[Flashback] Mortal Cold

[Drayton]

64th day of Winter, 509 AV

Thick clouds mottled in grey and black hung low over the seaside city. The water that lapped against the sides of ships moored in Sunberth harbor was dark, cold and sharp as steel. Icy winds had been swirling off the coast for days, and were beginning to pierce the narrow alleyways and crumbling homes of the anarchist town. The chilled airs that rushed down the streets picked up flurries of long settled snow. From the tops of drifts and banks the outer crust of snow, blackened with the filth of the city, was brushed off by Zulrav’s breath.

Feet dragged as they moved through the frozen streets, churning the snow into the dirt of the roads to create a brown slurry that sank into the seams of boots and froze around unlucky toes. Those unfortunate few who had business requiring they leave the relative warmth of their homes moved with heads tucked down against the frigid air. Fingers and hands were kept close to the body, wrapped in cloaks and crossed arms, hidden away from the pinching frost. People hurried from home to work, eager to enter warm walls and reluctant to leave again.

Those who had no homes to return to moved less. If there seemed to be some hope of respite the vagabonds of Sunberth shuffled about in the grey snow. Hands up, palms out, they offered fingers red and swollen to passersby, as if supplication might be enough return warm blood to the frozen extremities. These beggars were the lively ones; the weak were still, and crouched in culverts or behind discarded items that were large enough to break the wind. Beneath their bottoms was hard packed dirt, whose chill seeped up through the rags that covered the unfortunate skin of the homeless. Their clothing was never dry, but always soaked through with snow that had melted by leeching away a body’s warmth. The wet cloth itself seemed to open up to the blustery wind and invite Morwen’s cold to settle itself against shuddering flesh.

A young girl clutched the fraying edges of a blanket to her shoulders. She could feel the sharp edges of her shoulder bones moving against her clenched knuckles as she walked. Zulrav’s winds danced in the holes of her baggy clothes, plucking them away from her skin and running freely across her belly, neck and arms. Where he touched her, pale hairs lifted from her skin, covering her thin body in rough goose bumps. She shrugged the blanket closer, careful not to let the small loaf of bread tucked beneath her arm fall into the mucky snow that soaked her boots.

Eleanor was moving quickly away from Castle Commons, hurrying toward the small building where she lived, squatting with several other teenagers.

[Drayton]

Here the houses slumped against one another, leaning against their crumbling companions for support against the snow that settled on their roofs. Some had collapsed under the weight of the frozen water. Others were lucky and simply sagged, inviting the snow that melted in through their peeling shingles to lighten the load.

Eleanor rushed through the halls formed by houses packed too closely. The wooden walls of the homes in this district bulged with water and age as the boards rotted, opening up cracks and holes that welcomed the whistling of winter. In many places on these quiet streets the snow was unbroken, changed only by the flakes that were pushed along by the rising and falling winds. It had fallen again last night, and laid thick and white across the refuse of the alleys, unstained by the grim that had churned up in more populous locations.

Her sharp shins cut through the snow, making fluffy mounds to either side of her path. Aside from her disturbances the street looked smooth and clean. Morwen’s snow had spread a soft cover over the offending edges and misshapen forms of the refuse that typically littered the road.

The thick steam of her warm breath swirled in front of Eleanor’s face as she let out a small cry. Reflexively the girl held her arm high, holding the loaf of bread safely above the wet snow that she sank into. Thick flakes clung to her bony cheeks. As they melted the sharp, pricking pain of cold sank beneath her freckles. Spitting snow from her mouth the girl lashed out angrily at what had tripped her. Beneath the snow there was a cracking noise as her boot connected with something solid.

She leaned forward, the snow trapped between her bent legs melting into chilly water. With a gloved hand and pink fingers she brushed the snow off of the hazard and gasped. The cold air that rushed into her lungs felt too dry, forcing Eleanor to let out a small cough.

The face was pallid, even surrounded by the halo of snow as it was. There were two places Eleanor could see color on the skin that was stretched taught and shiny with the cold. The cracked lips were hemmed with blue, and pressed together tightly. And the eyes…

The eyes were open. The figure was lying on its back, staring up at the roiling winter clouds. The whites of the eyes were tinted grey, and looked like a surface that had once shone brightly, but had since been scuffed and dulled until the luster was gone. The dull eyes glared up at the sky, looking angrily at the bitter air that had been their death.

Between the ever-staring eyes that were so intent on sending their rage into the clouds Eleanor noticed the nose. The skin around it was cracked and the bone crooked, it looked like a fresh break, from the heel of a boot. The young woman stared at the injury she had inflicted on the corpse. No blood welled up from the crushed nostrils, or flowed over the cheeks that were too firm for life. The chapped lips did not cry of swear. The stranger failed to blink as a gust of wind pushed a few small flakes of snow onto the glaring eyes.

