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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Less responsibly, Marcus has let his hair out -- but he reaps the benefit of having less of it than the Madame, chopped short enough to just clear his shoulders and now wet at the ends from where he's lowered himself once or twice to ensure earth-warmed water embraces as much of a work-weary spine as possible. It's a little like those early journeys after the circles fell, all over again, muscles and stamina tested in new ways.

He's never seen this much snow before, and no one said how bright it would be either.

When she says this thing, associated bruises and scrapes seem to twinge at the mere mention. ] It was well aimed, [ he says; deadpan flattery. ] Another degree to the left and you'd have missed me entirely.

( petrana considers that for a few moments in thoughtful silence, tilting her head to avoid soaking the back of it when she shifts lower in the water— )

I saved you a great deal of time, ( she proposes, ) returning to fetch me.

( really, it was more efficient for them both to fall. is the sort of thing that one can say when neither of them broke anything significant in the process, and wouldn't have been funny otherwise. )

[ Amusement, creased at the corners of his eyes. She has yet to see him laugh during their infrequent but deliberate encounters, not in the open way that people do, but subtle tells carry the sentiment well enough. At least for their purposes. ]

We ought to've tried it on the way back down, { he says, collecting up water in cupped hands, letting it run through fingers. The characteristic lilt in his voice lends itself to good humour, mildly given. ] And saved ourselves an afternoon.

[ A day entire, even, which he doesn't say, and instead asks; ]

How fare the negotiations?

( a day entire, probably. she's far better on horseback than she is struggling up purposefully treacherous terrain, and their downward slide had been only the most notable of several misadventures and missteps in the process of to and fro. that she might pride herself on having grit her teeth and done her best was not much to cling to in the moment, but something of a balm on her dignity afterward. she is prepared to laugh at herself, if only to brace for the fact that they are certainly going to have to do it again—

she pulls a face, rising far enough where she sits that when she tips her head to the roof (perhaps to borrow some strength from andraste) she doesn't undo all her good work and dip her hair in it. )

We appeal to the good nature of a man I am not persuaded has one, ( sighed to the sky. ) We are in the unenviable position of attempting to negotiate with one who has what he wishes. The more we might know about him, the better. He does not strike me as one with nothing we might leverage against him.

I don't know that he does.

[ Marcus curls his spine inwards a little, a slouch he adopts usually when fully clothed and not submerged in water. A hand creeps up to massage the ache out of one shoulder. ]

Have what he wishes, I mean. Unless his ambitions begin and end with some winter provisions. But his aim is obedience. Recognition of his authority. Deprivations only win such a thing for so long.

( he makes a good point and she acknowledges it in leaning back with a sigh, lips pressed together as she considers it. it is incongruous how much the same this is as sitting at a table opposite one another, dressed; his hair loose and her neck bare of the jet locket she's never without and yet much the same posture and ticking over of minds.

pleasant. familiar, but not so much so that it sets her on guard. and he makes a good point, which is the most immediate thing: )

He hasn't the hands to hold it, and we not the distance to placate him and let the cards fall where they may. ( which doesn't mean it isn't a good or useful point, just that the fact it is is further frustrating. ) Nor, of course, can we outright remove him.

( or else they'd probably have done it already. a local victory, to be sure, when he is so little loved—but nobility further than just the marches eye riftwatch and the inquisition uneasily. )

Not without the blessing of the Viscount. The concord of his neighbours.

[ So it's not a non-starter, is what Marcus is saying, but his affect is light, thoughtful, more engaged with an object of thought experiment than helpful diplomatic suggestions.

Or, if it's both, a little by accident. ]

Perhaps a reminder of such powers might have him see reason.

There is the stick, ( she allows, musing. it would be convenient for all involved if the viscount had not 'acting' before his title, but the situation has continued for some time and she anticipates it will continue for some time more. the side effect, of course, being that protests based on the presumed temporary nature of his installation will, over time, lose their teeth.

and if they feel vindicated should he be replaced, it will be cold comfort for what's done is done. )

I might still prefer another, larger stick in reserve ahead of the carrots he's already taken.

