailed along the form of the woman, her outstretched hand leading into the curve of the brown's mangled snout, the line of their bodies nearly merged into one continuous, still figure now... then over to the healer, still nearby, his kit still in easy reach as he spoke to one... no, two others.

Slowly their hands worked through the last of the spool of bandages they were winding. They tucked the end in neatly, setting it gently among the other bundles as they stood...and then crossed towards the trio, their eyes fixed on the men, and not the downed dragon or the rider curled beside him. Their eyes were locked in, locked onto the man with the cup... and then their eyes slid to one side, onto the second man... the one shaking his head.

"Excuse me..." they called as they drew near, voice quiet, almost hoarse. When was the last time they had spoken? Even before... before then, it had been long ago, and rare at that. Their eyes shifted from one to the next of the healers. Down to the cup. "I..."

A pause. For just a moment, just as they were thinking about asking, they heard once more Halcyath's last words. ...Once the fighting is done... then, only then... come to me again. I... will... wait...

Their eyes dropped for just a moment, and they sucked a deep breath before turning to Veikel. "Would you... could you sit with me. For a moment? I... need to talk, about... well. But..." A glance back towards the others (not the cup, not the cup). "I know you are all busy..."

houllow

Mr Cheri

Tsunake

 

[houllow]

Veikel, for all his kindness and consideration, could also sometimes be...aloof. Or rather, sometimes he could not notice hidden meanings in things, certainly not while he himself was swimming on fog, but that didn't stop him from turning to face the person who'd approached. The name and face, he worked hard to place them, and when a flicker of shadow crossed his eyes it was clear he'd known now who they were. A dragonless rider, one half of a whole. Veikel had once heard someone compare a rider without their lifemate to a shipfish on land. They lived, but only just, and were suffocated beneath the weight of that life. Something about waiting to die, yet wanting to live, unable to get back to where they properly belonged.

Rather ghastly, really. It was like looking at a living ghost, and Veikel wasn't sure if he enjoyed horror stories.

"I have time for you, if you need it. I will always have time to help those who ask." He did, and he would. At Tristram's words he turned and looked, raising an eyebrow as if to see what the man needed, and he looked to Aerden as well. "Did you two need something? If not, I'll return in due time." Oh, it could have been taken that he was expecting to pour a drink down this poor waif's throat and come back in short order, but that wasn't what he meant. Veikel kept his word, no matter what.

ShinosBee

Mr Cheri

Tsunake

 

[ShinosBee]

Poor kind Tristram. They'd talked to him before, before when... well. Before. It hadn't been his fault, but they caught the shift in his movements (hesitation? something like it, tainted with guilt perhaps) at the sound of their voice. Perhaps one day he'd realize that the only one to blame was themselves. Tristram did the Weyr a lot of good... hopefully he'd see that, along with the supposed bad.

Veikel... They noted the other man's—the one they meant to draw away, to talk to—name, as Tristram said it. They noted Veikel's expression as well. It wasn't an unfamiliar one, really. In a Weyr, there was no one who couldn't know what they were at a glance, and wouldn't wonder why. Some thought them brave, some thought them broken. Many would not understand why they had made the choices they had, and would find them strange, even disgusting. What rider would willingly go on without their dragon, after all?

Still, the fellow seemed resolved to help, in whatever way they wanted him to help, and so with a last clandestine glance towards Tristram (even mustering the shadow of a smile was still too much effort, and today of all days was unwarranted) led him off to one side. Their pace was slow, methodical... but easy enough for even someone who was sick or hurt to keep up with, so no one would likely complain, if that sort of person had been the kind they were leading away. Back the way they'd come would do, towards a quiet corner of the bowl (as much as a circular place had corners) where a few others—retired riders, old aunties and uncles mostly—sometimes sat to work. The corner was empty though now, only their own growing stack of wrappings to mark it.

"Thank you," they said at length, as they reached the alcove, and slowly motioned for him to sit. The roaring dragons, crying out their pain amid a chorus of urgent humans—riders, healers—talking still served as a backdrop to the moment, but here, in the exact instant, it felt a bit more distant. Slowly they too sank down, once more taking up the bandages and beginning to wind them. A long few moments passed, where they let the air sit silent... again but for the noises of the injured and those aiding them, all their focus once more on their work, and only a sliver on the man beside them.

houllow

Mr Cheri

 

[Hattaki]

Star FlameQueen's Wing
Aice of White Finnath
HP: 13
Status Effect: N/A
XP:
Target Accuracy: 7
Flame Length: 4
General Stamina: 4
General Agility: 3
Between Accuracy: 2
Pain Resilience: 3
Instinct: 2
Luck: 2

show spoilerhide spoiler

Round 3:
Day 1:
Roll 1: +1 Target Accuracy
Roll 2: -5 HP
Roll 3: +1 Target Accuracy
Roll 4: -5 HP
Roll 5: +8 HP + Return Granted

Day 2:
Roll 1: Nothing
Roll 2: Nothing
Roll 3: +1 Target Accuracy
Roll 4: Damage Save Unused
Roll 5: +1 Instinct

Round 4:
Day 1:
Roll 1: +1 General Stamina
Roll 2: +1 Target Accuracy
Roll 3: +1 Target Accuracy
Roll 4: -10 HP
Roll 5: +5 HP - Return Denied

Day 2:
Roll 1: +5 HP - Return Denied
Roll 2:
Roll 3:
Roll 4:
Roll 5:

Being in the bowl was likely the most depressing part of having to get healed, because he could see all the dragons that had taken damage, all the ones that were dying. A brown dragon had been cut down by thread, unable to get Between... his rider had followed. Aice kept her head down, she'd seen enough death in the Holds when she was young.  

