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The inaugural major RP event for the Halaghi on Chiaroscuro continues in the aftermath of a dirigible crash...

As you emerge from darkness, it is to a world screaming with wind, swirling snow and pain - sprained muscles, sore bones, some broken. The ratty metallic skeleton of the wrecked dirigible flies tattered remnants of goatskin. The gondola is a shattered mess of pink rendered organic material. The crates of lichen curatives are scattered around the broad ledge where the aircraft slammed against the mountainside. The pilot's dead, but everyone else is alive but battered.

Hal'azan opens his eyes slowly, finding himself on his back on one of the flight benches, still strapped to it in his harness, staring into the snow-swirled night sky.

Hal'odan is stunned by the experience, staring blankly skyward through the wind and snow. He cannot find the strength, or need, to speak currently, as he starts to glance quickly about the area.

Hal'alath opens his eyes slowly, groaning in pain as he does so. He rests his hand on his forehead for a moment, then winces and draws it back, revealing some blood. After a couple of minutes, he's able to take a look around the wreck site, muttering under his breath as he does so.

The welder fumbles around for the clasp on his harness, unsnaps it, then rolls off the toppled bench and moans soundlessly into the wailing wind.

Hal'odan's eyes widen, and he does his best to slowly scrabble to his feet and wipe the snow from his form. He gazes off to something in the distance, calling, "Halloooooo! I think I see a cave!"

Hal'alath attempts to struggle to his feet, but only manages to get on his knees for now. After recovering from the effort he looks in the direction that Hal'odan is looking for a minute, before attempting to yell over the wind at him. "Are you sure? I can't see anything!"

Hal'azan looks toward the indecipherable shouting, shakes his head, then starts to stand. He almost immediately crumples as his right leg, broken, refuses to cooperate. He starts crawling toward one of the crates.

"Well, hallucination or not, it's better than out here!" calls Hal'odan in turn, glancing about the area as he trudges toward the boxes. "We should bring as many supplies as he can manage with us!"

Hal'alath grabs at a nearby crate with his left arm, attempting to get himself standing, and quickly pulls it back with a yelp.

Hal'azan crawls until he gets to the closest crate, wincing in pain as his broken leg bumps against a rock. He checks the surface of the fused organic crate. It's cracked. He pokes at the damaged section, pink powder blowing away with the snow, until he breaks through and can reach in and grab a couple of packages of the curative. He then starts crawling in the direction of the potential cave.

Hal'odan himself happens upon a broken crate, sore arms picking up as much of the parcel as he can manage before turning to retreat back off to the cave in the mountainside. He calls again, "Did anyone else survive!?"

Hal'alath finally manages to get to his feet. He then grabs a few packages out of the crate nearest to him, before turning to where the others are heading, and slowly follows. "I couldn't tell! If they did, they're still out cold!" He yells back.

Hal'azan wallows through the snow, cradling packages of curative as he flops back and forth, trying to drag himself forward with his elbows and one good knee. Eventually, he finds his way to the crack in the mountainside that passes itself off as a cave. It's small, dark and rather narrow, but at least it offers some shelter from the violent elements. The welder pulls himself into a sitting position behind a boulder, allowing his broken leg to be fully extended. He sits the curative packs to his right and just sighs, staring at the ceiling.

Hal'odan manages way inside the shelter, slumping tiredly against the wall and abandoning the few packages he was able to muster. He speaks nothing, pulling his clothing tightly about him and seeming content to sit.

Hal'alath makes his way into the small cave, trying his best not to bump his left arm against anything. After dropping the packages he recovered on the ground, he slides to the ground, and remains quiet.

Hal'azan glances wearily toward the other Halaghi that have made their way into the cave. "I *told* him this would happen. Damned buroks." He rests his right hand on the goatskin of his leggings.

"Everything will be well," assures Hal'odan of Hal'azan, though muffled a bit as he speaks with a turb on his head. "We should stay in here untill the storm passes and we are better rested, then we can more easily scout the damage we've done."

Hal'alath looks out the mouth of the cave, to the blowing snow outside, and pulls his clothing tightly around himself. "That sounds like a good idea." He says after watching the storm for a minute.

"And if the storm doesn't end?" Hal'azan counters, not quite as optimistic as the others. Might be the pain making him cranky. "This time of year, the blows can last for weeks at a time. Before long, we'll start imagining the person next to us with chinscruff, hooves and a nice, tasty shank for cooking." He goes back to staring at the ceiling. "Of course, cooking will be optional."

"Shank, eh?" Hal'uod pipes up. "Hm, sure could go for some shank right now."

"You can keep your grubby mitts off of my shank, for one," retorts Hal'odan with a sharp grunt in dismay, shaking his head slowly. "I doubt anyone had the foresight to bring trition slabs with us?" asks the Halaghi with absolutely no faith.

Hal'alath frowns and shakes his head. "Doesn't look like it, to me."

Hal'azan shrugs. "The crates, the gondola, the benches from the gondola - they're all edible. We can probably subsistify on those a while. Just peel off the resin." He scratches his chin. "Plenty of snow too. So, we'll have water."

Hal'udon pulls his hugger closer to him. "Warm, succulent shank..." he trails off, obviously content at the mental image.

"All the snow I could possibly want," mutters Hal'odan aloud as he sets an even stare at Hal'udon. "Well, should we risk going out to collect that resin now? We're all too weak."

Hal'alath peers around at the other people in the room, and scratches his head. "I suppose we should rest first, before trying to do that. We'd probably get blown away by the wind right now."

"I've got a broken leg," Hal'azan grouses. "The chasm take anyone who thinks I'm going to be crawling back and forth to do anything." He scowls, picks up one of the lichen curative packs, wrapped in goathide. He flings it at the opposite wall with a solid thump. "Stupid old man."

Hal'udon hmmms to himself, bushy brows furrowed in thought.

"It's unanimous," declares Hal'odan as he settles into his little part of the wall. "We'll rest untill things settle down."

Hal'azan nods to Hal'odan. "Right. Those damnable brats can worry about their own lookout for a while." He crosses his arms and leans against the boulder, making snorffling noises as he tries to get comfortable enough to sleep, despite the broken leg.

Hal'alath sighs, and stretches out enough to get somewhat comfortable. "Hopefully, this storm won't last very long." He mutters under his breath.

Hal'udon grunts, shifting in place. "Indeed. And then we can be out to acquire some shanks."

"Hopefully," repeats Hal'odan with a sharp grunt, closing his eyes with a deep sigh as he tries to pass into slumber.

Hal'azan bumps his head against the rock of the boulder, and his eyes snap open. "Ouch." He shakes his head, then tries to rest again, muttering, "And even if the storm doesn't end, the chasm take them too. Not my problem. Stupid old man."

Hal'alath grunts as he bumps his left arm against a rock, then stretches out a bit, and closes his eyes, trying to get some sleep.

"The chasm indeed." Hal'udon nods. "Like the chasm my great uncle Hal'nod fell into while mining for ore."

"Maybe you'll enjoy this experience so you can tell others of the time a bunch of your friends froze to death in a crack in the mountainface," grumbles Hal'odan as he tries to sleep.

Hal'azan smirks in spite of himself, drifting slowly to sleep, pulling his hugger tight and shivering in the blue-cast darkness.


Return to Season 1 (2003)

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