Log by R'al - 2/6/06
Fort Weyr - Center Bowl(#10486RJ$)
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.
People: R'al O'lief Hil Yezan Honahlee
Dragons: Izelth Kheyuth Osraebukath Gwenalanth Zelinath
Objects: impression in the sand
Obvious exits:
Dragon Infirmary -DI- Candidate Barracks -CB- Guest Weyr -GW- Southwestern Bowl -SB- Northeastern Bowl -NB-
Flee, greenrider! Flee! Yes, there's no way in hell that Hil is going to get that coat on and over him, because he's having far too much fun without his clothes on to listen to his mate's words. For Hil's eyes only? Pssah! Now it's for FORT'S EYES! Let's hope there's a fast sketcher around here somewhere, to you know, paint that picture forever! "Hil, you're too slow! C'mon, c'mon! I wanna go home!" And yes, there's more giggling, but not before he reaches his green and leans on her. "We want flowers, Hil.." Airy voices, yay! And yay for proddy greenriders! Or something.
<OOC> O'lief slaps his name in there somewehre.
Hil comes running with his coat in one hand and whats left of O'lief's clothes in the other. "Okay! Okay we can go home on Osrae or Kheyuth! You don't have to run out like this!" What if he catches a cold or something? The older rider grumbles as he inches closer and closer to his weyrmate. Of all the things he has to deal with, now a proddy greenrider giving the weyr a free show. Nice. "Faranth, please don't let my little girl impress green," he mutters inbetween breaths. "If you don't slow down…I'm going to…I'm going to…I don't know what I'm going to do but hope I don't think of something!!"
Zelinath landed less than two minutes, her rider has, however, taken his time at dismounting his green lifemate. Folders are tucked into the straps right behind where the man sits, his body leaning forward again his lifemate's neck. His eyes are open, but it is obvious that he is resting there. Zelinath is sitting near the edge of the bowl - out of the way of weyr-folks and… streakers. Zelinath's head turns to O'lief as the greenrider comes into the center of the bowl, however, and a light croon has R'al lifting his head and looking towards O'lief and Hil. His eyes narrow and a sigh comes out. "Oh, shards… what /next/?" This is all said in a quiet, tired like voice.
There is a small knot of traders off to the edge of the bowl right now, one attractive youth with long dark hair resting against the Bowl wall, his arms folded over his chest and his dark grey eyes shadowed by the bangs of that hair. From the way he stands near but not within the other traders, it's acceptable to consider him either some sort of young leader or the rebel of the group. Either way, he watches the streaking with curiosity and a little grin.
A pale Istan green has been napping in the bowl for a good half-hour, only to suddenly be stirred awake by one of those crazy Fortians. Gwenalanth warbles a sleepy greeting to Zelinath, then lumbers off to find her rider. She's /got/ to see /this/!
O'lief might pay some kind of attention to his weyrmate if he actually /wanted/ to get dressed. But pfft, like he's in the mood for that. He's enjoying his moment of freedom, and so is little miss green Kheyuth, who croons accordingly in encouragment. And that's /all/ he needs. Hil gets a backwards glance as he takes off again, flashing teeth over his shoulder before glancing up at R'al and then doing a bit of hop-skip-stepping towards the silhouetteish, Rebel thingy on the wall. And then he notes those /pants/. GASP! He /wants/ some. "Hiiil! I want some of thoooose." And he's reaching out to tooouch. He wants to feel! Proddy O'lief. /Scary/.
Hil slides to a stop. Uh oh. See, Fort tolerates their particular greenies when proddy in their own special way. As for strangers, he doesn't want to chance it and beelines right for O'lief. "Come on now, time to get dressed. You want to go home right? Isn't it indecent to be…naked in front of our little one?" Anything to get the greenie to be clothed again! "If you get dressed, I'll get you /anything/ but clothes on have to come first!" Osraebukath slinks over to the gathering greens and warbles towards Hil. "I know I do Os, but not doing this!" You could use the exercize, rider.
