faderift | OPEN ↠ HARING EVENT

OPEN ↠ HARING EVENT

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.

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i. the stables (open)

The frigid temperatures that have swept across the region make Sundermount a particularly inhospitable place to be at present--for Sooty, at the very least, if not for Loghain. He trusts that the progress he's made with Primrose is sufficient for her to accompany him back to the Gallows for a time, and so having made his way back into the city, he's presently in the Inquisition stables getting Sooty installed in her preferred paddock. Intrigued by all the new scents and sounds to explore, Primrose is nosing around nearby, but otherwise behaving herself

ii. clearing the harbour (open)

Evidently someone somewhere remembered Loghain's command experience; the end result is that he's down by the docks for several days doing his best to coordinate both the land and sea effort to break up the ice in the harbour so that ships can dock. It's an unexpectedly complicated process that involves a fair amount of cooperation with the city guard and dock workers.

An often thankless task; there's no one better suited to dealing with it.

Nearby, a small shelter has been raised that includes a contained fire for heat and a near constantly going kettle for tea. When not prowling the docks (and occasionally boarding ships), Loghain can be found there, resting his aching bones over a bowl of soup or a cup of tea.

Making her way down to the docks is of course a priority for Araceli as the head of naval presence, not content to oversee it or trust it entirely to others. More often than not she's been there in the thick of it, clambering around the sides of ships or the places less easily reached.

Today she's later than usual, but she veered off to home before docks for a reason after all, so she sets down a bag with a muffled thump on the deck, shrugging off one of the animal pelts from her bed to pass to the nearest deckhand hunched over miserably.

"What's the damage today?" She asks of him as she retrieves papers out of her bags with a series of notes trying to keep track of it all as best she can in the thick of it. Later she'll tidy it up. Later.

He turns at the sound of approaching footsteps to watch Araceli absently as she delivers the animal pelt to the shoulders of the tired-looking deckhand hunched nearby. Loghain recognizes her, of course; his joints may be stiffening with age, but his memory is still sharp.

"What's the damage today?" she asks him.

"Do you mean to the ships," he replies, weariness creeping into his voice despite his best efforts to stave it off, "or to morale?" This, at least, he says quietly, not wanting that particular idea to spread beyond present company. He finishes his tea and forces himself to sit up some on his seat. "It's primarily the smallest of the fishing vessels that continue to take the most damage. Whoever negotiates for better mooring for them should negotiate harder. They're struggling."

Bundled up against the harsh winds, Ciri has found safety within the stables and tending to Kelpie along with the structure itself. Being an unofficial official stablemaster didn't mean a terrible lot when it was just within the Warden ranks but it helps to keep her busy between missions.

After a morning spent covering holes in the structure, glancing over the supports and replacing hay she is terribly exhausted. Currently she is leaning against the paddock where Kelpie is happily eating her afternoon meal, idly running her fingers through the black mare's mane. Nevertheless, Primrose does get a raised brow and a glance to (what Ciri assumes) is her master.

It takes a moment to realize why she knows him but suddenly she remembers the talks about volcanoes and hexes. Ah, right...

He notices her in the lambent light of the stables, of course, and recognizes her as one of his own number. Yet his each encounter with another Warden has been ripe with conflict, and while it is necessary and unavoidable to sort through it with each encounter, he's nevertheless left with some weary resignation when he senses another confrontation.

Loghain finishes Sooty's rub-down and turns, carrying her saddle, to take it to the tack room. He has to walk past Ciri to do this, and so chooses then to meet her eyes and nod to her once in greeting. "Evening," he says, and aims to slip past her. Primrose, ghosting along behind him, detours to investigate Ciri's boots, her behaviour cagey but not hostile.

"Evening," she returns, glancing down to Primrose with a half smile. From her spot, Kelpie snorts and hits her hoof against the ground. Perhaps her own sort of greeting? It's hard to tell, or perhaps just something to get Ciri's attention as the young Warden reaches into her side bag and removes an apple from it to hand over.

"There's more in the store room." She says, leaning back some in order to look where he has likely vanished into the tack room. "Apples, I mean if yours is the sort for them."

The wolf-dog spooks briefly when Kelpie paws the ground with one of her hooves, but she’s an intelligent enough animal that she’s able to discern quickly that there’s no immediate threat posed by the horse in her stall. Still, she trots after her master rather than linger; tame, then, but not quite friendly.

