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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.
no subject
He’s casually spiking the punch with an entire bottle of something he found on another table, easy to miss in shades of green and bronze that blend in well against the dust-blasted landscape. His mask has tall ears and a narrow snout, blue eyes sharp behind the vulpine brow. Big cats may not be part of the Olresian fauna, but there are foxes aplenty.
He is also wearing gloves.
“Punch?”
no subject
He nods at the punch request. That looks delicious and drink worthy, thank you.
no subject
Glunk, glunk, glunk, the bottle empties itself, and Dick sets it aside.
He’ll ladle Erik a cup after giving the bowl a stir, chunks of ice and fruit stamped out in floral shapes drifting in a noxious, shimmering sea of liquor and juice and who-knows-what. Aunt Sandy would be proud.
He ladles a second cup more slowly for himself, reluctance close to contempt in the way he watches it slip from the bowl.
"Cheers."
no subject
He takes a sip, blinks, and takes another. "Well. Ain't gonna win a prize for subtlety." Glancing around. "Jone'd probably appreciate this."
no subject
He drinks, and even behind the mask and beneath the trim of his beard, disgust carves a clear hollow into the clamp of his jaw after he’s swallowed. It takes him a distinct beat to collect himself.
“I should have asked earlier: will this be your first time facing a dragon?”
no subject
"Yes." He nods. "I did some research, but there aren't dragons where I'm from." At least, not anymore if they ever did exist, but getting into sorting historical fact from fiction is an involved conversation he's not sure he's up for. "What 'bout you?"
no subject
Like Siri but for useless information only, Richard only pretends to sip his drink the second time.
“Fortunatley their bestial nature here makes it less of an ethical faux pas to slay them for parts.”
no subject
He does drink from his cup again, though, because he can only imagine what sort of disaster this would be if they had to logic it out with something huge that breathes lightning.
"Any of 'em friendly, back home, or are they all just dangerous?"
no subject
There's a pause while he considers rambling on, finds his attention drifting to the fancy hon hon hon of laughter at some other story told nearby, and switches tack instead.
“It’s unfortunate that the sapient species of this realm are all so similar in shape and disposition.”
no subject
It's kind of amazing when he stops to think about it.
"It kinda is. I mean, I wonder how long this fuckin' war would be on if dragons could be like 'nah, fam, cut that shit out'. If one just up an' ate Corypheus I'd be fuckin' thrilled, not even gonna lie."
He empties his glass. "What else is sapient where you come from that ain't here?"