R'al gives off a bit of a groan as he wipes a hand over his brow, letting it go past his forehead and to his hair, sifting though the brown strands. The other hand has his straps unbuckled within a few moments, and the Thunderbird wingrider is sliding down from his position moments later. Zelinath lets of a rumble in amusement at O'lief, as her eyes follow the rider. Gwenalanth gets a croon, as well, though Zelinath's attention is mainly on the streaking greenrider. R'al, however, is not amused. He's /tired/. He pulls at the edges of his riding jacket as he starts to head in the direction of his wingmates, Hil and O'lief. "O'lief, leave the traders /alone/, will you? Do I need to call X'an, or the guards?" A glance is shot to that trader seperated from the others, appologetic, almost, as R'al continues his slows steps towards O'lief.
The pale young figure has something of a bad reaction to being pawed at like that, his silver eyes flaring before, faster than most can follow, he lifts one leg - the rest of his body unmoving - and rather viciously kicks the greenrider in the face with all the force that slender limb can carry behind it, which proves to be quite a bit. A soft sound not dissimilar to a feline's hissing escapes the young trader, who obviously is against being randomly molested, even if it is by someone who isn't entirely to the rights of their mind.
Honahlee walks into the bowl a few steps behind her green, and on noticing O'lief, the woman turns a /bright/ red. "Gwen! You told me there was a package I needed to get. This isn't what I was expecting." The holdbred girl diverts her eyes from the proddy rider and tries to focus on something else. The kicking of previously mentioned greenrider, however, attracts her eyes back. "Oh!"
A kick to the face, eh? Ahem, /OW/. O'lief makes this shark little noise in the back of his throat, eyes closing tightly as he covers his face with both hands and crouches down—more like loses his balance. Kheyuth, on the other hand, lets out quite the vicious little roar as she watches her rider go down, wings coming up. Luckily, she stays put because either she doesn't think the situation has become bad enough yet, or O'lief's sent some mental message for her to calm down. For now, we'll pretend it's the former. And look, as he tries to get up he lands a hand on Yezan's leg to do it. What? It's not like he's paying attentiong to where he's groping. Right now all he hears is a bunch of tweetweetweeting, and he's blinded by stars. That, /hurt/. Blood, lots of it, but from where? Scramble! Eek!
Izelth decends in a tight little dive from on high, the sound of a distinct and growing louder… ~Aaaaaaaaaaaaarrgh!~ from his back. The brown-tinged bronze of the weyrleader didn't really give his rider much time to actually, you know.. strap himself into the buckles before he was launching on a distinct mental «Uh-oh..» - and so that's not the smoothest landing that the weyrleader's ever experienced. Needless to say, he won't be any good to anyone 'this round' so to speak, because the landing, well.. jarrs his voonerables rather too much, for not being properly buckled in. *whimpering sound* "Shite…" ~Much bitran slang cussing~
Hil just stands there silently, dropping everything in his hands onto the ground. As O'lief falls to the floor, the rider takes one step forward slowly towards this…this insolent… One step after another, teeth grinding in absolute anger. Osraebukath rumbles and begins to go to his rider but stops when his lifemate raises his hand in frustration. Not yet, he can handle this. "Was kicking him absolutely necessary?" he hisses through those clenched teeth. Those once tired eyes aren't so sleepy anymore. Instead they narrow in a calculated /glare/. "Answer me."
This is the reason weyrs should have a warning… pamphlet or somesuch at the entrance. To have people ready for streaking greenriders to randomly molest them. Or perhaps someone can come up with an 'anti-proddy' spray, to keep away the proddy greenriders. His eyes 'droop' slightly, tire coming to them as he slows upon nearing O'lief and Hil, and that lone trader. It takes R'al a moment to show any reaction to that kick, and the reaction is a single word, "Shards." That is said with a frown, and a slight… whine. Now, only feet from the scene, R'al steps forward, promptly placing himself between Hil and the stranger. His eyes set on his bronze wingmate, and he points down to the injured O'lief, "Hil, attend to your weyrmate, please." he pauses a moment before, "Now." Though the same rank, tachnically, as Hil, R'al's voice gets an authoritive tone to it as he speaks, turns as a Weyrlingmaster perhaps perfecting this tone.
