Price of Overconfidence (Backdated)

Fort Weyr - Centre Bowl
The wide center of the bowl is often bustling with activity as riders come and go. Off westward can be seen the entrances for the candidate barracks and the guest weyr, while to the east is a large opening that leads into the dragon infirmary. The bowl stretches off both to the north and to the south, where the sheer stone walls rise steeply to the sky.

NOTE: This scene is slightly backdated to the IC date/time of HMW's gold Valigath's flight, in which Zhirazoth was a participant.


With a hint of spring on the air, Fort is slowly working its way out of the winter-time sluggishness. It’s as routine a day as ever with chores to be done, duties to be attended to, repairs and maintenance to oversee… or it would have been a routine day and was such until a bronze suddenly appears from Between and with it his mind broadcasting distress and shock as swift and sudden as a thunderstorm, striking out with an intense pressure and the scent of wind and burning ozone in the wake of lightning. Zhirazoth is the culprit, as it is his molten bronze form that falls through the skies… falling too fast until it’s halted, awkward and ungainly as he’s clearly favoring one side, one wing not quite making the full motion stroke it needs for him to sustain flight. Downwards he goes, angling sharply and by now several dragons have picked up on his plight and are adding their confused voices to the mix.

Zhirazoth will have none of the help given him, should any dragons try to fly up to aid him whether it’s disorientation or his (wounded) pride and when he reaches the tooth crags, he’ll attempt to stall his descent by catching himself on the various narrow ledges there. It does the trick… sort of. He won’t stop entirely, making an awkward (and dangerous, of course) broken fall, loose stone tumbling to the bowl below from where his talons gouge the rock and then at last he makes it to the ground, hitting heavily as his footing isn’t quite there and he ends up ungracefully skidding and collapsing onto his (thankfully uninjured) side. Zhirazoth, being the (idiot) bronze that he is, doesn’t want to stay down either and even before most folks can start to approach him, the bronze is trying to get back to his feet. Even from far, it’s clear he’s hurt, from the ichor running down his flank and the talon sized cuts running from them and up into the edge of his wing, which now hangs in a clearly wrong way. The other wrong thing? Where in Faranth’s name is Mr’az?

Kayeth is one of the first to react, the sands bound queen moving quickly to the entrance and roaring skyward, though her wings do not lift to try and go to his aid. Her thoughts tangle with his, firmly grasping and fighting him if he resists as she tries to steady his descent mentally, tries to soothe his pains so he can get to the ground without smashing himself among the rocks. Nyalle is quick to bolt into the bowl, racing towards the injured bronze, and when she does not see Mr’az upon his back, her face pales.

« Where is your rider? » Kayeth demands of the injured bronze, washing his thoughts with soothing ocean waves while Nyalle shouts for dragonhealers. Where /is/ Mr’az?

Zhirazoth will cease struggling once Kayeth’s mind tangles with his but he’ll resist at the start, pushing back against her before finally subsiding into a restless unease. The mention of his rider has him creeling, which sends the other flightier dragons into a tizzy as they pick up on his distressed emotions unless they’re finally silenced by a gold as well. He’ll sink to the ground, panting as he recovers from his tumbling descent. No words answer Kayeth’s query, just a series of thoughts and vague emotions linked to them but what can be deciphered is this: goldflight, Half Moon Bay and then just pain. It’ll be clear what happened later but for now Zhirazoth is in no mind frame to be of use to anyone.

All this ruckus of course has Velokraeth out on his ledge and then taking wing to find another to perch upon where Zhirazoth finally lands, the pale bronze’s eyes whirling in an agitated pace and color as he observes Nyalle rushing to the injured bronze’s side. « Idiot! » Velokraeth scolds (not to Zhirazoth). « How many times was he warned that his bravado would be the end of him? » Harsh words but truly Velokraeth doesn’t like seeing Zhirazoth like this. Nor does the Weyrleader, which is why it’ll be Velokraeth who puts out the call for volunteers, reaching for the first two minds that he feels could tackle a problem like this (and their riders).

