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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The noise of the horse's approach gives Detlef warning enough to put down the cat he'd been holding and step outside the fragile warmth of the rebuilt stables. Sure enough, there's the animal, scared, eyes wide, and completely alone.

"It's all right," Detlef says as he approaches, already at work. Technically he doesn't have to talk while using the Vice, but he prefers to. It helps get the animals focused as they start to still and relax, and it means that they're definitely not startled by his touch when he gets there. Which he does, gently stroking the horse's nose as the fear leaves it.

"You're safe," he says gently. "There you are." It settles down, stomping in the cold, and Detlef nods as if it can talk. "I know. It's freezing. It's the worst weather, really, and you've probably got the worst on top of that, because I'm guessing you're with the soldiers." It's an easy guess when he knows all the horses that live in the village. Detlef hasn't stopped rubbing the horse's nose, making sure that the calm has taken completely, focused entirely on the animal.

This was an outrage, a downright travesty, and offense on all levels--that someone had staked a bet on beating up Fiadh to prove their toughness and not him? Waen could hardly stand the thought.

Now, fair enough, he had given up fighting after his last dalliance with the girl from down the way. And he hadn't actually fought anyone in town since well before Fiadh had taken over the smithy. And there is no way those soldiers could have heard tell that he was the tough fellow in town.

But that didn't make any of it sit better with him.

He'd been stewing all day, cooped up with the dogs, and the dogs were just as annoyed and snappish as he was. By the gods' he'd have to close up shop for the duration of the weather if he didn't sort this out.

And so, without much more deliberation, Waen put on his heavy coat and strode out into the cold toward the smithy. When he arrived it was with little fanfare, just three sharp knocks on the door and a quiet huff of frustration.

I. Ben is rarely friendly and is often on-edge, but having soldiers around seems to have made his already short fuse nonexistent. He's far more inclined to snap at customers and people popping in for visits with Kit, but is at least self-aware enough that he'll try to separate himself from the socialization by absconding into the loft to whittle or paint in peace. Engaging him is inadvisable, but at times unavoidable, considering:

II. Their home, being one of the few that can accommodate a few more sleepers in front of the fireplace, is open to those who need the shelter. He tries his best to ignore any guests they have or to treat them with only the barest courtesy, serving food and tea with a grunt and a glazed-over expression, glad at least that his and Kit's bed is up in the loft and safe from any... prying eyes? Who knows.
It's not like anything fun is going to happen up there while this is going on, but then, it probably wouldn't be anyway, due to the aforementioned soldiers.

III. A cry of terror erupts from the bed in the loft, and Ben has sat up in a panic. After a long, torturous moment of trying to identify where he is and what he's heard, he realizes he can't do the latter, and whispers to Kit, or anyone else who's awake: "what the fuck was that?"

Dreary Lance, of course he doesn't want to join them. Elena has seen enough of the watch captain to know that he's far too wound-up in his job to admit he needs a little relaxation. Well, if there's one thing Elena is good at, it's getting people around her to relax! Her current situation already completely forgotten, Elena rises with purpose from her seat and runs over to Lance, leaving the soldiers behind in confusion.

"Lance, Lance, in what happenstance ... was the last time you let yourself have any fun?"

He should've known. His already sour, frozen mood takes a dive, but Lance consoles himself with the knowledge that he's no longer leaving a young woman alone with a pack of gods-forsaken hooligans, so if this is the price he pays... so be it.

He sighs faintly through his nose in answer, really not wanting to think that hard about it. His wedding, probably. But she doesn't need to know about that.

Already outside and clearly mid-patrol, Lance is standing still in the center of the road, holding his lantern and listening.

He's been thankful for the added relief Lorne's return has provided to both himself and Deron, and there's a warmth in his eyes (the only visible section of his face) when the lad approaches.
"Came from up the mountain," he says in his low, quiet voice, "sound carried on the wind, but it's not here." A pause. "...not yet."

Fíadh's in the middle of polishing a finished product when she hears the knocks. It's direct-sounding enough that she quickly straightens up before setting aside her task and striding to the door. Throwing it open she finds ... a man. A very average, nondescript man. But slowly she recognizes him as one of the townsfolk, not a soldier, and a slight surge of disappointment sinks through her. He won't want to fight, pity. Still, here's here for something.

