WAR TABLE: Start Spreadin' the News

[hornswoggle]

WHO: Clarisse, Ellie, Desidério and Vanya Orlov
WHAT: Summary of content
WHEN:
WHERE: Anderfels
NOTES: OOC Post

Desolate and dry, the Anderfels in the winter is marginally cooler, but viciously windy. Dust whips up in stinging clouds at a moment's notice, day or night, and acts a stinging chaperone all the way to Hossberg. Camping is an uncomfortable affair, with dust and sand working through even the smallest gap in tent flaps. Travelers are few and far between, though sometimes Imperial caravans can be seen passing at a distance, easily avoided if spotted in time.

The harsh terrain provides no cover, no chance of a griffon passing overhead unnoticed during daylight. While the city is never unguarded, there are better odds of making a clean pass overhead in the wee hours of night. The soldiers patrolling every entryway to the city and strolling the ramparts are attentive, and well-armed. Their longbows are easy to spot, and their quivers are full.

Dropping pamphlets: easy

Everything leading up to actual moment of the drop and the moment directly afterwards: tricky.

Good luck.

Comments

daytime

[laruetheday]

Clarisse isn't on watch, but she is awake and lying sprawled on her back as Desi struggles for and then finally achieves his freedom from the bedroll. She gives him a slightly judgmental look, not that she would've done a better job of it.

She's just really bad at this whole sleeping during the day thing, hates being cooped up and bored until night falls, and is about as miserable as the griffons are right now. She has her skinny boot knife in one hand, is using the blade to clean underneath her fingernails.

"You'll wake everyone up." (Only one person is sleeping right now, ackshually, she's just being a butthead.)

[bribon]

"Good," has a faux cheery slant. "We can all be equally miserable."

A cigarillo is produced, set between his teeth, and lit before Desidério clambers to his feet. He doesn't bother to knock the dust from his person—grey dirt clinging heavily to the back of his dark trousers and mottling his coat. In these months, it's just cool enough to warrant wearing the extra layer even during the day (and particularly when one is lying on the ground and having all the heat leeched free from the body), and besides he's only just started to feel his fingers again from the previous evening's flight.

Anyway, call the dust and grime camoflauge. If some Tevinter scout spots him dawdling over to the coals of the cook fire to put the coffee pot back into the embers from sixty leagues off, good for them.

(Small mercies of this daytime camping busienss: at least they can keep a fire going.)