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

[strumpeting]

Elena's eyes suddenly snap into focus and she slaps her heels to the ground. She looks over to Kendrick with a furrowed brow.

"Nah, that's shite. I once saw a ram headbutt another ram off a cliff before getting frisky with the sheep in the herd. Now, I wouldn't call that 'weakness of character' but I'm sure the church would."

[beane]

The suddenness of Elena's shift in attitude is more than enough to make Kendrick flinch, which sends a few hot flecks of wax onto his hands and he has to fumble to get the candles he'd just dipped onto the drying rack and shake the wax free of his skin before he can address her.

"Th-that's not--the church wouldn't--" He takes a deep breath and starts over. "The ram, you see, is motivated by the natural instinct to create offspring for the good of the herd. It hasn't the concept o-of propriety, or custom. S-so what you witnessed was not weakness of character, no, it was...natural."

[strumpeting]

"Oh, so when a ram does it it's natural but if I do it's a social disturbance and a crime and I get thrown in the stocks for two days."

She gives a scoff before considers for a minute, realizing that sounds worse than it is.

"Although I didn't toss him off a cliff I knocked him into a river where he almost drowned. But only almost! And besides that lass was already lifting her skirts to me willingly, happily! How was I supposed to know it was her husband? Clearly he wasn't giving her what she needed if anything I was doing a community service!"

[beane]

Oh for the love of--

"If a human being, beholden to the dogma of the society they inhabit, were to do such things," Adultery, murder, almost murder, etc. "It would be considered, under the edicts of the aforementioned dogma to which they are beholden, a social disturbance and a crime, yes. Because as human beings we have rules to follow to distinguish us from animals, to ensure peaceable existence, and-and keep us squarely on the Path."

Good grief that was too many words.

[strumpeting]

"Yeah but, all right, who decides the rules? Why do we let them? What if I was magistrate and then told everyone that every other day they couldn't wear pants? I mean, anyone can make rules and say they're right or wrong."

Damn, it's getting a little philosophical up in here. Maybe Elena's actually going somewhere serious with this.

"... Hey, actually, do you think Emery will want to step down anytime soon? That seems like a good opportunity."

Or maybe not.

[beane]

What a vexing woman. Truly, just...baffling.

"The rules are set in place by the Gods, of course," he says, as if she may as well be asking who gets to decide why the sky is blue. "And we don't let them they just are."

[strumpeting]

"Oh."

That actually shuts her up for a long while, apparently the logic of 'the Gods said so' is enough. Beane can likely rest easy for-

No, it's about five minutes later when Elena pipes up again.

"But who did the Gods tell this to? Like, who specifically?"

[beane]

"To Agnes of Innesbroch, and Griselda of the Grey Meadows, Edwin of Turn, Roland of Riverside, and to Clara Clemencia of Black Rock, Bride to the Wind. The Gods speak to the Saints, who share their words with those of us who cannot commune, whether or not we listen," By the Gods he's having some serious flashbacks to his time as a clergyman now...

"And the Archbishop, of course." Presumably.