Who Am'ry, Inri, Kralkth, Leia, Nyalle, Qhynnveslacth, Rhenesath, Zhirayr
What This is why Fort can't have nice things.
When Autumn-Winter, Turn 2711
Where Training Complex, Fort Weyr

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Fort Weyr - Training Complex
The remnants of a historic collapse are apparent here, as the slope face of the bowl has a predominant downward curvature. It's likely long ago, that a cavern larger than any Fort currently has was where the training complex currently is. A probable cave in triggered a fissure on the bowl wall which lead to a great chunk of it dislodging, thus creating the rounded slope.
Yet, many centuries later, all that remains to give evidence is the pocket made into the bowl wall. It seems that the inhabitants of Fort Weyr have made best of the created space. Rock on the ground proper has long since cleared, but pebbles and loose shale are constantly underfoot. Still, the sprig of some green leafed vegetation isn't too out of the ordinary in these parts, as long as it doesn't get trampled by the comings and goings.
It's clear that this area has been designated for the training of young minds, whether human or dragon. Surrounded by rock on all side, it's like a personal weyr bowl for the youngsters to minimize distraction and danger. The candidate barracks have been built across from the Weyrling barracks, so that one group can educate the next. Finally, placed in the centre of the two entrances of the opposing barracks, near the rock face, is a statue with a memorial plaque.

Early afternoon was a great time for weyrling dragons to sun — or birthday-girls to be held back as least-subtly as possible, probably. Now, though, it's chaos. Morizanth and Kralkth are outside of the barracks, their weyrling riders are not. Kralkth ignores the scree of boulders thumping his head and shoulders as he throws himself against the barrier of rubble, bellowing rage loud enough to wake the dead. « DIG, SISTER. » The brown bellows as Morizanth joins him, for once not confrontational as he sends runner-sized boulders skidding behind him. Safety for other members of the weyr? Hah! That doesn't matter nearly as much as them getting to their riders, trapped beneath the rubble that was until recently the barracks. It's going to take a lot to stop Kralkth on his fear-addled mission.

Nyalle runs towards the barracks, each step calming her panic and taking her into Weyrwoman mode. Kayeth is soaring towards the hatching grounds, but the senior lands outside, rumbling to Kouzevelth to go inside. The Senior Queen reaches towards the Weyrling dragons outside, her mind cool. « Stop, » she says, though she is not /yet/ forcing her will upon them. « Stop. » "Stop!" Nyalle echoes as she approaches, skidding to a stop a safe distance away, eying the barracks with a pale face and a drained expression.

Am'ry is here. M'icha, too, and the rest of the weyrling staff, if they weren't already on duty, are quickly appearing. Am'ry looks shellshocked. He's standing still, eyes wide, staring at the collapsed mess that was the entrance to the weyrling barracks just moments ago. Beauxth is there, and he's bounding towards the weyrling dragons where they are digging to lend his assistance - when the command comes from Kayeth to stop. The little blue skids to a halt, eyes whirling in panic, and Am'ry snaps out of his glaze-eyed panic to look at Nyalle, then run to her side. "They're nearly all in there, ma'am. The whole class. No-one… no-one has… there's been no betweening." For which he looks eternally thankful, even if he's as pale as a ghost. "What the shards was it? Earthquake?"

Stumble-running around the corner comes Rhenesath - still limping but trying hard not to let it slow her down. It's an awkward sight to be sure, and the stocky gold is clearly struggling from the effort of so much on-ground speed on, essentially, three legs. She bellows in concern when she's close to the cave-in, close enough to loom over the weyrlings and to lower her nose to sniff at the rocks; she won't move them. Not with Kayeth's command to leave them be. But she will sniff, and look closely, and make a worried keening sound as she does it.

Kouzevelth is seen streaking across the skies, comes down for enough of a landing for Inri to hop off near Am'ry and Nyalle, and flies off again, joining Kayeth in her vigil over Rhenesath and Akleteyth's eggs. She is not particularly good at calm, and so she does not lend her support to Kayeth's calming of her offspring; instead she is the watcher over eggs that no one wants to mess with, ever. Having landed on her feet, Inri (still dressed for visits with Holders) lets her frantic look melt off her when she sees Rhenesath. "Oh, Rhen. Oh, sweetheart, don't stress your leg, it'll be okay." Surely the dragon knows Thys is relatively fine and doesn't need another human fussing over her, but Inri can't help it. She then looks to Nyalle, waiting — it's not her place to make any sort of call with the Weyrwoman present.

