Fantasy snowblind

[graphic_biscuit]

Delilah had built her snow fort up to a good height, packing some snow along the base and the walls to fortify it. She grinned, happy with the way it had turned out. Her attention then shifted to making snowballs, which might prove to be difficult for her. Her exposed hands already stung from the bite of the cold snow, the tips of her fingers numb. She brought them to her lips, hoping her breath could thaw her frozen hands. Delilah had never enjoyed the cold; she didn't like how it made her tremble every few seconds. She wished she had brought more sensible clothing, but fuck it, she had to win this snowball fight. Digging her hands into the soft powder below, she began to work on her snowballs.

Her green orbs flickered over to Keaton, who was grinning from ear to ear. His fort wasn't too far away from her own, anticipation blooming in her chest. She would go after him first. A smirk curled her pale lips when he mentioned her fort, and how he was going to 'destroy it.' God damn, this guy was just asking for it, wasn't he? Her fingers twitched, fighting the urge to chuck one of her freshly made snowballs at his face.

"It is a pretty nice fort, isn't it?" she replied, scooping up another handful of snow, her voice quivering ever so slightly. "Much better than whatever you might be building. If I were you, I'd take my chances hiding behind the trees."

It took Delilah a moment to realize how close they were to the road; how close they were to the Snowshoe folk passing by. She prayed that they wouldn't cause too much of a disruption, the last thing she needed was a mob of angry villagers tossing them to the wolves. Besides, she wanted to keep on their good side so she could trade with their merchants later on, her crops still sat untouched in her room.

Soon, the redheaded bard and the healer's apprentice, whom she learned was named 'Bjorn', emerged from the inn. They too dropped to their knees and began to construct their forts. One of them mentioned something of using Keaton as a meatshield against the villagers. Delilah chuckled, wondering why she hadn't thought that idea herself. She peeked over at them, her gaze landing on the bard's gloved hands. She stared longingly at them, her frozen limbs screaming at her for warmth.

"Are your fingers getting numb yet?" the bard taunted from her fort.

As if on cue, Delilah trembled, setting her last snowball atop the pile beside her. She wouldn't admit it, but she was freezing her ass off. She was tempted to walk back to her inn room and curl up under the warm covers of her bed, but she didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of her early defeat. Especially not Keaton. She was going to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face if it was the last thing she did.

"Not in the slightest!" she replied. "But, you'd probably want to check on Keets over there, poor guy might have to throw in the towel."

 

[vanquishable]

Jeanne yanked her coat off of the rack by the door, bundling herself inside and hoping it would be enough. She would probably get some snow in her boots, and her bare legs might actually freeze, but hey! Her father wasn't there to tell her off about it, she could do something a little stupid for the sake of some harmless fun.

She stepped out into the snow, and immediately sank past her ankles into the white. As she walked, snow made its way into her boots and froze her sockless feet--but hey. She'd handled worse! Much worse! And if she wasn't gonna learn to get used to the cold now, she'd really be in for it in a couple of weeks. Jeanne whooped and hollered, bounding through the snow and scooping up handfuls as she went. There was no need to bother with a snow fort! That was a waste of time--plus, if she wasn't constantly moving she might actually die.

"Bow to the Queen of Snowball Fights!" she called, drumming her chest with her red little fists.



Hardin wasn't doing quite so well--the boy was impossibly skinny, and the combination of wet snow and heavy boots slowed him down considerably. Still, true to form, he was endlessly enthusiastic, dividing his attention perfectly between tactics and staring longingly at Priscilla.

And then he figured both things out at once. For one, he was going to marry Priscilla, and they would be a musical family and sing together every day--but for two... It was almost even more beautiful.

Hardin lumbered over to the crooked old pine tree that stood beside the inn, and started to climb. It was an easy, practiced thing--he had been up that goddamn tree at least once a week since he was old enough to reach the first branch, and no amount of scolding could get him to stop. Not even a broken nose, once--and that had hurt.

Even if he broke the damn thing again, it wouldn't matter, because aside from the musical family thing, this was the best idea he'd ever had in his life.

Once the little man got far enough up the tree--six or seven feet--he scraped a handful of snow up off of a branch, and took aim.

"Hey!" he cried, jubilant and loud. "Hey, look at me!!"

It was a beautiful plan, but a devious one--because the first person to look at him would likely get an eyeful of fresh-packed snow.


Kava shook his head, leaving the coins on the counter. He could have sworn that he'd reminded these people a million times--just because he was a foreigner didn't mean that coin meant anything more to him than it did to them. It was as worthless in his hands as it was in theirs.

Still, he put the kettle back on the fire, because his tenants would surely sore appreciate some hot tea when they came back in. With that sorted, he wiped his wet hands on his apron and sat down, taking the space next to Simona. He pressed a little kiss to her temple, and she laughed good-naturedly, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. After asking her how she felt as a quiet aside--fine and please stop worrying honey--he turned his attention to the old man seated nearby.

