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

[ferruginous]

She chews on the inside of her cheeks, thinking. What to ask first? There's so much going on around her and so much she doesn't understand.

"Why ... this?"

She gestures vaguely around her at the patrons' merriment.

[pestler]

Finian follows her gesture with his gaze, then looks back with a bewildered smile.

"Souls' Day?" he asks, tilting his head. "Or, I mean... well it's not Souls' Day anymore, but they wouldn't like it if we forgot about them entirely."

[ferruginous]

"Yes." Her gaze lingers on the patrons celebrating. "I ... it was never observed in my home, and I've never really been curious before."

[pestler]

"Oh."
His eyes go vacant for a moment as he thinks about how best to describe it.

"With all the trees and plants going dormant for the winter, it's, um, it's an opportunity to think about. Our own lives. And how they won't be forever." He takes a pensive sip.
"And we honor the people we've lost, because they're always around, and... well you've seen what happens when their feelings are hurt."

[ferruginous]

"... I see."

That makes her ... strangely upset in a way. No, not upset, sad? That's not right either. Regardless there's an odd stone of emotion sinking in her chest.

"I don't think many would feel honored by drinking and dancing."

[pestler]

"Well," Finian pauses to bite his lower lip.
"Whatever makes you feel like you're alive, I guess," he says with a self-conscious shrug of his shoulder. "I think... I like that we celebrate, because we're showing them we don't take our time for granted."

[ferruginous]

Again there's the press in her chest, and she can't stop herself from sounding bitter as her words come out.

"This is taking it for granted. Singing, dancing, pissing the troubles away while the troubles are still out there. We can do better for the ones we've lost. For the dead in the woods."

The last words come out rushed and tacked on, but she knows she means them. Maybe it got to her worse than she thought. Or maybe winter is just miserable despite the forced joy.

[pestler]

Finian looks a bit surprised by Fiadh's shift in demeanor, but he holds his ground, just thinking on it silently for a moment. Then, "...well... sometimes the only better you can do is to keep living your life, and trying to stop people being taken before their time."
He frowns.
"For the dead in the woods, though. Yeah." Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighs. "The Watch-- they're stretched so thin just in town, there's no way they could patrol the roads too. But if you have any ideas, I bet they'd like to hear them." While it would be easy enough to say any of this with derision or judgment, Finian is, as ever, completely sincere.

[ferruginous]

"You can't just live your life and stop people from being hurt. It's one or the other, you have to make a choice."

She made hers. The weight in her chest shifts to something more familiar, guilt. Disgust. She shouldn't be here.

"Maybe I should talk to the Watch Captain, though" she stands, wiping her hands on her pants, more as something to do with her hands than anything else.

[pestler]

It's an odd stance to take while talking to the friendlier of the town's medics, but even so Finian responds only by looking slightly troubled. He watches her stand, sipping his drink and deliberating on whether or not to say more; and ultimately, he decides on it.

"Sometimes people can't be saved," he says quietly, "...that's not your fault."

[ferruginous]

Fíadh's breath hitches as he says it, and that stone in her chest seems to sink harder and harder until it explodes into a fire of anger. She whirls on the boy with a look of rage etched into her face but eyes wide. Her mouth opens to say something, then closes. What does he know? But he's a medic, he does know. But that doesn't mean he's experienced the worst of it. But maybe he has. Logic and rage war in her brain as she flaps her mouth like a fish until finally something instinctively pops out.

"Trasna ort féin!"

She jams her hand into her coinpurse and slams some money on the table, not bothering to count the amount.

"This was a mistake."

She whirls to the door and strides to leave, brushing people aside easily.

[pestler]

Stunned, Finian doesn't move, just holding his drink close to himself and watching her leave.
It's hard to take it personally, though-- he can tell when someone's simply going through something versus when he's done something wrong, and he makes a mental note not to test her on the matter.