northclifflogs | OPEN | this winter brings all the cold to the yard

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OPEN | this winter brings all the cold to the yard

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.

Threaded | Flat

The night before Northcliff Pass wakes to several feet of snow, Dain arrives in the village. He arrives, as is his usual manner, without fanfare or announcement, with a heavy winter coat and headscarf hiding most of his plain cassock, like just another one of the few pilgrims taking a significant risk travelling to Gods' Reach so near to winter.

The heavy snow takes him entirely by surprise.

You wouldn't know it, though, to observe him. In the daylight, he's out in the village, helping to shovel snow and clear footpaths, with a smile and bright conversation for anyone asking for the extra help. Rejection or cold silence seems to do nothing to smother his spirits, either; he respects when others prefer to do the work themselves, and respects when people recognise the rank of his uniform and want him to stay as far away as possible. After all, he was warned what sort of welcome he might expect.

At night, he's always in the tavern, usually smiling, sometimes with a drink in his hand. He also dances -- the music is wonderful -- and generally appears like someone who has lived their entire lives in this community, rather than someone who just arrived mere days before for the first time.

The Shepherds who came to Northcliff Pass earlier in the year went to great lengths to distance themselves from everyone in the village. So far, Dain is their polar opposite.

II. O! The climate outside is coldly calamitous!

Fíadh did a decent amount of hunting before the snowfall hit, but she certainly hasn't been here long enough to stuff her stores to her satisfaction. Especially with the ghostly events that ended the autumn distracting her. Eventually she begrudgingly accepts the fact that for extra sustenance she'll probably have to, ugh, seek it from others. Every few days she wanders into the tavern and keeps to the farthest corner she can from the general carousing to eat in peace. Though ... she'd be lying if she said she wasn't mildly curious at everyone's song and cheer in the face of gloomy weather, occasionally catching herself staring before looking back to her meal.

Maybe someone wants to risk teaching her. Or maybe they want to be sure to keep their heads, that's also a good option.

III. Yet beholde! Burning flames bequeathe quite the captivating allure!

Once again Fíadh has left the smithy forge open and available for any passers-by who need the extra warmth. She's even spread cloth along the packed dirt floor this time in case people want to sit. It's not uncommon over the days to see a small huddle basking in the fiery glow, and of course Fíadh's all right with that. But anyone who comes up to her to thank her or give her some sort of return gift only gets a sour scowl that hopefully sends them scampering.

But if anyone has business with her or needs her help with something she'll wordlessly oblige.

Edited 2019-11-16 21:56 (UTC)

I. I HAVE BEEN READY AT YOUR HAND TO GRANT WHATEVER THOU WOULD'ST CRAVE

Lately Elena's life has been pretty all right. Not great, but all right. In fact, she actually finds herself a little ... bored at the lack of excitement. The ghosts, as terrifying as they were, had injected a little life into this small town. In fact, she's hardly played obscenely in public for a week!

But that all changes when the first fluffy flake flutters down to land on the tip of her nose. She crosses her eyes in surprise to get a good look, assuming it to be some sort of late-season bug. However, more and more snowflakes begin to fall around her and she breaks into a giant grin.

She practically gallops to the town center, all the while proclaiming from the top of her lungs, "SNOW! THERE'S SNOW! SHITE, EVERYONE, LOOK AT THE SNOOOOOOW!"

Children giggle, parents look horrified, and Elena's mood is exactly back to where it should be. She falls on her back in the middle of the road, by now covered in a healthy layer of snow, and begins waving her arms and legs back and forth to make a snow saint.

If you see Elena outside, expect to continue seeing her enjoying the snowy conditions for the entire time they remain. Every. Long. Month.

II. ALAS MY LOVE YOU DO ME WRONG TO CAST ME OFF DISCOURTEOUSLY

As nice as it is outside, the true spirit of yule is to come together as a community and get fecking blasted. And of course the tavern was always going to be the prime location for such festivities where Elena is more than happy to contribute. But she's wasn't expecting any competition.

Really? A minstrel troupe? Here? It doesn't help that she knows a few of the performers. And, well, has known a couple of them. But hey, she's a big woman, she can share the space. However she can't help if a couple of sour notes accidentally get plucked from her guitar or she has a lewd coughing fit while they're performing. But she could really use some company to keep her distracted ... or to urge her on to do worse.

I. Snow! Closed to Detlef

The morning brings snow for the town and a choice with DIRE CONSEQUENCES for Detlef.

On the one side is Farogil. Technically he's on his stomach, having dragged Detlef over him in the night, less like a 'big spoon' and more like a 'fourth blanket'. Faro is a heavy sleeper and can be obstinate and sour when he wakes up before he's ready. He is definitely not ready to be awake.

On the other side is Moose. The fire dwindled down to embers overnight so her basket beside the hearth is colder than she would prefer. A snowdrift blocks the window shutter-turned-catflap so she can't slip out to beg for or steal some breakfast either. Moose knows her favorite humans are upstairs but she's shut out by the bedroom door. So she cries at the door and scratches at the wood with increasing desperation. And volume.