"So," he asked, anxiety edging his voice like tatted lace, "What, uh, brings you all the way up here? It's not a, heh, not a likely vacation spot."

 

[Suyasuya]

"Then we'll give you a show you won't forget!" Kallon hopped off the bench, his face brimming with evermore excitement. "Just maybe make sure you stay out of the firing range, it might get pretty intense~"

He turned to the rest of the inn - only to find that almost everyone had already left without him. "AH?!" Nooo! He hoped they hadn't gotten too far ahead yet - there was no way he could let himself be left out!! He took a few running paces towards the door, but came to an abrupt halt. Wait. The twins and the boy that had been talking to the innkeeper were still there.

He turned to Casey, who happened to be closest to him. "Hey--" He gave the teen a friendly pat on the shoulder--- brr! He was freezing! He'd probably not long come in from outside. Kallon was quick to withdraw his hand - he needed them to be as warm as possible so he could take the cold outside for longer! "Uh, maybe you should sit by the fire for a while. But! If you wanna join the snowball fight, you're always welcome, yeah?"

He turned to the foreign siblings. "Are you guys--" Once again he cut himself off, this time because it seemed that the sister, who had entered so cheerfully, had worked herself into a tizzy, and the brother was trying to calm her down. He looked between them and the door he was so itching to run out of. Mmm.
He approached the siblings. "Hey, chill out! ...Haha, do you get it? Chill out, because--- because it's cold, and--- uh---" He trailed off awkwardly. "But really! Snow's pretty cool--- hehe, pretty cool--- uh. Sorry. I mean, it's not so bad! There's pretty fun things to do in the snow, like snowball fights! Which we're doing right now! So if you wanna--- uh--- well! Whenever you're ready, yeah?"
He gave them a nervous smile and finger guns as parting while he backed away. Words always seemed to spill out of him when he was feeling awkward.

He paused in front of the door to call out over his shoulder. "I'm off! If you wanna find us, follow the sound of fun~!" He punctuated the last word with a grand sweeping arm gesture, before finally stepping out into the snow. The cold hit him immediately, sending a shiver throughout his body and a rosiness to his face and ears. But he smiled nonetheless - finally, fresh air! The battlefield, to his pleasant surprise, lay right before him - no trek trying to find them required.

He'd better tell the others that had yet to venture out about this new development. He swung the inn door open and poked his head back inside. "Actually, we're just outside if you want us!" And with that, closed the door.

A mere few moments passed before he opened it again, looking towards Kava. "Oh yeah! Thanks for the oatmeal! It was great!!" He closed the door.

...And opened it. "Oh! And for the room!" And closed.

...And opened. "By the way, do you guys wanna..." He trailed off, looking from Simona and her baby bump, to Kava, who had moved to talk to the gent, back to Simona who he just then realised would probably be getting annoyed at the draft hitting her. "...Uh, nevermind! It was a dumb question." That time, he managed to catch himself before he'd fully shut the door, so he only had to open it a little wider to stick his head in one more time. "Have fun!" He cast them a big goofy grin, before withdrawing back outside and finally leaving those who were inside be without further interruption.

He turned his attention back to the battlegrounds. It was still relatively calm as (almost) everyone was still building up their forts. There was no way he'd be able to catch up before the war started, but that's okay!! The best defence is a good offence - and this could actually be an advantage, if he pelted them when they were still focused on their forts... Hehehe, they wouldn't know what hit 'em!!

He ran through the thick snow, keeping his hands low to the ground so he could scoop an increasingly large wad of it while on the move. He stopped when he thought it was big enough to break through a fort, packing it tight. Hehehe... He pulled his arm back, taking aim at Priscilla and her fort...

"Hey! Hey, look at me!!"

"Huh?" Throwing arm left lingering, Kallon looked up and around towards the source of the voice - Hardin high up in the tree next to Keaton. He grinned and waved at him with his free hand. "Heeey, kid! How's the weather up there? Haha!"

 

[loftilyhonest]

Oh, that was what he was waiting for. Delilah's fighting words got the blood pumping through his veins. Who the hell needed a fireplace when there was this sort of warmth? God damn. At that moment, Keaton decided he'd take down Delilah even if it cost him an arm and a leg. He'd go all out with her -- well, with everyone, but especially with her. If she could talk serious shit, he assumed she'd be able to throw serious shit, too. He looked at Delilah over his rapidly growing snow fort, gave her another mournful shake of his head -- this one more exaggerated than the other, just to butter things up more. His amber eyes glittered with a teasing spark. "My fort may look a mess, but it's sure as hell gonna be sturdier than that poofy lil' thing you got over there." A snort. "You know, I'll save the tree juuust for you, so ya have somewhere to run after your fort gets destroyed. Maybe then you'll actually stand a chance at survivin'."

