northclifflogs | Blue Blue Caravan

WHO: Wilde, Emery, Johanna and two open starters
WHAT: Stuck in NCP until the snow clears enough for him to gtfo
WHEN: Early - Mid February
WHERE: Various
NOTES: Screaming goats - may update as needed

Open

Market - Wilde had found a nice spot to unload the two-wheeled cart, unfolding its various panels to put his wares out for display. Various goat cheeses took up most of the display. Most were simple, but there were a few fancy ones with nuts and herbs and such mixed in. There was also a quantity of yarn skeins, soft as anything. Some were dyed in shades of green, red, or yellow, but most were plain.

Wilde had taken to relaxing on the wagon seat while Pehj had found a spot relatively dry and free of snow to stretch out, occasionally bleating at any passersby who looked like they might give him some dried fruits.
The Hammer and Spoke - It was getting easier to avoid the soldiers in town now that they had taken shelter in the mines, but Wilde was still on guard. He'd heard they acted like they had the run of the place, and frankly he wanted to avoid getting conscripted if they were on the prowl for hale young folk to fatten their ranks.

Fortunately, the inn was too crowded for him to stand out much. There wasn't much else for the townsfolk to do on these cold winter nights aside from the usual drinking, dice, and occasional brawl. Wilde kept out of the thick of it, but observed the goings-on with what might have been a wistful smile before whatever reverie he was in the middle of was interrupted by a few soldiers barging in.

The goatherd ordered another drink, and then abandoned his place at the bar as he slipped into a chair across from a stranger, setting the drink down as though he'd been asked to do so.

"Sorry," he murmured, never quite taking his eyes off the soldiers, "I won't stay long. I just didn't want to deal with- well."

He inclined his head to the soldiers who were already hassling the others sitting at the bar to go drink elsewhere.
For Emery -

Traveling in the mountains was always a gamble - but it was especially bad during the winter. Wilde had finally made it home, lighting the lanterns along the narrow, dangerous path that split off from the Pilgrim's Path and led to his homestead. In case there was anyone mad enough to be traveling in this snow (himself excluded). It wasn't uncommon for the faithful to make a bit of a detour to spend the night somewhere warm and dry or trade for supplies, but that was the extent of Wilde's company.

He wasn't particularly surprised to see someone coming up the path while he was out seeing to the Ladies of the House (four fat hens) who clucked disapprovingly at Wilde when he scattered the rest of their feed. He stepped around two young bucks who were playfighting, their horns locked and heads pressed together as they grunted and pawed at the snow, and opened the gate.

"Sorry," he said, "haven't had much time to clear the path. There's stew and a bit of bread if you're hun-"

He blinked, realizing his impromptu guest wasn't some random pilgrim, but someone from the town proper. The bloody magistrate to boot! Wilde promptly straightened, feeling a growing tension in his gut. Something must be amiss to risk coming up here.

"Er. Magistrate. Sir."
For Johanna -

One does not generally apply the term majestic to goats. That's because, in general, it doesn't really fit.

But no one would argue that there was a certain dignity to Wilde's flock. There had been several generations where his ancestors had bred them with the wild ibexes around the mountains, and then further selective breeding until you got the fine specimen that was currently standing on top of some poor soul's roof.

Pehj was a proud looking creature. From the curve of his horns to his sleek chestnut coat, he cut a striking sight, silhouetted against the gray light of early dawn.

And then he opened his mouth.

"AAAaaaaAAAAA!" screamed Pehj from the roof, echoing across the village. "AAaaaaAAAA aaaAAA AAAaaAAAAAAA!!!"

It hadn't taken Wilde long to find the creature. The snows were deep and there weren't exactly many goats of Pehj's size down from the mountains, so the trail from where he'd untied his reigns to his current perch had been pretty easy to follow.

"Get down from there!" Wilde hissed, gesticulating wildly. Pehj ignored him, and bleated somehow louder.

Wilde searched around for a ladder. This was not, in fact, the most infuriating place Pehj had managed to park himself (he had once gotten about three quarters of the way up some ramparts - gravity for goats was not so much a law as a suggestion) but Wilde could already feel hot embarrassment creeping up the back of his neck. The last thing he wanted this morning was the scrutiny of grouchy villagers woken from their beds by Pehj's temper tantrum.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It's fine," comes the amiable reply, and a gap-toothed ginger youth lifts his mug to Wilde. "Been a lot more crowded in here since they showed up." He doesn't say anything against the soldiers, per se, but something in his otherwise cheerful expression belies a tension and irritation.
This is the closest Finian gets to saying he hates someone.

Blue Blue Caravan

Hammer & Spoke