The young man lifts his gaze to settle it on Hil, and it may very well be in that minute that one can be educated that there's no chance of him being a real trader. It's not dissimilar to fixing ones eyes on the edge of a sword. He responds to the question by flicking a hand outwards, something gleaming white and sharp appearing in his fingers where there was absolutely nothing before. The next move is simple but fast, one gloved hand snatching up O'lief's wrist of the hand on his leg while the knife slices downwards into the man's shoulder, followed by the greenrider getting kicked away once more, voice a low growl, "Don't touch me again." If you're going to get in trouble, do it right. Though the Traders are starting to move away from the young man, there is a shriek of fear when the dark-haired youth drags a skinny little blonde girl to his side, pinning her there. If dragons care to eat him now, they'll really need to aim well.
The Istan native pair have never encountered anything quite like this. At the glint of the blade, Honah dashes toward Hil, ready to aid him however she can. Her green follows behind, but stays back several feet, watching the young man. "What the?" She yells as O'lief is stabbed, and the girl grabbed. She battles to keep herself from freezing up in fear. "Let her go!" She cries out, knowing the demand is futile.
You know, O'lief can't seem to keep himself out of trouble when he's proddy, can he? He makes this startled noise, followed by a shout of the incoherent sort as his shoulder is suddenly /throbbing/, and /stinging/ and decidedly useless for the moment. Not because he can't move it, but because all those little nerve endings are screaming, kind of like one angry little green who's shifting about on the spot, as if deciding whether or not to go to her rider. It's confusing for the poor missy, when O'lief won't respond for a couple of seconds to assure her about being okay. Yep, and this time, instead of trying to get up by reaching, his hand clasps over the new wound that's blotted out the pain of being kicked once again and he rolls over onto his stomach. He's dazed, and confused, and bleeding, and in a lot of pain. The worst part is, he doesn't know /why/. "Hil.." Where are you? And then there's more scrambling. What's going on? Ahh!
When O'lief is kicked back a second time…Hil makes sure to grab him and pull him away from the trader. He ignores the wretch for the time being. First things first…tend to the greenrider's wounds. Second, land his own boot on him so many times you can't tell the remains were once human. Hil reaches into his pocket, pulls out a handkerchief and quickly ties it about his shoulder. With a trembling voice he looks over to Honah, "Take him out of here, get him help." Hil quickly turns his attentions back over to the trader and on his feet quickly. He takes a step right beside R'al. The bronzer begins to crack his knuckles…"Turn around. Let her go, you weak little…"
R'al is tired. And a bit stupid, maybe. He /hadn't/ expected that the trader was going to do anything above that kick. In fact, he had thought he was going to be helping the situation by keeping Hil and the stranger seperated. He stands firm in front of Hil until comotion, and a mental call from Zelinath, cause the greenrider to turn his head right before O'lief is being drug away by Hil. My, R'al's reaction times are slow today. His eyes widen a bit and he turns fully around, facing the young trader. Reaction times are a bit quicker, now. His eyes glace to the side, to the rest of the traders, looking for any sign of hostility, even as Zelinath's body has tenced, and she moves - a few quick dragon sized steps blocking any escape of the group, her eyes swirling in colors of anger and warning. R'al's gaze goes back to the obviously dangerous one, now, taking a step to his right. Spread out, and such.
