northclifflogs | OPEN | Blood And Ice

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OPEN | Blood And Ice

Civil Blood

I. News from the West

The story of why gets twisted and distorted between its departure from the Crags and its arrival in Northcliff Pass, but the town criers maintain consistency on a few points: Althea of House Jessamy, Duchess of Black Rock, has at last thrown down the gauntlet against the Duke of Cliffside, and has called on her vassals to rally their bannermen. It seems there will be war within the borders of Maireglenne for the first time in a hundred years.

Given the state of the roads leading through the pass, it is understandable that the news is a few weeks’ stale by the time armed soldiers sporting Duke Galein’s colours march (or gallop, if they are astride a horse) past the village walls and garrison themselves on the festival grounds. Anyone objecting to this new arrangement is encouraged by the soldiers to bring their objections to the garrison commander (who, rumor has it, personally oversees the flogging of objectors himself).

Like it or not, the regiment is here to stay, at least until they receive orders instructing them otherwise. On the bright side, the soldiers did the hard work of clearing the pass for the season; travel between Northcliff Pass and the city of Cliffside just got a heck of a lot easier this winter.

II. Cold Snap

And it’s highly likely that those orders will be as delayed as the news, for the regiment has hardly been within the city walls a week before the temperatures plunge to dangerous lows. This is not the seasonal frigidity accompanied by blustery blizzards that encourage snowball fights and a bit of ice fishing down by Sands Creek, but a cold so biting and bitter that any prolonged period spent outside in it runs the very real risk of hypothermia and death. This is the kind of cold that leaves the air clean and clear, with nothing to impede the watery white light of the sun for the few hours it spends above the horizon each day before setting again; it cuts the lungs when inhaled and bites straight through to the bone. Many of the village’s poor are brought within the sturdy walls of the Town Hall and the chapel, because the alternative is finding them frozen solid in the streets.

The silver lining to this development is bare indeed; avoiding the cold means that, for a time at least, the village residents and soldiers are too preoccupied hunkering down to endure the cold to be at cross purposes.

III. A Howl in the Night

On the third night of the deep freeze, an animal’s piercing howl shatters the oppressive silence that has settled over the village.

It’s not a wolf’s howl; it is far too shrill and keening, and comes from a great distance away, that much is clear. The few villagers brave enough to risk exposure to the cold will find nothing of immediate danger within the city walls--but should they lift their eyes and look to the gossamer clouds near the summit of Gods’ Reach, they will glimpse the dark silhouette of a massive winged beast circling the mountaintop in search of a safe place to roost.

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In the safety of Vervain's blindness, Dain openly studies the other man. He's careful with his phrasing, but not worried, not alarmed, not even with a Shepherd right here. It's possible he's a very good actor, but would even that be enough to take such an obvious risk? He didn't so much as slow his sorting when Dain said good morning.

So: either Vervain is telling the truth, and there's nothing Vice-related going on here; or, and this possibility is enough to put confusion on Dain's face, Vervain thinks he's telling the truth, and genuinely has no idea what he's doing.

Is that even possible?

Dain looks up to find that Tuo has stirred and is looking at them, blinking sleep out of his eyes, and force of habit wipes Dain's expression and demeanour. He won't do anyone any favours by pointing this out here and now. "I see," he says lightly instead, as though someone just explained a clever answer to a riddle. "Your sense of hearing must be stronger than mine -- I'm sure that comes in handy. Good morning, Tuo! We didn't wake you, did we?"

"You did not," comes his drowsy reply half muffled by the back of his wrist as he yawns. He carefully pushes himself into a proper sitting position, stretches out his arms and shoulders, then paws about amongst the blankets in search of his headscarf. Where'd he put the blasted thing :C

It is not a question she expects and, unfortunately, some of the meaning in it does not register with her all at once. Her brows lift dramatically as he looks over the cup at her and, for just a flicker of a moment, she feels a pressure in her chest, like a vice squeezing her heart and lungs. For a moment, she is concerned that he is breaking off their friendship--the thought lingers just long enough that she starts to answer him.

"Non--non-non--Nous sommes amis--"

She speaks her native language faster than Glennich and it gives her answer a greater sense of urgency than it might've otherwise had. She was correcting him, disallowing him from calling off their friendship, but it was in the wrong language. She caught herself quickly and, as she combed for the words in Glennich the subtleties of his questions registered and she paused. Her expression was tinged with equal parts frustration and relief.

He was asking what they had become and that was an easier question. Unfortunately, Glennich lacked a few of the words she would have liked to use.

"Do you know--paramour?" she asks and shifts her mug to one hand unconsciously, freeing the other to gesture and, in this case, snap her fingers as she concentrated and tried to find the nearest synonym. "Comment dites-vous...? Lover?"

It was not a perfect match, it lacked the illicit thrill, the implied delight and appeal of the Haugenne equivalent, but it was a close as she knew. (That it also let her contextualize them, that it set Adhemar apart from the memory of her husband, was lost in translation.)