Skidding to a halt behind Nyalle mere seconds after Inri's arrival — and therefore, what, forty seconds after the young dragons have stopped flinging boulders willy-nilly all over the place? — well, that's the Steward, all right, subconsciously resigned to his usual all-black outfit's undoubted fate of being covered in dust and dirt. Zhirayr even has a small, yet sturdy, shovel with him — easy enough to grab on his way across the bowl — which says something disparaging about the state of Fort Weyr these days, really. Whichever, he's waiting for Nyalle's word — he may have experience coping with rockfalls, as many people around Fort have these days, but he isn't a miner, so it's not like he's going to just dive in.

Rhenesath pauses enough to look down at Inri, her favoured foreleg raised up. She understands sense. She's listening. But there's amber-red whirling in her eyes and she's quick to go back to examining the rocks… maybe there's a way in that she hasn't seen yet.

« Come over here and MAKE ME. » Kralkth thunders, not even pausing in his pursuit of digging out his weyrling. Ichor clouds his vision — those damn rocks he keeps disturbing, less than brilliantly — but the brown carries on. Rhenesath's injuries definitely don't move him, or the pain of his own, just the shadow of his rider not doing well and not in his sight. « GET OVER HERE AND MAKE YOURSELVES USEFUL. » Not a snap-salute kind of dragon in the best of circumstances, he's out of his depths here, too far into rage to care for consequences. Giant boulder dislodged, thumping him in the side before carrying on its merry way? Not even on the radar of important things.

Nyalle is in charge, yay? Forgive her if she takes a quick look around for Th'ero. He's good with these sorts of things. She…less so. But. "You," she says, pointing to a bluerider. "And you." Brownrider. "Go to the Minecraft and fetch some Masters, and wherhandlers, NOW." Off they go. "We can't risk digging until we know it won't make things worse." She looks at Am'ry and nods. "I know none have gone between." Which is a huge relief. "I don't think so, I didn't feel anything…" She presses her lips together thinly, hands clasping and unclasping around the hem of her tunic before she forces them to still. "Am'ry, have Beauxth bespeak those inside and see if anyone is hurt, and get me a list of who - human and dragon - is in there." Zhirayr's arrival with a small shovel is enough to get a blink out of Nyalle. She looks between the Steward and Inri. "We'll need rooms for the Minecrafters and Wherhandlers. And, Inri, thank you for watching the eggs." Kayeth begins to approach, moving slowly, almost prowling as she pushes her will onto Kralkth. « Stop, » she says again, enforcing her command with the control given to golds - and Seniors in particular. Ask and ye shall receive? She's making him.

It's entirely possible that Inri was looking for Th'ero, too; no doubt in her Senior's skills, simply expecting that crisis management of the sort that involves GIANT FALLING ROCKS is more his milieu somehow. "I'd thought they were relatively stable," she murmurs, though that key word must be 'relatively.' Zhirayr's attempts to help get a small shake of her head — he had no way of knowing how big most of the fall was, but it's also possible that humans with shovels will accomplish more than poor eager weyrling dragons. "She's happy to," Inri says as far as egg-watching, "Just didn't want to get in Kayeth's way if she preferred to keep that vigil by herself, but I thought she might prefer to be here with hers." Recently-hatched dragons who are no longer eggs. "Ground weyrs for the wherhandlers, maybe? Some of the ones used for flights, we can clear those out."

"Yes, ma'am, on it, ma'am," Am'ry replies with a sharp salute. Beauxth sits back on his haunches, eyes whirling rapidly. "Weyrwoman - I'rly and Syn are inside with their dragons outside - they're the ones digging. Inside are Jet and Kyramith, V'sri and Diqth, X'fyr and Kamysth, Li'en and Ymalinth. Dii and Leia are out here with their lifemates. Goldrider Thys is inside along with several weyrfolk who were setting up the party."