[ Marcus moves -- not far, and he remains low enough that the water laps midway up his chest in the interests of not disturbing it too much. Water ripples and steam whorls around his shoulders as he shifts from the impression of sitting 'opposite' Petrana to something more like 'beside', if still all with a respectable distance. Relatively speaking, given givens. ]

It depends on the sort of man he is.

[ Once arrived, he reaches a dripping arm out of the spring's perimeter to pick up the modest cup of wine he'd set aside. Hers' is nearby, and both are travel-sized and carved of wood. A shared wineskin is also in reach, half-full with something rich and red. ]

But you know that better than me. I'll hope that he's a coward.

( the reminder of the wine is a timely one and her hand is slippery with hot water when she reaches for her own cup, half-full still and small enough that that is like to mean refilling in short order. the quiet while they have the space more or less to themselves is pleasant, if likely temporary, and the wine does more to make the conversation feel informal than does the fact they're conducting it naked, even if when she straightens in the water her bosom threatens to remind everyone.

she tips her cup slightly, instead. )

A particular kind of man sends his men to starve a town as a tantrum, and in my experience it is rarely a bold and intelligent one.

I tend to agree.

[ He drinks, then, a mouthful that almost drains his cup. Common wisdom says not to drink any amount of alcohol while in the springs, for it will act faster and bring about its lesser desired effects, but they are consenting adults who can do what they want, including discuss the particulars of a diplomatic assignment.

It would be a mistake to imagine that signs of relaxation in Marcus are entirely undeliberate just because of the wine, anyway. ]

But it would be inconvenient for him to prove the rule through exception. Unfortunately, not every cruel, selfish man is a stupid one.

Oh,

( she sighs, and it is at least a little the wine: )

I didn't recall speaking of my marriage.

( what a sharp edge that is, smilingly delivered. )

It is a trap to be wary of.

( cruel men's intelligence? her marriage? )

[ The diversion into a more personal territory doesn't go unnoticed, is not without interest. He mirrors her smile, just visible behind hovered cup of wine, before he moves to reach again, this time for the wineskin.

Like his face, Petra can see where scars have created seams in what would otherwise be smooth skin, a cosmetic disfigurement that describes moments of fast-moving violence. The underside of one arm above his elbow has a long slash, and another mirrors it across his ribs.

Close encounters, survived. He refills his cup, and offers to do the same for her. ]

Would you like to?

( few of petra's scars are so visible as his; carried inside of her heart or inside of that locket. when she'd stepped into the water, the thin, silvery stripes on her breasts, abdomen and hips were both subtle enough not to necessarily draw the eye and still the most noteworthy marks she carries. she stopped wearing her wedding ring long enough ago that the pale line where it had sat is gone, now, as if she'd never worn it at all. )

My political education was a most personal one, ( is what she settles on, holding her cup for him to fill it, because it would be too cute by half to inquire if he meant to fall into a trap. he didn't. )

In some ways, rather tailor-made for Riftwatch. I spent much of my early marriage in war camps and low establishments and the company of mercenaries.

[ He hasn't forgotten her sun-soaked dream, of a world that didn't feel like the things she has mentioned so far and yet seemed to overflow with its own potential. He only remembers it briefly, now, as he caps the wineskin and sets it back.

And stays where he is, as well, finding a comfortable place to lean as wine warms in steam and his own hands. ]

That sounds like a peculiar place to bring a titled wife.

I forfeited my title in marrying into his exile, ( is something of a shrug, as if it were all so very simple, ) though I grant you he'd not have chosen it.

( the exile. their marriage, at the time of it. the matter of their titles, the precise status of which at that time is now a matter for historians' debate, a conversation doubtless frequently ending with well, he's the fucking emperor, now, isn't he.

perhaps not in such crude terms. )

King and church removed my husband from that which pleased him, and so he removed king and church. Such a thing is not done straightforwardly, or from comfort.