"Hm." It's a grunt of acknowledgement, but also a question all wrapped in one. What do you want?

"G'd'evenin', 'm Waen Hickson, pleasure to make y'r acquaintance," he says all in one long breath and an even monotone as though he doesn't expect a response; he's perfunctory and polite in equal parts.

"I'm here fer' an old fashioned donnybrook."

"Oh, dear, dear Lance," it's very necessary for her to say his name in every sentence. "Your silence speaks volumes. What you need is some diversion! Distraction! I know for a fact you're not the only member of the watch guard, you could take a break."

She keeps up easily with his stride as she talks, no matter how fast he goes that is a guarantee.

II.

The stables are warm. It is entirely practical to keep them heated, though perhaps not quite as warm as they are. But Detlef really doesn't like the cold and he has plenty of wood both from the damage to his stables earlier in the year and the work it took to repair them. Thankfully, the heat serves one more purpose than keeping horses, cats, and residents safe - it's bait. He'd spread the word that it's warm and comfortable and that there are available stools, and Detlef is currently sitting by the fire, hoping for company to come to him so he doesn't have to freeze his limbs off to be social.

IV.

"Baron Frigatebottom!" It's a stupid name. It's an awful name. It's even worse when he has to yell it and regret how hilarious he normally thinks the name for the cat is. Detlef huddles against himself as he tromps across the village looking for the extremely fluffy cat, making worried eye-contact with anyone non-soldier he comes across.

His accents leaves her catching up for a second, but when she does she ... well, no she's still confused.

"Donnybrook? A-" her eyes light up in hopeful understanding. "Oh, a domhnach broc?"

Their house is too small for them to even bother pretending that they aren't sharing the bed in the loft, and so when Ben bolts upright in panic, Kit is right beside him. He's alert, blood rushing in his ears, before Ben can even speak, and reaches in near silence for the crossbow stowed under the bed.

"Don't know," he whispers in response, then reaches for his shirt and boots. "I'm going to take a look." Hopefully whatever it is is something that will die if he fills it with enough crossbow bolts.

"Hm," he replies with a hum that is between a grunt and an actual word. He nods once.

Then, after a beat, it occurs to him that he is speaking to a lady...even if she's a lady he intends to fight.

"If you're amenable."

Dain almost speaks the moment he enters the stableyard, relieved to find the horse safe and already in someone's care, but he cuts himself off when he recognises exactly what's occurring in front of him.

.. It could be completely mundane. Stablehands know how to calm horses down; it's their job. Speaking to animals like they're capable of answering back could simply be an endearing character trait. Really, Dain doesn't see anything here worthy of his attention. Just a stablehand competently calming a horse down, and likely avoiding what could have been an issue if one of the soldiers' horses was injured in the village.

He hasn't looked up yet. Dain takes a deep, quiet breath and starts taking careful steps backward, so he can try approaching a second time while making a lot of noise, preserving the other man's feeling of safety --

-- and a stick snaps under his boot.

Ah, good. Lance isn't even hard to find, and Lorne is glad to see warmth in his eyes, rather than something steelier in anticipation of an attack. That's more encouraging than what he says next.

Lorne stares up at God's Reach and catches a silhouette of wings. What manner of beast is that? Nope, he's going to focus on the practicalities, thank you very much. "...It might just be looking for somewhere to land. Town's not ideal for that."

Detlef's head jerks up at the noise, and blood drains from his face. It's not a soldier who followed the horse. It's a shepherd. It's the very shepherd that's been lurking around the village and he's been working so hard to avoid. A soldier might be easily convinced that nothing was happening, but the shepherd?

"The horse is, it's good. Not as spooked as it seemed." His voice sounds weird to him. He can't run in this weather; not only would it be cruel to whatever animal he had carry him, he's just not equipped to survive in cold this bitter. He doesn't have supplies enough, or layers enough. But what else is he supposed to do? ...and if he runs, there's so many soldiers who will be right on his tail, too. Can Shepherds be bribed? Does he have anything that would be good enough to serve as a bribe?

"Did you... want stew? There's, there's hot stew inside." Maybe being warm will help, and the Shepherd will see something inside that he wants and Detlef can just buy him off? Really, he should have tried to prepare for discovery a little better after the last time.