Speaking of surviving... he needed to do some serious work on his fort if he wanted to keep up. Keaton worked quickly -- well, as quick as he could with fingers shaking like frying pork sausages -- and after a little time, he got himself a thick and tall semi-circle by the tree. Despite the lumps it had on the outside, he was sure it would last up against even the strongest of snowballs. He nodded approvingly, then looked up from his work when the blond guy from the fireplace and Priscilla joined the fray. Priscilla said something about using him as a shield against angry villagers, and Lord... A light eyeroll came without a second thought. "Pssh. Pitchforks? It's just a snowball fight. They can't mob us for that." Everyone was so worried about what these mountain people would do. And sure -- he could admit that they were a little off-putting, definitely not the type of people you'd wanna grab a beer with, but... you'd think that the whole town was made out of eggshells with the way everyone was tip-toeing around. Kinda silly if you asked him. Keaton shrugged, gave Priscilla a similarly mischievous smile. "But sure. Whatever butters your toast, Pris. Stand back and let 'em at me. I'll fight 'em off." Damn what the villagers thought. He'd have his fun if he wanted to have his fun.

Glancing at Priscilla as she left, Keaton decided that she'd be another person to keep an eye on, though it was more to look for a good hit than because of any possible threat. Of course he'd still be wary of her -- he wasn't an idiot -- but he wasn't overly concerned. She probably wouldn't last five minutes after the firing began. He didn't know enough about fireplace guy to be sure of anything, but Keaton assumed he'd go about the same way what with that wispy looking frame of his. Especially when he was making these snowballs. With something as firm as them and his mean arm... well, he didn't need to say the rest. Keaton silently thanked Frederik for teaching him how to make them, even if it took hundreds of snowfight ass beatings to get to that point.

The cold was starting to get to him by the time he finished the last snowball. Looking back, it would have been a good decision to get his damn gloves. His fingers, covered in flecks of powdery snow, were going numb. He shivered just a little, tiny bit -- alright, more like a lot, but he'd be damned if he'd let it look like more than that -- and pushed the snowballs into a neat pile. Melted snow soaked through his pants; the cold water slithering down his legs made him suck in a breath. "Are your fingers getting numb yet?" Priscilla asked, and he would have responded straightaway if his mouth wasn't glued shut by the disgusting cold. After a second of prying he forced it open, ready to talk the biggest bullshit of his life despite his lightly chattering teeth, when -

"Not in the slightest! But you'd probably wanna check on Keets over there, poor guy might have to throw in the towel."

Keets?

...

Keets.

So they were on nickname basis already, huh? Alright. He could do that. It didn't sound half bad, actually -- and most importantly, it gave him new ideas for ammunition to fling at her. "Numb? Hell no. You wish my fingers were n-numb." Keaton looked at Delilah, chin raised, smirking like a cat that ate the canary. On the inside he smacked himself for stuttering. God, he seriously regretted not getting those gloves -- but he wasn't gonna leave his fort undefended, and he sure as hell wasn't gonna give them the satisfaction of seeing him retreat with his tail tucked between his legs. Especially not Delilah. Speaking of that name... oh, perfect time to test out one of his new ideas. He looked around at Priscilla, the blond guy. Delilah. "How 'bout we cut to the chase and get this thing started, y'all? ... Unless you're too scared to do anythin', Dee."

A moment later Jeanne came barreling out of the inn, scooping up snow like her life depended on it. That gangly kid followed after, running towards the fray. Damn, he liked the cut of their jibs. With the boy's energy and Jeanne's hollering adding to the excitement of all the shit talk flying around, the atmosphere grew as lively as a buzzing storm of mayflies. Goddamn, his arm was itching to throw. Everyone was gathered already, right? Things would have to start soon. Keaton leaned over to grab three snowballs, clutching them close to his legs so no one could see. He grinned at Jeanne. "'Queen of Snowball Fights', huh? Why dont'cha give some bite to that bark and show us how queenly ya really are?"

He would have continued grinning at Jeanne, looking as unbothered and excited as could be, when... gangly kid started climbing a tree. Not just any tree. The tree right next to his fort.

Oh, for fuck's sake!

Keaton's eyes widened. He scooted away from the base of the tree, his grip on his snowballs tightening. "Heyheyhey buddy, the hell you doin' up this tree?" Crap. He wished he thought of that idea first. Now he was gonna get kicked in the ass by the very thing that was supposed to protect him. "There's plenty of others around here! Go find another one!" His eyes darted from Hardin to the field, then to Hardin and to the field again. Oh, talk about irony. Really, this is so funny. Ha-goddamn-ha.

This was gonna be one hell of a day.

 

[capMARVELOUS]

Tucker smiled warmly at the young lad's enthusiasm. "I'm sure it will," he replied. "Stay safe, my son, and have fun. I'll be out shortly."

As his attention returned to his oatmeal, it was yanked away again by a question from Sir Kava, about his, Tucker's, reasons for coming to the village of Fool's Errand. The question seemed to discomfort him, so Tucker adopted a tone of voice that would hopefully communicate there was nothing worth getting anxious over. "Quite simply, Sir Kava, I am here for a story. I'm a... collector, you might say, and what I collect are stories. From all over the world. And a tale from here has been out of my grasp for a while now, which is why I've come to retrieve it in person."

