While the getting's good.

[Oracle]

Day 2, Month 2, Turn 2

It might have made sense to wait until the dead of night.  Things like this were usually accomplished in the wee hours, it seemed, when few stirred.  But Fort Hold had been buttoned tightly for weeks now, so that it hardly mattered when things were done.  It was as much a ghost town at three in the afternoon as at three in the morning, with people disallowed from congregating.  Meals were solemn, silent affairs held under the eyes of Mikhen's guards, and people were otherwise under strict orders to stay in their own abodes, coming out only for the chores necessary to keep the Hold running.  The cells ran like well-oiled machines already: food came once a day, enough to sustain life but not so much as to make them feel all uppity; pisspots got emptied shortly afterward; everyone was otherwise expected to shuttup and be grateful they'd been kept alive this long.

Which is why dusk made just as much sense as any time for something like this.  It had not been easy, but Harpers were industrious creatures.  Just about sunset, which came early in these winter months, the guards made a change, only one settling in for the overnight shift.  This was who they bought, through days of careful checking and re-checking, testing the waters, finally slipping a few marks to him in order to execute this extrication of those held in the cells.

The guard, usually one of the least friendly and most brutal of the bunch, went down the row of cells, clanging the keys against the bars, saying in a low voice, "Uppy up up, boys and girls.  Today's your lucky day."


OOC: Anyone who needs to leave the Hold (mostly would-be Candidates) can feel free to join this thread.  You can join now, later, whenever, just assume you're in the cells for some reason at the time.  To keep things moving, there's no post-order, but the next round will start on Saturday, 5/12/12, and go every two days from there.

[J'sin]

"Uppy up, boys and girls.  Today's your lucky day."

The words woke Jaymesin from a light doze; he rolled off his bed and landed easily on the floor, then winced at the jolt of pain fom his arm.

Shardit.

It occurred to Jaymesin as he made for the door that perhaps this was a ruse, his brother's excuse to kill them all - but even then, freedom was a strong lure for the young Blood, too strong to be denied, and if Mikhen had wanted Jaymesin dead there was nothing Jaymesin could have done about it.

Knowing the lower Hold stood him in good stead here; he knew without needing to think about it which way was 'out'.  Jaymesin headed for that door and stopped near it, waving for the other prisoners to gather with him.  "Over here, everyone."

"Stay together, and let's go." 

[Oracle]

Ducked carefully to one side, just out of sight, there was the Harper messenger who had carried the missive to the Weyrleaders about the death or Robinton, informing them of the siege in the first place.  She didn't, perhaps, look like the best person for the job; if they were ambushed or taken by force, she would hardly be the most fitting person to tackle someone and take them out, but she did seem to have subterfuge down to an art.  The hallways and staircases, everything between the cells and the side exit that would lead them to the courtyard and, theoretically, from there to the outer road, were dead empty.

Noting the cluster of them, gathered around someone she could only assume had been one of Groghe's sons before his incarceration, now looking rather scraggly and unpretty.  "Shhh," was her only comment, finger pressed to lips, and she slid open that outer door.  A thin, breeze-tossed flurry of snow was falling; coupled to dusk, it made visibility poor, to say the least.  There were no lights in the courtyard, as ordered by Mikhen, so it was like stepping out into between, save where little pinpricks of white fluttered dizzily into view: cold, almost void of sight, dead quiet.

They would be exiting almost flush with the inner wall of the courtyard, relying on the fact that they would be able to slip silently by the guard to the gate, which was no more than dummy-locked at the moment.  The men who should have been guarding it were huddled in a small side room, trying to stave off the cold.  It would grant them access to the road.  To Harper Hall.  To safety?

[G'brihl]

When was the last time he had bathed?

