northcliffpass: (owl)
Northcliff Pass ([personal profile] northcliffpass) wrote in [community profile] northclifflogs2019-11-15 06:44 pm

OPEN | this winter brings all the cold to the yard

𝕒 π•¨π•šπ•Ÿπ•₯𝕣π•ͺ π•’π•£π•£π•šπ•§π•’π•




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.

sampler: (9)

Re: iii.ish

[personal profile] sampler 2019-12-01 04:03 am (UTC)(link)
The chattering is the fault of whomever told him he was wearing too many layers. They didn't specify how many was too many, so when he dressed to go help her with an order, he overcompensated the other way. Farogil's thickest hose, heaviest tunic, and wooliest hood were sufficient to get him there, but he's not been able to escape the chill that set in during that harrowing 2 minute walk.

"Oh, thank you," he murmurs as he draws it around his shoulders, arms drawing in tightly so he can tuck his fingers under his biceps for a little extra warmth. "Ssorry. We- never had snow like thiss in Cliffss- back home. I'm woefully unprepared."
befitted: (candlelight.)

[personal profile] befitted 2019-12-06 09:51 pm (UTC)(link)
"We didn't in Southsea either," she tells him, smiling as she watches him tuck the cloak around himself. "Luckily I was here on pilgrimage, so I had prepared to be sleeping outside."

Luckily, also, that her mother had been a seamstress and had bundled her up with extra clothing. Things to sell, things to offer the gods, and things to keep her safe. It had worked well enough, all things considered.

"It was awful last year," she adds after a moment of thought. "We were snowed in. Rather literally."