CLOSED | the perfect stormrider.

[poleaxed]

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.

Comments

[truthtied]

i. Bathhouse

The bathhouse seems a reasonable enough offer to Diana, whose opinion might be discounted, considering her stance on bathhouses as a whole (there should be more of them and they should be widely available). She has the casual comfort of someone accustomed to being partially nude frequently and a great deal of hair to reckon with, even if it's spent most of its time braided and pinned out of the way.

She glances up and offers a smile to anyone who happens to walk in, gesturing with one hand while the other keeps place of the braid she's redoing. "Could you hand me that pin? I managed to kick it out of reach somehow."

ii. Party Time

The best thing she can say for the gathering of Orlesian nobility is that it's familiar. The location strikes her as a bit more precarious than most in her world would choose, but still. Familiar. The role she is expected to play fits as sleekly as the draped gown she's donned, even if the titles attached carry no weight in this world. The gown and the accompanied mask themselves are simple, pale blue with sparse gold embroidery of vines and leaves. Nothing that would draw much attention in between the drama of paneer skirts and large feathered hats.

But in another world, Diana is a princess and an ambassador. Head high and back straight, a grace too fluid to be something affected, she is every inch that woman still. And unsurprisingly, there are some things that cross all boundaries of space and time.

"If you cut my feet off right now, I believe I would thank you for it," Diana says, in the quite, serene tone of one who is dealing with very cramped toes.

iii. Scouting Interrupted

One can't always rely on opportunities to scout out the location of a battle before the fight begins. That said, it's usually safe to assume that dead livestock will not suddenly drop out of the sky, landing uncomfortably close to where one is attempting to scout.

"Ah. That might be a problem."

iv. Afterward

Diana sets herself down with a sigh, once the air clears and she finds all of them very alive next to a very dead dragon. She's tired and sore in a way that's different from normal fights. And also covered in dragon's blood, but at least that's expected. She'd almost forgotten the party on the cliffside until dainty handkerchiefs and flowers begin to flutter down to them, along with another rousing cheer.

"How much of a diplomatic set back would it be to kick the lot of them off that cliff," is the philosophical question she sets forth to anyone who happens to be in hearing range.

WILDCARD

IV

[nonvenomous]

“Significant,” says Richard, a little breathless. Not from the fight, but from the struggle of pushing slack jaws apart in the saliva-sticky dirt, with both hands braced around a fang under the curl of the top lip, and a boot set in a gap between scooping incisors at the bottom. He’s paused to rest but holds his position, huffing and puffing, lest he lose what little progress he’s made.

“But if you only kick a few of them, the others might cheer.”

[truthtied]

"Whoever threw the pigs down. Or ordered the pigs thrown, if they couldn't be bothered to dirty their hands."

Speaking of. She pushes herself up and heads towards Richard, hands moving to help brace the jaws open. "Here, let me help."

Her strength might have been reduced from the norm, but she still has enough to help pry open a dead dragon's jaws without too much fuss.

[nonvenomous]

Between the two of them, the jaws give enough to admit light, and eventually, the rawboned slip of Richard Dickerson. The tongue lolls lifeless from the trap of the teeth, rotten breath still sharp with ozone.

Dick doesn’t seem bothered; he’s busy shucking a vial up from a holster at his belt, gloved fingers tracing faint channels along fangs, probing the gum tissue for promising secretions while the glands are still warm. He tests, also, at a fang that looks ready to be replaced, reaching up to wrest against visible rot at the root.

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t think to say it until he’s stepped over the tongue to make a cursory examination of the bottom jaw. Better late than never.

[truthtied]

Diana's nose wrinkles at the stench, but she rests her hands firmly against the dragon's jaws, making sure there is no closing snap that might trap either of them.

The thanks hardly registers as delayed, it earns a smile regardless if he turns to see it or not. "What are comrades in arms for if not prying open a dragon's jaw?" It's certainly not the strangest thing she's helped with. And Diana is not remotely a scientist, even by Thedas' standards, so she asks, "Are you looking for anything specific? Or is this research?"

[nonvenomous]

“I was curious about venom, but I supposed it would be redundant for a creature of this size.”