[ Something within her words seems to be taken up, quietly drawn within for later analysis, and the clever configuration of half-smile and alert interest of his expression seems to dull ever so. A withdrawal, in some ways. He could imagine disliking her, the implications of her station, the kinds of powers she has been aligned with. The ways they are similar are mirrored too in the ways they are not.

But. He doesn't dislike her, and differences -- experiences, skills, perceptions -- are that which make alliances stronger. Commonality is not always enough. This, he's reflected on before, and does so again now in the time it takes to sip his wine.

When he's finished, he simply says his thought; ] I would know that story in better detail.

[Julius almost skipped the hot springs altogether this evening. He's been tied up with paperwork that took longer than he intended, and it doesn't sound unappealing to have some tea and some wine and go to bed. But he's also aware of how much one can sweat when dressed for the cold. (He liked snow better when it was permanently outdoors and he was permanently indoors.) Better to wash away the day first.

When he hears Petrana speaking with someone as he approaches, his first thought is to wonder if he should intrude. Romantic jealousy doesn't occur to him first, despite the setting, but if she's working up a rapport with someone it might not do to suddenly remind them she may have certain ties. He doesn't immediately recognize the other voice, as he approaches, which makes it harder to judge.

Finally, though, the desire for the hot water wins out and he ducks into the springhouse to shed his clothes. He emerges with a towel, more habit for communal bathing than particular shyness, just in time to hear her mention her husband and her companion ask her to expand on it.

If he considers leaving at that, though, there's no sign.]

Madme de Cedoux,

[yes]

I hope I'm not interrupting?

[It might be rhetorical from another man, and Marcus may miss it, but Petrana knows him well enough to know he will absolutely leave if she indicates he should.]

( although not expecting julius, she isn't displeased to see him; he, in turn, might see the moment in her, ) No, Enchanter, not at all, ( where she considers the usefulness of his arrival as a neat deflection from what might delve deeper than she'd intended with an off-the-cuff witticism on marriage.

she circles this, now and again. discusses it in its relevant context, where it illustrates her experience—she has avoided, carefully, the threat of too much tenderness. this seems an opportune moment to have it tempered with the practicality she prefers when confronting something so entangled with sentiment; she cannot perpetually keep julius in the dark, and there is no good reason to deny marcus something she brought up.

she offers him her cup of wine to share— ) Come, sit. Mssr Rowntree has been interested to meet you, and I was only speaking of, that is, the past.

( in a bracing sort of way: ) It is a long story.

[ Ah. Owner of the masculine boots set by Petrana's bed, that one time, and a sundry other scattering of details that had already sparkled with intrigue. ]

Senior Enchanter, [ he adds. ] If we're doing titles.

[ There's a jest, there, but it doesn't seem to be some sort of game of oneupmanship or anything. Enchanter ranks mean piss all in the real world, save to bring about some context, although Marcus is confident that it probably means something to some of them.

He remains as he is, in a relaxed lean against the edge of the spring, holding his wine, politely only returning his attention to Julius once the man has situated himself in the water. ]

Marcus, if we're not. My apologies to not've made my introductions sooner.

[ And maybe while clothed. ]

[Julius waves off the apology.]

I don't object to "Julius," under the circumstances.

[The circumstances of his friendship with Petrana, more than the baths, though perhaps a little that one too. Insisting on his title seems a bit contrary these days regardless, as both his politics and the world's continue to shift.

He comes to join them on Petrana's other side, perhaps a bit closer to her but less as a display and more because he hasn't Marcus' reasons for precisely gauging the distance.]

I can think of worse places for listening to a long story, frankly. It'll take at least half an hour for my lower back to unknot, I think.

( the tch from the back of her throat is probably for the sake of julius's lower back and not her own long story, relenting: ) Petra, then, ( since she has been left standing on ceremony alone. it speaks more to her regard of marcus than it sounds like it does, considering that the number of people within the inquisition invited to use her given name at all can be counted on fingers, and those invited to shorten it just one hand. )

de Cedoux was my maiden name, ( is how she settles on continuing, the matter of names and titles seeming a secure enough segue. ) I anticipated marriage to his royal highness, Sir Marius de Lamorraine, who was expected to become Lord Preceptor of the Order of Lamorre. The sword-arm of the church in a more explicit fashion than Templars, and to broader purpose. We had not yet wed but I was expecting our first child when he was, without public explanation, stripped of his rank and privileges and exiled from Lamorre on pain of death.

