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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Why Derrica volunteered to go up early, who knows? The need to be helpful overriding good sense, obviously. She's already miserably cold, and her inventory of the place has lead to her appropriating the warmest coat she could find. But the crashing and cursing interrupted her quest for scarves and other accouterments.

Rounding the corner to find that the only prospective attack has been Matthias at the hands of a large paperweight, she breathes a momentary sigh of relief.

"It was probably ugly," is Derrica's first, reassuring agreement, which is followed by: "Come here and let me see your head first. I can at least get the glass out of your hair."

And make sure he isn't cut, or otherwise hurt. Glass crunches under her boots as she delicately crosses the room towards him, beckoning expectantly with one hand.

"It was, actually." Matthias grins at Derrica sheepishly, first, then pushes to his feet, his own boots crunching on the glass underfoot. "Seriously ugly. But that's posh people for you, innit. Bad taste. Someone's still going to be looking for it when we clear out of this lodge eventually."

He's taller than she is, so when he reaches her, he's got to stoop a bit for her to see the bits of glass glinting among his hair, which has grown into this unruly tumble of waves and curls in need of a trim. Makes the glass a bit difficult to pick out. "I'm not bleeding or anything, so I'm all right. You haven't got to fuss." Mind, he's standing still despite this protest, because he was told to, and he does take orders well--but, still. "Why do people have such bad taste, anyways? Probably 'cause they've got so many rooms that they can't think of what to put in them, so they just begin to collect whatever they can find, to fill in the spaces."

"Maybe it was a gift. The kind that you might not like but can't give away? Then we'd have done them a favor."

Though Derrica wonders if anyone even knows exactly what's in this lodge. Who will miss an ugly glass paperweight?

They're going to have to find a broom. They'll remove all trace of this incident, and when spring or fall or whatever more temperate season best suited to vacationing in the mountains arrives, this whole thing will be a distant memory. She loosens her own scarf, and pushes two fingers into Matthias' shoulder.

"Sit and let me try to get some of this glass out of your hair. It's incriminating."

"It's not incriminating if there was no crime 'cause no one would miss the thing--"

He's nearly automatic in obeying Derrica's command, and nearly before she's finished her sentence. There's a chair pulled away from a nearby table, and Matthias crunches out of the glass debris to sit in it. A shard from the shattered paperweight drops onto his shoulder. He picks it off and holds it pinched between his thumb and forefinger, so he can look properly at it.

"Who gives gifts like that? Sounds a bloody waste. I'd never give anyone anything if I wasn't well sure they'd actually want to keep it."

"Rich people," Derrica answers. "I don't think it was even enchanted, so it was just expensive."

Her fingers make a first, light pass through his curls. A small scattering of glass rains down onto his shoulders, following the first shard.

"You'll never believe the terrible, gaudy things we found when we'd raid merchant ships," she continues. "Some of it was too ugly to even sell."

No one really needs to mention that Derrica hadn't seen the item that is currently in a thousand pieces on the floor. Matthias says it was ugly, that's all that she really needs. Contradicting it won't do anything but make Matthias feel badly, and she doesn't care to do that.

"Oh yeah?"

Matthias ruins the next pass by turning around to look at her, eager to hear this. But it's pirates, isn't it? Who wouldn't want to hear? And treasure, terrible treasure, which will make for great gossip--he can just tell--

"Like what? What's the worst thing you found?"

Derrica pokes his cheek lightly, but she's smiling. There's no need for urgency. Matthias isn't bleeding, and there's no one around who might take issue with the smashed glass all over the floor.

"Oh, there was the solid gold replica of someone's mother in law. It was about three feet tall, and took us forever to melt down."

Her hand sweeps through his hair again. Little sharps of glass prickle at her finger.

"Lean over," she instructs, before continuing, "The worst were mostly statues, come to think of it. We found a carved wood piece that I think was meant as to be Empress Celene, but the artist must not have been much of a supporter."

He bears the cheek poking without protest, and even does as he's told--at least for now--as he leans forward. A little bit of glass falls out from just that simple action, sprinkling on the stone floor. Matthias scuffs one foot forward, pushing at the tiny shards with the toe of his boot.

"Wooden statues are boring," he says, his voice somewhat wonky from his current position. "That's not hardly gaudy treasure. What's the worst thing you found, tell me that."

Almost says: a mummified head.

But that's possibly disrespectful, especially after all that happened in Nevarra. Whose ancestor would she be insulting so long after the fact?

"By worst do you mean most dangerous or worst like something that made us want to vomit?" Derrica fishes, brushes a few shimmery bits of glass from Matthias' shoulders. She has some impulse to look around for a comb, but suspects Matthias wouldn't appreciate being groomed like a fine lady.

What. Matthias sits up again and looks around at Derrica, both incredulous and eager.

"One of each? Like what sort of a question is that, 'cause now I want to hear both. And then was there anything that was dangerous and vomity, both at the same time?"

"I threw up the first time I saw a severed head," Derrica tells him before she thinks better of it. "Please don't tell anyone that."

Not because she's ashamed of vomiting, but because she's still trying to be somewhat cagey about her history. Perhaps Commander Flint is a pirate with a ship in the harbor, but Derrica isn't commander of anything. She still benefits somewhat from deniability.

"As for dangerous, there was a drake in the hold of a ship we took. I think it was either someone's pet or meant for sale. We had to lash it to the deck and walk around it in a wide circle before we parted with it on the Storm Coast."

As she speaks, she dusts the last bits of glass from his shoulders. It seems mostly taken care of, and the last bits sprinkle to the ground to join the great mess of glass beneath their boots.

"I'll not tell anyone," Matthias says, "swear it--"

And he won't laugh, either, for the simple fact is that no one should have to see a severed head. Not in a serious context at least. And it does sort of change the thing he's asked about--because a story isn't only a story, a story is something what really once happened. And this one happened to Derrica, who never ought to have seen a severed head. But that's life, isn't it. Happens to everyone.

"What d'you mean you parted with the drake. You let it go or sold it off?"

He reaches to brush off his shoulder as well, adding to the work that she's already done. Just to make sure, like.

What is one severed head compared to an annulment? What's one severed head against a war?

Derrica's thought of this before. She's considered the little things Matthias has said and wished he'd never experienced any of it. But that's nothing something she cares to tell him. It would be patronizing, and she would never want to risk that.

"Let it go," Derrica answers, as she scrapes some stray shards of glass from the carpet towards the little pile of shattered paper weight in the center of the floor. "We'd have had to take it all the way to Orlais to find someone who wanted to keep it as a pet, I think."

And it hadn't seemed right (or safe) to make a pet out of a drake.

"Do you think we could sweep this under the bed, or should we try to find a dustpan and scatter the bits by the wood pile?"

"Dustpan and wood pile," Matthias opines, with the wisdom of someone what has been caught hiding evidence of similar misdeeds. "Takes us from the list of suspects entirely, makes it any old pile of glass laying around that we had nothing to do with."

Glass-free, he slips off of his seat and dodges around the worst of the glass they'd brushed off of them, then hheads for the door back out into the corridor proper. "I saw one out here--a dustpan, I mean. I'd've voted to let the drake go as well, if I'd been with you. I'm scared of dragons, obviously, 'cause I'm not an idiot. But that doesn't mean they ought to be some Orlesian's bloody pet."

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MOD EVENT: WINTERMARCH WINTER MARCH

chores!!

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