Izelth's neck> X'an grunts. He's really not in any real condition to be helpful on the ground right now. Not to mention there are panicking people, angry riders, stabbage, all manner of other things. Izelth's all he has right now. The bronze doesn't seem inclined to being careful with people however, moving forward, he may well knock several over and push them aside as he moves, with a braying bellow. Without thought and with a protest as X'an yelps to hold onto the straps, Izelth reaches out with his talons to -try- and cage Yezan. And if he can, knock aside the girl. Of strength vs. human strength, well there's no competition. Delicacy however, is the issue, and dexterity… it may well not work!
The traders seem trying to seek safety with the dragon blocking their way more than trying to escape past her. In the mean time, Yezan responds by hauling the little girl up by her hair, wrapping it thick around his hand while the other, knife present, curls around the girl's neck and presses the tip against the underside of her jaw, "Do you really think insulting me is the best idea?" The girl really can't be too much younger than him. He only looks like he could be fifteen, seventeen at the most. As the very tip of the knife pierces the girl's skin, she gives a squeaking sobbing sound, trying not to move when the arm around her neck tightens. As close as he's holding the girl, the bronze's daring attempt to scrape them apart meets with the dark-haired young man, he just drops his hand from her hair so he can hold onto her more tightly, waiting until seconds before the cage is done before he abruptly leaps in a curve to get over the bronze's forepaw. His foot strikes the back of it, sending him minutely off-balance, but he lands on a knee and rolls onto his back, keeping the girl well between him and anyone else - the knife still in his hand. The girl screams, and a thin streak of blood shows on her cheek, though it's difficult to tell when it happened. Yezan, of course, is trying to get over the faint ache along his back from having to jump like that, but he refuses to relinquish his hold. Mine!
Honahlee silently nods to Hil and moves to help O'lief, trying to ignore the fact that he's still undressed. She helps her fellow greenrider up, supporting him with her shoulders. Thinking for a moment, the woman whispers to O'lief "Uh, I don't suppose you could tell me how to get you to the infirmary, could you?" Her cheeks are flushed, not only from her question, or the man's attire, but the whole situation in general. A glance back towards Yezan results in a shiver. Gwenalanth stays back behind the bronze, waiting for her chance to leap in and take a bite.
Osraebukath lets out a bugle of frustration towards his rider who continues to hold up his hand, silently directing him to /stay put/. Theres nothing more that this rider wants to do than to skin the /boy/. Yet he still holds his ground…barely. He inches forward and watches. One hand reaches into his back pocket and then brings it forward again. "Why are you clinging on to a little girl who has /nothing/ to do with this?" Hil flips open the blade of his own knife but makes no attempt to step forward any more. "Come at me, or are you /that/ bloody helpless?" Helpless? Hardly, the wretch manages to evade a dragon and still keep his grip. Still…Anything to seperate the two. "What good is a man who can't even stand on his own and prove his worth, taking little girls hostage out of fear…What a…You disgust me. And to think they look up to someone…a weakling like you." Muttered but probably still heard.
R'al is knocked /down/, to the side, suddenly, as a fury of a bronze budges him from his place watching Yezan. He lets out a bit of a start, as he falls to his side. He is lucky that his riding jacket is worn, for elsewise he may have had quite a few scratches. He looks up sharply, watching as Yezan escapes from those dragon claws, and as Hil moves forward. R'al remains on the ground for a few seconds before he lets out a loud growl-like sound, and he pushes himself up from the ground, "Anyone /not/ trained for this, BACK OFF - Dragons included!" R'al's voice is loud, commanding, and angry. Anger that is rare to show in the greenrider (of course, weyrleaders are always welcome, R'al can't say anything about that). He moves up to Hil's side, eyes kept on Yezan as he speaks into Hil's ear in a whisper. After he finishes he looks to Yezan. "Now, look, we don't want anymore trouble, and I'm sure you don't…" Zelinath, meanwhile, continues to watch the other traders, even as relays messages to her rider and the other dragons in the bowl of the other riders who are one their way to the bowl.
R'al's whisper to Hil: "By the book, Hil. He hurt O'lief - but we cannot endanger that girl. By. The. Book."