Who better to handle dragon separation then the pair that doesn’t seem to mind if a world separates them? Breezes twist about those of the weyrleader, the bitter tang of winter a faint memory now, and spring in full flower. Shifting from his spring work Kainaesyth unfurls himself to reach out for his other half, gone away again, but quick to return when the wanderer calls him home. Water burbles softly at the bottom of the canyon, laying calm into the minds of those who would touch with him as it sweeps along its eternal course. « Lost, but not sundered. » It sounds like the beginning of the story, but Kainaesyth forebears on the tale for now. Another will need it soon enough.

Tovihasuth is quick to come to the scene of Zhirazoth’s unceremonious and injured arrival, whether or not he’ll be allowed to help being of little consequence. Regardless of whether or not it’s heeded, the lush garden and secluded pools of some hidden, sacred space unfurls to the older bronze - comfort and calm offered in the midst of chaos. Cool, curious breezes swirl outward beyond the boundaries of that space, brushing against the minds of the others present in search of answers. He’s steady…but unlike Kainaesyth, the idea of Zhirazoth being separated from his rider does not sit well with Tovihasuth at all. « Mine is coming! » he announces, and Br’enn soon jogs out into the Bowl from the living caverns, tugging on his jacket with hair still damp and vaguely spiked from a recent bath.

Dragonhealer’s are rushing to Zhirazoth’s side now, though some hesitate when the bronze begins to writhe again, struggling against the hold put upon him by Kayeth, trying to get to his feet and back to the skies. If he could just fly he can find what he seeks! Don’t they understand? If either Kainaesyth or Tovihasuth reach for him, they’ll be met with nothing but a walloping wall of pressure and strong winds, the scent of rain and lightning and the hovering, almost tingling sensation of a storm looming over the sea. Eventually Zhirazoth succumbs again and ceases with trying to shake off Kayeth’s hold, allowing the Dragonhealer’s to approach and assess his wounds and likely beckoning to Nyalle to step forwards. She’s the Weyrwoman, she’s trained to handle these things, right? And perhaps there will be a tale suitable for this at a later time; one of the follies of pride and brashness.

Velokraeth rumbles uneasily from his ledge, talons clicking against the stone as he paces, picking up on his rider’s response (which is probably anger) and sure enough, Th’ero will come storming out of the administration complex, while the pale bronze relays further instructions to Kainaesyth and Tovihasuth. « Not sundered but not natural for them. Zhirazoth cannot be without his rider like this. » he explains, his mind rippling with the sharp acrid tang of a harsh red wine and the scent of hearth smoke and cloying incense. A rare form for the bronze’s mind to take but he’s as troubled as Tovihasuth. « You both, » he says to the two young bronzes, technically brothers. « And your riders — you will seek out Mr’az in Half Moon Bay. We believe you are both capable of the task. » Since no one knows what state the separated bronzerider will be in. If they’re lucky, he’ll be unconscious or out of it enough to come quietly. If not? Well…

Kayeth settles in the entrance of the hatching grounds, watching while her mind exerts its firm but gentle pressure against Zhirazoth’s mind, keeping him settled and as still as he can. Nyalle is no dragonhealer, but she can stand by awkwardly and worriedly, right? She looks relieved when Th’ero arrives, because he’ll know what to do, right? Her hands are wringing, her expression pale. “You’re sending someone for him, right?” she asks, resisting the urge to grab for his elbow or something, her eyes darting to Br’enn as well as he approaches.

