faderift | 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.

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"How many sisters you got?" Erik asks, moving to sit down across from her so as to not be in the way (or too close for comfort.) "I'm an only child; got some distant cousins but we didn't grow up together. Anyway, I'd offer to help but I barely got my own hair situation under control." He gestures towards the roots of his hair, which are a great deal fuzzier than the twisted locs at the ends.

"We carry our burdens, but will be better for the shared company, surely," Diana says with mock solemnity, offering him a grin. And in the same casual tone as the rest of the conversation: "I was the first child born to an island of women, so in a sense, my sisters are in the thousands. Though they felt more like mothers or aunts when I was very young. I have gained some younger ones since then and I admit, I much prefer being the elder for once."

"Wow." He raises his eyebrows. "Thousands of sisters, I can barely deal with two cousins."

'Deal with' is not the same as 'attempted to usurp and take over their claims to the throne' but potatoes, potatoes. "How old were you when you left?"

Obviously, she did at some point. She has a friend who dresses up like a bat in not!New York City, after all. (Erik keeps track of these details he learns about people.)

"Early twenties, I should say. We count time a little differently than the rest of the world." In that they didn't count time at all until it became necessary, suddenly finding themselves among people who aged more linearly. "Do you not see much of your cousins?"

She can't fathom that. Even the spans of time where for one reason or another she couldn't return to her home, she still carried her sisters close in her heart.

"We grew up on different sides of the planet." Erik gives a little shrug; it's not a big deal, right? (Wrong. It's a huge fucking deal.) "I don't even know, like, what they knew about me other than the fact that I existed."

I met them right before I died, he doesn't say. They killed me and it was the right thing to do.

"That sounds rather lonely," she says, because it does. And then she offers an apologetic smile, "Forgive me, that is too presumptuous. I don't know your feelings about your family."

"You're not wrong." He gives a shrug, but everything in his body language gives away that he's actually bothered about this. "I got complicated feelings 'bout 'em. My dad died when I was young; they weren't around. It was rough."

More complicated things: his uncle killed his father. His cousin killed him. He knows that his own death was justified.

"How old were you when your father passed?" It's a gentle question, the same as the others she's asked. She suspects the answer is too young. They're relatively close in and even as an adult, Diana had been torn in half when she thought she lost her mother.

"About nine," Erik admits. He doesn't shrug again but he wants to, wants to put distance between this reality and that one pretty badly right now. He shouldn't have allowed this conversation to take this turn, honestly, but... Well. It has. Here they are.

He puffs out his cheeks and sighs, loudly.

Too young indeed. She hopes he didn't witness the death, hopes there was someone there to care for the child he had been. And perhaps there are better places to have a conversation like this, when they are both not mostly naked.

"I am sorry. And thank you for sharing your past with me," Diana says with earnest warmth, letting humor color her voice as she continues, "I'm afraid I'm far too accustomed to people simply leaving the room if they don't wish to speak on a subject. If I ever meet them in this world, I will have to remember to try trapping them in a bath with me."

Erik huffs a laugh, folding his hands in his lap and then looking at the floor's tiles instead of at Diana. "Tryin' this new thing, where I don't run from the shit I'own't like. Includes conversations. Besides, I got words; could'a said 'nah, I don't wanna talk about that'," he says easily. Like it doesn't bother him, the things he knows and the few things he doesn't. What did his uncle say to his children when he left Erik fatherless? Did he say anything at all?

The Princess didn't know him, but T'Challa did. Did that secret only get passed between kings?

He shakes his head. There's no way for him to know, and no reason to dwell right now.

"You're very brave," she says, spoken as a truth because he is.

"Speaking of things can take the weight from them," Diana says, going back to her hair because he doesn't need the weight of her regard on top of whatever he's already carrying, "But that certainly doesn't make the words any easier."

"I suppose that's true." The weight thing, not his bravery; he isn't feeling terribly brave, at the moment, so. But he's not about to argue with the woman about it. "Have you ever killed a dragon before?" Back to safe topics.

"Not a dragon, no," Diana says, letting the topic move away. Speculatively: "I fought a titan shortly before my arrival here. I'm not sure if there's much of a similarity, aside from the size and relative strength."

"What's a titan?" The only ones he knows of are probably... Greek mythology? Something like that. Western mythology wasn't really his strong suit, it was difficult to care about that kind of subject in class, not when he knew he was from somewhere they'd never cover.

She considers the question for a moment. She's gotten better over the years of phrasing things in way people of the broader world will have an easier time understanding, but it does get a little difficult when the subject falls to the gods and their like.

"They're not quite gods and not quite mortals," is what she settles on, "Larger than a giant, with all manner of shapes and abilities. That particular one had a great number of hands."

"Yeah?" He wonders if demi-god would be the appropriate term here, but that feels like splitting hairs a little. Either way, he gets the picture. "That sounds a little fucked, to be honest, but at least you're prepared and all'dat."

"Most things to do with the gods are," she says with a small smile, "It's part of what makes being in this world so strange, I suppose. It's quieter." There's not really a different way to describe it.

Erik shakes his head. "Quiet is one way to put it," he admits, because there's a war on but it's fucking different, "but I don't wanna curse it yet."

CLOSED | the perfect stormrider.

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