faderift | MOD EVENT: WINTERMARCH WINTER MARCH

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MOD EVENT: WINTERMARCH WINTER MARCH

WHO: Anyone & Everyone
WHAT: Winter adventures as Riftwatch heads up into the Vinmark Mountains to do some work for (Provisional) Viscount Bran of Kirkwall
WHEN: Throughout Wintermarch and early Guardian
WHERE: Vinmark Mountains
NOTES: OOC post

Still-Provisional Viscount Bran has received a number of requests for aid from communities in the Vinmark mountains outside Kirkwall. He wants to keep them happy so that they continue to pay taxes to Kirkwall and don't become problematically independent or allied with some other state. But he also doesn't want to deal with this shit, and the City Guard isn't really equipped to go tromp around the mountains in the winter. So he has asked Riftwatch to deal with this, casting it as a shared danger (if any communities were to break away, they'd be more vulnerable to enemy collaboration, or hampering travel through the passes, and things like that) but if necessary will imply that Riftwatch's refusal would weigh unfavorably against the decision to allow them to remain in the Gallows for free.

This work isn't done at the exclusion of all else--other normal (and especially high-priority) work continues. Any work that isn't especially time-sensitive may be postponed, and otherwise agents will simply have to forfeit their free time and fit this work in on top of their other responsibilities. Something for people to complain about while they're tromping through the snow.

It's not a long trip back and forth to the Gallows, so people can come and go if they want, but Bran has also agreed to allow Riftwatch the use of the Viscount's hunting lodge, a rustic mountain retreat traditionally used for hunting parties, which happens to be in a roughly central location. As Viscount Bran is both Provisional and profoundly not the sort of man who holds hunting parties, the lodge has gone unused for some years now, and Riftwatch is bringing in its own supplies and a skeleton support staff to man the place for the duration. Those traveling up in the first group will have to help escort supply wagons through snowy, muddy mountain roads, unloading casks and crates into the cellar, and pitch in cleaning, making minor repairs, and generally getting the building set up after a decade of neglect.

The lodge is organized around a central hall with a massive fireplace, and a small library and study that will be used as offices shared between those visiting. Up the grand wood stair is a mezzanine level that looks down on the hall and leads to three corridors, each with a couple rooms. Rooms will be shared by groups of 2-4 people, the exception being the two suites generally reserved for the viscount and his wife, which will now be assigned to whichever of the Division Heads are in residence (and if there are more than two at a time, then to whichever Division Heads win a coin toss or something). Each room has basic furnishings, heavy and rustic, and its own fireplace. Bathing facilities are communal, provided by natural hot springs pools. While these are outdoors, there is a roof, and there is also a small springhouse alongside for changing, as well as a separate sauna.

The stables contain a number of sleighs in varying states of repair, which can be signed out for use. They're often the best way to get around this area in winter, and can be pulled by a team of Vinmark Goats, a big-horned shaggy breed of unusually massive mountain goats that are often used in place of ponies in this part of the world. The Viscount had a herd of them, which has since run more or less wild on his land and will need to be rounded back up for use.

There are a few communities with different problems, spread out some ways apart through the mountains:

ICE RIFT: The village of Erith has been plagued by shades and despair demons, which can be traced to a rift that has opened under the thick mid-winter ice of the frozen lake just outside town. Trying to get at it from above would mean cutting into the ice and fighting off demons while underwater and very likely freezing to death in minutes. So instead they'll need to traverse the ice caves beneath the lake to reach it, which will be complicated by the nature of shades, which leech off the energy of the livings' psyche, causing confusion, fatigue, and fear.
SNOWMONSTERS: Cragfield has been cut off by an infestation of what's only been described as "snowmonsters," that have been harrying travelers around the village or anyone who strays too far from the edge of town. They will prove to be some unknown variation of giant, even more aggressive, though a bit smaller and nearly covered in white hair. They have some resistance to magic, especially ice magic, and one seems capable of using ice magic, if crudely. They can be tracked through the forest and picked off a few at a time, or traced back to one of their lairs, usually in a cave or tucked into a rock formation.
THE GRIPPE: Galssop has sent an urgent request for healers to help combat a particularly virulent strain of the illness many in Kirkwall are suffering. Most of the town has fallen victim to it, including their only healer, leaving the rest without care. Complicating matters, reaching the town in winter (especially while transporting supplies) requires traveling up the frozen Wye river, using skates and iceboats. The villagers there will be wary of magical healing, and Bran as urged trying to use non-magical means of healing first if possible, though he and the sick will ultimately come round to the necessity of using some magic rather than see dozens die.
THE GRINCH: Lerwick's trouble is a young man who recently inherited Touraigle, the fortress above the village, and who firmly believes that Lerwick is also his inheritance. When the Mayor of Lerwick refused to enforce Lord Bertrand's taxes, the lord's guards ransacked the town, helping themselves to most of its winter stores, among other things. Riftwatch diplomats have been asked to help entreat the lord to be reasonable and return what he took. But the road up to the castle has been blocked by a combination of overzealous defenses and weather, forcing all visitors to climb a treacherous hill of downed trees covered in ice and the occasional, possibly-frozen (if they're lucky), booby trap.

