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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Yngvi takes a breath that stings enough to catch in his throat, coughing on the exhale; the dark shape of a bird passes overhead, a hoarse cawing cry before it disappears. "Most of them, even when you water it down some got more of the mountain than the lowland in them at first glance."

From inside his coat, Yngvi finds a length of chain since that is indeed the sort of thing Yngvi carries on his person because it happens to be attached to a beartrap that he's opening the jaws of to set it about the nearest rock he can find. It should hold. And if not then no one's about to be bitten, the chain not the longest but maybe it'll do for the last part--

"How numb is it? Numb's usually ice if you're down long enough from when I was last up in the Frostbacks proper. Too long and our resident mage had to heat it back up before anything got nasty." There's a jangling as he drops the chain down as far as he can which isn't much, lying down on his belly flat as he can make himself to not disturb the snow more. "D'you reckon you can reach?"

"Numb enough to be annoying," Sawbones says, "I'm a ways off from needing magical intervention, I think."

She frowns up at the chain and by way of answer starts the process of thrashing about to grab the chain. It takes a great deal of flailing and mutter swearing, but she manages to catch hold of it. "Got it."

"Wouldn't trust some of the lot here to do much without a committee."

Which is neither here nor there but Yngvi's used to action without people talking about it; someone says do it and you bloody well go and do it or your arse is on the chopping block and maybe a few other choice parts too. Dragging your heels or refusing? Not easily done.

Holding tight with his numb little hands, he starts hauling it in, reeling it about his arm in case he loses all feeling entirely. "Tell me if the edge goes and I'll grab for you, all right?"

"All right," she says, grimly doing her best to kick her way free of the snow. They very nearly get her all the way out before she sees the snow start to crumble.

"Shit, it's going-!" She scrambles for the edge. Which makes it sound rather dramatic, but the idea of having to go through the whole blasted process again sounds wildly intolerable.

"Piss on all of this-- why aren't we--"

Yngvi grunts, interrupting his muttering as he reaches out for her arm since he's more or less anchored, the trap not about to give way though he'll need to sharpen the teeth again later. Not that there's much need for it up here, not that he's found.

"In Nevarra. Sooner have dead perfumed weird folk then snow up to my bollocks. Right. Hold on. Can't take some folk anywhere." Also don't complain about how dirty he is or the chapped and scraped up mess his hands are because this is a hazard of being an artificer and he isn't about to change this far into his life when no one taught him better thanks.

She grabs his arm and helps as much as she can, kicking at snow under her feet until they're both sprawled out on the sturdier snow.

"Fuck Nevarra," she says, panting, "And fuck this frozen shithole too."

Look Yngvi can talk shit with the best of them because if there's a trait that's properly dwarven then it's talking shit about anything and everything even, no hang that, especially if it's contradictory views but that? That blasphemy?

"Fuck you I'm booting you back in there for that," he says without any real malice but an Orlesian noblewoman's indignation as she instructs her carriage driver to slow down on the way past her rival's house to show off her new hat. "They make the best tea and I'm not freezing my bollocks off saving dwarven sisters to hear Nevarra being slandered in the same sentence as the Vimmarks because that just ain't right."

"You boot me back in there and I drag you with me," she snaps back, likewise without much heat, "They don't bury their dead right and look what happened when we was there last because of it."

"Isn't there some code for you healing types? Even Gunnar wouldn't and he's my brother. He made me try his brews in the experiment stage." You only do that to your brother in the Carta because obviously there are stakes involved so best not have measured anything wrong or brewed it too long there son.

With another heave-- yeah, that should do it. He's sturdier than he looks. Or it's the weight of all his clothing and everything tucked beneath it to balance it all. "They've got incredible tea there and the language isn't stupid like Orlesian. Good place to go do jobs."

Or: literally anywhere that isn't Orlais is a good place to do jobs if you don't want to listen to people gargle at you.

"The code is don't kill your patient unless you gotta," Sawbones says, as primly as one can while talking with a broad Duster drawl and sprawled out on the snow. Once they're well and clear, she pushes herself up and begins the business of setting her habit and winterwear to rights.

"Truth told, I wanted to go to Nevarra when I first put in my traveling requests," she says, holding out her hand to help him back onto his feet, even if she's most certainly shorter than him, "Never got approval for that one."

"Well I'll be sure to let ours know that and pass it along to every mercenary crew with a healer so they can laugh at me until my backside falls off and then you can stitch it back on unless it just runs off with the shame of it all." A real concern, Yngvi's tone implies, the way that anyone born to Kirkwall can just about always escalate because that's survival and you can't do much else can you?

He takes the hand - dirty, frozen - and probably with the sheer amount stashed on his person they're both upright because Yngvi definitely staggers and pats down things no one needs to know about that mess with the outline of his coat. "Well I mean Nevarra likes to do weird things with their dead and you're a dwarf, can't imagine why the Chantry would go interfere with all that. What did you want to do there? That wasn't, y'know, getting paid to solve problems for nobles and drinking all the tea." And hunting down torrid romance novels.

"Reckon you'll survive either way," says Sawbones, with the long suffering patience of someone who's stitched up a lot of fussy Dusters in her time.

"To be honest, I did initially want to go to study Nevarra's burial customs. They're not entierly different from dwarven ones, but there's not a great deal of academia suggesting whether there was dwarven influence in the practice." She begins to dust her habit off primly, "The Revered Mother who was my superior felt it would seem I was not as devoted to my calling as the Chantry would like one of their special converts to be."

"Veritable slater I am," Yngvi replies with an air of pride about it but casual, can't be too puffed about these things.

With a nod and a smile - because Nevarra's weird but interesting at least, not just all fire and prayers - Yngvi listens. Dwarves up on the surface tend to be a mixed bag, the Chantry's a scam, a dubious combination but that's everyone, isn't it? "We don't have spirits though who cares about dwarf shit it'll all be Darkspawn down there one day soon." Too bad, so sad for the majority of them. "Special converts has a...that's got a ring to it don't it? A sour one."

She shoots him a look and for a long moment, the Deep Roads feel at her back. Sawbones rolls her shoulders in a shrug.

"Sour one with a pay check and an education. More than most get in Dust Town."

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MOD EVENT: WINTERMARCH WINTER MARCH

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