Ha’ze and Kainaesyth are not as swift to come as the other bronze pair, and minutes tick away before Kainaesyth’s form appears above the weyr. Ha’ze doesn’t bother to get down, but instead observes the situation and casts a look over to Br’enn. “Ready?” Cool desert breezes sweep up from the canyon to spread across the rocky terrain. He adds a measure of comfort to Zhirazoth’s mind, sweeping around the steady commands of Kayeth. A tale is begun, « Once in a land far away…» and continues to tell of a young man who had wandered away from home and was lost. The villiage rallied and sent out searchers. Strangely, the pictures woven in desert yucca seem strangely familiar, the shapes of two particular bronze riders…

Br’enn is getting ready, not having been mounted up himself quite yet. Gloves are being tugged on as he watches Kainaesyth land, and he looks to Nyalle, ticking off a salute to both her and Th’ero as soon as his hands aren’t occupied for a moment. “We’ll find ‘im, Weyrwoman,” he assures her, jamming his helmet down over his still-damp hair and adjusting it. “Why would he ‘n’ Zhirazoth separate, ‘specially with ‘im bein’ hurt?” This asked as he clambers up to Tovihasuth’s neck, giving Ha’ze a nod in answer but still waiting for one from the Weyrleadership.

“Of course we are,” Th’ero answers in a grim tone, jaw tense and his features unreadable though his posture speaks of anger. The Weyrleader dips his head to Nyalle, gesturing that he’ll return in a moment as he approaches Kainaesyth and Tovihasuth to address both their riders at once. He may have to raise his voice to be heard over the distressed sounds Zhirazoth makes (though they’re quieter now, thanks to Kayeth) and the muttering voices of the gathering crowd (which he’ll have to disperse later). “Shock is what we can assume. Panic. He did what came instinctually, though we’re fortunate he didn’t Between himself to oblivion.” How cheery. “From what Velokraeth can tell me, Zhirazoth was chasing a junior gold in Half Moon Bay and got the brunt of her wrath… or maybe he was fouled by another competitor… or both.” From the sounds of it, he’s going for ‘both’. “Mr’az is probably still on those islands and likely not right in his head. You’re both certain you want to handle this?” Last chance to escape and back out. Th’ero will wait on their answers and should both Br’enn and Ha’ze still agree, he’ll give the go-ahead for them to take off, leaving it between them to choose who ‘leads’ the mission.

The Weyrleader returns to Nyalle’s side then and in a strangely and equally as rare gesture will reach out to gently touch his hand to her shoulder in a supportive way. “Are you alright, Nyalle?” he asks quietly, giving her a lingering sidelong look as though to weigh whether or not she’ll mask the truth in her reply to him. Don’t try to fool him, he knows of her relationship to Mr’az.

Nyalle watches the bronzes leave and then turns to look up at Th’ero, her brows furrowing and her slender body trembling slightly beneath his touch. “Of course not,” she whispers, blinking rapidly and biting on her lower lip to hold back tears. A slow, steadying breath is taken and let out just as slowly as her gaze shifts to the dragonhealers working on Zhirazoth. “At least he didn’t go back to High Reaches…” The place of his birth. Her hands clasp together, holding tight. “DO you think they’ll find him?”

Such a vote of confidence from the Weyrwoman. Thankfully, Ha’ze is far enough to not get irked at the lack of faith the woman gives. Separation is something Ha’ze is quite familiar with. Isolation comes easy to him, but the dragon bond does exist. An idea occurs to him, and Kainaesyth reaches out to Tovihasuth and transfers « Ha’ze wishes to bring wine » A pause, « Whiskey with. Go find the one who is lost, and we will join. » No permission asked as Ha’ze is going to go get something to numb the mind.

“Absolutely,” is Br’enn’s reply to Th’ero, given with a firm nod. “Still owe the guy for a few Turns back.” As for who’s leading, he turns to Ha’ze after getting the go-ahead from the Weyrleader…only to find Kainaesyth leaping aloft. Well, that’s that apparently. Grumbling, Br’enn urges Tovihasuth into the air as well, and in the next breath his lifemate is informing him what Ha’ze is doing. » Tell him them it’s a good idea, « Br’enn says, » and that we’ll be waiting there. « He’s half inclined to wait until Ha’ze is done getting what he intends to get…but he doesn’t want to argue with the other bronzer right now, or keep Nyalle waiting any longer than necessary. They’re quickly off and blinking between to the islands, Tovihasuth immediately slipping to a lower altitude and slowing to wait for Ha’ze and Kainaesyth even as they begin their search.

