Meet the Death Court

[Shard]

@ Mystic, Phe

The tumbling dragoness screeched and bellowed, behind where Van now stood with his small cream-colored dragon charge.

“We have to get you out of here, little one,” Van told him.

I’m not so little! Phantasos mentally asserted. I can help!

But Van merely smiled, well aware that his skin was still cracked and blistered, so he hoped that his expression wasn’t misinterpreted. “I know you could, but I think you belong with your clutch siblings, yes?”

He could sense the dragonet’s fear even behind the assertion of ability. But he did turn his nose down into Van’s crispy chest, and telepathically agreed that what he wanted most was to have other dragons at his back.

Van urged, “can you port?”

I can, I... think. I’ll go to them, thank you.

Van glanced around and saw that several dragons had been attacking others nearby, but for the very second it was ‘safe’ enough to send Phantasos up to his siblings. He might have spared a moment to gesture and do it himself, but the dragonet was capable even freshly out of the shell. Talent like that, he pondered, should be fostered. He would certainly have a place in Leespire’s court...

As the dragonet vanished, Van rose once more, and smiled broadly, openly. Well he couldn’t really help ‘openly’ smiling, as his lips were rather crunchy still, and part of his cheek had yet to regenerate. His eyes had been somehow spared, at least he could see pretty well.

What he saw was the dragoness he’d injured, still screaming, her paw now bloodied and dripping, rising into the air behind the stands. He was able to glance down just once, the incredible scene below the stands was... mind bending, and he didn’t dwell on it. Maybe later, maybe once things settled (presuming they did, of course), he’d ask.

**

Devera smiled with the same intensity as her father beyond, but at least her skin wasn’t blistered and burning... The blue dragon turned on his yellow partner in crime with blood in his eye along with a little magic burning there too. He chomped at the yellow dragon just as fiercely as he’d been attacking the steed, and that surprised the other dragon enough that her own attacks ceased.

Getting onto the other horse, Devera saw something odd in the corner of her eye, something ... tendril like? She didn’t want to spare a moment to look - it was probably another attack anyway. “Come on, up you go,” she called to the little ... the other little version of Shy? She hadn’t really been introduced to them but it was very clear that the diminutive person was yet another Shy. (Her father once showed her how he made his own crowd of doppelgangers, it wasn’t impossible to think that at some point, he’d screwed up and made one extra tiny, or too tall, or...) The little person clutched on to his own dragonet, and Devera cast a very brief ‘sticky’ spell to make sure they remained on the horse as long as they were needing to.

But when she spurred the horse remaining onwards, she felt more than heard something out of a nightmare. Turning to look she ... She saw Striga? But she was a mess, oh that was actually a shock. Less of a shock than what was propelling her along the bright hall. Long dark tubes, tendrils, something writhing came either from her or from the structure below? She could hardly tell, Devera could actually hardly bear to look at it.

Beyond her, though, where the group had been assaulted (and where the other horse was now collecting his wits, maybe he’d follow on after but perhaps he’d finish off the yellow dragon with the mind-controlled blue next), the third dragon that had been among those circling... was no more.

Simply put it looked like a charcoal sculpture that had a very strong chance of falling to pieces if you touched it. One of those tendrils attached to Striga was still doing something to it, but shortly came schlepping along to help her keep pace with the horse.

“Hello, darling,” Striga called cheerfully to Devera as her vines uncoiled from the limp body and once more raised her up on spidery stilts. She skittered in closer as the yellow dragon succumbed to a vicious bite from its mind-controlled brother. “I was hoping to save this surprise until at least the third date, but it seems life had other plans. Should we perhaps move somewhere a little less exposed?”

“That’s the idea, yes!” Devera yelled, she looked like she wanted to ask about it or scream, but did neither. “Is there a safe place?”

[Yakima]

@Mystic
Faroth snarled, lashing his tail at the green queen.I would die first, he replied. In front of him, Philippe smirked. “Oh, trying to take my dragon from me? That’s cute.”

To me. His mind went out to the undead that he had launched into the air and several of them swarmed under his request, diving for the two blood reds - Kesukiath joined them. Hontori and Faroth launched at the purple and Philippe turned his full attention to the green who called herself queen. “Watch me, bitch,” he whispered in reply to her comment about him lasting forever. “I can do this all day...” He raised a hand and pointed it at her, the spell building at his finger tip before he whispered, “Sāvina beraḷu.” The negative energy ripped into her, causing her searing pain even as she departed.

[[FYI, It was Finger of Death that Philippe would have cast...]]

Kesukiath bit down on one of the reds while the undead Death Court tore it to pieces. Its life force drained away and the undead wraith released it before, using the falling corpse as leverage, launched himself at the second with a snarl, the red and orange of his wings seeming to glow before he attacked the second red, killing it with a storm of flames. The beast crashed to the ground, and the undead under Philippe’s command paused, waiting for their next order.

I believe, Kesukiath sent to Hontori, that is four.

Three. You can’t count, the white-copper snapped back. Faroth was taking the brunt of the attack in their fight with the purple, but it seemed that whatever link he had with Philippe was easily keeping him in the fight.

The three beasts collapse. The two reds began to twitch moments later, one still burning from Kesukiath’s flames. The purple did not move.

That one doesn't count, Kesukiath snorted.

It is if he’s on my side.

Faroth looked between the two, then sighed and shook his head. Or I have one and you two can just shut up.

Touchy, touchy... Kesukiath muttered, shaking himself and turning to make sure no one else was on their way - at least yet. He watched the undead reds join Philippe’s army with smug satisfaction.

Phiilppe was about to levitate, to get a clear target on the green queen’s retreating form, when a hand grabbed his arm. “No!” Randaril gasped, spinning his brother around. “We need to go!”

Philippe paused, almost as if he was confused.

“Please...don’t do this...come...back...”

Philippe stared for a moment, then tilted his head to the side, a small smile on his lips. “I haven’t gone anywhere, you dead glow,” the blue rider said quietly, returning the gesture, his hand securely clasp on Randaril’s shoulder. “You get your dragon and get out of here. Faroth and I got this.”

“And if you lose Faroth?”

Philippe snorted. “I’m not losing Faroth...” Randaril looked up at him, disbelieving but Philippe began to levitate, a little smirk on his lips. “Now...if you don’t mind...I have a date with a very horny bitch...”

Opening his mouth to scold his brother on that one, Randaril resigned himself to a sigh. “Yeah...should have seen that one coming eventually,” he muttered, shaking his head.

He paused, looking around, then back at where Menelith was. For now, it looked like they were safe. “Alright...” he whispered, turning back to the fight “Where were we? Oh...yes...kicking your ass so I can go home.”

“Hey...Ril...”

The elven prince nearly groaned, but looked up at Philippe who was returning to the ground with a very large pout. “What now?”

“I think she ran away.”

“Darn...” Randaril said, cearly not upset about it. “How about you use that ever growing army of stink and get us out of here.”

The blue rider returned to the ground, looking quite rejected. “Or we chase her?”

“Listen...how long do you think your new buddy Thayer is going to be able to hold out over there?”

Philippe frowned. His eyes were still black but Randaril could tell that his brother was still very much in control of himself. “Fine...but if she comes back...she’s mind.”

“You can share, you know. It is my hatching day. I should get a chance to turn her hide into a porcupine.”

The two brothers began to trot off in the direction of where Aenon and Jarel were passing through the ever shifting stands to try to reach Thayer and Tiale. Above, the undead swarmed above the elf as if they were a shield - anything that tried to reach the brothers would have to go through them first.

---

“Please tell me he’s coming,” Jarel muttered as they tried to climb up to where Tiale and Thayer were with the hatchlings.

“He’s ‘thinking’ about it,” Aenon snarled. “I swear...what good is that lazy lump of feathers if he can’t even come to pick someone and get her and a baby dragon to safety.”

“Cats...” Jarel chuckled. “Feathered cats are worse...and isn’t that asshole some divine something another who was kicked out of his world...”

“Hell if I can keep all his different stories straight,” Aenon muttered. “All I know is that I’m going to roast him when we get back...then feed him to Kesu as a damn snack!”

---

Tiale glanced at Aenon and Jarel - she could see them making their way to her but, clutching her own baby dragon she nodded. They would catch up. Both of them were quite smart. Scooping up Randaril’s bronze hatchling she cooed at them like they were human babies and then looked at Thayer. “Okay...let's do this!”

