Member No.: 14
Joined: 16-December 10
//So, the Weyrlings are still in the Past, then? Scrap that previous post, I guess. I'll come up with some addition for T'lnar in a bit. Have Koren and Addie for now.
==-==-==Koren, Galena and Verity==-==-==
Rumours. They were rumours. Nothing but rumours.
Oh Faranth, he felt faint. On the edge of vomitting. Beside his bed, Verity whined pitifully, but it was a playact. He could feel it in her, the lying. She was a terrible, terrible liar. She supported this, she wanted the rumours to be reality. She wanted a little girl's revenge, unable to grasp the depth of what such a rumour could actually mean. Still, he managed to struggle upright, to reach a long arm to her waiting head. Comfort given and taken.
It is not rumour. It is true. Do you think I would have troubled you with this knowledge so soon, if it were anything but the harshest of facts? I have heard them conspiring. They speak to my brothers and sisters as if Wyvernkind cannot feel thoughts the same as they can, prideful dragons. I was asked to help them. It is a dragon war, true, but they know we are the strongest of fighters, not they and their silly humans. Galena stated, with a strange, distant superiority, as if she was not bound to mankind. Perhaps she wasn't. There was so much separation between him and the Fisher wyvern, the likes of which he had not known in dragonbonds. Her next words came softer, though, undercutting her previous point somewhat. I stay for your comfort alone. They deserve to feel my teeth, and I deserve to crush their paltry leathered wings.
Well. Regardless of what she claimed, it was only a story. Nothing would come of it. He had to believe that, because the alternative was incomprehensible. Not when only two days ago- two months, apparently- he had barely survived the same horror. He refused to accept it.
Koren crushed his eyes closed tighter. He'd been awake and aware only five, perhaps ten minutes so far this day, but already he was tired enough to cry. He was no simpering girl child however, and instead he collapsed back onto his pillow, and with a vice like ferocity crushed his mind around Trinity, Piper and Powder, each flinching dramatically. Trinity even managed a screech of her usual loathesome disapproval before he silenced her.
They knew. They had all three been trained as messengers, no matter how much they constantly wanted to disobey him. They knew the message to take, and where to take it. He had a responsibility to Warn the very Weyr that had protected him and his kin for generations. He had contributed to this war, and it was his duty to mitigate the costs at every turn.
He crushed the small fair into silence, demanded the obedience they did not want to give.
There was a new Weyr, and though his family line would no doubt end with him as far as this Continent was concerned, his greatest loyalty had to lie with them. When he choked on his own vomit, too weak to even roll to the edge of the bed, the Healer put him under once again. By then, it didn't matter that the trio of violet, blue and bronze dipped immediately between, creeling in blind panic.
Piper to Yorikal, demanding help for Theirs. Trinity to where the dragons fought, hellbent on making them pay for hurting what was hers alone to harm and joining the swarms of Southern flits. And Powder, slow, kind, stupid Powder, simply dropped into existence on a ship where a familiar presence waited. A ship only a day's travel now from the docks. It took some doing, to warn the Captain not to let the same-minded, same-haired girl on to Southern shores.
But by then, he'd grown ill of her preening anyway, and was as happy as not to be rid of her.
Adeloc was not a stupid man. Weak, yes. Quiet, certainly. Harmless, fighteningly so. But he was not stupid. Before all this, after it, in the strange time between, he had memories as clear as daylight. He had witnessed politics first hand. He was written, and studied, and trained to one day be an advisor. And all the training was gone, now, along with most of the shallow courage that had allowed it to take hold at all. But the keen mind was still there, double sharpened by flawless recollection and impossible empathy.
Nor was Zhath a foolish dragon. She knew her rider. She knew her Weyr. It was hers, and though she was not possessive- that would require some level of anger impossible for her- she still knew that its well being was as much her responsibility as Miroth's, as Takhisith's. She was Fourth, until Jennath claimed her adult rights in flight. EVen then, she would be but Fifth. She had the right to sleep in the Goldtown, and with it, the responsibilities of any goldrider.
Between desperate, whispered rumours brought to their attention by their own clan, and the pulsating bursts of anger, sorrow, anxiety, it was easy to know what was happening without ever being told. They were not to be exposed to such... atrocities. They were delicacies, meant to be shielded.
With her Rider curled beneath her outstretched wing, Zhath tried again. As they both had, so many times. There must be a way to make it happen without death tearing at their souls. There must be.
It was not until the deranged dipped between that the vision struck, washing over them cruelly as it ever did. She was grateful that Adeloc was already laying down, hiding beneath her, so that he could not fall and burst his own skull on some rock. He gasped to full consciousness after the dregs left their minds, and his smile was watery. His eyes had a distant focus, as if he had perhaps harmed his head regardless of already being on the ground. "Good. That's... this is.."
And then the vigor left them both, and they let sleep take them, black and warm with satisfaction. There would be a time, too soon, when the pain would redouble. When their own half-a-brother betrayed them. When even Jironath and Vorth's could bring them no comfort.
But that was not now, and this- which Miroth would rage at, while Takhisith snickered, and Jennath mourned, and worst beyond reckoning, Larrziath raged- this was right.