Gabrihl tried not to think about it often, but at times it could not be helped.  He itched from being dirty, though he honestly could not tell if the sensation was a real one or if it was just his mind protesting the state he was in.  The clothes he wore were rank after a month spent crammed in a cell that had only become more crowded as time had passed, more people joining Jaymesin and himself in its cold, cramped confines.  There were more people than beds, which meant anyone who didn't want to sleep on the cold stone floor had to share, and for someone who valued his own space, his privacy, and not being crammed in like sardines, the situation in which he found himself was maddening.

Thus, when the door to the cell opened and the guard made allusions that they were actually leaving, Gabrihl spared only the briefest of thoughts that it might be some sort of trap before hastily slipping his feet back into his shoes (better to risk cold feet than to let sweat and grime mar the leatherworking there) and pushing through the crowd and out of the cell.  Better to meet his end on a sword than to slowly go insane in a cell.  At least they hadn't been too hungry even with being fed only once a day; Zaman and Rioghan had gotten ample training in the art of discretion and fetching food and other small items when it was required of them.  Gabrihl had even tried sending them to Harper Hall with a message once, but they had returned with no answering note and there was no sign that the little scraps of paper hadn't just blown off in the wind during the trip.

But now--the face that greeted them outside of the cell was familiar, so perhaps Harper Hall had gotten his message.  Or perhaps their spies were in more places than he had previously thought, but either way, Gabrihl was grateful.  She probably wouldn't recognize him as disheveled as he was, a good month's worth of bead covering his face, but there was little enough time for catching up at the moment.  It was all he could do to keep himself from outpacing her as they trooped silently down halls and corridors until they reached the outer courtyard, and though the thick layers of clothing he wore stank like nothing else, Gabrihl was glad of them when they stepped out into the frigid darkness.  Zaman and Rioghan, silenced by his sense of fear and urgency, huddled closer to the sides of his neck as they crept nearer and nearer to the gate...

[J'sin]

At the materialisation of the woman and the gesture for silence, Jaymesin's lips parted in a grin that looked all the more feral for the condition of him.  He relinquished the lead to her with a gesture, and not without a certain amount of relief.

He'd been an active young man, wirily muscular, fit and healthy and with looks that rarely failed to get him company even without his status.  Four sevendays or so later, after one meal a day and less exercise as time went on and energy ran out, he was thin, weary and on edge, and confident that even the runnerbeasts wouldn't bother looking at him twice before levelling a kick at the walking mass of hair and beard that had just arrived.  The brown lump of Brick on his shoulders only made him look even more deformed.

Silent, he slipped through the tunnels with the rest, with Brick cautioned to silence; arriving in the courtyard with white things falling from the sky had him glancing anxiously upwards for a moment, but then he was pulling the rags of his dressing gown around him for what little extra warmth they'd give and stepping out into the snow.

He vowed to himself that when he slept from now on, even in total safety with guards at every door, he'd be fully-dressed and with boots and a good cloak to hand.

[Oracle]

For the sake of ease, let's call the Harper Kaire, a newly-minted but clearly trusted Journeyman who probably would recognize Gabrihl if he was looking even remotely Gabrihl-like, and not like just another scarecrow being herded out the door into the dark flurries of the courtyard.  Cold and damp though it would be outside, that snow was their ally now, as much as the darkness settling so firmly over the courtyard.  She, of course, was better-equipped to cope with what was out that door, wearing the dark cloak and good boots to keep the chill away.

Even their footsteps were muffled by the thin veneer of snowfall on the courtyard floor, and the shadow of the wall was dim but sufficient.  They were marginally visible as dark blobs against the whitish ground, but it would be hard to notice them save when they moved in a narrow line of single-file figures scurrying from the door to the gate that would take them out of the courtyard.  Harper Hall was near, salvation was near, and she took them on a fleet-footed quick-jog toward that dummy-locked gate.

With bent fingers, she beckoned them into the deeper shadows of the wall, trying to make a cluster of them that was out of sight from the guardtowers.  Snow flurries or not, there was no need to give Mikhen's men more chances to spot them.  The sound of the lock, metal on metal, seemed scarily loud for all it was quiet as it could be, and her eyes darted furtively over the group of refugees.

