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CLOSED | the perfect stormrider.
WHO: Erik Stephens, Gabranth, Diana, Benedict, Edgard, Tiffany, Dick & Jone.
WHAT: The Gang Fights A Dragon.
WHEN: Cloudreach.
WHERE: The Thenuviet estate on the Exalted Planes.
NOTES: if something looks wonky or is misspelled, please know I’m typing this on mobile & have mercy.
WHAT: The Gang Fights A Dragon.
WHEN: Cloudreach.
WHERE: The Thenuviet estate on the Exalted Planes.
NOTES: if something looks wonky or is misspelled, please know I’m typing this on mobile & have mercy.
GETTING THERE isn’t a short journey, and they’re hardly traveling in comfort. Most of the horses are carrying equipment, armor, weaponry, and anything else those volunteered for this expedition thought to include. And there’s camping equiptment. Anyone who said the travel overland involved staying at inns was lying. Inns are notoriously stuffed with murderers, anyway.
Every night, there’s a campfire and food. Sometimes it’s fresh caught, but if it is, Jone certainly didn’t catch it. Just as likely that it’s rations, salt pork and jerky and whatever dried fruits and nuts Riftwatch can spare.
There’s a STOP AT A BATHHOUSE in the town near the Thenuviet estate, however. It’s stupid, they’re just going to dirty themselves up later, but presentation is important to these people.
Surely all of you brought fancy dress and masks, because IT’S TIME TO SCHMOOZE. There’s a small party of Orlesians dressed to their finest, having a cozy little soirée on the edge of a cliff. Literally on the edge. Don’t indulge too much in the fine wines and cheeses, because there’s a dragon waiting, but for now? It’s never a bad idea to look good in front of rich people of influence. At least, not these days.
Eventually, it’s time to move forward, which means PREPARING FOR BATTLE. Climbing down the cliff is easy stuff, if you’re good with rope or have basic upper body strength. But now is probably the time to set up any traps, get in good positions... because it’s not long before the party on the cliff above begins to cheer.
...Because a few dead swine are unceremoniously kicked off the cliff to fall into the ravine now filled with you and yours.
The cheers from the cliff face only increase as loud thrashing, howling sounds start and become increasingly closer. How long have they been feeding the dragon like this?
But then it’s DRAGON KILLING TIME. You probably know how that goes. Stormriders are huge, dark scaled, and shoot thunder instead of fire. This one is angry you’ve interrupted lunch time.
AFTERWARD, it’s time to heal, take a breath, poke around the dragon bits for fancy heirlooms, and climb back up that cliff.
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She lays the rucksack out of the way behind a cluster of rock before she moves back to stand beside Jone. Good at taking orders, even the silent ones, good at taking cues, she adjusts herself to match, anticipation that is worn like tension.
"Do we try to draw it out?"
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From her tone, it's clear she hates that fact.
"Make sure we're ready when it comes. Shouldn't be long, like."
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"I keep thinking I wish we had more time. I think that before every battle I've ever gone into. I suppose there's a sort of comfort there--that this won't be so extraordinary."
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She stands a little straighter, hefting her poleaxe over one pauldroned shoulder. "Before going into the fight," she says, "we'd always make plans for after."
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"I like that. Hope in the face of all odds. What's your plan this time, for after?"
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She neglects to mention the founder of this tradition, specifically his skull, how it was crushed, and how Jone paid out his tab at the local tavern as a favor to his widow.
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"Sorry, I'm from the Chantry. We're very sincere. I forget that's not common parlance. I like this just as well, and I will happily buy a round. Maybe two, after everyone else has taken a turn. I'm charitable and generous," and she presses a hand to her chest, lowers her head, a parody of solemnity, "but I'm not completely stupid."
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Which, to be fair, she'd always rather not bloody do.
"I'll told you to it, mate." She gives her a little solute.
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