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Bleed and Burn; Ista [Open: Dragonriders]
Topic Started: Jul 6 2015, 09:06 PM (154 Views)
Hiko
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Weyrlingmaster
((Any player with an active dragonrider is welcome to post here. I'll be writing up the injuries and deaths of certain characters as were given to me.))

T’lyron hated working in Ista.
The weather was too warm, too moist for his liking, and the summer heat of the day bore down on both the man and his dragon to the point of burning. The bronze rider knew that when he returned home tomorrow, there would be newfound sunburns along his face and neckline. He didn’t know how the Istans handled switching from the heat of the sun to the chill of between so easily, but T’lyron thought it might have something to do with the sheer insanity of wishing to live in such an awful place.

Within his thoughts rumbled deep laughter.
I like the sun.
Say that after your hide starts flaking tomorrow.
Remind me, and I will. Moroith, to your left.

The bronze called to his wingmate, eager to see the other dragon scorch away the falling Thread. T’lyron grinned despite himself. Sidreth loved the call of Threadfall, more than most, he thought. The dragon was good at the fight, too – constantly aware of where and when clumps would fall. T’lyron supposed D’mitri had made a good call in promoting the pair to wingleader, and while he himself might not enjoy the thrill of the fight, Sidreth was propaganda in flight – precisely what holders wanted to see above their lands.
But perhaps T’lyron was biased. He felt Sidreth shift uncomfortably in the straps.
What is it, heart?
Something is wrong. Can’t you feel it?
No, I-ARGH
Sudden pain seared across T’lyron’s shoulder. Instantly, Sidreth took them between. When they returned to the fight, the dragon screeched confusion.

The sky was a sea of silver. Everywhere T’lyron could see, dragons were flitting between in agony. A chill ran down his spine.
This was a Threadstorm.
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Thread Tracker | Plotting Page

Abrille and Gold Sansath, Queens' Wing [D4AF37]C'len and Brown Fiacreth, Weyrling [B7410E]
Nolwen and Green Maelath, High Wing [556B2F]
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Hiko
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Weyrlingmaster
Kamiyath dove, screeching rage at the clumps that Praveth had missed.
T’ana held fast to the reins, gritting her teeth. What had happened to the days of reconnaissance? Under Rika, she had thrived, using her skills in secrecy to better equip the Weyr against potential threats. Holder uprisings, dissent within the Weyr – these were the battlegrounds on which T’ana felt most comfortable. Perhaps, she considered, she was growing too old for such a life.
Kamiyath, however, was a fighter. The small green darted in and out of between without so much as a blink, charring Thread wherever she saw it, and berating those that missed their own marks. The green cleaned up quite well, despite growing agitation.

And then the sky turned into chaos. To her right, Praveth bellowed in pain. Thread had mangled her wing, forcing the green into a downward spiral. The larger green went between, and T’ana realized she wasn’t returning.
“Wherryshit,” she spat, and moved Kamiyath toward Praveth’s former position. Someone would have to take over Alara’s hold in the air, and T’ana was the closest available.

Below them, Lolitath screeched in pain. Velina seemed to have been hit in the shoulder, and her green, on the wing.
Above them, Chairoth cried out. T’ana shot her gaze upward. Not the brown, too?
No, the brown seemed fine. His rider, however…
T’ana watched in horror as a leg drifted toward the ground.
In her shock, she never saw the clump of Thread falling onto her.

Kamiyath blinked between the instant T’ana died.
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Abrille and Gold Sansath, Queens' Wing [D4AF37]C'len and Brown Fiacreth, Weyrling [B7410E]
Nolwen and Green Maelath, High Wing [556B2F]
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Hiko
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Weyrlingmaster
At each dragon’s death, Moroith’s urge to fight intensified. It was all D’mitri could do to hold the dragon back.
The pair had retreated, out of reach of the oncoming storm. The bronze rider’s hands shook, and he could taste the whiskey already. We all have ways we cope, he thought privately. He would keep his wits about him today. Tonight, should any of his men survive, they would drink. D’mitri swallowed hard, watching as first Diadeth fell, injured but not dead. G’ryn was next, and Branth fled between to stop his rider’s injuries from worsening. That was good. D’mitri didn’t know if he could have taken losing a brother as well-loved as G’ryn.

Out of any of them, that dragonrider needed to return home. Morale would be low enough – the Weyr didn’t need a grieving Weyrwoman on top of –
“D’miri!” D’mitri shouted, urging his lifemate back into the fray. Moroith was all too willing to comply. They rushed forward, barely dodging this clump and that.

But it was too late. D’miri was thrown from Thrith’s back as Thread ate threw the riding straps and into the brown’s flesh. Thrith, in a panic, went between as his rider tumbled away in the air, falling.
He’s not going to make it. Moroith, chase after my son!
The dragon bellowed, diving after the young man. Faster and faster, the Weyrleader and his lifemate pursued. Even a dragonless life was still a life, and D’mitri thought of nothing but preserving his only child.
D’miri impacted the ground with a sickening, wet sound, just as Moroith might have been in reach. D’mitri let out a moan of anguish, unable to think about the storm above. His bronze gave a piteous creel, hovering over the young man’s corpse.
We have to return to the others, D’mitri.
That’s my son! My boy! Dammit all, that was Demiri!
We have to return, D’mitri.
The bronze repated, his tone flat. The others need us.
We’re coming back for him. He deserves a proper send-off.
Yes. But we need to return. Now.
Moroith flapped, motioning to raise himself skyward. The bulk of his size made him too large to make tight turns or lifts, and hovering as he’d been, the bronze was having difficulty rising back up.
In the end, that was what killed him. Thread fell on man and dragon, and without the swiftness to dodge in time, both went between.
D’mitri’s last thought before the pair disappeared was a memory of red hair and lilting voice. At least, in death, they would be reunited.
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Abrille and Gold Sansath, Queens' Wing [D4AF37]C'len and Brown Fiacreth, Weyrling [B7410E]
Nolwen and Green Maelath, High Wing [556B2F]
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