Barely putting any voice at all behind the whisper, she explained, "We must run, but stay close to the walls.  To Harper Hall."

Kaire wasn't entirely sure that the group of them were going to make it, not all of them, anyway.  One or two - Jaymesin among them - looked like a good, stiff breeze might blow them over.  Or, worse, that they might faint from fatigue halfway there.  Others waited to receive them, but secrecy and safety meant she had come this far alone.  If caught, the Hall could hardly afford to face the ire of a murderous usurper.

[Grigore]

Grigore raised an eyebrow as the jailer came by with his keys knocking. It seemed then, that the man would keep his word. Considering the amount he probably received between all the Harpers he wondered what the man would have done for a decent amount of marks. Never the less, that man's greed would mean this man's freedom, and Grigore was not about to pass it up. He rose, tightening his belt yet another notch. The lack of food had eaten away at the excess fat on his body, lending sharp angles to once gently rounded skin. He scratched his growing beard idly as he walked out to the rest of the group. He spoke not a word, only nodding to the lady who'd come to get them. There would be time for thanking later.

He followed quietly through the tunnels, taking up the rear guard position as everyone made their way to the courtyard. He immediately felt the temperature difference when their guide opened the door to the courtyard and suppressed a shudder. Some of the individuals here where in poor condition to go through the cold snowy night. At least he had been up pacing when the guards escorted him to the cell. His pants and boots would be warmer than the ragged shirt some one had given him while down here. He went out last, sticking with his rear position so that he could watch over the others as they made their way along the wall. His body was an instant plane of goosebumps and he held on to the image of drinking hot klah when this was all over.

He ducked into the shadows as they approached the gate and winced at the sound of groaning metal. Listening to the familiar woman, he readied himself, he could guess by the look on her face that she was worried as well, and with good reason. When they begin to run, Grigore will be last in case anyone stumbles or falters. The Usurper would not be getting any of them back if he could help it.

[J'sin]

Jaymesin slipped into the shadow of the wall, wishing for a sword - or at the very least, a pair of boots and a cloak.  A warm bed or even a hot cup of klah would have been wonderful if neither sword nor clothing had appeared, but he'd not yet mastered the trick of materialising his desires from thin air however hard he'd been trying of late.

At least it was cold enough that Thread would be killed before it could reach them - wasn't it?  Must be.

At least he had a beard now, and longer hair.  And he was alive to attempt an escape, which was also nice.  He winced as the key creaked in the lock, but his heart sank at the words.  Run.  To Harper Hall.

Four sevendays ago, he'd have thought nothing of it.  Tonight, though, the distance stretched ahead of him a thousand miles and more.  And yet he'd make it, or die trying.  Quite simply, there was no alternative left.

[G'brihl]

Run.

Never had a single word sounded so sweet.  Once outside the gate it was all he could do to keep from bolting, from leaving this scraggly lot to stare at his heels as he booked it to Harper Hall, but... but Gabrihl had been cramped in a cell for the better part of a month now.  He had paced as much as the tiny confining space allowed, particularly after it started filling up with people, but other than that, he was utterly cold.  No warm-ups, no stretches and slow jogs to acclimate his muscles to that oh so familiar tug and pull.  If he took off at a dead sprint now the only thing he would accomplish was a cramp, if he was lucky, and torn muscles if he wasn't.

No, better to wait, to let Kaire--he recognized her now, though they hadn't spend much time together when he was still at the Hall--lead them on.  There could be a wagon hidden further up the road for all he knew, and it wouldn't do to run right past it.  Night was falling, and though Gabrihl knew the route between Fort Hold and Harper Hall like the back of his hand, he was the first to admit that he wasn't entirely certain he could make it there with the same sort of speed he could normally manage.  Given that he was in less than prime physical condition at the moment (though the lack of food hadn't eaten at him quite so much as it had some of the others), the last thing he needed was to be caught out in the middle of a bitterly cold winter's night.

