The Shield of the North [IC]

[TriciaOso]

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in

OOC

Wintertide morning. The sun rises over Coldwater, The Shield of the North, and finds a city already hard at work. It's the shortest day of the year, and much to be done; no good waiting for the sun. In the temples to the Sun King the prayers go up for a good Wintertide, but in the temples of the Maiden the priests know the best thing for a good Wintertide is a sharp sword and a strong bell, and they do not turn from their work.

(Coldwater is a cold city, a tall city of stone, buildings close-set like fine strong teeth. But there are plaza and courtyards throughout the city, spaced and placed carefully according to arcane logic, and in those plazas are the Iron Carillions, the arrays of bells which will ring out through the longest night, binding and commanding and rebuking the dead. The maintenance of the carillions is always of high importance, cracked bells replaced, clappers inspected, yokes repaired. But this is the last chance to make certain. Dead certain.)

(The sharpening of swords needs no explanation. The Temples of the Maiden are armories, today.)

The gates of the city are busy, as peasants and travellers stream in to seek shelter for the night. Precious little shelter there is to find; wiser folks made their way here days ago, and the inns and spare rooms and stables are crammed to the rafters. Gate guards must turn away horses, sheep, cattle; it's too late, and space is too precious. Only human lives can still claim sanctuary on the last day of the year. (And halfling, dwarf, elf and goliath; all the speaking races of Daesic are welcome.)

(Across Solus, most communities mark the new year by the wedding of the May Queen, three months hence. But here in Coldwater there's only one day out of the long year that counts; the start and end of all hopes.)

And the walls are busy. High walls, mortared with the ashes of the consecrated dead; manned by soldiers of the city, solemn and watchful, and by the Wintertide Militia, nervous and pale. Not every able-bodied citizen picks up arms on the Day of the Dead; service is voluntary, and it is in fact forbidden to desert a family that requires your support. But most of them are here, if they are still old enough or young enough, strong enough, wise enough to hold a pike or lock shields with their neighbors.

Among them also are travellers; those caught here who see the sense, or pilgrims on the Maiden's Road from Domari to Coldwater who came here for this, to pay their penance for every night the Maiden passed them by.

(Every one of us must dance with the Maiden, sooner or later, and a beautiful dance it will be. But pray your name is not on her dance card tonight. Pray, and sharpen your sword.)

Most of the militia are untrained; wise enough to hold a pike or lock shields with their neighbor, but not much else. If you're better than that, stronger than that, and you happen to be in the city tonight, you may have been called upon to come to the keep.

---

The Keep of the Ci Gît family is different from other keeps, in that it faces the water and the north, the direction of greatest danger. The Dukes of Coldwater came from the north, from over the water, and they know what evil they left behind there. They know it will come after, on this longest night, and they know their place is here, between their people and their loathsome cousins over the water. Here, speaking to a small knot of clerics, is Mason Ci Gît, a son of the Duke. Here is the Duke's daughter, the Dauphin, the heir of the city, Domane Ci Gît, speaking confidentially to the strongest citizens, travelers and adventurers.

And over here is a cluster of first-level heroes; strong enough to be plucked from the rank-and-file of the militia, not yet strong enough to be that important. Nobody is talking to them yet, and they are all talking to each other. As the sun falls over the courtyard -- last sun of the old year, last sun some of you will ever see -- what are you doing?