In addition to these specific issues, Rift Watchers can expect to encounter the usual Vinmark winter hazards: unpredictable weather, hungry animals, bad roads, scarcities, and so forth. Once news of their presence in the mountains gets around, they may be asked to take on similar small problems for others, like dealing with wildlife issues, helping search for a missing child, rescuing a hunting party trapped by a minor avalanche, etc. There are also basic chores to keep the lodge running that will always need extra hands, like chopping firewood, hunting down dinner, safeguarding supplies on their way to and from Kirkwall, and so on.

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Are you certain-- is almost out of his mouth when he hears that and does he have bandages? Anything? "Don't lick it you don't know where it's been," he mutters but it's the way he'd tell the quillback not to eat something. "You want anything to bind that with?"

There's certainly plenty to go through in the room, more than he'd expect but it's not as if he can claim to be an expect on anything related to Kirkwall. Hopefully once the glass is dealt with - and that'd be something crunching under his heel, shit - there's a chance to take notes or see what can be borrowed. If anyone's in the charitable sort of mood.

"Posh," Tavin says as he stacks a pile of papers out of the way then kneels to scoop up a pile of glass; it's strange to hear that word in particular when it comes to his grandfather but it's the truth. "He's nobility, used to be in politics so Maker only knows how many things he picked up from all that but he's...an eccentric. Can't pass up something that catches his interests. Of which he has many - the joys of retirement."

Matthias cheerfully dismisses the offer with a little wave. The spot of blood on his thumb is a crimson mark, but he's not bothered. "S' not even a scratch. I've had worse, mate."

He's busy scraping the glass together into the neat pile he's made anyways, far too busy to care about anything else in the moment. At least Tavin's here to help. He seems an all right sort, so far as Matthias can tell. Willing to converse, not run off to report a broken paperweight to--well, whoever's likely to care about broken paperweights. There can't be many, given the general attitudes of Riftwatch. Better to be safe than sorry.

"Ooh, retirement. What's that?" Matthias gives him a cheeky little grin. "You'll have to explain it to me, 'cause I'm a poor what's only seen people work until they die. Being not a noble and all. Does that mean you're nobility as well, then? That's how it works, I think. Inheritance and all."

"There was a boy working with some glass out of Serault once, said it was a scratch? Nearly lost his thumb. Give it a good wash later at the very least for a worried old man." He's not old but seriously if he isn't going grey by the time this whole Riftwatch thing is over then he'll be headed there.

But it's good, honestly, to be around someone young who isn't trying to puff himself up the way bullfrogs do or hang on his word because they both get dull in their own way relatively quick. It's a good sort of place to have a young man temper themselves and a few minor bits of damage along the way have always been character building because what good is anyone if they can't lie successfully? Especially about who broke what and how it couldn't possibly have been you, last person in the room, honestly not I ser.

"From what I've seen most of retiring is cluttering up your house and reliving your glory days while people around you nod politely because you've earned that right to command their attention. Either as you fade away to a shadow of your former self or spill over the side of an armchair." He puffs out his cheeks, pointing to a suitable chair in the corner that looks the type that a gentleman of advancing years might one day find permanently affixed to himself. "And yes, I'm minor nobility, not enough for the Pentaghasts or Van Markhams to have given much pause, not that I'm ever in Nevarra often enough for it to matter anyway."

Tavin that's a noble's conceit and you pay for everything with your estate money--

"'Course I'll have a wash, I'm not Fereldan--and I've heard that one before, y'know--"

Or as good as heard it. One threatening example is the same as another, and a boy from Serault could be a boy from Hambleton just as easily. Business-like, Matthias sticks his thumb in his mouth to suck the blood off of it, and keeps scraping the glass into that pile. The little cheek-puff that Tavin does gets a grin out of him--around his thumb at first, before he realizes that he looks an idiot, and wipes the thumb against his shirt.

"S'ppose there's worse things'n reliving glory days. Means you've lived long enough and well enough to get to see 'em and you never died. Lucky sots. Is that what you've to look forward to, then? Someday when you get ancient and go back to Nevarra? Not bad, even if you do end up a mummmy. Do they seat mummies in chairs, in Nevarra?"

