The Horse and his Drykas [Bolden]

[Ronan]

"I see." There was a hint of bitterness in those words, and Vanator's name had provoked a flash of something in the man's eyes. Just what was Bolden's connection to the Denusk patriarch? He didn't have time to think. Nightwind pulled excitedly, having absorbed the scent, and led Bolden from the stables and out into the storm. Ronan followed at a short distance. The thunder was highly audible, and a frightened flock of birds passed over, screaming. Nightwind was heading in a fixed direction. He was clearly excited, Ronan thought with just a brief smile. But he couldn't smile. She was out there in the storm, terrified and alone. He should be thankful that Bolden wanted to help him, but he was curious nonetheless. "Bolden," he said carefully, only just heard above the storm, "how do you know Vanator? You do know him, right?"

[Bolden Denusk]

The howling wind tore the words from Ronan's mouth, leaving Bolden only hearing the last bit as it rose in pitch.

"..Vanator..know him, right?"

Bold looked at the other man and barely masked a furious look. He was so damn tired of the pretenses and pretend. No more brother cover up shyke.

"I'm his mistake when he was fifteen. Zivatar is his official heir. I'm not even a real Denusk." It was easy to yell back the answer. It was rage that raised his voice though, not just the necessity of being heard over the storm.

The eager stallion jerked them along by their ropes, pulling harder and more urgently. After a torturous bell of searching, Nightwind pinned back his ears in fear and stomped near something on the ground. The large horse sidled dangerously, avoiding the macabre scent with flailing hooves. The steel dark clouds made it hard to see, but the bright crimson splotches of a bloody trail was painfully evident to all three of them.

[Ronan]

Ronan fell silent, swallowing his words. He shouldn't have pushed... he shouldn't have asked. He knew what it was like to hold dark secrets, and an even darker past. He knew of the pain at being an outcast. The son of Vanator, he thought carefully, deciding to reserve judgement for the time being. He was just considering his response, when Nightwind pulled forward ferociously. Ronan raised an arm to shield his face, the rain coming down at a slant, pelting him. Nightwind was sniffing, making sounds. And Bolden's face was dire. "No..." he whispered, finally seeing the blood. Scarlet pools flickered in the vibrant lightning. He shivered, icy fear running through his veins. Was it Tairell's blood? Was his beloved Strider injured? If her scent had led Nightwind this way, then Tairell had surely passed through. He looked at Bolden, pained. And the man shared his expression. The night was young, the storm only just beginning, and Ronan feared the horrors that awaited him.

[Bolden Denusk]

Suddenly the huge seventeen hand strider reared up to his full height and whinnied loudly. He ripped both ropes clean off the yvas as he lunged forward toward something beside a scrawny brush. The stallion squealed loudly and angrily, giving Bolden a flash of a strange man actually striking a strider!

Nightwind sprinted over to a dark figure and the sound of hooves stomping flesh was brutally clear, even over the churning storm. Lightning flashed blinding white, illuminating the death of a man who dared to harm a strider! Nightwind screamed louder than the furious wind and the stranger lay dead and beaten into the ground. Face down in the mud, hooves marked the final death blow to what was once his head.

A delicate equine form nickered in recognition of a beloved scent, calling out weakly to Ronan. Her yvas hung skewed from her side, the chest band broken in two. A long and ugly gash trailed down her side from shoulder to mid ribs, and she struggled to her feet, rushing to her beloved rider. She neighed as loudly as she could, her neck stretched out toward Ronan.

[Ronan]

"Tairell!" he called, "oh my girl." He rushed to her, tears welling in his eyes at the sight of her wounds. The dead man... what had happened? Why was she here? "By the God's what happened to you? If only you could speak." Bolden stood at a distance, seemingly trying to hold Nightwind back, the Strider urgent to reach Tairell. He was shocked, but his Strider was alive - that was all that mattered. She had been faced by this stranger out here in the rain, and as he stroked her soothingly, he wondered just what had happened. A steady trickle of blood ran from her wound, and he hurriedly teared a strip from his shirt and pressed it against the cut to try and stem the bleeding. "She's cut up, but she's also been hurt worse before," he said slowly, "she'll survive today." But only more disaster was awaiting. The storm had been seething quietly, but suddenly it boiled over. Lightning struck close by, and Ronan was thrown back as Tairell reared up in fear. A small collection of nearby tents were lifted from the ground, and thrown into the hazard of the fleeting rain. He heard faint screams as nearby lanterns blew out and engulfed the area in darkness. He span a moment too late. Tairell reared up again, panicing, and her hooves caught him, kicking him straight in the chest. He gasped, falling backwards, arms windmilling. And then he fell unconscious, the storm rising.

[Bolden Denusk]

The already high strung stallion reared and came down hard just on the outside edge of Bolden's foot. He yelled and hopped around holding up his foot, like a bad imitation of a native american rain dance. He felt the smallest toe with a wince, knowing it was broken for sure. With uncannily bad timing, he whirled just in time for lightning to nearly strike them, the mare to spook and Ronan hitting the mud like a dead man-simultaneously!

The furious Drykas swore up a blue streak as thunder rang in his ears and shook the earth beneath his feet. Angrily, he grabbed the rope and stalked over to Nightwind with gold fire blazing in his eyes. With swift motions, he lifted the horse's hind leg and looped the rope over the pastern into a quick firm snug. He attached the loop end to the yvas and tied a slip knot.

"You won't petchin be rearin' up on me now! You're not a ruddy rocking horse! I've had enough horseplay! Braindead horse!" he growled at the neatly trussed horse. "Now you'll stand still a few chimes so I can see to what could be a dead man!"

