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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And, at least for the moment, it looks like there won't be any more bloodshed beyond that which is still dripping from Tuo's nose.

He spits a last mouthful of it out onto the snow and wipes the rest off with one hand, straightens up slowly, and ensures that when he meets the venomous glares the soldiers fling his way, he does so with his chin raised and his eyes hard. (If he was afraid of a beating, he would be less discreet.) The unambiguous leader of the soldiers, evidently unwilling to risk riling a Shepherd--he's heard the stories--grits his teeth and turns to help shoulder the weight of his injured comrade.

It isn't until the soldiers have put a substantial enough distance between themselves and the glade that Tuo exhales, eyes closing, and presses one sleeve against his injuries. "I suppose that could have done worse," he remarks with staggering aplomb, but already he is gingerly making his way over to the steps of his wagon. "I think I shall sit down for a moment, if you don't mind."

Fists balled, Lorne waits stiffly until the soldiers are well on their way to let out a slow breath. That easily could have gone violently sideways, and would have without Dain's fortunate arrival. It still might not be over. He looks from Tuo to the Shepherd, gives Dain a firm nod.

"Thank you," he says seriously, "for navigating that equitably." After the incident with Detlef… well, Lorne wouldn't have trusted another Shepherd to have his back no matter how truthful he was. He's currently unaware if Dain and Tuo know each other at all, so he's going to be cautious with his phrasing here.

Lorne turns towards Tuo's wagon. As he walks he pulls one of his gloves off and tugs a plain kerchief out of his cloak. Shaking it open, Lorne stoops to gather up a handful of clean snow and places it inside the cloth. He ties the corners loosely, goes to the wagon and holds it out to Tuo.

"Here, put that across the bridge of your nose to help staunch the bleeding, and keep your head tipped forward," Lorne suggests. His hand throbs and he ignores it. "If it's broken, I can try to set it once the bleeding stops."

Ben is only passing when Faro appears wearing that ensemble. He doesn't need to speak: the expression says it all.

Similarly, with Lorne there, Dain knows he needs to be careful. For the moment, the truth must be that he doesn't know Tuo well, certainly has never been inside Tuo's wagon, and had no personal stake in this incident beyond perfectly neutral justice and defence of the innocent. If his gaze lingers on the blood and the injury now, well, at least Lorne's back is turned.

Would it matter? He's seen Lorne explicitly defend someone with the Vice.

But he hasn't survived as long as he has by throwing all caution to the winds the moment someone might be sympathetic.

"Thank you," he replies, "for stepping in when you did. The moment they think they can do whatever they'd like, there'll be a lot more bloodshed." Dain steps closer to confirm Lorne knows what he's doing with the cleverly-made poultice, and then, with a softness he can't quite help in the current situation: "Will he be alright?"

There's an agitated-looking magpie pacing hither and thither along the awning of the wagon as Tuo and company approach it. Wearily, Tuo looks up at it without saying anything as he eases himself down onto one of the steps, then starts some when Lorne offers him the poultice. "...If it's broken, I can try to set it once the bleeding stops."

Drolly, "Would you? How kind." The mockery in his voice isn't at Lorne's expense, but at the absurdity of looking forward to more pain following so swiftly on the heels of what he's dealing with now. Still, his eyes soften after a moment, though they don't lose their impish glitter entirely. "Thank you. Should I ever see a kitten stuck up a tree, I'll know which heroic guardsman to seek out."

His eyes land on Dain just beyond Lorne's shoulder, and if maybe, just for a moment, heartsick longing and regret flickers across his narrow features--well, he's in pain. Surely that is explanation enough for any grimace he may wear.

"Will he be alright?"

"'He' is sitting right here, you know," he points out primly, but cannot fully suppress the smile curling up the corners of his lips.

There's irony in Tuo's choice of words, seeing as Lorne and Dain and Detlef recently had an Interesting Experience regarding cat rescue. His mouth quirks but doesn't quite reach a true smile. If Lorne notices anything about the softness in Dain's voice or anything in Tuo's face other than pain, he doesn't show it.