 

[graphic_biscuit]

Delilah’s lips tinted blue and her fingers were almost immobile with cold, but she managed to finish her supply of ammunition. At the base of her fort were about forty snowballs, their sizing somewhat chaotic but they'd get the job done. A gust of chill wind tousled her already disheveled hair and kissed her exposed skin, sending a shiver through her limbs. Her dress, although comfortable to wear, let the cold in with open arms and her cloak was more suited for the fall. Oh lord, how she wanted to retreat back to the fireplace and bundle herself up in warm blankets. But if she gave up now, Keaton or Jeanne would have the chance to take home the snowball fight victory, and she wouldn't be particularly thrilled about that. Sweet, sweet victory would make her feel all the better, no matter how frozen her fingers had gotten.

Ready for the battle to begin, Delilah peeked over her fort walls to scope out her opponents, just in time to see Kallon emerge from the inn and one of the most terrifying things she's ever laid eyes on. Her newfound friend Jeanne, clumsily barreling through the thick snow blanketing the ground, yelling and pounding on her chest like a deranged monkey. Delilah made a mental note to keep an eye on her as well, she seemed fairly dangerous at the moment.

Speaking of deranged monkeys, Mr. Keets decided to flap his lips once more. Something lit aflame in Delilah's chest, her gaze snapping over to him as soon as he opened his mouth. She was peeved, to say the least. "My fort is going to last longer than you will in the cold," she replied, narrowing her eyes and flashing him a brazen grin. "But don't worry, I'm sure Kava has a seat next to the fireplace saved juuuuust for you, you chicken shit." She tore her attention away from Keaton with a huff, her breath pale against the numbing air. Some part of her hoped the locals would get angry with them, just so Priscilla could use Keaton as a human meat shield. She laughed at the thought, shaking her head. A girl can only dream.

"Hey, hey look at me!"

A bit startled, Delilah glanced up at the trees overhead, spotting little Hardin perched atop a tree. She hadn't even noticed him when he emerged from the inn, he was a sneaky little thing. A smile tugged at her pale lips, a look of amusement crossing her face. He was pretty high up in the tree, maybe too high up. Delilah hoped he wouldn't fall, despite the thick layer of fresh powder below the tree. She was just about to call up to the little guy when Keaton spoke to her again.

"How 'bout we cut to the chase and get this thing started, y'all? ... Unless you're too scared to do anythin', Dee."

That was it. That was the last straw, the last button pushed. Delilah was out for blood, preferably Keaton's. She had to admit, though, the nickname he gave her was fairly cute, but that didn't mean a damn thing to her in her moment of fury. Her head snapped in the direction of Keaton's fort, glaring daggers at him. Frenzied plots and plans filled her head on what to say or what to do, anything to wipe that smirk off of his nasty face. She swore she was going to make him run for the trees the second she-

Wait. Trees.

Her gaze trailed from Keaton, up the tree that sat next to his fort, and up to Hardin, perched on one of the branches above. A wicked, evil through crossed her mind, but she was unsure. She didn't want to hurt Hardin, he was such a good kid. She glanced between the boy and Keaton, her blood boiling when she saw his dumb smirk. She decided she would apologize to Hardin after the battle.

A grin was plastered over Delilah's face as she reached for one of her snowballs and whipped her arm back to send it flying straight at the young boy. A voice in the back of her mind yelled at her to let it be, but she couldn't. Snowball fights are war, and wars just have to be won.

 

[vanquishable]

Hardin was resting in the crook of a branch, surveying his kingdom. It was all his--the churned-up snow, the piles and piles of ammunition, the puny little forts that were nothing against his exalted pine, that had risen up in this spot so many decades past. No, he would never be defeated, never be torn from his stronghold. Never would any challenger, no matter how pretty--

OW, HOLY CRAP!!

The snowball hit him hard, right in the side of the neck where it would doubtlessly seep into his shirt. It was cold, and solid--packed, no doubt, by an expert hand. And thrown with an expert arm--or perhaps he was just skinny and poorly balanced. Regardless, it caught him quite off-guard, and he recoiled, and teetered, and fell.

Fell--in love.

Because something had broken his fall--and when Hardin found it in him to scramble back, he saw that it was a man. A gorgeous man, with rosy red cheeks and mousy-brown hair and something, something rose-tinted and wonderful about him that Hardin found that he simply could not place.

Hardin found himself frozen, at what seemed to be a turning point in his life. What he did then would have an impact to last a lifetime.

He did the only thing he could think to do--he shoved a handful of snow in the man's face and made a run for it.

Jeanne was ready, ready to dispense with all of the trash talking, to show the world that she was indeed the Queen of Snowball Fights. Despite, you know, the fact that she had never been in one before. Well, it was probably similar to at least a couple of the stranger brawls she had been in, and at least something like the water fights she used to have in the mill pond back home. Right? Either way, she could beat this bunch of shivering fools, easy.