"I've never known people who wash their dogs more than their own armpits. Unless the dogs wash them? None of the ones I asked cared to answer me that."

It's an honest question because really, why do they smell like that, them and the dogs? Looking around, he goes for what the servants - he assumes this place has servants or some sort of staff when in use any other time - must use for a fireplace and gives it a tap so there's not going to be ash smeared everywhere and starts to nudge the glass in with his boot so it can be dumped and covered up. No one needs to know. How sad an ugly thing got broken.

"Honestly? I don't think I'll make retirement in my line of work there's too high a chance of something biting me or eating me or both, it's a more exciting way to go if I'm honest than writing papers and lecturing to bored students who don't care." Not that he doesn't write papers but one day that's all he'll get to do and the thought is-- well maybe he's hit the age now of having cold sweat dreams about it. But he smiles, letting out a quiet laugh as he nods. "You know you can be seated in your favourite chair with your favourite tea service if that's what you want, all ready for the family to visit and they never visit often enough. You should think about your retirement plan too, never too young to start after all and Riftwatch? It could set you up very nicely don't you think?"

"I did say I'm a poor, right."

Matthias grabs the stack of linens that he'd been carrying into the suite when the ugly old paperweight had thrown itself to the floor and broken all on its own. The bed is in the adjoining room--this one seems to be some manner of parlor or receiving room, table and chairs and fireplace with squashier armchairs, and cupboards of books and curios and things. The space on the shelf formerly occupied by the paperweight looks quite empty, and Matthias shifts the linens so they're pressed to his chest, kept in place by one arm. The other arm and hand is left free to select something to take the paperweight's space, so no one will see anything amiss.

"Not exactly destined for retirement. And probably've a short life ahead of me besides," which he says cheerily enough that it might be a joke. But there's always been a truth to it. "Considering I'm a mage what would rather eat a knife than go back to the Circle, and I'm helping to fight big fuck-off Corypheus who could crush my head like a sultana if he wanted. And then there's, y'know, diseases and injuries and massive bears and highwaymen and things. No favorite chairs and tea services either in death or life for me, I reckon. So we're much the same there, you and I. What students--you a teacher, then?"

Everything's close enough to Kirkwall to blame it on a spirit Matthias, just a spirit having some fit as spirits do. Or a rifter sneezed because who even knows with them.

"You don't think that you being a part of all of this means you'll get to have a greater say in what happens next in your life? You're here. You're here in the body that's been making decisions or throwing their weight behind them for a good while now, that's not nothing. Yes, there's Corypheus but who else has the resources that Riftwatch has? I mean you could always fall outside and break your neck tomorrow and my quillback might decide to tear out my throat but it never hurts to have the option there in case, shockingly, you make it. No one likes bitter old men." Or he never has, unless that's been because of his dealings with them, or the soldiers who used to come by the family home.

But the youth-- maybe he'll write to his sister, it might help as he picks up what might be a stylised sculpture of a symbol he's seen all over Kirkwall or two hawks mating, he can't be sure, no matter how he tips it this way and that-- "Sometimes. When they catch me for long enough and well if anyone says yes to coming along on fieldwork but I'm a zoologist and a bit of a draconologist, not everyone wants to be elbow deep in it. Literally."

"Well--maybe. I dunno. When you put it that way, it sounds..." Well, halfway to possible. And here's Matthias, with his narrow scrapes and escapes and his brief life expectancy, standing at the edge of that possibility. It's mental to think of surviving, let alone claiming some status what might let him retire.

"I dunno," he says, again. "S'ppose I never thought about it that way before. Resources and Riftwatch and all. Hang on--draconology? Is that like... studying dragons?"

"Mortalitasi retire though...I always heard rumours," and he drops his voice which is a habit because if you grow up in a Nevarran family with a Mortalitasi grandparent you don't really get to make jokes about them where they might hear you. "That they were already well-preserved if you know what I mean and they'd just stop showing up one day and someone else would take their place and find them among the corpses."

Cautionary tales from Nevarra: don't do that. If they do that. Who knows but seriously don't take that path take about fifty other paths that aren't just stumbling into perfumed zombie retirement.

"There's plenty of people here to ask, lots of old farts like me," Tavin not even thirty but soul-crushingly old, "though not Grey Wardens. Or Templars don't think they really do policies for them if they make it. Squirrel away coin. Or interesting finds. Get yourself a good stash and find a good fence who knows their stuff. And yes, it's studying dragons or whatever you can find; ever since they returned the field's enjoyed a revival as well with more live specimens rather than just bones and conjecture."

Matthias snorts at the suggestion. Not an outright laugh, mostly because the thought of a corpse sitting about waiting to be discovered by its successor isn't entirely pleasant--but that's Nevarra, isn't it.

