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

"The last thing we need after Nevarra," Myr mutters back, not entirely for Fenris' ears.

He makes a soft chucking noise under his breath, extending his fingers to Charis and summoning the sad little wyrmling back to his side. The sounds turn easily enough into a quiet litany of healing as Charis thrusts his head up under Myr's outstretched hand; while healing isn't Myr's forte, fixing the mistletoe rashes is within his capabilities. "Only the one dragon, and you can't convince me some of them aren't rage demons--have you ever dropped a plate in their hearing?" he adds, once the brief spell finishes, lifting his head as if to look in Fenris' direction.

The frustration in the other man's tone is obvious. The rest-- Myr has only the faintest sense something more might be wrong, a tickling little intuition out of the Fade, but that's enough to act on. Quickly, then: "As it happens, there's a way--if you'll give me your hand."

He offers out his own, fingers crooked. "Though it'll require me being a little fresh."

"Perhaps we ought to monitor that situation in the kitchens more closely," he remarks dryly, his eyes still on that dragon, still unable to come to terms with what he's seeing. "But why? Why is there a dragon here, and why are you allowing it to be here? Where did it come from?"

It's probably for the best that he's so fixated on the presence of the dragon, because now it'll make the incoming solution a little less peculiar by comparison. He quirks an eyebrow, unable to even imagine what the other has in mind right now. Though, he realizes he's in no place to refuse the help, at the moment.

"Fine. Whatever you intend to do had better work." The healing at least did its job on the rashes, which is the only reason why Fenris is now offering his hand to Myr, watching him intently.

"I'm for it. No telling what kind of mayhem might erupt if we let down our guard or mention the roast's not spiced enough." Kitchen demons are terrible, but kitchen demons who're touchy about their cooking? A thousand times worse. "His name's Charis, and he came in with one of our rifters--Adalia. Might as well be a son to her and he's as canny and obedient as any mabari. Turning him out but keeping her around would be cruel."

Now that the immediate horrible itchiness has passed, Charis is all eyes for Fenris and those glowing lyrium brands. And, well, his sworn enemy the mistletoe. He knits his forepaws together and blows out a ring of ice crystals in agitation; he wants to help!! ...But that was a bad idea previously.

Besides, he knows how this goes now that they're holding hands.

"It's worked so far," Myr concedes through a smile. "Here's to hoping it keeps working." And on that, he lifts Fenris' hand to his lips and gallantly kisses the back of it.

"A dragon... from a rift." No, he's not saying this as a question, he's saying this as a purely incredulous statement. Does he realize what that generally tends to mean? Rifts and demons... dragons and demons... dragons from rifts... What has the world come to that none of this is adding up in any sane way anymore?

Fenris still doesn't know what to make of Charis, as he warily looks him over. The expression on his face is unconvinced, as if he expects the dragon to morph into a rage demon right in front of them.

The mistletoe takes his concentration away in the next moment, though, as he watches what happens. As Myr kisses his hand, the plant begins to move, some bits of it beginning to detach, although not all of it. "It's working... it's apparently stubborn, but it seems it's working..." But not fast enough. Fenris pulls at it a bit, but that doesn't seem to help.

OPEN ↠ HARING EVENT

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i'm leaving whether this mistletoe responds to hand-kisses up to you 8] kek

ahahaha yes fun! it will probably be persistent