OPEN | Blood And Ice

[northcliffpass]

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.

Comments

OTA

[ferruginous]

I.

No one is quite sure how the rumor started.

Some say it came from a drunken encounter at the tavern, or as joking grumblings between soldiers that escalated to reality, but what seems to be going around town is this: if you fight the smithy and win, you get a free new sword. Maybe it’s the anticipation of war, the stir-craziness of being stuck snowed-in for so long, or just good-ol’ pent up aggression, but Fíadh has been dealing with a fair amount of fisticuffs. Mostly soldiers, but even a couple townspeople have taken their chances and lost. Yet no one has been able to win their free prize.

Of course Fíadh could stop this at any time … but curiously enough she just allows it to keep going. So, anyone want to chance their bets on some sweet loot? Even if you lose, you get punched in the face by a buff lady.

II.

As always, Fíadh’s forge is open as a heat source for those who need it. She’s even begun tending to it at night to ensure that it’s available to anyone at all hours. Of course there’s the risk that someone would steal from her unattended shop during that time, but then again who wants to risk angering her? Only an idiot. Still, someone could likely run into her during her working hours or at night as she comes to check on the flames.

I

[wardsdottir]

Pippa knows what she's good for, and while she can throw a decent punch and can hold her own in a street fight if she's got to, she knows a lost cause when she sees one. That free sword will never be hers--at least, not unless Fíadh decides to take pity on her and grant her one out of the goodness of her heart.

But in the meantime, Pippa has plenty of interest in watching some of these abrasive newcomers get knocked down a peg or two. That's what she's doing at the moment: hanging out near the smithy with her hands stuffed into her pockets, watching with rapt interest while Fíadh introduces her latest challenger to her fists.

I

[howryanow]

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.

OTA but first come first serve

[mysteriumtremendum]

Well this is alarming.

To say that the size of his weekly congregation has quadrupled since his return to the village would be an understatement: there's hardly standing room at vespers or matins now, but that has less to do with the piety of these visiting soldiers from all across the duchy and everything to do with the bitter cold that they all seek to escape. The imminent hostilities with Black Rock must have their blood up, too, for they give Adhemar suspicious glares as soon as he speaks, trying to determine whether the accent they hear marks him from the 'right' part of the country. It's unpleasant.

He should have wintered in Woodsedge, as the bishop had suggested.

This thought has occurred to him several times since his return to Northcliff Pass, but is particularly pronounced after one evening service when he is cornered at the pulpit by a bristling young man who looks like he's ready to pick a fight with anyone who makes eye contact for too long. The boy (for he cannot be older than twenty) plants himself at the foot of the steps leading down from the modest raised dais, making it impossible for Adhemar to pass without bodily moving him. "Where is it you're from exactly, Father?" Father, sneered with clear derision.

If he expects that jab to draw blood, he's picked the wrong priest to antagonize. Inscrutable, Adhemar folds his hands atop his scripture. "Griston," he answers mildly, "which is very far to the north. Have you been there?"

"No," the soldier snorts. "What're you doing down here, then?"

"Practicing my vocation, as demanded by the gods." This situation has the potential to escalate quickly, but Adhemar does not add kindling to the fire--yet. He makes an idle gesture with one hand while in a quick glance skimming the faces of those parishioners who remain in the chapel. (Searching for prospective allies, or perhaps witnesses; even he isn't sure which.)

[infinitewatch]

Lance, a devoted attendee of the evening service, has his eye fixed on the troublemaker from a few feet away, with an air about him like a collie watching a sheep, waiting for it to stray so he can dart forward and snap at it.
No violence has broken out yet, nor does it seem that it's going to, but Lance is here if it does-- and he meets eyes with the vicar, with a little nod. Just say the word.

OTA

[strumpeting]

I.

Why yes, a troop of soldiers is generally a giant troublesome bother. They eat all the food, they frighten the livestock, they make too much noise … but for some people it could be seen as a welcome delight. Some people like Elena. After all, this many new bodies is rife with potential for business! And fun! And boy does she like both those things. Plus what’s better than trying to get a man in uniform out of said uniform? While they’re here she can often be seen spending time with the abiding heroes, well out of ear-and-eye-shot of their commanding officers. Singing bawdy songs, playing gambling games, and otherwise being a lurking loveable nuisance. But she’s making friends! Some with benefits! And she’s more than happy to introduce them to her friends of the town … whether they want it or not.

II.

