#ferpxwinter

@nordionknight sent: ❄️

“You would have me do what?”

“We haven’t any vacancies. If you ain’t gonna brave the storm to the next town, it’s the only option I can give ya.”

Berkut threw a glance over his shoulder, across the crowded, noisy tavern to the half-covered windows lining the front of the tiny inn. For a moment, he considered taking his horse another few hours to the next village, confident he could outspeed the storm until the door burst open and he flinched against the frigid, biting wind that came flooding in. Two men sitting near the entrance scrambled to fight it shut and wedge a flimsy chair beneath its handle, but still the eerie howling continued from the other side. The storm was already here, it seemed, and Berkut turned back to the innkeep, resigned, but no less irate.

“I will not share a room with this… rabble,“ he continued, as if he had not made his status clear enough. The innkeep only regarded him with the weary look of a man who had already handled the tempers of two dozen other self-proclaimed nobles hoping to be pampered, and had not a dash of sympathy left to give.

“I don’t care what lord or king or god you are - you’ll sleep where I tell ya or you’ll make yer bed in the snow. Choice’s yours.”

Berkut narrowed his eyes and gave the man his darkest glower, but when the innkeep didn’t so much as blink, he wordlessly dropped his coin on the countertop and turned to fight his way through the crowd. And directly into the shoulder of…

“You’re that man from Augustria,” he said accusingly, taking a startled step back. His gaze dropped toward the mercenary’s feet, and then back up again, slow and judgmental.

🌧️ Snowball fight!

🎶Build a snowman.

☕️ Stay inside with a hot drink (specify)

🍪 Share cookies or other treats

🛡️ Pillow fort

🎁 Gift-giving

They were meant to return to Windmire in the morning, after a particularly successful peacekeeping trip with the Ice Tribe. Unfortunately for all of Xander’s plans, the cabin they’d stayed in -- quite humble, deliberately so -- was rather remote. Remote enough that even should he dig them out himself, he’d still have all the roads to face. There was no way their mounts could travel back in such conditions. 

He turned to Eirika, the curtains all drawn to show the heavy snowfall. They had plenty of firewood, fresh water, and food that he could prepare, at least, but he still felt a pang of guilt. She had to be eager to return to her home.

He was a mage, he knew thatmuch by his dress; and an important-looking one, too. Forsyth was still a littlenervous around mages; he had only recently encountered them at all, and for themost part they seemed rather odd fellows.

Still, this was Forsyth, and itwould never do to create a bad first impression.

“It is an honor to meet you,sir,” he said, smiling, taking the glass in his hand. “My name is Forsyth. I’m withthe Deliverance – er, if they’re here, that is.”

“General!” Belf’s eyes widened as he accepted the package Camus held out to him. Even covered, he could tell it was of fine make, the weight and distribution perfect for him even though the other had surely commissioned it without him present. Wonderingly, the younger knight unwrapped and unsheathed his rare gift; the cloth fell away to leave it gleaming silver in the firelight.

“A silver blade… I can’t believe it.” It seemed only yesterday that Belf had truly mastered the use of his old steel sword. Never had he expected to even touch one made of silver, let alone own it. “I don’t deserve something this fine,” he protested, looking up at him. “I’m still young and inept. Surely one of your fellow generals is more deserving?”

“No, I want you to have it. The effort you’ve put into your training deserves recognition.”

Belf thought he saw a paternal smile in those words that warmed him up inside. Were it his father standing there and not his general, he might have given the other man a hug. Instead, he stepped away from Camus and waved the sword about a few times slowly, almost reverently, accustoming himself to its deadly weight and power. The lingering surprise he felt at receiving such a fine gift did not change how right it felt in his hands… Which only made him feel guiltier at not having already managed to get something for the general in return.

leg so hot hot hot leg

Sand again. Was there anyone who even liked sand? She shifted her weight almost constantly as the ground seemed almost always too hot to stand on. She wondered absently if there was quicksand somewhere on the beach. That would be unfortunate. She’d probably find it eventually if there was though.

She tossed the ball from one hand to the other. At least the view on the beach was nice. She watched Gerik through the net as he got ready for their game. Finally, she caught the ball and settled in place to serve. “You ready?” She called over.

@gradiivus 

I got an idea, so I’m bypassing the ask part, but if we’re calling it an event thread, ❄️+anything else this thread gains as we write it.

Few were the nights she spent outside Archanea, much less in the frigid mountains; yet Camus had recounted such fond memories of this place that she could not stop herself from coming to see it for herself. And he had come with her, holding her close between him and his steed, his cloak and body blocking out the wind as they rode--and she was thankful for it, for her own ermine coat did not do enough (she thought) to keep out the wind, and several times during the journey she wondered if she would catch cold if she simply let it fall.

They rode to a sizeable fort a short ways up the mountain, set upon a cliff overlooking the northern pass. He’d told her that he’d spent many a night training here with friends and brothers; the spirit of camaraderie would keep them warm if nothing would. She did not dispute him this, for she had felt the warmth of the ancestral spirits many times herself as she prayed in the private church of Pales.

The room he led her to was cozier and more well-furnished than she had expected of a military establishment. A sheepskin-covered bench stood some distance away from a glowing hearth; behind that, a simple table set for two. It all reminded her of a small receiving room back in Pales, albeit with far less tapestry and marble. She, with her fine dress and fur-lined cloak, was very much out of place here; yet she felt paradoxically closer to him here than she ever had in the palace.

“Thank you for inviting me to this place, Camus,” she told him, a rare heartfelt smile curving her lips. Nyna did not commonly smile so; the sentiments of her duties and the times forbade it. “You are sure they will not miss us in Pales?”

Continued from here.​

Dwyer was unable to return home from work when a blizzard began to howl. Luckily for him, Mitama happened to stop by just before the snowfall turned into a storm. Her home had been closer to the café compared to Dwyer’s, so she was kind enough to allow him to stay with her.

It was Christmas Eve, however, and he felt awkward imposing on someone else’s family. It was an uncomfortable thought that he may be unable to return home the following day. However, as thanks for her hospitality, he made coffee. Dwyer had the full intent to snooze upon the couch, but his plan had been foiled when the young woman proposed the idea to stay awake until Christmas. Surely she only pitched the idea to make him suffer.

Hours pass, and midnight was approaching. They both lied on opposite ends of the sofa, sipping their coffee. Dwyer nearly dropped his cup when he was about to doze, only to be awoken with a snort. Blinking and unable to hold his head up, he leaned against the back of the couch.