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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"Vervain?" That name is enough to chase some of the haze of fatigue from his thoughts. Tuo lifts his head and frees one of his hands from the protective layer of blankets and shields his eyes from the wind, looking through the dark towards the priest. hello frend c:

Despite wind and weather and freezing ears, Vervain notably brightens to hear his name in Tuo's voice. "Tuo!" hi buddy!!

...Then what Dain's said catches up with him. "--oh, Earth bless us, yes; please bring him in--" He hastens for the chapel door faster than is really safe; but the gods loving fools as they do, he manages not to bite it. He drops the firewood unceremoniously in the general direction of "away from the door" so he can apply both hands and a shoulder to the task, not so much because of the wind but because, well.

There's at least one sleeping body on the other side of it, who grumbles and moves over when stuck in the ribs. "Sorry, Fredo, but we've got one more for the night, if you'll just roll out of the way--there's a good man..."

They know each other; that's a surprise. Not a bad surprise, given what Dain knows of the other two, but unexpected enough that he stumbles a little as he and Tuo make their way towards Vervain and the door.

Perhaps he'll wait to ask until they're all settled.

Once inside, the warmth is palpable, driven by a strategic fire and the body heat of everyone sleeping in various spots around the room. Even so, Dain doesn't try to remove any of the blankets Tuo's bundled in while he guides them over to some spare room in the far corner, stepping carefully over bodies where it can't be avoided. When they're there, he spares Vervain a grateful smile. "Thank you."

The spare room is probably the vestry--or the vicar's office--and as such it is fastidiously neat and tidy. Or it was, before a shepherd, a ~~heretic~~ puppeteer, and a priest walked into it with a stressed magpie. The bird announces itself with a series of sharp squawks that no doubt rouse anyone not yet awake in the sanctuary, and manages to wriggle free of Tuo's arms. With a few flaps of its wings that scatter feathers all across the vicar's desk, Alvi flits directly up to one of the support beams that crosses beneath the ceiling and settles there, turning to glower down at the three humans below him--especially his person, what a betrayal--with reproachful corvid eyes.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Tuo snaps at him in a whisper, picking a few errant feathers out of the hair tugged free of his scarf by the wind. "Better a brisk walk here in the cold than our freezing to death overnight. Pardon his manners," this said to both Dain and Vervain with an artless gesture. "He would be appreciative, if he could understand."

Before Ver can reply to the thanks--before he can demure, really; it's only his duty after all to see everyone in and safe and sheltered from the cold--he's interrupted by Alvi's dramatic escape. That it's wreaked total disorder on the vicar's office would probably have escaped the young priest's notice if a feather hadn't ended up in his open mouth. He sputters and paws it from his face with a laugh and a half-despairing "oh, no".

"That's done it for having everything tidy when the vicar returns," he pronounces, without even the least bit of recrimination. "But all's forgiven; I'm as glad neither of you've frozen solid. And if it would be any consolation to him, I've got some wormy acorns with his name on them back in the stores. What do you say?"

That last's addressed to the ceiling, even if it's with no reason to believe he'd be understood by magpie; being good with animals is all in the tone, and...well, approaching them at the right time, which now isn't. Still, having made mention of the treat he'll definitely go get it once all's said and done; not any other use for spoiled nuts but to give them to the birds anyhow.

But that's for later. Recollecting that he's been thanked, Vervain returns his attention to the human occupants of the room with a pleasant smile for the direction he's facing. Maybe sort of Dainward. "Of course, shepherd! Can't leave anyone out to freeze in the cold. Nothing's the matter with your wagon, is it, Tuo?"

Are magpies meant to lose that many feathers? Tuo doesn't seem concerned, so it's likely everything's alright -- minus the mess, but that consideration takes a backseat in Dain's mind. Unless the vicar returns first thing in the morning, there'll be time enough for him to clean up that desk.

He makes a slow start to it now, gathering up those feathers within easy reach, keeping a wary eye skyward where Alvi sits pouting, and leaving Tuo and Vervain to their questions.

Alvi is intelligent enough to recognize when he is being addressed, and so as Vervain speaks at him, he peers right back down at the priest and appears unmoved. For the foreseeable future, this is where he will remain.

"Let him sulk," Tuo tells Verain wryly, "he will be delighted by those acorns on the morrow," but his eyes discreetly follow Dain as he moves around the vicar's office carefully collecting those feathers. Unless Dain should look his way, of course, at which point Tuo's attention is reserved exclusively for the blind priest before him.

"Nothing's the matter with your wagon, is it, Tuo?"

