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

[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?"

[gravioramanent]

The identity of this particular lump at his feet now ascertained, Volodymyr regards Finian pointedly for few seconds of silence. Heavy, judgmental silence. He lowers himself (carefully) to a crouch on the flagstones, resting a forearm on his knee, all the better to squint at his young apprentice and not deprive him of the smell of stale tobacco smoke and alcohol.

"Vhat are you doing here?" he demands in a brusque whisper.

[pestler]

Though agreeable and at times unassertive, Finian doesn't quail from Vlad or even seem that bothered by his manner.

"My house is too cold," he explains in a whisper, rubbing one of his eyes, "everyone was advised to stick together." He doesn't bother asking why Vlad seems unaware, and knows he's unlikely to join in.

[gravioramanent]

"'My houthe istht too cold,'" he echoes in a nasally, poor imitation of Finian, then continues darkly with a roll of his eyes. "It ist not zhat cold." Despite his bold claim, he nonetheless reaches into the depths of his sleeve to retrieve a stained handkerchief, which he dabs at his running nose now worryingly pink from his recent jaunt outside. "Plague breaks in crowds, remember zhat. You should haff come to mine."

He pauses a moment, glancing over his shoulder to another group across the chapel while he returns the damp cloth to his sleeve. "Fortuitous zhere ist no illness in your immediate future."

[pestler]

Still very much wanting to go back to sleep, Finian weathers Vlad's mockery without comment or much reaction beyond a slight furrowing of his brow.
"I remember," he mumbles, "but with all due respect, sir, there's no more people here than would normally be at a service." He glances wearily around at the sleeping forms. "We're risking plague every time we come to chapel--"
He's cut off by a yawn, which he covers with his forearm, not wanting to be rude, even to the rudest person he knows.

"...did you need something?" he asks again, wistfully eyeing his pillow.

[gravioramanent]

The old surgeon's gaze snaps back to his apprentice, suddenly as hard and sharp as flint.

"Ve do not sleep in the chapel for hours and hours breathing zhis miasma," Volodymyr hisses. Then, punctuating each word with a jab of his gloved forefinger against Finian's chest, adds: "Zhat ist zhe difference." Grimacing, his demeanour shifts at the question. "Ja, I do now. If you are determined to stay here, I vant a reckoning. Someone in zhis rabble ist bound to die in zhis cold. Inform me immediately if it happens."

[pestler]

Finian is wide awake now, having learned to react quickly when ever Vlad's eyes take on that quality. He's about to apologize when he finds himself flinching with each tap instead, and remains silent for several moments after, weighing how best to respond.

"I'm sorry sir," he says after a pause, placatingly, "I can-- I'll come stay in the surgery, if you want me to."

[gravioramanent]

Volodymyr's hand retracts into the warmth of his cloak. He does not break the silence, observing Finian intently, but impassively. This does not change after Finian's apology.

"If zhis cold sticks, come to the surgery tomorrow night und every night until it varms," he replies softly, evenly. "For now, your time ist your own. If you stay, I vant you as my eyes und ears. Understood?"

[pestler]

Silently, Finian nods. Vlad has a way of phrasing things that brooks no argument, not that he would have thought to argue anyway.