OOC :

This is known as a scotch hobble. It's a quick and easy way to get a horse to stand still. I don't use it often and not for more than a few minutes. *For the 2nd challenge: Broke a toe, bad pun and 'dancing' in the rain*

He limped and sloshed through the mud and rain to finally reach Ronan, and gladly found a pulse. Not a strong one and he was no healer, but horse kick in the chest couldn't be good. Bold frowned in worry, and ripped open some of the shirt so he could at least check for bruising. He knew if horses had bruising and heat on their stomach or chest it could mean internal bleeding.

Sure enough, there were two rapidly forming dark bruises in the shape of nice neat hoof prints! He laid a gentle, outstretched hand over the chest to check for too much heat. Isn't it ironic to hate healers, but right now, to give anything to have one around?! All he could do was treat the guy as he would a horse and hope for the best. At the least, he'd have badly bruised lungs and some broken ribs. At the worst well.. he'd die of massive blood loss and crushed organs.

The only way to know a little more was to wake him up before he drowned in this petching mess! He gave a quick check that the man's spine wasn't sticking out where it should be and then raised him to a half sitting position away from the rain's slant. And yelled into the guy's ear.

"Ronan! Wake up! Hey! Seriously man this is no time for a nap!"

[Ronan]

There was shouting, and the grumbling of thunder. "No... time... nap." He opened his eyes slowly, pain throbbing in his chest, and he gave Bolden a wan smile. "I'm not napping," he said curtly, before wincing in pain and reaching for his bruised chest. He managed to push himself up to a sitting position, breathing heavily. Tairell was nearby, shaking her head irritably. She was oblivious to what she had just done. He saw a tent strewn across the ground not too far away, just before a brilliant, golden fork of lightning smashed into the ground, sending a mound of soil into the air like dust. "We have to... help people," he said carefully. If he spoke or breathed too heavily, the pain intensified. "People's homes are being destroyed... in this storm." He looked up at Bolden, pleading with his eyes. He barely knew the man, yet he felt like a kindred spirit to Ronan - both seemingly outcast. Vanator's son... he didn't even look that much younger than Vanator. The Denusk man must have fathered a child at a young age. He wouldn't press the matter though - he had told Ronan the truth, and that meant so much. "Will you help Bolden?"

[Bolden Denusk]

"You can barely even breathe, your mare is injured too and how the petch could we help chase tents?! Have you lost your mind?" Bolden yelled over the storm, the rain thrumming like a massive swarm of angry insects in between the deafening bouts of thunder that made all their ears ring.

Bold winced at the lightning strike so close by, almost choking on the overpowering scent of ozone and scorched earth. His attention was caught by the pleading note and he was thoroughly torn. Bolden would never be the brightest dye on the market, but being honest and helping others was always a priority. He sighed deeply, knowing he had to find a way to help; help Ronan, Tairell and his people.

He saw that between Ronan's shirt and the fresh clean rain, Tairell's wound was nicely cleaned. It was superficial as far as he could tell. His worried amber gaze flicked back to the tents flapping in the raging winds and he hated making decisions on the spot.

"You can't even barely talk man, how you gonna sit on your strider or help anyone?! Did you hit your head when you fell?"

[Ronan]

"I... know what you're thinking," Ronan rasped, forcing himself to stand up straight, "but I'm not mad. What kind of a Watcher will I be if I can't protect my fellow people?" He turned away from Bolden and tried to climb up onto Tairell. The blood had slowed, and despite being a little paler, she seemed a lot better. Most of it had been fear and shock, and once she was over that, she was back to her normal self. He stroked her comfortingly. The climbing up was a bit of a struggle. Well... a big struggle in fact. Between being unable to move properly and his chest throbbing with pain, it took a little longer than expected. But with some effort and pain, he was sat up on the Strider, and ready to embark. "Whether you help me or not Denusk, I'll be doing what needs to be done."

[Bolden Denusk]

"Watcher?" Bolden asked as he removed the hobble from the strider. "You're a Watcher?"

Ronan looked injured and wasn't doing a petching thing about it. The one thing he couldn't tolerate was needless suffering. Although he certainly wasn't a healer, he -did- know horses. A vague plan formed in his mind as he mounted Nightwind.

These people needed help fast, but Ronan couldn't run around with absolutely no medical help at all. He quickly rummaged in his bag for poultice flannel. It wasn't heated but when the horseradish paste all over the inside of it warmed up next to skin, it would would start working. It worked great, but once it had any warmth brought in contact, it stank badly. He just needed to do this casually so the man would simply accept it as just a shirt.

"Here's an extra shirt to keep those ribs covered." Bolden rode closer and tossed the innocent looking shirt to Ronan.

"Ok then, here's the plan: Throw this shirt on and we'll get to tent chasing and maybe even be lucky enough to save a few lives. Then we--"

The Drykas stopped talking when Ronan called him Denusk and his eyes turned hard as the amber they resembled. His mouth tightened and his lips thinned in repressed anger.

"I'll help you but call me Bolden or nothing at all." His voice went as cold and icy as the pelting rain that stung their exposed skin like needles.

His thoughts finished the sentence he was tempted to say aloud, 'You call me Denusk again and you'll be counting your teeth.'

Every petching time he was around someone, he had Vanator's name thrown in his face like an overused epithet and he was damn tired of it. His hands curled on the yvas handle instead of allowing himself the fight that he really wanted.

The storm raised into a furious pitch and instead of stewing in his own anger, he nudged Nightwind into a canter. A small cluster of people yelled out as they got tangled in the downed tent, the heavy material whipping in the gale and the post ends slashing at everything that crossed their paths!

OOC :

Be the man (or woman) with the plan, or help someone else with theirs. Interrogate or "persuade" someone for/about something you want in a "good way" (take this literally or use your imagination ) Give someone something nice with something bad (on purpose or by accident) Done!