Izelth's neck> X'an yanks on Izelth's neckstrap. With a grunt, the bronze obeys, spreading his wings for balance as he reverses out of his bullrush to maintain distance. With his eyes swirling the colour of anger, he settles in a crouch with PLENTY of distance between himself and everyone. X'an from his neck seems a bit like a lemon, just sitting there watching. What can he do? Nothing!
O'lief's not even sure of where he is, because his brain is focused on too many things at once. How does Honahlee expect him to give directions? He does lean heavily against her though, with his good arm, and winces, taking a deep breath before shaking his head. Where were they going? Infirmary, infirmary. That man has a /KNIFE/! "HIL!" Which just makes Kheyuth shriek again, only this time /she's/ the one handling it. Looking frantically between the scene and Honalee none-the-less, he manages to realize that he'll just be a very useless distraction, so he thinks hard. "T-That way," he says, pointing some random direction. He doesn't know or really /care/ if he's right or not.
"I'm hardly here to earn your favor, rider - and I'll kill her. You won't. There, then, is all the reasoning I need for my behavior," the lean young man says, Yezan's eyes tempered steel, calm as can be as he rights himself easily once more. His movements are smooth, unhurried but capable, a snake with limbs. He hooks one arm fully around the girl's neck once more so he can keep the knife trained on her neck while his other hand abruptly whips out. Three tiny, razor-sharp white shapes slice through the air in Hil's, and now also R'al's, direction. Should they find their marks, in either rider's legs, they collapse upon insertion and shatter into painful slivers. It'll certainly hurt. He tries to back towards any possible exit, voice rapid and lacking the tension or fear of one who is surrounded by angry dragons should have, "Don't assume what I do and don't want. Move your dragons or the screaming will really start." The girl makes a choked, crying sound as he pushes the bone blade against her jaw once more, getting a terrified gasp and sob from a woman off to t he side, one of the traders who must be her mother.
Fortunately for her, the female greenrider is able to support him well. "There? Oh, okay.." She tries to block out the cries of the girl echoing through the bowl. She leads him towards the other end of the bowl, well away from the chaos surrounding Yezan and the other riders. Gwenalanth hisses, and leers at the man angrily, but does not move to attack. Her tail whips about anxiously, wanting desperately to make a move for the renegade.
R'al's eyes have never been slow. And he has trained to watch for weapons. To watch for movements, such as Yezan's hand does now. However, his eyes are not /that/ fast, and the white shapes that slice through the air mearly gain an eye widening, before one comes in contact with the greenrider's left leg, R'al giving out a loud yell as pain strikes up his body, the leg giving out under the pain. He stumbles forward, right knee hitting the ground as his injured leg comes out behind him, his left hand going to the wound now in his leg. His teeth clench, and water comes to his eyes. He grunts as he pushes himself up, left hand leaving his wound, bloody. He stands, wobbily. But he stands. Blood runs down his leg, towards the ground. "… if you kill her, I highly doubt you'd leave here alive. You're smarter than that, aren't you. You've injured a few riders - not that huge a crime if you think about it." Zelinath, her eyes now swirling red body tence and she stays in he place, blocking any exit directly along the edge of the bowl toward the living caverns, the only way out - really. R'al, perhaps, is the only reason she hasn't pounced on Yezan.
Up above everyone's heads, smaller dragons, greens and blues mostly, have been zipping about from ledge to ledge. A few chromatic noses peek down to look at the scene beneath.
