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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Lorne can hear Detlef trying to soothe the poor cat when he's walking back the short distance. Perhaps Detlef can calm the creature enough that food will mollify it somewhat, just enough to handle safely. He's extracted a bit of jerky already, hand extending to offer it to the stablemaster as he draws close--

Compared to the yowling, spitting little beast of a moment ago, Lord Frigatebottom is now remarkably quiet. And apparently calmed sufficiently that Detlef has begun the process of untangling him. Lorne immediately goes still. It's possible that since Detlef knows the cat, he's simply been lucky that his familiarity made a dent. Or perhaps the cat is so cold that it's given up trying to claw them to ribbons.

Or, Lorne allows, Detlef has skill that goes beyond the reach of the mundane. Stablemaster and vet, he had said. If Detlef does have the Vice, and this is what he uses it for...

Raised among Watchmen and with his father as Magistrate, Lorne has formed the opinion that punishments ought to match crimes, and that what is law is not always just. Detlef isn't hurting anyone. He does not deserve execution for his devotion to his animals, or because he was born with a trait he did not choose.

Slowly so as not to startle either of them, Lorne kneels near Detlef, barely at arm's reach. "You've a... gift. With animals," he says, carefully neutral, and glances around for anyone who might be coming up the street. "Go on; I'll keep an eye out for you."

Of course it's the stranger again. And the careful tone says that Detlef's been caught twice in less than a week and really how is he still alive? It's entirely thanks to the gods, and he makes a mental note to go pray a little more often. At the very least he can thank them more.

He exhales, trying not to fidget too much or show just exactly how tense he is. If everyone pretends he doesn't use the vice then... he's safe, right? But one of these days he won't be and he wishes he had someone he could ask for advice on how to be less obvious. Since stopping isn't an option.

"Right," he says, voice about an octave higher. He finishes untangling Lord Frigatebottom and scoops him up, dusting snow off and cuddling the cat to his warmth. "I, right. He..."

There's no point to lying. Detlef opens up his coat and lets the cat wiggle in to be safe. Much safer than Detlef is.

Dain's just had to smooth over an incident with the soldiers. Nothing has happened, and no one is hurt, but there have been several such minor incidents now and Dain is counting down the days until something more serious happens. Thoughts like that are what fill his mind as he cuts through the marketplace -- and thoughts like that are why he sees someone riffling through netting behind a stall and immediately assumes thievery is occurring.

Stupid, in retrospect. The man clearly hadn't been a soldier. Netting isn't valuable enough to steal. And -- it's a cat. It's Detlef with a cat. Dain turns his head away so that if something is, in fact, occurring, he's not seeing it, and --

-- there's Lorne.

Dain freezes. Detlef alone, he could have walked right past without saying anything, secure in the knowledge that Detlef would follow suit. Lorne is a member of the Watch. If Detlef just used the vice, then that means Lorne knows, and walking away from the situation now...

"Detlef --" Dain starts, and then doesn't say anything more, because he has no idea what he meant to say in the first place.

As much as Lorne is trying to keep an eye out for someone coming, he's also a bit distracted by what he's just discovered. It's not every day one witnesses the Vice, and while it's possible Lorne has seen things without realizing, now-- well, it's the kind of thing that grabs one's attention and shakes it roughly, even if all Detlef is doing is calming cat. Real magic.

So he doesn't notice the Shepherd's approach until Dain is, very obviously, also witnessing Detlef's actions. Shit. Dain had seemed a decent enough person when they'd spoken before, and certainly he was more flexible and outgoing than any other Shepherd Lorne has had a brush with. He's the only one willing to do things like play in the snow with children.

But Dain is still a Shepherd, and Shepherds are tasked with a specific mission.

The cat is free but Lorne moves so he's solidly between Dain and Detlef, as if that will somehow prevent what's already been witnessed. Was it at all possible Dain missed it? He's not immediately accusing Detlef of being Profane nor wearing any expression that indicates anger or judgement. What excuse can Lorne give to protect Detlef if Dain had seen it?

