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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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."

Later he'll try to convince Dain that Miss Pants wouldn't be too lonely if she had a human, and a human wouldn't be too lonely if he had a Miss Pants, but they're moving on to the more serious topic anyway and all of Detlef's focus is needed for breathing. Lorne's explanation actually makes a bit of sense, that if Detlef's not hurting anyone he shouldn't be hurt. Dain hasn't offered a why, though.

He presses his lips together and glances between the two before his gaze stays on Dain.

"I don't want to question anything because I like to be safe," even if his actions don't exactly say as much, "but why is a Shepherd offering someone like me safety? His reason," he tilts his head toward Lorne, "makes sense. Seeing it as a tool. But hunting is your whole... deal."

As are you. Dain watches Lorne for a minute, his puzzlement still very much present, if a little tempered from before. Lorne will have to forgive him; he's not accustomed to authority figures speaking sense, or, for that matter, acting on sense.

Detlef's question is a fair one, though, and it turns out to be a good distraction. "You can question anything you like," Dain tells him with a smile, "as long as you don't expect me to answer everything." He pauses, further words on the tip of his tongue, but then he bites them back with a soft sigh. "Such as, for example, that one. Suffice to say, the church and I don't see eye to eye on everything, and I would prefer to hunt those actively doing harm."

Another brief pause, and then: "Don't expect that to remain true if I'm not alone. Speaking of which, if you like to be safe, have you never had anyone teach you delicacy? Has another Shepherd never visited this village before?"

It could be stern, coming from anyone else, but coming from Dain it mostly sounds like a sort of exasperated fondness.

Lorne was raised to do more than blindly follow the letter of the law; if nothing else, he learned to understand the spirit of the laws, too, and in that was an emphasis on critical thinking. Seeing what Colin and Camilla suffered brought questions to his mind about the way things are done. It would not be inaccurate to say this is what rebellion looks like on Lorne: quiet and resolute in his opinions.

Dain still doesn't explain the why, but the what is good enough for Lorne at the moment. "He's right," Lorne says, a touch wryly as he sips from his cup. Faintly teasing: "You might wish to employ more subtlety, or we won't be the last to find out."

They may not be the first, either, but Detlef hasn't been hauled off to less discerning Shepherds as of yet.

If the answer is all he's going to get, he'll take it. Detlef isn't always great at knowing when not to push, but this is a Shepherd and therefore he's already on thin ice. And then the attention's back on him so he can't even follow-up if he wanted to.

He winces and Moose chirps, turning her into a welcome distraction as he rubs her head and comforts her. "There have been other Shepherds, but there wasn't a panicking horse or a cat that might freeze at the time." His free hand goes up to play with his hair.

"I don't really know how to do subtle. I try, sometimes." And then other times he questions a Shepherd directly and has to be hauled off by Lance. "I thought you'd left, Lorne, and I didn't know Dain was there."

An awareness of your surroundings is difficult to teach, unfortunately. Dain considers Detlef for a moment, head tilted thoughtfully to the side; and then he decides maybe his knowledge can be useful for something after all.

"If you think someone has seen you," he says, "don't act like your guilt is a foregone conclusion. Don't panic, don't invent excuses. Assume they didn't see anything at all. How could they, if there's nothing to see? Give them a smile, or a wave, or ask how their day's going. You would be surprised how many people question the evidence of their own senses if they're not given a reason to believe them. I --" A pause. "-- I probably would have dismissed it myself, when we first met, if you didn't then act like I'd caught you red-handed. If it's unreasonable to expect that you desist completely whenever a Shepherd is in the village, then you should at the very least learn how to manipulate what they see."

Lorne didn't precisely help with the excuse-making front on this occasion, though what he'd said was effectively the truth at the moment just with some details omitted. Dain being a Shepherd, and a highly unusual one, had only muddled things further. If it had been almost anyone else in the village--

It's useful advice, what Dain is saying, and Lorne isn't so prideful as to assume he needn't listen, either. Dain has encountered this situation before, probably many times. Lorne has only confirmed seeing a Profane using the Vice once, but it's entirely possible it won't be the last. There are some things he can add, though.

"Double-checking you're alone or out of sight won't hurt," he offers. "And if you can… moderate how strong the effect is, perhaps tone it down when there's a chance of other people…?" Lorne is reaching on this second suggestion; he has no clue how Detlef's abilities actually work. "You're basically the local expert about animals. Use that to your advantage."

Now he looks up, straightening so he can meet Dain's gaze.

"But I am guilty. I don't know how to act like I'm not when I am. I'm not some stage performer, able to change how I act or feel like putting on a new outfit." He shrugs. Hiding isn't easy, even though he wishes it was and has wished as much since he realized what he could do. "I can double-check, I'll work on that. I wish..."

