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

[beane]

Sparse is right. The shop has barely any furniture beyond the built-in architecture of shelves and a counter, and those shelves and that counter have very little on them. Some candles are in view, to ensure that nobody would confuse this for a tannery or a bakery or a butcher's. They'd poke their heads in, see the candles, and say Ah, a candlemaker lives here!

Or...you know, something like that. The point is, at the moment Fíadh knocks on the door jamb, Kendrick is in the process of hauling in a sizeable cauldron. He looks to the door with a welcoming smile.

"Ah, hello!" He greets, setting the cauldron down. "Forgive the disarray, I'm still tracking down the supplies I need do get things started. What can I do for you?"

[ferruginous]

Fíadh watches the man move around getting flashbacks of her own shop setup not that long ago.

"I need candles," she says simply before furrowing her brows. Quickly she seems to make some sort of internal decision as she walks over to the cauldron and picks it up with nary a grunt.

"Where do you want this?"

[beane]

Oh. Oh my.

"J-just over there, thank you," he indicates the area between the back door of the shop and the counter. "How many candles do you need? I have only a modest supply just now."

[ferruginous]

She gives a nod before trudging the cauldron over to the desired spot and setting it down gently. Wiping her hands on her trousers she keeps looking down at the large pot, thinking. It's not like she wants to deplete the whole stock when other townsfolk are likely going to be in the same situation she is. She sets her hands on her hips and looks back over to Kendrick.

"Four? How much of a dent would that put in your supplies?"

[beane]

"Not enough to worry about," he assures, and digs around in the chaos to find something to wrap the candles in. "If you'd said you were looking to light an entire cathedral, well. Then we'd have an issue."

Four candles are neatly wrapped and handed over with a nod. "That'll be...sixpence."

It's usually a shilling, of course, but she did help move that heavy heckin' cauldron.

[ferruginous]

Fíadh's bought enough candles in her lifetime to know around where it should come out to, and sixpence doesn't exactly add up. She narrows her eyes at the candles then looks up to Kendrick.

"Are these damaged or something?"

[beane]

"What? No! No, goodness me, it's a discount for your labor," He gestures to the cauldron. The last thing he expects is anyone to help him set up shop, so her doing so automatically, even such a small action, is surprising and appreciated.

[ferruginous]

Her mouth curves down to a frown as she continues staring at the chandler.

"That's not why I did it. How much?"

[beane]

His mouth gapes and waggles like a gasping fish while he very quickly backs down from his attempt at generosity and kindness, but his words are limited for a moment to abuhbuhumuh until he recovers.

"T-twelve. Th-that is, er, a-a shilling."

[ferruginous]

To her credit she watches silently as he fumbles for words and finally he speaks the ones she wants to hear. She slips a hand into her coinpurse and pulls out a shilling, handing it out for him as she takes hold of the candles in her other hand.

"Good."

[beane]

"I a-apologize if I caused offence," he says, sheepish. "It was not my intention."

He takes the shilling and, for lack of a till, pockets it.

[ferruginous]

She gives a noncommittal grunt before unwrapping the candles to appraise them. They do look very well-made, and she even detects a hint of some sort of flowery perfume. She re-wraps them, not nearly as neatly as they once were and looks up to Kendrick. She gives a sharp nod before briskly turning on her heel and walking to the door.

K, bye.

[beane]

All he manages is a very quiet thank you.

Byyyye.