There was once a chandler named Beane
Whose life was all fairly routine
‘Til the cold came and snapped
Left him helplessly trapped
With a woman playing lute so obscene

The frigid temperatures have forced nearly everyone to stay shivering inside, and this has left Elena in a dangerous situation: boredom. No one is out to talk to! Or sing to! Or sell herbal remedies to! Or … okay, yeah, anything. But one day, walking by Kendrick’s shop, she has a thought: what’s everyone going to do while they’re stuck inside? Duh, the best activity two bored people can do to get warm! And what better way to help them get their combined grooves on then with inspiring music and inspiring lighting? Yes, yes, at that moment Elena becomes inspired! She’ll help drum up business for Kendrick! With purpose in her stride she bursts into his shop, grinning wide, before finding a chair and plopping into it.

“Kendrick! I’m about to get you some coin with the power of romance!”

Throughout the days, Elena can be found in this spot playing fantastic, innovative tunes that could inspire masses of composers for centuries to come if they could only hear. But who cares about changing the meaning of music in this day and age when the real goal is getting people to fuck?

She’ll remain there until the kindly, beautiful, wonderful, and non-deserving-of-this proprietor finally manages to kick her out.

I

[infinitewatch]

One man in uniform is not excited about the prospect of villagers mingling with the other men in uniform, and he's standing at the edge of their camp, watching her with a weary look and shivering.
Being bundled up moreso than usual makes Lance look like he weighs about double what he actually does, but a cold snap is no excuse to leave the town unguarded, so patrol he must. However, the only indication it's him at all is the disapproving blue eyes visible above the heavy scarf that covers his nose and mouth.

II.

[beane]

Perhaps too kindly, too beautiful, too wonderful, and too undeserving of this, but also too polite, for Beane has not yet evicted his melodious squatter.

To say that he tried would be an understatement, as well, since he neither raised his voice nor used any words harsher than please, Miss Elena, surely the patrons at the Inn would appreciate your talent more, and Elena, I do not wish to be rude but I prefer to work in peace.

But, inevitably, the longer she's there, the more he finds himself tapping his foot along with the rhythm, or quietly humming along as he goes through the motions of candlemaking. Dip, drip, hang. Dip, drip, hang. Or something like that.

That he's able to keep working on filling out his stock speaks to how much business she's drummed up.

II

[kadia]

Lida has insisted on taking Silfa so that Kadi may, for once, have a proper night out on the town for, truly, the first time in her life. Because anything unnecessary for survival or religion was considered sinful excess in her previous life, she doesn't know where to begin. Instead of asking anyone who might know and thereby looking a bit foolish, she wanders the town and eventually stops in front of Elena, listening to her music with a smile. They did have songs in the commune, hymns and lullabies, but no instruments. Hearing instruments play has been a brand new experience for her.

Between songs, she approaches Elena a bit shyly. She knows how to take charge of situations, how to make transactional conversation, but actually being social with a stranger is still something she has little practice with.

"What is it called?" she asks with a nod to the lute.

the night he arrives back in Northcliff Pass; closed to Johanna

[mysteriumtremendum]

II.

Adhemar's arrival coincides with the bitterest cold temperatures to afflict the village in years, and it occurs to him as he nears the crumbling stone walls surrounding Northcliff Pass that if he were to die of something as trite and idiotic as exposure, he would at least have one thing in common with his parents. That he is having this thought at all brings to the fore a haze of childhood memories, words of warning from the parish priests who had reared him in plain sight of the glaciers of the Fjords. A man's mind takes leave of his senses, they'd said, when his body has grown dangerously cold.

Shit.

This moment of clarity is ultimately what sees him venturing off the slippery road and towards the distillery. When he reaches door, he has to catch himself against the frame for a moment before knocking. "Johanna."

[bythegrace]

Johanna is a woman who sleeps heavily or little and lightly, with no comfortable in between. Tonight, he is fortunate, because it is cold enough that it keeps her from settling and she hears him at her door. She debates leaving him, she is just this side of annoyed with him, but it is too cold to entertain that thought.

A moment passes before the wooden door is cracked open and she reaches out and fists a hand in his clothing. She hauls him inside and slams the door in his wake--the whole of it an attempt to keep from losing the heat.

It is very warm inside her home. In the dark it would have been a challenge to see the steam rising from the roof, but inside the heat is heavy, almost stifling in its humidity. It smells strongly of juniper. The sounds of the stills and their boiling flames are loud enough to drown out the creaking waterwheel as it rattles on its axle. There is a low orange light that fills both the distillery and the small apartment, from the flames burning beneath the copper tubes and the candles she had lit.