If Zhirazoth had gone back to High Reaches, this would have been three times the disaster but they’ve avoided that fate. Th’ero’s hand will remain on Nyalle’s shoulder until either the Weyrwoman moves away or the Weyrleader seeks to lead her elsewhere. “They’ll find him and bring him home,” he assures her. There’s at least one vote of confidence? He’ll turn his head as both Kainaesyth and Tovihasuth take wing, watching them until they vanish Between and with Velokraeth’s rumbled warble following them. The pale bronze then takes wing, disappearing into the Hatching Grounds to no doubt soothe and settle Kayeth when the queen is no longer struggling to keep Zhirazoth grounded. For now the bronze is complying, allowing the dragonhealer’s to do their work, occasionally twitching or moving restlessly but not from the physical pain of his wounds (which by now should be numbed). “Do you wish to remain here?” Th’ero will quietly ask Nyalle, his focus turning to the Weyrwoman now that he’s sent Br’enn and Ha’ze on their task.

Wine or whiskey will be a good idea, perhaps merciful in some ways or at least a way to lure or bargain a half-crazed rider into cooperating. Half Moon Bay is a tropical Weyr, a sure change from Fort’s cooler temperatures. On arrival, it will be obvious enough that there was a goldflight not long ago. So recent in fact that there may be an echo of it, the queen just caught and the Weyr still recovering from the effects. Still, there are weyrfolk about, plenty enough to be questioned though there’s no sign of Mr’az in either the Infirmary (that’d be too easy!) or any of the lounges or taverns. Likely all the public places were… too public or in his disorientation, he’s gone out of the Weyr and into the jungles surrounding it. Oh joy, of joys? There are paths there, at least and one can hope that Mr’az followed one and did not blindly charge through.

The chill of between breaks into the warmer Half Moon Bay air as Kainaesyth bursts through it, and swirls down to glide to a stop along the beach. Despite the grimness of their task, his joyful song of arrival slips through the air, and he reaches out to the others. Soon enough « He is not in the weyr. They have assumed he has gone, as his dragon has gone. We are free to search the jungle. » Which means, no more dragons! « The journey begins here, » and if the player knew where the goldflight took place, it would be spread out to the mind’s view. Ha’ze slides off Kainaesyth’s side, and begins to undo the pack tied to the straps. Whiskey, check. Knife, check. Rope, check. It’s more like a kidnapping then a rescue.

Nyalle stays close(ish) to Zhirazoth and Th’ero, and Kayeth remains in the entrance to the hatching grounds, though she will allow Velokraeth to pay her some attention. Zhirazoth might not need any more restraining, but she is there to soothe just the same, and comfort her clutchmate and ledgemate. “Yes,” she answers Th’ero softly, gathering herself and nodding up at him. “I want to be here when he comes home.” To be there, even if he doesn’t pay her any attention and is focused (rightly so) on his injured dragon.

Mr’az may not be in the Weyr, but that doesn’t mean Br’enn is about to forego stepping foot within it. Tovihasuth touches down fairly close to his brother, allowing his rider dismount as well and then crouching so that Br’enn can get to his own supplies - knife, bow (because who knows what they might encounter out there?), a small medical kit, his own rope - though not for binding someone, if he can help it. If it comes to it, he’d really rather just knock Mr’az upside the head and black him out long enough to get him between and to the Weyr…but if tying him up becomes necessary, so be it. “Gonna ask a few questions,” he announces to Ha’ze. “See if someone has a guess which way he went, at least.”

Ha’ze isn’t exactly a team player, and this is the kind of situation that will show it. Landing he hears Br’enn, and understands but completely disagrees. If Kainaesyth says he is not in the weyr, then Ha’ze isn’t going to bother. Instead he’ll shrug silently at his clutchmate, and turn his footsteps towards the jungle. How many, really, recent footprints will there be leading into the forest? Kainaesyth, for his part, sweeps back upwards into the air to view from above.

