snow falling thick and deadly
It is fitting, perhaps, that the first snowstorm comes upon Denocte riding upon a furious gale-wind. The morning brings the snow with it and suddenly the world goes from a soft, golden frost to a blanket of white that devours up every color the sun has painted with. Wind howls through the trees and the streets and it sounds like a pack of wolves has turned their hollow, hungry eyes to the city.
Were it any other court the wind would have found in the streets a hundred warm bodies to chill and a hundred merchants to terrorize. It's a blessing that most of the court has just laid down to rest and the streets are mostly silent below that howling, bitter wind. The few that were left in the streets can already be seen turning towards the alleys and any door that might open for them. Fires are blazing in hearths but the smoke can barely be seen through the snow falling thick and heavy.
For hours the snow falls. Soon it's reaching up toward the bottom of all the doors shut tight against the wind. Every remnant of the bonfires from the night before is buried under snow deep enough to prevent anyone less than a hardened warrior from finding them.
The snow falls....
and falls....
and falls...
And just when it seems the snow might fall forever it stops. One moment there is nothing but white in sight and the next there is all the bright colors of Denocte peaking out from the mountains of snow. The wind stops it's howling and the world is almost alive with the sounds of the city opening their homes to see what damage the storm has brought.
At first everyone sees only piles of snow that will make travel near impossible for days. Then they see the promise of another storm boiling towards them from the mountains. Everyone starts to turn back to their fires and their beds. Each hopes that by the night the snow will stop falling so that they might take once more to dancing in the streets on stages of white.
Everyone turns back to their homes but one---
There is in the center of the market a yearling trapped at the base of a statue. When the storm came he was sleeping in the streets with the other orphans. They left him behind when the storm came, for he is as gray as the stone on which he lays. He's hiding between the legs of the Caligo sculpture, tucked in with what flags and merchant wares he could find left over from a night of revelry. His fire is burning out. He doesn't have a single drop of energy left to fuel the flames after fighting to keep them alive during the snow. He looks cold, so very cold.
Night is starting to set and the storm over the mountains is starting to creep over distant lake. The yearling barely has the willpower to look at all the horses closing their doors; he does not want his heart to break again. Winter is creeping over his legs, his hips and he imagines he can feel it reaching out to blanket each of his ribs.
He does not think anyone has seen him. He think he's going to die with snow too deep for him to move around in all around him like a sea of white. Fat flakes of snow are starting to fall again and he thinks they will be the ice flowers that mark his grave.
He does not know that a single set of eyes has spotted him and his small, fading fire. But will those eyes decide to save him?
Were it any other court the wind would have found in the streets a hundred warm bodies to chill and a hundred merchants to terrorize. It's a blessing that most of the court has just laid down to rest and the streets are mostly silent below that howling, bitter wind. The few that were left in the streets can already be seen turning towards the alleys and any door that might open for them. Fires are blazing in hearths but the smoke can barely be seen through the snow falling thick and heavy.
For hours the snow falls. Soon it's reaching up toward the bottom of all the doors shut tight against the wind. Every remnant of the bonfires from the night before is buried under snow deep enough to prevent anyone less than a hardened warrior from finding them.
The snow falls....
and falls....
and falls...
And just when it seems the snow might fall forever it stops. One moment there is nothing but white in sight and the next there is all the bright colors of Denocte peaking out from the mountains of snow. The wind stops it's howling and the world is almost alive with the sounds of the city opening their homes to see what damage the storm has brought.
At first everyone sees only piles of snow that will make travel near impossible for days. Then they see the promise of another storm boiling towards them from the mountains. Everyone starts to turn back to their fires and their beds. Each hopes that by the night the snow will stop falling so that they might take once more to dancing in the streets on stages of white.
Everyone turns back to their homes but one---
There is in the center of the market a yearling trapped at the base of a statue. When the storm came he was sleeping in the streets with the other orphans. They left him behind when the storm came, for he is as gray as the stone on which he lays. He's hiding between the legs of the Caligo sculpture, tucked in with what flags and merchant wares he could find left over from a night of revelry. His fire is burning out. He doesn't have a single drop of energy left to fuel the flames after fighting to keep them alive during the snow. He looks cold, so very cold.
Night is starting to set and the storm over the mountains is starting to creep over distant lake. The yearling barely has the willpower to look at all the horses closing their doors; he does not want his heart to break again. Winter is creeping over his legs, his hips and he imagines he can feel it reaching out to blanket each of his ribs.
He does not think anyone has seen him. He think he's going to die with snow too deep for him to move around in all around him like a sea of white. Fat flakes of snow are starting to fall again and he thinks they will be the ice flowers that mark his grave.
He does not know that a single set of eyes has spotted him and his small, fading fire. But will those eyes decide to save him?
@Morrighan is among the horses looking out from houses to see just how much snow the storm has dropped in the streets. Where others fail to see the boy hiding at the stone hooves of his goddess Morrighan spots him. The yearling was caught unaware by the storm and he barely managed to wake soon enough to keep a small fire blazing throughout the storm. But now his fire is dying and winter is creeping through his body like acid.
Will Morrighan be able to get through the shoulder deep snow in time to save him? Or will she turn away and let fate do what it will to the trapped yearling?
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snow and fire might be my favorite vibe
Enjoy! -nestle
Will Morrighan be able to get through the shoulder deep snow in time to save him? Or will she turn away and let fate do what it will to the trapped yearling?
How to tag this account: @*'Random Events' without the asterisk!
Once you respond, you may post to claim the quest EXP
Enjoy! -nestle
Please be advised, tagging the Random Event account does not guarantee a response!
