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]

"Um, I'm the last person to judge there." He gestures for Beane to follow him inside. "I get most of my practice in with the chickens," he adds. "You can borrow them for that purpose if you want."

Inside, the pastries are cooling. Thanks to the oven, it's more temperate inside the building than outside, but not as warm as it would be if there was a fire in a fireplace, which there is not. The door on the front of the clay oven is shut tightly as more loaves bake in it.

"Pick whatever you'd like," he says with a gesture at the tables full of baked goods. The vast majority is loaves of bread, but there are also various cakes, pastries, and buns.

[beane]

The warmth, however moderate, is a welcome change from the frigid temperatures of the snow outside. With some hesitation, he picks up a simple bun, something that looks like it'd be a tad heartier than bread but also isn't particularly fancy or decadent. A non-threatening, run-of-the-mill bun. That will suit him fine.

"Have you always lived in Northcliff?" He asks. He really ought to be better at small-talk, he's heard enough of it. He's just...a better listener than a speaker.

[keenly]

Otherwise known as a bun-of-the-mill.

"Yes." Spoken as another who is a better listener than speaker.

[beane]

Beane nods, the pause stretching long enough to seem like he's at a loss for how to continue the conversation, but then a question comes to being.

"How...frequently is the town overrun by specters and the like? Are odd things common?"

[keenly]

"Um, no? Those were new to us." But immediately Colin has to think about whether what he just said is true. "Except for the forest. People go missing in it, especially at night. Everyone knows not to do that now."

[beane]

"Oh. I see. Well, that's at once reassuring and...worrying. I'll remember to steer clear of the forest, I suppose."