[G] [C] 734.08.01 | Night Terrors [Solo] [Landslide Event] - Printable Version +- World of Pern (https://pern.second-pass.net/forum) +-- Forum: Southern Pern (https://pern.second-pass.net/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=5) +--- Forum: Old Katila (https://pern.second-pass.net/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=96) +---- Forum: Weyrling Barracks (https://pern.second-pass.net/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=98) +---- Thread: [G] [C] 734.08.01 | Night Terrors [Solo] [Landslide Event] (/showthread.php?tid=2098)

734.08.01 | Night Terrors [Solo] [Landslide Event] - B'jin - 06.Dec.13 B’JIN! The green dragon’s screech was vocal and mental, the small green shooting into the air as the whole world seemed to move around, and the thick heavy scent of wet earth rolled up, and down, and Larrikith’s eyes were white as the knowledge of death of her fellow dragons crashed against her mind. Dragons were dying, people were screaming, and B’jin was falling out of bed as he fought against the terror his dragon was filling him with; she was so terrified, and Larrikith was so rarely afraid! Dragonets were screaming, and Larrikith circled above the Weyrling Barracks, her own terrified screech filling the air as most of the building was consumed by the moving earth. B’JIN! B’jin get out of there! The green dragon was trembling, and the winds and currents created by the shifting earth, and the winter weather, caused her to drop and rise unexpectedly as she tried desperately to figure out where her human was, and how many of their babies were still alive. All she could feel was the constant ‘ping’ of death as dragons vanished between with mournful cries for their lost humans. “EVERYONE THIS WAY!” B’jin’s harper trained voice bellowed down the corridor of the Weyrling Barracks; dragonets and humans trembling in terror, and a couple wandering around with the dazed expression that caused B’jin’s heart to break when he realised some of the dragonets had gone between without their rider, lost in the pure terror of whatever was going on. The greenrider ushered those that were there down the hall – “To Larrikith! Go to Larrikith! Larri!” Hurry! The building is being eaten by the earth! Go away from the mountainside. Towards the – Indamor! B’jin flinched heavily as his dragon screeched out the name of his son, fearing the boy dead he could not stop the sudden tears that fell down his face. He forced himself to usher the youngsters with him towards the exit, yelling over the screams and terror for them to make their way towards the far side of the Gather Square – to keep going further if they needed to. To stay together, to look after each other; only as they were firmly on the way did B’jin allow his blood to freeze in his veins as he cautiously reached for Larrikith, terrified that she would tell him Indamor was dead. He hadn’t been counting, and the classes were all mixed up. How many had he lost? How many were missing? Tears fell, but B’jin fought for calmness. He needed to keep his head. He had to keep his head! He went back! The fear was thick in Larrikith’s voice, which wasn’t helped by the way she knew B’jin turned tail and fled back into the depths of the building that had first been assaulted by the mud, and were buckling under the weight. Many of the outer rooms had already crumpled, and B’jin skidded to a halt and then backed up a few steps when he heard a plea for help from one such room. “Faranth,” B’jin breathed, trying not to gawk at the horror within the room. He stepped carefully in, flinching away from a piece of ceiling that creaked threateningly and mud dripped down. A chunk had been take out already, and in the wake it had apparently destroyed the green dragonet. B’jin didn’t bother trying to hide the tears that were tumbling down his cheeks as he came to a stop beside the young man, crumpled on the floor. His legs were lost under a support beam from the dividing wall, and B’jin knew he’d never be able to lift it. “G’komi,” he murmured, kneeling beside the boy, and brushing his hand lightly over the sweating, terrified face. “She’s gone,” the broken, desperate voice of someone who lost their dragon. B’jin’s breath hitched. “She is,” he agreed softly, trying not to look at the mangled body of the green dragonet not far away. His hand swept gently through the boy’s hair again, and B’jin’s gaze flickered over the room with more purpose. Leaning forward, B’jin placed a light kiss on the boy’s forehead. He had no idea who had fathered the child, or any idea who the mother was; all he saw was a broken child, someone that should have had a long life ahead of them with a gorgeous dragon to call their own. His hands splayed gently over the boy’s cheeks, cupping his head firmly as B’jin pressed his forehead to G’komi’s, breathing a soft promise to the boy. Leaning backwards slowly, B’jin twisted his hands sharply, breaking the boy’s neck. Biting his bottom lip, B’jin gently lowered the boy’s head to the ground, brushing his hand over his hair once more – just as the outside wall finally collapsed, and mud came gushing into the room. B’jin shouted a wordless cry of surprise and fear as he leapt to his feet, scrabbling backwards in terror. He fled the room, slamming what was left of the door behind him as he bolted down the main hall. No! The ceiling collapsed just before B’jin once more, and he skidded to a halt, yelping again as he backed away from the mud suddenly sloshing on the floor. “INDAMOR!” “In here!” That wasn’t Indamor’s voice; B’jin growled in the back of his throat as he realised T’ryn was with his son, and he shouldered the closed door open that the voice had come from behind. Then he skidded to a halt once more. Two white-eyed dragonets, and two pasty-faced teenagers stared back at him, and B’jin realised with a start they were all in his room. “What the fuck?!” He’s stuck! He’s stuck! It hurts, oooh, it hurts! the day old bronze dragonet’s voice was shrill with fear and pain, and B’jin’s attention shifted to the dragonet, noting the way he was favouring his right leg. The greenrider’s gaze darted back to his son, brown eyes widening as he realised that the boy was favouring the one arm, leaning sideways as if to lessen the strain, while his left hand clutched B’jin’s guitar to his chest. “Your guitar,” Indamor’s voice was low and matter-of-fact, but B’jin could hear the pained strain under it, and the white and pasty tone of the boy’s face belied how much pain he was in. The arm looked wrong, so wrong, and B’jin swallowed. Would Talian be able to fix that? Could anyone fix that mangled mess? It looked like there were fingers missing. The greenrider’s face went as white as his son’s, stomach shifting unhappily. So many things to say, to scold or praise or sigh; instead, B’jin took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, flinching alongside the boys when the whole room creaked and Larrikith screeched a warning. “C’mon, move! Out! No, not that way, the other way!” Trying not to panic, B’jin took the guitar that was handed to him by his son, and ushered the two bronze weyrlings out of the room and up the hall. They’d barely made it half a dragon length before the entire back end of the building collapsed entirely, Larrikith’s terrified screech filling the immediate area with her fear, before the three burst out of the building, and Larrikith swooped over top. Talian is in the Craft Hall. Healer Hall is gone, and the Hatching Sands. Why is the earth eating the Weyr? “I don’t know,” B’jin answered the dragon honestly; “Larrikith – where is Amorandii? Is R’nd okay? Val?” He was relieved to know Talian was okay – and by proxy, his lump of a dragon – and he was sure Larrikith would be in more of a fit of emotions if anything had happened to the blue’s. She’s with the other brats; I don’t know. I think so? They’re not dead. But I can’t focus. So many dead, B’jin. So many lost. “The class?” So many dead, the green repeated, her tone mournful as she finally landed on the far side of the Weyr alongside B’jin as he instructed T’ryn and N’mor to go and find Talian. “C’mon, we’re no use here.” The Weyrlings would live or die, but they were as safe on that side of the Weyr as they were going to be. B’jin turned to Larrikith and threw himself atop her, having placed his guitar in a (hopefully!) safe corner of the Craft Hall, in exchange for a small dagger. Larrikith winked between, reappearing well above the Weyr, she circled once, before angling down to help a pair of riders trying to free a dragon from the muck.