There won’t be too long of a search. Plenty of footprints go into the jungles, but few go that deep and off the wider paths. Ha’ze could have an easy enough time discerning (or at least taking a good guess) as to which path Mr’az would have stumbled down. Away from people, away from the noise. As for Br’enn, if he doesn’t go after his clutchsibling right off, he may come across a man grumbling something as he walks into the Weyr from the jungle paths, rubbing his shoulder. “Shardin’ riders getting too muddled in their drink and flights. Just about took my damn head off… coulda just asked to move aside…” Grumble. Mutter. “Bronzeriders. Uppity bunch.”

Br’enn is a bit on the fence, here; being a hunter, he knows reflexively how to read tracks and tell how recent they are and whatnot. Being a Phoenix rider, however, he’s been learning well how to examine all possible angles of things - physical, audible, mannerisms and expressions, evidences in things he might never have considered before. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust Kainaesyth; he believes the news that Mr’az isn’t in the Weyr and thinks it makes sense. But he still takes the chance that he might learn something unexpected. Alas, the chance doesn’t yield much except the grumblings of a man who might have had the misfortune of crossing paths with Mr’az. “Yeah, we can be,” he says loud enough for the man to (hopefully) hear, a rueful tilt of his lips given. “The one who almost took your head off - didja see where he might’ve been headed?”

Kainaesyth is getting all chatty with dragons, teasing out if they might know something else, as he takes up the search from above. Ha’ze follows the edge of the trees, looking, watching, searching. Where would a man out of his mind go… Slowing Ha’ze smacks himself in the forehead, cursing himself for an idiot, then relays to Kainaesyth « Can you get that Scrap of a firelizard here? He knows Mr’az and could find him easily enough. » Because firelizards can BETWEEN to people. (At least, that is what Dragonsdawn taught us all folks.) » Maybe he could give you a clear enough picture of where. Tell Tovihasuth to send any of his too? «

The man pauses, head lifting as he hears Br’enn loud and clear alright and though he grimaces, there’s no apology from his lips for whatever the bronzerider overheard. “He’s one of your lot, then?” he asks bluntly and with something akin to a grunt as he eyes the Fortian knot pinned to Br’enn’s shoulder. He doesn’t say it, but his scoff implies it. Figures they’re non-native to the isles. “He went up the paths that-a-way,” Cue a flick of his hand towards one of the more narrow and winding pathways. “Best I could fathom is he’s off to the waterfall… or at least that’s where that one ends.” Doesn’t that sound ominous? It’s a start…

… and Ha’ze may very well have luck in sending Scrap. Mr’az isn’t exactly hiding but a jungle is a jungle and it can still be difficult to pinpoint exact landmarks — especially if the target is constantly moving and often in erratic ways.

Ominous or not, Br’enn will run with that little hint, giving the man a sort of half-bow. “Much obliged, mate,” he says, turning and starting to jog back the way he came. Tovihasuth’s relay slows him slightly, though the realization of why the request comes makes him chuckle. Of course. His green Viridis appears in short order, and he sends him off to the bronzes, picking up his pace again. Carefully along that narrow path he goes, swatting broad leaves and branches aside as he goes along, sense on high alert. Will he come upon Ha’ze along the way? Regardless of whether he does or not, he keeps moving, determined to reach the older bronzerider as quickly as possible.

But what the pair of lizards, oh hey they pretty little Viridis (ugly Scrap over there is going to flirt a little before back-to-work) ,can do is fly up to where dragons can find. Either way, eventually Ha’ze is going to find he way to that waterfall. Probably from a different angle from Br’enn. Hopefully Br’enn gets there first, because Ha’ze is probably just going to get into a fight, tie the rider up, and drag his arse back to the weyr.

The man will just make a dismissive gesture to Br’enn as he turns to walk back to the Weyr, still grumbling under his breath. Whether or not the two bronzeriders planned cornering Mr’az, they’ll succeed at it — or more like Mr’az will find them. Whoever is the lucky one to get across his path first will find themselves barreled into, shoulder driving to shoulder or chest. He’s an experienced fighter, more of a scrapper and apparently in his maddened state he does not immediately recognize Br’enn or Ha’ze as ‘friend’. Mr’az will not do well with restraint either but clearly it’s necessary if they hope to keep him from bolting back into the jungles and disappearing again.

