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

[dashing]

Herian, perhaps predictably, looks vexed. In fairness it's nothing particular to Inessa that inspires her looking vexed, it's pretty much just how her face works by default, currently.

"You are overly generous, Warden." Franklin looks up at both Inessa and Garahel with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, bouncing around on his toes and dancing forward to sniff at them both. He is extremely excitable, where Herian is decidedly not.

"This is Franklin. He's..." She gestures uselessly. How do you even describe such a creature? "From Nevarra."

[circleprodigy]

"Greetings, Franklin of Nevarra." She smiles at the adorable, excitable pup, giving him as much petting as Garahel will allow in between licks. Her gaze shifts up to Herian, inquiringly.

"Can I give him something?" She's learned now to say 'treat' aloud, since that defeats the purpose of asking beforehand.

[dashing]

"Something?" She sounds probably disproportionately hesitant. Dogs - caring for dog, specifically - are entirely new to her. Just how bad could it be? "Of course."

Crouching down, Herian gently lays a hand on Franklin's back. "Calm." He looks up at her adoringly, and it gets a slight quirk at the corner of her mouth, albeit briefly. "Cosima chose the name, after a scientist of her world she greatly admires."

[circleprodigy]

What a sweet pup. Inessa's smile lingers as she withdraws a mabari crunch treat, breaking it in half before Garahel has a chance to inflict those soulful eyes on her. Offering Franklin one and Garahel the other, she nods in approval.

"A name with some dignity. She chose well, I think. Admittedly, a pet peeve of mine is when dogs are burdened with inappropriate names. A mabari named Bubbles? Just wrong." She's from Fereldan, where dog names are serious business.

[dashing]

Despite all the things dragging on her mood, Herian can't quite help herself: "A pet peeve, Warden?"

When talking about dog names, it seemed rather on the nose. Or snout, one could suppose. Franklin happily crunches on the treat, and Herian gently runs her hand down his back.

[circleprodigy]

Realizing her unintended pun, Inessa chuckles and shakes her head. "Don't tell Ciri I said that, she would never let me hear the end of it. Not after the grief I give her about puns."

She pats Garahel as he inhales his own treat then does back to sniffing and nuzzling his new friend. "Were you headed to get some lunch, by any chance? Garahel and I certainly welcome the company, if so."

[dashing]

“I can make no promises.”

Spoken with the utmost severity, but for once it is meant in gentle jest. It’s not much humour, but it is as much as she can manage in the present state of things. It is easier to be lighter with those closest to her, but in some ways she seeks to avoid them, because falling apart around them is far easier as well.

Franklin is investigating Inessa’s hand, sniffing and snuffling around to see if he can find any crumbs, any remnants of deliciousness not yet enjoyed. She’s faintly surprised by the question, truthfully. “Is it such an hour already?” Time was slipping away, evidently. “I’d be glad to.”

More practicality than hunger, admittedly.

[circleprodigy]

Whatever crumbs remain, they are Franklin's to take. Garahel is a generous enough boy to allow him that much, but then it helps that he knows there will be more granted at some point. Once the crumbs are gone, she strokes Franklin's head a little and stands up, nodding.

"Excellent. Garahel, lead the way?" The mabari barks happily, encouraging his new little friend to follow with a gentle nudge.