The magpie gets a glance, and Dain after. Perhaps there is a story there, and perhaps it's simply how each responds to stress like this. He won't assume. "Walking and talking is always a good sign," Lorne offers them both. "Broken noses usually heal straightforwardly. Even if it's not broken, you'll be sore for a while, probably have a headache for the next few days, look a mess for a while longer. Try not to hit anything with your face again," he adds dryly.

Then, with an inch of humor: "Think you'll turn this into one of your stories? Might make an interesting limerick."

"'He' is sitting right here, you know." Amazingly, Dain laughs -- if Tuo is able to be glib, he must be none the worse for wear -- and Dain's following tone is apologetic. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me. Are you going to be alright?"

Whichever the question, Lorne answers it. Dain listens quietly, considers the wisdom of coming to see Tuo in a few days to make sure the injury is healing well -- as with everything recently, it will depend on what the soldiers do. And speaking of those soldiers, Dain should really go and make sure this won't result in anything worse for anyone else, sooner rather than later, and reluctantly he has to admit that a Shepherd with no personal stake in this situation likely wouldn't even stick around long enough to confirm whether the nose is broken or not, now that the danger has passed.

And Tuo and Lorne do know each other, well enough that Lorne can joke about the injury and about limericks. Tuo's in good hands.

"Do you need anything else from me?" Dain asks them both. "Materials, or the healer?"

Detlef just looks at Dain, wondering not for the first time how, exactly, he's still alive. If Lance were to walk by right now it would be the perfect tangle, really. Dain's supposed to catch people like him. If the stranger had any idea that Dain knew, Dain could be in trouble, and so somehow Detlef needs to make sure that this stays calm so that Dain doesn't have to kill Detlef to save his own shepherdy skin.

"The cat knows me," he says, sounding as exhausted as if he'd been up for 48 hours straight. Can he cover for Dain covering for him? "He, Lord Frigatebottom, he'd been in the stables until he got underfoot and I stepped on his tail, it was my fault he was out in the cold in the first place, I couldn't just leave him in the cold, and then he got caught..."

Everything would be a lot easier if he didn't care so much. But he does. He can't possibly ignore when animals are suffering. He just really hopes that it doesn't cost him his life any time soon.

"I'm just going to take him home?"

And then, without even a moment's warning, the opposite. A sizable clump of snow detaches from the road and rises, necessarily expressionless, to speak:

"Wind-lover's tits, man, the shine off that gold's enough to wake the dead!"

With a high-pitched gasp of alarm, Ben attempts to jump a step back and instead just falls on his ass.

Glamorous would be somewhere warm, where he could wear really nice clothing all of the time. But this is at least a life he enjoys, when he isn't getting caught by the umpteenth person because he doesn't know how to be sneaky. That's not something they teach, unfortunately. Not that he's ever had much of a chance for being taught something that isn't about animals.

He finally smiles in return when Dain notes what's important - that he helps the cats. The animals, really, but he's most partial to cats.

"It isn't like they can help themselves," he says quietly. Moose starts kneading his arm and he shifts her a little so she's instead kneading the leather patch he has on his sleeve just for this. "Someone has to be there for them, and I like helping. And I'm good at it."

Detlef shrugs. "Taking over for the old stablemaster seemed the perfect fit. ...Can I, did..." He takes a breath. "Why are you a Shepherd?"

Years of practice restrict Dain's reaction to one startled twitch of his hand. Miss Pants looks up at him, but quickly and easily settles again when Dain makes it clear he's not about to stop stroking her.

Why are you a Shepherd? is a question Dain would have been absolutely sure he misheard, were he still back in Cliffside or Fairport. Why do you want to be a Shepherd? is a question he's answered before, usually for the priests at the orphanage or his instructors as he grew older. Is there something about this village he's missed, or does the instinct to hide vanish when you live so far in the mountains?

"Well," he answers slowly, in an effort to buy himself a little time to think, "I underwent the training, and then I passed the tests... you don't live in the stable, do you?"

The whole situation is so utterly absurd that, if the circumstances were very different, Dain might well burst out laughing. As it is, for a few seconds his face is very blank as he watches the small cat in Detlef's coat. ... Lord Frigatebottom. Of course.