She wanted quite desperately to show that Keaton man what she was made of, but as he was currently experiencing a faceful of boy, perhaps it would be in the interest of chivalry to let him... deal with that. Instead, she turned her attentions on the girl who had knocked the poor kid from his perch--Delilah.

"You're not getting away with that!" she cried, and whipped a snowball in her direction. "Fuck with someone your own size, huh?"

Kava relaxed a little, though he did reach for his wife's hand. It wasn't any fault of Tucker's, it was just... kind of his thing. The situation itself was stressful, and there would be absolutely no relaxing until it was all squared away. Which, you know, might be a few months.

"You collect stories?" he asked, doing his best to level his voice. "That's lovely, so does my wife! Perhaps not with the same sort of... lifelong dedication, she's more of a dancer, but perhaps the two of you could share?"

Simona nodded, taken briefly out of her contemplation on how to show that awful carrot-topped woman who was boss. "Certainly! A bit of a collaboration might brighten things up around here, don't you think? I'd love to hear what you've collected over the years."

 

[capMARVELOUS]

"Then I shall be happy to oblige, Miss Simona," Tucker replied. He gestured to the book he had brought with him downstairs, which now lay on the table, open to a random page. "If it please you, I could read you one from my collection before we set about the day's heavy work. It may help in easing your worry," he added, having detected the small amount of stress that the morning's news of the road's blockage brought to the innkeeper and his wife. Though he was not overtly familiar with the two, he liked the both of them, as he did with nearly everyone he encountered, and did not want them to be sad or stressed.

He began to idly turn the pages of the book; it had been in his possession for so long that its contents and their locations were ingrained in his memory. He stopped on one of his favorite stories, and patted the now empty seat next to him in invitation.

 

[loftilyhonest]

As he kept on shooting frantic glances at the tree, Keaton realized that the kid couldn't hear a single word he said. God -- it wouldn't be surprising if someone went for him and made him fall on the fort, especially with how he was just sitting in plain sight. Sure, Keaton could always rebuild the thing. But to be frank, he really, really didn't want to, not when he had the snowball fight to think about. It was too much of a risk to have some starry-eyed fool up in that tree. He needed to get the little guy out of there as soon as possible. Before shit really stormed. He'd make the kid run for the hills and then some, never to be seen anywhere near the fort again, and --

Someone flung a snowball at the kid.

Wait. No. No way. You've gotta be kiddin' me.

The kid stumbled a bit, then started fallingfallingFALLING --

"OH CRAP --"

THUD. CRACK. SNAP.

CRUNCH.

You know, Keaton thought he was pretty used to these sorts of wrestley type things. A good thing about having five older brothers, he supposed. He thought there could be nothing worse than having all of them pile up on him in the living room, or having Isaiah and Johannes tackle him into the mud pit, or any of the other creative forms of play fighting they thought of.

He was dead fucking wrong.

Keaton swore every curse he knew as the kid fell on top of him, pushing him deeper into the cold, disgusting mass of snow. His arms and chest ached like they'd never ached before. It was worse than the living room. It was worse than the mud pit. Hell, it rivaled even the lake. This was the dog pile to end all dog piles. After this, there was nothing that would ever be worse, not even if all of his brothers teamed up to try some of their shit again.

The kid scrambled off, and Keaton just stared at him, not even knowing where to begin. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "What th--"

...

And then he was choking on snow.

Alright.

After wiping his face, Keaton flung a snowball at the kid's retreating back. "Find your own tree this time!" He yelled, still shuddering, then turned to more fully survey the damage. Lord. Because of that kid, his fort was a total disaster area. There was upturned snow everywhere, more than a few of his snowballs were crushed, and the walls were a bit mangled, too. It was exactly what he didn't need when the fight was beginning to get hot. God... if only he hadn't climbed that tree. Though it wasn't entirely the guy's fault for falling. Sure, he was in the tree, but someone else threw the snowball. Someone from way across the field. Someone like --

Delilah.

Keaton snapped his head to Delilah. Sure enough, there it was: a wide grin on her face, clear as day. Goddamn. So she could give out some serious shit, and to someone who didn't even do anything to her. The complete lack of mercy was ballsy. Almost impressive... but then he remembered that her ballsiness had destroyed a good chunk of his work, and that was pushed to the side. "Nice idea aimin' for the kid, Dee! Too scared to go for the rest of us, huh?" If she wanted to play dirty, he'd give her dirty. "Ha! Take this chicken shit!"

WIth all of the strength he had, Keaton whipped two snowballs in Delilah's direction. It wasn't as fast or strong as it could have been -- his muscles were already sore from the fall -- but it was still something. Psh. Last longer in the snow his ass. She wouldn't last after this. As for Jeanne, he left her alone. It was like that saying Isaiah said -- the enemy of my enemy is my friend, or something like that. Anyways. He'd get to her later. Keaton ducked behind the fort, packing together as much snow as possible in his freezing hands. It'd be a waste of time to rebuild the fort right now. Instead, he'd work with what was left and focus on creating new snowballs.

