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

GRIFFON(S)!!! | OTA

[faithlikeaseed]

Buttons likes bacon.

It's one of the first things Myr'd been told on meeting the one-winged griffon, before someone had thrust a rasher into his hand and ushered him forward to offer it to the great predator. Buttons had plucked it delicately from his fingers without so much as a brush of that enormous beak, and it was love at first--

Well.

Since then, Myr's been in the habit of bringing ends and pieces of pork fat cajoled from the kitchen up to his feathery friend. Food's the coin to purchase Buttons' tractability, his aggression tempered by keeping him stuffed to the gills at all times. A good enough tactic when there weren't hands to spare to lavish attention on him--but it's also made him run to fat, and isn't a real solution to the frustration of being unable to fly.

So Myr devised a game.

The rules are simple: Myr freezes a sovereign-sized chunk of bacon fat into a ball and throws it hard as he can across a disused corner of the Gallows; Buttons goes scrambling after it at top speed, vaulting obstacles set out in his way. Once he's snapped up his treat he comes trotting proudly back to await another throw.

It's good exercise for the both of them and a welcome break from the general misery life's been otherwise. So even with snow coating the Gallows, Myr screws up his courage to brave the cold and the ice for the sake of his feathery friend--even if the space they'd usually use is so disused and sheltered from the wind it's acquired some sizable drifts. At least he hasn't got to freeze the bacon first on a day like this, while Buttons hardly seems to mind the snow, making a sport of diving after his treats like a fox hunting mice.

And between the delighted shrieks and heart-stopping thuds of a half-ton predator sliding merrily into things--to say nothing of Myr's laughter--it's easy for a listener to conclude there's a small war going on over there.