But that did not mean he couldn't put his training to good use.  Though Gabrihl could not claim to be overly fond of any of his former cell-mates, neither was he so cold-hearted as to wish them all dead.  Undoubtedly there would be some to lag behind, to falter or cramp or fall because they were running incorrectly, and while he had no patience to be a teacher, in this he might just be able to help.  So, when they finally began to run, he fell into a steady, easy lope, his long legs allowing him to pace most of them without much difficulty, and as they moved he gave instruction in a low, insistent voice; "Tuck in your arms, you're trying to run, not fly.  Pick up your feet; you'll just wear yourself out dragging them through the snow.  Breathe steadily..."

All in all, he wasn't entirely sure how effective his instructions would be, but perhaps it would allow more of them than he expected to reach Harper Hall alive.

[Oracle]

Being the fittest among them, Kaire was able to dart out ahead at a considerable distance, leaving the line of scarecrows in her wake to straggle and stretch, some stumbling, some limping, some only barely managing to keep one foot down in front of the other.  Of course, they had been braced for things to be difficult, but perhaps not so difficult.  At the corner of the outer wall, she paused, tapping people on the shoulder as they went past her, hurrying them along the road to the arched entrance that would see them safely into the territory of the Harper Hall.

One of them stopped, gasping for breath, holding onto a stitch in his side and leaning against that cold stone wall for a moment.  "You must go," she urged in as much of a whisper as she dared, now her eyes shooting upward to where there was the beginning of a stir on the guard walls.

Voices broke out of the darkness.

Lights swirled through the snow flurries.

"There!" came a voice from the corner of the wall, and the bright smudge of glowlight on the wall intensified as people congregated.

They could take no more delays.  Rushing, scurrying, she picked up her feet and made for the open gate to Harper Hall.  Behind them, Mikhen's men were hurrying out the gate from Fort Hold in return, armed and angry.  It would be a mad dash for some to make it to safety, and it would throw at least one thing into sharp relief: as willing as they were to violate the sanctity of Fort Hold, Mikhen's men were under orders not to go beyond the boundaries of that Hold.  They would not trespass into Harper Hall.

Anyone who made it into the sheltered safety of the Harper courtyard would be safe.

Any who fell in the snow would be recaptured.

[Oracle]

OOC:  I will be largely incommunicado over the coming week.  So you all aren't held up: please feel free to continue RPing in this thread to your heart's content.  As a quick debrief...

After arriving at Harper Hall, the first order of business would be getting warm, getting clean and dry, and getting some food.  Allowing a little time for R&R, escapees would be questioned one-by-one by Master Nipcy (who, we shall say, is a middle-aged man) about their time at the Hold and anything they might know about Mikhen.  Harper-types would have a little more thorough questioning.  As for what, if anything, the plan is to help the Hold... no one's saying much.

The refugees would be given small but serviceable temporary quarters, possibly sharing rooms, until the situation can be resolved.

Please feel free to nudge people to come and Search your peeps any time going forward!

[Tandra]

Tandra's heart was pounding as she scrambled across the snow after the Harper. She could hear voices behind them but didn't dare look back, knowing that one distracted second could cost her everything. The guards had gone easy on her the first time, just putting her in a prison cell instead of doing worse, but she suspected that a second offense would not be viewed so leniently. For a moment her thoughts went to her friends--were they still safe? If only there was a way to get word to them that she had escaped. But then, Sayen would probably report her, she thought bitterly. As for Eldiver, hopefully the girl would hang in there until Fort was finally free.

Her breath was coming in ragged gulps and the cold air hurt her longs. The only running Tandra was used to were quick spurts from one end of the Hold to the other to fetch things for her superiors. Nothing like this, and certainly not in this kind of weather. Come on, you can do it, she told herself, forcing herself to keep going.

