[o] [PQ] Kindling the Dawn

So when the heavy hand of death is here to take me away

I'll be the solid grip of time

Noah stood just beyond the treeline, arms crossed as he surveyed the cabin in full. The porch and south window were done—sturdy, dependable—but the rest of the place bore the wear of too many hard seasons without care. He chewed the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

The roof was first. From this angle, he could see where the shingles had begun to curl, some blown clear away. Snowmelt would seep through if he didn’t fix it before the next freeze. Replacing the worst sections would go faster with someone steady on a ladder, someone who knew how to spot wood rot beneath the ice.

Second, the north wall sagged slightly—barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for. Noah did. It needed bracing, maybe even replacing one of the lower support beams. That wasn’t a one-person job. He could haul the timber, sure, but lifting it into place and holding it steady would require a second pair of hands.

Finally, the hearthstone inside needed resetting. The fire still burned, but the base had cracked, and the heat bled out unevenly. He’d need someone careful, someone who didn’t mind slow, precise work.

He made a mental note. Roof. Wall. Hearth. Then he turned and teleported to the Citadel. There he put a note on the notice board asking for assistance in three days time. 

---

Three days had passed since Noah made his list, and the cabin now bore quiet signs of preparation. Lumber was stacked beneath a tarp near the north wall, tools sharpened and arranged with care. New shingles lay bundled on the porch, alongside a bucket of nails and a tar pot waiting to be heated. Inside, the hearth had been cleared of ash, the broken stones laid out like a puzzle on the floor. Noah sat on the front step, gloves in his lap, watching the trail. 

The work was ready. 

Now he waited for the help to come.

---

 

This is a PQ to help repair the hunting lodge. Please post your character arriving and anything they are bringing with them!

1.
2.
3.

forever holding my stay

Kaisel

One way to keep himself from overthinking everything too much is to stay busy. That had been easy enough as a Dragoon, doing various missions, and while King's End had plenty of work to be found, it creeped him the fuck out sometimes. He'd thought the Greatwood was worse until he started living at King's End and all the graves they'd accumulated unfurled a host of ghostly moaning every night. It feels like a purposeful test to get him to pack it up and head back home, to give into fear and weakness, but he plans on passing the test. Still, he doesn't have to put up with the spectres all the time.

So, when Halo called for help, despite the cold, he decided to answer. He might have chosen to live here instead of the spooky meadows, but every visit is a reminder of how nice it is to just be visiting here, not living. "Hey!" he greets as he approaches Noah and his lodge. Kaisel's got his thicker and longer navy jacket on over a tan long-sleeve shirt, his charcoal work pants and black boots all doing their best to fend off the ever present snow and cold. He extends a gloves hand to Noah, "I'm Kaisel Ashborn, soldier from King's End. Happy to help!" Slung over his back is his usual pack of supplies, it's keychain charm swinging with every movement. Inside are his weapons, some food and water, bandages, and as a staple now, a set of pajamas to sleep in should the need arise.

---

Kaisel arrives and has a backpack of basic supplies plus his weapons

You was talkin' shit in the beginning
Back when I was feelin' more forgivin'
I know it piss you off to see me winnin'

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

DAMIEN

I know it's been a long time coming
I'm angry and I know that's weak

The forest gives no warning before the sound of slow, measured footsteps crunches along the frostbitten trail.

A figure emerges from the trees, parting the ferns with the flat of a gloved hand. He doesn’t call out or wave. Just steps into view with the patient inevitability of snowfall. His coat is worn leather, heavy and lined with faded fur, the hood down to reveal dark, wind-tousled hair and a face weathered by sun and winter both. A crossbow hangs over one shoulder and a pack rests square against his back, fastened with care. A few fresh scratches marr one boot; the handiwork of stubborn brambles.

He stops a short distance from the porch and gives a small nod toward Noah. His gaze flicks briefly to the stranger of the two (Kaisel) before settling on the lodge behind them. He seems to weigh it all in silence: the prepped lumber, the tar, the sag of the north wall. Then he speaks, voice low and even.

“Name’s Damien. Saw your posting.”

Another glance, this time to the sky, then to the stacked tools.

“Got a few days. Figured I’d lend a hand.”

He doesn’t smile, but there is no coldness to him either, just a quiet steadiness, like the kindling heat of coals under ash. He shifts his weight slightly, standing at ease though not idle.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll start on the roof. Before the weather turns.”