Hil nods silently, flips his knife back into its handle and slides it into his pocket, no trouble. Both hands are kept before him to show he is unarmed. His teeth are clenched shut, no words. Amber eyes twitch in frustration. "Everyone /stand/ aside! Osrae /move/! Leave him!" Hil turns his head for one brief moment, and at a bad one. When he hears his weyrmates voice, he averts his eyes not letting him see the objects sailing in the air towards them. What ever they were, one hits Hil right on the thigh and the other in the calf of his other leg, dangling but still shattered into pieces. The older rider hisses through his teeth, in pain as he collapses beside his wingmate. He turns to Osraebukath who lunges forward towards the renegade and silently /scolds/ him to stay put. The bronze bellows and shakes his head, whirling red eyes look directly at Yezan…He'll stay, but why?! His rider is hurt! Short stubby tail behind him twitches as he waits for his chance… Hil reaches down and tries to pull out the weapons only to break them into smaller pieces within. What little he does manage to pull out is thrown aside for now. His left leg trembles as he tries to keep his balance on it. The right is a smaller wound that can be ignored for now as long as it can get him back on his feet. He turns back to R'al and then to the renegade. Osraebukath is inching himself forward. Hil catches his out of the corner of his eye…still not close enough to do anything and he would stop the bronze if he tried. "Leave her behind," is all he can say coherently, in as calm a voice as he can. Hil silently raises his hand in a fist then lowers it. Osraebukath stops, then proceeds to lower his head and lie silently on the ground. The dragon's eyes fixed on his rider and /away/ from yezan, no trouble here.
Izelth turns himself sidelong slightly, wings spread wide still, ready to take off at a moments notice it seems. It gives X'an on his neck, more of a clear view of what's going on down there. He cants his head up though and with a very calm, if well projected voice, informs everyone: "Back away from the renegade /now/. Those of you that are injured, make it as best you can." - As cold as ice! He then fixes his attention from on high, upon the renegade with the girl in hand, leaning over to rest his elbow on his knee. "Let the girl go immediately renegade. This is not a negotiation scenario. If you do not, you will be dead in the next ten seconds. There are more than fifteen men now in position with clear shot of you, who practice daily for -just- this kind of scenario.. the watchwher of Fort is pending to move in on you, and you -cannot- see where -she- is. Release the girl or you're a pincushion. Don't think I don't mean it. I -do-."
Of everyone here, Yezan's focus settles on R'al, primarily, due to his words, his death grip on the girl relaxing slightly as he considers this only for X'an's sudden threat to make him grip her more tightly. He's seventeen, after all; a criminal, but certainly not someone /that/ interested in dying. His eyes narrow up at the man and he backs further away, keeping the wall behind him and the dragons in front of him, "Liar! There's no way you'd shoot at me with her in hand!" He glares angrily up at Izelth's rider, defiant to this very last moment before he does release the trader lass and puts his fingers to his lips, whistling sharply while kicking her in the back to get her away from him. Hey, if they shoot, it won't be his fault if she gets hit, right? Why he whistles is unknown, save there is a flicker of color over his head, the tiny mindvoice of a firelizard, and then nothing. The slender young man curls his back defensively, his hands planting on the back of his head and his knife clattering to the ground. It still doesn't look like it'll be easy to actually take him in, but he did let her go.
R'al's clenching teeth are clenching even more now, even as his leg shakes slightly from the pain throbbing - piercing through it every few seconds. With every heartbeat, it seems. The shake is only slight, though. R'al looks back to X'an at that declaration from the Weyrleader, but he doesn't move. Yezan releases the girl before R'al could have even moved far. The greenrider's gaze moves to the trader-looking lad, eyes narrowed. He's angry. As three guards move past the greenrider, slowly making their way to Yezan, "Wait." R'al calls, and the guards do, turning to look at the greenrider, confused. "Turn around, will you? Step toward the wall there and place your hands on it, flat." Well, just in case, ya'know?
