open: mabari crawl.

[cozen]

WHO: Open (with a closed starter)
WHAT: A team takes dog sleds into Ferelden's snowy southern reaches to procure an antidote to poison. So: a Balto knock-off and a game-canon body heat meme.
WHEN: Haring 9:46 (pre-dream plot, so no need to take it into account)
WHERE: Southern Ferelden
NOTES: OOC post. There's a closed starter for people who signed up to talk to the herbalist, but otherwise this is open to anyone, make-your-own-adventure style.

The team's journey takes them from Winter's Breath, in the southern foothills of the Frostback Mountains, to the even-more-southern foothills, just north of where the map they've been given fades into ambiguity and a few depictions of enormous, cold-hardy beasts that may or may not truly exist. There's a smaller village there—Talon Point, named for a jagged rock formation in the surrounding mountains, under the protection of the Bann of Winter's Breath—that serves as a waypoint for traders and travelers to and from Orlais during the few months a year the mountains are traversable and the rest of the year as a conduit for trade with the Avvar and Chasind.

Other than the map, their guides are the dogs themselves. The lead dog for each sled team comes from a locally-bred line of particularly fluffy mabari. They're clever and communicative—albeit a bit less affectionate and more stubborn with these strangers than with their currently-absent masters—and used to making this journey. They know the way to Talon Point; it's a cold, snowy journey that requires making camp in the woods at least once, but otherwise, it's a straightforward trip.

The local accommodations are not much to speak of. With the inn shut up for the winter, the only place anyone can offer them to sleep is a barn. But it does provide a place to come back to, between bouts of splitting up to seek out the herbalist, who lives to the west and further up the mountains, or fanning out to the east to gather eshimeric. It's a reddish lichen that can be found growing in small quantities in the cracks and crevices of rocks, if they aren't covered in snow or if the snow is knocked away. Scraping together enough to allow for one dose and one do-over will take several days of dedicated searching.

The landscape they're searching is inhospitable, to put it lightly: deep canyons with narrow paths carved into their walls just asking for someone to nearly fall off the edge, pockets of dense woods that are difficult to traverse and easy to get lost in, expanses of barren land with no shelter from the wind at all, and frozen rivers and lakes which, of course, may not fully support the weight of someone trying to cross them. The sparse wildlife is mostly typical of the region, but now and then there's something—maybe a wolf, maybe a rabbit—that's unusually aggressive and still showing lingering signs of the blight.

Comments

closed: the herbalist.

[cozen]

ooc | This part is closed to people who signed up.

The herbalist's name is Blodwen. According to the villager who gives them directions, that might be why she's so grouchy.

Blodwen, who is grouchy, lives up the mountain, in a house that's built directly into a cave, with a full view of the narrow wooden bridge visitors have to cross to be able to reach her door. The team might see her as they approach: a small woman turned into a little pillar of shawls and scarves, beating icicles and snow off her roof with a stick. But she certainly sees them back, and by the time they reach the door, there's no sign of them. The house is quiet. There's no smoke from the little chimney. A simple knock gets no answer at first—but then there's a quiet little sneeze from beyond the door, and a muttered shit and fuck, and, "I haven't done nothing."

[radicans]

Maud, who has somehow found herself at the front of the group approaching the herbalist's door, turns back to look at the others over her shoulder as she knocks. The sound is softened and muffled by her heavy gloves, and she's about to try again--arm drawn back for what looks likely to be a much more serious thump--when the voice within is heard.

"Are you Mistress Blodwen the herbalist?" she calls in reply, "We have come to consult with you regarding a remedy. We're told you are the most skilled herbalist in the region. Might we come in and speak? It is rather cold, some of my companions are beginning to fear frostbite."

[heorte]

"You're in no trouble," Ellis tacks on, ahead of some further argument about has or hasn't done anything. If they can head off some suspicions there, then they might at least get over the threshold to plead their case.

[deceivingly]

"People saying they haven't done nothing are thinking they will be in trouble," Doki points out conversationally from somewhere near the back of the cluster of people at the herbalist's door. "So they should probably be in trouble for something. This is just my opinion."

She slaps her mittens together, as much to punctuate her words of wisdom as to clear them of snow.

ellis | ota.

[heorte]

dogs

It's not optimal, but they are at least prepared for one night camping out in the open. Or semi-open. The trees do a fair job blocking the wind. Once the tents are settled, it's comfortable enough.