"No, no--damp got into the firewood. My own carelessness, unfortunately." He does his best, for the moment, not to let his sudden anxiety about his little home creep into his voice. Should the wrong set of eyes catch a glimpse of the engravings on the wood panels... well.

"Then they'll be out for him by matins," Ver declares, and that is that.

His expression falls at Tuo's explanation; there's a too-common winter hazard, one Ver well knows could've left him short a friend. "Earth's bones, that's bad luck. Well--you're welcome to stay here as long as you like," though he's a suspicion Tuo might not be most comfortable in the chapel--especially once the vicar returned.

Although with a Shepherd already in the room, the vicar could hardly make things more tense. ...Speaking of anxiety. Ver, of course, has not seem the panels nor does he know quite how deep Tuo's, ah, doctrinal departures go, but he had been around for enough of those arguments between his friend and his Gram to...worry, a little.

He tips his head toward the sound of Dain, before sidling unsubtly toward Tuo. Asks, quietly as he can: "You two are getting on all right?" Subterfuge really doesn't come easy, or at all, to him; but bless his heart, he's trying.

Edited 2020-01-17 08:03 (UTC)

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."

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.

Could Vervain but do it, he'd look comically between Tuo and Dain at the former's reassurance. A Shepherd? From whatever strange far-flung place Tuo had come from?? It beggars the imagination--but gods knew stranger things had happened. When you lived by Turn, stranger things could always happen.

"He's all right, then," Ver assesses, and armed with Tuo's reassurance--and a good thick coat of small-town shamelessness--he doesn't appear the least bit worried at the possibility he'd been overheard when he raises his voice to respond to Dain.

So bad at subterfuge.

"Tuo used to visit us out in 'Thwaite, when I was a kid. He got on with most everyone--even Gram, and Gram's our parson." See?? He has TWO clergy who think he's Just Fine. Two clergy and a Shepherd.

Tuo regards Vervain with exceptional fondness as he recounts the time he spent near 'Thwaite all those years ago, and scoffs softly when he mentions the parson. "I imagine I tried her patience," he says dryly, then shifts his gaze towards Dain. It's impossible for him to truly offer his friend the reassurances he doubtless deserves, but he tries to convey as much as he can through his eyes--that he did not disclose the Night's secrets, nor anything about Saaristemori that would matter, to either the boy or his grandmother.

It's debatable how successful he is.

"Well, as he won't be coming down anytime soon," he goes on, gesturing up to the magpie, "shall I go make myself comfortable in the sanctuary?" He does not relish losing his privacy for the night, but he's resigned himself to it.

Tuo may not be able to put words into his gaze, but the very fact he gives Dain any sort of look communicates well enough. It's all right, that look says. I trust him. Evidently not far enough to speak freely in front of him -- which is oddly reassuring. Tuo's trust is not a thing so easily won, without common ground, and Tuo's obvious fondness for Vervain puts a warm smile on Dain's face. It's good to know his friend continued delighting others during his travels, trying the patience of families everywhere -- that he didn't enforce loneliness on himself.

Dain resolves to talk more with Vervain later. An open-minded acolyte of the church is perhaps not quite safe, but he can't say he's not intrigued.

"There should still be some room left," Dain muses, glancing up at Alvi in the rafters. "But if you don't want him to think you're abandoning him..." He really knows nothing about birds. Or about how the vicar would feel if someone human slept back here.

Ver, dear blind thing he is, remains utterly oblivious to the silent conversation going on around him; he's lost instead in considering the practical logistics of where Tuo's going to sleep. (And what to do with a stubborn magpie occupying the vicar's office.)

"He's not perched above anything important, is he?" he asks suddenly. "Nothing we can't clean if he messes on it?" Birds, man.

"And there's only space in the sanctuary if you'd like to be closer'n the gods ever intended to Bert." A man who smelled like that no matter what he did was absolute if alarming proof of Divinity at work in men's lives. "You stay here; I'll fetch a blanket."

"Not at present," he answers Vervain dryly, inspecting Alvi's proximity to anything that looks important. The magpie looks back down at him reproachfully, evidently not yet ready to forgive his caregiver either for the cold or for the blustery walk to the chapel while bundled up in a bunch of blankets. Tuo can't say he blames him.

"Thank you," he adds as Vervain goes in search of a blanket... which means he's left alone in the vestry with Dain, even if only for a few moments. Hardly enough time to unpack what happened in the wagon, but just enough time to be keenly aware of his close proximity. He resolves not to speak of it, and instead lifts his chin to smile, sly as usual.

"Well, this shall be cozy," he remarks. "Best not tell your vicar though."