And as if to prove the point that the weyrleader wasn't bluffing, a shot /does/ get fired.. possibly by a hair-trigger enthusiast.. but it thunks into the turf clear of both of them. Evidently the nervous aimer had actually had the sense to pull up with the shot before disaster struck. However, the same cannot be said of the sudden appearance of the watchwher, atop the scene. The green bitch of the woods isn't a nice creature at all. Her handler can be heard some distance away in the shadows, bellowing for her to back off, but not before the savage, small monstrosity of dragonkin has latched herself on Yezan and mauled him quite nastily with hooked talons and nasty teeth. Yowling her dismay at being pulled to task, Fortwesk lunges off of him to curl herself around the girl. She'll disappear a second after, porting the girl to safety… but there would be enough time whilst she's doing so for the injured renegade to plunge a knife in her tough hide…
Hil straightens himself up more, legs still trembling and swaying slightly. Osraebukath rumbles and his rider turns to him. Aloud he calls, "Leave 'im be, Os." The sudden commotion over the shot was enough to make him flinch and he reaches out for R'al's arm. He nods his apologies for going off balance and shakes his head. He whispers to his wingmate and then looks up towards the shooters and bellows, "/Stand down!/" Make the situation worse, why don't they?
Izelth's neck> X'an gives 'A glare' upward, lifting his arm to signal cessation of fire… even as Hil's yelling at the men to stand down too. The watchwher he can do little about, after all… The look he gives Hil himself is withering, but for the fact that the other bronzerider is probably not paying any attention to him up on Izzy's neck. Take my job, why don't you!! - Or not.
Let's be realistic. Yezan wouldn't carry just one primary blade, no sensible assassin would. When the green wher throws herself towards him, his hands come from behind his head and a long knife is thrust into her shoulder while he goes down beneath her weight, growling and hissing like some sort of cat. He never cries out in pain, though, only makes sounds of anger and shock. He's left on the ground, one arm limp and the other clutching his knife. He pushes himself into a bent over standing position, limping backwards towards the wall but not turning his back now. Hey, he let her go, and the thing still tried to kill him. As blood trickles down into his furry boots, he clutches his knife in slick fingers and glares angrily at the entirety of the population in the Weyr, a wild animal seriously backed into a corner. His jacket is tattered, now, torn where there are scratches and bite marks. He won't die unless he bleeds to death, but he's certainly not happy. Those hard eyes stay affixed to the guards now, murderous and sharp, voice shaking but rebellious, "Don't… don't you sharding touch me…"
Elsewhere, in the shadows where her handler commanded she go, Fortwesk's somehow pathetic mewling can be heard bemoaning the issue of her ichor flowing down her side and /spoiling/ her fine, fine looks. However, assassins do not USUALLY take into account the tough hide of watchwhers when they're planning to do the stabby stabby at human targets. She's not going to die either. "Ssssh, sssssssh, keep still girl!" can be heard from her surly handler, whilst the girl she ported out is in a quivering wreck. After all, shock to the system, a hideous beast coming to your rescue, injury and teleporation… it's not a pretty thing on your poor trader lass.
Izelth's neck> X'an grumbles about various things under his breath up there on his bronze's neck. It's easy, we'll note, to look superior to all and sundry when you're safely astride a dragon and not down in the thick of it. Looking at the situation with a certain measure of icy cold fury and dispassion that comes with it, X'an turns attention on the renegade. "Man. Again, you have very few choices here. You were not shot. Unfortunately, it seems you're suffering the after-effects of crossing dragonkind and dragonkin, but I /assure/ you if you remain pressed up against the wall, hissing your anger at us all, we can put a watch on you twenty four hours a day, until such time as you die from bloodloss. Give. It. Up. Every last one of your weapons on the floor now, and we'll clean your wounds and tend you so you don't die. Otherwise, you're going to join the ghosts of between. I really don't care one whit about your useless life."
R'al will send a glare not to the man up in the ledges, for Hil and X'an /obviously/ have that handled, right? He will, though, be shocked as the watchwher appears, attacking the young man before disappearing with the girl. His eyes go over in the direction of the watchwher handler - that's where his glare will go. Now it'll just be harder to take Yezan in. Maybe. Ugh, and stuff. The three guards are all a bit surprised, too, though as Yezan's words are spoken they glance at one another and spread out slightly. They let X'an speak, though. R'al, meanwhile, backs up a but, lowering himself to the ground, resting on his right knee as his left leg stretches out a bit.
