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

Closed to Finian and then Adhemar...

[gravioramanent]

[...but implied CR available to anyone sleeping in the chapel who wishes to be creeped on.]

Early the next morning after the cold snap's arrival--too early for matins--the doorway to the chapel admits two rather disconcerting things: a blast of cold and a hooded figure in a dark, mud-spattered cloak. The figure does not appear to be in any hurry to lower his hood. Idly, he meanders along the outermost perimeter aisle of the chapel, pausing periodically in his navigation of the groups of poor unfortunates huddling for warmth 'round about.

To those sanctuary seekers clearly awake he keeps a wide berth; but near those who appear to be sleeping, the figure casually looms over their comatose forms. He lingers long enough to be conspicuous, but not so long as to be overtly suspicious.

Of course, there is no reason to believe he is not contemplating the quaint religious iconography decorating the walls... what else would he be doing?

[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.

yo

[mysteriumtremendum]

The vicar is not among the comatose sleeping in the sanctuary; he is not within the vicarage walls at all, in fact, until a day or so after the cold snap first seizes Northcliff Pass, and then he has insinuated himself back into the ebb and flow of life within the small sanctuary. He's an adaptable creature by nature, and not even the occasional brush with the Cliffside soldiers can permanently ruffle his demeanour.

The hooded figure slinking about the interior of the sanctuary like some sort of sepulchral phantasm, however, has always put a bad taste in his mouth. He'd simply allowed himself the luxury to forget about it, while Volodymyr was away.

"What exactly are you looking for this evening, Maestro?" he begins in a deceptively soft, polite voice, standing very still and partly obscured by shadows in the sanctuary. Likely he has been observing the village physician for some time, measuring his distaste against the questions that would be raised if he let this nightly examination of the vicarage go unaddressed.

Re: yo

[gravioramanent]

Volodymyr does not immediately terminate his contemplation of the nearby sleeping figure at his feet. A wizened old man huddles beneath a ragged coat on the cold flagstones, who is mercifully unaware of how lucky he is to be so thoroughly unconscious at this particular moment.

After a brief moment of silence, the physician turns toward the quiet voice from the shadows, lips curling back into an equally polite, cursory smile glinting with yellowed teeth. He pushes back the hood, revealing a head of long, straggling grey hair and a pair of unblinking, dark eyes.

"Ah, Vater, zhere you are," he replies in a low voice. "You seem..." He takes a carefully measured step towards the vicar, nostrils flaring as he sucks down a lungful of air. "...Hale."

[mysteriumtremendum]

Would that everyone within the sanctuary could remain so blissfully unaware of the physician's presence. Already Adhemar regrets speaking up, but as that ship has sailed, he must make do.

"I am," he replies in the affirmative with a slight inclination of his head. In a smooth motion he gestures away from the sleeping bodies in the sanctuary and instead towards his small office. "Come, let us speak in my office where we won't disturb the faithful." The inevitable fact that this will place him in close quarters with Volodymyr cannot be avoided, but the sooner his unwelcome guest explains what his business is here, the sooner Adhemar can address it for him and then--politely--encourage him to go away.

[gravioramanent]

If Adhemar feels compelled to keep a close eye on this interloper, the instinct is mutual. The physician's interest in the chapel population has vanished for the time being; he watches instead the vicar with the intensity one might favor upon a particularly large snake of indistinct coloring. And he certainly isn't going to take the first step.

"I am glad to hear it," Volodymyr dryly replies. He has, thankfully, ceased to smile, but the corners of his mouth still twitch with indeterminate emotion. He briefly bows his head. "Of course. After you, Vater. Lead zhe vay, as you must do in all zhinks."

[mysteriumtremendum]

Perhaps Adhemar will be extremely lucky, and the physician will take an unfortunate tumble on the ice on his way home. A man can dream.

He turns without hesitation and leads the way back through the maze of sleeping forms to a small office/vestry attached to the back of the sanctuary. The narrow corridors in the vicarage lead to different places: a library, a meagre kitchen, a dormitory for the priests and laymen, and a small private bedroom for the vicar himself. Everything is shrouded in darkness at this time of night, but a single candle burns on Adhemar's desk as he opens the door and gestures Volodymyr through.

"Please make yourself comfortable," he says with as much false sincerity as he can muster. "And tell me what I can do for you at this late hour." What could not have waited until daylight?

[gravioramanent]

Volodymyr follows Adhemar quietly and peaceably into the vestry, glancing with brief interest into the unlit corners of the vicarage. As he settles himself in a chair opposite the vicar's desk, however, he takes rather more interest in the arrangement and content of the office. The observation lasts only a matter of seconds. Folding his hands comfortably over his stomach where Adhemar can clearly see them, Volodymyr returns his full and undivided attention to the vicar.

"I do apologize for zhe hour, Vater," he begins in a low voice, "but zhere are thoughts zhat vill not let a man sleep." He pauses a moment, contemplating the candle flame between them as he carefully collects his words. "It is a metaphysical qvestion regarding zhe nature of sin und... its connection to zhe Vice." The physician's gaze returns to the vicar, searching.

[mysteriumtremendum]

This line of inquiry could go in several different directions, none of them pleasant. Adhemar lifts his chin and raises his eyebrows, politely inquisitive. "Go on."

[gravioramanent]

Volodymyr, again, mulls over his vexatious thoughts in silence before selecting one for presentation. "Let us speak of sin alone," he begins. "We know it alienates us from zhe gods; zhere is no doubt on zhat point. Now the separation it causes..." He pauses, then gestures impatiently. "I know vhat theologians have said on zhis subject, but I am curious in your thoughts, Vater. Does zhis separation result from zhe sinner's intent to do evil, or from zhe actual... one might say physical effects of the sin itself? Or... is zhere another view perhaps I am not seeing?"

He keeps his voice as low as it had been in the chapel. Though it is unlikely anyone in the vestry would be up at such an hour, it would not do to be overheard.