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

( the brief amusement that passes over her expression as she settles into his side is distant, recollecting; some kind of irony that she'd exploded at him, years ago now, with accusations of exploiting her status only to consider, now, the reverse. and if someone had told her then that she'd consider 'fetching her preferred weapon' a generous act—

well, a lot of things have changed in the interim. that among them. )

As a matter of fact, although I've got a hoof shaped bruise forming somewhere behind me, which is charming. We're not allowed to shoot the goats, right?

A small hoof? ( he asks. he rubs his thumb along a small section of skin-- it is not intended to arouse, only comfort, and comfort himself at that. ) No, not unless you wish to pull the sled yourself.

( he really ought to have brought the elk. )

I ought to have brought the elk.

Send for the elk, too, ( she advises, wisely, crossing her ankle over his when his hand settles. the elk and iorveth's bow and when did she get so dull and practical and prone to being involved in things that might bruise her without anyone taking their clothes of? )

He may well be near. ( it was cheaper and more reasonable to let him roam, after putting a pony in romain's gardens. ) But I will send a note with the next sled back. Is there aught else?

Nothing that won't keep.

( she can't sarcastically ask for a pony when she then runs the risk of being presented with one that thranduil has been trying to offload for years. )

Did you bring a comb down here with you?

( wow, gwen, once again ruining his months-long plans.

he gestures at the pile of his clothes on the bench, and then opens one eye.

he's going to need to get it, isn't he. )

( he opens one eye, and mere inches from his face are both of his wife's, huge and soulful. )

I only just got into the water.

( what kind of terrible, inconsiderate husband would make her get out and get his comb herself. )

( he kisses her, first, he is allowed that, and a quick tug of a lock of her hair. he will never be sated when it comes to her presence, to the indulgence of a quick touch, a lingering look. then he does rise from the bath, all cascading water and dripping hair. he bends down by the pile of clothes, roots through it, pulls the carved bone comb, and then returns to the bath.

the comb he sets at the edge, along with the soap and the hair oils. )

Give me your hand. ( he says. ) Close your eyes.

( although the likelihood that he's about to put his prick in her hand is so infinitesimally low as to be a complete non-starter, gwenaëlle still says, ) This isn't that sort of bath, we'll get in trouble, ( as she closes her eyes (a hardship, when it is such a pleasure to watch him rise from the water) and obediently holds out her hand.

palm up. you never know. )

( as with every challenge she sets before him, he rises to the occasion, ever gleeful to engage in one-upmanship. his mouth is warmer than the water around her fingers, his teeth holding the ring as he slides it down her finger, the digits pressing into the flesh of his cheek, his tongue pressing it the last few centimeters down. there, it pulses calmly, beat-beat-beat.

he grazes her skin with his teeth as he withdraws.

who's going to tell them off? it's an empty bathhouse. )

( her eyes are already opening when she feels his mouth, and then her brows draw together as the other thing she's feeling (no, not that) registers through the amusement, and she curls her fingers beneath her palm into a loose fist as he straightens again. )

What is this?

( not the mouth part, she knows his game. )

My heart, ( he says, and takes her hand to press to the underside of his jaw, two fingers on his pulse so she can feel it twice at once. )

No more of this worrying that the other is dead. It will take time to understand what is excitement and what is fear, but we will come to it in time.

( gwenaëlle finds the ring's mate on his hand with the one she hasn't got pressed to his pulse, fascinated by the enchantment that must have been done as much as by the result of it. how clever, to bind the two of them together like this in a way that really would have been useful nearly a year ago.

this is a better gift than another bow, albeit by a margin that will vary by her mood. )

I can think of ways to figure it out, ( arch, ) later.

Not here? ( his hand closes over hers, squeezes. her fingers are still slick from his spit, and he wonders if it would be worth his position to have her here.

it would, at least, be a satisfying addition to his reputation. )

( the raise of her eyebrow is lazy— )

The last time we were interrupted, you made a noise I've only ever heard dogs make.

( and granted that was hot, but also: they are not in her grandfather's hightown residence, and does he want that to be his reputation with half of riftwatch. solid maybe. )

You like dogs, ( or maybe he should have said 'wolves', and they could have shared a laugh about solas and the knots he worked himself into. instead, he brushed her cheek, and then reached for the comb, settling back onto the bench, and offered it to her. )

If you would, my lady.

( the look she gives him is amused— )

You can wait.

( her hair has been in braids, has been tangled, has been splattered with blood and dirt and however charming he is and however pleasing this gift of a ring is, she wanted that comb for a reason. she works the messy, curling strands out from the bottom up, methodical, letting it fall down in the heated water; drying it will be a living nightmare, probably, but that's a problem for later. )

Give it to me, ( he says instead, because he cannot wait. and he cannot see her be so careless with it when he would rather do it himself, and do it carefully, with the sort of reverence he reserves for her in all things.

he is methodical as he works, but he uses his hands, too, fingers where the teeth of the comb might pull, first, then dividing into sections and working those, the slick of the soap helping. )

( a sigh, then, )

You're so fucking particular,

( fondly. even with her hair. especially with her hair. she sits between his knees, resting her hand upon one and curving around, tilting her head back with the tug of undoing knots. )

You chose me.

( and lo, he can sweep her hair back to kiss her neck, nuzzle up her spine. so what if they can't actually fuck in the hot tub. they can foreplay in the hot tub. it's just as good. )

Your hair is beautiful. I am glad you did not keep the fringe.

( he abandons the comb for his fingers, sure they will smart less on the knots. twigs and bits, he plucks out and tosses aside. there may be humming. )

Edited 2020-03-05 03:29 (UTC)

Particular, ( she repeats, some exasperation mingling in that affection as she sighs, presumably meaning both him (insufferable) and her (choosing to shackle herself indefinitely to an insufferable man), )

and I liked my hair that way.

( let down from the braids, the remnants of it are still visible where she weaves and pins them back most mornings, prone to hanging down around her face if she doesn't take care. it will be months before they entirely blend into the rest of her hair, even if she's stopped trimming them into shape and mostly wears it so no one would notice. she twists these shortest pieces in her fingers, pulling them over her face, the experimental air of it in itself a tease. )

It is your hair, ( he agrees, just as amicable.

the worst of the knots are out, and he cups water in his hand and let it run down the ends, before he begins to pull the lost strands out of the comb, leaving a charming little hairball at the rim of the tub. )

Will you have our children keep it short?

( they could have a circular argument about the likelihood of being able to have the children that they want at any time in the future that's foreseeable enough to discuss, but this is such an otherwise pleasant moment and his heart is beating against the palm of her hand and the side of his thigh where she's settled it outside of his knee and she says, )

No, why? ( dismissively, but not of the idea that there might ever be children to make decisions for.

not today, anyway. after a moment, reminded, ) That pirate you gave me that wasn't mine, John Silver, he offered me his assistance if I need it, after Corypheus.

The thought pleases me. ( look, he said children, not elflings. ) I saw one the other day- you know how they are, when they are too young, and it is all still curls. I thought of you.

( gross pirates. she can't see him frown. )

Did he mention specifically what you might need protection from?

All the usual things we're going to need to be defended from if we want to tote around a little thing with curls, ( she says, the dryness of it undermined slightly by the way she warms to that thought, and to the thought of thranduil watching a child and thinking of her.

her thumb makes circles on his skin. )

Mages don't get to keep their children in Circles. Rifters are already tied to whatever's decided on, for them, and it's a non-zero chance that native shard-bearers end up in the same boat.

MOD EVENT: WINTERMARCH WINTER MARCH

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