Loghain emerges from the tack room to find Ciri offering an apple to him, and looks momentarily taken aback by the gesture. A pause, then, before he nods his thanks and reaches out to take it. “Thank you,” he tells her sincerely. After a moment, he quirks the beginnings of a smile. “...yes, Sooty is fond of them.” He nods to Kelpie, expression admiring. “She’s yours, I take it?”

Once more, Ciri offers Primrose a small look and chuckles before her focus shifts to Kelpie. The black mare simply snorts and seems much more focused on the apple currently being passed over to someone that was not her. Enough that she leans her head out of her stall, sniffing curiously.

"Of course," she says with a nod before her smile brightens. "Sooty, good name. I like it and yes, this is my Kelpie. The only good thing to ever come out of Orlais."

That brings a genuine smile to the corners of his mouth, and he chuckles. "You'll hear no arguments on the matter from me," he replies; surprise surprise, the Traitor Teyrn still bears no love for Orlais.

He gives Sooty the apple, holding onto it as she lips at it before getting a good grip on it with her teeth. "You're Cirilla, aren't you?" Loghain still has a good head for names and faces.

And Ciri, at first, only respond by rolling her shoulders tiredly. "I prefer Ciri," she says rubbing the scar on her face. "But you got it in one."

Idly she reaches out to touch Kelpie with soft pets. "And it isn't hard to know who you are considering all the... feelings at the beginning. You settled in yet?"

"Yes, I believe so," Loghain answers, and if he sounds a fraction surprised by this development, it's surely understandable. Given his past, the years of his exile he's spent on the periphery of the Wardens, how could he have expected that both Alistair and Nathaniel would invite him into a leadership position once again?

"I expect it is unlikely that Alistair will ever bear any real kindness towards me," he admits, "but it is... good, to feel that he and I have reached enough of an accord to work together."

"Good," she replies with a crooked grin. "We got enough infighting as it is and considering how we little of us are here..."

Tiredly, she sighs and leans into the gate with a small look to him. "Ugh. It would have just been terribly bothersome for all that stuff to linger around like a pillow waiting to smother you. Rather like Weisshaupt but not as bad because it isn't in the middle of a bloody desert."

"Would Kirkwall qualify as a step up from Weisshaupt?" Loghain asks, but there's the beginnings of a small smirk at the corners of his mouth as he speaks. Sure, Kirkwall is a shit hole, but it's not a Weisshaupt-level shit hole. Yet.

The cold seems to bother Charles more than Malcolm, though the horse does paw at the ground, eager to go out on a run. Malcolm pats the beast on the neck, adjusting the blanket over the brown back, murmuring something to put Charles at ease.

Ah. Or. Perhaps it's the introduction of this other beast that has Charles riled up. Malcolm clicks his tongue, amused. "I forbid you to start acting like your namesake. Easy."

Despite any tensions around the city, or exhaustion and frayed nerves from the weather, he's always found dealing with fellow animal owners to be something of a unifier. And while he's terrible at smalltalk himself, he has the intention to start some.

But. He stops himself, squinting. Is that...is that not Loghain Mac Tir? He knew well the man was around, but it's the first he'd seen the (in)famous Warden with his own eyes.

Infamous is certainly a word for Loghain's reputation. He has grown accustomed to the burden of it, and to the stares that his presence generally tends to entail. That doesn't mean he enjoys it.

"She'll not bother your horse," he says at length, ostensibly referring to the wolf-dog who lounges nearby. Primrose has her chin on her paws and her ears alertly angled towards Malcolm and his horse.

"No, not at all--I rather think he's anxious to do more than strut around and otherwise stay warm." He remembers himself and is glad for the topic of conversation, rubbing along the equine's neck. "An occasional pull of a sled of supplies, but no going out for long runs in this weather. Where, might I ask, did you get such a beast?" And perhaps it's only a Fereldan who can use beast as an endearment.

Indeed, Loghain doesn't appear offended by the term in the least. A wry smile quirks up the corners of his mouth, and he turns from his mare to watch Primrose where she lays.

"I found her," he explains, raising his eyebrows as he does so. "En route back from the Blackmarsh, we paused in Amaranthine. She was being used as a pit fighter; I couldn't conscience the sight of it and so--" a pause, "--intervened." One need only imagine how that went.

He turns back to resume brushing down Sooty, but keeps speaking to Malcolm as he does so. "I suspect she has wolf in her as well as mabari, looking at the ruff. But she made the choice to come back to Kirkwall with me. I call her Primrose."

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OPEN ↠ HARING EVENT

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