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

Gareth | OTA

[foundmyselfagain]

Ice Skating

There is one good thing about having lived most of his life in the Gallows: Gareth is accustomed to the winters here. He knows what areas are the warmest, where the wind is really bad, the shortest routes to get from place to place. This freeze is exceptionally cold, however, and Gareth has to acquiesce to at least getting warmer clothes. There are two positives to be found: while the winter gear he bought is second-hand, it’s all still newer and in better shape than his usual. Second, no one looks twice at his entire body being bundled up.

Now better prepared, Gareth is quick to join in on the fun. He’s never ice skated before, but it doesn’t stop him from strapping the skates on his feet and giving it a go. He falls a few times, but he gets up, laughing as he wobbles about like a newly born foal. When he isn’t attempting to skate around, he tries other activities—like building a snow fort (or more like a snow wall), and peeking out of it, pelts whoever is unfortunate to pass by with snowballs. He’s usually kind enough to offer his magic for warming them back up, though.

Lending a hand

As someone with a particular skill in fire magic, and someone who has stated interest in the use of magic for aiding others, it only makes sense that he answers Kirkwall’s request for aid. There’s a thrill in walking on the frozen harbor, a ship trailing after him like a lost duckling as he aids in breaking up the ice. Where would these people be, if all the mages were still corralled back in the Gallows? Fucking cold, is what.

And fucking cold seems to be the preference for some of the Darktown residents. A simple offer of aid gets him a door slammed in his face more than once, and he leaves the ramshackle house with a dark look on his face, grumbling about how they won’t come crying to him if they die of the cold. Because they’ll be dead.

But more people accept his help, and he’s rather surprised to find he likes it. His magic has rarely been used in the past to help others—aside from killing threats—and it's nice, to see that even primal magic can be utilized for aid. Take that, creation nerds.

Mistletoe

His hair. Why, of all places, his hair. Surely the evil little plants could have attached themselves to some other part of them—then again, most of the rest of him is covered by several layers of clothing. Still. He might have been willing to use flame or lightening for a few brief moments on his skin, but his hair?

And so, taking a seat on a nearby bench, he begins attempting to navigate the thick, chaotic mess of curls that the mistletoe have embedded in. Every once in a while, he gets close enough to get nipped, and pulls his hand away with a sharp yelp. Maybe setting his hair on fire wouldn’t be that bad?