Chapter 1 - The First Day of Pelor's Rest

[Butchern]

On the first day of Pelor's rest the Sun God gave to me . . . shelter from a blizzard.

Every breath burned the lungs of the travelers as they trudged through the snow. Even on the road, the snow was up to their knees. The near-strangers kept their heads down as they walked together, hoping to get some respite from the blowing snow in the valley below.

As they passed the last rise, where the road was marked with two large piles of stones, and started their descent into the valley, the beleaguered travelers could smell something . . . familiar, something they hadn’t had in more than a week . . .

Fresh-baked bread.

The stout figure leading the procession stood up straight and look ahead. A halo of steam billowed out from under his cloak as it shifted.

"A farm," he said hopefully.

The group walked on at a much faster pace, energized by the hope of a warm fire. The path dropped quickly before them and after ten long minutes, beyond the swirling crystals of ice drifting through the air, they could see it—not just a farm but a town. The small town of sturdy wooden buildings with tile and thatch roofs was split between a high section on a crest and a lower section in line with the road. Fires burned in every home, and a few fur-clad folks were perched around a bonfire at the split on the road, talking and drinking.

Edited November 24, 2023 by Butchern (see edit history)

[Butchern]

"Who goes there?" called one of the men from around the fire. He stepped forward but was barely visible through the now lightly falling snow.

[matt_s]

Celeg held up an empty hand, the other occupied with the reins of one of the draft horses that had been drawing one of the wagons until the blizzard had forced them to cut their freight loose and make for the shelter and warmth of the town. Greenleaves his charger walked behind him but such a trained horse needed no hand to lead it. They would rue the absence of the goods in those wagons. They would have rued another hour on the road even more.

Travelers from the road. Had to leave our wagons and make a break for it, and you are a pleasant sight to see.

It was the holidays, but unless the men were exceptionally drunk, dimwitted, gullible, or charitable, that wouldn't do in even the best of times. And quite a few of their number were wearing weapons at their waists, Celeg himself with sword in scabbard and mail visible beneath his coat.

The emblem of Pelor on the chain around his neck spoke for itself, he hoped.

Name's Celeg Rhovanion, I grew up down the road and left when I was a lad to become a squire, and here I have returned. I will let my companions speak for themselves, but for now I assure you we are no brigands and ask for the warmth of your fires and the light of your halls. What I have in my saddlebags I will share gladly.

[Blue Firebird]

Seresse has not minded the loss of the caravan. Inconvenient? Surely. Especially so for her companions. She steals glances when she can: at the rosy color in their cheeks, at the misty breath curling from their lips. The Elf draws her cloak tight about her, hood low over her face, to hide that which she does not share with the other travelers. Once, she enjoyed walking so, beneath moon and star, or sun and cloud, in the deepest Winter, and the fullest bloom of Spring. Going through the motions now serves as a reminder of a more pleasant time in life.

What hope lies before her, Sera does not know. She travels anyway, compelled, perhaps, by the promise of succor in Pelor's Rest—or an icy tomb in the far north should hope fail.

The sight of the town upon the crest is at once a knife in her heart and a cause for joy on her lips. Warmth within the windows, and the scent of fires in the hearth, remind her of a favorite time of year. Long ago, yes. A lifetime ago. Pelor's Rest is a place for life, joy, and wishes to be made. The steady crunch of their boots in the snow quickens like a heartbeat, and for the first time in a long while, she feels a tinge of excitement. True, it is dimmed, like a dream or a memory, but it is there.

Some small part of her former life remains, it seems.

Seresse stops and keeps her cloak tight, letting Celeg speak first. A part of her fears that if she says something wrong, they will see her for what she truly is, and all hope will be lost in the blizzard.

"Seresse," she offers at last, bowing lightly in respect. "They seek—w-we seek shelter from this storm. Perhaps advice? I had heard of a festival. . . ."

[Caystodd]

Gert walked close behind Celeg, so close she almost walked into him when he stopped to speak. Her arms were tightly folded across her chest for warmth and to make herself as small as possible. Between the horses on either side and Celeg's imposing figure in the front, she was somewhat shielded from the bitter wind.

21 hours ago, matt_s said:

What I have in my saddlebags I will share gladly.

Gert leaned around Celeg and called out, "If there's a tavern or an inn nearby, we can pay."

[SirLoganofGilead]

Aron crested the hill and sighed as heavily as he could in the biting cold. He had never minded the cold before, but this far north was something very different. He had despised this trek since they had to start on foot. He was used to soldiering on, and so he did, head down and mouth mostly closed. The sigh was one of relief, combined with a bit of anxiety over who might be in this town. So far, Aron hadn't been using a fake name or anything that a man on the run might do, he just avoided using his last name or talking too much about his past. He certainly couldn't give a fake name in this town after traveling with some of the others for a while.