Lorne definitely knows. He's shielding Detlef, prepared for a fight in that particular way where he doesn't look like he's prepared for a fight, unless starting a fight is on your mind to begin with. That means Detlef is safe, regardless, and they're both tripping over themselves to offer plausible deniability, which means the safest way forward is to take them up on those offers -- but there's every chance Lorne won't fall for the idea that he and Detlef were simply extremely lucky. Would he act on that?

The choice is between being explicit and remaining circumspect, so Dain takes a breath. "Detlef, you... really need to be more careful with your cats."

It's as good a subtle code word as any, given Dain's never had to use any subtle code words before.

Truth be told the cabbages are basically frozen, so there's essentially 5lb balls of leafy ice tumbling down the path. They probably would have stubbed some toes or bruised some shins if Kit hadn't collected them up.

While their dashing hero does that, Faro and the farmer wobble and teeter until they've both found their balance on the packed down snow. The fellow then fucks that up by sliding the straps off his shoulders and begins another round of them trying to stay upright, with all the accompanying 'oops', 'ah', and 'oh no's one might expect from two people trying not to fall over. As Kit returns, they've again found their footing, finally.

"Oh thank you! This is the last harvest, without this we..." The farmer is grinningly grateful as he holds open the sack to allow Kit begin to deposit them back in with the others. At least until he does a quick count and realizes that some are missing. "Wait, where's the rest? Oh no I gotta- watch these, will you?"

He doesn't wait for an answer before he takes off to retrieve the last of the wayward produce, leaving Kit and Faro literally holding the bag.

If it were anyone else giving him that look, he might purse his lips and shrug, or raise his chin to challenge them to say their peace. The cloak is gorgeous and fashionable, far too formal for the small town, and he knows it. That's why its hung on his wall for so long and is only being worn because the weather calls for warmth.

But as far as Faro can tell, that's just Ben's normal face.

So he simply nods in acknowledgement/greeting, thinking nothing of it, until a man sits up from the snow and startles them both. At least Farogil's backwards flinch puts him against a wall and not on his backside like Ben.

Clutching his chest in shock, he gives an uncomfortable chuckle and asks, "Th-thanksareyou alright?"

It's directed at Thom, because obviously the old man covered in snow needs checking on first.

This is all several shades of strange and awkward. Detlef more or less reinforces Lorne's hurried explanation, though he could wish that last remark was a touch more confident.

It's Dain's reply, really, that pulls everything to a hard, stumbling stop. Lorne would have expected-- anything but that from Shepherd. There isn't even a question in his eyes at what's been said, no wondering at the rushed words. In fact, the careful phrasing suggests to Lorne that Dain not only knows Detlef used the Vice just now, but wasn't surprised by it. If he's right, that means Dain has gone against his duty and let Detlef go free.

Huh.

"Yes," he agrees belatedly, realizing that he's probably been gawking at Dain for a little while now. "And perhaps we should all get out of the cold before we freeze our ears off." Part of Lorne wants to walk away now and pretend this never happened, but realistically it would be worth talking some with Detlef at least, if not Dain, assuming that's not outright heresy in some manner.

"Or at least get a better look at it," Tuo agrees, delighted--but, all evidence to the contrary, he is only a fool, not a reckless fool.

He turns about smoothly on his heel with a hand raised in objection. "But not you," he says, looking directly at Finian. "I think it would be best if you went back into the sanctuary. Better that the guard captain's son does not become a late night treat for," an idle gesture at the mountain top, "whatever our mystery beast turns out to be."

Oh, under other circumstances, he would find Vervain's efforts at subterfuge adorable. (Maybe he manages even a little of it, right now.) But now, that innocent inquiry, "You two are getting on all right?" just makes him flush with colour, his pulse racing again. What had he been thinking, acting so brashly? And why had he done such a thing in the first place?

His eyes dart to Dain and then just as quickly away, and he adopts a light smile that he hopes reaches his voice. "Not to worry," he assures Vervain in a softer voice, even going so far as to gently touch the priest's arm for emphasis. "He and I share a homeland. That can put many other differences in perspective."

"Think you'll turn this into one of your stories? Might make an interesting limerick."

"I try not to become the punchline to my own comedies, thank you," Tuo replies, smiling wryly up at Lorne, though he winces a bit as he adjusts the weight of the poultice against his nose. "--ah. But I suppose I did invite this one on myself."