Yezan responds to X'an's words with a look intense enough with hatred that, were it possible, the Weyrleader would drop dead from the heat of it. His fingers tighten around the knife, an action that causes him obvious pain due to the tightening of his features, but not one he feels the need to cease any time soon. Rather than just drop his weapons, though, he lowers his free hand shakily to his coat, undoing the clasps and sliding it off, proving to be thinner than one would originally think. The inside of the coat is lousy with weaponry, most of them looking to be made of bone or some other white material similar to clay - undoubtedly what lodged into the other two riders' legs. That's not it, though. Beneath the coat is worn an outfit of solid black, and this has a few sheathes on it too, notably the one on his back that he pulls a short sword from. In the end, it's something of an unnerving amount of bone and porcelein weapons that wind up on the ground, but he still clutches the one knife, seemingly unwilling to just let it go. Of course, after the mauling, his hand muscles may very well have locked up. In the end, it is his inability to hold the knife that signals its release, the weapon sliding from nerveless fingers while he leans his weight against the wall. His eyes dart between the guards, all the same, ready to disagree whenever a hand touches him. Not much for physical touchies, no.
Izelth's neck> X'an watches this all with a dispassionate gaze. Those he can do very well… don't worry, there'll be exploding, violent anger later, probably directed at innocent dummies and punching bags.. or perhaps living targets. Glancing to the guards, he points a finger at them. "Slow approach. Confiscate the weaponry. You there, keep your sword drawn. You…" pointing at another. "Attend the injured…" - looking up at the ledges, his bronze keeps an eye on the renegade but some kind of message gets conveyed… drifting words that are indistinct can be made out coming from the ledges above, then he's got his eyes back on the renegade. "Can you walk?" He points toward the south, Izelth moving slightly, ready to make a grab for the man if he has to, once more, now that his rider's actually -strapped- to his back… "Jail cell. Thataway. Move. If you can't you'll be moved by force."
R'al doesn't /need/ attended to. Bah. He's just /resting/ his leg. Yeah, that's right… but he will accept a hand under his arm to help him to his feet. The guard gets a hand pushing him away, then. "Help Hil, there." The Thunderbird bronzerider is motioned to, and doubtful of R'al's ability to keep himself afoot, but not ready to disobey a rider, the guard moves to help Hil. R'al glances to the renegade, a frown coming to his faces before he turns away and shakes his head, before he begins to walk off, towards the living cavern entrance. "I'll send a healer or two to the prison, X'an." That is said loudly enough for X'an to hear, of course, as R'al limps away, stubborn and wincing a bit. The other two guards do as they are told, meanwhile. One, cautious of Yezan, begins to collect the weapons dropped. The other approched him slowly, sword drawn.
Yezan sways on his feet, blood beginning to flow more freely due to lack of attention, causing his knees to fail to work properly. He's a stubborn young man, though, and tries to inch away from the guards, fully expecting them to do something terrible to him when X'an isn't looking. This all started with him being touched, after all, so it's obviously not something he enjoys - as noted repeatedly beforehand. He hisses softly once more but presses his free hand to his upper arm, limping quietly towards the south before those guards can get close enough to grab him. The lad's long black hair is sticky with blood by now, whether it is his own or the hostage girl's, and he pushes it from his face when he gets a chance, only managing to smear red across his forehead.
And so, the scene… although not unremarkable, seems to have been dissipated. Some other weyrfolk, from the lower caverns and their weyrmates and riders, land when the 'threat' is removed, emerging like insects from the great termite mound that is the weyr, to attend to the shocked and shaken traders. Fort's hospitalities will be plentiful tonight… but as will their vigilance. Not one of those traders will be permitted to keep their weaponry upon them whilst remaining in Fort's sanctuary. But as for Yezan… well, he's escorted to the guard area, to the prison, to his doom? Well, that is debatable. Certainly to confinement… questioning and a couple of orderly healers and one to sew him up. It'll be a cold cell tonight.