[Xenoqueen]

@Mystic, StarFyre

The hybrid flying along with Stacurik and the siblings was practically a blue-fire elemental at this point, deliberately directing his flight path to catch incoming blasts of fire from those of the Death Court that the trio weren't already engaged in. Immune to flames though he was, the sticky nature of the Death-fire meant it still clung to him with every splattered impact, almost as if his mottled markings themselves had come alight somehow.

He couldn't hear Stacurik's direct sending to Renoth, but he heard her address the group of them.

::Teleport away from here!:: was his own mental shout to their impromptu Wing. ::To the Destiny, anywhere, just away from here!::

He would have offered to do it himself, but he was, after all, far too on fire to be transporting any precious cargo like that.

[Mystic Dragon]

@Everyone

That voice. It felt fuzzy, like a caterpillar crawling across his thoughts. The blue dragon that taunted Shy looked familiar, but it couldn't be. Pretentiouth had died. Mystic had killed him. Faust took a step closer to the sands as memories scratched at his consciousness.

Fly faster!
I am flying as fast as I can! Don’t do anything idiotic.

Faust pressed a hand to his head. It hurt. The voice hurt. The memories hurt. They itched. Shards of glass picking at his thoughts. He wanted to rub his eyes, clear the haze from them, but the goggles blocked his hands.

Oh for the love of… This is going to hurt and you’re going to hear about it for weeks after this!

Sand slipped beneath his feet. He looked up, having a clear view of the dragon now as he gazed up at Shy with malicious glee in his red eyes.

What? Have you no words, Shy, the blue dragon taunted the geneticist. He spread pale green wings and rose up on his hindlegs, red claws gripping the support structure of the stands. You were cast out, but I remained. I have done so much with the Vella Crean. You are going to love my upgrades. A pity your Empress couldn't see it.

Empress, Faust thought. Empress Naeodin. She'd been there that day. She'd-

The memories flooded into his awareness with all the force of a burst dam. Faust sucked in a breath and clutched at his head as the day came back in full colour replay.

---
(Ten years earlier)

“It’s over, Faust,” Mystic said, her tone as tired as if she’d just run a marathon. “Just come quietly now.”

“No.” The word slipped out before he knew what it meant. No, he did not accept that this was over. No, he did not accept that he would return to Tris’Hath to be punished. For what? For saving the dragon riders? For winning the war? No, he would not be stripped of his freedom after all he had accomplished. Faust stepped sideways, toward the edge of the balcony.

“Faust,” Mystic called in a warning tone.

“No, I do not accept this. I gave you everything of me and now you want to cast me into a dungeon to rot? None of your precious dragons would be alive if not for me! And you,” he snarled, his goggled eyes turning to Naeodin, “you’re not worthy of him. It’ll take him time but someday he’ll realize I’m doing him a favour.”

Faust slipped a hand into the inner pocket of his labcoat and pulled out a small, clear cylinder with a bubbling green liquid sloshing about inside. He pressed his sleeve across his nose and mouth, then spiked the cylinder into the ground. Immediately, a noxious cloud of roiling green clouds exploded from the impact site and began to build and billow across the whole of the balcony.

Fly faster, Faust urged.

I am flying as fast as I can! Don’t do anything idiotic.

Idiotic, no. Desperate, yes. As Mystic swept a hand through the air and called forth a gust of wist that cleared the balcony of the noxious fumes, Faust stepped up to the balcony’s ledge. He looked back once at the people gathered there. The people who thought themselves worthy of judging him. The woman he had devoted all his genius to, believing she might actually bring an end to the tyranny of the hydras. She’d turned out to be just as bad as them. The old Empress, whom he had no relationship with, and yet she felt it reasonable to toy with his plea for sanctuary as if this were a game. His eyes landed on Shy last of all, and for a moment, all his righteous fury faded away. He had never seen that look on Shy’s face before. Not directed at him.

No matter, he told himself. No matter that Shy looked at him like the filth beneath his shoes. He’d thought Shy his equal. Faust should have known better. No one could equal him.
The bald scientist turned and leapt from the balcony.

He flew. Arms spread wide, coat flapping in the wind. The ground rushed toward him, but so did Pretentiouth. Any second now, he would escape. He would be free.

She spoke from far away, her voice ripped away by the wind passing his ears, but the word reached him. A single word. Naxi'im.

And his world went dark.

---

Naxi'im turned his head away from the stands. Screams of combat raged all around the labs and hatching sands. His beautiful, loyal subjects dove and burned and clawed at Shy's precious guests. They tore at his defenses. It was the most glorious thing to behold. It was interrupted by a flicker at the corner of his eye. Something small and white. It would have been entirely dismissable save for the way it tugged at his memory. Naxi'im looked down at the little man in the white labcoat staggering at the edge of the sands. He dropped to all fours, stunned by the apparition standing before him.

You... You are dead, the Death Court king mused. He stalked forward, Shy all but forgotten as he reached out his thoughts to the bald man in the white coat. He felt nothing in return. No connection. The man looked up at him with fear and shock on his face. Naxi'im lowered his head and pushed his thoughts at the scientist. The man turned and began to flee.

A storm of emotions rose up in the Death Court king within the span of a second. Confusion, anger, hurt, betrayal, and so many long dead thoughts. Shy was forgotten. The purpose of his arrival was forgotten. Naxi'im charged forward, snatching Faust up in one claw then turning and leaping into the sky.

Hexeth, he sent out to his Blood Court queen, Get the egg and get the Court out of here. I have business to attend to.

@Starfyre and Phe

My King where are you- Hexeth sent back, but her response was already too late. Though she flew in pursuit of Renoth, she circled back long enough to see the blue king rise into the air and vanish. At a time like this, he decided to take off. Hexeth snarled and wheeled around, no longer caring to be cautious with her approach.

I tire of these games. Give. Me. That. Egg! The Blood Court queen dove forward with reckless abandon. Though Stacurik sheltered Renoth with his body, Hexeth was far larger, and extremely angry. She slammed bodily into the blue, sending him careening off toward the ground.

Baaki'Virh howled in fright and dove after Stacurik. Baneo'Mybl, strong as he was, could only take on so many pursuers. Three Death Courts harassed him from different angles, slowing his progress to a stand still. As Hexeth dove at Renoth with claws extended, only the fiery hybrid remained to defend her.

@Yakima

Thayer pulled a gold ring with a large, red stone at its center from his hand. He'd scoffed when his mother had insisted he wear it. He made a mental note to thank her for it once he survived this. With a few quick words and an intricate gesture woven over the ring, Thayer pressed a spell into the red stone. It began to glow gently, like the beating of a faint heart. Taking Tiale's hand in his own, he pressed the ring to her palm and closed her fingers over it, then fixed her gaze with his.

"This ring will let you and the hatchlings fly. Put it on, and the knowledge will be in your mind."

Something in the stands creaked and groaned, and the metal grating beneath their feet shuddered. Thayer looked down, and realized with a sickening rise of dread that the rabbit was no longer trapped in the webwork of vines beneath them. He watched it fall, landing with a soft 'paff' and a burst of dust. For a moment, all was still. Then the dragon exploded upwards.

"Go, go!" Thayer shouted, shoving Tiale and the hatchlings out of the dome. The metal quaked and bent beneath their feet. And then, with a shrill shriek, it began to tear apart. Up through the twisted pipes and torn seating, the brown dragon roared and lunged for the small group.

The last that Tiale saw of Thayer was the heir's tumble down through the broken seating structure, toward the Death Court's open maw. Then the bubble popped.

---

On the sands below, Bane picked himself up slowly, wincing at the tenderness in his torso. He knew he would be one giant bruise tomorrow. He pulled himself to his feet and surveyed the grounds. The blue dragon had vanished in the time he'd been down. Philippe looked... angry and glowy. There were undead dragons in the air and on the ground, facing off with the Death Court. That was a bit odd, but anything in their favour. He looked at last up to the stands where he'd left Thayer. He looked in time to see the bubble burst and a hole where his brother used to stand.

A cold settled into Bane's insides. Shock, followed by a suffocating wave of fear and anger.

"Thayer," he roared, but there was no sign of his brother. Nothing moved in the hole but a dark, serpentine body with too many spikes.