Goddammit. By the end of the day, Delilah would be the one shivering in that 'seat by the fireplace'. Even if it was the last thing he did.

 

[Suyasuya]

It occured to Kallon that the younger teen didn't hear him, or at least hadn't acknowledged him. So he did what any sensible person would do in such a situation - make a bigger spectacle of himself. He shifted his weight to one side and waved his arms - a genius move if he did say so himself as, on top of visibility, it helped to take just a bit of the edge off of the cold - as he called out to him again. "Heeey, kid! What did you wanna show u-"

BAM. Just like that, the gangly boy was knocked right out of the tree by a wayward snowball, much like a bird being shot out of the sky. The poor thing plummeted down and landed on top of Keaton below him with a chorus of rather unpleasant sounds. Just witnessing it made Kallon flinch. "Oof, that's gotta hurt..."

It wasn't long before Hardin had picked himself up and made a run for it, and Keaton retaliated against both him and Delilah - who, judging by Keaton and Jeanne, had been the one who threw the fateful snowball at the kid. Yikes. Delilah wasn't kidding when she said she'd demolish them in seconds. At least Hardin and Keaton seemed to be okay. But it was a sure sign that the real game had begun, and there was no more time for goofing around.

As if on cue, a war ballad cut through the air. It was much unlike the soulful song that had illuminated the inn with a gentle warmth. No, this song set the otherwise icy battlefield ablaze with passion. Kallon let out a huff of determination. He was totally ready to make everyone his slaves, or watch them drink a weird concoction, or whatever fate would be decided for the losers. He'd start with the large snowball that he'd almost forgotten he'd been holding the entire time. He whirled around to take down his first victim-

And was immediately met with a faceful of snow.

"Oof!" He stumbled back a few steps, face crumpled from the impact, but he still managed to hurl his own snowball back in the direction of the attacker. He hadn't got a chance to look at them before his vision was clouded by snow, but the direction of the song told him it was probably the bard. He hoped his snowball hit her square in return, but also that it didn't interrupt her singing; the music gave a great atmosphere to the fight.

With no time to waste standing around being an easy target, he began to run, hastily wiping the snow out of his face with one frozen hand, gathering ammunition with the other. It looked like Delilah, Keaton and Jeanne were all preoccupied with each other, enough so that Kallon figured they wouldn't even see him coming if he was stealthy. Of course, 'stealthy' meant rushing in with a war cry and launching snow towards the one who seemed most open to attack - Jeanne. Keaton's fort may have been somewhat in shambles due to the kid's collision with it, but he still had some form of barrier. Besides, he had already suffered Delilah's merciless attack, and Kallon wasn't about to kick him while he was recovering from the blow. Meanwhile, Jeanne was on the same level as himself - a fearless mobile soldier out in the open.

 

[vanquishable]

Simona nodded. She would really rather spend her time fixing the problem, but a chance to hear a story from a self-proclaimed expert was never something she would pass up. Any story, really--one heard the best tales in the oddest of places. One of her best crowd-pleasers, about a man who hated women so much that the god of wine had forced him to be torn apart by his female relatives, she had heard from a particularly henpecked-looking shepherdess. She smiled--it was a nice memory, the fire in that girl's eyes, the elegant, dynamic way she gestured even though there was still some goat shit on her hands.

Besides, it would be fascinating to hear a story told out of a book, rather than just from memory. Oftentimes, she had finished a performance to remember that she'd forgotten something--a really juicy, gory detail--and there was really no getting that back. Perhaps she could look into getting one. Patting her husband's hand, she slipped away to sit beside Tucker, if only so she could peer over his shoulder and get a closer view of his book.

 

[graphic_biscuit]

Regret was ice in Delilah's guts, as cold and uncomfortable as her frozen limbs and skin. What the hell was she thinking? Hardin was fairly high up in that tree; he could've gotten seriously hurt falling from that height. It wasn't a very bright idea, she was baffled as to why she went through with it. Mr. Chicken Shit must've really pushed her buttons if she stooped so low as to strike a kid out of a tree. Worry blossomed in her chest for both Hardin, and surprisingly, Keaton. Stepping out from behind her snow fort, Delilah began to make her way over to the fallen pair, until she witnessed Keaton receive a face-full of powder from Hardin. Under better circumstances, she would've slipped into a horrendous laughing fit and doubled over into the snow.

But, Delilah had more important things to do instead of gawking at Frosty over there. She had to get to Hardin and apologize, she felt terrible. She began to make a wild dash in the direction he ran when an icy ball from hell exploded at her chest, shivers racking her body.

"Fuck with someone your own size, huh?" cried Jeanne, who had whirled a snowball in Delilah's direction.

Her lips parted to respond, but she only managed a startled yelp as she was struck with two more snowballs, the icy cold seeping deeper into her clothes. She didn't complain though, she deserved it.

"Ha! Take this chicken shit!"

