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

c

[truthtied]

Diana had been scouting ahead to get an idea of terrain, but now comes hightailing it back, slinging the bow off her back.

"How helpful of them," she says to Jone as she passes, falling back to a more elevated spot and notching an arrow, "Pity they didn't see fit to poison the meat at least."

A slow death isn't her wish for any creature, but if someone is going to be a problem to begin with, they could at least have the decency to be a little helpful.

[poleaxed]

Jone considers it. “Wouldn’t put it past ‘em, honest,” she murmurs, almost thoughtful. This is the calm before the hurricanoe. “Doubt it was the right dose to matter. Stormriders’re awful huge.”

[truthtied]

"That would raise the question of if a drugged dragon is more or less dangerous than the norm," Diana says, eyes scanning for anything particularly large headed their direction as the rumbles of an angry beast fills the air, "If it's that big, I'm inclined to say more."

[poleaxed]

“It’s by degrees,” Jone says with a sigh, “and at that point, you’re overthinking it. You fought something this big before?”

Probably should have asked that of everyone before setting out, but she’s not here to be a nursemaid.

[truthtied]

Diana hums an affirmative, a grim smile curling the edges of her mouth.

"Not as I am now, but yes, a time or two. The size isn't the real trouble, it's the intelligence that creates issues." She spares a glance to Jone, real amusement softening the edges of her expression, "And the unexpected, of course. I'm a bit annoyed about the pigs."

[poleaxed]

‘Not as I am now,’ whatever the fuck that means. Why can’t every Rifter be as easy to understand as Si and Gabranth?

Jone shrugs. “Then you know what it is to be in the thick of it. All the other shite slides off, and it’s just you and whatever’s coming.”

It’s about as close to meditation as Jone’s clangorous mind can comprehend. “I wouldn’t get fussed about the details.”

[truthtied]

She misses Artemis, the feeling sudden and knife sharp.

"You sound like a friend of mine from home," Diana says, affection for the woman next to her as much as the one she's missing, "One of the fiercest warriors I've ever met. She would love this."

[poleaxed]

Jone lets out a sigh, as though weathering the weight of those words. “Poor her,” she says of her apparent doppelgänger. “But I’ll take the comparison.”

A wink, weapon at the ready. Fiercest warrior, she’ll take it.

“This the kind of work you did, back at ol’ wherever you’re from?”

[truthtied]

Her laugh is soft and musical, discordant against the distant rumblings of a dragon. "As you should," Diana says, with pretense at a queenly air. It falls away quickly when she answers Jone's question: "Yes. Half the time, in any case. I was the Ambassador for my people as well."

[poleaxed]

"So you played halfsies," is the first thing that comes to Jone's mind, "lover and a fighter, eh. How'd that work out? Sounds a tad busy."

[truthtied]

A surprisingly neat way to describe her duties to both Themyscira and the world of men. "It was a hundred disasters barely diverted while a thousand more clamored on in the background," Diana says, dryly, "This has been almost relaxing, including waiting to fight a very angry dragon."

[poleaxed]

Jone grins a weasel's smile. "Least you're not dramatic about it."

She hears a roar in the distance. They've some time, yet. "Glad I could take you out for a spa day, like. Hope you didn't get your nails done before, though."

[truthtied]

"I broke every one climbing down the cliff." One hand spared from the bow briefly to gesture. Her hands are lovely, (Aphrodite does not skimp on her blessings) her nails clean and neat, but utilitarian short. "Perhaps the loss will resonate with our esteemed hosts. They seem eager for a spectacle."

Which is perhaps more unkind than Diana might normally be, but she was still a bit annoyed about the pigs.

[poleaxed]

"It might," Jone admits, "anything for the drama of it. If only we had a bard. The singing kind, not the shiv-in-the-night kind."

[truthtied]

"Do we have anyone with the voice for singing? Or would the bard be playing dramatic music during the battle? Something between a waltz and war drums."