"Idiot," she accuses and at once sets about looking him over, making sure none of him is turning blue or black. That he is infinitely more familiar with cold than she is hardly worthy of note. "What are you doing outside? You want to catch your death?"

[matkalainen]

II. (closed to Dain & Vervain)

A lifetime of susceptibility to the cold means that Tuo has taken certain measures to ensure that the wagon that serves as his home is properly equipped to handle the worst that winter can throw at him. That was the guarantee by the builder, and for the last several years, Tuo has had no reason to complain.

Even this year, he can't blame the builder. It was his own fault that the damp got into his store of firewood. What good is a wood-burning stove if the wood won't catch light?

No good at all, although he finds he has little energy to spare in chastising himself. Instead, he has nested himself in his bed under as many furs and cloaks as he owns, doing what he can to keep himself and the magpie Alvi from freezing during the night. In the morning, he resolves he will make the trek past the soldiers' encampment to reach the Town Hall. He has no choice.


III.

The howl wakes him up from his shallow sleep. Tuo sits up abruptly on the sleeping pallet that had been set aside for him within the chapel sanctuary, and looks around in alarm to see if he is alone in having heard the noise.

A few other people are stirring where they sleep, but none wake fully. Gathering up cloak, he hastily wraps his headscarf around his head and shoulders, stuffs his feet into his boots, and ventures outside just beyond the threshold of the church to look about outside.

(A fool indeed. Who hears a mysterious animal's cry and decides to investigate it all on his own? This one, apparently.)

III

[pestler]

Though Finian isn't poor, per se, he does live in a decent-size house by himself, and keeping it heated in weather like this is far more effort than it's worth. So he too is in the chapel, and sits up at the same time Tuo does, his eyes wide and his freckled face pale.
"Wait," he whispers, scrambling to put on his gear as well, "don't go alone."

II.

[shepherddain]

The familiar plume of wood smoke rising past the village wall is missing tonight.

Tuo left abruptly once without warning, and Dain can't honestly hold it against him to do so again, not when they can't speak openly. But he has to check, just to be sure. What if something's wrong? What if he can still catch his friend, still bid him farewell?

At least one of those suspicions is well-founded, because when Dain arrives, the wagon is still there -- just dark and cold. Fear grips his heart and he knocks quickly, uncharacteristically heedless of whether anyone might be watching.

"Tuo? Tuo, are you there? Alvi?"

Closed to Detlef

[shepherddain]

I.

The news of war in Cliffside does nothing to make Dain ready to attempt the journey home. As luck would have it, the war comes to him, and Dain can't quite tell whether he should be regretting his decision or not. Certainly the first day or two of the soldiers' regiment settling in the festival grounds are filled with conflict and altercation, and Dain has his hands full resolving those he can, taking full advatange of the respect a Shepherd demands.

Harder to calm are the animals. Particularly towards dusk, when the soldiers get rowdy and their voices tangle with the loud clanking of armour and metal, and everyone's on edge enough that some of the younger horses get spooked.

One's just gone galloping off down the street in the wake of an escalating argument, and it takes Dain a precious few minutes before he can go after it, by which point he's lost sight of the poor thing. Did it go out the gate, or did it go towards the stable? Dain checks the stable first, tucked out of the way behind the tavern, hoping fervently that the animal is A) there and B) wasn't spooked enough to hurt itself.

[stableman]

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.

OTA

[ellrigaeta]

I. War has come marching unceremoniously into Northcliff Pass. Civil war, no less. Lorne has never much cared for politics save when it came to affecting his life, or the lives of those he cared for. Now, though, with Duke Galein's men occupying the festival grounds for the foreseeable future, politics has just come and stomped all over his home.

From what little Lorne has been able to glean from his father, he's got a strong dislike of military on principle. These soldiers have an undeniable authority in the form of sheer force, so Lorne doesn't go out of his way to antagonize them. He does, however, keep an eye on them. Whenever the weather allows, whenever he can take a patrol route that way, he passes the garrison. It's hard not to, really, in a town this small. He even makes a few careful overtures at amicable conversation with some of the lower-ranked soldiers, just in case it gets him useful information or tidbits.

He's ready to jump between the soldiers and any of the townspeople if it becomes necessary, regardless of who starts such an incident. Preventing a clash from getting wildly out of hand might be the best to hope for, in that case.

