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

[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.]