faderift | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It bothered Kirk too, knowing the other had gone back only to die. And yet he understood it, and Iskandar had not seemed bother. He seemed used to it almost, and took it as his place in his world. Kirk disliked it, but the man was not upset by it from what he could tell, and Iskandar had never been a man to hide his feelings on a subject.

He turned his face in slightly, rubbing his nose against Sam's shoulder, breathing him in - a warm, earth musk mixed with a fresh bite of winter. He smiled softly, giving another nuzzle before leaning back to sip his tea and let it warm him, tangling his legs with Sam's beneath the fur and sheets.

"Oh, I did, I did," he nodded. "Though if I am honest, I think you would look more handsome in a crown."

Sam gives a sigh behind his mug as Jim nuzzles against him, enjoying the attention, but also finding it slightly unfair. With mugs of tea between them and him being sick, it was really forcing him to behave.

The comment about the crown has the mage smiling though. "More handsome then how I usually look or are you saying I'd wear it better then Iskandar?"

It's not easy on Kirk either. A snow day in? He could think of many things he could be doing to keep Samouel warm, but he has to refrain. He wants him to recover, after all. But, this was nice. Just being like this, cuddled up together. It wasn't often he had this, that he had been able to accept this. He wanted to savor it while he could.

"The latter, though I don't suppose we could find a fake one at a shop to play with?" he inquired, tilting his head at him with a little crooked smile and a particular spark in his eyes.

The latter? That has Sam giving a snort. He was glad Jim hadn't said something like that when the other man was round, he could only imagine the shenanigans he would've been pulled into to test that.

And oh that look. Sam raises a brow, recognizing that look all too well. "You have such a dirty mind, Jim Kirk." A sip of his tea. "I don't think so. Not really something people make and sell for none royals." He pauses again, humming. "If we have scrap metal though..."

"We are kings of our little empire, are we not?" he motioned around their home, their cats snuggled in their basket, their dog at their feet, the warmth of a fire draping over them and soaking into the furs and blankets. This was a good place, their home. Empire enough for Kirk.

"Do you prefer King or Emperor?" he mused over his tea, gently tangling their legs beneath the covers. "Is Emperor to pretentious, do you think?"

"Kings of our little kingdom," Sam corrects with amusement. There was 'king' in 'kingdom' after all. "I would have to say, being Fereldan, that I'm partial to king. Emperor is after all the ruler of the Orlesian Empire."

So, yeah, maybe a little pretentious.

"I suppose so. It's hard to keep track with all the different titles I've come across over the years. The Klingon Empire's leader isn't an emperor, after all - it's a high council, lead by a chancellor," he reached down and gently rubbed Sam's thigh, more in absent thought than any intent to rile him up as they snuggled together.

"King Samouel," he said aloud, nodding just a bit. "Sounds legend worthy."

"Klingon?" he asks with a raised brow. Jim had told him about some stuff in space, but he doesn't recall hearing anything about that - what a strange word too. The brow was also a little at where Jim's hand was. The other man always had a thing about having physical contact, so he doesn't think it's more then that, but it's certainly becoming very distracting regardless.

"Well, keep the legend to the house, hm? I don't think I can handle anyone thinking a mage is trying to start a kingdom, or planning on over throwing the current king in Ferelden." He chuckles at that.

"Ah, I thought I had mentioned them before? No?" He made a soft noise as he tried to think on how to explain them. "They are race of aliens that are humanoid, but they have large ridges along their foreheads and their culture is based in military might and honor. They used to have an emperor like I said, but that eventually fell and they are now led by a Chancellor and High Council, though positions are won, I believe, and not elected. As I said, much is placed on honor and power. They tried to take over Earth, once, but we beat them back and now we have a sort of truce with them between Federation space and ours."

He laughed at that, reaching up to tug Sam's face over to his gently, taking a long kiss. "Should we hereby declare independence then?"

Sam hums lightly at the kiss, smiling against Jim's lips when it ends. His brows furrow for a moment at the question though. "Independ-" he starts then stops, rolling his eyes slightly when he registers what the other man is getting at.

"In the middle of Kirkwall? Probably not the best idea."

"Well, we don't have to make a show of it," he reasoned. "Our only subjects will be the dog and two cats, after all." He reached up, cupping Sam's face and grinning like a fool, breaking into warm laughter and leaning up quickly to peck his lips. "His Royal Majesty Samouel Gareth does have a rather pleasant ring, yeah? I said it before. I still stand by it."

"What a kingdom," he says with a shake of his head. So no longer was he just a 'Dog Lord' but Lord of animals. "Two thirds of the rabble don't listen." Aka Nikita and Leonard, as cats do.

"Your titles are growing extensive. What happened to just King?" Seeing that he wasn't getting much done in the ways of drinking, Sam reaches over and sets his cup down. With hands free it is much easier to place his hands on Kirk's hips.

"Well a King should have many long, and fancy titles. It is how one is truly sure they are a king of something very fine you know," he chuckled, twisting to snuggle in closer to him. It all felt very domestic, very homey, but he found he didn't mind it so much. He liked it here, in the quite of their home, warm and happy beside his lover.

"I think I shall take the title of Consort."

Kirk certainly looked like a man who didn't mind his current lifestyle in the least, not with the way he was sprawled over the bed, curled up against Sam's side.

Sam makes a small intrigued hum, raising a brow ever so slightly at his lover. "That's the real reason you're trying to give me a fancy title, isn't it? You want an excuse to be called 'Consort'."

OPEN ↠ HARING EVENT

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