What will it be, Detlef? Rescue a lonely kitten from being mildly hungry and uncomfortable but risk a grumpy boyfriend, or stay warm and comfortable and listen to a few minutes of shitten yowling before she realizes she can go curl up with Lord Sneak?

III. Cramped Quarters, OPEN AS HELL

Once the doorway's cleared and the snow trampled down in the road, Faro's actually secretly grateful for the sudden snowfall. Business isn't booming like it was during the peak of pilgrim season, but it's better than it was last week, what with all the ghosts. Now there was a bunch of people stuck in town with nothing to do and a craving for somewhere warm. The snow gives him a captive audience of prospective customers!

If only he was a good salesman. He tries, though, and spends most of his time in his shop like usual.

The paltry patch of muddy earth and snow that separates the Hammer & Spoke from the (mostly empty) marketplace stalls is no place for anyone to picket a bunch of skittish horses, but will these loudmouth, know-it-all Fairport traders listen to Pippa? Of course not. 'We've been doing this far longer than you've had curls to braid, girl,' a bearded man with an unkind sneer tells her while latching the gate. 'You don't know the half of how this work ought to be done.'

Maybe, maybe not. But when a huge drift of snow sloughs off the tavern's roof and collapses the picket, thus sending approximately twenty spooked horses stampeding through the village streets, the son of a bitch isn't around for Pippa to sneer, 'told you so,' in his ugly face.

Besides, one of the younger, dappled fillies has managed to thrash her halter free of the young miner who had attempted to catch her, and has rushed out the open gates and into the woods. The miner takes two steps after the horse before shaking his head; after all the ghosts, there's no way he's heading into the forest. Pippa scowls, passes the lead of the last horse she'd been able to catch off to one of the traders, and sets off after the filly at a jog.

The cacophony of frenetic energy from the village is muted once she's beyond the walls and across Sands Creek, heightening the sounds caused by... well, just about everything else. Five minutes into her journey and she's already regretting her bravado, pausing every few paces to whip her head back over her shoulder as though to catch a stalker who is never there. Her footfalls in the snow sound heavier than they ought to, as she forges her way after the horse's tracks, the wind whispering in her ears like someone's breath on her neck.

Stupid. This was such a stupid idea.

I. Snow (Tuo's wagon in Northcliff Wood)

It is the work of an entire morning for Tuo to dig himself out of his wagon, and by the time he's created a small perimeter around the entryway he's far too exhausted to do more than rest. So rest he does, an artfully woven blanket draped around his shoulders and a warm mug of fragrant tea clasped between both his gloved hands.

He has tucked himself comfortably into the small doorway to his little home and is watching the edge of the woods, evidently content to daydream until something (or someone) happens along to interrupt him.

II. Fete! (The Second Night)

The peculiar puppeteer might lead a solitary, nomadic existence out of necessity, but he is drawn like a moth to flame by the prospect of lively music, laughter, and good company. Perhaps he even steps out a time or two to dance--it has been known to happen, though his dancing might better be described as capering--but what he is most interested in is seating himself near the minstrels, to better hear the lyrical ballads as the young soprano outdoes herself.

Once she is finished, he applauds with clear delight and hops up to fish some coin out of his change purse to tip her generously. ...At this rate, he is going to run out of money long before the pass is clear of snow again.

IV. Wildcard

(go nuts, I'll roll with whatever)

I. You can take your snow and shove it

Just wonderful. It's a good thing he'd set the dough to prove overnight due to the cold, because he'd have no time to mix up today's bread otherwise. Shoveling the snow takes priority because there is no point in having bread to sell if no one can get to the bakery. It's not just the short way from the bakery to the main roadways in the marketplace, but all around the chicken coop in the back. Colin lights the oven and gets to work while it heats.

In the back, the chickens are glad to see him. He stirs their bedding and adds pine shavings while they eat. The rooster is taking good care of them, not that the neighbors are going to be especially pleased with him. He collects eggs and heads inside.

II. We gather together singing songs by Sublime

Colin has started spending more time in the tavern now, rather more at ease now than usual, though still more inclined to listen and laugh than talk. Certainly any time the visiting minstrels are performing, he is listening raptly as far from the center of the action as possible. Anyone feeling something strongly might catch his eye, but generally, he tries to leave well enough alone. While he hasn't found a way to turn off his empathic abilities, he doesn't have to pursue anything--unless something in you wants help, or wants to share, even if you are unwilling to act on it.

III. And all our local reggae bands are white

It's maddening that the roads are closed so early in the year, when Camilla is due so soon. Usually he can make it to Cliffside for an early holiday, and this year it was going to be particularly important. Her first child had the good sense to be born in the summer. Not so this one.

In the absolute stir-craziness of this wretched weather, he puts up a sign outside the bakery--Plaice your bettes on whether my sister will have a boy or a girl. Inside, in addition to the baked goods, there are two jars, one labeled "boy" and the other "girl." Both have coins in them.