"We are friends," she adds with more vehemence, her gaze locking on him again and her finger pointing at him in time. This is not a topic up for debate, whatever they had become. He could demand they cease dallying and she would respect that, but she would openly mourn if he refused to remain her friend. Pathetic as it was, he was all she had here.

"Friends and paramour are not exclusive."

Colin seals his lips shut, trying to breathe through his nose so he can control his breathing better. Gradually, it slows, his heart rate slows, and he's no longer in danger of passing out. He feels weak and exhausted, but he's okay.

"Thank you," he says.

"Tea, thank you," Colin says to Kit as he finds a spot to set down his things. He'd ordinarily refuse anything, but it's so cold. "Do you need any help with anything?"

"Morning, Tuo," comes the faint, preoccupied echo from Vervain; his attention's entirely taken up by the acorn between his fingers. Dain had taken his explanation, which must have meant it was somehow satisfactory, but it didn't explain anything whatever.

He plucks another acorn out of the bag and holds it to his ear, expression mystified.

Dain smiles unexpectedly and -- hopefully only because of his current company -- instinctively puts an obvious hand over his mouth to hide it. A point for the genuinely-has-no-idea-what-he's-doing side of things, it seems. Vervain is more fortunate than he knows, that Dain is the Shepherd kneeling here hiding silent laughter, and not basically any other Shepherd in Maireglenne.

The poor man is going to have a tough time of it, when he realises. Dain will need to work out a way to help him.

"Vervain is just finishing up Alvi's breakfast," Dain tells Tuo -- partly so Tuo has a measure of the current situation, and partly to subtly remind the mystified novice priest he's not quite finished.

"Vervain is just finishing up Alvi's breakfast."

"Is he?" Tuo replies, his brows pulling into the most charming of befuddled frowns as he looks from Vervain, who appears to be... listening... to the acorns...? And then back to Dain, who seems to find this development delightful. Which it is, of course, though Vervain can't know what an endearing spectacle he is right now. "Well," he goes on, "do save some for Alvi. He gets very cross when I finish his breakfast myself." It's a joke, get it? Because--nevermind.

Finding his headscarf at last, he goes about the tedious work of finger combing his head of wild hair into submission before wrapping it up securely. But in the silence, he meets Dain's eyes and raises his eyebrows in a clear what on earth is going on? sort of expression.

Oh for the love of--

"If a human being, beholden to the dogma of the society they inhabit, were to do such things," Adultery, murder, almost murder, etc. "It would be considered, under the edicts of the aforementioned dogma to which they are beholden, a social disturbance and a crime, yes. Because as human beings we have rules to follow to distinguish us from animals, to ensure peaceable existence, and-and keep us squarely on the Path."

Good grief that was too many words.

Edited 2020-02-01 01:20 (UTC)

"Yeah but, all right, who decides the rules? Why do we let them? What if I was magistrate and then told everyone that every other day they couldn't wear pants? I mean, anyone can make rules and say they're right or wrong."

Damn, it's getting a little philosophical up in here. Maybe Elena's actually going somewhere serious with this.

"... Hey, actually, do you think Emery will want to step down anytime soon? That seems like a good opportunity."

Or maybe not.

You know, that lute is Elena's baby, but also she can always get a new baby because right now this seems to be going. She gives a small chuckle instead.

"Oops, sorry Ralf."

Still holding Kadi's wrist, Elena pulls the woman around in a twirl to face her.

"What's your name, lovely?"

Elena rolls her eyes. And stumbles a bit because yeah that wasn't a good idea to disrupt her equilibrium, but she recovers quickly.

"And then who sews up that physician, and who sews up that one and suddenly we're on top of the mountain with a line of doctors following us the whole way back to town. Look, I'm not going to let Fin get hurt.

"I would protect this boy with my life."

She says it with such conviction that one could probably believe that she means it.

It's like a little dance move, something Kadi has only lately come to recognize, and there's a thrill in every moment of defiance. Her gaze drops to Elena's mouth, her fingers wrapping around her wrist in return.

"No names," she decides before turning to pull Elena toward her house. What to do when they get there, she's not sure, but she knows she wants to do it.

Another man might blink once or twice, clearing the fog of his thoughts; Vervain just seems to come out of them abruptly. "Oh, I'd never," he says to Tuo, mustering up a braver smile. "When he hasn't even started it? I'm good for one wormy acorn, tops."

As if by way of emphasis he stuffs the acorn he'd been listening to, and another for good measure, in his pocket. Then he's hurriedly parceling out the rest of the bag...though now and again he hesitates where he hadn't before, shaking this acorn or frowning at that one. But with only a minute's work left to him, he's finished with his task in short order and returning the scant handful of good acorns to the bag.

The better to be on his way in a hurry so he can get busy preparing for morning services (and turning out the chapel's overnight residents for fresh air and pew space), and.....forget whatever in the Night's name just happened there. (Like he'll stop thinking about it.)

"That's all of them, with plenty left over for Alvi."

Dain meets Tuo's gaze with a quiet shake of his head. Later. Ideally, not without Vervain's informed consent, though the likelihood of that is probably very low. Really -- is it possible not to know? Not that Dain needs further motivation, but how is it fair to condemn others for traits they're not even aware of?

