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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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.

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.

"A cat," he confirms woefully. "I stepped on his tail on accident and he bolted out." Sure, it's probably more than a little his fault for deliberately getting underfoot, repeatedly, even when lightly shoved out of the way, but that doesn't make him feel any better. It's cold.

"Have you see him? He's very light grey, with white ears and toes?" It's not like Lance can probably see much, as bundled as he is, but Detlef has to ask.

Cats cannot be blamed for anything, and that is Known.

"I'll keep an eye out," Lance mumbles, giving a little nod. Cat or no, he understands well enough the dangers of any animal being out in this kind of weather.

"Thank you," he says, pathetically, gratefully. It's bad for anyone or anything to be out, but if something happens to an animal because of him he'd feel awful. He'd probably feel as bad as he's supposed to feel each time he uses the vice, but with support and not being arrested he feels less and less bad about it.

It is bait that Tuo is only too willing to accept.

The eccentric storyteller peers into the stables, glimpses Detlef at his cozy spot by the fire, and promptly steps inside. "You have the right idea," he informs the stablemaster lightly, then looks towards the stalls where the horses drowse.

A stout-looking grey dappled mare pricks up her ears upon his arrival, and Tuo walks over to her and affectionately strokes a hand down the white blaze of her nose. "I hope she hasn't been giving you any trouble," he says to Detlef.

Detlef grins as Tuo comes in, straightening up to grab a mug.

"She's been as well-behaved as one could hope," he assures the man. Not like animals tend to be otherwise, when he's tending them, but she's done well. Detlef likes the mare.

"Mulled wine? And how has your visit been going? Are you ready to make a home here yet?" His voice is teasing. There are times he envies Tuo the freedom of the road, but there are a lot of reasons he's at a sort of peace here in Northcliff Pass.

The sheer size of the carthorse dwarfs the slender body who now leans comfortably against her neck, his eyes closed. Malta--for that is her name--gently lips at Tuo's hand a time or two before lowering her head to whuffle at his shirt.

"Mulled wine?" Detlef offers, and Tuo smiles with clear gratitude. "Please," he says, gives Malta's broad neck one more gentle stroke, then steps lightly away from the horse to approach the fire again. As for the rest of what Detlef asks, he makes a mild sound and waves a hand. "This has been a more eventful visit than I anticipated. Bitter cold, winged beasts, soldiers--I prefer the feasting and wassailing."

"So do I," he says full-heartedly. "I don't like the cold, and I like soldiers even less. They like trouble, so they create it wherever they go." Even law-abiding citizens aren't safe, if there's really any such thing. Law-abiding. ...Or safety.

Detlef fills the mug and holds it out before returning the warm jug to its spot in the corner of the fireplace.

"Food is a plus too. I'll support food and drink and just about anything over people who think being paid to kill other people is a good idea camping out."

Tuo gratefully accepts the mug and simply warms his thin fingers around it for a time, glad to let the heat chase the cold from his skin. A chatty person by nature, he seems curiously introspective for a moment while Detlef speaks, his pale gaze going distant for a moment as he contemplates what he's heard.

"I imagine many of them don't have a choice," he points out quietly, turning his mug in his hands once. "Being conscripted for the war--I imagine those boys left behind lives they may never return to. A tragedy." He sounds sincere.

Lorne is not intentionally on search-and-rescue duty when he goes to find the source of noise coming from behind one of the buildings in the marketplace, but lo and behold: tangled in a pile of cord or netting is a pale grey cat. A very angry, very cold cat judging by the low yowl that turns into a hiss when Lorne attempts to reach for it, and the overabundance of shivering fluff.

"I'm only trying to free your legs," he tells the cat, which absolutely cannot understand him. Lorne doesn't have a lot of experience with pets, especially agitated ones, and the next time he extends a hand he has to snatch it back in a hurry when the poor creature swats at him, claws bared.

This won't do. Lorne straightens and spots someone else on the street. "Excuse me," he calls to the man, "you wouldn't happen to know much about cats, would you? I found one stuck and I've no idea how to free it without getting mauled," he adds a bit dryly.

It's his moment.

That's not to say that he hasn't had moments before, but someone on the street asking him for cat information is basically the moment he's trained his entire life for, including when he was a tiny Detlef chasing away cats that were smart enough to stay out of tiny clumsy hands. His face has lit up, not just because of the topic but also because there's a chance he's finally found the poor cat who fled out of the warm barn and they can both go back to warmth.

"I know a great deal about cats," he says delightedly. "I'm Detlef, the stablemaster and vet. Where's the--" The cat yowls again, answering the question. Detlef nods and kneels down to see what's going on with the very cat he'd hoped to find.

"And what have you done to yourself?" he asks quietly. The cat's stuck and needs to be untangled. How observant is this stranger? Can Detlef risk it? He reaches in without using his Vice and promptly has to pull his hand back too.

"Excellent," Lorne says, relieved that this incident might result in a minimum of scratches now. Detlef is literally the man for the job. Perhaps that's why he was outside in the first place, if the cat is tame and had run off for some reason. Lorne honestly cannot tell from the creature's current behavior.

He stoops down next to Detlef, leaving the stablemaster enough room to maneuver. "There's not much space to get behind the poor thing." It only seems logical to attempt to hold a struggling cat from where claws and teeth are not facing you. "Would food help calm it down at all?"

Assuming they could even tempt it to something before it freezes to death.

"Yes," he says quickly. Food wouldn't do much, but getting the food will get Lorne away which will mean that Detlef can probably safely do his thing and calm down Lord Frigatebottom before Lorne gets back. "Can you get any sort of meat? Dried, fresh, it doesn't matter. Cats enjoy it any way they can get it, and Lord Friggatebottom here is one of the least picky of the strays in the village."

Said cat has squished down a little, looking distinctly pissed off and braced to battle. Detlef is rather glad he's going to have a chance to cheat; he's fond of his hands.

"...Lord Friggatebottom." Briefly all thoughts of rescue halt while Lorne absorbs the cat's name. It's ridiculous and hilarious, especially given the situation. With a sound not unlike a laugh, Lorne nods and gets to his feet. "Quite a moniker. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Meat, where is he going to get fresh meat in this weather, at this time of year? Everything is going to be salted or dried--

Oh, wait. Lorne's gotten several paces away towards the butcher's when he remembers he has jerky on him to keep up his energy while on patrol. The cold must be slowing him down. He digs around in his pockets for the small packet of waxed cloth. "Ah, I've got some, actually; I forgot," Lorne says, turning back towards Detlef.

As soon as the man starts walking away Detlef turns his attention to the cat. They're in such bulky outfits that there's not going to be peripheral vision to worry about and he feels safe enough to start to work.

"You know me," Detlef says quietly. He doesn't technically have to talk for this to work, but it feels easier when he does. He reaches in, focusing on the cat and making him calm enough to start untangling the netting. "We'll get you out of this, and then we'll get you back to where it's warm. And then maybe you won't be so focused on getting underfoot, hm?"

He's about halfway through unraveling the netting from a very compliant Lord Frigatebottom when it occurs to him that he'd heard a voice. Detlef keeps working with his hands, easing up on the Vice a little as he tries to find a way to play it off depending on who is here.

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."

Civil Blood

I. News from the West

II. Cold Snap

III. A Howl in the Night

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