"I'll leave that to Vervain," Dain agrees, lightly amused. He hasn't, after all, met the vicar yet.

Then he falls silent. He's similarly decided not to speak about anything deeper than surface concerns, at least for now, since Vervain won't be long with the blanket; but it makes for precious little to discuss, and for the ensuing silence to feel far from comfortable. Dain lets it stretch a moment longer, then: "If you need anything overnight, let us know. You or Alvi."

Dain was the one to create this situation, however preferable it might be to finding his friend frozen to death; it's only right he accept responsibility for all the outcomes.

It's good luck that even if Vervain could remember everyone who'd slept on the premises for the duration of the cold snap (which, truth be told, he's a fair chance of doing), he's no intention of sharing the exact disposition of them all and just who ended up using the vestry to bunk down. There'd be an explanation owed if he couldn't get all the magpie feathers up, of course. But that could wait until morning, or after--once he's fetched another blanket for Tuo, he's quick to bid both friend and Shepherd a good night and get back to his duties.

It wasn't, after all, like the dark makes much difference to him.

---
True to his promise to Alvi, though, he's back before matins with the bag of wormy acorns. Not having much of an idea where Tuo might be in the vestry, and not wanting to wake his friend besides, he leans just far enough through the doorway to set the bag on the floor--

And gets a look of absolute vexation on his face.

"Oh, Earth's bones," mumble grumble, "they couldn't just all be rotted, could they."

Now he's going to have to pick out the good ones. Couldn't give food fit for humans to the beasts--sorry, Alvi.

Sighing, he plunks down on the floor of the vestry--mindful of the doorway--and begins digging through the bag. Bird food to the right, people food to the left...

Edited 2020-01-28 05:23 (UTC)

"... they couldn't just all be rotted, could they."

Looking in on Tuo briefly was one of the first things on Dain's task list that morning, and he hesitates briefly when he hears that grumble -- seems he's been beaten to it. Curiosity carries him to the doorway regardless, because Vervain is sitting on the floor sorting through a bag, and it takes until Dain is standing by his shoulder for him to remember the promise made for wormy acorns.

"Good morning," Dain says softly, just to announce he's there, careful to make sure his voice doesn't carry and wake anyone. He glances up at Alvi in the rafters, then down at the acorns being sorted into two groups on the floor. "What are you doing?" he asks, kneeling down with some interest.

"H'lo, shepherd!"

For all the irksome nature of the task, it hasn't dented Ver's good cheer any. He smiles without lifting his head, taking out another handful of acorns and splitting them rapidly between the piles. Most of them go to the right this time; the left pile's only growing slowly.

"Getting the good acorns out of the bag--should still be plenty for Alvi, though. Didn't want to waste anything we could eat."

"That's wise," Dain agrees as he watches Vervain work. He's a little more accustomed now to speaking with someone blind than he was when they first met, and some of the minor behavioural quirks -- such as not looking up when someone speaks suddenly -- pass by without notice. Something that doesn't pass by without notice is how Vervain sorts through the acorns.

Of course, he wouldn't be using sight, but Dain doesn't know enough about the process to guess at what other senses he might be using. Smell? Sound? Vervain doesn't allow enough time for either. He seems to simply know. Curiosity momentarily drowns out misgivings, long enough for Dain to ask without thinking: "How do you tell which ones are good?"

Almost as he's speaking, he realises what the obvious answer might be. Torn between taking the question back with a somewhat blatant 'Never mind' and simply staying silent, Dain sits tensely on his haunches, not quite breathing.

Tuo, who has been drowsing like the indulgent housecat he is on the inside, stirs on his sleeping pallet. He rolls over onto his side and sits up just enough to prop his cheek up on one hand, sleepily blinking between both Vervain and Dain.

Vervain Gardener is many things: Sheltered, trusting, and painfully earnest.

But he's not stupid by any stretch of the imagination.

True to form, he's not in any way alarmed by Dain's question (if he's even got any alarms to go off), but it does make him pause, because--

Because he doesn't know exactly how he's doing what he's doing, and nothing Gram taught him about logic or introspection or reasoning seems to apply to figuring out the mystery. He owes a shepherd--especially a kindly one!--an honest answer, though; so he bites his lower lip and considers carefully before saying, "I don't know, precisely. I s'pose I'm hearing the difference between them when I pick them up."

Which feels plausible, at least, right?

Great. Now it's going to be bothering him the rest of the day (especially because it suggests things he's not dumb enough to ignore).

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

"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.

OPEN | Blood And Ice

Civil Blood

I. News from the West

II. Cold Snap

III. A Howl in the Night

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