II. The bitter cold that follows the arrival of the soldiers heralds a different kind of danger. Spending any length of time outside is inadvisable, but a certain amount of activities require short trips from one bastion of warmth to another. Even those short stretches can be hard for some people; and the necessity of gathering in the Town Hall and the chapel raises the usual concerns about close quarters.

Seeing as the Town Hall is effectively next door to the magistrate's house, Lorne runs errands for supplies for the people staying there, when he can. Same for the chapel, since that's only across the main road. There's not a lot that's needed, but he wants to check on them and ensure no one is freezing or hungry. He's got a fairly strong constitution and a stubborn streak to match Pippa's, so Lorne also continues patrols as he's able. If Lance is going to be out there, so is he; a hard freeze doesn't mean their job suddenly goes away. They're shortened patrols, and he's bundled so thoroughly that he'd be slow in the event of a fight, but thankfully everyone seems too cold to get into much trouble. Or comment on how ridiculous he looks.

III. Lorne is typically a light sleeper, ready to spring out of bed at a moment's notice. Whether this is the result of helping to care for his younger siblings for so many years, or the Watch training he's received more recently, or both, doesn't really matter. The shrill cry pulls him from sleep, shoving off the thick blankets before he's fully processed what he's hearing. The cold outside the bed has him shivering and clears his head, and now he stops long enough to wonder what in all the gods' names that noise is.

It sends a different sort of shiver down his spine. Lorne ignores it in favor of tugging on pants and boots and enough layers to keep out the utterly frigid night temperatures for a little while. After he checks on his family (read: makes sure Pippa isn't sneaking out), he trudges out to ensure that the village is safe from-- whatever is making that sound. Hopefully Lance or Deron have the same idea.

IV. Wildcard!

III

[infinitewatch]

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."

[engravitas]

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?"

III

[ragweed]

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.

OTA

[stableman]

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.

[infinitewatch]

Mid-step, Lance (identifiable as Lance only by the weary blue eyes peeking out above the scarf) pauses and turns to look at Detlef.

"A cat," he guesses.

[sampler]

[OPEN]

During that terrible blizzard, Faro and Detlef came up with a plan. If another heavy snow or other hazardous weather came on again, Faro would pack his necessities, close shop, and move to Detlef's house at the stables. For safety and practical reasons, of course. That way they could see each other without risking life and limb, and not waste fuel heating two homes.

The definition of 'necessities' to Faro is probably more than Detlef was expecting. He didn't want to try and wrangle a handcart through the streets and over the ice, so he's done his best to compress everything down so he only needs to make a few trips from his place to the stables.

By trip three instead of carrying it, he's simply dragging his cargo -a chest with several bags tied to the top- down the lane, desperately wishing he'd borrowed a cart.

Also he's decided to stop experimenting with winter clothing and just wear the fancy white fur and goldwork cloak he made, since he's been talking it up to everyone about how good it would be at keeping out the cold. It works just as well as he hoped! Except its so glitzy that he feels like some kind of exasperated wedding-specter as he tries to keep his footing.


[Closed to Kit]

During one of the earlier trips, it's not him that slips. A local farmer heading uphill with a bulging sack full of produce over his shoulder stops to wipe his brow and begins to tip over backwards. He and Faro reach for each other at the same time, stopping him from fully falling down (barely), but alas, perhaps the man should've tied his sack closed better.

"My cabbages!" wails the merchant as his goods spill out of the bag and tumble down the lane.

yooooo

[ragweed]

Well it's not his most daring of interventions, but it at least should make a difference to that one cabbage farmer. Kit jogs down the lane and intercepts first one, then another rolling cabbage--how the heck are these things even growing, nevermind, don't ask questions--scooping them up into his arms until he's got a fair number of them clasped to his chest.

"I've got, um, some of them," he says, and turns to watch the last few cabbages tumble out of sight. Welp. :T

Sleeping Beauty (OTA)

[infinitewatch]

During the cold snap, the guardhouse is all but abandoned; it's a wonderful breezy place in the summer, at least for those who aren't in the cells, but at the moment it's all of a death trap (and if they have to incarcerate anyone, well, they'll cross that bridge when they get to it).

In the meantime, the Watch has to share the same sleeping quarters as everyone else. In Lance's case, however, that means camping out by one of the walls of the tavern in the daytime, trying to get as much shuteye as he can before he goes out patrolling in the evening.
It's a strange situation, but perhaps strangest thing about it is how little trouble he seems to have-- in fact, it might even be the best sleep he's gotten in years, accompanied by the constant activity of the room.