"Poor cat got stuck, and I couldn't get it out, even with food," he explains to hurriedly, waving the bit of jerky he still has in his hand. The truth is usually his friend, if carefully worded. "Detlef spends a lot of time with animals in the stables, he knows them better than I do. Seems he's had more luck."

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?"

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.

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.

It's going to work out. Lord Friggatebottom reaches a paw out of the coat and Detlef hurriedly reaches in to scratch his chin, rewarding him for behaving, trying to process his shock. It doesn't seem to be working, but at least he can hear Lorne and nod numbly.

"The stable's not too far." How could he not at least offer them hospitality when they're letting him keep his life? "And there's a fire."

After an awkward half-beat he turns and starts heading toward the stables, assuming he'll be followed. He's Profane, who wouldn't want to keep an eye on him? Except these men, apparently, and Colin, and Faro, and even Lance somehow.

It is definitely outright heresey in some manner.

No. Dain can't do it. Bad enough that even one person knows the particulars of what he does; he will not risk anyone's safety by passing the burden on to others. Plausible deniability, no matter how thin, is better than no protection whatsoever. Any conversation that occurs now will not remain innocent, if Lorne's extended stare is any indication, and the fewer opportunities Detlef has to ask Dain why he became a Shepherd, the better.

"You two go on ahead," he says. "As wonderful as a fire sounds right now, I have other places I need to be." You know, over there, somewhere. Freezing his ears off. With an encouraging smile: "Say hello to Moose for me."

Oh, no. No, Dain is definitely not about to walk away from this situation. This is not a moment which will serve everyone better by less explanation. Lorne is well and truly able to keep his mouth shut about a great many things, and to keep his curiosity in check. But if he's not absolutely sure that Dain is no danger to Detlef, and therefore no danger to his family--

Lorne's expression hardens. If he's wrong, he's going to have to do something drastic.

"You can come say hello yourself," he insists, if a bit tersely. "This is important."

Oh, that's not good. Detlef looks between them, wrapping his free arm around the cat a little protectively. What's going to happen if two people who know his secret start fighting? With guards in the village, no less? How are they going to explain that?

"I have some really awful moonshine that's very good at warming, too? We can all go, it doesn't have to be for long." Why is the stranger so insistent?

"And we can have introductions. I still don't know your name," he says to the man who found Lord Friggatebottom. "Unless that's deliberate. Because on second thought I don't need to know it." He wishes it was as easy to stop talking as it was to blow out a candle, but as it's not he may know why the stranger has yet to give his name. Detlef is very bad at shutting up.

Lorne continues to surprise him. This time, Dain doesn't even try to school the surprise out of his expression. The man is a study in contrasts; a guardsman with seemingly no ability to smile, a penchant for children's snowball fights, and a fierce protectiveness of the Profane. A Profane who, it turns out, Lorne doesn't even know.

Then again, Detlef is a similar study; a Profane with no ability to hide. Is everyone in this village so peculiar?

For a long moment, Dain doesn't move, or speak. He simply stands in his arrested departure, looking at Lorne, trying to decide if the urge to give in is because that course of action genuinely makes the most sense, or simply because he's curious. One is dangerous; the other is also dangerous, but in a very different way.

...Well. Nothing lasts forever. "All right," he says, and immediately feels nervous energy flood through him, as though his very body is appalled at his decision. "I suppose I can spare time for one drink."

Good. If nothing else, one drink of paint-stripping moonshine will give them time to be clear with each other while calming some nerves. That's all the time he wants, really. Lorne relaxes a little, nods to Dain, and turns towards Detlef. He doesn't follow just yet, waiting for Dain to move first with the intent of walking beside him.

"No, that wasn't deliberate," he says with some strained amusement. "Lorne Ward, new addition to the Watch." He gestures towards the stables. "After you, Dain."