Oh god, how she longed to shovel heaps of freshly fallen powder down that man's gullet. She made a mental note to accomplish that later after she straightened things out with Hardin. Delilah dug her numb hands into the snow and chucked one mishappen ball at Jeanne and the other at Keets, making a beeline for the clump of nearby trees. She hoped the bard, the apprentice, and Kallon would keep them occupied for the time being.

 

[vanquishable]

Hardin continued running--not very quickly, mind, because the snow was deep and he had chicken legs on a dramatic level. His cheeks burned, his heart pounded in his chest, and it was impossible to tell whether these symptoms had come from the cold and the exertion, or whether they were because of loooooooooooove.

Given that the two most beautiful people in the world were out being remarkably cool only a few yards behind him, he figured it was the loooooooooooove.

Little gods, but they were gorgeous. And the dark-haired woman wasn't so bad either, nor the fair-haired, ill-dressed one, nor the rambunctious boy....

And, well, that was everyone. Hardin ran a little bit faster.

He didn't even know where he was going, really--home? To throw himself off a cliff? To go see the healer, because really--he'd fallen--he didn't know, but it hurt a bit. Either way, he really--really didn't know.

He stopped in his tracks, and whirled around just in time to see Delilah barreling straight for him, and then get pelted with TWO snowballs. Which didn't seem fair-- and he was a chivalrous man, right? He started in the opposite direction, wadded up a huge snowball, and threw it with a shout in Kallon's direction. Who cared if his voice cracked?

Jeanne had been watching mutely as the fol-de-rol progressed--having stopped on a dime when she saw the boy teetering from the tree. Now, however, she was certain that all involved parties were alright--and all's well that ends well, yes? She cackled, nearly doubling over with laughter--and using her position as an opportunity to gather up a snowball. In one fluid motion, she straightened, and took the opportunity to lob it at Priscilla. In her village, little boys had thrown mud pies at the pretty girls--this was the same basic principle, except she wasn't being mean, and also those little boys were terrible and as soon as she had gotten even slightly larger than them (around the age of thirteen), she had given them all a thrashing they didn't soon forget for more or less that exact reason.

Heloise emerged from her home into the blinding white of the outdoors, breathing the frigid air in deep and giving a serene little smile as the chill cut into her bones. This was a familiar feeling to her-- grounding, it centered her thoughts and put her in mind of her purpose. The stark white, the knife-sharp cold, the insular silence--they had a sanctity about them to which she had commended her soul. This was the first truly cold day of the year, and she relished in returning to her element.

To that end, she stood for a moment on her front step and just basked in it, though she'd plans to meet with the chandler and really for the sake of efficiency should have gotten on already. But the feeling was too pure, too fresh to miss, and so she granted herself a slight indulgence.

It was perfect--glorious, even--though it didn't even scratch the surface of the meditative bliss she had experienced during her time as an ascetic in the mountains. She sighed, in memory. It was perfect--but not quite.

Heloise heard voices. Distant voices, yes, but she could tell that wherever they were, they were very loud.

They were coming from the direction of the inn. She scowled, and shook her head. Every year, this.

Well, the chandler would just have to wait, she thought, marching off in the direction of the noise.

 

[capMARVELOUS]

Tucker's face crinkled into a smile as Miss Simona took the seat he had offered her. Her air of interest in his stories remained; that was a good sign. He scooted the book closer to her so she could see the words on the page and read along...

"Once upon a time, there were two friends named Mister Spider and Mister Turtle. Mister Spider lived in the middle of a rocky, dusty plain, and Mister Turtle at the bottom of the river. Now Mister Spider was a terribly clever creature, and liked to play tricks on Mister Turtle. One day, he invited his friend to come to his house and share a plate of delicious steamed yams. Mister Turtle agreed, and so that afternoon, he plodded across the rocky, dusty plain to get to Mister Spider's house.

"When the two had said grace, Mister Turtle reached out a dusty flipper to grab a yam, but before he could, Mister Spider pointed and said, 'Mister Turtle, don't you know it's rude to eat with dirty flippers? Wash your hands before you eat!' So Mister Turtle plodded back to the river to wash his flippers. When he got back, he found that Mister Spider had eaten some of the yams. He was very hungry by now, so he reached out his flipper again to take a yam, but was stopped by Mister Spider. 'Mister Turtle! I thought you went to wash your flippers! They're still dirty!' So Mister Turtle lumbered back to the river to wash his flippers again. When he got back, Mister Spider had eaten more of the yams; they were almost gone! Mister Turtle reached out his flipper to try and get a yam as fast as he could, but... 'Mister Turtle, what are you doing once you leave? Your flippers are still dirty!" For a third time, Mister Turtle trod back to the river to wash his flippers. When he got back, there were no more yams on the plate. Mister Spider had eaten them all. Mister Turtle went home, sad and hungry.

"The next week, Mister Turtle decided to get back at Mister Spider. He invited his friend to come over to his house and share a big bowl of salad. Mister Spider agreed, and that afternoon, he journeyed to the river to get to Mister Turtle's house.