That is, of course, when people aren't intentionally disturbing him. There are also instances, such as dawn, when he's just settling in, and dusk, when he's having his coffee to start the day, where he can be approached. Otherwise, he seems content to exist in his own little world, ignoring everyone else in hopes they'll ignore him.

Closed to Tuo and Dain

[ellrigaeta]

Typically Lorne sticks to patrolling inside the village walls because that's where most everyone else stays, too. Sometimes, though, someone will decide to wander off into the forest or the mines, and in this cold anyone spending much time outdoors is asking to get sick or freeze to death. Bundled thoroughly against the cold, Lorne opts to take a short trek beyond the walls today while the sun is still out. Just in case.

He expects it will be boring. The only thing out here of any interest is Tuo's wagon.

[matkalainen]

Tuo's wagon is evidently interesting to someone. Or several someones, as the case may be.

"Never seen a cart like this before." The wary observation comes from one rough-looking soldier who is prowling around the outside of the brilliantly coloured wagon a bit like a stray dog. Around him, two or three of his fellows have gotten into their cups a bit early today, which explains why they've decided that the best way to spend their afternoon is through antagonizing the eccentric skald who lives alone on the outskirts of the village.

They have formed a semi-circle around the foreigner in question, who stands very still under their scrutiny with his chin slightly raised, his lips pursed into a mocking sort of smirk. When one of the men prowls up into his personal space and sneers, "Where is it you're from anyway, friend?" Tuo's smirk only widens.

"My, that is personal," he replies slyly. "And here you and I haven't even been introduced."

Closed to Finian and then Adhemar...

[gravioramanent]

[...but implied CR available to anyone sleeping in the chapel who wishes to be creeped on.]

Early the next morning after the cold snap's arrival--too early for matins--the doorway to the chapel admits two rather disconcerting things: a blast of cold and a hooded figure in a dark, mud-spattered cloak. The figure does not appear to be in any hurry to lower his hood. Idly, he meanders along the outermost perimeter aisle of the chapel, pausing periodically in his navigation of the groups of poor unfortunates huddling for warmth 'round about.

To those sanctuary seekers clearly awake he keeps a wide berth; but near those who appear to be sleeping, the figure casually looms over their comatose forms. He lingers long enough to be conspicuous, but not so long as to be overtly suspicious.

Of course, there is no reason to believe he is not contemplating the quaint religious iconography decorating the walls... what else would he be doing?

[pestler]

One such sleeper is nonetheless awakened by the feeling of being watched, and he props himself up on an elbow with a yawn, calm as can be. Only after he's exhaled again does he look up to see who's standing nearby, and he blinks in mild surprise.

"Vlad?" Finian whispers, "do you need me for something?"

OTA

[keenly]

I.

Voices can be heard through the door of the bakery.

"You do have to pay," comes Colin's patient but cautious tone.

"Oh?" There's laughter between several men.

Inside, it can be seen that there are about a half-dozen visiting soldiers clustered at Colin's table. The baker's gaze is turned away demurely as if he's just looking to get out of this unharmed. One of the soldiers, a man with a long nose, rests his elbows on the counter, crushing at least three perfectly-baked loaves under his forearms.

"Do we have to pay you? These things are half sawdust and you want money for 'em?" He picks up one of the loaves he ruined. "Look at this. This is rubbish. You expect me to pay for damaged bread?"

"I-I--" Colin stammers, and the solder flings the bread at his face, drawing laughter from the others. The baker backs away only to be crowded by another soldier, tall and broad.

"What are you gonna do," growls the large soldier, "if we just take what we're owed as fighting men, Spittle? What are you gonna do to stop us?"

"Just take it and go," Colin begs. The large man grips him by the jaw and forces him to look him in the eye.

"No, I want to know," says the long-nosed soldier. "What's your alternative to this generosity? What are you going to do when we come back tomorrow?"

II. Closed to Kit and Ben

There's a knock on the door the third night of the cold snap. On the other side is Colin, apparently wearing everything he owns and carrying blankets and a basket, looking rather like a rescue service with legs.

"Sorry," he begins. "I heard you still had room?"

IV. Wildcard

II

[ragweed]

It is Kit who answers the door, albeit only after a lengthy pause and some muted conversation from the other side of the door. For a brief moment when he cracks the door open, only one dark, assessing eye is visible. Then he seems to relax, flips the latch, and pulls the door open more fully.

"Room in front of the hearth, anyway," he says, then glances over his shoulder once as though to verify with Ben that yes, this is still the case.