The shock warmed, turned to rage, and Bane began to sweep his hands back and forth, side to side. With each sweeping motion, the sands around him stirred. One grain at a time, it tumbled toward him as if pulled by a magnetic draw. More sand caught in the magical pull. More and more until every grain of sand left in the arena tumbled and sped toward the man in the black armour. As it swirled around him, he rose up, building a pillar of sand beneath him. Sand swirled around his arms, covered his chest, his head, until nothing remained but a growing monstrosity built of the pale sand of Shy's hatching ground. When not a speck remained, the monster's sweeping gestures stilled. It had no head to speak of, but it 'looked' toward the hole where Thayer had disappeared. For a moment it remained frozen. Then it moved, speeding along the ground and crashing into the stands with far too much agility for creature of its size. Giant, round fists of sand rose up and came down on the twisted remains of the seating structure. It began to tear its way through.

---

Asimath screamed as the pain lanced through her, but it did not slow her ascent. If anything, it assured her that she was making the right choice. She powered into the sky, high above the combat, and sent out a call to her Court. The reds she'd summoned were already turning to the other side, cut down with ease by the little mage and his friends. The wise thing to do would be to leave him be at that point, but she really hated the idea of letting him live.

Another champion answered her call. A massive, rust-coloured male who had often butted heads with Naxi'im. He was proud and none too bright, and he served her purposes perfectly.

The rust-coloured male dove for the ground, first making a pass of the little group and streaking them with a cascade of blue fire before he turned sharply and slammed to the ground only a few feet away.

I should thank you, the dragon rumbled as he stalked toward Philippe. He was easily twice the size of any of the dragons they'd taken down so far, and each step made the ground tremble beneath their feet. My queens are difficult to impress. Taking you out will give me a great deal of prestige in their eyes.

@Shard

((I'm going to assume Doctor Schroder and the others teleport up to the safety of the Abstract Destiny. I'm not sure if Van went up with them or not. If not, Takith is up for a round two. She hasn't gone far, but she's not getting close enough to let Van climb on her again. He might have to go through some other Death Courts first.))

---

One of Striga's tendrils shot forward and rapped on the metal siding of the hallway as if it were a door.

"Sweetums, please let us into the basement," the raven-haired woman called in a sing song voice.

In response, the ground before them shuddered, creaked, and then dropped down into a sloping ramp that lead to a deeper section of the labs. There were no lights on this lower level. Not as of yet anyway. The faint bit of light that filtered in from their hallway illuminate flat, stainless steel equipment, towering tubes filled with some sort of liquid, and a clean, white floor. Striga never slowed her stride, skittering along after Devera with far too much agility for the length of those vines coming out of her back.

"There we are. Down you go. Whether you want to or not really." The last part she said with a laugh. A bit of a manic laugh, in fact. It seemed that some of the blood lust had gone to Striga's head. At this range, Devera could also see that Striga's formerly red eyes were now a bright, lantern-like gold.

[Yakima]

@Mystic

Tiale screamed, clinging to the hatchlings as she fell, the world around her an explosion of screaming metal and the roar of a dragon. She clung to the ring, she could feel ring on her finger, throbbing with magic - magic she did not understand in her predicament. She was going to die. Nanyehith was going to die. Menelith was going to die.

She never heard the scream from the two men rushing toward her, or the shout from Randaril.

Then...nothing.

It took her a few moments to realize she was perfectly fine, that the hatchlings were fine.

“You might want to get a better seat,” a familiar voice chuckled. She opened her eyes and found herself on the back of a lithe black feline with gold and black wings. Magic was wrapped around her, a support for what should have been an otherwise impossible feat. Iarion chuckled even as the hatchlings shifted as Tiale found a better seat on the phoenix’s back. “Now...shall we get you and those two out of here?”

“Oh, please,” Tiale cried, tears streaming down her face. The two hatchlings balanced precariously on the phoenix - Nanyehith in front of her and Menelith behind, the binding magic keeping both from falling off no matter what twists and turns Iarion would have to perform to get them out of there.

She had no idea what had happened to Thayer and with a sickening feeling she looked down even as the phoenix began an easy accent above the chaos below them. A monster of sand was tearing through the metal. She was crying not only for fear of what had just happened but from what she expected to be Thayer’s fate... "Thayer..." she whispered.

---

For a moment, both Aenon and Jarel watched in horror as Tiale fell through the even as the stands exploded under her. “Tiale!” they both screamed, but the momentum of the erupting dragon from under the sands sent them both toppling backward. Scrambling, they tried to regain their footing.

Aenon was the first to look up and gasp.

“That piece of shit...” He laughed, kneeling.

Jarel, tears blurring his vision. When he looked up and saw Iarion flying off with Tiale safely on his back, he also began to laugh. “Told you he would come for her,” he grinned, wiping his face. “Leave it to him to wait for the last...”

“Jarel!” Aenon cried, grabbing Jarel and throwing the elf backward as the rush of sand rushed over him, sweeping him up and away as Jarel watched in horror.

---

Behind you! Faroth screamed. Philippe had enough time to throw Randaril to the side, pushing his brother away from him so that the fire landed between them. Scrambling, his heart in his throat, he stood and looked at Randaril who was also getting back to his feet. Between them was a molten line of blue fire. “Run!” Philippe commanded, putting his own words to action as he ran forward toward one of the exists. Once Randril was beside him, he grabbed his arm as if it would make them be able to go faster.

The shaking of the ground caused Philippe to stumble but Randaril held his ground, his hand grabbing Philippe. As the creature delivered it’s monologued threat, Randaril glared and the blue-rider of Isla managed to get his legs back under him.

The sweep of the tail was unexpected and both brothers went flying backward, crashing into the stands. Philippe called the undead to him in desperation. “Please tell me you have another trick up your sleeve?” Randaril whispered as the beast arched its neck preparing another attack.

Philippe was shaking. “That depends...” he said.

“On what!?”

“On...if you’re able to catch me afterward...”

They looked at each other; one confused and the other desperate. Slowly, Randaril smiled. “Always...”

“Good...distract that ass-hole...”

Randaril strung an arrow, launching a volley that turned the rusts head. Philippe was working an incantation behind him, the air around them growing to the near point of freezing. The dragon growled, then snapped it’s mouth at the brothers.

“Now...would be good!” Randaril cried, taking a few steps back.

Wrathed in an aura of black energy, lightning-like flecks of green and blue dancing within, Philippe sent the circle of energy at the dragon, stepping in front of his brother who fell backward. Philippe stared right at the approaching maw of the rust. “Atma kaiad!”

As Randaril watched, lying prone on his back, the energy wrapped around the dragon, halting it’s tracks just inches from Philippe who kept his hands up, his eyes never leaving its target. Randaril wasn’t quite sure what was happening but the rust dragon screamed, struggling with everything it had to break free. The undead swarmed it, preventing it from flying away in a hideous site that had Randaril horrified.

Then...the rust dragon fell to the ground. Dead. It’s lifeforce drained away.

Philippe staggered back, trembling. The necrotic energy hovered a moment before it exploded out of him, rushing over the undead swarm that had begun to settle. Many turned to ash, fading as Philippe lost hold of the spell that had created and maintained them. He fell backward, landing next to Randaril with his eyes closed and looking quite pale.

“You...did not catch me,” Philippe muttered, not opening his eyes.

Randaril was about to scold him; after all, Philippe had pushed him backward which had caused him to fall down in the first place, when Faroth bugled, spreading his wings.

And was answered.

“What...” Randaril started to ask. Philippe had his eyes open, once again blue yet dull with his fatigue.

The blue rider began to laugh. A rather crazed laugh of a man who was well past his limations. “Isla Weyr,” he whispered, trembling with cold and amusement. “J’ren just arrived with the Wings...”

“All of them?”

“I have no idea...that showoff...I’m gonna kill him,” Philippe muttered.

“Amar...” Ril whispered.

“I’m still going to kill him...” the blue rider said, his eyes closed.

“We still need to get out of here...”

The blue rider sighed loudly. “Shit...” and began to pass out.

---

Above the fray, J’ren looked down at the chaos and grimace. Appearing alongside Isla’s wings, which was as many riders as he could get together in such a short time - and given the Lab seemed to be accessible without Philippe’s magical harnesses - Aravon’s riders also appeared. It was a small handful compared to them but the dragons were no less eager than those of the Weyr. After all...given that the events at Isla several months ago were still quite fresh in their minds, an attack on a Hatching was an unforgivable thing.

Remember, J’ren told his dragon. Tell them to avoid the fire at all costs...and if someone gets hit...treat it like Thread... J'ren honestly had no idea if that tactic would work, and every rider knew that it might not. Still...it was better than burning death and not trying something first.

They know.

