1629, Dark Season, Stasis Week, Windsday (Storm Bull’s Seasonal Holy Day)
Context
The group has just helped Jar-eel not to come back to life, at the cost of every Storm Bull in New Pavis being dead. Session Prax 6.17.
Events
Under an hour has passed since Varanis was given fruit and salt in amity by the Count of the Sun Dome. The shelter tent is now up, and the cross in the centre is stable, although as yet unadorned with the skull that will be there later. A brazier is taking the edge off the cold.
The Vingan returns, face flushed with cold from beneath the edge of her cloak. The snow that sits on the heavy wool is not melting. She’s walked from the Sun Temple to the Uroxi Temple alone. Berra would have likely disapproved, but the little Humakti is freezing somewhere else and so doesn’t have a say.
The warmth of the tent, or comparative warmth, starts to soften the snow. The Yelmalians seem to be religiously forbidden from offering fire, but they certainly know how to keep one going, and as they are not offering, that is fine. There is a fire, and a roof.
Varanis stamps by the tent flap, before scanning the interior. “Captain Illaden?”
“He’s out looking the place over. He’ll be a few minutes.” A man who was definitely not about to fry sausages puts away his knife, and pretends he is not holding anything at all.
“Eat. I’ll go find your captain.” She issues the order like she has the right to before turning and going back out into the cold. The wind slips past her as she does, causing the fire to dance.
Illaden takes a few minutes to be tracked down1Normal pass on Track, and she sees him not far from the tent, where footprints abound in the new snow. It seems he talked to someone not far away, and they were from outside the area. The ruined walls make a decent perimeter, although they no longer offer much by way of defence.
“Captain,” she calls out giving him warning of her approach. “A word, if I may?” She shivers as the cold tries to work its way through her layers.
He turns and regards her, coolly. Of course he does. He’s a Yelmalian in the snow.
“Thane Varanis. Should we go inside?” He leaves the answer, and the possible questions raised by his question, to her.
“If you wish, though it may be that my questions and your answers are best shared with the cold and few others.”
He nods to acknowledge the wisdom of this, and stays where he is. “Then the words. Perhaps they will take the edge off the chill.”
She shivers. “Your count. He wants my support and if I don’t provide, he’ll let Berra freeze to death. At least, I think that’s my understanding of what he did, and did not, say.” Her eyes have that stormy look so familiar to those closest to her.
There is an expression which does not say anything. In particular, it does not deny the possibility. “… It is cold out there, yes.”
“If she dies because of his petty politicking, I will destroy the Sun Temple here. Brick, by fucking brick.” Given her threat is uttered at the edge of the shattered Temple to Storm Bull, there might be something in that. “I won’t care which of your brethren get crushed in the process. If they support a tyrant and they’ll fall with him.”
He takes a slow breath. “I think I should not pass that on to him verbatim, but if I have the chance, I’ll try to let him know your feelings.”
“I have fought beside and against Demi gods and heroes. I’ve stared Sartar in the eye and come face to face with more wyter spirits than most. I have walked the path to hell and returned. I may not look like much, but do not underestimate me.” Her shiver steals some of the power of her words, but she continues anyway. “I will not be used. Not by my Grandmother, not by Fazzur, not even by King Kallyr,” she closes her eyes against the pain of that one. “And I will most certainly not be used by a count who thinks Yelm’s light shines out his ass.”
The captain stays silent for a long moment. “He does not think that,” is the final reply. “And while I owe your friend, I am sworn to Count Belvani.”
“He is trying to blackmail me with her life,” she snaps.
“He faces a usurper. He is a politician as well as a warrior.” The words are not necessarily supportive of Belvani. An undercurrent in Illaden’s tone says he disapproves of the decision, but as he is not allowed to spit, he just speaks.
“Perhaps he doesn’t realize that his chosen path will earn my life-long enmity, while if he’d been more open in his dealings, I might have been persuaded. I am not unreasonable. But this? He acts with dishonour and I cannot support a dishonourable man. I will pray that Orlanth protects Berra. Or that Yelm does. But if she dies…” She does not repeat her threat. It’s been said once already.
“I cannot allow that it is dishonourable,” says Illaden carefully. “He… is acting within his laws and rights.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “Tell yourself what you must to preserve your own honour. I know what he said and what he implied and I say there is no honour in it. We both know that law and honour do not always align.”
“I accept he does not cover himself in glory.” Illaden looks away, uncomfortably. “However, I may not hear insults to him without answer. The air will, however, and if I overhear a thing I may choose not to react.”
“I’ll take the outside shift for a while. Warm yourself and then gather your warriors to return to Sun Town. We will survive out here as best we can and trust Berra to do the same. Pass on what you will to your count.”