Tuck in your arms, you're trying to run, not fly. The voice of another prisoner reached her, and she nodded, putting his advice to use. The strain seemed a little less as she adopted the posture he suggested. She would have to seek him out and thank him later. For now, she stayed focused on the Hall gate ahead of her.

[Grigore]

As Grigore followed the last of the stumbling and awkward bunch he stopped by the person leaning on the wall. In the dark he couldn't tell if male or female and didn't care. "Come on, it'll be worse if you get captured." He pulled an arm over his shoulders and let the individual lean on him. "One.....two.....one....two...one...two. In through your nose, out your mouth. Just focus on your feet and let me direct you. One...two...one...two." As the person began moving he picked up the counting tempo and they jogged. The alarm from the guardsmen only spurred him on. The cold was a bitter kiss upon his face as they made their way through the snow, though if truth be told those breaking the snow ahead of him made it easier to run while helping someone. When he felt the person begin to falter he slowed their movement.

He was feeling weary, but the promise of warmth and safety was its own motivation and Grigore continued.  He would get there. Time seemed endless in the snow and as Fort receded he began to wonder how much longer it would take. He let the person he was helping go as the individual seemed to have found their second wind, to his relief. He scanned those ahead, looking to see how they where doing, in case anyone faltered.

[G'brihl]

There were voices in the night suddenly, urgent, angry voices, and the need to bolt away was an abrupt, almost itching ache in the muscles of his thighs.  He was only jogging along, but the slow pace was a warm-up enough; if he put up his heels Gabrihl knew he could outpace everyone here and be within the inviting warmth of Harper Hall in mere minutes.  A particularly uncharitable part of his mind even suggested that the stragglers would provide an ample distraction for the guards, allowing him to escape with ease.  Yes, he could flee to the Hall, bathe, shave, eat a warm meal, and curl up in a clean bed to let his conscience stab at him all night long for being heartless enough to sacrifice others for his own well-being.

Maybe it was just the Harper in him talking, but it was enough to make him glance over his shoulder, trying to see, to count his fellow captives in the growing gloom of true night.  Most were but indistinct shapes against the paleness of the snow, but already he could see that there were some beyond any aid, dark splotches in the powdery white who laid where they had fallen, unmoving.  Maybe he could--no.  No, there was a difference between helping your fellow man and committing suicide.  Already there were guards pushing open the main gate to follow them, and Gabrihl had little doubt as to what would happen to anyone who was recaptured.  There would be no second chance to escape.  There was nothing he could do for them.

The gate to Harper Hall seemed to loom out of the darkness suddenly, and unconsciously Gabrihl lengthened his stride, eager to be within the safety of its walls.  Someone running next to him--he couldn't see who exactly it was in the darkness--tripped, staggered, would have fallen.  Zaman and Rioghan shrilled a warning in his ears as he reflexively snapped out his arm, catching the falling person by the back of their shirt.  The sudden extra weight made him lose his stride, and he too might have fallen, but with a sound that was very much like a snarl Gabrihl hauled them up, all but dragging them stumbling along those final few yards to the safety of Harper Hall gate.

They passed through.

Gabrihl finally slowed, drawing to a stop and letting the person he was pulling along regain their feet.  There were some Harpers waiting for them, some Healers from the nearby Hall as well, and most of the escapees found themselves being ushered toward the main entrance so they could be taken inside and looked after.  He resisted briefly so that he could turn back, watching as the last few stragglers who managed to evade the mercenary guards wobbled into the courtyard, the shouts of their pursuers dwindling when they realized that there was nothing they could do.  Bitterly, he wondered how they could respect the sanctity of the Hall now, refusing to even come too close to the gates, after Masterharper Robinton had already been murdered.