Humans with shovels will, at least, be less likely to accidentally collapse the entire building, right? Zhirayr, meanwhile, has snatched an innocent bystander of the Lower Caverns Staff variety and is hurriedly muttering out his list of orders. The bystander runs off a moment later, once his will (and Nyalle's) has been communicated, to Make It So. Zhirayr himself, though, sticks around — able-bodied, fairly young and strong, and relatively objective, as someone who's never had a dragon of his own.

"Weyrfolk?" That's a surprise to Inri, even if she was well aware that Thys was trapped thanks to Rhenesath. "There were nonriders in there? Great." Because, of course, they don't have dragons who are going to clue them in on how their riders are doing, though at least the humans on the inside can keep tabs on them. That doesn't stop her from being frustrated with the entire situation. "I don't suppose any of them happened to be minecrafters, but I guess a firework show inside would be the kind of foolhardy even our weyrlings wouldn't think up." That, at least, is a statement lined with affection. From further off, Kouzevelth's mind is still paying attention, gentle taps of comfort/curiosity toward Morizanth and Kralkth, inquiring silently after their lifemates, reassurance that isn't quite as bolstering as Kayeth's, but echoes it.

Pressure. Legs, stopping. Heat flashes from Kralkth's mind, an explosion of dust and rattling ruins so similar to the one that sprawls before them. « MOVE! » He thunders, whole body bucking against the hold of the Senior gold, but gaining no ground. « Coward! » The weyrling adds, chest heaving with the effort of his vain attempts to get back to moving stone. The coordination of the rescue completely flies over his head, instead snapping around to stare at Morizanth. Silent communication? Plotting? One-upping the green into behaving until the reins slip? Who even knows.

What do desperate weyrling dragons get as a reward for their in-vain efforts? A rockslide. The digging dragons have dislodged something - and more rocks come tumbling down towards them.

Nyalle pulls a hide from her pocket and scribbles the list down onto it. "Thank you, Am'ry." She gestures to Inri. Delegation! "Perfect. Whatever you think." Zhirayr gets a nod of thanks as well. People doing their jobs makes Nyalle happy. She turns back to survey the collapse, and starts to fidget again. "I don't want to do anything until the Minecrafters and Wherhandlers are here to look at things. I don't want to make it worse, or cause another collapse." But just waiting doesn't sit well with her either. "Do they need anything?" she asks the riders around her, since Kayeth is focused on keeping Kralkth calm and touching in on the general 'feel' of the weyr. "We can send firelizards in with supplies." Her expression twists with something…sadness? Pain? when Kralkth continues to fight, but Kayeth is unmoving. Bring it, buck-o. She can do this allllll day, and her mental hold is unwavering. She'll force him as long as it takes.

Rhenesath relays from Thys; « There are injuries. Bleeding, head wounds. Possibly broken bones. Mine requests Healer supplies. Needles and threads and bandages. » She was standing where the rocks fell - but she was just nimble enough to jump out of the way, even if her landing was awkward given her healing wing and leg. An ungainly wobble later, and she's steadied herself once more.

"And no healers in there, I'm guessing?" Inri asks wryly, looking defeated but appreciative toward Rhenesath, one of the few dragons who she knows well enough to know she can speak to directly. "I'll get Liechten on it, anyway. Where's Mirinda, one of the Holds?" Answer: yes, Mirinda is dealing with a mildly-suspicious death and isn't supposed to be back until tomorrow. Not that she could get in there anyway.

Zhirayr … continues to do his job, then. "I'll send for Mirinda's assistant," he mutters tersely. "Whichever one is on duty —" And in comes a bronze firelizard, and out goes a bronze firelizard, less than a minute later, eyes whirling rapidly in the colors of DUTY.

(Off in the distance, in other dragons' minds, Kouzevelth has reached for Fort's most recently transferred in through his rider, asking if he might provide advice or assistance at his earliest convenience. Little does she know.)

Qhynnveslacth senses that Kouzevelth has gentle lightning-zaps, at least, combined with the sounds of … those are chirping jungle birds that sound kind of annoyed, actually, but they're muted by fog and clouds and she's not actually showing any irritation towards Qhynnveslacth. Just a little bit of general frustration with the fact that her home is always such a problem. « Q'll knows about mines, » she states the obvious. Obviously. « How do we free them without hurting them. » The implication, unspoken, is that Q'll coming to help would be ever-so-useful, but the question is far more important to put words to.