Br’enn is just pushing past another one of the blasted clumps of broad leaves that are so numerous here when he suddenly finds himself shoulder-checked. One advantage to hitting shoulder to shoulder with Mr’az, however, is that it gives him the momentum to keep turning and tackle the other bronzer, burly arms cinching around Mr’az in a vice-grip. “‘ey, Mr’az!” he shouts, grunting sharply as they hit the ground. “Easy, mate! It’s Br’enn! C’mon now!” Br’enn is no stranger to scraps himself…though it’s not as though he has any sort of advantage here except a clearer head. One should never underestimate a man dazed, enraged, and separated from that which means most to him.

The sound in the forest encourages Ha’ze to hitch the pack on his shoulder a little higher and run towards the sound of the scuffle. Br’enn’s voice is easy enough to pick up on, though muffled by the foliage. Ha’ze breaks through the last and pauses, keeping back at the moment, evaluating. Maybe Br’enn’ll get the man under control. Or he’ll ask for help. Either way, Ha’ze has got his kidnapping gear. Whenever.

Mr’az will, for a short moment, be pinned by Br’enn’s grip on him and stunned for a half second as they hit the ground. Before his words can sink in though, he begins to struggle and then put up a good fight to escape the bronzerider. For now he’s under control, but not for very long and should he get at least one arm free, Br’enn is about to discover just how dirty of a fighter a deranged Mr’az can be. The man is not above hitting or kicking low, scratching or clawing and if he’s truly feeling trapped (and he is), even biting. Might want to keep all limbs away! Ha’ze goes unnoticed and while the struggle continues, something clicks in his turmoiled mind but the only words growled and gritted out are (or at least sound like): “… Fortians…” and “… home…”

The second Mr’az begins to fight back, Br’enn can feel that no amount of concerted effort on his part is going to keep the other bronzer subdued for long; they’re too matched in size and strength for him to be able to retain the upper hand at length. “Yeah!” he grunts, clamping his hand around his opposite forearm to keep his bearhug secure and Mr’az’s arms pinned. “Home! ‘cept if y’don’t shardin’ calm down, you’re goin’ knocked out! Zhirazoth needs ya!” Tucking his hips, he shifts to get his knees outside Mr’az’s, trying to keep the kicking at least contained for a bit. “Ha’ze!” he calls out, not daring to look around for his clutchmate in order to keep his focus on the man he has pinned. “Feet!” Rope equals hobbling equals Mr’az not running away again, at least.

"You looked like you were doin' well enough Br'enn." A hint of flippancy, clearly, Ha'ze isn't as worried about the semi-dragonless man's ability to hurt Br'enn. Uncoiling the rope he steps around the pair,waits, then ducks into the fray to grab one of Mr'az' feet and begin the hobbling. "Y'know, no matter how far we get from them," A distracted nod upwards to where Kainaesyth flies, "We never lose the bond. They are always in our heads. Just have to get over the shock of not having them physically there." Conversation anyone?

“Zhirazoth?” Mr’az all but gasps the name but then he’s also been struggling with Br’enn and also trying to lash out and kick Ha’ze before his feet can be properly hobbled. Hopefully the bronzerider has good reflexes before he gets a boot to the face (which Mr’az will apologize for later). His eyes, haunted and wild, blink and seem to refocus as the bronzerider finally ceases in his struggles and stares from Br’enn to Ha’ze, features twisted. He does not look above and probably for the best. “…nng. I don’t like the silence… I can’t hear him!” Mr’az hisses through his teeth, regaining some of that wild, panicked look about his eyes. He’s put distance between himself and Zhirazoth before, just not at this magnitude and in this situation. “Just pain…” Which may be why Mr’az is going a little nuts.

