event: a gentle festival

[thestewards]

we're all just working pieces trying to fit somewhere
We wander 'round in circles and we talk in squares

► The OOC plotting post for this event can be found here.

► Direct all questions to the mods at this link.

► All NPCs except for Queen Fayura can be met at this event. Use their top-levels in the plotting post if you'd like a thread with them for this event. For your convenience, you can reach out here: Allairavar, Verim, Loren, Niall, Grejor, and Raya. They may choose to wander into your threads should you not plan anything out with them, too.

PARTY PLANNING
Dawn arrives and brings with it another group of Strangers. Unlike the first group, you wake to a comfortable bed and cheery birdsong. Unlike the second group, you are expected. As you rise, a vase with spring flowers appears on the table beside your bed. Tucked beneath the vase, you find a message of welcome inviting you to join the Queen and her residence for breakfast.

Following directions given by footmen throughout the residence’s winding halls, you make your way toward breakfast, only to find that breakfast is a beautiful disaster.

Maids and footmen rush around you, choreographed by a red haired witch standing on a chair in the middle of the entry hall. She wears an apron and a look of fierce concentration. Beside her, a list floats in the air. Pinned to her hair, her Tiger Eye Jewel flashes and swirls with power. You suspect you should just sneak out, but she’s too observant.

“You there!”

You freeze. Maybe you had a mother with eyes in the back of her head who always knew where you were. Maybe that was a teacher or some other kind of mentor. Regardless, you know this voice. You know this tone. This is a person harried and pressed, and she probably doesn’t care that you haven’t eaten breakfast yet.

“Yes, you! Stranger!”

You turn toward her and abruptly find your arms full of banners. Closer inspection will reveal each flag sewn to the cord bears a different symbol: one for the Guilds (a hexagon with circles at each joint), the Ebon Council (a pair of Jewels side by side), and Fayura’s Court (a strange, spiraling spear against a mountain peak); a sun and a moon; a cloud flush with rain and lightning; and a sprouting plant.

“Make sure those get hung on the eaves outsi—no, I haven’t seen the Lady, Carlisle, but if you—”

A Blood male has distracted her, but you’re left with the distinct impression that if you don’t hang these banners, the Head Housekeeper will hunt you down (you would be correct). Not to worry: you’re not the only Stranger living in the residence, and it takes you little time to locate someone else with an equally bomb-blasted look on their face to help you help the residence prepare for the spring festival! There are flags to be hung, simple breads to be baked, stalls to be built in the Bazaar, and so much more. Your hands work, and so you work.


HOPE BLOOMS ETERNAL
At sundown, the festival begins in earnest: people take to the streets in every section of the city, pouring into the Old Town Bazaar with rosy cheeks and broad smiles. The spring festival will last for the next six days. Three days to celebrate, and three days to work.

All around the city, banners hang from and between homes and businesses. Some fluttering banners bear flags emblazoned with only the Guilds’ symbol or the Council’s or the Court’s, and there are far more Guild banners than any other—a result of the Strangers’ providing support to the Guilds no doubt. But mixed among them are flags bearing both the Queen’s mountain, too, just not as many, and the only place the Council’s flags hang are over Blood homes.

As you make your way through the Bazaar, you hear…

A young landen man: I’ve heard the Queen is going to honor the Earth Mother and Father Sky during planting in a few days, and—
His companion, an older woman: The Blood honor only death and their Darkness. What does she care for our beliefs?

A Blood farmer: …kind of gift. Don’t quite know what to make of a Queen giving anything.
A landen farmer: Anything to help the crops grow. The Guilds mean well, but the land is overworked.