“I came to offer shelter, and the shelter is built. Yelmalio will always be a light in the sky.” He bows his head fractionally.
“Your shelter is appreciated. May the wind be at your back,” she replies, stiffly. Her pride and rage war with courtesy. She knows he is not at fault here, but he supports the target of her anger and it spills over.
He gives her a moment to say anything more, and then he leaves her to the wind.
She begins to tell Valind what she thinks of him and his attitude too. By the time she decides to trade off with one of the others, the Yelmalians have gone.
Time has passed for Maalira. There was more of the relaxing tea, and then a comforting song that helped to ease out fears, and a little nap, and now it is afternoon. The snow still falls outside, Valind taking advantage of the weakness of Storm Bull.
Sleep has brought something like peace, although that might be the residual effects of the calming tea, and the temple incense. As Maalira prepares to go find her friends, Varanis is already just coming in to the Temple.
Maalira raises a hand in greeting. She’s not smiling a lot, but she is smiling a little.
Around her, the ebb and flow of the Temple is restored. There are about the right number of healers here, and a surgeon is eating a late lunch.
Perhaps Varanis has not seen Maalira – she turns left to follow a lay member.
One of the younger healers looks at Maalira and bobs a very low curtsey.
The Vingan pauses, then turns back. “Maalira? I’ve been wondering where you got to.”
Maalira gestures around. “The temple wished to help me with… with what happened.”
“Kolyey, X11, and I are helping the new Storm Bull priestess to protect the temple. I can’t stay away long, but I wanted to check on you.” Varanis is bundled against the cold in a thick wool cloak. She has not yet unwrapped it to allow any of the temple’s warmth to penetrate. Snow is still melting on the surface of the wool, which gives an indication of just how freezing it is outside.
“I am ready to leave now,” Maalira says. “If I come with you, is there any good I can do?”
Varanis considers. “If you brought your warmest possible layers, you could stay in the tent and then deal with any injuries should Valind bite too hard? And maybe you could mind the fire to keep hot food and drink going?” She winces. “I’m sorry. It’s not the most dignified labour to ask of you. But it frees us up to keep rotating through short guard shifts.”
“I can do that,” Maalira says. “One moment, let me ask the Temple for a loan of warmer clothes.”
“Can you also ask them to send a messenger if they get any word of Berra? I’ll explain on the walk.”
“What? Yes, of course.” Maalira gives Varanis an alarmed look as she turns away to find a useful person.
Warm clothes are supplied in short order, and the message is heard, and then a bundled-up Maalira with a basket full of good food and spare underwear is sent on her way. The underwear may never be explained, but someone obviously thought it a good idea. The food is high in fat, pemmican and oat-cakes and other such things.
With a sigh, Varanis covers her head with edge of her cloak again. This has the added advantage of hiding her distinctive hair. When they step out beyond the temple’s sheltering walls, the wind howls at them.
Maalira shivers. “What’s been happening?” she asks against the wind.
“The Count. Do you know him?”
Maalira shakes her head.
“He’s a pustule on the arse of a baboon,” Varanis growls, leaning as she fights her way forward. “Wants my support to rule. Instead of asking for it, he’s trying to coerce me.”
Maalira pulls a face. “Not good.”
“Our punishment is one thing. Brutal, but fair given the circumstances,” the Vingan continues. “Though he seems inclined to deplete all of my funds in the process. But Berra… he’s sent her out alone, somewhere remote. She may freeze to death. Of course, if I give him what he wants, he might find her somewhere less isolated to serve her term with him.”
Maalira gives a little dismayed sound. “I would not tell you to give in to such behaviour, but… Berra.”
“I can’t let him use me this way, Maalira. I’ve told Captain Illaden that I’ll not be Balvenie’s pawn. We’re going to have to trust Berra to take care of herself. Though,” her voice turns low and dark, “if she dies because of his actions, I’ll tear his temple down around him and bury his corpse feet up in its remains.”
“I’ll help,” Maalira grinds out. “No rule against that.”
“Just because he’s friend to the White Bull and a Count, he thinks he can pull whatever shit he wants.” Varanis rages.2To be fair, he probably can, but she’s not in the mood to admit that. – V
The snow is dry and swirls about in eddies as it is blown between buildings. Here and there it has begun to pile up against the walls.
“This is no weather for anyone to be sent out in, no matter what the point.”
“We can hope that it’ll keep looters away.”
Maalira shivers with her whole body, and nods.
They walk for what feels like forever with little other talk between them, until finally they reach the dubious shelter of the tent where the Storm Bull temple once stood. Varanis nods at X11, who is standing guard, before inviting the healer inside.
- 1Normal pass on Track
- 2To be fair, he probably can, but she’s not in the mood to admit that. – V
