OPEN | this winter brings all the cold to the yard

[northcliffpass]

𝕒 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕪 𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕒𝕝

surprise!

I. Snow!

A mere week after the grisly discovery in the Deep Forest and the subsequent dispersal of the eerie spectral visitors, all Northcliff Pass residents wake one exceptionally frigid morning to find themselves buried under several feet of snow. It is of the light and fluffy variety--at least for now--which provides no shortage of entertainment for the village children, and means one is less likely to throw one's back out while trying to shovel it clear of doorways and the streets.

That is your first order of business, as it happens: free yourselves from your wintry entrapment. Or don't, if you've got enough food and drink squirrelled away in your tiny peasant house that you don't need to venture out into the elements. The world is your cold, shitty, socially stratified oyster; ditch your responsibilities, sleep in.

II. Fete! at ye olde tavern

All Souls' Day came and went, and nobody can really be blamed for forgetting about it what with the ghosts and the gloomy business of seeing to the bodies. All that aside the Hammer and Spoke seems especially welcoming that first wintry night, once all the snow shovelling is finished and the streets are clear enough for foot traffic again; lit lanterns glow warmly outside the door, and from within come the sounds of joyful music. Fiddles, whistles, a drum, and plenty of laughter; it seems the snow has stranded a troupe of minstrels in the village, which means at least two or three nights of great fun for village residents.

In truth it will take more than a few nights of drunk mischief to lift the pall cast across the village after the previous month's discoveries, but maybe that's why so many people gravitate to the light and levity and warmth of a party. After such a close call with so much death, it's good to remind oneself that there's joy in the world, too.

III. Cramped Quarters

The nights might be filled with good company, food, and drink, but during the day the village has to contend with another frustration: the roads in and out of Northcliff Pass are closed until the snow melts.

This is a common experience--in late December, January, and February. Not so much in November, when farmers are preparing to take their surplus harvest and livestock down the mountain to Cliffside, or when caravans with schedules to keep to are preparing to head east towards Woodsedge. (The only road clear in that direction is guaranteed to take them past Turn--something no one wants to risk.) Even a few late-season pilgrims have found themselves stuck between Gods' Reach at the summit of the mountain, and the creature comforts of Cliffside below.

There's nothing to be done for it, of course, except to endure the unusually crowded streets, the lack of vacancies at the tavern, and the occasional herd of sheep or goats picketed in very odd places.

Comments

[keenly]

This is deeply concerning, and fortunately, Colin was able to discreetly find a better hiding place for some of his...experimental possessions, like the bog wood bowl, as well as the opportunity to dump the half-frozen rainwater into the creek without being noticed. He doesn't know if any of these things are red flags for Shepherds, but it's better to be safe than sorry. He's fairly certain that the selenite amulet Detlef gave him wouldn't out him as a Profane, just as someone mildly superstitious, and worries that if he suddenly started hiding it, people would notice, so it remains on the outside of his clothes whenever he is indoors.

The one thing he fortunately doesn't have to worry about hiding is how bloody anxious the presence of a Shepherd makes him. His late sister's association with the Vice was so public that it almost gives him credentials for being nervous around Shepherds. Not that he thinks he could hide it if he tried.

It's early in the morning when some trampled snow that froze solid overnight causes Colin's feet to go flying over his head. He lands hard on his ass. Fortunately, he's been outside long enough that his ass is mostly numb from the cold. His bag of winter berries, on the other hand, lands beside him and spills open, sending red berries everywhere. Colin flips to his hands and knees and starts tracking them down before people step on them.

[shepherddain]

It's been freezing cold every single night, and getting up before the sun rises has become something of a survival tactic. It doesn't occur to Dain that it might be seen as patrolling; for him, it's just a way to get warm, going for a walk bundled in layers to get his blood flowing and body warmth spreading. In a village like this, he's far from the only one out so early.

He didn't think he'd miss anything about Fairport, but as it turns out, he misses the weather.

