OPEN ↠ HARING EVENT

[faderifting]

WHO: All
WHAT: WINTER IS HERE
WHEN: Haring 15-Wintermarch 1
WHERE: The Gallows, Kirkwall
NOTES: You can use this post as an event-style mingle log, or just use it as background information for your RP elsewhere!

It's been a chilly month already, but in mid-Haring the temperature suddenly plummets. One day it's merely cold, and the next morning the Inquisition wakes to frost on the inside of the window panes and an icy draft whistling through every crack in the tower's masonry. Downstairs, the pipes that feed the bathing chambers and the kitchens creak in the walls, loud enough to be heard even out in the courtyard, where they run beneath the stones, and around midday, when the sun has failed to raise the temperature above freezing, a blocked pipe finally gives, cracking open to spill water across the central court and send it running down side passages. The whole area floods several inches deep and almost immediately begins to freeze, presenting at first a gigantic, treacherous slush puddle and, after a few hours, a sheet of sheer ice.

Melting a safe path from door to door and laying down sand or wood to keep it from becoming slick again is a simple enough undertaking, but before the entire courtyard can be thawed, someone appears with ice skates—and that’s a better idea, surely, for at least a few days. Anyone who complains about the frivolity can be assured it’s good exercise, not to mention good training for a force that may have to travel or fight on ice in the future.

Temperatures remain cold enough that even some parts of the harbor begin to freeze, first just at the calmest edges of the shoreline, and then the more protected nooks and crannies of the bay, inlets and the spaces between piers and beneath docks. It snows most days--not real storms, just a couple inches here and there--little enough for the window to blow most of it off the icy plain of the courtyard and other wide open, paved spaces, accumulating on branches and in alleyways, and creating growing drifts in corners and against walls.

After a week or so actual chunks of floating ice begin to fill the narrow channels of the harbor, threatening smaller and less-sturdy vessels, and the situation in the poorer parts of the city begins to grow dire. With the Viscount's blessing, Inquisition teams (particularly mages) are called in to help. Some are assigned to the docks, to clear ice that makes landing and unloading treacherous, others to help escort ships into harbor by melting a path ahead. Others are sent into Lowtown to clear ice and snow and to provide warmth and medical attention where needed. At least one mage is sent with each team, and while many neighborhoods are pleasantly surprised and grateful for the quick work fire glyphs make of cold hearths and frozen streets, a few are unable to overcome their distrust, and refuse the teams entry, determined to take care of their own without the help of dangerous outsiders.

In the last week of the year, a true blizzard strikes, snow falling steadily for more than a day, blanketing the city at least three feet deep. Digging out the Gallows will be a group effort, and most non-essential trips outside the base will be cancelled for a few days until travel is less difficult, while those who reside in the city or elsewhere may be encouraged to stay a night or two in the fortress so they might continue to work without traveling through the storm. But on the first day of Wintermarch the First Day feast goes on as planned, with modest but plentiful food and ale served in the Gallows' dining hall for anyone who wishes to celebrate the new year.

Comments

[mactears]

Hesitation is still hesitation, however short it is. And for that short period of time, Loghain doesn't try to push her off, either, and some of the annoyance in his expression starts to fade, replaced by something else.

Then she's up and muttering at him, and Loghain exhales tiredly, closes his eyes, and begins to heave himself up too. He dusts some snow from his hair and picks up his belt knife from where it had fallen. "It would not kill you to accept help when it is offered, from time to time."

[doneisdone]

"You'd be surprised." This is said primly, more out of stubbornness than actual conviction as she bends to pick up the basket and scraps of clothing she'd been carrying before everything went to shit.

[mactears]

"As would you," he counters. Loghain affixes the knife back to his belt, then folds his arms over his chest. Now his irritation is back, though he can't place its source exactly. (Or he can, but prefers not to.) "Sometimes a kindness is just that, nothing else."

[doneisdone]

A snort of dismissal and Teren is all collected again, smirking as she starts to walk away again. You'd think so, wouldn't you Loghain? You know all about--
Her silent gloating is cut short when she loses her footing again and comes back to the ground by way of her bony arse. It happens so suddenly, and is painful enough that she has to take a few moments just to sit there and process what happened before she can pick herself up to recover from this new development.
"...I'm fine," she brusquely calls back, before Loghain gets any ideas.

[mactears]

"Yes, I see that," comes Loghain's dry reply. He doesn't move to help Teren up, which is probably best for everyone involved. He likely wouldn't survive if she saw the small smile on his face.

[doneisdone]

She makes her own careful way to her feet, head high and expression stern. That didn't happen and she won't acknowledge it. Off she goes, trying her best not to walk any differently (and at least mostly succeeding).