“Yeah, well, we’re not all you, Ha’ze- errrgh!” Br’enn manages before making the shift that cuts off his words, trying to keep a kick contained. He expects to get hurt, so isn’t worried about it. He’d just rather avoid as much getting hurt as possible. Fortunately, things seem to start registering for Mr’az and the man stops thrashing, giving Br’enn a moment to regain his grip and some stamina. “‘s why we’ve gotta get you back,” he tells the older bronzer, not loosening his hold. “Maybe he doesn’ want you to hear right now. He hurts too much.” Turning a bit, he asks. “Want some whiskey? Dull it out a little?” Though until he’s sure Mr’az is done fighting, he’s not letting go to allow him to handle the bottle himself yet.

Thanks for the broken nose Mr’az. The foot to his nose earns a grunt from Ha’ze as a steady stream of blood begins to dip down his face. Just what he wanted for today. Someone’s going to get the rough side of his temper later. Taking advantage of the lack of movement Ha’ze hobbles Mr’az’s feet together. His words are a bit slurred with the blood as he speaks, “In my bag.” The whiskey, for Br’enn to go retrieve. Ha’ze is moving and he puts both hands on either side of the bereft rider’s face, forcing eye contact. “Listen. He’s just as shardin’ scared as you and he can hear you if you look for him.” A gentle breeze sways into Mr’az’s mind, as a strange bronze, Kainaesyth, reaches out to both Mr’az and Zhirazoth. He’ll guide the two minds closer, with endless patience if they fight it. Distance and fear might weaken the bond, but it is there, and Kainaesyth will weave the story of two apart into two separated, but not alone. Of course, if the pair will calm down enough to listen to the words which bring comfort.

Maybe Rayathess will be visiting Fort? Ha’ze can go get his temper-fix on the Harper… and get his butt kicked into the brig for it. Worth it though? Mr’az, however, had never really meant to break Ha’ze’s nose and later when he’s in his proper senses he may try to apologize for it. Gruffly and awkwardly. “Whiskey… yes.” he grunts for now and calming until Ha’ze makes that contact. Mr’az tenses and tries to jerk away, not liking the fact the bronzerider is in his personal space and staring at him. Only he can’t get far because he’s still more or less tangled by Br’enn. So Mr’az will glare at Ha’ze, only to jerk and flinch when Kainaesyth’s mind is felt. For a moment, the bronzerider looks wild again and readied to escape them both as he attempts to shove Kainaesyth away, balking at the foreign feel in the dulled absence of familiarity of his own dragon. “Not right! This isn’t right…” Mr’az snarls low and guttural at Ha’ze and attempts to jerk his head back again to break the hold. Hopefully Br’enn doesn’t end up headbutted this time but rather than struggle, he just seems to sag. At the end of his rope? Probably. “Just… the whiskey. Get me out of here… Don’t care how.”

Br’enn is about to get up and go for the whiskey just as Ha’ze leans down and takes hold of Mr’az’s face. When the older bronzerider jerks his head, Br’enn doesn’t end up headbutted exactly, but he does grunt as he takes the brunt of that motion in a glancing blow off to the side. “Shardit, Ha’ze, just let ‘im be!” Br’enn snaps, letting go of Mr’az as soon as he feels the man go limp and digging out the whiskey. “Go tend your nose and have Kai help calm Zhirazoth’; I can take ‘im back.” Crouching down once more, he uncaps the whiskey and holds it to Mr’az’s lips, there to either help him drink it or to hold it until the other man takes hold of it himself.

Blood blood everywhere. Ha’ze releases the bronzerider and pinches his nose. “You can hear him, common man, just reach. But he’s stepping back and allowing Br’enn to drown Mr’az in his whiskey. It’s good stuff. Able to knock someone right out.

“Can’t reach! I’m not a freak like you…” Mr’az snarls under his breath at Ha’ze. Probably not the nicest thing (or smartest) to say to the bronzerider who came to rescue his sorry ass (and yes, he’ll be sorry later). No time for those apologies. He’s still not thinking clearly but he can definitely grab that bottle of whiskey from Br’enn and start working away on it. If he isn’t completely drunk by the time they get to Tovihasuth… it’ll hit him at some point. After a few fortifying drags of the drink, Mr’az will slowly push to his feet and stagger but gain his footing before stumbling himself right into a tree. “Let’s go.” he growls, jaw tight and his eyes still carrying that edge about them. For now, he seems sedate. A little more focused — until the alcohol hits anyways.