An excited little girl: —ride the unicorn, mommy! There’s a unicorn and a dragon and a centaur and a—

Near the pavilion at the heart of the Bazaar, the landen Guilds have erected technological wonders. A carousel of glittering bronze and metal lights up the night with rainbow colors. Music spills out of it, cheerful and bright as its three rings turn in lazy revolutions. Unicorns and dragons and centaurs and mermaids stand as mounts for the young and old. Nearby, the Elektriline Guild prepares a light show, projecting fantastical shapes in dazzling colors on the sides of buildings and into the night sky itself. Around the park to the south of the Bazaar, the Transport Guild has set up a racing track for unicycles and tricycles.

Booths with games line the streets. Knock down the glass bottles! Throw the ring around the spoke! Win prizes to dazzle your loved ones and delight your children!

While food has certainly been scarce, the bakeries and charcuteries have brought out their best fare at surprisingly reasonable prices. This is a time to celebrate the end of winter and the beginning of spring, and celebrate the city will.

While the Blood dress in nice clothes, the landens bring out costumes. As is tradition, some dress as Father Sky, wearing crowns of gold and flowing robes of white. Others cloak themselves in the vestments of Mother Earth: wearing costumes of green and brown, painting vines over their faces to disguise themselves and crowning themselves in garlands of crocuses and tulips. Whispers through the Bazaar say the Queen is among them, disguised as Mother Earth.


SOWING THE FUTURE
The fourth morning of the festival, the entire city rises with the dawn. Over the past three days, a strange rumor wound its way through Draega: Fayura will join the planting to give a gift unique to the Queens of the Blood.

Members of the Ebon Council and the Guilds organize groups, directing the bodies of the entire city to go to this farm or that as they step out from behind Draega’s tall, protective walls. But before you are dismissed to help till the land or plant grain seeds, you join a larger crowd at a nearby farm. The Blood airwalk, standing above the landen crowds to gain a better view.

At the head of a recently tilled field, Queen Fayura stands with a landen farmer. He grasps his hat, wringing it fiercely in his hands as her Steward, Master of the Guard, and Consort stand guard behind her. Dressed in greens and browns, crowned in a garland of crocuses that drips dried stalks of wheat down her hair, she kneels before a bucket. She calls in a knife. When she speaks, she doesn’t raise her voice, but Craft projects it across the assembled onlookers. “Blood sings to blood. This is a gift: freely offered,” she says. “Freely given.” Bright red blood blooms across her palm as she drags the blade through skin. Vanishing the knife, she closes her fist and squeezes, allowing the blood to fall into the bucket of water and mix with it.

Her Consort heals her wound when she holds out her hand, and then he steps back. She rises, picking up the bucket and taking hold of the ladle on the ground beside it. Her voice lifts in song. Though the language is unrecognizable, the melody is beautiful and full of the vibrant hope of spring. She sings as she walks along the furrows, sprinkling bloodied water on the land. Blood and Strangers alike feel the pull of magic as something in the earth itself unfurls, shuddering awake at the call of the Queen’s blood.

For the next three days, nearly every man, woman, and child in Draega assists with the planting. Children do small, simple tasks, and the older children watch over the younger ones. The adults drag plows through the warming land and spread seeds in the furrows the plows create. Queen Fayura visits each field in turn, and planting doesn’t begin until she’s sprinkled her water over the earth. Throughout the day, her vibrant song echoes around the city, and a few Blood girls, too young to yet wear a Jewel, take up the song and hum along with it.

You would do well to help the farmers. You may not have a strong arm or strong back, but there’s planting to be done and people to organize, feed, and care for.


AIR TIME
Whether you catch the news on a Far-caster in the city or you’re spinning the dial on your own device, you’ll hear…

etiquette with evandra and aren
[Evandra's voice is a little bit rough and a little bit husky, the kind of voice that gives bad ideas to young men and headaches to fathers.] …do we make of a Warlord Prince’s reaction to his Queen’s blood?

[Aren, whose voice is typically chipper and bright, sounds today much more seriously than usual.] It’s a dangerous thing. Elemental, you might say. Like a storm. Every Prince is dangerous when his Lady’s blood spills.

[Evandra:] So, are we in danger when the Queen does whatever ritual she’s doing?