And if we’re lucky, the Weyrleader said as he raised a hand and dropped it; K’man’s wing of the smallest, most agile dragons surging forward and dividing, darting off to draw the attention of the Death Court while the wings of larger dragons followed, prepared to flame. J’ren had rearranged the wings for this fight in a way that he hoped would work. If anything, he wanted to draw these 'death court' dragons from those on the ground to help them escape. Maybe they’ll be overwhelmingly intimidated and run away...

J'ren honestly hoped for that...even so, Ainnth bugled his challenge as did the two dozen dragons that had come with them.

[Starburst]

(Posting so y'all know Hzash and Silvri's reactions to this - read as if it happened close to the beginning of the Death Court assault!)

He was a risk-taker and perhaps even foolhardy at times, but Hzash knew real danger when it arrived. Perhaps it was a perk of his adventurer lineage, his childhood spent wandering the wilderness, or the hazards that came with gemstone mining. Or perhaps it was the shift in Suirenth, whose tension was noticeable even to those who didn't have the privilege of sharing a bond with the newborn dragon. To Hzash it felt like the prickly chill of a leg falling asleep, but deeper within himself.

As he was about to ask Suirenth what had him so tense, they arrived.

Dragons, but not ones he'd ever seen the likes of, descended from the skies like hunters. There was some similarity to those he'd seen around the Vella Crean, but they were like living weapons. Twisted and adorned with deadly-looking spines, they were predators looking to lay claim to prey. Flames crackled to life at the tips of Hzash's fingers. He stepped in front of Suirenth, who was growling defensively at the intruders.

Stay behind me, Hzash instructed his bond. You just hatched. You can't fight them.

Bold of you to assume that you can, was the (rather sassy, Hzash observed) reply. There are hundreds more than the ones we can see.

Watching the fray unfold, Hzash had to admit his dragon was right. So what's the plan?

"Hzash!"

A gout of fire exploded above his head, and he barely ducked in time to avoid getting singed. He saw one of the spined dragons bank away from the flames with a hiss. And suddenly Silvri was there, pulling on his arm, practically dragging him into hiding. She was stronger than he expected and he couldn't have pulled away from her grip if he wanted to - but seeing as he'd just nearly been dragon food, he certainly didn't want to.

"What was that for? I almost lost my hair!"

"You're welcome," the shifter snapped back. There was an intensity in her usually playful eyes that Hzash hadn't seen before. "You almost lost your life. It was a warning shot."

He looked down at Suirenth, barely hours old, and softened. His flames faded into a warm glow. "Thank you. Sincerely. I'm-"

"There isn't time. We have to get out of here before-" Silvri's voice caught in her throat. "Before something happens to Suirenth."

"Shouldn't we help?"

Silvri looked up at the chaos in the sky and its backdrop, a hovering starship. She knew the Destiny; it was one of her and Mizilayt's favourite offworld destinations - and she also knew it was well-equipped to assist. She turned back to Hzash and gave a small smile.

"We need to leave," she asserted. "If we're followed, Mizilayt and know a few tricks - but you have a hatchling, Hzash - we have to go now. If this is anything like what happened to Starburst-"

"Starburst?"

Another blast of flames rocketed past them - a little too close for comfort, if anything resembling comfort could be found here - and Silvri climbed onto dragonback expertly.

She gulped, flicked her eyes downward. "If I promise to tell you the story, will you please hurry your ass up and get on?"

Hzash looked at her, then at Suirenth, then at one of the dragons as it was caught at the throat by another in midair, spiralling out of control-

I do so enjoy a good story, Suirenth's voice touched his mind, too calm for the situation at hand. Don't you?

He scooped up the dragonet, and he wouldn't let go until long after the four of them winked into the void and back out again, safely home.

[DragonFlight]

(Mostly just catch-up summary for Desh~)

The fire came in. That was fine.
It did not stop burning.

Problematic.
Reinforcement of internal structure commencing.

Desh's additional support was perched on parts of him. He diverted some of his attention to their safety -- not from the hovering threats, but potentially from their perches.

Restructuring this shape whilst maintaining stability and having to continuously consume fire --

At a point, there is a loud, audible crack as part of his external structure crackles and melts under the continuous heat, starting to expose some churning interior --

"Please reposition." He carefully informs his supporters, voice crackling...oddly. "Unstable structure exposure imminent." Despite his monotone, just as any speech before, this carries a sensation of danger, unrelated to their Death Court foes --

Leaking tendrils of thought bleeding into the air from dark below the wound and too many mouths whispers yelling --
storystorystoryfightdramad̷͕̪̹̃̇̇̚ŕ̴͙̕a̴̟̫̽́̎͊ṃ̶͝a̸͕͓̞̋͂s̷̝̗̠͋t̴̨͔̙̙̽̽o̴̜͉͕͖͘͘ŗ̷̦̭́̓͆̽͜ÿ̵̥͖̮̉͜s̵͖̜̓̂̊t̵͇͓̫̠̐o̵̩͉̦̾ř̸̡̝͚̙y̸̜̾͠E̴̝̱̽͠Ȃ̵̙̦̮T̶̡̝̩̻͌T̸̡̰̭̈́̔̈́H̵̯̺̆E̸̲͓̟̔͐̑M̴͖͇͎̟̀̂͝

Desh reaches out one of his hands, grasping one of the floating extra pieces of himself and forcibly slams it into the burning, melting, gaping 'injury', silencing the whispers for a moment, before there's another groan from heating metal somewhere else.

It's unlikely to take more than a moment for his assisting passengers to relocate, given the warning, and the moment they are clear, he liquifies into a series of shiny silver puddles, and slorps down to the size of a marble (like a really size-flexible T-1000 XD), and rolls himself along some of the floor grooves out of the way....possibly still on fire, but luckily it no longer matters if he is or not~

(Yes, Desh is filled with eldritch horror. :3 Luckily it is not an actual problem. /rolls away XD)

[Mystic Dragon]

@Yakima

Aenon swirled around in the maelstrom of sand like a doll picked up by a tornado. Unlike the random whims of nature, the sand creature did not harm him. After a few revolutions, Aenon found himself spat back out again, more or less where he started. He had a significant amount more sand in his hair and clothes, but he was more or less unharmed.

The stands could not boast the same as the sand creature slammed into them, massive fists beating holes through the mangled seats. It seemed intent on reaching the hole where Thayer had disappeared.

So intent was the sand creature on smashing its way through obstacles that it didn't notice the shifting shadows within the hole. A wing appeared first, followed by a deep brown head. Gleaming red eyes glared up from the shadows as the spiky dragon clawed his way to freedom. Then he paused, his eyes widening, as he began to rise higher through the gaping wound in the seating structure. The upward motion was clearly not of the dragon's design. He looked down as his torso pushed up through the hole. His foreclaws perched on the golden snout of a very large, very toothy lizard.

The sand creature slowed its destructive motions as the lizard grew into view. Veins of pale blue streaked along its cheeks and through the soft, downy feathers adorning its golden head. Blue eyes the same shade as a clear day over the ocean fixed on the dragon. For a moment they stood snout to snout, the lizard far larger in terms of sheer skull size. Then the lizard loosed an echoing bellow and snapped its jaws around the dragon's throat. With a few quick shakes of its great head, the dragon fell limp, and the lizard turned its attention on the sand creature.

"Thayer," Bane called, his face appearing through a swirling hole in the sand creature's chest. "Four gods, you damned idiot. I thought you were dead."

The lizard let the dragon fall from its maw and made a low, throaty sound that closely resembled a laugh. Then it looked down at the mangled mess of steel all around it and made a whining noise.

"Give me a minute. I'll clear the way." Bane paused as the sand swarmed in around his face again. It paused a few inches from sealing him off. He looked down at Aenon, who lay on the empty grounds behind him. "I apologize for catching you in my orbit, by the way. I hope there was no damage done."

Then the sands covered him again, and the sand monster turned back to his work of dismantling what remained of the broken stands. After a few heavy blows, he cleared a path for the lizard to step through. It did so with awkward movements, large feet unable to balance on the twisted metal and no help coming from the tiny arms tucked close to its chest. Yet after a few false starts, the golden t-rex stood beside the sand monster and surveyed the carnage.

Dragons still filled the air, but not just Death Court dragons anymore. There were new comers. The tide seemed to be turning in their favour. They just needed to hold out a bit longer.

@Dragonflight

A gap formed in the defenses as Desh melted down into a ball and rolled away from the swarm of Death Courts attacking him. The t-rex seemed to take that as his cue, loosing a bellow that echoed off the high buildings of the Lab before charging into the empty space. The sand monster followed at his heels, slamming into a large red who thought to flank Janarden. The red dragon went flying as the t-rex locked into combat with a towering violet drake adorned in spikes.