That was as much a greeting as he would give. He's already sizing up the ladder, the angle of the light, and the wind. Not out of impatience, but readiness and habit.

---

Damien arrives with his backpack which has basic supplies, a small toolkit, rope, and a set of hunting/skinning knives. He also has a crossbow.

He offers to start on the Roof!

And I'm longing out that open window
For whatever it is I seek

So when the heavy hand of death is here to take me away

I'll be the solid grip of time

Noah rose from the porch step, brushing his gloves off as Kaisel approached. The soldier’s energy was a stark contrast to the cold stillness of Halo, and Noah couldn’t help the faint curve of a smile as he took the offered hand. “Noah,” he said simply, grip firm. “Glad you came.”

He turned at the sound of steady footsteps. Damien’s presence settled like a weight in the air, not unwelcome, just grounding. He recognized the younger man, having known him and Ezekiel to play together in their youth. Noah gave a short nod in return. “Good to see you.” At Damien’s offer, Noah gestured toward the ladder and supplies. “Roof’s yours, then. Shingles need replacing along the west slope first. Mind the edge—it drops fast.”

Then, turning to Kaisel, he pointed to the stack of lumber near the north wall. “This wall’s sagging. Needs braces set before we can replace the lower beam. Start by digging out the base—just enough to expose the foundation. I’ll help you lift the new brace into place when you're ready.” Then he moved toward the toolshed, leaving the men to get started, trusting in their quiet competence.

---

Round 1! Start working on the assigned tasks

forever holding my stay

Kaisel

Kaisel glances back as Damien arrives, the man eying the work with all the expertise but none of the enthusiasm of Bob the Builder. Maybe that's just what happens to an eager handy man as life progresses. Bob got old, picked up bad habits, and lost some self-esteem through it all. The can we fix it? doesn't sound so rhetorical now, does it Bob? Not when he's saying it in a mirror, trying not to break into a sob.

A hand lifts in quiet greeting to the steady man, attention drifting back to Noah as assignments are doled out like lukewarm cafeteria food. Digging, oh boy, guess hiding from it under Liam's watch had just been foreshadowing. "Roger roger," he confirms as he slips his pack off his shoulders and swaps it out for a shovel in his hands.

As a soldier, Kaisel is accustomed to these sort of directive heavy conversations where smiles are rare and orders are long, but it doesn't mean he likes them. Which, might beg to question his career choice, but that answer is obvious—his parents are soldiers, Koa's a soldier, one of the best that he knows, so he is too. His mom always said he could use a bit more order too.

Taking up the tool, Kaisel sets it into the ground, and it nearly takes his teeth out. The vibration of it running up his arms as it hits the hard, near-frozen dirt of this place shakes the back of his eyes. He misses the Greatwood now. "Soooo, why Halo?" he asks as he adjusts his angle and his force, a foot added into the mix for good measure as he fights what seems like concrete in disguise.

---

Kaisel shovels (?)

You was talkin' shit in the beginning
Back when I was feelin' more forgivin'
I know it piss you off to see me winnin'

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

DAMIEN

I know it's been a long time coming
I'm angry and I know that's weak

Damien grabbed a spare hammer and a pry bar from the assorted tools. He hoisted the ladder against the steep west slope of the roof, testing its angle with a practiced eye before climbing. The wood groaned faintly underfoot as he reached the shingles, worn and curling like brittle leaves ready to peel away. The work was simply enough, a familiar rhythm. No need for fanfare or cheer—he didn’t need to be a showman. Though, if he had to entertain, Kaisel’s mental image of him as a grumpy Bob the Builder would’ve been... amusing. A man who built things without so much as a “Can we fix it?”—more like a quiet “We will, or it won’t matter.”

First, he lifted the damaged shingles, careful to slide the pry bar beneath without tearing the intact ones nearby. Each slate came loose with a dull pop, the nails rusted and stubborn in the cold. He pried them free and stacked the old shingles in neat piles, ready to be hauled down.

The new shingles were heavier but fresh—solid cedar, their edges crisp and uniform. Damien slid the first row into place at the lower edge, aligning each one with a precise, measured tap of the hammer. Nails went in just enough to hold firm without splitting the wood beneath. He worked methodically, moving up the slope, overlapping each shingle like scales on a fish, sealing the roof against the coming thaw.