[Aren:] No. The Blood put great importance on, well, blood. It’s the memory’s river. Power sings in blood. It carries strength and Craft. I’ve never seen a Queen do anything like this before, but her Princes—and her court—treat it like ceremony. And it probably is.

the weather
[A soft-spoken man’s voice rumbles out of the Far-caster. He’s pleasant to listen to, with a soothing cadence to his voice.] …continued rains with intermittent sunshine over the next few days as the days grow steadily warmer. Remember that rains coming out of Askavi are dangerous to your health, and salves for lesions from exposure can be purchased from the Medicos at…

the news
[Garret speaks at his brisk pace, hurried and harried as though he has too much to say and not enough time to say it.] A new development in the story of the young landen man who shot and killed Councilwoman Vera last month: the Strangers have influenced the Queen to bring together a Tribunal not of other Queens—

[Wilt, as usual, is put upon and nasally.] As though there are many of those to go around.

[Garret, continuing as though Wilt didn’t interrupt him:] —but of the landen man’s peers, both landen and Blood.

[Wilt, sighing:] That’s correct, Garret. It seems this Tribunal of three landens and three Blood will listen to the young man’s account, as well as the stories of other witnesses, and determine a suitable punishment. This will be presented to the Queen, and she will carry out the sentence.

[Garret:] Looking now to the warming weather and what that means for trade with the mercenary settlements outside of Draega—

Comments

2.

[sinistral]

He had anticipated the inquiry before she'd formally made it, and of course he'd assented to it. Bucky doesn't mind acting as an escort to Sansa. Certainly it's safer for her to travel with another, and she's got more skill in talking to people than he. They'd made a pretty good team in wandering the poorer quarters to cast warming charms so he sees no reason to refuse her request now. Festivals might not be his thing, mostly because the idea of carousing with strangers isn't appealing, but he won't let that stand in the way of taking her out to enjoy it.

He probably should have seen this coming when she wanted to stop at the little booth though.

"I'm having fun," he says, but there's little enough heat or bite to it. Really, Sansa had clocked early on how Bucky doesn't quite know how to act at such a festival, save as a bodyguard. Or as an assassin, but he's trying to suppress that side of himself in her presence (or anyone's presence, really). He reaches up just to tuck his hair back within the confines of the flower circle, otherwise letting it stay.

[theladyofwinterfell]

"There, you look perfectly festive and handsome besides. Now, I want to try the games. I have my eye on that stuffed wolf just there and I want to win one."

To win the wolf, she has to use a ball to knock down empty bottles. She gets two balls and two chances; the man running the booth shows her how to do it, knocking the bottles down, then instructs Sansa to stand a bit further back then he had to make her attempts. Each attempt is a few copper marks and so Sansa tries over and over, biting her lip in frustration as she misses over and over again.

"It's no use. I can't hit enough of them. At this point, I could have paid a gold mark and bought two of these in a store in town, I think."

It's not that important, not really, but the wolf looks like Lady, a bit. It's mostly white with a bit of grey around the muzzle and ears and while it is just a toy, she thinks it might make her feel a little less homesick. Besides - Sansa doesn't like being bad at things. She likes being good at things, mostly, and while she's not one for displays of strength or skill like this, it smarts all the same.

"We should probably move on, my lord."

[sinistral]

There's something about this kind of event — games and food and festivity — that feels like it should be familiar, for all that it also feels far too extravagant. He resists the temptation to chase that train of thought, instead focusing on his companion. Sansa has expressed a discomfort around crowds of people, and he thinks the fact that she wants to enjoy the festival is likely important.

At least the games seem honest enough. The booth vendor is able to knock over the bottles, so they haven't been glued together. It's just a matter of skill then, skill and accuracy and a little bit of strength. Not an unusual combination, but analysis has also been Bucky's life for so long that it's just become natural for him to look for these sorts of things. He's also surprised that Sansa gives it up so easily, but it probably makes sense. She doesn't seem as suited to physical activities as some of the other people he's met. It's not an insult to her of course, simply observation based on their interactions thus far.