And once the tents are settled, Ellis is exempted from pretending his attention is anywhere but with the dogs. The lead mabari are standoffish, but the rest of their sled teams are happy enough for a little attention. And if that's where Ellis posts up at the end of his watch, well, who can really fault him?

"It's almost unnecessary to sit up," Ellis says, looking up at the sound of footsteps. "They'd let us know if there were anything afoot."

This is theoretically true of all the dogs, but Ellis' gaze has shifted back to the stern mabari as he says it.

barn

The barn is an improvement over camping, but it is still large, and it is still drafty, and there are an assortment of barnyard animals that also call it home. Stood in the center corridor, Ellis gives it a brief once over, then takes a few steps forward and to the side to get a look at the hayloft.

"It'll do well enough," he says, looking back to scan faces and take in the general reaction. "With our gear and the doors sealed, it'll be warm and I assume we'll be undisturbed."

As if to immediately prove him wrong, a goat butts against his kneecap. A cow groans in one of the far stalls.

It'll be fine.

search

The map shows no markings indicating a bridge. Walking a stretch downriver had yielded nothing, and the biting wind discourages retracing their steps and further to see if there are any better prospects upriver.

But they still have to search the stretch of land between the forked rivers. The marked stretch of crumbled ruins is probably easier to get to in the summer months, but they can't wait for the summer months, and they can't gamble on the idea that they'll come up with the lichen elsewhere.

So, time to edge across the ice and hope for the best.

"Careful now," Ellis cautions, a little strained. He's far more solid, and as such is hanging back, keeping some distance to avoid dragging anyone down with him if disaster strikes. "If you go in it'll be a miserable walk back for us both."

Just the thing to say before the brush along the river behind them rustles and a low growl sounds.

wildcard.

[ do literally whatever you want, i'll roll with it. ]

search

[radicans]

"At best," Maud replies darkly. It's not meant to carry to Ellis's ears--she has remained determinedly unperturbed by the hardships of their journey thus far and consistently positive about their chances of success--but that wind catches and carries voices in odd ways, swirling up loose snow and her grim mutter and whipping them both past his head.

Out on the ice she slides carefully forwards yard by yard, listening with anxious attention to every groan and creak. She stretches out a booted toe and taps at a darker patch ahead. It's difficult to tell through heavy boots and layers, but something feels softer than it ought, and she draws back a pace or two to find a different route. "I think we may need to go around this area," she calls back over her shoulder, turning to make sure Ellis sees her gesture, and instead catching the moment the wolf emerges from the bushes. Whether he's already facing it or not, she still instinctively shouts, "Look out!"

[heorte]

Ah, how quickly things change. One minute, his biggest concern was falling through the ice knowing good and well Maud is unlikely to be able to pull him out. The next minute—

He turns to see the wolf, notes the trail of dribbling ichor in the snow along with it's tracks, and makes a snap decision.

"Run," is the first thing out of his mouth, without thinking whether or not that's a wise idea on ice of dubious quality. "Get across!"

She's a few feet ahead of him. That head start is probably helpful, if he has to thunder across after her.

[radicans]

He may not be thinking about the wisdom of charging across that ice, but Maud is, once the initial clench of shock at the sight of the wolf lets go. She's no doubt that Ellis can handle it—a Warden, after all, and she's seen the easy way he holds a weapon, something in the grip and the heft and the shift of muscle—and no illusion that her presence is anything but a liability to him doing so. But it's not as if he'll be able to fish her out with a wolf at his back, either.

So she runs, but only right back up to that edge she'd found, and then quickly parallel, skirting the edge in search of a safe path across to the far bank. "It's too soft all through the middle!" she calls, sounding more concerned than she would have liked. What business does she have in Riftwatch if a single mangey wolf and a patch of ice get the best of her so easily? Thinking she could come on a mission, see something, do something real--

"Here!" her toe finds a firmer spot, a strip seemingly less shadowed by the dark water beneath, and she takes it, dashing across toward safety. She makes it a few strides before it gives way, cracking apart beneath her feet, and with a yelp of an unladylike curse she plunges into the water.

barn!!!

[acreage]

To his credit, he does not laugh. He might smile, but that's neither here nor there.

Instead, he offers,

"They'll get used to us. Then we'll be a lot less interesting."