"Thank you again," he says out loud with a smile in his voice, "for your help, both last night and this morning. I hope I don't need to make a habit of bringing you last-minute additions on the verge of freezing." Is that pointed? Maybe a little, though Dain looks as innocent as the driven snow.

Tuo feigns a look of supreme offence at that last comment, but the twinkle of mischief in his eyes belies it. As does his curiosity, which Dain should know by now is quite persistent--but for the time being, he keeps his questions to himself. (Primarily because asking would require that he and Dain spend time in each other's company, in private, and at this particular moment that seems... unwise.)

"I shall thank you on Alvi's behalf, as I expect he will not deign to come down from the rafters just yet." He glances up just once to verify that the magpie has not moved, and is proven correct when Alvi simply peers back down at him skeptically. Sigh. birb.

Waen stops at an appropriate distance, just a few strides into the street, and takes a look at Fiadh. She hadn't bothered to put on a coat which was, frankly, understandable. She worked in a room with a forge. Seemed unfair though, that he ought to have padding on when she didn't. Waen hums and shrugs off his own coat, setting the thick wool and cotton garment aside.

He straightens the set of his own shirt with a tug and then squares up. He lifts his fists casually and gives her another look. It was sporting to give her the first punch, even if he was the challenger...but she was also a smith and he was a merchant. She could definitely hit with force.

Let it never be said that Waen was not polite.

"Alright then."

Fíadh settles in and waits patiently as Waen prepares himself. She furrows her brows in confusion as he throws off his coat, but maybe it's to have a better range of motion? If everything goes well she'll end this quick enough that neither of them will work up a sweat.

As he takes form, Fíadh too raises her fists and bends her knees, ready. She gives a curt nod to him in reply and stays paused. Thinking. The wind begins to pick up, a snow flurry billowing beautifully around them. Somewhere out there, Ennio Morricone is running to get his trumpet. But that's not in this universe, not right now, so th-

Fíadh throws her punch. Hard. Straight toward Waen's jaw. Let's go.

Waen doesn't lean into it, he's not an idiot, but he does give her the first shot. Her fist hits like a hammer and the blow twists his head and nearly knocks him off his balance. It has been quite a long time since someone hit him with a no-nonsense punch like that. He squeezes his eyes tight and blinks twice and, very quickly, Waen has recovered.

He swings an answering punch up, using the momentum to straighten up as he hits the side of her torso. He'd been aiming for the stomach, but it's not a terrible miss. His vision is still swimming a bit.

He hasn't thrown a punch in a while but, all things considered, it was a respectable one. He followed it up with what weight he could throw behind it and brought his other fist around, aiming for her head.

"Oh, Shepherd, you could bring me a hundred more and I'd be glad of 'em not dying in the cold," Vervain says fervently--and with a grin for ... well, it's not really Tuo's direction, but. He's trying.

"You're welcome, all three of you. I've got to go get ready for the morning homily, but stay as long as you like, all right? Stay warm."

And he will bustle off to do just that, and try not to think about how he knows exactly which of the acorns he's pocketed has worms in it.

Fíadh's lungs expel in a loud 'oof' as she stumbles back on her foot. She blinks in a bit of surprise as she pauses a moment, just a moment, to assess the damage. Huh. Okay, he's deceptively quicker than his large frame would suggest. Time to reassess.

Fists squarely back in front of her she feints to the left, looking to aim high at his face once again before ducking down at the last minute, sending her own blow to his solar-plexus. Sure, she gets the hit off, but damn if that doesn't burst some blood vessels across her knuckles and smears blood against Waen's shirt. What is this man made of, rock?

What a vexing woman. Truly, just...baffling.

"The rules are set in place by the Gods, of course," he says, as if she may as well be asking who gets to decide why the sky is blue. "And we don't let them they just are."

He lifts to block but she snaps down and hits him hard in the side. He can take it, thankfully, but he'll have a hell of a bruise later.

She's lunged forward, followed through on that punch, and he bends, gets his arms locked around her torso, and lifts. Waen isn't usually one for scrapping, tossing and dropping people, but he will take the opportunity when it presents itself.

Getting her on the ground might put an end to their scuffle quickly and he's keen to be the winner.

Fíadh lets out an 'oop' of surprise as she's suddenly lifted upside-down into the air. It's ... been a long time since anyone's ever handled her like this, and despite the precarious situation she's mildly impressed.

She swings her own arms back to grip his torso as best as she can and swings her legs forward, hoping the momentum will throw him off-balance. Sure, they might both go down, but she's prepared for the landing.

"Oh."

That actually shuts her up for a long while, apparently the logic of 'the Gods said so' is enough. Beane can likely rest easy for-

No, it's about five minutes later when Elena pipes up again.

"But who did the Gods tell this to? Like, who specifically?"

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Page 11 of 13

OPEN | Blood And Ice

Civil Blood

I. News from the West

II. Cold Snap

III. A Howl in the Night

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