strangetrip | Winter's Crest Snow Day [GP]

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Winter's Crest Snow Day [GP]

The Inn was decorated in, if possible, an even more outlandish style than usual. Garlands of evergreens and bright berries competed with gold angels and cheerful small grinning creatures with pointed ears and shoes. A large fir tree had appeared seemingly from nowhere and was now draped with lights and hung with colored glass balls. At the top perched a figure in white robes with wings.

It was, Percy mused, probably for whatever the local holiday was, but it was also close enough to Winter's Crest decorations for him to feel a bit homesick for Whitestone. After all, it was only a year ago that he'd been able to celebrate Winter's Crest in his home city for the first time in years.

Something was still missing - or rather, many things were missing but one thing that he could solve for. Winter's Crest called for snow, and better snow in abundance. To solve for that last problem, he turned to a gnome of exceptional talent. While he didn't know how Sarenrae's power worked, he did have complete faith in her cleric. And thus, together, they concocted a plan: to turn the weather to a more appropriate clime.

The morning of December 20th dawned as it often did in this place - heavy with clouds that would burn off before noon. The clouds were important. They would make the spell casting easier, and Pike knew that she needed all the help she could get. Weather magic was not her forte. Like all clerics with powers as advanced as hers, she knew the right spell but when you had a druid around, there hadn't been much need for her to use it.

Dressed in a warm coat and a big floppy, knit cap, she sat on the ground with her legs crossed. Holding her holy symbol in both hands, she concentrated on the sky. As the Celestial incantation took root, golden rays of light encircled her and rose into the air. With each heartbeat, she could feel Sarenrae's power drawing warmth from the clouds above and into her body.

It took ten minutes to cast the spell and another twenty minutes for it to take effect. The spell would fade if she didn't maintain concentration all day, but it was a small price to pay.

And that's how, before the sun had completely finished rising, it was snowing on the Madonna Inn.

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"That's fair," she laughed. Her eyes darted to the side to try and gauge just how much offense she should take, despite his statement not to. She wasn't in armor and her mace & gauntlets were under the table so she knew she didn't look imposing but she could still hold her own. "I guess I'll go the less direct route and try asking him for some nicely."

"I'd be grateful," Jag confirmed, smiling over at her, completely oblivious to any gauging that might be going on.

"I owned this bakery back home, with my friends, and one of them always had the most amazing stuff to bake into the treats. She was a druid, so she was on point with that kind of thing. I didn't even think to ask anyone else once I got here." Pike's gaze drifted out to her family as they pelted each other with snowballs. "I'm Pike, by the way."

"Jag," he answered, following her gaze to a group of snowball fighters but thinking nothing of it. His mind was on the last time he'd had space cakes. Emma had baked them, protesting all the while that she baked less well than she cooked.

They had, of course, been fucking delicious, her three roommates had agreed.

He ate another piece of cookie, pushing the memory away. "It's nice to meet you," he added, with a small smile.

"It's nice to meet you too." Pike watched as his mind drifted somewhere far more distant than the snowfields. She wasn't going to pry, but she didn't want him to dwell too much either. "So, you mentioned you like a good show. Are we talking music? Juggling? Dancing maybe?" She gave him a wicked, sideways grin, "You definitely look like a man who would enjoy a good maypole."

"All of the above," Jag answered with a smile. You couldn't become Roma if you didn't take to music and dancing, and he'd learned to juggle with the circus. Had to, for fire juggling reasons. "But I'm used to giving them, too - the good shows. Fire, mostly."

"At least you're not picky," Pike laughed. "A fire show? Really? That sounds so cool! Is it magical fire? have a few fire spells, but they can't really entertain"

"I don't know if it's magic or not," Jag answered, sending a small firebird flying around their seats with a flick of his wrist. "But it's mine."

"Looks like magic to me," Pike laughed, eyes wide as she tracked the path of the little bird.

Jag made the bird run short circles in front of them, so she didn't have to crane her neck to keep it in view. "Feels like magic to me."

"Then that's what it is." She declared. WIth a stilted movement, she held her hand out to the little bird. "Does it burn like fire?"

"It is fire," Jag replied, instinctively making the bird fly away from her hand. "Yeah, it burns." He was immune to it, but it burned.

"It's too bad I'm not wearing my armor." The fact that is was fire only made her more intrigued. In fact, the thing that kept her from leaning forward further was her need to maintain concentration on the snow. "My fire spells are almost all radiant fire, so they don't burn the same way."

"Radiant fire?" Jag echoed, putting out the fire bird with another (unnecessary) hand gesture. "What's that?"

"Well, it looks like fire but it's golden and divine in origin." Pike shrugged, "It also doesn't catch things on fire but will do damage to people or creatures or spirits."

"Will you show me?" Jag asked hopefully. He wasn't sure about the divine bit, but he was going to roll with it. Angels existed, after all. But fire that wasn't fire? That he had to see - and feel, hopefully. "I mean, some time you're not focused on snow."

"Sure! It's an easy spell" Pike looked around and found her favorite sparring partner. "Piotr! Go shiny and stand still!"

Bless him, he didn't even question her. She waited until he was metal and then cast Sacred Flame. It didn't require concentration so it was fine to cast along with Control Weather.

A familiar flame-like radiance descended in a ring around Piotr but did no damage.

Once it had faded, she waved and yelled, "Thanks!"

Jag stopped staring after a couple of seconds, blinking and then looking back at her. "That was... wow." And it had felt so odd. He'd been able to feel the fire, but mutely, as if through something, and he certainly hadn't been able to get a hold of it.

Pike gave him a wide grin, happy that she could impress him a bit...even if it was just a cantrip. "I'm gonna guess that the world you came from didn't have clerics?"

Jag laughed at the mental picture. "Oh, no, we've got clerics, they just - don't do things like that." His approval of 'things like that' was obvious from his tone.

"That must suck for them," Pike smiled, proud of herself for making him laugh. "Were your clerics the weird kind that are married to Jesus and can't have sex? Because..." she shivered playfully.

"Some of them," Jag confirmed with a nod. "I mean, most of them, really. Bit tragic."

"I mean, it's kinda cruel." Pike chuckled, "I mean, in my world, some gods ask their followers to do really weird things too. There is this one order dedicated to the god Illmater who all wear shirts made out of hair."

"That sounds... itchy," Jag settled on, bemused.

"Right?! But I guess that's kind of the point. Ilmater's the god of endurance" Pike couldn't stop herself from laughing, "The thing is, they won't tell me what kind of hair or fur it's made from."

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