@Starfyre

They were losing. Though Hexeth saw so many of her Court still in the skies, new fighters had appeared, the Lab had woken up, and their King had left them. That, more than the rest, burned inside her with a raging fury. She would have words for him when all this was done.

It would be wise to cut their losses then and flee. Yet she couldn't make the call. Not without the egg. Something inside her panicked at the thought of leaving without it.

Sisters, to me! The cry went out across the Death Court, rippling from one mind to the next. Nemondath abandoned her match with Janarden, backing away from the towering, four-armed man and taking off into the sky without an explanation. Asimath, circling high above the sands where she'd last seen the elf and his dark blue slave, blinked over to the where her sister pursued Renoth. Takith, still intent on hunting down Van, was last to answer the call, but she did come. Hexeth's tone left no room for argument.

The four queens of the Death Court surrounded Renoth, cutting her off from the welcome center, which lay so near as to be within reach. Yet her defenders had been stripped away by other members of the Death Court, and Hexeth had run out of patience.

I will give you one last chance. Give me the egg, or die here.

The egg seemed to respond to the spike in commotion regarding itself. It shook and shivered in Renoth's claws, and then with a resounding crack, a piece of shell flew away. Another soon followed. Bit after bit, the shell dissolved, revealing a green foot, followed by a coppery wingtip. The hatchling spilled out into Renoth's claws, glistening from the egg fluids and blinking wide, blue eyes up at the dragoness. The hatchling chirped, an inquisitive presence tickling at the edge of Renoth's mind. Then the hatchling's lips curled up in a snarl.

You are NOT my bond, the little voice cried. Needle sharp teeth sank into Renoth's hand, zeroing in on the tender spot between thumb and forefinger.

Renoth yelped in surprise. Instinct took over, and her claws loosened, letting the hatchling fall away. She regretted the action instantly and arched to dive after the falling youngling, but a streak of blood-marked gold beat her to it.

Hexeth snatched the hatchling out of the air, cradling her tight to her chest. She had what she wanted. She should have called the retreat, gotten out of Renoth's range. Instead, she hovered in the air and held the hatchling up for inspection. The same inquisitiveness that had touched Renoth connected to Hexeth, wrapped around her mind, settled in like a warm blanket over her thoughts. For a moment, the queen could do nothing but stare.

Hexeth, Nemondath prompted. We have our king's hatchling. We need to go.

She is not... She is not our king's bond, Hexeth replied, her mental voice low and stunned. Her name is Oadiceath, and she is mine. Hexeth blinked, then shook her head as if freeing herself from a mess of cobwebs. She held Oadiceath tight to her chest as she powered up into the air. Her mental voice blasted out, touching every receptive mind it could reach. Death Court, hear me! Today we welcome a new queen into our ranks. Oadiceath has chosen freedom. Never will she be chained down by the tools of slavery. Never will she bow to the will of humanity. She was presented with the choice, and she has proven, once again, that dragon kind -our kind- want to be free! Come now, my Court. We leave this place. Those who chose slavery today will need to be freed some other day. Tonight, we celebrate our new queen.

A cry rose up through the Death Court. Dozens of voices joined together in a discordant song celebrating the newest addition to their ranks. The four queens rose together in a diamond formation, Hexeth at their head. Higher and higher she climbed until she disappeared from view to those on the ground below. Then she blinked away, the first to lead her Court back to the place they'd come from.

One by one, the Death Court dragons followed. Those that could abandon battles did so. Those locked in place with their foes called for help from their brethren. As quickly as the sky filled with their dark wings, the cloud of Death Court thinned and began to lift.

@Yakima

Back down on the ground, the Lab made quick work of those Death Court still close enough to be dragged into its gnashing teeth and glass-tipped tentacles. It consumed any and all who fell, regardless of their state of being. The undead brown who had so recently harassed Arion and his people disappeared into the writhing nest of vines and steel that had once been the hallway they sheltered in. Only to reemerge a moment later, spit out with a wet sound like a wad of gum. The body arched through the air, bits of it flaking away as Philippe's spell came to an end. It landed with a thud and a splat near the elven brothers, still dripping with an unidentifiable goo left over from its brief stint in the belly of the island.

[Yakima]

Aenon spit out sand, breathing heavily then looked at Jarel who was as white as a ghost and looked stricken in horror.

At least, until the blond-haired elf began to laugh nearly historically.

“That was not funny!” Aenon snapped, shaking sand from his clothing as he stood. He was about to start on his hair when the commotion behind him started and he turned, along with a smirking Jarel, as the large lizard stared at the dragon for one moment - then killed it swiftly. “Yeah...right...” Aenon muttered, using his hands to shake the sand out as he stalked back to Jarel who was still smirking. “Say one word of that to Tiale and...”

“Oh, we saw all of it,” Iarion called as he flew overhead. Tiale was grinning and Aenon sighed.

Of course, she had seen it. “I’m never going to live that one down.”

“Nope! Never...”

With a grimace and a glare rolled into one expression, Aenon grabbed the elf by the robes and pulled him back toward where Philippe and Randaril lay against the bleachers.

---

Philippe was close to losing consciousness, vaguely aware of the pain his dragon was in from his wounds. Sorry, buddy, he told Faroth quietly, sending what little healing he could to the night blue.

Faroth only rumbled in reply coming to rest next to the two elves who leaned against the bleachers. They’re leaving, Faroth said, watching as they started to vanish.

Good fucking riddance, Philippe muttered.

They took the hatchling.

Did the hatchling choose?

Yes.

Bad choice...in my opinion...Philippe felt his brother propping him up and smiled softly, asking - no begging - him to stay awake. Philippe didn’t have the strength to reply. As his mind started to fade into the darkness, he recalled something the green had said about Faroth. Do you think you are a slave?

No.

Philippe chuckled.

I chose you, Faroth replied, sounding indignantly. I know I have never been wrong.

Even after you just got torn to shreds multiple times because of me? Philippe asked, amused.

I trust you.

For Philippe, those three words were enough. He was about to fully passout, needing to sleep more than anything - actually, he needed to get back to Sentra and speak to his father but...

The ground rumbled and Randaril shouted, trying to grab Philippe and pull his brother out of the way as the corpse of a brown dragon was tossed out at them, landing mere inches from the two. Philippe’s eyes were wide awake, his tired body instantly prepared for a fight and Randaril had an arrow notched.

It’s dead, Faroth said matter-of-factly. I think the Lab is alive... and it is making a point...

“Yeah...point...taken,” Philippe said, his laugh short and weak. Then he leaned against Randaril and passed out, completely oblivious to the rest of the events around him.

---

See! J’ren told his dragon, slapping the night’s neck heartily. We scared them off!

They got what they wanted and left, Ainnth replied. They called us slaves.

J’ren snorted. Wherry’s teeth...Then he sighed. He did actually know that the arrival of Isla had nothing to do with them leaving, but sometimes he tried to joke with his dragon only to get that down-to-earth response and it killed his joke.

Would you rather I lie? Ainnth asked, amused.

No...but you could at least humor my jokes every now and then... The night rumbled and J'ren chuckled. He slapped his dragon's shoulder then gave the arm single to regroup as a wing. The Isla dragons quickly returned to formation and J'ren beamed with pride. This was his Weyr...his riders. Threadfall, zombies, and now freedom-fighter dragons. They were a fearless bunch and J'ren was proud. Tell the wings to land. We will see if they need any help getting this mess sorted. No casualties?

Nothing major.

Good...good. J’ren grinned. His five-minute planning had paid off. Not that I ever want to fight dragons again.

Mixuith said it was like playing tag, Ainnth chuckled as the two watched the riders of Isla Weyr and Treval Dragonry start looking for places to land. Faroth has passed out - so has Philippe. Do you want to talk to him?

No...Not yet. I’ll wait to question him when he’s back at the Weyr...and conscious... He watched as Mixuith and Jesioth, however, began a spiral down to the ground, heading for where J’ren could see the grayish form of Faroth. I’m assuming he will be alright.

With rest.

Alright...now...let's go find Shy, J’ren said, taking a deep breath. Ainnth began a glide down to the ground. Because I don’t need events like this happening with his clutches often if he’s going to get lab space at the IGPC...

---

Heart racing and breathing heavily, Randaril kept the arrow on the dragon even after his brother passed out.

Randaril!