"Oh," he says, feeling a little fuzzy-headed. A shepherd and a new member of the watch. That's exactly who needs to know he's Profane. He wonders if somewhere Lance is feeling anxious, or the beginnings of heartburn. Maybe it's just Detlef.

He leads the way to the stables and in through the smaller, person-sized door. "Come on in." His voice sounds a little fuzzy to his own ears and he knows he should really sit down soon, but there are two stump-seats near the fire and he needs to roll a third over from the corner first. Then he needs to retrieve three clean mugs from the cupboard and the moonshine and bring it all over before finally he can sit down. He's not on trial, but he can't say he's feeling entirely safe right now.

Detlef not feeling entirely safe is one of the reasons Dain didn't want to do this. It might help to strike up some simple conversation on the way over, but he finds that he can't quite even manage that, at least without sounding as nervous as he feels. A nervous Shepherd isn't going to do anything to help Detlef feel more at ease.

Once they're inside the stables, however: "Tell me how I can help," Dain says, because he recognises that careful way in which Detlef is moving. "If you tell me where things are, I'll get them for us. You can sit down."

Lorne walks with Dain rather than behind him on purpose, and tries to keep his posture somewhere below intimidating.This must be overwhelming for Detlef, and he's still trying to be a good host. The man has a kind heart. Perhaps that's why he risks the use of the Vice so openly: he cares too much to hide. All the same, Detlef could use a stronger instinct for self-preservation, but that's a problem for later.

"Yes, sit," Lorne agrees with Dain, his voice much gentler this time. He's more inclined to stand but he'll take a seat with Detlef so he's not looming over anyone accidentally. "I only want us all to be clear about-- the situation. Lingering uncertainty doesn't seem advantageous." For both Detlef and Dain's sake, careful wording will be necessary here.

He looks between the two men, years of trying to be a good host when he has company warring with how shaky his legs are feeling and he decides that if they give out he won't accomplish anything even slightly productive. Detlef nods and sits, pushing a hand through his hair as he tries to settle his thoughts.

First, what's needed. He points in the corner at the third stump. "That can be brought over so no one has to stand, and then the cups and moonshine are in there." That's followed by a gesture at the cupboard next to the fireplace. Nothing's very fancy in here, it's definitely on the rustic side of things, but it's more than serviceable. The nicer stuff is in the other part of the building, able to be glimpsed through a door cracked open enough so cats can come and go. And they do, Friggatebottom is more than happy to jump out of Detlef's coat and run in as a tiny white cat comes out and prances her way to Detlef.

Dain quietly does exactly what Detlef indicates, first rolling the stump over so there are seats for all three of them, then going for the cabinet and the cups. He doesn't reply to what Lorne says, and barely gives any indication he heard, except that he's still here and helping and that's got to mean something.

And it's a completely untroubled smile he gives the tiny white cat when he notices her, prancing her way over to her chosen human. "Hello, Moose," he says cheerfully. "It's good to see you again." He pours the moonshine, wrinkling his nose at the strong smell, and passes the cups over to both Detlef and Lorne. "Miss Pants is still around, I hope?"

Obviously this conversation has to start with cats.

As much as Lorne is anxious to get their relative positions and knowledge of each other sorted out sooner rather than later, he can recognize what Dain is doing. Dain already knows Detlef, knows something of his life, and Lorne doesn't yet. He sighs softly. Patience.

Lorne sits too, leaving the space between for Dain, and can't help but feel genuine warmth at Moose's undaunted approach. Detlef likes cats, that's obvious. "You're creative with names," he compliments as he accepts the cup, aiming to keep up the tenor of Dain's conversational manner. "How many pets do you have?"

With Moose jumping up into his lap and a cup of something in his hand, Detlef starts to relax a little. You don't talk cats with someone you might turn in later. He thinks.