His breath steamed in the cold air as he glanced toward the clearing where Kaisel was wrestling with the frozen earth. A muffled grunt carried up on the wind.

“Hey,” Damien called down, voice steady and dry, “try levering the shovel a bit more before forcing it straight down. Like how you'd use a crowbar. Frozen dirt breaks easier if you let it give first.”

---

Damien the Builder works on replacing the shingles and tries to be helpful.

And I'm longing out that open window
For whatever it is I seek

So when the heavy hand of death is here to take me away

I'll be the solid grip of time

@Kaisel’s shovel struck the earth again with a clang that seemed to rattle even Noah’s teeth from where he stood, gathering lumber for the braces.

The soldier was trying—there was no lack of effort—but the frozen ground was winning. Each strike scraped more frost than soil, progress measured in shallow divots instead of any real trench. Still, effort counted. Given time, stubborn work could wear even stone down.  The soldier had managed a shallow scar in the frozen earth, sweat shining at his temple despite the cold. Each strike jarred his frame more than it loosened the soil.

Up on the roof, Damien fared somewhat better, though not by much. His precision was steady, shingles pried loose and stacked neatly, but the cold slowed him, nails bent, and cedar split once or twice, three times. Even so, the roof was holding. Noah left Damien to his careful rhythm on the roof and crossed to where Kaisel wrestled with the ground.

Coming towards Kaisel, Noah dropped the lumber for the braces and their clunking against each other echoed into the forest around them. "Like Damien said, try this." He reached for the shovel, and once Kai handed it to him, drove its edge in at an angle, and leaned his weight forward. The frozen dirt gave with a crack, the ground splitting enough to scoop. He offered the tool back with a faint smile, not unkind.

Turning back to get the first brace, Noah answered the younger man's question. “Because this is where I belong,” he said simply. “I grew up here. My family’s here. And this land, harsh as it is, shapes you. Demands strength, yes, but it also gives back if you learn to respect it.” He readied to add the first brace when Kaisel was ready.

---

Round 2! Everyone rolled low (:|) so we're onto a slow start. Keep working!

forever holding my stay

Kaisel

He probably shouldn't be comparing hard homes, given his is a floating city battered by winds and devoid of much of anything but stone. He can't help it though when the ground is more frozen than a freshly opened pint of ice cream, a spoon only able to carve out tiny shavings of the dessert, and it's so crisply cold in your mouth it's almost painful. Unfortunately picking away at frost packed dirt doesn't yield the same results of delicious sweet cream, and takes at least twice the effort.

Kaisel sighs, already realizing he's losing after his brief wrestling match with the terrain, and happily lends an ear to the men's wisdom while passing off the tool for a demonstration. "I see," he says with a thoughtful tilt of his head, leaning in over the spot where Noah more effectively breaks apart the hardened ground. Taking back the shovel with all the resignation of a king donning a crown he does not want, Kaisel approaches the task with the newfound advice from them both, too wrapped up in the effort to talk for once in his life.

---

Kaisel digs, the sequel

You was talkin' shit in the beginning
Back when I was feelin' more forgivin'
I know it piss you off to see me winnin'

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

DAMIEN

I know it's been a long time coming
I'm angry and I know that's weak

Damien shifted his weight on the ladder, testing the angle of the next shingle before levering it loose. The cold had stiffened the wood, and the nails resisted like they were trying to hold onto winter itself. One popped free with a sharp, metallic snap, and he stacked it neatly with the others. Three more followed, each demanding the same careful attention. Precision was tedious, but it was work that rewarded the patient. No one came in shouting, no one demanded speed. Just him, the roof, and the quiet rhythm of tasks done properly.

His gaze flicked to Kaisel again, who had finally found some rhythm with the frozen earth. Damien allowed himself a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth—a small victory, if only for the amusement of watching someone else wrestle with stubborn material. The younger man reminded him, fleetingly, of his own youthful folly; to be so eager and only to have things collapse on top of him. Not that he ever admitted those times. Not that anyone asked.

He tapped another shingle into place, hearing the dull thunk of nails sinking, and realized how soothing this was. It wasn’t exciting, wasn’t heroic, but it was methodical, exact, tangible. In another life, maybe this was all he’d need: a steady rhythm, tools in hand, problems solved in the simple satisfaction of skill applied. Do you think “Bob the Builder” ever felt this level of quiet satisfaction or was it all just cartoon cheer?