Once he heard the others speak he called out as well. "A place to stay and some warm cider would be great. Maybe some work if you have some?" He knew the others might not be looking for work, but Aron was planning on settling somewhere at some point, maybe this desolate winterland could be a knew home? Who knew, he would have to see what the local people were like. If they were anything like the last few towns he would probably have to keep moving, those people were incredibly nosey and he hadn't felt safe.

 

[Butchern]

"Travelers? In this weather? Why in the hell would you do that?" The man seemed genuinely puzzled.

On 11/26/2023 at 9:15 PM, matt_s said:

Had to leave our wagons and make a break for it . . .

"Oh, a caravan? Bad luck," another man called from beside the fire. "When a blizzard like this sets in, it could be here for day."

"The valley protects us from the worst of it," a third man said from behind the fire. "But you'll likely not be going anywhere anytime soon."

Having decided that the caravaners were not a threat, the three men approached the frozen travelers. The men were dressed like men of the north—furs and leathers and bushy hats. The used the butts of their long spears to help walk through the accumulating snow. They looked like stout men, but all that could be seen of them were their eyes and noses peaking out from beneath all the warm clothes.

"We only have a few visitors right now in the inn," the first man said. He cocked his head as he looked at the group and moved his lips while he counted them. "I think there will be room for you all. If not, I'm sure there's a warm barn or two that will put you up for barely a coin."

On 11/27/2023 at 6:23 PM, Caystodd said:

"We can pay."

"You have imperial coins, do you? Color me impressed. Tore will be your best friend when catches wind of that. Tore is the owner of the Blizzard, the only tavern inn in Redbark. My name is Reder. I'm the sheriff here in Redbark," the first man said. He gestured to the two other men. "This is Henry and Gilew. They are brothers, and they are on watch duty with me tonight. Inn is straight ahead up the hill. First building on your right. You can't miss it."

On 11/27/2023 at 6:31 PM, SirLoganofGilead said:

"Maybe some work if you have some?"

"This is the First Day of Pelor's Rest. There won't be much working going on this week, but can't hurt to ask around."

On 11/27/2023 at 3:06 AM, Blue Firebird said:

"I had heard of a festival. . . ."

"Who hasn't heard of Pelor's Rest? Why, even the desert elves in the far south celebrate the Sun God on these seven holy days."

Edited November 29, 2023 by Butchern (see edit history)

[matt_s]

39 minutes ago, Butchern said:

"The valley protects us from the worst of it," a third man said from behind the fire. "But you'll likely not be going anywhere anytime soon."

Celeg nodded along. Aye, I figured we'd be snowed in here. I'd have liked to get a further bit along the road to home but such is the way of things and a homecoming delayed for years can be held off for awhile yet. It's a pleasure to meet you. Tonight at least, I'd like a room at the inn to warm the frozen marrow of my bones, but before that we'll need to look to putting up the horses for the night. We can see how things stand in the morning. Pelor's blessing be with you.

 

[Caystodd]

"Neave ven!" Gert called out in Dardrain, the old tongue of the Middle Kingdom. It meant, "Gratitude to you!" The priests in the Middle Kingdom said that Pelor himself spoke Dardrain when he hung the sun in the sky. It seemed a fitting greeting on the first day of Pelor's Rest. That, and Gert didn't know a proper greeting in Dethek, the ancient tongue of the north.

Gert plowed her feet through the snow behing Celeg, trying to step in the craters his boots left. Celeg's legs were longer than hers, though, so she missed about every third step. Very soon they were headed up the hill to the inn.

Edited November 30, 2023 by Caystodd (see edit history)

[Butchern]

 "Aye, there's a stable at the inn. You can't miss it," he repeated.

On 11/28/2023 at 9:22 PM, matt_s said:

Pelor's blessing be with you.

"And blessings to you too!" the man called after them as they started up the hill. The men either didn't catch or didn't understand Gert's thank you.

The inn was easy to spot almost as soon as the caravaners started up the slope. It stood tall, just off the road to the east, and the warm light from its windows was visible through the now-lightly-blowing snow. The inn's wooden sign, adorned with a snow-laden pine motif, creaked against the gusting wind. The name etched on the sign in broad letters read: The Blizzard. The two-story structure boasted stout timber timber walls and thick glass windows, both of which were frosted with a layer of white.

Footprints in the snow, coming from both up and down the hill, led to the heavy oaken door that was shut against the cold. The sound of chatter as well as the smell of fire and food drifted down from the Blizzard.

Just to the south of the inn stood a small stable. Snow piled up against the door and their appeared to be no occupants: man or beast.

Edited December 1, 2023 by Butchern (see edit history)

[matt_s]

Celeg sighed as the smell of a warm hearth reached him, all out in the cold and blowing snow. Duty first, he muttered. He turned around and saw Gert awkwardly try to match his gait and with equal awkwardness shortened his step for her and the others.

Apologies, he said, although he was pretty much certain Gert was equally likely to be bemused than annoyed. But a blizzard could stilt the humor of even the most jovial, Celeg thought.