"She is. More are around than usual since it's so cold out," he says to Dain before looking back over at Lorne. "Only three are really mine. Moose here, and Sir Lurk and Lord Sneak, who are..."

Detlef looks around before shrugging. "Obviously they're the pair that likes hiding. The rest know it's warm and safe here so they congregate when it's cold and otherwise come and go. I name them when they've visited a few times but I like it when they find actual homes."

The faintest smile comes to his face as he looks at Dain again. "Like Miss Pants. I'd check the first stall for her, she's friendly enough with the mare that she'll sit on her and they're both warm that way."

That sounds positively adorable, and Dain briefly steps over to the stall to do just that. Sure enough, there's the cat he befriended the first time, fluffy white lower half and all, perfectly relaxed in a regal sprawl on top of the mare. Horse and cat both flick their ears towards Dain when he makes a soft whispering noise, but otherwise don't move; they know they're safe here.

"A fine home she's found," Dain comments as he finally sits between Lorne and Detlef. Miss Pants has, sometime in the last few days and with only one meeting, become Dain's favourite cat in the village. "Much more sensible than... what was the name? Boatbottom?"

It does sound adorable, but Lorne doesn't want to startle either Moose or Detlef by standing up again. Instead he listens, nodding along and never quite smiling. He wonders about bringing one of the stray cats home, but he'll have to ask the rest of the family first. It might do the household some good, having a fluffy interloper around. That is not, however, the primary subject of importance here.

"Lord Friggatebottom," he replies to Dain, managing to keep a straight face as he says it. Lorne takes a careful sip of the liquor, trying to decipher flavor around the burn. "Yes, piles of cord in the middle of a hard freeze seems far less sensible than the back of a horse." Both for the poor animal's health, and the fact that it's landed them here.

"Lord Friggatebottom," he confirms, slightly regretting the name choice. "He gets his butt in trouble often, and more often than not it's a large amount of trouble. A boat-load, if you will. My first meeting with him was when I stopped him seconds from tackling a wasp's nest."

He'd like no comments on how fitting it is that he's been caught by two guards now and a shepherd and how maybe he should be named Stablemaster Friggatebottom. Detlef takes a breath and a sip of the drink that's far more burn than taste. Maybe it's time to stop the easy topic and get on to whatever they wanted to talk about originally. Like the Vice.

Or maybe not.

"Do either of you have pets?"

Like attracts like, it seems. Dain respectfully does not say this out loud.

"No," he says instead, in answer to that question. "Pets don't work very well with the sort of life I lead. They'd be lonely; I'd be lonely. It would defeat the entirety of the purpose." And he will not let Miss Pants' fluffy white rear sway him, as Detlef hinted at before, no matter how much he'd pay someone to immortalise said rear in a painting.

Besides -- Lorne's making a fine show of small talk, but it's obvious what he really wants to talk about, and if they're going to clear up lingering uncertainty, might as well do that sooner rather than later.

It's forever fortunate that Dain has so much practice keeping a calm, rational manner when his heart pounds wildly inside his chest. He starts with: "You are safe, Detlef, you and your cats, from me. I suspect you're also safe from Lorne, though --" Here, Dain looks at the guardsman, puzzlement furrowing his brow. "-- I'm not sure why."

Lorne leaves the matter of pets aside, for now. Dain broaching the subject of Detlef's Vice is more important to follow. He returns the Shepherd's puzzlement with impassivity. A neutral front is better, no matter the uneasiness rattling around in his ribcage.

"Punishments should match the crimes," Lorne says simply. Written law is not the same as justice, though this is more dangerous to voice aloud even in friendly company. "A tool is a tool; how a person chooses to use it determines whether it is good or ill. You're safe from and with me, I promise." He turns his gaze to Detlef, nods. To Dain, more quietly: "As are you."

Civil Blood

I. News from the West

II. Cold Snap

III. A Howl in the Night

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