He trails off and shakes his head, looking as young as he actually is for once. "Is it heresy to wish there was some guide to how to change the scope of what you're doing, or know how to do it better?"

You're not guilty, Dain wants to say, but manages to bite it back in time. He hasn't completely forgotten himself. "It's a skill to learn," he says instead, "like any other. No one is born acting like something they're not. Nor can anyone change their feelings at the drop of a hat."

He's struck, again, by how contrary this situation is to every other he's experienced where the Profane are concerned. Either you learn to stay hidden very quickly, or you learn to defend yourself very quickly, or both. Does Detlef's lack of skill speak more of this village's isolaton, or of his kindness and care? The latter, Dain decides, and he cannot help but feel responsible for what happens to Detlef now, which was precisely what he'd been hoping to avoid.

"Heresy, yes," he answers quietly. "Inadvisable, no."

There's a faint creak from the room beyond that cracked-open doorway. If one of them happens to be at just the right angle, they might see a white-cloaked figure through the gap. The thud of Farogil putting his latest trunk of belongings down is probably louder than the creak, as is his tired groan after.

"Let's see, where shall you go? Over here on this chest I think," he narrates, voice soft as if he were having a delicate conversation. Except he's talking to himself and, apparently, to a cat. "Would you move please? I need you to move. Please move, sir. Please. You can lay on the bed. That would be nicer for you I think. Please? Please move. Here, will you move here? This is soft. Please move. Yes thank-oh. Move further please, sir."

He sighs heavily, "Alright, I suppose I'll leave it there for now. Perhaps you'll move when I come back. Sorry to bother you sir, yes, you go back to sleep. I think next is that sack of wool, perhaps you'd rather sleep on it instead of that wood. We'll see I suppose. I'm off."

And then he's headed back through the slightly-creaky door again to finish his moving.

"There's a lot practice can do for you," Lorne says, echoing Dain's words. "Whether that means practicing here, in the privacy of your own home--"

And then he hears someone entering the other room. Immediately he falls silent, waiting and listening. What he hears sounds very much like someone voicing their thoughts and actions as they go, and presumably talking to Detlef's aforementioned cats. The person finishes whatever rearranging was necessary and departs, and Lorne breathes out a quiet huff of amusement and relief.

"Friend of yours, I assume?" He shakes his head. "I suppose living with someone may make practicing more difficult." Beat. "Unless he knows...?"

He wishes he wasn't Profane, that he wasn't having heretical thoughts, but there's really no changing what it is and he can't stop. Which means apparently he's going to need practice acting at the very least.

Detlef looks toward the doorway and dithers. It shouldn't be unsafe to tell them that Faro knows, but if they're tortured... then Farogil is probably doomed anyway because no one will assume that he didn't realize he was sleeping with someone with the Vice. He looks down.

"He knows." He swallows before looking up. "I'm seeing him, and I couldn't see someone who didn't know because it didn't seem fair." All he can do is hope they don't ask how many know. "I can see if he'll help me practice acting."

Detlef makes it sound like he confessed to having the Vice, but Dain wouldn't be at all surprised if the other man stumbled on the secret the same way Lorne and Dain both did just now. Still, it's good to know the couple are happy, and not just because the audible murmuring through the cracked doorway had put Dain immediately on edge.

He drops his face into his hand, laughing softly to himself. Detlef confessed because he didn't think it was fair to be in a relationship with someone who didn't know he had the Vice. This -- this is the sort of world Dain wants to live in, which clashes badly with the self-preservation instinct he definitely has, and it's funny, and it's definitely not funny, and it may or may not be worrying to see a Shepherd laughing like this, but it feels necessary to mark the absurdity somehow. Either way, it doesn't look like words are forthcoming.

It is an absurd situation they've found themselves in, which Dain's quiet laughter only highlights further. Lorne only arches an eyebrow at the Shepherd, faint bemusement on his face. Laughter is probably better than most reactions, even if it's confusing.

"That's a very selfless thing to do," Lorne tells Detlef. Brave, and maybe a little foolish, but like Dain he would rather live in a world where people can be brave without the threat of execution on their heads. He can imagine it would be difficult and painful to be in a relationship with someone and feeling you have to hide something so enormous from them. "I'm glad it worked out for you both."

He pauses, sips at his drink while considering how much he can reasonably offer to get involved. "If I can help, I'm not hard to find. Just don't come to the guardhouse," Lorne suggests wryly.

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OPEN | Blood And Ice

Civil Blood

I. News from the West

II. Cold Snap

III. A Howl in the Night

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