IV. Wildcarde

I. Go out there? Are you crazy? That's what Kit is for.

II. Dragged along to the party by his well-meaning "business partner", Ben contents himself with a mug of mulled wine as he watches the festivities from a little table in the corner. For all that he is perpetually sour, he does at least seem a little calmer than usual, listening raptly to the musicians and enjoying the protection of Kit being right there to field any incoming attempts at socializing.
This could be worse.

III. (closed to Kit) "It's too early," he already complained when the snow first started to fall, and now he sits by the window in grumpy resignation, watching as the town is covered in a white shroud from which he knows full well they won't emerge for half a year.
Back in Fairport winters were sensible. Even in Cliffside they didn't really start until December. This place is like a wintry prison that opens its gates for about three months to let the inmates see some sunlight, then closes them again.
Forehead pressed against the glass, he resembles a child wishing they could go out and play.

Edited 2019-11-25 22:46 (UTC)

I. Shoveling Snow Keeps One Warme

It began as a necessary action, shoveling the snow away from the front of the Inn so he could make his daily mini-pilgrimage to the church. But, of course, he first needed a shovel, and to borrow one, he had to exchange for it a favor. That favor was to shovel the owner's path, and then out of some noble good intention, Beane felt compelled to shovel the owner's neighbor's path. A frail old woman, by his estimation, and it seemed only right to put himself to good use.

The front of the Inn did eventually get de-snowed, but only after several other houses and storefronts got the same treatment. He did not make it to the church for his morning prayers. However, he did speak to the owner of a vacant storefront about renting the space, and the living quarters above it, since it looks like Beane will need to stay even longer than previously thought.

Surely the Gods and Saints will forgive him for not praying this day, as he spent the bulk of it doing good deeds? He can't count on that. So when he stops for a rest, he takes a seat where his rear won't get soaked through with snowmelt and hopes that he'll be forgiven for this aberration.

II. O! Cruel Fete!

The festivities, warmth, and laughter in the Hammer and Spoke is a much welcome distraction from...well, everything outside. Beane does not partake in drunk mischief or seem to drink alcohol at all, but he's content to sit out of the way and clap along with the music and generally have a good--if boring--time. He will try his best to steer clear of Elena, and at some point give Lance a friendly pat on the shoulder and congratulations or general well-wishes in the wake of the specter problem. Lance is the last man he spoke to about the spooky goings-on, it seems only right to follow-up with good cheer.

III. Moving In

After a few days or more of taking up space at the Inn, each sunrise bringing with it a fresh dose of guilt, Beane begins the process of moving into the living space above that storefront he inquired about. His belongings are few, so it's not a prolonged process. The biggest hurdle for him is finding a source of beeswax for his candles, as he does not have bees stashed away in his pack. That would be ridiculous!

Once he's freed up the room in the Inn for someone more in need to take, he spends most of his time getting the shop ready and asking around about supplies.

IV. Wyldecarde

[ Lay on, Macduff ]

I. Ah, snow. Lorne is lucky to arrive just before the town is so heavily blanketed that the roads are impassable; otherwise he might not have been able to return home until spring, which would be several stripes of unfortunate. Still: he is home. With his primary order of business being introducing himself to the Watch captain for (hopefully) completing his transfer, Lorne joins those shoveling their way out of their houses. The streets are going to be a mess of slush and ice soon, not that anyone can do much about that but be careful of one's footing and try to clear as much as snow possible. For now, though, it's nice to see children taking advantage of the snow to spread some fun and laughter.

And snowballs. It's an eternal impulse, making and throwing snowballs, and adults are by no means fully immune to the charms of fluffy snow. Lorne is trudging along towards the Constabulary when a winter projectile smacks into his shoulder from behind and sprays his neck with a fine dusting of snowflakes. He jumps, only a little startled, and controls down a laugh in favor of turning, slowly, to give the children responsible an exaggerated glower. It comes complete with hunched shoulders. This produces a spate of giggles, perhaps nervous ones, until Lorne dips to gather snow himself. He does not, however, hurl the snowball back at the children just yet. Instead, he tosses it up and down, catching it again in that hand, and arches an eyebrow.

Were he not attending to business, he might engage in some volleys with them. His point is made well enough, anyway; they know he's 'armed' if they try to hit him unawares again, and Lorne treks onward with snowball in hand.

II. Lorne has had occasion to visit the village a few times over the years he's been living elsewhere, but that's hardly sufficient to keep up with all news. The tavern is the best place to reconnect with people and hear stories of what's been happening (although some recent events Lorne expects will not be welcome topics). Plus, there's minstrels who are trapped here, which means there's musical accompaniment to the revelry. Lorne isn't one to get drunk, but he's decent enough company for conversation even if he's more reserved than many people here. He's watching and listening, mostly, which suits him. He'll learn plenty just by observation.

You know, from the table at the edge of the room, or the far corner. He's prime pestering material

IV. Wildcard!

Edited 2019-12-05 04:37 (UTC)

Threaded | Flat

𝕒 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕪 𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕒𝕝

I. Snow!

II. Fete! at ye olde tavern

III. Cramped Quarters

OTA; available day or night, pretty much anywhere, hit me

OPEN!!

OPEN!!

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closed to Roesia!