Defcon Orange (Event)
Jan 17, 2017 9:22:56 GMT -7
Post by Real Folk Blues on Jan 17, 2017 9:22:56 GMT -7
Through the icy patch of the tundra known as Shimo several bodies could be seen in the distance. In all the white and permafrost that whipping stinging winds and flurried about a count of 8 bodies in all walking with a massive hovering craft that carried a black spire. The wind howled, it made verbal communication with the mouth impossible by any means without drastic assistance yet the 8 people moved in perfect unison, escorting this unmarked payload to some destination. The knot of cloth on the sides of their heads was visible but the metal plate that stuck to the forehead was covered by a thin piece of cloth, a black nylon of sorts though it threatened to show through as sheer with the cold and the stretched lengths it was applied and tied to cover up the headbands shoddily.
The advance was steady, over 700 meters out sat tall cliffs and easy vantage points, pure ice, very precarious and fragile looking, beautiful the way the ice formed into such a specific fissure, the rise of steam on either side of the travelling party hinting at a number of hot springs that had finally bubbled to the surface. Pine Trees and evergreens shot up in smooth bunches, cropping out for hundreds of miles but coming up short of the cliffs far off in the distance. However just shy of the cliffs and trees sat a divide of 100 meters, nothing put ice and snow packed on top of each other in layers, snow beneath pressed into yet more ice that hardened to the point of steel like quality.
The barge that carried the payload touched nothing, but the air, floating without problem but the sluggish weight of the spire that sat on top of it. From anything shy of 50 meters it's be impossible to see the runic carvings that surrounded it but to any that could hope to see it were sure to find themselves pressed to grasp the weight of the situation at hand. The world was quiet save for the wind around here, it blew with a certain intensity, a kind of wickedness that left ice clinging to unprotected skin if not careful. The clouds blocked the sun's direct rays but the residual cast out long across the ground and thew shadows where the trees and cliffs stood.
The group lugged gear in heavy looking backpacks, each dressed down in black with masks of various animal depictions and markings. The temperature a prompt and brisk -34c. It was to be noted... this area house many a hostile faction, mostly stragglers, who picked apart caravans as well as a scattering of small kingdoms that did not take kindly to those passing through the lands. The assigned group was either: Cocksure in their abilities or extremely capable.
The advance was steady, over 700 meters out sat tall cliffs and easy vantage points, pure ice, very precarious and fragile looking, beautiful the way the ice formed into such a specific fissure, the rise of steam on either side of the travelling party hinting at a number of hot springs that had finally bubbled to the surface. Pine Trees and evergreens shot up in smooth bunches, cropping out for hundreds of miles but coming up short of the cliffs far off in the distance. However just shy of the cliffs and trees sat a divide of 100 meters, nothing put ice and snow packed on top of each other in layers, snow beneath pressed into yet more ice that hardened to the point of steel like quality.
The barge that carried the payload touched nothing, but the air, floating without problem but the sluggish weight of the spire that sat on top of it. From anything shy of 50 meters it's be impossible to see the runic carvings that surrounded it but to any that could hope to see it were sure to find themselves pressed to grasp the weight of the situation at hand. The world was quiet save for the wind around here, it blew with a certain intensity, a kind of wickedness that left ice clinging to unprotected skin if not careful. The clouds blocked the sun's direct rays but the residual cast out long across the ground and thew shadows where the trees and cliffs stood.
The group lugged gear in heavy looking backpacks, each dressed down in black with masks of various animal depictions and markings. The temperature a prompt and brisk -34c. It was to be noted... this area house many a hostile faction, mostly stragglers, who picked apart caravans as well as a scattering of small kingdoms that did not take kindly to those passing through the lands. The assigned group was either: Cocksure in their abilities or extremely capable.