A difficult position for me. Moreso than I knew, though had I fully understood the situation before me, I cannot say I'd have chosen differently. Marius's crime was witchcraft, and he avoided what was then a death sentence without exception only by virtue of his sex and his birth—a son of the royal line cannot be seen to have committed such a sin. It is customary that the children of a witch be given a swift and painless death, and a little girl born upon the wrong side of the blanket would have no such protection.

( she is most matter of fact, above her slowly heating wine. )

I came to magic thus. He was unhappy with my presence, but obligated to our child and therefore to me. He felt it proper that I should learn his craft, and therefore be a little less helpless in our new situation. And, of course, tethered to it by the consequences of leaving. My wedding ring functioned much as your phylacteries do, and to much the same purpose. His intent, originally, had been to learn all that he could in order to turn magic from a criminal act to one that might be pursued in service of the crown, the church—he envisioned knights with swords aflame, and the loyalty that could be earned from those grateful for new opportunities. The desperation that he had seen turn women to magic in the first place.

It wasn't a terrible idea.

[ Marcus is a good listener.

Qualities being: patience, genuine interest, recall, and no particular desire to foist upon the speaker his own opinions, his like experiences, and other such interruptions.

All of this would have been true before Julius' arrival, and continues to be so. It's simply paired now with a split focus in which he silently takes note of the other man, undisguised observation that only shifts under a delay, unselfconscious.

But she has his more undivided attention as she speaks of revolution, expression grim and focus intent. He prompts, a question that sounds like a statement; ]

He succeeded.

Edited 2020-01-31 03:09 (UTC)

[Julius wonders if she's have ever told him this, without a third party present. Possibly, but experience suggests she'd leave it as long as she could. Given how much she'd had to wrench his feelings about Bann Selwyn (partially) out of him, it's a bit hypocritical to feel hard done by when she didn't want to revisit something clearly painful. But he'd also be lying if he said he didn't wonder about the glimpses he'd seen.

He considers touching her, some light support, but doesn't for now. It doesn't feel like the right moment. Instead, he adds quietly,]

It seems there might be at least one "at first" to come.

In his original ambition—in what would have married neatly with our original ambitions, had he spoken to me of it—he failed. So if he could not bring about change for the crown, and if they would spurn him for his attempt, the crown would have to go. And in that he succeeded.

( it is habit to so much separate herself from the narrative. a bad one, probably. she corrects herself, )

We succeeded. Beginning in the backrooms of taverns and brothels and with mercenaries bought with coin he earned as a mercenary himself, we built myth and dismantled the empire by picking it off pieces at a time to rebuild in our own image. He was quite the symbol. A military leader at the front of his men, with his burning sword and his burning ambitions. Who had been cast out for his forward-thinking and who would carry those bold enough to follow him into that future he imagined.

( her half-smile is small and private. )

By then I knew the tantrum of an egotist for what it was, and if I had been wiser I might have fought him less but I thought it my right duty as his wife to—to salvage those good ideas. If his heart was in the wrong place, his hands might still find the right one, and there was great potential in the changes that we wrought. I thought I had lost my chance, when Veda died and he sent me away, but—I suppose too much had been built upon me at his side to be easily replaced.

( that isn't why he kept her. )

He respected me again, I think, the first time I picked my way out of a lock he'd set me behind. He would always fight with me about the things that he did. He would do as he pleased more often than not, but occasionally he would listen. If I maneuvered the right way, then he would present my idea to me as his own, pleased with himself. It still mattered to him that he might have my consent. My approval. I did not object when he used his uncle's mistress as a tool for his assassination. It involved no blood, in Lamorre, but I believe blood magic is the only tool in Thedas to replicate what was done to her. She killed herself but weeks after my coronation as Marius's empress, but—few people knew of it, she was feted as a hero of revolution.

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