[closed] Imagine: Dragons!

[revise]

WHO: Adrasteia, Edgard, Miriam, Derrica, Valerius
WHAT: Hey kid wanna see a dead dragon.
WHEN: Now
WHERE: Outside Tantervale
NOTES: A dead dragon; potential gore warning? Will update and/or mark subject lines as necessary. OOC Mission Info

Leandra Spada had happily gone over the effects of aging on a dragon in great detail. And to the Rivaini adventuress' credit, she hadn't been wrong. The dragon's flight patterns had become quite regular, and at rather low altitude making it fairly easy to track once they'd been briefed to look for truncated treetops and to seek out larger clearings where a slightly less coordinated animal might wish to make a heavy landing. And it had been slower, and had appeared to suffer from poor vision. And it had technically seemed to preferred lashing with tail and wing and claw as opposed to spitting great gouts of flame at them.

But in Miriam's extremely nonprofessional opinion:

"I feel our consultant may have downplayed some of the challenges."

This, all deadpan as she beats the last smoldering embers out of her coat. The ice wall hastily thrown up to defend against the dying animal's last fiery (literally) resistance to their assault is half melted. The ground underfoot and directly before the still warm corpse of the beast is slowly being turned into mud from it.

Does everyone still have all their parts?

Comments

https://i.ibb.co/y6M9pBX/Untitled-658x277.jpg

[tender]

"Who's hurt?" comes right on the heels of Miriam's observation, Derrica's harried gaze sweeping across their party. (Even Valerius, though her brow pinches into a frown at the sight of him still.)

Yes, this could have been easier. Even by Leandra Spada's accounts, it wasn't a foolish assumption to posit that an elderly, sickly dragon would be a better target. It's just that apparently the distance between "easy" and "difficult" wasn't as easy as they might have guessed.

[muckspout]

Edgard nods at Miriam in agreement.

"Not sure she wanted us to succeed. Definitely on the dragon's side."

He hisses as he looks at his burnt hands. He walks over to Derrica holding them out, frowning. As he does, he looks back at the corpse.

"Maybe don't disagree with her. Looks kind of sad now."

[beidhander]

It's good they brought along a member of Diplomacy to reason with the dragon, given its unexpectedly volatile temperament.

Or not unexpected. It is, after all, a dragon, and currently that's where Valerius is standing, one boot currently braced against its thick shoulder while he wriggles free his gigantic sword from where it is buried an unreasonable three feet into the now very dead beast. Less of a killing blow and more of a 'just making sure' blow, adrenaline driving it. Adrenaline he still sort of has, heart still going, but not quite in the same way.

Still. Eventually, he levers the blade free of the dragon's throat, staggering backwards. Silver blade is smeared half-clean from exit but still gory, and when he hefts it up to lean it against one armored shoulder, it sends a spatter of blood backwards. Hopefully no one is standing there.

He turns back to the group, a broad-shouldered figure in his mismatched armor of Templar plate and leathers. He offers a smile as he stomps back on over, blood spattered, sweating. Everyone looks very serious, which is weird, because they just did something awesome.

Once in range, adrenaline apparently converts into friendliness as he claps a hand hard down on Edgard's shoulder as Valerius says, "If she didn't want us to kill it, she should've been clearer."

Because he's pretty sure only his hand had enthusiastically gone up for 'kill a whole dragon' option.

[revise]

There is a big rock here, tossed up out of the ground and planted flat side down now, which is convenient as she's out of breath—drained spiritually by this last effort of the wall. Miriam promptly makes a seat of it. She sets the heavy hammer ended mage staff in her possession unceremoniously down into the dirt and mud and scorched grass that had an hour ago been a perfectly picturesque meadow and motions to Derrica with a tip of her head.

The heat from the dragon's breath hadn't touched her directly, but it had seared close enough to her that the sleeve of her coat is all blackened. Maker only knows to what degree the stuff wrapped in it's been roasted.

"Let's be sure to say so in our thank you letter." While carefully easing her arm out of her coat's sleeve—"Speaking of questions we might have asked before running off to fight a dragon. Has anyone noticed we're a ways off from the Gallows?"

At this rate, Old Dragonsteaks here probably isn't going to be flying himself halfway across the Marches to get there either.

[kantikoy]

Adrasteia is still getting used to the battle portion of being a battlemage with a sword forged of pure spirit magic; fortunately, however, she's very used to healing herself and casting protective spells on the fly, so it kind of balances out.

There's a lot of blood on her face, though, and now viscera in her hair (thank you, Valerius) and she waves at Derrica in an 'all clear' sort of gesture. "We can put the important bits on ice, I suppose." She can cast enough for that, but moving targets with an ice spell? Nah. Not really.

It's mostly lightning from this small Warden mage. Which is only so useful against a firebreathing dragon. Ah, well. She'll... find somewhere to take a bath or at least wash her hair.

Another point in the favor of cutting it all off. A sigh. "Are any of you good at cutting hair?"

[tender]

"Oh, Adrasteia, don't," is kneejerk, a little lament as Derrica raises her attention from Edgard's hands. The spell is finished, the chill of softly blown breath over his palms and the glow of her own hands beneath Edgard's chasing away the red-scorched skin and barely-formed blisters.

And the interjection clearly sparks some immediate self-consciousness once she catches up with herself and considers it at length. Straightening, she hurries over to Miriam to examine the newly-bared arm with cool, careful fingers.

Clearing her throat, without looking up from Miriam's arm, she questions, "Do you think we have anything big enough in Kirkwall to transport it?"

[muckspout]

Edgard starts a little at the hand brought down on his shoulder, but gives a shaky grin at Valerius. He nods his thanks to Derrica and then answers her question,

"Maybe a bunch of griffons and...rope?" Edgard is probably not to whom she was directing the question. "Rope and a really big blanket?"

He makes eye contact with Adrasteia, "Can cut it if you like. Make no promises to be good at it though." Edgard makes little cutting motions with his fore and middle finger.

[revise]

"I don't know that the Gallows' griffons could lift it either. Not in one piece, anyway."

The arm, tender under Derrica's cool touch, is bright red and blistering but it's one of those proximity scorchings moreso than it is a true burn. So long as it's being healed, Miriam avoids a direct examination of it (Gross). She does however give Derrica an appreciative sidelong look.

[kantikoy]

"But it's so long," Adrasteia whines a little, "and so gross, now." A light glare in the direction of the back of Valerius' head at that statement; she pulls a face as she removes some viscera from her braids. "But you're probably right. I've never had short hair, I don't know that I'd know what to do with it."

Edgard gets a smile. "I'll have to think on it further. As far as the corpse of this dragon goes, perhaps if we were to separate out the important organs and other parts amongst several of the beasts? Would that work?"