The wind cut across the roof, carrying the faint scent of frozen pine and smoke from the hearth below. He paused to glance at the stacks of cedar, neat and ready, and at the ladder, at Kaisel’s determined effort with Noah’s instruction. The scene had a certain balance to it: frozen earth meeting warmed cedar, careful hands and clumsy ones, effort and result.

Damien shifted the next shingle into place, hammered it steady, and finally allowed himself a thought he wouldn’t voice: Could be worse. Could be snowing harder. Could be me digging in that dirt.

The shingles lined up neatly now, each row overlapping the last, and he leaned back for a moment, eyes scanning the work. A corner of the roof needed a slightly trickier fit, nails splitting again even under his careful tap. A minute of adjustment later, it sat flush. The rhythm resumed. His mind wandered, as it liked to do on repetitive work: the way things changed from season to season, how a trapper’s life was all angles and patience, and how, somewhere along the way, all these small efforts added up into a life that might look ordinary to others—but it was a life that mattered all the same.

He tapped the last of the row in place, then leaned on the ladder for a second. Fingers stiff, back cold, face wind-bitten, but steady. The roof wasn’t perfect, not yet, but it was certainly approaching that. He glanced down at Kaisel and Noah again. Their words reached him, carried faintly from below as Noah prepared the first brace. Because this is where I belong… Damien let the phrase drift and echo through his mind, a soft contrast to the cold wind and the scraping nails beneath his fingers. Belonging. A simple word, but heavy. He understood it, in the way of quiet accumulation of effort and routine and respect for the land that shaped a person.

This was home, in its own harsh, unyielding way. It demanded a lot; patience, skill, endurance... But it also gave back—shelter, sustenance, structure—if you were willing to work for it.

“You get used to it,” he chimed in, almost like a statement of fact. “Cold, hard ground, harsh winters… but Noah's right, it teaches you. Makes the work mean that much more.”

---

lunar expositions a lot and Damien is quite determined to get this roof done right.

And I'm longing out that open window
For whatever it is I seek

So when the heavy hand of death is here to take me away

I'll be the solid grip of time

Noah found the young warrior’s silence interesting, though he did not press it. Silence had never unsettled him—years on the tundra had carved it into his bones, had taught him that quiet was not emptiness but patience, a sharpening of the senses. 

Kaisel, though, in his silence, seemed to find sucess. With the advice given, and heeded, the younger man found purchase against the frosted earth. The shovel’s bite shifted from futile clanging to measured cracks as he broke through the frozen crust and he was able to finish digging exactly where he needed to dig. 

Noah, then, motioned for him to help him lift the brace into place.  Timber creaked, muscles strained, and with a firm shove, the beam slid into place against the cabin’s sagging wall. "That'll do it." He said, brushing cedar dust from his gloved hands. "Next task is inside." He let his smile hit Kaisel. "The hearth needs some repair. The tools are inside and we can start on that. I'll meet you in there, you can start by mixing mortar."

For Damien, it wasn't as much inexperience that had him lingering on the roof longer than originally anticipated. Instead, it was that the man, with his experienced eyes, would see more wear and tear that was hidden beneath thick layers of ice and frost that needed repair. He would need to chip away at it before he could get to the shingles, to the rotten beams beneath.  His work was slower for it, but also truer—repairs that would last. Noah stepped back and called up to Damien, "We will be working on the hearth next. Bang on the roof if you need help."

---

Round 3!

Damien has found more areas on the roof that need repair.

Noah and Kaisel have set the support beams. It ain't pretty, but she'll hold.

forever holding my stay

DAMIEN

I know it's been a long time coming
I'm angry and I know that's weak

Damien crouched low, gloved fingers brushing the crust of ice that clung stubbornly to the roofline. What at first glance had looked like a simple patch job revealed itself to be deeper rot, frost having wormed its way into the beams beneath. He set his jaw and adjusted his grip on the hammer, working slow and steady. The sound was different here than it had been earlier—less hollow, more brittle—as each blow chipped away not just at the frost, but at the secrets it hid. Splinters flaked loose with every strike, and soon he had to pry out pieces of wood softened to pulp by thaw and freeze.