Kouzevelth senses that Qhynnveslacth's mind is full of portraits. A glorious tribute to himself and his wonderful rider. See how fabulous Q'll is in every image? Every representation of the young bronzerider shows him everywhere on Pern but at Fort - there he is on Ista's dark sands, in Southern's jungles, shells, even on the Bahrain's deck. One thing is clear, though - he is absolutely not at Fort. No way. « My dear Kouzevelth, » comes Qhynn's honey-smooth voice, overly smarmy. « My Q'll and I are quite far from Fort and have no clue as to what you're talking of. »

Qhynnveslacth senses that Kouzevelth has to put in some (admittedly minor, but it's there) effort to not be distracted by all of Qhynnveslacth's gorgeous pictures. Those are some very interesting places, ones she'd like to see sometime, though right now she is being staunchly (over)protective of Rhenesath's eggs. « Perhaps you should return, » is her verbalized suggestion, for all that the weight behind it is making it an order. « The weyrling barracks have collapsed, and all the miners are needed. »

Kouzevelth senses that Qhynnveslacth has every intention to rebel, but of course, but order is an order - though that doesn't mean the pictures in his head don't shift to reflect how he and his rider feel. The Q'll in those frames looks sheepish, nervous, unwilling. Qhynn's mindvoice reflects the same emotions. « We will come, my dearest gold, you can count on it. » When they will come, though, is not specified.

"No healers from what I can tell," Am'ry replies to Inri, shaking his head. He still looks pale. Beauxth still looks worried. But what is there to do but sit and wait for the Miners to arrive? "What if they run out of meat for the weyrlings?" Oh yeah - you can panic until the Miners arrive.

Sadness and pain don't concern Kralkth — although something does. Apparently completely unaware of a rock breaking on impact with his bony sharding head as it skrees down the slope, the brown freezes, swaying. That could be the rocks thumping into other parts of him, or it could be. There. The rage, the sheer blistering panic, starts to ebb. « You're keeping me from my rider. » Who is awake, probably, given the fact that the weyrling at least seems to realize he's surrounded by humans and dragons now. He doesn't bellow this time, but snarls, words bit-off and dangerous as he stops fighting, shaking ichor out of his eyes impatiently. They're not going fast enough.

"Kralkth." That's Inri, letting out a squeaking cry as rocks crash into the young dragon, then covering her mouth with both hands in horror. The dragon's body might be winning against the rocks, but that doesn't mean she isn't freaking out just a little bit.

« Fellis! » Rhenesath projects, loudly, an echo of Thys's voice. « Numbweed! Urgently! »

Nyalle turns to Inri and Zhirayr, making sure they're following up on the Healer supplies. And, since that's done, she focuses on the Weyrling dragons again. "Move back, please," she says. "I know you're scared, and hurting, and I know you want your rider, but we don't want to make it worse." Kayeth doesn't let up, but her hold softens a bit. Not enough to let him wiggle free - think velvet chains. Soft, but still unbreakable. « We are moving as fast as it is safe to move. »

Another bronze, as well as a small green — Inri's — have appeared to follow Zhirayr's, and blink back from between to display that they're carrying bandages and numbweed before disappearing again behind the wall, Inri letting out a tiny sign of relief. "Zel says Q'll is coming back to the Weyr," she adds, having missed the underlay in Qhynnveslacth and Kouzevelth's conversation that left out an ETA. "One of our miner riders, he's good at controlled demolitions, I've heard. Thanks, kids," to her firelizards.

This — less than a minute after the three firelizards pop off into the formerly-known-as-a-barracks — would be the point when Zhirayr stiffens, then abruptly stalks over to the rubble with his small shovel and a deceptively calm attempt to find Safely Shiftable Rocks, because — well. Just because, right? No sense waiting all that long for an actual expert, right?

"Zhirayr." That's Nyalle's voice, firm and low. "No." Bad Steward. Good thing the Minecrafters and Wherhandlers are showing up now, right? Nyalle moves off to talk to the Master in charge, while the others begin to survey the site.