[Hattaki]

Star FlameQueen's Wing
Aice of White Finnath
HP: 15
Status Effect: N/A
XP:
Target Accuracy: 7
Flame Length: 4
General Stamina: 4
General Agility: 3
Between Accuracy: 2
Pain Resilience: 3
Instinct: 2
Luck: 2

show spoilerhide spoiler

Round 3:
Day 1:
Roll 1: +1 Target Accuracy
Roll 2: -5 HP
Roll 3: +1 Target Accuracy
Roll 4: -5 HP
Roll 5: +8 HP + Return Granted

Day 2:
Roll 1: Nothing
Roll 2: Nothing
Roll 3: +1 Target Accuracy
Roll 4: Damage Save Unused
Roll 5: +1 Instinct

Round 4:
Day 1:
Roll 1: +1 General Stamina
Roll 2: +1 Target Accuracy
Roll 3: +1 Target Accuracy
Roll 4: -10 HP
Roll 5: +5 HP - Return Denied

Day 2:
Roll 1: +5 HP - Return Denied
Roll 2: +8 HP - Return Granted
Roll 3:
Roll 4:
Roll 5:

A queen was brought in on the back of another... dragons died, humans died. When the healers declared him fit, Finnath and Aice were back up in the air as fast as possible.  

[Hattaki]

Flame's Fury
D'ein of Bronze Haezeth
HP: 28
Status Effect: Painful + Tongue Bitten
XP:
Target Accuracy: 8
Flame Length: 8
General Stamina: 5
General Agility: 4
Between Accuracy: 4
Pain Resilience: 11
Instinct: 7
Luck: 4

show spoilerhide spoiler

Round 1:
Day 1:
Roll 1: +2 Pain Resilience
Roll 2: -3 HP
Roll 3: -6 HP
Roll 4: +2 Pain Resilience
Roll 5: Flame Length +1

Day 2:
Roll 1: -6 HP
Roll 2: +2 Pain Resilience
Roll 3: -8 HP + Painful
Roll 4: -6 HP + -6 HP
Roll 5: +5 HP - Return Denied

Round 2:
Day 1:
Roll 1: +5 HP - Return Denied
Roll 2: +5 HP - Return Denied
Roll 3: +5 HP - Return Denied
Roll 4: +24HP - Return Granted
Roll 5: +1 Target Accuracy

Day 2:
Roll 1: Tongue Bitten
Roll 2: -2 HP + Tongue Bitten Ended +1 Pain Resistance
Roll 3: Nothing
Roll 4: Nothing
Roll 5: Tongue Bitten

Round 3:
Day 1:
Roll 1: Fire stone Refill +5 HP from wingsecond
Roll 2: +1 Stamina - Negated by Tongue Bitten
Roll 3: Nothing
Roll 4: +1 Instinct
Roll 5: +1 Stamina

Day 2:
Roll 1: -5 HP
Roll 2: +1 Target Accuracy
Roll 3: +1 Target Accuracy
Roll 4: +1 Target Accuracy, +2 Flame Length
Roll 5: Fire Stone Refill

Round 4:
Day 1:
Roll 1: -5 HP
Roll 2: +2 Instinct
Roll 3: +1 Flame Length
Roll 4: Nothing
Roll 5: Tongue Bitten

Day 2:
Roll 1: -8 HP - Painful
Roll 2: Tongue Bitten
Roll 3: -24 HP(Doubled due to Painful)
Roll 4: +24 HP - Return Granted
Roll 5:

Upon return they'd dunked him, slathered some redwort on Haezeth, dug the burrow out and given them the order to go back up. It wasn't over.  

[Princess_Feylin]

Quote:

9-10. You're in luck! The wound isn't as bad as first feared. They're able to see to you almost immediately, and are able to quickly get you patched up and on your way. The Weyrhealers are effective and quite efficient! You May Return to Your Wing! Full HP Returned if White! +20 HP for Greens! +25 HP for Blues! +30 HP for Browns! +35 HP for Bronzes and Golds! Status Effect Removed!

I am here under duress, Huarangith reported.

"He is," R'bin agreed. "But you can see he could use some tending to, before he falls from the sky."

The healers took one look at the pair, and then another look at the sky, and apparently decided that there was little enough time remaining to Fall that they could get away with something, based on their facial expressions.

Apparently that something was numbweed applied almost directly to the wounds, and then a mug of klah so thick and dark it was almost chewable. The bitterness nearly made R'bin gag, but he was more awake.

"Is this a standard remedy?" R'bin asked, trying to joke because that was what he did and because he had no idea how bad things might be on the ground.

"You have half an hour, flyboy. This should hold you. Get back to your wing," the healer said brusquely. "Come back afterward and we'll see about more traditional remedies."