James Holden looks more comfortable in a barn than one might expect of a spaceman. A couple of hens pass him by, pausing to cluck suspiciously in his direction before running back to their nests.

farm boys unite

[heorte]

"Then they'll move on to needling us to entertain themselves," Ellis says, though he's setting a poor example by crouching to pet the enterprising little beast. Some painful twist of nostalgia comes along with the action, but the motion of his hand stays steady at the goat's neck until it tires of him and trots away.

"Lot of experience with goats?" he asks, straightening to address Holden. Nevermind the cow, or the chickens, or the cat Ellis marks slinking around the corner into a far, empty stall.

[acreage]

"That's not so different from some people I know."

He points out, wry, setting down his packs in some appropriate spot. The animals seem to leave him be, momentarily — at least until the cow lows in his direction. When he looks up, it's on some level instinctive; years of old habits suddenly coming back to the forefront. Then he shakes his head, looks back to Ellis.

"Goats? No. Father Caesar didn't like them. What about you?"

Ellis certainly seems comfortable around one, just saying.

aleksei | ota.

[positioning]

barn

In the midst of settling the dogs, and comparing maps, Aleksei has drifted along the stalls to inspect the animals, eventually perching between two stalls with the folds of his cloak drawn around him comfortably.

"Do you think they will give us something in return for our help?" Aleksei asks. One foot has been thudding a fitful rhythm as his heel knocks intermittently against the side of the stall he's balanced on. The cow presently seems unbothered by him. "Some of the chickens, for instance. Or several of those fine geese."

There's a wistful note in this assessment. Wouldn't it be nice to make off with some livestock after all this work, said no one at all.

pre-search

"You will have to bundle up very warmly," Aleksei is saying. Did anyone invite this advice? Probably not. It's just happening, first thing in the morning while everyone is groggy. "Yes, like—"

A pause, while Aleksei exaggeratedly mimes the pulling up of a collar, the drape of a scarf across his face, tongue clucking critically. This is helpful advice, surely.

"Higher, so your ears do not freeze off. You would not like to be missing an ear, yes?"

search

The canyon is carved deep, and seems to keep going past the narrow set of footholds they can see from one edge. But even a glance shows plenty of promising holds for lichen, which apparently means they have to make a good faith effort to search.

Aleksei clucks his tongue skeptically.

"Are you afraid of heights?" he inquires conversationally, leaning a bit farther over the edge to get a look at the bottom of the canyon.

wildcard.

[ do literally whatever you want, i'm down to clown. ]

search

[deceivingly]

"I am not afraid," Doki says. "If you hold the rope and do not tie it, then I will go down. Not because I am afraid of heights do I make this clear, but because you are dick-thumbs when you tie knots. Very bad."

She snaps off a bite of deer jerky and chews it with finality. The fur on her boots is rimed with snow, and snow has been blasted to plaster the front of her thick coat too--and her hood is pulled up, but there is still snow in her hair all the same. And she is happy, which Aleksei will know.

She leans forward to look down at the canyon's floor--all that unbroken snow, places where no man or woman or even bear has stepped--and, presumably, to look at the lichen.

"It is stupid to do all this for plants."

[positioning]

If it weren't for the flicker of green that catches his eye every now and again, this could almost be like one of their visits home. Aleksei doesn't say so, because Yevdokiya is enjoying herself, and it wouldn't cheer her to hear invocation of their hold. Instead, he makes a little moue of agreement as he shakes his head over their altruistic companions.

"Aye, but they are like that, Riftwatch. They like to help, even if they aren't given so much as a single chicken for their trouble."

If there's one less chicken when they leave, well. Who can say what might have happened?

"Here," he tells her, shaking the end of the rope in her direction. The knotted end whacks her hand lightly, and his grin widens. "Tie this around your waist, just in case."

[deceivingly]

Doki withdraws her hand from the rope's smack--fast, but not fast enough. It was a mild strike, so she gives Aleksei only a mild scowl in return.

She also takes that rope and pulls on it--sharp, yes, sudden, a tiny revenge--gets herself more of its length, and loops it around herself so she can start making the knot.

"They will be sorry when we have chickens and they do not." Quick, deft movements of her hands, surprisingly clever in her thick mittens. She is good at knots. "Maybe we will find ourselves helpful and give them one of ours that we bring back. Do you feel helpful?"

pre-search

[muckspout]

Edgard who is wearing more clothes than he has in his entire life, tries to fix his yellow scarf at Aleksei's first comment, and frowns at the continued criticism.