Still. There’s really no reason not to catch a stringy drip of saliva through cavernous teeth in the open neck of his vial, when the slow descent of it catches in his periphery. He fishes a cork out of a pocket while it’s still filling.

“The scales, bones, and teeth are used in smithing and seem to hold some inherent magical properties, if I understand correctly.”

[truthtied]

"Perhaps venom would be useful against others of its kind?" Diana says, glancing around the huge mouth as if the venom might suddenly begin to glow green, while Richard continued doing a slightly more emotive impression of Batman. "Hera, I can't imagine the undertaking it would be to skin a beast like this. Usually in the stories, the skins have the decency to fall off."

[nonvenomous]

“Given the constitution and size of the creature it seems unlikely.”

A deft turn of his wrist breaks the stream off before the vial overfills, and he thumbs the cork in before tucking it away on his person. This, only to wash, rinse, repeat with a second vial. He’ll eventually move on to filling a few more with blood, but seems content for now to crouch and peer down the cavern of the throat, where the static prickle of ozone in the air is at its most unbearable.

“I can’t say I’ve ever heard anything about a dragon’s hide sloughing off after a battle.”

[truthtied]

"I suppose that really is the stuff of legends then," Diana says. She takes a few steps after Richard, with an automatic "Careful."

i

[altusimperius]

"Here."

The pin is extended into her periphery, and followed by Benedict, who, by the looks of things, is mostly finished with his own bathing.

"You've got beautiful hair," he adds, with the air of appreciation that can only come from envy, not lust, "do you need any help braiding it?"

[truthtied]

"Thank you." She gives him a brilliant smile for the offer. "I would very much appreciate that, these styles are giving me a bit of trouble. I'm sure I'll end up a mess without help."

There's a reason she normally wears her hair loose.

[altusimperius]

It's hard not to smile back, even for one who can be a bit reserved, and Bene does as he takes a seat beside her. Combing his fingers through her hair, he first inspects the braids she's already done, and shakes his head.

"I don't know if I can do it the way the Orlesians do, but it'll still look nice," he muses, pressing the side of his hand on the back of her head to find the point of symmetry.

[truthtied]

"Then you will already have made a much needed improvement," Diana says. She shifts slightly to hand him a comb over her shoulder. "Your name is Benedict, yes? You're the Ambassador's assistant."

[altusimperius]

"Yes," he confirms, accepting the comb and beginning to work, his braiding slow but precise.

"I don't think I caught your name."

[truthtied]

"Diana. Only recently arrived, as it were," she says, lifting her hand slightly so that the anchor flashes, brief and vivid, "This is the first time I've been to Orlais."

[altusimperius]

Benedict wiggles his fingers back at her, flashing his own anchor in kind. (Same hat.)

"You're in for a treat," he intones as he works, "as long as you like nobility from the dregs to the monarchy jockeying over each other to be the wittiest and the first with the dagger in someone else's back."

Everyone hates Orlesians.

[truthtied]

"How comforting to know it will not be too foreign then," Diana says with some amusement. Even if she generally takes a favorable view of people, she did also have to negotiate with President Lex Luthor. "Should I assume the daggers are not metaphorical in this case?"

i

[clawings]

Erik is also not one to turn away a bathhouse, or an opportunity to neaten up his beard situation, whether or not he's about to turn around and get disgusting all over again. Thus he's just stepped into the room, towel wrapped around his waist and otherwise sans clothing (as you do, in a bathhouse).

He raises his eyebrows at Diana's request, taking a moment to find the pin she's indicating and coming over to pick it up and hand it to her. "How long does alla'dat usually take you?"

[truthtied]

She thanks him and pins part of the braid in place, unbothered by his presence the way any sensible person who has spent a great deal of their time in an armored one piece would be. "I have no idea," she says, good humored, "I don't usually wear it up. Or I'm lucky enough to have help. I admit it's moments like this I miss my sisters terribly."

[clawings]

"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.

[truthtied]

"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."

[clawings]

"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.)

[truthtied]

"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.

[clawings]

"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.

[truthtied]

"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."