Then a villager goes flying, and though Dain is unfortunately too far away to catch them, he's still the first one to get there in the aftermath, and the first one to drop down to his own knees to help gather up as much of the fruit as possible. "Here," he says, "let me --"

He's definitely crushed some berries under his knee. Dain winces. "-- sorry, that's my fault. Are you alright?"

[keenly]

Colin sees the red stain on Dain's knee and has to take a moment to make sure it's not blood. Just juice, with small smooshed berry carcasses. He uses part of his sleeve to try to wipe it off, then stops quickly when he realizes the Shepherd might not want that sort of invasion of his personal bubble and he needs to not piss off the Shepherd. Last time, Emery told him they weren't there for him, but it would have taken so very little. It's not like the man they executed was actually likely to be Profane. All that was needed to kill him was pissing off the wrong person. And just because this Shepherd is acting nice doesn't mean he's sincere about it.

"I'm fine," he mumbles. "You don't need to do that, really."

[shepherddain]

There's an odd moment where Dain's caught off-guard by the other man dabbing at his knee, but then he sees the stain, and he can't help laughing a little. The concern is touching, but hardly necessary. He's just happy to have a coat at all.

"I know," he replies with a bright smile. "I'm choosing to, if you'd like the help. You shouldn't need to lose half a harvest because of some tricky ice in your path." Dain shifts his weight, watching for wayward berries this time, the better to help if it's wanted or to stand up and step away if it's not.

[keenly]

"It-it's not my harvest," Colin corrects him quickly. "I bought them." For today's tarts. Which were going to be so beautiful, and still might be if he can gather enough of the berries that scattered. A number of them just didn't survive the fall. "It's fine, it really is."

[shepherddain]

It's fine once is polite. It's fine twice is I don't want your help, stay away. So Dain does, rising smoothly to his feet and putting two steps' distance between them, a clear acknowledgement of that unspoken request. Perhaps he can save more berries from getting stepped on instead.

Dain looks down at the sizeable bag the winter berries were in before it spilled out onto the snow. "You bought them?" he asks, bemused. "For cooking, or are the berries especially good up here in the winter?"

[keenly]

"Um, I'm the baker here," Colin explains in an apologetic tone. "Sorry about your clothes, I can..." He doesn't actually know what he can do about them. "I can give them a good scrub, or something, if you want to bring them by later."

[shepherddain]

Dain makes a dismissive gesture. "Don't worry about my clothes, they'll be fine. Food is much more difficult to salvage. The bakery -- that's yours?" He sounds delighted, in an almost childish way. "There were some wonderful smells out there yesterday. Do you still have enough berries there, or did you lose too many?"

[keenly]

"It's not an exact science," Colin says, checking how many berries are in the bag now. He sighs. "Worst-case scenario, I can make berry cakes instead of tarts. I just...haven't set any cake batter to prove yet, so it'll take a bit longer."

[shepherddain]

Dain nods, like he has any idea what 'set cake batter to prove' means. He's not a baker. Just an avid follower of the results.

He'd planned on offering to replace what was lost, but on second thought, that may not be a good idea. The baker is skittish enough as it is, and Dain certainly doesn't want to make anyone feel like they're obligated to accept an offer of help. If it's not an exact science, that's even less reason to leave the offer hanging. And berry cakes sound delicious.

"In that case, I'll be sure to stop by later today," he promises. "I can't say I've tried a berry cake before. I hope you have a lovely day, Mr..." He pauses, and smiles wryly. "... as a wild guess, Baker?"

[keenly]

“Keane,” Colin corrects nonchalantly. “Or just Colin. I’ll...see you then, your...holiness?”

[shepherddain]

Keane. As in a keen baker. Dain smiles to himself; he'll remember that.

Then he laughs, quite abruptly, which is really an answer all on its own. "Goodness, no. I appreciate the consideration, but -- just Dain is fine."