He pulls off the scarf in a huff and waves it in the air wildly.

"How you supposed to get it round your ears and your mouth and your neck and still breathe? What do you breathe through? Your eyeballs?"

[positioning]

There is a particular art to tying a scarf, Aleksei might have said. (Perhaps he will say soon, who knows?) But instead, he makes a face of disappointment, arms crossing as Edgard waves the scarf around.

"I breathe through my mouth and nose, as the gods intended," Aleksei answers, tutting critically. "Is your scarf made of something that seals out air? It is not a very good scarf, if so."

how dare!

[muckspout]

Edgard gasps as if he's been slapped, hand to his chest. He continues waving the scarf.

"This scarf was a gift from a friend! It is a very good scarf!"

He lowers the scarf and shrugs losing the scandalized tone.

"Do not know how it was made. But, if you don't breathe special, then I am doing something wrong because it isn't the scarf."

holden, ota

[acreage]

BARN

Maybe surprisingly, Holden seems pretty at ease with their accommodations. Unruffled by the curious animals investigating these human interlopers in their domain, he finds himself a corner to lay down his gear and consider where a bedroll may go. It's warm, at least, and that's no small consideration with the snow piled up outside.

One of the cows lows, and he ambles over despite himself to take a look at her. With a slight frown, thoughtful, he says aloud, "I think she's going to want to be milked soon."

Father Tom would be proud.

GATHERING

Finding the eshimeric turns out to be no small task, least of all in this weather. It's slow, careful work. Maybe he's trying to carefully scrape some lichen off stone while you hold a container to drop it in — or vice versa — and making conversation with a,

"What do you think this stuff tastes like?"

Look, it's going...to be eaten....

Or maybe they're contemplating a visible patch of the stuff on a boulder...that can only be reached by crossing a frozen river. Jim doesn't seem fully dissuaded from it, shading his eyes and considering the length of ice contemplatively.

"It's dangerous," he admits, "but it might not be impossible."

WILDCARD

[ i'm ota, come at me ]

gathering

[deceivingly]

"Mmm."

Doki has been working on-and-off, a less productive partner than others might have gotten. Ostensibly this is so she can maintain a perimeter, watch for wolves and other dangers, and also because this type of work is not what she is good at. Tedium does not suit Yevdokiya an Waslyna O Bearhold.

But at this present moment, she is using a little knife to do some clumsy scraping, that she can keep her big mittens on and stop her hands from turning to black before falling off. Now she flakes off a crumb of the red stuff and looks at it laying there like a crumb of dried up blood. What does it taste like?

"It will be tasting like shit," she guesses. "Are you hungry? You should eat it."

[acreage]

From beneath the cap keeping his head and ears warm, his eyebrows go up.

"It tastes like shit, so I should eat it?"

Asked mildly as he holds out the container for her to drop the scraped lichen into. Which is, honestly, maybe a lot of judgment coming from the man who'd been wondering about its edibility in the first place.

[deceivingly]

She half-takes the suggestion--the container for the lichen, yes, but first Doki holds the knife out with great expectation, hovering it over the container. She raises her eyebrows back at him, so high that the disappear under the drape of her heavy hood.

"I will eat it if you are a baby coward."

The universality of peer pressure will surely apply here.

BARN! COWS!

[muckspout]

Edgard coming down from the hayloft brightens at this comment.

"Looks like you're right! Have some milking experience?"

Edgard who was quite literally raised in a barn, leans against the loft ladder with his arms crossed. He raises his eyebrows and smiles.

"You happen to be looking at an award winner right here."

YESS

[acreage]

Holden has both arms resting on top of the stall's door, leans his weight against it; so he just turns a little to look over at Edgard, a faint smile breaking over his face.

"Well," he says as if conceding a point, "I can't say I'm an award winning cow milker. But where I grew up, there were more cows than people. I'd say I know a thing or two."

[muckspout]

Edgard raises his eyebrows.

"Does that mean there were a lot of cows or not a lot of people?" He laughs.

"Was not the way for me. There were too many of us and only a couple of cows. But, I was very good at milking them."

He walks over to the cow assessing it. "If you're so good at milking, care to make a wager on it?"

He looks down at the cow and then meets Holden's eyes in challenge.