More correctly, Mr’az will try to push to his feet, and Br’enn will reach down and untie the rope binding them so that he really doesn’t stumble himself into a tree. He’s not worried about Mr’az kicking him in the face, too - not now, anyway. A deep tenor warble sounds from a nearby clearing, Tovihasuth’s bright bronze hide just visible a few dragonlengths east of the group where he’s found a clearing to land. The younger bronzerider just gives a little shrug and shake of his head to Ha’ze before slipping his arm behind Mr’az’s shoulders in an attempt to give some support. The dynamic between Ha’ze and Kainaesyth is a singular thing, something some other riders can’t really identify with or fully understand - and Br’enn is one of them. Sometimes, what is uncommon will still unsettle more than anything else, even when offered in help. “Tov’s just off this way,” he murmurs to Mr’az. “We’ll getcha back, no problem.”

There’s a steady glare that meets Mr’az’ backside. He may admit to being different, but Kainaesyth? Kainaesyth has no fault to be found. The glower will follow them as they walk through the forest, Ha’ze pacing behind. Mr’az had better not fall, or Ha’ze is just going to throw him over his shoulder and probably not be too gentle about it. Idiot.

Don’t mind Mr’az as he focuses more on putting one foot in front of the other and knocking back that whiskey with every other step. By the time they reach Tovihasuth, the bottle is well on its way to being polished off. Seeing the familiar and yet strange bronze, he begins to balk again at the idea of having to ride another dragon aside from Zhirazoth but rather than go into another fit, he only grits his teeth and pushes on. “Faster the better,” he mutters and he won’t need help mounting up once Br’enn gives the okay — or at least he won’t ask for help. If his hands are a bit clumsy and his footing not entirely sure… blame it on his lack of focus (and rapid drunkeness). Ha’ze’s glaring goes unnoticed and probably for the best.

Br’enn doesn’t ask Mr’az if he needs help mounting, figuring it’s just about second nature for the older rider at this point…but the instability doesn’t go unnoticed, or unchecked. He’ll grab for an arm or a piece of Mr’az’s jacket in general and then make certain his passenger is strapped in, with or without his help. From there, it’s just an easy spring for Tovihasuth to clear the trees, a few powerful strokes carrying him up to wheel over the jungle in wait for his brother. Once Kainaesyth is up with them - or at least acknowledges that Tovihasuth is waiting for him - home is an easy thought and a few breaths away.

Don’t mind Ha’ze. He’s over there glaring. No offer of help to get Mr’az up onto Tovihasuth’s back. Nor does he offer to take the quickly being inebriated rider onto Kainaesyth. Instead, in stony silence he’ll swing onto Kainaesyth and be gone. Stupid bronzerider.

Mr’az won’t protest but he’ll be tense and on edge the whole time, fidgeting and impatient. It’s nothing against Br’enn or Tovihasuth but the bronzerider is uncomfortable through the whole flight. Vaguely he’ll be aware of Ha’ze and Kainaesyth too and later, when he sobers up (in more ways than one), he’ll remember everything and feel terrible for his actions. Will he apologize? Maybe. For now though, his priority is getting to Zhirazoth and when they arrive above Fort Weyr and begin to glide in to land, Br’enn might have his hands full trying to keep Mr’az in the straps as the bronzerider will start by leaning until the safety straps are pulled taught and strained and then try to dismount the very second Tovihasuth touches ground. Can he really be blamed? At least both Br’enn and Ha’ze will be rid of him easily enough. No thank you either, hmph! He goes straight for Zhirazoth, who by now has been carefully moved inside the dragon infirmary and so disappears. None of them need to see his reunion with his lifemate. It’d likely be awkward and… not entirely tough-guy manly.


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