"When he got to the riverbank, Mister Spider found Mister Turtle at the bottom of the river, with the big bowl of salad. Mister Spider tried to swim down to join his friend, but found that he couldn't; he was too light to go underwater. He tried and he tried, but he couldn't get to Mister Turtle's house. 'Come down, Mister Spider!' Mister Turtle called, and began to eat the salad. Mister Spider decided to go home and fill his coat with rocks, then jump into the river to sink. The idea worked, and Mister Spider sunk down to the bottom of the river to join Mister Turtle. When the two had said grace, Mister Spider reached out to help himself to the salad, but was stopped by Mister Turtle. 'Mister Spider,' he said, 'it's not polite to wear your coat when you're eating.' Without another thought, Mister Spider took off his coat, and immediately bobbed up to the surface of the river. All he could do now was watch Mister Turtle eat the salad all by himself. Mister Spider went home, sad and hungry."

 

[Maree]

Bjorn watched in pure horror as Hardin got struck with a snowball and fell from the tree. God how many times had he warned the damn boy to stop climbing the trees when they were icy with snow. He winced as the boy's body crashed into Keaton's causing a lot of groans to come from behind their fort. "Are there any broken bones?" he called as he quickly stood up and started to rush over.

That was when Hardin rushed off which obviously meant that he was okay as if he had even the tiniest scrape he wouldn't be moving. Getting up from behind his fort was a terrible mistake because as soon as he was spotted by the bard he was immediately pelted with multiple snowballs until he retreated. He threw a few of his own snowballs at the others but he was never really good at aiming. Athletic stuff was never really his thing but he was quite happy at the fact everyone was enjoying themselves. A little bit selfishly he hoped that the roads would be closed for a while so that they could stay and he could actually have some friends close to his age. All the guys his age were too busy working the mines and he didn't really have anything in common with them so really his only friend was Hardin. He really did hope to change that.

"I am quite bad at this aiming stuff but at least I'll outlast you in the cold" he called out before getting hit in the face once again by Priscilla.

Priscilla laughed softly as she paused her attacks for a moment in order to replenish snowball supplies. When she popped back up she let out a small yelp of surprise as she got hit by two snowballs. She had to admit that the snow was getting to he even with her multiple layers she couldn't imagine how the less layered ones were doing. She could feel her lips going a bit numb but shrugged it off because it would probably make her lips look nice an plump later. She tossed a duo of snowballs at Jeanie as revenge for hitting her earlier before she ducked back behind her fort to come up with a better plan. The key to winning was outlasting everyone so why not shake things up a bit.

Priscilla darted out from behind her fort with a couple of snowballs in hand she ran over to where Keaton was beside the tree. "Oh how funny to see you here" she mused, pushing his face into his own snow fort before darting off once again with a branch from his tree. There was this odd game she was taught while she was travelling through a different colder country which involved using a stick to hit snowballs. It was a bit harder to aim but it made them go a lot faster making it harder to doge. Looks like she had a new tactic. With a wink towards Jeanie, she sent a snowball flying quite fast towards her thanks to her new stick.

 

[vanquishable]

Simona listened graciously, tapping her fingertips on her knees. If one knew her well at all, one would know that this was a habit of hers, meaning that she was really paying attention. One might also have noticed that she had been doing it far more often in the previous months, seeing as how soon enough she would be hard pressed to reach her knees at all. Still. A little smile quirked the corners of her mouth.

Once Tucker had finished, she clapped her hands softly, her smile widening. "That was lovely, I just adore your delivery!" she said, speaking with her hands. "It reminds me of a story my father used to tell me when I was younger, about a fox and a heron. Where was this story from again, they might have been related! I just love that sort of thing--have you ever heard the story of Beddgelert?"

Kava rested his elbow on the table and his cheek in his hand, focusing about twenty percent of his attention on the story and the rest on his gorgeous wife. It was rare that she got to spend time with other storytellers, and he loved watching her get so enthusiastic.

Jeanne was completely blindsided by the snowball, and the damn thing hurt! It was fast as all fuck, nailing her right in the side of the neck. Chunks of snow lodged themselves in the collar of her coat, soaking it with frigid water. She let out a noise that could only truly be described as a growl, and bellowed "WITCH!!!!!"

With that, she charged, skimming up a handful of snow as she went, and delivered it very personally down the back of Priscilla's shirt.

 

[Maree]

Priscilla let out a small melodic laugh as Jeanne shouted at her. "Yeah. That is actually quite a common reaction to me" she mused, bending down to replenish her snowball pile. She was only distracted for half a moment but she soon felt something cold down the back of her shirt. She quickly spun around to find herself face to face with Jeanne.

"You know if you wanted to put your hands down my shirt you could have just asked," she said with a tone that could only be described as a purr. Priscilla winked at the dark haired female before delivering a handful of snow into the woman's face.

"A smart person knows when it is time to call it quits. You lot won't be much use to anyone when your limbs start falling off from frostbite" she called out to the group before saluting Jeanne and slipping inside the warm in, disappearing upstairs to change out of her wet clothes.