Isle of Avalon ⚔️️ Network

[Those who have met Walter before will recognise the face they see—a pale boy with obsidian-black hair. Said hair is drenched, weighed down and sticking to his face. He's out in the storm, tucked into a makeshift shelter that appears to be constructed with fallen branches. They shake considerably in the wind, and the wind itself is howling, significantly interfering with the quality of the sound.]

Right the-. [Right then.]

As you can see-- [And hear.] -- the wea--er's right foul --- here. If you're not already out, y-- probably shou--n't come out.

[The weather's right foul out here. If you're not already out, you probably shouldn't come out.

His frown turning into a scowl, the boy tucks back deeper into the shelter, cupping his hand near the phone's microphone. With his hand blocking the wind, there's less interruption, but the background noise of heavy pattering starts to come through as well. The branches and their leaves are visibly shivering under the assault, and seem to jerk with each gust of wind.]

There's hail ranging from mint imperial size right up to the size of golf balls in addition to the rain, so watch yourself if you do come out.

[One untimely hit with a golf ball sized bit in just the right spot is liable to knock a bloke out, he figures. He looks up, glancing off camera to his side as a few branches move on camera. There's the hint of someone moving in the periphery of the feed, apparently doing what they can to shore up their little shelter. His mouth opens as he speaks to check on them, but the words are lost to the feed as lightning flashes and thunder strikes.]

Swiving piss--!

[ That immediate answer was a response to the cracking thunder than what Walter asked, though it's clearer than the words that follow. Once again the microphone struggles to pick up the other's voice properly. ]

Aye, well--t'keep us livin' for a bit. It won't last f--under this much!

[ Even half cut by the noise, it's a voice that might be familiar to a handful of others: Cehd'ra's the one putting the shelter together. At least as best as he can with the tools he has available. Which are none. ]

--mazed that works t'all right now. Y'callin--help?

-o. I w-s warning --em about th- hail.

[The dark haired boy looks back to the screen, shielding the microphone again.]

I suppose if anyone that's completed the ritual that grants us so-called immortality wants to come out, the fellow building the shelter here might like some help.

[It's then that another strike of lightning hits. It's so close that anyone watching the feed can see the flash of it reflected in the boy's eyes. There's a horrific crack followed immediately by another crackling boom.]

—Well that tree just exploded.

[The boy is unruffled, but clearly annoyed.]

[ Whatever Cehd'ra might have to say at that subtle dig is overridden by said explosion. Quite suddenly Walter is no longer alone on the screen, Cehd'ra having decided the lean-to being 'good enough'. Or maybe he just didn't want to risk being pelted with heated splinters as well as hailstones.

His eyes are large and his ears flat, one can imagine how puffed up his tail is, but he offers the screen his best reassuring smile. ]

Wasn't ours, though! 'Picked a small one t'hide under, we'll be fine. For a bit. So...no rush!

[ Please rush. ]

[Walter, in the meantime, shoots his companion a wholly sceptical look. Even if he's confident they'll make it through, he doesn't believe that 'no rush' business, either.]