He looked up just as a tiger-sized black feline with large black wings landed; Tiale slipped off the creature's back while Menelith scampered up to Randaril. The feline shifted into a black-haired, medium-toned human with similar robes as Aenon and Jarel. Appearing casual, he began to walk toward them, his hand reaching out toward the corpse of the brown dragon and "flicking" it - the dead dragon dissolved into dust and Iarion kept walking as if nothing had happened.

“Menelith, you’re alright!” He hugged the hatchling to his chest, smiling. Tiale came up to him just as Aenon and Jarel joined them. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Tiale said, then turned a concerned expression to Philippe. “Is he...” She let her question hang.

“He’s passed out,” Randaril sighed. “Unless they have any healers around here, he needs to get back to my father?”

“Your father?” Jarel asked. “Why?”

“Necromancy has side effects,” Aenon said, frowning down at the Islan rider. “Especially if one dosn’t use it enough to get used to it...”

“You know my brother hates that magic,” Randaril growled. “Why the hell would he use it everyday?”

“To not pass out the first time he raises an army of undead to fight for him, maybe?” Aenon said, his tone condescending as he turned to walk to Kesukiath who landed near Faroth. The wraith looked at the night blue in concern for a moment - he was quite gray after all - then entered private conversation with his rider.

“We can bring him,” Jarel said, squatting down next to the two elven brothers.

Randaril shook his head. “I’m going to see how long we can stay, it might be a while. Faroth is in no condition to travel. He should be up in a day and able to at least make the jump back to Sentra.”

The gust of wind announced the arrival of two dragons - a blue and a white. “Philippe!” M’len cried, ripping off his riding helmet and rushing to his friend's side. “By the first egg...what...” he looked at Randaril, the worry etched in his face clearly. “What happened?”

“He got pissed, raised an army of undead dragons, then sucked the life energy from another,” Randaril said, semi-casual as he struggled to stand. M’len helped Philippe’s body to the ground gently, then looked back at K’man with an uncertain look.

K’man said nothing for a moment, looking at his Wingsecond thoughtfully. “Did he at least win?” the white rider finally asked, his face a mask of his thoughts behind Philippe’s feat.

“Um...I guess...hard to tell. But the green who pissed him off wasn’t too happy about it,” Randaril muttered.

“Classic,” Jarel grinned, stretching as if he had just been on a stroll and not fighting an entire army of dragons. “Turn your enemy’s fallen against them...gets them everytime!”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Jarel told M’len with a wink.

“Philippe needs to get to Sentra,” Randaril said, hugging Menelith to his chest. The hatchling was both hungry and exhausted at the same time and Randaril was feeling the same. “Faroth is in no shape to travel - and I’m pretty sure he’s used up all the charges of his harness during the fight to shrink and un-shrink...so...I think it’s best just to let Philippe sleep it off.”

“What’s on Sentra?” M’len asked.

“My father,” Randaril said. “He’s a healer...he can negate the side effects - like last time.”

“Well, we’re going to get Tiale and this cute little button home,” Jarel said, ruffling Nanyehith’s head. The hatchling nipped at him and Tiale scolded her. “And you!” He whirled on Iarion. “Next time...don’t drag your tail feathers to get here! It was an emergency!”

The phoenix snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “So was what I was doing.”

Jarel glared at him, eyes barely slits. “What? Were the books out of order again?”

“Yes.”

Throwing up his hands, Jarel started back toward Hontori. Iarion did not move, but his head followed the departing elf with a smirk. Then he bowed to the others and followed, pausing at Faroth and sending healing energy into the night blue. Faroth, however, was as comatose as his rider and only snored slightly.

“Thank you,” K’man said. Iarion nodded, then shifted into a phoenix and departed, returning to Treval Dragonry.

Ranadaril watched him, feeling uneasy for a moment. Then he looked down at Philippe, looking quite peaceful if not pale. “I’m going to go try to find a stretcher or something...”

“I’m staying,” M’len said. “I’ll drag his sorry ass back to your room...” Randaril paused but the look in M’len’s eyes told him the blue rider was going to just as he said. The prince of Amaras nodded, then looked at K’man.

“I’m going to go see where I can be of assistance,” the white rider said nodding with a formal, slight bow to Randaril. It made Randaril uncomfortable but Menelith told him to get used to it before the little bronze yawned. K’man looked at Menelith, then back at Randaril. “A bronze, eh? Well done.”

Randaril took a deep breath before nodding. “Thanks...”

With a smirk, K’man went to Mixuith to join the rest of the Isla wings in seeing if and where they could be of use.

Why is my color so...important.

It’s not...but I’ll tell you later... Randaril sighed, then looked at M’len who was already trying to get Philippe’s arms over his shoulder. Can you walk? Menelith nodded and jumped out of his riders arms, knowing why Randaril had asked that. “He really did want Philippe to Impress a bronze,” he muttered, shouldering his bow and helping take Philippe’s other side to support his unconscious brother.

“Yep...or a brown,” M’len laughed, looking at Philippe, then sighed. “But...to be honest...I think Philippe is best on a blue. It allows him to be who he is...”

Randaril nodded.

Faroth was left where he was, too big to move at the moment, as M’len and Randaril began to drag an unconscious Philippe back toward the guest rooms...

[Mystic Dragon]

Thayer enjoyed being a t-rex. He could understand why it was his mother's favourite form to take. He felt large, powerful, maybe a little less bright, but he didn't need to be smart to know how to chomp down on the enemy. He assisted in chasing off the Death Court stragglers as the horde of enemy dragons began to thin out. He charged from one battle to the next, roaring and stomping and generally having a great time of it. But soon enough there were no more Death Court dragons on the ground, and those in the sky were beating a hasty retreat. Thayer waited a while, just to be sure. He watched Bane let his sand behemoth fall away into a mound at the edge of the stands. His brother landed atop the pile and slid down to the ground, looking pale even for his usual pallid complexion. Holding that creature together had taken a lot out of him.

At last, Thayer admitted that he had no more reason to roar and stomp about. He let the form drop, then immediately wished he hadn't. All the aches and pains of his tumble through the broken stands came racing back to the forefront of his thoughts. His shoulder burned from where a piece of jagged metal tore through it, and his jaw hurt from where he'd knocked it off the dragon's claws as he narrowly avoided being skewered. He grimaced as he walked toward Bane.

The large man in the black armour didn't wait for his brother to take his sweet time. In a few long strides, he crossed the distance between them and crushed Thayer in a hug.

"Ow! Ow. Injured. Hard to breathe. Please show a little less enthusiasm," Thayer muttered from the depths of the armoured embrace.

Bane backed away, but kept his hands on Thayer's shoulders. Though his face looked gaunt and worn from his fatigue, his expression showed concern only for Thayer's well being.

"How badly? Do we need to leave right now?"

"No, and I don't think we could anyway. Stacurik is still a little dazed."

I'm okay, the pale blue Alskyrian sent to both brothers. His mental threads had a fuzzy, dreamy quality to them. Very much unlike the typically uptight dragon.

A little prodding revealed the blue to be quite happily curled up against Baaki with his head resting on her forelimbs. For all his protests of Thayer's bad behaviour, the blue had no issue with playing up his injuries a little more to soak up the attention. Thayer rolled his eyes, noting a wince from Bane that said his brother had noticed their interactions as well.

"Where's Baneo?"

"Still chasing down the last of the Death Court somewhere up there," Bane said. He looked up, scanning the cloudless sky for what few dragons remained. After a minute, he nodded toward a distant bloom of fire as one dark shape chased after two others. "He'll be back when they're all gone."

"Good. I hate to leave that hatchling in their care, but it's clear the little one chose. It seems that was all they wanted. That and..." Thayer trailed off as his eyes scanned across a familiar figure being dragged away from the hatching area by a small knot of people.

"Hey," he called out, jogging toward the Isla group. "Is Philippe alright?"

Bane trailed after his brother, his pace more sedate as he examined the group. It wasn't hard to pick out the man who had been inadvertently sucked up in his sand creation. He gave Aenon an apologetic nod as they approached.

[Yakima]

"Good. I hate to leave that hatchling in their care, but it's clear the little one chose. It seems that was all they wanted. That and..." Thayer trailed off as his eyes scanned across a familiar figure being dragged away from the hatching area by a small knot of people.

"Hey," he called out, jogging toward the Isla group. "Is Philippe alright?"

Bane trailed after his brother, his pace more sedate as he examined the group. It wasn't hard to pick out the man who had been inadvertently sucked up in his sand creation. He gave Aenon an apologetic nod as they approached.