I'll see to the horses, thanks for the welcome and for pointing the way, Reder, Henry, Gilew, nodding to each in turn. I should be able to manage on my own, but if you are a steady hand with stablework help is always welcome.

He had ridden on campaign as a squire with Sir Fenthistle, who although winning not as many laurels on the tourney ground was as kind hearted as they come. Fenthistle never rested his head until his squires were settled, and only asked that the squires did not rest theirs until all the horses and pack animals were in turn in their places. And Fenthistle's squires had acquired a reputation for quality and loyalty far and wide as a result. Respect went a long way with folks of all stations, aye, and with beasts too.

So Celeg spent some time in the stable rather than the inn, seeing to all the mundane yet crucial tasks that horses asked of their companions. At least the walls broke the wind, and the body heat of the horses in the enclosed space soon began to warm the air within.

[SirLoganofGilead]

The word sheriff had frozen Aron more than any chill could and caused him to shut his mouth. Had word made it here? Are they looking for me? It would continue to be best for him to keep his stories short for now, and he saw no reason for him to contribute more to the conversation at hand. He followed Celeg and Gert, trailing behind slightly as he glanced back over his shoulder at the sheriff to see if the man was showing signs of tracking Aron's movements. He didn't appear to be watching Aron more than anyone else, but maybe that was his plan? Who could tell at this point.

Aron sighed heavily as he kept moving toward the Inn. He would need to shed some of the heat on him if he settled somewhere, but he wasn't sure how. When he smelled the fire and saw the Inn he didn't hesitate, he also didn't care much about the horses or the stable, he wanted to be full and warm. Aron went to the heavy oaken door and opened it, quickly stepping into the building. He took in the scene looking for whoever it appeared one by the proprietor of The Blizzard. "Please tell me you have rooms, and something hot to eat. We have a group that his been stuck out in this storm."

[Blue Firebird]

On 11/28/2023 at 5:38 PM, Butchern said:

"Who hasn't heard of Pelor's Rest? Why, even the desert elves in the far south celebrate the Sun God on these seven holy days."

Seresse smiles at the truth of his words as much as the thought of the festival. "That they do," she says quietly, bowing her head in respect and rejoining the caravaners.

5 hours ago, Butchern said:

"Aye, there's a stable at the inn. You can't miss it," he repeated.

"And blessings to you too!" the man called after them as they started up the hill. The men either didn't catch or didn't understand Gert's thank you.

The inn was easy to spot almost as soon as the caravaners started up the slope. It stood tall, just off the road to the east, and the warm light from its windows was visible through the now-lightly-blowing snow. The inn's wooden sign, adorned with a snow-laden pine motif, creaked against the gusting wind. The name etched on the sign in broad letters read: The Blizzard. The two-story structure boasted stout timber timber walls and thick glass windows, both of which were frosted with a layer of white.

Footprints in the snow, coming from both up and down the hill, led to the heavy oaken door that was shut against the cold. The sound of chatter as well as the smell of fire and food drifted down from the Blizzard.

Just to the south of the inn stood a small stable. Snow piled up against the door and their appeared to be no occupants: man or beast.

The Elf stands before the inn, wind stirring her cloak and long silvery locks, taking in the familiarity of it. She has not been to this one, but it shares the inviting warmth that all the best inns radiate. Mirth and merriment fill such houses during times like Pelor's Rest. It is as good a place as any to start. Seresse feels the warmth rush out of the open door and wash over her skin as Aron enters in haste. As much as she wants to go in, to hear people speak of magic and winter miracles, she gestures for her traveling companions to go first.

"I will stable the horses. You all go in and warm yourselves by the fire."

[Caystodd]

Gert followed quickly behind Aron, eager to get out of the cold.

"I'll send the stable boy," Gert called back to Celeg and Seresse. Her voice barely reached them through the snow and wind.

Gert stamped her feet on the doorstep to dislodge the snow, and brushed as much of the white powder off her shoulders and hood before she stepped inside. Gert sidled up to Aron as he approached the one who looked like he might be the proprietor. She put a small stack of coins on the bar, so the innkeep could see they had Imperial coins and plenty enough for some rooms.

[matt_s]

Celeg rummaged through his saddlebag and retrieved two apples, both bruised and the sort that self respecting orchard keepers would not be willing to even offer at market. He judged them for a moment, and gave the larger and more wholesome one to his horse who munched away in silent appreciation. With a plaintive stare one of the draft horse eyed Celeg as well. With a sigh, he held out the second apple for that horse. I'll be getting a hot meal soon enough anyways, I suppose he thought to himself.

As he busied himself with the associated labor of tending to the horses, he said to Seresse without looking,

You know, you are alive, in the sense that matters. Life ain't about hot flesh and blood, it's about, well I can't quite say for certain, but you are living nonetheless. Your business is your own, but if you need a small dose of consolation, well there you have it.