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

[clawings]

He looks at Gabranth seriously for several moments before looking away and shaking his head a little, glancing at the sky and its unfamiliar stars. "Sure, eventually," is what Erik settles on. "It happened once before then, apparently. Do I think it's gonna happen anytime soon? Not really.

Look, I'm not an expert in this shit. I could be totally wrong."

[archademode]

“Then I shall take you up on that offer, to speak of it once we’ve returned safely to Kirkwall. With luck, the inevitable may be averted.”

Then again, perhaps not.

It’s only then that Gabranth spots— just there, at the limits of his peripheral vision before it fades against the edges of his helmet— the sight of a pair of obviously curious (or perhaps more accurately: infatuated) Orlesians lurking about the edges of the fete, their shared stares clearly trained on Erik even in the shadow of those brightly decorated masks.

It pulls a dry, thin, near-chuckle of a noise from Gabranth, his helmet inclining ever so slightly towards Erik’s shoulder.

“I believe you are sought after once more.”

[clawings]

"We'll see. I don't think we got a lot of control over what's in the Fade, or the decisions that are made there."

He doesn't want to get Gabranth's hopes up too high about avoiding another collective dreaming session. Some things are out of the control of the living.

At Gabrath's indication, Erik slowly turns his head until he spots the two Orlesians at the fringes of the party. One of them waves, slowly, and Erik raises his eyebrows.

"Duty calls, I guess." He pats the arm of Gabranth's armor and turns to walk away.

[archademode]

"As it must." He agrees, watching that silhouette fade smoothly from view.

A conversation to be continued when the world does not watch them, though he cannot help but think moments like those are few and far between.