Then Dain speaks, and he tries not to let his heart sink; of course, he can't linger here, it would arouse suspicions. And so Tuo takes a breath in through his mouth and then sighs it out again, and gives his head a little shake. "No, no, I think I will be fine. Just a bit of bed rest and a cup of tea should do the trick. But--thank you." A pause, before he continues, "That might have gone quite poorly for me, had you both not arrived when you did."

Tuo gratefully accepts the mug and simply warms his thin fingers around it for a time, glad to let the heat chase the cold from his skin. A chatty person by nature, he seems curiously introspective for a moment while Detlef speaks, his pale gaze going distant for a moment as he contemplates what he's heard.

"I imagine many of them don't have a choice," he points out quietly, turning his mug in his hands once. "Being conscripted for the war--I imagine those boys left behind lives they may never return to. A tragedy." He sounds sincere.

"You didn't start this," Lorne tells Tuo firmly. Those soldiers found him odd, got drunk, and decided to come harass him. Tuo would have had to not be himself to avoid their attention, and even that hasn't prevented some of the bog-standard villagers from getting pushed around.

Dain's query first has Lorne running through practicalities until it highlights yet again the difference between Dain and every Shepherd that Lorne has had a brush with or heard about. He cares, in a way that encourages Lorne's curiosity; not only about him but about Dain's concern for Tuo. What had the Shepherd even been doing out here? And Tuo… well, it's always hard to tell what Tuo's thinking.

"You're welcome," Lorne says more soberly. "I'm glad I happened to be out here." A nod to agree with Tuo's assessment; rest is definitely in order but otherwise there's not much else to be done. "We should probably get out of the cold for a bit, you especially." Lorne pauses for a moment. "Would you like company or prefer I come back later?" That nose will need another look but Lorne doesn't want to presume his and Tuo's interactions have been sufficient to warrant an invitation into his home.

He has no illusions that this incident is fully over, that punishment may yet come his way, but now he has a chance to appeal to local law for a modicum of leniency. Lorne doesn't regret his decision to help.

The old man covered in snow is shaking himself free of it like an ungainly dog, for all the good it does. At the end he's still largely encrusted, and the appearance of his bright lively eyes and manic grin actually makes him look a good sight worse.

"Oh aye, as rain!" he exclaims, in a rather hoarse way that suggests perhaps he's only right as a light mist. "Nothing a nip of whiskey and a spell by the fire won't fix." He begins feeling around in the snow, "Now where've you gone my beaut—ha!" An equally encrusted leathern pack is heaved out of the snow just beside him, and Thom kisses the bag that encloses his harp with great abandon. His lips stick to a buckle.

"Ah 'hite."

Ben continues to sit in the snow, staring, horrified. What the fuck

Dain is also very glad Lorne happened to be out here. He doesn't, however, say it aloud; just sets aside his original reason for following Lorne out towards the woods, acknowledges Tuo's thanks with a nod, and turns to leave, blanking his face in order to try and blank his tumultuous mind and the aching yearn.

He hesitates when Lorne asks whether Tuo wants company, that tangle of emotions returned. There's nothing wrong with it, of course, nothing whatsoever wrong, except that Dain wishes fiercely he could extend the same offer. But he cannot turn a blatant blind eye to some of the contents of Tuo's wagon while Lorne is there, and expect Lorne not to demand answers.

Perhaps he shouldn't put aside his original reason for following Lorne just yet. If Tuo says to come back later, there should be some opportunity for conversation before they're back inside the village walls.

He's not trying to eavesdrop. He's very specifically trying not to eavesdrop. It's simply that, in this instance, he would need to be deaf.

It's a little worrying, actually, what they're talking about. The hushed conversation implies that Vervain knows there's a reason Tuo wouldn't get on well with a shepherd, and Tuo's reply is quietly alarming. Does Vervain know where that homeland is? Does someone directly associated with the church now know where Dain comes from?

He wants to trust Tuo's judgement, but against a decade of caution, that desire rings disturbingly hollow.

"I take it you two have met before," Dain says, looking up from his somewhat fruitless feather-gathering task. Maybe he heard their conversation, maybe he didn't, but he certainly doesn't feel strongly about anything in it, if his idly curious tone is anything to go by.

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Page 8 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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