He looks critically at the stacked bottles, and the balls Sansa had been given. It doesn't seem too hard, at least not for someone of his physical ability. "I could probably hit them. If you wanted."

[theladyofwinterfell]

Sansa isn't someone to do much of anything physical. She's forced herself into it since arriving in Draega because it's a condition of staying at the Queen's residence but it isn't something she's comfortable with and she doesn't know if she'll ever be comfortable with it. She's worked with Bucky in training before and with a few of her other acquaintances; while she's better than she'd been when she arrived, she's still not what she'd call good.

This is frustrating because it requires strength and accuracy, two skills that she clearly hasn't mastered. Jon had always been a good eye with a bow, taking it upon himself to train boys in the yard at Winterfell, and even Arya had learned a little under his hand. Sansa hasn't ever had to learn such things. She learned how to sing and sew and be someone's pretty wife. She thinks she should have been more like Arya and less like herself; Arya would never have found herself trapped the way Sansa has for half her life.

When Bucky mentions he'll give the game a try, Sansa presses a few marks into his hand. She won't let him pay for it when it's her desire to win the prize and it's her that's taken this long at one booth. She's spent more on it than she should have, really, but it's a matter of pride at this point. Starks are stubborn and since returning to Winterfell and unfurling Stark banners from the battlements again, Sansa has found that wolf's blood runs strong in her in a way no one could have expected.

"The wolf is the sigil of my house," Sansa explains. "That's why I wanted to win it so badly. All of House Stark uses a wolf as their emblem and their badge. I thought it might remind me a bit of home. If you could win it, Bucky, I'd be grateful. I'd also owe you a drink."

[sinistral]

"You don't have to owe me anything." But she's pressing her money into his hand and it would be rude to refuse her, not when she speaks of what the wolf toy might mean to her personally. He understands it, inasmuch as he can understand having ties to something that defines oneself, something that is a reminder of the idea of home. He has no such ties and he's not sure that he would want them, but he holds no judgement against those who do.

Besides, he's pretty confident that he can slip the marks back to her at some point without her taking notice.

He pays for the turn, hefting the two balls he's given in his hands and stepping back to the line from which she'd made her own attempt. Figuring out how and how hard he needs to throw the ball isn't hard, at least not for him. Even so he deliberately misses the first attempt, letting the ball graze the bottles, wobbling one without knocking any of them over. The second ball doesn't miss, hitting the stack perfectly, a clear and decisive win.

The booth owner claps his hands with a warm smile. Likely at least some of his enthusiasm is a show for other passing potentials; excitement over a win may entice others to play (and he's certainly made marks enough off of their dalliance). But it matters not because the man is honest, placing the wolf Sansa had wanted into her hands.

[theladyofwinterfell]

Sansa cannot help her smile when Bucky actually knocks down all the bottles on his second try. He has a much better aim than she and his strength is such that it'd only taken him the two tries to accomplish what she hadn't in at least half a dozen. When the booth owner hands her the wolf, she squeezes it a bit before reaching over and squeezing Bucky's right hand in gratitude; she drops it quickly enough but she just wants to convey her thanks and a kiss or an embrace seems completely improper.

"Thank you so much. Now I really do owe you a drink. There are some booths with ale that we passed on the way in and I can go ahead and treat you if you'd like. If you'd rather not drink while escorting me, though, we can always see to it at another time."

Sansa hasn't felt this sort of ebullient joy since she was a girl at the Tourney of the Hand. It's different now, as a woman grown, and she knows she must sober herself soon enough. There's no place for the frippery of a young girl in a place like Draega where she has a mission to be carrying out on behalf of the Queen. She's no longer a stupid little girl hoping for a favor from the Knight of Flowers and so she tamps down her joy and tries to hide her smile.