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]

Franklin is delighted. Playing, sniffing, dog things. He bows to match Milady, gives a joyful bark, and starts to bolt around.

Herian, on the other hand, gives the Seeker of look of some suffering. This dog. This useless small dog.

She's fond of it, true, and it's nice to have a companion, but... "I struggle to comprehend the purpose of his proportions," she replies, a sort of fatigued air, but not lacking in good will. It's just understated, a little moreso than is usual even for Herian.

"Good day to you, Seeker. I hope the cold is not treating you ill?"

[tactical_alert]

"The valleys of Ferelden could get quite a bit of snow. Worse, if one lived by the shoreline or a lake of significant size. It and the cold don't bother me so. The ice is another matter, however."

Though his balance and childhood trips across frozen ponds have lent him to taking well enough to it. He still doesn't have to like it. He keeps his eyes mostly on the dogs. Their previous conversation had been melancholic in a fashion, though speaking of the dead is always such--speaking of dogs is much easier for someone like him, and he'll take any and all jokes about his Ferelden roots in stride.

"A dog of that size and shape I would wager is for chasing rabbits and other suck prey down their holes, although I admit I have not seen a breed like that in working action." His people do love their dogs, though one normally needs a big working dog, reminiscent of the ever-revered mabari hounds. "Mostly in the occasional lap of someone who doesn't need a dog to do work." Which is, of course, no criticism of her.

(They are, in fact, herding dogs, but he would never believe such a thing until he could see one in action.)

"He'll get lost in a snow drift if he isn't careful."

[dashing]

“Aye, Starkhaven was cold.” Surrounded by the river as it is was fine for trade and defense, but the cold off the water could be fearsome, and the damp of the alienage? Grim to think of. “Sometimes the boats could be frozen in the river.” There is a very slight quirk at the corners of her mouth, but it is more a suggestion of a smile, than anything truly expressive.

Franklin is… absurd. Still, she is warming to him, albeit very slowly.

“I’ve heard word of dogs bred to see off badgers, but… he hardly seems fearsome enough.” As if on cue, Franklin looks up happily, tongue lolling out of his mouth, and makes a happy growly grumbling sound. “Are all dogs so opinionated?” It’s a genuine question - this is almost entirely new to her.

A little sigh, and she adds, not without humour, “Given the snow of late, we could most of us be lost in a snow drift.”

[tactical_alert]

"I think Kirkwall has suffered worse than a little heavy snow." With equal humour. Both in the sense of snow, being on the water so, and of its history, violent and red in more ways than one. "We've enough burnables to last and able bodies to clear the way, as well as a fair number of mages who could melt the rest. I won't be happy to see the state of Darktown when it thaws; the ruffians down there have it hard enough as it is."

Malcolm crouches, offering out a hand for the silly lump of fuzz to sniff, while Milady takes a galloping lap around them all before padding to Herian's side, looking expectant.

"I've known a few dogs who seem to have no opinion at all save that they have a warm place to sleep and food in their belly. But then, I've known people who are much the same. I think a strong personality is a good find. It'd be droll if they all acted the same."

[dashing]

"I've made some trips to Darktown and the Alienage to try and make sure pathways are clear enough and that the residents have wood enough to burn, but the cold is fearsome already. When the snowmelt comes, I dread the moisture will make the chokedamp all the more pervasive."

At least the alienage was free of that particular scourge, and is not in a literal sewer, but there is little that can be said for it. Growing up in the Starkhaven alienage, though, makes her stomach twist unhappily at the thought of what will follow. They will need to be vigilant; the chill, the damp, the mould, all that could follow. She doesn't understand the specifics of it, she's no healer, but she can well grasp the serious nature of the maladies that could descend in similar circumstances in Starkhaven, if nothing else. "I'm not healer, by any means, but I hope the Inquisition will offer the people of Kirkwall medical aid, when the time comes."

Inevitably it will come, but the aid? Far less inevitable, she fears.

And the dog. She looks down at Milady, and then to Malcolm, and very cautiously echoes his motion of holding out her hand. She's really not a fan of dogs, but the dog before her hardly resembles the alarming hunting hounds that could haunt the alienage for human sport. "I've heard the same said of horses. Though the latter might take a little more persuading to be cooperative, I'd wager."

[tactical_alert]

He frowns, mulling it over. Kirkwall has never been a bastion of goodwill toward its fellow men; that's why places like Darktown and the alienage even exist. True enough that a city like this must get fierce snow and ice and cold every winter, though this seems to have taken the populace by some surprise. They ever take it in stride, though, and for all the play that happens between duties and shifts, there is double the amount of work being done.

"The Inquisition will, of course, offer the help that it is able." He says it like a promise, and in a way, it is. Because he's certain of it. To think the aid would simply stop once the melt comes is unconscionable, and they've healers several among them who would be up in arms if they were somehow forbidden from helping. "My fear is that the city's inhabitants might expect too much of us."

Which is always a concern, he finds. That people may expect miracles out of them when they are merely people like everyone else.

He finds the frown easing, however, rubbing Franklin about the ears. One more thing a dog is good for. "Breaking in a stubborn horse is rewarding. Too stubborn, though, and you're in for cracked ribs. Charles, my horse, can run very hot and cold when he's in the mood for it. I'd say middling for training, but I think he's gotten obstinate with age. I daresay--"

Meanwhile, Milady is all energy and excitement at the idea of a person paying attention to her, why, one might get the impression she never gets loved on, which is a bold lie indeed. Her body wiggles and vibrates, and she makes quick work of sniffing the hand and then rubbing herself against it and going so far as to jump up on hind legs. Malcolm is having little of that. "Milady." When the dog looks over, he makes two quick hand signals, and, reluctantly, Milady sits politely. Her tail still goes a mile a minute, though.

[dashing]

Herian nods her understanding, holding her silence for a moment as she reflects, before finally committing her thoughts to voice.

"Expect too much of us, when we symbolise so much that is terrifying? With us came the Dalish that brought a forest to life overnight, and... as wondrous as that is, and as beautiful a symbol as it could be, I think there must be something terrifying in it for many people, let alone those in a city with so complex a relationship with magic. We work with the Wardens, we are host to rifters who... by reputation with the common folk could well be demons, as much as you or I may understand it better. Our politics is as varied and vibrant as possible. We played our part in Orlais, and when we visited Nevarra there was an attack on their sacred resting place of the dead." And no matter how strange and uncomfortable their ways are to her, it was a sacred place, and the matter of the dead was something of a raw one, even if it does not impact her visibly in this moment.

There is no judgment in her tone, but neither is she emotionless. Careful control, and a laying out of facts as if they were chess pieces on a board. "Whatever they might expect of us, it may be the fear that we will leave them worse than when we arrived. Whatever good will we can win in Kirkwall, we must do our all. We cannot win a war in a world where even our neighbours fear and distrust us."

And it is the right thing to do, she wants to say, but given her living through an annulment, she has a certain degree of pause of what the right thing to do might mean in the eyes of a Seeker. Orders are followed, aye, but they are not always right or just or kind.

A faint smile and she gently starts to scritch along Milady's shoulders and back. "If all else fails, Milady can doubtless win over any who doubt us."