DIPLOMACY WAR TABLE MISSION: BURN BOOK (CLOSED)

[hornswoggle]

WHO: Athessa, Marcoulf, Teren, Colin, Edgard
WHAT: disseminating information
WHEN: Early August
WHERE: Orlais
NOTES: war table ooc post

Comments

[doneisdone]

[Blanche and Teren circle beneath, already prepared to catch anyone or anything that might fall from the clusterfuck happening above.]

Keep it together, you fools! [Her voice is an angry bark.]

[keenly]

[Colin brushes Edgard's fingers away from his face. The rain is taking care of it quickly--the mud trickles away down his chin and throat, leaving him only to swipe his eyes clear himself. Usually he's patient to a fault, but he can hear his own teeth squeak as they grind together.]

You have one job, [he says to his passenger.] Focus on that.

[muckspout]

[Edgard holds his hands up palms showing acquiescence and then makes a stink face at the back of Sunbeam's Owners' head. He blinks more rain and mud out of his eyes and sees pamphlets fluttering down, down.]

I think I did my one job. Maybe do yours and steer!

[Edgard looks to Marcoulf and Athessa barely hanging on, trying to figure out a way to help. Arrows will be useless because as he just learned, the wind is not your friend.]

[esquive]

[The paper can wait. More accurately, they're too far gone—spinning in pleasant whirlwinding directions, already too scattered to attempt any kind of recovery.

She has a vice grip at his ankle. He has a similar vice grip on the griffon where downy feathers begin to cede into thick grey fur. If it weren't for Athessa, he'd be sliding further forward as the griffon makes her spiraling descent away from a second louder clap of thunder. So thank Andraste's bleeding fucking heart for that hand keeping him in check—

Hilariously, it's a sudden fork of lighting that saves the pair of them from slipping any further. It startles the big animal and she suddenly veers back in the direction of Sunbeam, the change of momentum all but throwing Marcoulf back into the saddle. The minute he has his second iron, he is reaching with both hands to haul Athessa bodily back where she belongs.

It's a series of second, no longer. But in them, they've lost some significant altitude and the illumination of the weather is likely to have painted a very pretty picture of the whole formation against the pitch black storm clouds.]

[muckspout]

[To the whole party, cheerily]

See, we're all good. Everything is fine now!

[sulahnan]

[ Not quite, Edgard. As soon as she and Marcoulf are back where they should be and Supreme is course correcting, Athessa sees it. ]

VOLLEY! PULL UP!

[keenly]

[If he dies, he's going to kill Edgard.]

Hold on! [he shouts to his passenger before sharply pulling upward toward the clouds.]

[muckspout]

[Edgard is ready and leans forward, gripping tight with his legs as they rocket upwards. His bow is off his shoulder and drawn in one motion without Edgard making the decision to do it. He hollers in Sunbeam’s Owner’s ear.]

Whatever it is, if you face us downwind I can hit it!

[doneisdone]

Hit what, are you mad? [All the archers? Blanche gives an angry screech as an arrow flies between two of her feathers, blessedly not finding flesh.]

Stop shouting! [she shouts, grappling for balance as she and Blanche bring up the rear.]

[esquive]

[He must pull up. Later, he will have a memory of wrenching the grey griffon's head high and kicking her like a horse. Regardless, Blunder Supreme (in fantastic counter to her nomen) lurches upward in a great surging motion just as the volley of arrows comes shearing up at them.

Marcoulf says nothing - white faced in the dark -, but what he thinks is, (Le) Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Another fantastic bolt of lighting forks the sky above all of them, bouncing brilliant white light off a dozen murderous arrow points as they slice into the darkness.]

[sulahnan]

Fuck, fuck, fu—

[ She's not shouting, but saying it to herself as she draws her daggers to fend off any arrows she can. Several arrows pierce through the pamphlets that they loosed, the resistance of the paper altering the trajectory enough that the arrows begin to fall before coming within range of the griffons.