But it didn't matter now.  There was a Healer at his elbow suddenly, murmur softly under her breath as she encouraged him to come along, to take shelter in the Hall.  Gabrihl hesitated a moment longer before acquiescing, the adrenaline fading, and as they neared the main entrance he began to realize just how tired he was.  The warmth of being indoors again made him notice how cold his skin was, exposed areas like his hands and face tingling and prickling in the heat.  Though it was late and most of the denizens of Harper Hall were bedded down for the night, there were enough people present and watching curiously that he also became aware of the rather overpowering smell of unwashed bodies that accompanied him and those who had escaped with him into the room.

His skin crawled.

Master Nipcy was there (Should be Master Robinton, a voice in his mind whispered), along with several Journeymen and some Healers, and the escaped captives were being ushered off undoubtedly toward warm food and a bath and careful, probing questions.  Having been raised in Harper Hall, Gabrihl knew his way around.  Even though he was no longer officially a Harper, his training would mean that they would question him especially thoroughly, and he would answer those questions as best he could, but first--first--

He deviated from the group, spiked shoes rather noisy against the stone floor.  Like most of the rest of Pern, Harper Hall was furnished with a public bathing area, with only a few of the Masters quarters equipped with their own baths.  It was simpler that way, and more economical for those who had first constructed the Hall.  This is where he went, fighting the urge to strip in the hallway as he walked.  The baths were empty at this time of night, and he slowed only long enough to carefully remove and set aside his precious shoes and runner pouch before all but tearing off his clothes and stepping into the water.

To be clean.  Gabrihl silently thanked whatever intellect had come up with the notion of perpetuating water flow, the dirty drained away down to a filtration system to be cleaned and replaced immediately by fresh, hot water.  Perhaps too hot, a red flush rising against his skin, or maybe he was just cold still.  There was not enough sweetsand in the world as he scrubbed at himself, Zaman and Rioghan splashing and playing in the suds from his efforts.  It seemed a long while even after the grime and grit of the last month had been cleansed from his skin before he actually felt clean, his hair washed at least twice and his body scrubbed no less than three times, and once satisfied that he could benefit no further from the washing, Gabrihl rose from the baths, wound a towel around his waist, retrieved a straight razor from his pouch (he always carried one with him on runs), and set about to rid himself of the rather ghastly beard he'd acquired while incarcerated.

It took some time and patience, because the beard was thick and his hands weren't quite as steady as he would have liked, but finally he was done.  He looked more like his old self, if a touch more gaunt and somewhat haggard around the edges.  His hair was longer than he generally liked, but that at least he could tolerate until later.  For those in Harper Hall who knew him (and there were a few), they would understand why this ritualistic cleansing had to be undertaken before any sort of interrogation began.  Gabrihl would have been unable to focus beyond his own self-disgust, above his own compulsion, and therefor would not provide them with as clear an account of the happenings at Fort Hold as was required.  Undoubtedly they had now had ample time to question the others, and his presence hadn't been missed much yet.  He could eat, and he could tell them in precise detail all of the things he'd been setting to order in his mind while he bathed.

... except he had forgotten that he had no clean clothes with him.  Hm.  This could prove troublesome.

[J'sin]

The run set his muscles to aching and had Jaymesin panting for breath within a hundred yards - but there was a lot more than a hundred yards to go.  Readily visible against the snow he half-ran half-staggered onwards, serving as a trail marker for those who might not know the route as well as he did.

At the half-way mark all that was keeping him moving was raw willpower; the shouts behind them gave him a second wind, and his stride lengthened again.  Mikhen might be his brother, but he had a funny feeling that that would simply ensure he'd have an 'accident' if he was taken back to Fort. 

Left right left right left right...

When the gates of Harper Hall showed against the darkness, Jaymesin didn't register their existence.  He simply staggered onwards, numb with the cold and the exhaustion and leaving blood-flecked footprints in the snow.  It wasn't until a pair of hands caught him that he came out of the trance.  He looked up at his surroundings; confusion reigned for a few moments before he slumped groundwards.

Safety.

He'd made it.

It was over.