Tuo shuts the door behind Dain as soon as he is within the comparatively less frigid confines of the wagon, enduring the brief lecture with aplomb--or fatigue and exhaustion. It's difficult to tell.

"Damp got into the firewood," he explains, chafing his slender hands together and blowing on them in a futile effort to get the blood circulating through his extremities again. Instinct has him moving towards the warmest point nearby, which just happens to be Dain; he comes to stand near him, looking equal parts confused and tired. "What are you doing here?"

Whenever Gregor spoke of a domhnach broc he always made it seem like a tussle between groups of men, while Fíadh sees just ... one. But a fight is a fight, and she's pleased her initial evaluation of him was wrong. She steps outside her shop and closes the door silently behind her before turning back to him.

"Here? Or what?"

That embrace is somehow too much and not nearly enough all at once, which is par for the course when he is around Johanna. Adhemar is still in her arms for a moment, so startled by the sudden intimacy and the smell of her hair, then folds his arms around her waist, the curve of her back and shoulders.

"Technically, I suppose, you did make it but I would not suggest explaining technicalities to weather."

He makes a sound somewhere between a scoff and a sigh, and, "I am surprisingly reluctant to tempt fate in this manner a second time." He draws back just enough to look down at her face, attempting to glean to the best of his ability just how furious she is with him before pushing his luck further.

"Thank you," he begins again after a pause, "for opening the door."

Waen makes a face at the suggestion, like she's said something uncomfortably crude.

"On the property?" He asks, a bit aghast. "Don't fight on the property, bound to break things."

He jerks his head to the side to gesture to the wide space of the slightly snowy street out away from the front wall of the smithy. He's not here to break windows or shutters on accident, he's here to punch and be punched.

"There's better," he decrees and steps out of the way to let her go first.

"Checking on you," Dain answers immediately, like that's the most obvious answer in the world. Anything else he might have added to the answer is lost amidst his brief and frankly terrifying assessment of his friend, who looks about to collapse any moment under the weight of the cold.

"Here." Dain pulls Tuo even closer, and folds Tuo's hands into his own, encasing them in as much of his own warmth as he can muster. "You can't stay in here overnight, you'll freeze. Please come back to the chapel with me."

The soldier starts like a spooked fox when Lance claps a hand on his shoulder, revealing himself to more a boy than a man, and being faced down by someone else in a uniform seems to put him in his place. His hackles go down, but he won't make his departure without getting one last barb in.

"Let the Earth swallow this whole wretched village," he snaps, shrugs Lance's hand off his shoulder, and storms out of the chapel.

Once he is gone, Adhemar steps down from the pulpit and approaches the guard captain. "Thank you," he says mildly, though his eyes are on the handful of the soldier's fellows as they stalk out after their compatriot. "Though I expect there will be more difficulties of that nature in the coming days."

It would be much, much easier if the other man didn't immediately act like Dain had caught him in the act of murder.

He doesn't answer right away, thinking both very quickly and not at all, and that silence speaks volumes more than any words would. Can he still pretend he saw nothing? There are worse things than being seen as an utterly oblivious Shepherd. The only worry is if that somehow gets back to the church, which -- Dain looks quickly around, but they do seem to be alone with the horse.

"Stew," he replies, slowly, and thankfully not nearly as incredulously as he feels. It's definitely not a bid to buy himself a little more thinking time. "No. Thank you, though." He gestures at the horse, now standing perfectly calm. "You... certainly have a way with animals," he finishes feebly.

The hands that encase his are warm and calloused, and Tuo curls his fingers around Dain's without thinking, like it's the most natural thing in the world. (It is.) He looks up into his friend's dark eyes and finds that he is much closer than he'd originally realized. (It was always very easy to be drawn into Anja's orbit.)

Some things never change--except for when they do.

It takes him a moment longer than normal to find his voice. "What about Alvi?" He makes himself look away from Dain to where the magpie still sits amid the blankets. "I can't leave him here, he won't survive."

She hums, her expression just slightly disapproving, but that only lasts a moment before she relents. The sigh she lets out is put upon and accompanied by a dry look.

"It is too cold to keep you out," she says, honestly, and then shrugs. The motion is almost entirely absorbed by the blanket. "But I am mad enough I am not offering you a drink. That you will get yourself."

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Page 2 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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