While Nyalle has the correcting in hand, Inri gives Zhirayr a silent eyebrow-raised glance. What is he doing? Nyalle also has the talking to crafters in hand, so Inri moves to lay a hand against Rhenesath's good foreleg. Comfort in contact for the duo both totally freaked out in a low-key fashion about Thys' safety.

Rhenesath lowers her head to blow warm air over Inri - both thanks and relief in one hot breath. Kouzevelth will hear her more clearly as she shares her thoughts with the gold while checking in on her eggs; there is still concern, still worry, still an undeniable twinge of her rider's pain running through the gold's mind, but she is not panicking any more.

Chastened, Zhirayr — doesn't step back, although he does lower his shovel again. For now. Until one of those miners tells him what he can do, anyway. To Inri, a short, clipped answer: "Taimri's in there." His stepdaughter.

Kralkth is fine. He eyes the human who speaks his name warily, eyes whirring fast and vividly red, a noise like a growl rumbling up from somewhere deep in his chest. He's not actually fine, holding his left side gingerly and still blinking through ichor, but the brown isn't moving, either. Not even for the third member of his rider's family-group. Foryth's can deal. Kayeth can prevent him from moving to free I'rly from the rocks, but nobody's moving him from Ibby without a fight. Mind snapping out with angry winds and ominous shifting noises, the young dragon waits.

CUE LEIA, who is only making a BRIEF appearance because SOMEBODY HAS TO GO AND SUCKS (her player, coughcough). The weyrling is on the scene with a suddenness, the rapid pounding of booted feet on the floor the only announcement preceding her arrival before there's a high-pitched keening that rips itself involuntarily from her throat. What hope she had held onto that maybe this was some elaborate prank crumbles akin to the rubble of the barracks presented before her - and then she's on the move. She's shouldering past Nyalle and Inri and everybody with Foryth at her side, a litany of denial and sob-gurgled, ugly, "NO,"s being repeated as she reaches out to grab a bit of stone and Foryth, without the control of a Queen, starts to nose and push his much smaller body around in the hopes that he can find some place to slip in beneath the rubble and POSSIBLY TRAP HIMSELF (JK GUYS, HE WANTS TO HELP). Thank Faranth for Chadham (something you will probably never hear anybody say again), as the man reports to the scene in tandem with Leia and has enough knowledge of the why to place himself in Leia's way and haul the smaller bluerider up against his chest even as she fights him. "LET GO OF ME. THEY'RE IN THERE. THE'RE IN THERE AND IF THEY DIE, THIS IS YOUR FAULT TOO." She screaming it to the man holding her back and everybody prsesnt, her distress echoed by her blue who scrambles from his post with haste to try and at least slow Chadham. It doesn't work, and the man takes her abuse with wordless dignity as he pulls her right back from the possibility of making EVERYTHING WORSE.

"LEIA. STOP," Nyalle says, voice firm and stern. "You are going to HURT FORYTH." POINT. SEE. Dragon doing DANGEROUS THINGS. "Foryth." Kayeth extends her control to the blue, pulling him down and back as well. You guys will THANK HER LATER. Grr.

Really, Inri should be dealing with the miners too, and she's going to go off and find the wherhandlers some nice ground weyrs, but first — first she has to give Zhirayr a significant look of understanding and a quick hug to Rhenesath's leg, even as her own lifemate stays with the younger gold mentally, consistently, giving visuals and reports on the eggs and everything they're not doing, occasionally offering to turn one. "If you need me later," she tells — both of them, really, Rhenesath and Zhirayr, before giving her focus to a pair of wherhandlers and their browns, getting them someplace to stay so they can get on with their assessment and digging.

The compassion is nice; bronze Molonlabe reappearing from inside the ex-barracks with a message from Taimri that really, she was okay, a few scrapes notwithstanding — well, that helps Zhirayr relax, too, enough that he can stop standing in the way of the assessment (on top of that precariously-balanced pile of rubble). "Well, you'd better tell Mirinda to hurry back, too, then," he tells his bronze, who gives him a much-put-upon Look, inasmuch as a creature with no eyebrows can, and then both of them leave the scene of the crime, to continue working.

Rhenesath remains by the rubble; she suddenly keens, and anyone within the vicinity will know that the reason for it is her rider's sudden lack of conciousness. She lies down, unmoveable, continuing her keening vigil as the Minecrafters assess the situation they're facing.

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