faderift | 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

Lukas isn't new to tracking. Woods, wherever they are, are a popular place for apostates to disappear. He's never been the tracker, though. They'd always recruited locals for that.

Which means neither he nor Derrica are particularly cut out for finding a group of kids lost in the woods, especially a group of kids he suspects know these hills better than they do. That's the hope now, anyway, a few hours on and a few hours from the security of a roof and four walls — the blizzard had hit quick, and hard, and it'd left them taking whatever shelter they could get. If the children were out here, hopefully they'd know where to find better. Maybe they'd already beat their would-be rescuers home.

"Stay away from the entrance."

It's one of the few things he's said on this trip. Like everything else, it's both very polite and very impersonal. Not one for small talk on missions, apparently (if at all).

The cave is big enough to move around in, shallow enough that the icy wind cuts nearly to the back wall when it finds the right angle. It's making his attempt to maintain a fire challenging, magic or no. There hadn't been a chance to find much kindling before the white out hit. The scarf he'd been wearing is already burning, but hers as been spared. So far.

Derrica draws back from the entrance, where she'd strayed to peer out fretfully. If the children haven't made their way home, or stumbled into the path of the group of hunters that had already set out before Lukas and Derrica had arrived, it would be very bad.

There's nothing to do about it now.

"We can try putting a barrier across it," she says instead, pulling her scarf down from her mouth. "It might at least keep out whatever was living here, even if it can't do anything about the wind."

Assuming something was living here. The cave seems mostly abandoned, but they can't be the only ones who scrambling to seek refuge in the night. And better it be her casting. She hasn't asked, but she's certain he knows more fire spells than she does. Between them, it's better he save his strength for that while she tries to keep the door shut, figuratively speaking.

She doesn't wait for him to tap her stave on the floor of the cave and send a barrier shimmering across the mouth of the cave. She keeps it out, held in one hand, before sitting down beside him on the floor to hold one hand out towards the little fire.

"How are you feeling?"

Miserable, probably. Derrica mostly wants to strike up a conversation to distract herself from the fact that she's very cold and unsure of how long they'll have to be holed up here.

It's a silly question, all things considered. The intent's clear enough; kindness or distraction, or both. Lukas takes a moment to trim the threads of magic that are feeding the small fire, clipping them back to nearly nothing and watching to see if it'll hold. It does, now that her barrier's blocking the lashing wind.

"I'm fine," he answers, diplomatic. The fire's heat is tangible, but so is the line between it and the cold clawing in from the icy stone walls. There's no diffuse and comforting warmth, only sharp heat or sharp chill, taken in shifts. He lets the heat cover the palm of his bare hand like a cloth before drawing it back, the thread of magic cut just before he puts on his gloves.

"Take breaks as you need them." It sounds more like an offer than an order, assurance that he'll pick up the slack. The magic's light work to start, like adding kindling to keep a fire (or barrier) fed, but it'll build over time. He trusts her to know her limits. "Are you warm enough?"

Enough is the key word. Neither of them will be particularly warm for a while.

"No," is the answer she offers, a bad joke. "Though I have not been warm enough since we came here."

And Derrica had complained of the chill in Kirkwall, but she'd have taken Kirkwall over her present situation any day. She tries to tell herself it's already a few degrees warmer with the barrier in place, but that might be a lie. The draw of maintaining it pulls on her, like the tide lapping around her feet, soon to rise further.

"But thank you," she continues, not for asking after her warmth but for the offer that preceded it. Derrica considers him to already be doing the heavy lifting between them. Her grasp on fire magic is too erratic to be of any use in such a close space. Hunched inside her coat, she begins to consider which of her outer layers should first be sacrificed.

"Sit closer. You're at the wrong angle to benefit from your work."

Arguably, there is no truly right angle to not be chilled by the cave itself. But there's no need for self-sacrifice either.

The gentle command's met with quiet; no reply, no rush to follow suit. Lukas gives her a brief and considering look, then sits up a bit straighter to more easily retrieve the small flask from the inside of his coat. He reaches across the cold space between them, offering it up instead of closing that gap.

"It'll help with the chill," he says, then adds: "Or help you forget it, if that fails."

It doesn't sound like a joke, but surely he's not suggesting they get wasted while stranded in an ice cave.

The question Why do you have this? almost escapes. But who knows what Tavin had been toting around in his pack while they'd been tracking snowmonsters? A flask is commonplace compared to what many people in this organization consider essential supplies.

And maybe she's taking the joke too seriously. The pinch of her brow eases slightly as she takes the flask, though she doesn't look very eager.

"Thank you," she answers politely, apparently deciding not to commit one way or another to what or if she'd like to forget. "But you're still sitting at the wrong angle."

She swigs from the flask to punctuate the reminder.

Neither of these things are going to be much good in the long term, but Derrica's not going to let him pass on a small improvement. When she holds out the flask, it's with a small shake, insistent.

The insistence earns a small smile, but that's all. He doesn't move closer save for reaching for the flask, and by then the smile's already gone. He starts to cap it, then stops, giving the impression of very restrained indecision.

"I worked for the Chantry," he says, gaze fixed pensively on the flask. He shifts his focus up slightly, somewhere into the fire. Not towards her. "After Dairsmuid. When they still believed they could find the remaining apostates."

Tracking down a few apostates in hiding wasn't a priority when the rest were at open war, and in the end it'd been just another list, lost or ignored. But Dairsmuid had been divisive, and it had been a very short list.

Once, she'd been hit very hard by a great giant of a man. The blow had knocked her across the deck, driven the breath from her lungs, and though there had been a split second where she'd processed nothing but the strength of it, the pain had come rushing in after. His revelation feels like that now: it knocks the breath from her body, and the pain stalls, half-formed, in the wake of the admission.

The barrier gutters at the mouth of the cave. It holds, but a burst of wind and snow flurry swirls inside.

Derrica draws in a deep breath. Her hands twitch, indecisive, but all suggestion of movement and physical rebuttal culminates in a single question.

"Why?"

Why serve the Chantry in the first place? Why tell her about it at all? He must have known what happened. How could he have been sent to hunt them but not have known what it was they'd been fleeing?

And beneath it all, some desperate, fragile hope blooms at the suggestion of a plural. Apostates. More than one. Maybe more than her and Leander.

MOD EVENT: WINTERMARCH WINTER MARCH

shows up late w/starbucks i'm here for my bonus points

ten points for mage team building exercise

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