But one arrow definitely hits the satchel hooked on Blunder Supreme's claw, drawing out a screech from her and some ruffling of her feathers, but nothing more. ]

[muckspout]

[Edgard's determination to attack is halted by an arrow entering his upper right leg. He doesn't make a sound, but wrenches backward unconsciously releasing an arrow straight up. His legs loose their grip, but his hands are still tight on the bow. He slips--

He's strapped in, so he can't go too far, but he plummets downward away from Sunbeam and her owner. The cold air mixed with rain rushes up around him.]

[keenly]

[Sunbeam is yanked to one side as Edgard slips off, and the loss of altitude is swift. Colin shouts in surprise, but maintains just enough presence of mind to reach out with his magic and wrap it around Edgard to pull him back up into the saddle. Unfortunately, manipulating an entire human being against gravity takes a lot out of a mage, so that's as much as he can do right now. Arrows whistle by them as Sunbeam begins to climb again; luckily, the wind, altitude, and rain mean the bowmen below are at a disadvantage. All Colin really has to worry about is not throwing up from all the movement going on.]

Did it pass through? [he shouts back to Edgard.]

[muckspout]

[The world has slowed down for a moment and Edgard is alarmed to find himself back in the saddle. He's not too terribly sure how he got there. He breathes inwardly against the white hot pain and releases a growl in response to it. Sunbeam's owner has asked him a question.

He doesn't want to look and know for sure although the level of pain gives him a good idea. He breathes in again, hisses air out through his teeth and looks down at his leg. The arrow is peeking out both sides. He lets out a long string of curses in Orlesian and responds to Sunbeam's owner also in Orlesian before recognizing his mistake and translating:]

Yes, all the way through. [He grips onto his griffon partner tight as his legs won't hold him well and leans forward onto him.]

[keenly]

[Alarmed, Colin looks back, only to find to his relief that Edgard didn't quite know what he meant by the question. The arrow is still in, so there's something keeping Edgard from bleeding out.]

Hold onto me! [he says.] Leave the arrow alone!

[There's almost no chance Edgard will be able to remove the arrow on his own, but trying to do so will definitely make the matter worse.]

[muckspout]

[For once, Edgard does what he's told as he's in too much pain to argue. He leans onto Sunbeam's owner and then absentmindedly pats the griffon underneath them.]

[doneisdone]

Up, up! [Teren calls, spurring Blanche, her next vocalization-- an angry cry of pain-- lost in a heavy roll of thunder.

She passes under a cloud, and is still there when they re-emerge, but an arrow is sticking out of her upper arm, her body held flat against Blanche's neck.]

[esquive]

[Far, far below this disaster a storm of papers pours across the Anderfels encampment. Releasing an air drop early enough to account for the vagaries of wind, weather, and distance traveled while falling is such a particular thing and it requires clever timing to get the thing right.

—Is, hopefully, what Edgard will say in his report. It's significantly more dignified than five people shouting at one another hundreds of meters upward, being buffeted by wind and the crack of lighting, the surly buck of animals unhappy with their proximity to growling thunder, pin-cushioned with arrows and, here, as they break above a line of clouds, finding themselves rising unceremoniously into the first sheets of pelting rain.]

For fuck's sake! [is startled out of him, and evidently is the first crack in the damn for Marcoulf proceeds to swear a considerably longer (and more vulgar) blue streak following it. In Orlesian, emphatically: Fuck this, fuck that, fuck Andraste with the Maker's fat — — — and so on.

It's fine.]

[sulahnan]

[ The same curse, for fuck's sake! flies from Athessa's mouth at the same time as it does Marcoulf's, spat out into the downpour and lost to the wind and thunder. The elf wipes uselessly at her face once before resigning herself to being soaked through and not being able to see as well as she'd like through rapidly blinking eyes. At least her hair is braided back and not full-on assaulting both of them. ]

Are you hit? [ Shouted forward over Marcoulf's shoulder. ]

[esquive]

[A fantastic diatribe is interrupted to shout back—] No! [—the wind and rain sucking it away.

With a solid dig of his heels, he urges the griffon on. There's little else to do but to persist on their current course. At some point, they'll either all be struck by lightning or escape the weather.]