Same with the dragons. Very Nevarran, very mental--which, by the way--

"Only a madman'd go running after dragons," he says, authoritative. "Sort of a good way to make sure you don't get to retire. Chasing down a thing what could crisp you to bits the moment you got too close to it."

There's a set of small sculptures on a shelf near to the floor. Matthias chooses one and slots it in to take the place of the shattered paperweight. It looks good enough there. At least there's not a massive empty space any longer.

"If I did get to retire, I dunno if I'd do it in a place like this. I'd want a city, I think. Somewhere well interesting, with things going on and people to talk to and all."

"Or an icicle!" Way to look for positive in any situation Tavin or: has he had this conversation with his father? Absolutely. "Oh but they're splendid, I mean astonishingly rare to see a high dragon but I was out in the Western Approach a good while back, long before the rifts and I saw one take flight? The heat out there is merciless but I had goosebumps. They're like nothing else in this world."

He could go on at length for hours but he nods his approval because everything in this room is that Old Person Chic that wouldn't look out of place is a lot of offices he's perched in during his time as he stuffs some paper over the glass so no one cuts themselves and to you know, make it look a little less obvious as that boy who broke many things. Then sets down what he used to tidy up before he trips over it like the gangly boy he hasn't grown out of.

"What sort of climate do you like? I'd say anywhere in Antiva at least for a little while because you would never be bored in Antiva. But what do you enjoy? What are you into? Fashion? Orlais. Merchants yapping your ear off? Denerim," he's being more than a little rude about Denerim there but it can't be helped; there's never much interesting about the place compared to most other destinations.

Dragon maniacs. Matthias pinches up his mouth, as he pokes at a few of the other trinkets on the shelf. This is what led to the breaking of the paperweight in the first place, so perhaps he ought to know better, but whatever.

"I'm not into dragons and, you know, getting crisped alive. S'ppose that means the Western Approach is out, eh? I reckon Antiva might be all right. I want a place where things are happening, you know? Where there's news coming in and news going out, and things to see and do and--I dunno. Interesting food. Good food. Shops of all sorts. Kirkwall's all right, it's got some of that at least, but I k now there's better out there. No chatty merchants, so no Denerim, if that's the only thing you've got to say about it."

The thing is that most people hear Antiva and it's oh the Rialto! Strolling along at night! The weather and drinking brandy in the evening listening to the music and the gossip of all the Merchant Princes, now with the benefit of the Crows practically gone. But Tavin is Tavin so of course--

"You could go to see what they have in the menagerie, there's probably more than one now with everyone trying to one-up their rival with some exotic creature they paid an exorbitant sum to bring back. And it's easy to travel to Rivain. I mean, you have to watch the Qunari parts," and Tavin pulls a face at that as he comes to investigate the shelf because is that supposed to be a taxidermy of a fennec or not...what happened to the face? "But there's always something going on in Rivain too. I never understood much about the magical traditions there but that wasn't really for me, I was off looking at birds and insects but it's a beautiful place. Especially to take a deep breath. You can't go wrong with them."

Oh...oh Maker the texture of the fur on this fennec why did he touch it. Why can't he stop touching it who did this. "What a travesty of a creature, look at the eyes. Maybe this'll have an accident before we leave here too."

"The menagerie," Matthias repeats, somewhat dully. "Yeah... I dunno. I'm not opposed to animals, like. But I've never been mad about them either. You've got to pay to get into it, haven't you?"

All that hard-earned retirement coin spent on looking at animals, when he could look at other animals for free. Maybe not. The mild despair in Tavin's voice gets his attention, and Matthias looks around to see what he might be on about. When he spots the fennec, he pulls a face of his own.

"Maker's balls. What were they after with that? Looks like it beheld Corypheus face-to-face. If it got destroyed it might be all the kinder."

"I...have no idea. I think so? Studying let me get in so...mmm..." Tavin who has literally never had to think about money and likely never will confronted with the other part of retirement that actually matters - money - and unsurprisingly doesn't know what to do.

Usually I'm with the University of Orlais studying-- and people either cut you off or wave you if you dress right and flap bits of paper.

With a grin, he picks it up. Gingerly. Maybe it's full of moths ready to burst free and consume everything in the room. "I should bring this back to Riftwatch for further study; you won't say anything?"

"'Course I won't. Only what is there to study," Matthias says, squinting at the fennec. "What's it called, when people are preserving animals like that. Like it's stuffed, but you don't call someone what does it a stuffer, do you."

Or maybe you do. A little grin flickers onto his face at the suggestion. Sounds dirty.

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MOD EVENT: WINTERMARCH WINTER MARCH

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