It was tedious work, but leaving it meant the whole roof would sag again within a season. He would not waste effort on half-measures. Better to take the time now, strip it clean, and shore it with something sound.

He heard Noah’s voice carry up from below, and he spared a glance over the edge of the roof. The hearth next. A sensible choice—one couldn’t do without a fire in Halo. Damien gave a short nod of acknowledgment and lifted the claw end of his hammer to wrench free another rotted strip. “Might take me a bit yet,” he called down, voice low but carrying enough.

With that, Damien turned back to the task at hand, chipping and clearing until the beams showed clean again beneath the frost. It wasn’t fast, but the work would hold. That was what mattered.

---

Damien tries to root out the rotted wood!

And I'm longing out that open window
For whatever it is I seek

Kaisel

Kaisel could probably find success a lot more often if he stayed quiet. Unfortunately he doesn't take up shovels and packed dirt often, preferring to land a punch or a kick instead, or scaling walls just in part to see that he could as much as find out what's on the other side. It's a different experience entirely to help build one, although it could be argued he'd done (or would be doing) his fair share of helping the women in his life erect some.

Sighing with relief at the completed task, Kaisel leans on the shovel with exaggerated weariness, body slumped over it with a cartoonish action line. It's long enough to catch his breath before Noah is motioning for his assistance with the beams, causing Kaisel to abandon his tool to the side and reach out with steadying hands to get the beams situated as directed. "Yeah, I got it. Ok—that's good, drop itttttttt, now." It's careful and heavy, but with some shouldering, grunting, and the occasional curse under his breath around the continued back and forth guidance, they can step back and behold the results of their efforts with satisfaction.

Kaisel glances up at the roof towards where Bob proceeds to fix it, flashing the man a thumb's up before nodding in turn to the new directive provided. "I'll mortar the work," he says with a grin that aches with the desire to roll his own eyes at that joke. Hopping up the stairs two at a time, Kaisel dashes inside. Gathering up the bags of materials and water into a bucket with a spade, Kaisel begins brewing up a version of a mud pie.

---

EZ Bake mortar

You was talkin' shit in the beginning
Back when I was feelin' more forgivin'
I know it piss you off to see me winnin'

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

So when the heavy hand of death is here to take me away

I'll be the solid grip of time

Damien worked hard and steady, and was at last able to climb down from the roof. The roof above him was solid now, cedar shingles aligned in neat overlapping rows, but the setting sun cast long, navy shadows across the Greenwing. Where once the ice had concealed rot, the beams had been stripped, mended, and reinforced, each nail driven home with precision. He would find solace inside the warmth of the lodge, where Kai had also found success.

The dragoon had taken to mixing mortar with efficiency. The air filled with the faint grit of lime and clay, pungent even in the cold. Noah knelt beside him when it came time to set the bricks, guiding the younger man in lining them snug against the hearth’s cracked foundation. They worked shoulder to shoulder, Kaisel spreading mortar with careful precision while Noah pressed each brick into place, filling holes and steadying the base until the structure held firm once more.

By the time the last brick was laid and the last of the mortar smoothed over, Damien was inside. ”Why don’t you two finish up here, filling in the grout. I’ll get all of the supplies we need to rebuild the fire.”

---

Finish up with the fireplace by grouting and Noah will build a new fire at the end!

forever holding my stay

Kaisel

Well, tough crowd it'd seem, not even a twitch of lips for his pun. Oh well, you win some, you lose some.

He fell into a steady rhythm with Noah, and it's certainly nice to see the reality of something coming into existence from the shape of your own hands and the effort you pour into it. Noah has a much better knack for it, and surely without him the bricks would have become a bit more messy and full of gaps, but the experience and the patience kept them firm and capable.

Kaisel glances back as they stand up from their task and Damien enters. "Alright," he suggests after nodding along to Noah's instructions. "You should probably be the one to wipe the excess away, I'm already coated in the shit," he says, wiggling fingers caked in the mixture. Of course, Damien was welcome to get just as dirty, but Kaisel thought perhaps they could find their own flow where he slaps on the grout and doesn't have to worry too much about coloring inside the lines while Bob cleans up the edges.

---

G r o u t

You was talkin' shit in the beginning
Back when I was feelin' more forgivin'
I know it piss you off to see me winnin'

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!