Eleanor watched the flakes rest there, the white spindles of frozen water clearly visible against the brown irises. With a shudder the girl picked herself up and hurried home, pushing through the snow more urgently than before.

[Drayton]

The snow was packed down and brown with dirt in a small path that lead up to Eleanor’s front door. There was no metal knob to turn but a thick bit of rope that had been knotted on each side hung in its place. As she gripped it icy water oozed out from the soaked fibers. The liquid flowed between her fingers, picking up the chill in the air.

The wind shut the frail door with a bang, pushing Eleanor into the single room that served as her home. Two other teenagers sat against the wall that looked the most complete, clutching a thick cloak about them. The boy and girl, Demri and Jaena, looked up at her when she entered. Their faces were worn thin with the cold, covered in the deep shadows cast by bones that were too visible. Much like her own face.

“How’d your little errand go, Morwen didn’t freeze too much I see,” Jaena said. Eleanor bobbed her head slightly in response.

“Seems like she got your voice though…” Demri added in a sulking tone. Before Eleanor could respond a ragged coughing lifted above the sounds of the wind moving through the walls.

Marc’s thin body twisted on his bedroll as the youth gasped. The soft shine of sweat was visible on his forehead as he shuddered. Eleanor tore off a hunk of the bread she was carrying, and put it in the boy’s bleeding lips.

“What about us, you gonna offer us some bread?” Jaena asked loudly.

Raising her voice above Marc’s renewed cough Eleanor replied, “I’m not going to run and freeze my hide every time you two want a snack. You can move, find your own meal.” She stepped over Marc’s body, toward the other two as she said this. In her periphery Eleanor could see the shudders that ran up and down his spine.

For a moment it looked as though her friends might be about to challenge her, but their thin faces were quick to drop back into the folds of the cloak. At the sight of their fallen faces Eleanor let her own wet blanket fall to the floor and moved to her own bedroll. She peeled off the soaked outer layer quickly, and climbed underneath her sleeping blanket, twisting around and around to cover herself as much as possible. Beneath the thick layers of fabric she felt her limbs shaking, the air was so cold in here. After a moment she pulled her arm away from the warmth of her ribcage, and lined her wet clothing up between herself and the wall, hoping her heat would dry them in the night.

Pulling the blanket over her head she could hear the breathing of Jaena and Demri in the moments that Marc’s coughing left his lungs empty, forcing him to fall silent. The smooth surface of the bread was cool against her chest as she cried quietly. The tears left icy trails on her skin as they fell from her cheeks.

Marc is going to die, he’ll be another face for the snow to cover up. And no one will ever see him again, or remember where beneath all the smooth white he’s been hidden. And when the snow melts… When it melts the memory of the winter, the cold, his death, they’ll be forgotten. It’s what happens here. You scuttle about life, pretending you have a say in your survival. But there’s nothing you can do, a piece of bread won’t save you, and no one will even notice it’s missing. Notice you’re missing.

The shack creaked around her as the winds grew stronger, plucking and prodding at the planks that held her home together. Eleanor heard shuffling behind the howling and hacking that filled the air. A hard, angular thing pressed against her back. Demri and Jaena had lain down, wrapping themselves in their own blankets, near one another for warmth. Marc was left in the center of the floor, shaking as cold air brushed against his face and hot flecks of blood flew into his mouth with each shuddering cough.

Marc will die and then we’ll follow. If we live through this winter we’ll die the next one, or perhaps in the muggy heat of summer, when the streets fester and Vayt dances with us… Dirt or snow, we will be buried and forgotten in Sunberth. I will not stay. I will be carved in stone before I’m dead. Stone to stand firm when dirt is washed away and frost melts… Stone to last…

As Eleanor fell into a shivering sleep she thought of statues, smooth and grey. The weather of centuries rested on their faces before sliding off with each changing season. They were cool and carved and never moving as they stood in her dreams.

In the street the snow began to fall again. One by one the broad soft strokes of snow fell upon the face with the broken nose. Morwen worked patiently, slowly spreading her cover over the pallid image. The brown eyes stared up at her through the thickening veil, unblinking as the last trace of the starved corpse was covered in snow, smooth, delicate and white.

[Colombina]

The XP Wand Is Waved! Brutal story. Well done with excellent writing! I assume Eleanor is your PC's name as a kid? Drayton’s Loot 1 XP Investigation 1 XP Wilderness Survival Lore of Sunberth Winter Lore of Rigor Mortis Colombina is pleased.