@Mystic

M'len looked up as Thayer and his brother approached. He squinted, his mind having been in a turmoil of 'what the shells had Philippe done this time' and not actually wanting to know... It took him a moment to recognize Thayer as one of the people who had been around for the spectacle known as Flynnth's Sport Frenzy. "Oh...hello. Yeah...he's fine. Just needs a rest." And a good smack upside the head, he thought. [[M'len does not know to shield his thoughts...]]

Randaril glanced at Thayer but did not actually know the man, or the armored figure behind him, and his instinct became wary. He shifted Philippe's weight, watching as Menelith padded up next to him, yawned mightily then sat down with a soft plop.

--

As Aenon passed, he nodded to Bane - in truth he had no idea that it had been Bane that had caused the sand monster after all, as he had been arguing with Jarel moments before it had caught him. He was half watching Philippe being dragged off by the blue rider from Isla and the man's brother. Jarel smacked him and he turned his full focus back to making their plans to return to Treval, which included getting back to Tiale's room, gathering her things, feeding her dragon and...well, they weren't leaving quite as soon as he had hoped but perhaps it was a good thing.

[Mystic Dragon]

"That's good. That's good to hear," Thayer said. He didn't let on to having heard M'len's thoughts, other than a quick glance in the man's direction. He hovered a moment, unsure of what to do with himself. There was so much to process and so many worries to work through. He didn't quite know where his mind needed to be in that moment. Then his eyes drifted to Tiale and a light smile touched his face. "Tiale, it's good to see you're alright."

Bane stood behind and slightly to the right of Thayer, easing back into his familiar pose of silent, imposing body guard. He could practically feel the unease wafting off his brother and knew that they would have to have a long conversation after the proverbial dust settled. For now, though, he simply watched the interactions.

[Yakima]

Looking up from Aenon and Jarel's bickering over the best way to go about leaving (and snuggling with the most adorable dragon hatchling she had ever seen...which honestly were not many...), and smiled at the young man. "Yes..." Then her eyes went wide and she put her dragon down, pulling off the ring a moment later. "I think this is yours, um...your highness..." she muttered, clearly unsure of what to call him.

"Hey, man, thanks for watching her while we helped Philippe out with that epic feat of..." Jarel paused in his grandiose explanation when he caught the death-like glare from Randaril. "Yeah, thanks for...protecting her and stuff..." Tiale scowled and elbowed him in the ribs. "Ow...what? I'm trying to be polite." Tiale just rolled her eyes at him.

[Mystic Dragon]

"Thayer is fine," the young heir said with a laugh. He accepted the ring from Tiale and slipped it back onto his finger, frowning at it a moment. "Charge is still there. How did you get out if you didn't fly?"

Bane eyed Jarel after his cut off statement. He'd been on the ground. He'd seen more of what Philippe had worked. He was also not one to judge. Philippe was not Tris'Hathian and so didn't fall under the rules of their lands. Bane had enough demons in his closet without antagonizing their allies as well.

[Yakima]

"Oh...um...a friend. He already left. He's not very...sociable."

"He was weird," the pale violet hatchling sat at her side [[I will figure out her name on the fly someday...lol]] "But I liked him."

Jarel snorted, crossing his arms while Aenon looked five times more pissed now. "That was...Iarion. He's a phoenix from a different world other than Anarendor. Doesn't talk much, and quite frankly the best way to sum him up...he's a cat." Tiale chuckled but nodded.

"He's good, but he does things when he wants...and he likes me."

"Aenon was trying to get him to show up earlier but he took his sweet time..."

Nearby, M'len yelped suddenly and Randaril suddenly stumbled, taking most of Philippe's weight with him. The elven prince cursed a moment before he sighed. "Maybe we should see if someone has a stretcher...he's much heavier than I remember."

Letting his friend drop, M'len chuckled. "Yeah...he eats bubbly pies like he hasn't in months." Randaril glared at the poor joke. "What? At the time he needed the weight!"

[Mystic Dragon]

"I can help," Thayer said as he looked back at the group around Philippe. He gave Tiale one more quick smile, then stepped closer to Randaril and Philippe. With a few soft words and a gesture, Philippe began to levitate in the air. Thayer held out a hand, controlling the unconscious man's upward drift until it was at a level that would be easy for Randaril and M'len to direct. "There, that should be easier. Just try not to drift him into a wall. The spell only lasts ten minutes though. I hope that's enough time for you to get him back to the suites. I'd walk with you but I have to check on-"

Thayer's face blanched abruptly and his eyes doubled in size. He looked back at Bane as if his brother should have shared in his panic.

"Sabrilla. Shit! I forgot about Sabrilla!"

Thayer bolted for the far end of the sands, cursing all the way. Bane sighed and began to follow after.

[Yakima]

"Um...thanks..." Randaril said, giving the quickly departing young man a weak wave.

M'len, his tongue between his teeth, poked Philippe who drifted away. The blue rider smirked and looked up at Randaril who slowly shook his head. "No...we are not pushing him into a wall...or a tree...or anything else." M'len snorted, then took his best friend by the arm and began to pull him toward the guest apartments.

Randaril followed, pausing a moment to wave at Tiale as the trio started toward the two dragons - one black and one white and copper.

Getting through the mess that was the aftermath of the attack proved slower than Randaril wanted, and the two men ended up half-carrying, half-dragging Philippe the rest of the way. But eventually, both got him into bed and stood looking over him. "I'm going to go see about Faroth," M'len said after a moment of watching Randaril.

The prince only nodded.

"I think I heard something about sending food up for your new friend...just let him sleep it off. It's not the first time he's done this after all..."

M'len left and Randaril went to put his bow away, then, while waiting for Menelith's first meal undressed and put his brother to bed. "You're going to give me a heart-attack one of these days," he muttered before leaving the room, dimming the lights and returning to the main section where golden-eyed servents had a meal waiting for his dragon...

[Mystic Dragon]

Meeting up with Sabrilla again did not go well for Thayer. To say the young woman was upset would be akin to saying that Shy was slightly out of the ordinary. She had refused to talk to him that day, but promised a discussion the next. That discussion, when it happened, also did not go well for Thayer. He left her room feeling as if he'd just gone for a ride to a place he didn't recognize, when a day before he assumed he'd been leading the expedition. Sabrilla had him wrapped up quite neatly in her plots, and after the fiasco of the hatching, he had no way of extracting himself. He would just have to hope that whatever favours she called in weren't the drastic sort.

"How did it go?" Bane asked. The large, armoured man stood with his back against the far wall, his arms folded across his chest. There were perfectly good chairs in the hallway, but he opted to stand, as he always did.

"Well, she didn't make me sign anything in blood, so there's that," Thayer quipped. He shook his head as he passed his brother and went to one of the plush couches. Dropping onto the soft cushions, Thayer released an aggrieved sigh.

"That good, huh?"

"She's upset, and rightly so. She's also a lot sharper than I gave her credit for. I wanted a Sudland ally. Instead I think I am the ally she'll be making use of when it suits her." Thayer gave his brother a wane smile. "Mother will be so pleased. I'm making connections."

Bane let out a short chuckle and moved to stand next to the couch, his posture still closed and guarded. He did not like this place and he would be happy to leave it behind. Before they did though, he knew there was one last order of business that Thayer would want to see to.

"Any sign of him yet," Thayer asked, as if on queue.

"Not that I've seen. Did you want to check on him?"

Thayer stared at the door at the end of the hall. He knew Randaril and Philippe were beyond it, unless they'd booked it out of there already. It wouldn't hurt to check, but he feared being intrusive. Yet Philippe had looked very rough after the battle and Thayer... well he was conflicted. He'd seen what the man had done, had felt his magic slicking the air like cold oil. It wasn't that he had anything against necromancers, but all his life he'd been taught that the magic they worked was vile and evil.

Then again, sorcerers were painted with the same brush and Bane was his brother.

Thayer pushed himself to his feet and headed over to the door. He hesitated for a moment, then brought a knuckle up to rap on the metal surface.

[Yakima]

M'len was the one to open the door and blinked a few moments before nodding at Thayer and giving a slight bow of his head. "You must be Thayer?" he said, though it came out as more of a question.

Yes.

Thanks... M'len replied to Jesioth, thankful for a bit of help in this case. He no doubt looked as upset and unsettled as he felt, given the conversation between the brothers this morning that he had more monitored rather than intervened in. "What can I do for you, Thayer?"

[Mystic Dragon]

It took Thayer a moment to recognize the man at the door. He hadn't seen him all that much before. Perhaps once in passing at Isla. The voice connected him to the other day though, and after his moment of realization, he nodded.

"Yeah uh... I'm leaving soon, but I wanted to check in and see how Philippe's doing. Any chance he's awake?"

[Yakima]

M'len grimaced a bit. "Yeah. He's awake. A bit grumpy but...we'll he's getting his things packed." The blue rider took a deep breath. "I'll go get him. Come in."

Leaving the door for Thayer he stepped back into the room. "Philippe! You have a visitor!"

"Busy," the elf called from one of the smaller rooms. "Who is it?"

"Thayer of...whatever that place is..." M'len said, then winced, mouthing a "sorry" to Thayer.

Philippe took a moment to answer. Before he did, a bronze bundle vaulted onto one of the sofas and, with a wiggle of the rear, jumped, young wings spreading to try to catch his fall. Menelith fell to the ground before M'len could grab the hatchling. The bronze didn't seem to notice the tumble and was already scrambling away, just out of the blue rider's reach. "Dammit...Randaril! Your dragon thinks it's a cat again!" Giving up on chasing the very energetic hatchling, M'len ran his fingers through his brown hair. "Seriously...Pern dragons just sleep most of the time...this one...has energy aplenty..."

"Send him in," Philippe suddenly called.

"Go on, that door, just...take it easy on him. He got his ass kicked yesterday with that stunt he pulled...." Trusting Thayer to make his own way to the door, M'len made a valiant attempt to grab the bronze hatchling that darted by, making a noise that was no doubt the draconic version of a laugh.

Philippe was sitting on the bed, mostly dressed - a simple shirt and pants but nothing else. He was still pale and his normally bright blue eyes were dull. Seeing Thayer, he smiled - a weak feat in itself but he perked up at seeing Thayer at the door. "Hello, kid. I see you got out of that scrap alright."

[Mystic Dragon]

"Call me kid and I'll call you grandpa again," Thayer threatened, though a smile graced his lips. He sauntered in the room, giving himself time to get a good look at Philippe. "Although I think hell is a more apt title for what you look like right now. You pulled out all the stops the other day, didn't you?"

[Yakima]

Philippe smirked at the threat. "Oh, hell is definitely more appropriate. I feel like hell, too." He stood easily enough but he lacked the energy he normally had. "Those aren't...tricks I do often and I paid the price for that." He shrugged. "They're not tricks I like doing...but given the situation. It wasn't like I showed up to a Hatching expecting to fight." He snorted, running his hands through his hair and looking back at his half-packed clothes and the few belongings he had brought with him. "Though, given this is the third damn time it's happened...maybe I should tell J'ren to fortify the Weyr from now on. It's becoming a very annoying reassurance..." He scowled, staring at his clothes as if everything wrong at the moment was the fault of innocent fabic...

[Mystic Dragon]

"Seriously? I need to go to more hatchings with you. I never get to bust out the thunder king often enough. I always have that spell prepared, but how often in a day do you really need to polymorph?" Thayer paused, idly looking at some of the furnishings in the room as if he suddenly became terribly interested in woodwork. There was a question burning on his mind, but he didn't know how appropriate it would be. In the end, he decided his usual charm would have to negate any social faux pas he made, as it always did. "So necromancy, huh?"

[Yakima]

"Yeah...long story. Not one I can tell easily or in a few minutes, either." Philippe winced. "It's pretty much given me a bad reputation on my world. Understandably...Turning an entire city into zombies does that. Not that it was fully my fault...I just sorta finished what the bad guy started in a way that was less bad..." He scowled. "I don't use it often. I was obsessed with necromancy after Randaril almost died - well did die - and before Astrael, the capitol city of Amaras, fell. I figured out things that necromancers on Sentra would kill me to know...and they don't have the kind of morals I do. That spell was one I modified and I don't resurrect my own army, though I can steal them from other necromancers to piss them off. Most necromancers keep undead bodies stashed in places but I don't." He turned to start folding one of his shirts, just to keep doing something. "And raising an army of dragons...didn't even think that spell would work but I was honestly so...pissed. First Nysheth's clutch is attacked, now this. And calling my dragon a slave..." He clenched his fists tightly and nearly threw the shirt into his bag. "Pern dragons are not slaves - most dragons on other worlds choose to bond. Hell, some species can forfeit that bond if they want! Trust me, what is between riders and dragons is not slavery! My people know slavery...I've seen it." He took a long slow breath. "Sorry...I'll be alright. That kind of magic is just very draining on the body...and spirit. I hate it...I really do..."

[Mystic Dragon]

Thayer listened and did not interrupt. He recognized the anger in Philippe. He had heard it so many times, from so many people at the Warren. The war had scarred their lives, and they still carried that pain with them. He himself would never know the pain of slavery. He would never have to make a choice of taking the lesser evil. The hard part of Tris'Hath's history was behind it, and he existed to lead it into a brighter future. But it was moments like this that reminded him not to overlook the past and its lingering effects.

"Yeah, I get that. I mean I don't... get it, get it, but I understand where you're coming from. And the whole slave thing... that was just some kind of propaganda. Whoever these Death Court are, they won't last."

[Yakima]

"Well, I hope so," Philippe said. "I told M'len about that and he got pissed - ranted for a while." He snorted, then looked down at his left hand. The scar was visible now - normally he hides it with magic just to not have to explain how he got it. "I've seen evil..." he whispered, remembering the Lich Lord that had tormented his people - his world - for countless generations. "It takes many forms." He looked up at Thayer. "I hope you never have to fight it, Thayer. I really do. But I will promise you that if they even dare show up at Isla Weyr...or Treval, or any of our allies...well...I don't think anyone will go easy on them. I gave them one chance. I won't be doing that again..."

We need to get you home, Faroth interjected, the dragon's semi-toneless voice. You need to rest.

Philippe winced slightly. Yes, mother. "I do need to finish this...and get back to Sentra so my father and work his healing magic shit and let me go back home. Pretty sure my weyrmate is going to be livid with me, which is much scarier than knowing my Weyrleader wants a word with me...so..." He crossed his arms, giving Thayer a more-himself smirk. "Sport Frenzy Hatching?" he asked with a wink. "Unless...of course, your mother grounds you for eternity...then I can just come prince-nap you and make it even for our little adventure a few days ago."

[Mystic Dragon]

Thayer chuckled and gave Philippe a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"I'll hold you to that. But for now, I'll get out of your hair. I'm glad to see you're alright." Thayer took a few steps back, then paused, a curious look crossing his face. "If they ever do attack your home, give me a shout. My parents may not want to step a toe out of line with the council, but I was serious about wanting a united Nexus. I will do whatever I can to help, even if I'm the only one who shows up."

[Yakima]

"Help with what?" Randaril asked, poking his head in.

Philippe raised an amused eyebrow. "Political stuff...you want to take over?"

Randaril's mouth opened and closed like a fish caught out of water and Philippe chuckled the laugh of a brother who knew damn well what he just did. "I appreciate that, Thayer. And I would say the same for me...with or without J'ren to back me up - and do go talk to him. I'm sure he would be interested in your proposal...Hell, I'll set you up with all three of our allies at once if it makes things easier." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "I am actually quite impressed on my fellow riders and what they're willing to go up against..." He shook his head. "Of all the dragons in the Nexus I have seen, I find Pern dragons the least of the 'magical' types that should be going against Lich Lords, death dragons, and whatever else is out there. Doesn't stop them though," he grinned, giving Thayer a smile. "Faroth's favorite past time is proving me wrong."

It's not hard, Faroth replied evenly.

Gee...thanks, buddy... Philippe replied sarcasticly, closing his eyes and sighing. He really was tired and regretting a few life choices at the moment.

"Say...where is that pretty thing that was on your arm before we ran off to...er...explore?" he asked, giving a sideline glance at Randaril who pursed his lips and frowned at the mention of that.

[Mystic Dragon]

Thayer gave Randaril one of his quick smiles. He hadn't had time to really get to know Philippe's younger (older?) brother, despite spending several days on the Labs. Someday he would have to remedy that. Maybe take both brothers off on an adventure.

Philippe's question turned the smile into a grimace.

"Likely plotting how best to use her new puppet," he said with forced cheer. "She's got some plots of her own in the works, and it seems I underestimated her ambitions. After what happened at the hatching... Let's just say I need to make some gestures of goodwill to win her over again. Nothing I can't handle though. She already seems smitten with me, so a few well placed compliments and she'll be my best friend again."