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

iii

[agentlenpc]

[The question is voiced, but Loren doesn't look up. Not yet, anyway. His focus is on the little girl in front of him, a young witch much too young to wear jewels but old enough to know her craft. Both of their hands work in tandem, patting down the soil that they've just lay upon the seed. She hums and he nods approvingly at her, calling in a small pot of water to sprinkle their efforts.]

Not drowning our little plants, actually.

[Oh yes, he saw the little flood each of Lalli's plants got.]

[ilves]

[...Well, it's official: Lalli has the worst luck of all time. He eyes Loren for a second, debating just, like, saying absolutely nothing at all, before he shifts his attention back down to the... watery patch of mud before him. Surely it's not that bad? Surely the seeds are fine? He gives it a cautious little poke and watches his finger sink right into this mud soup.

Hmm.]

...They need water. The dirt is dry.

[Does that come out a bit defensively? Maybe so.]

[agentlenpc]

[Loren finally turns to Lalli, cupping his hand over his eyes to block the light of the sun to look at the Stranger. He glances down at the watering hole between them and then back at Lalli and his shoulders slightly drop, as if a silent sigh couldn't be suppressed.]

...They do, yes.

[The words are slow, as if he's gauging which of his voices to use. Talking to a five year old? Talking to a twelve year old?]

Do you enjoy overeating?

[ilves]

[That's the wrong question to ask Lalli, of all people. Give him a giant bag of cinnamon rolls and he'll munch until he's sick, which is why he shoots Loren a quick look. He knows what the man is trying to get across here? He's not dumb, but also—]

Not when I'm eating porridge? Or weird fruit. [Breakfast...] But it's not the same.

[It's NOT!! Anyway, with a quiet huff, he begins roughly digging another hole beside this mud puddle. Water quickly seeps over into it, of course, so you know... he's doing... just great over here...]

[agentlenpc]

[Loren refrains from pinching the bridge of his nose and wondering, aloud, what sort of strange fruit were in Lalli's world. He has to remind himself he didn't want to know.

He and the young girl, Mirabell, watch Lalli begin to dig another messy and quickly-filling water hole. They exchange a long glance before he calls in his hand trowel once more.]

I would suggest... that the Lady point us to where we should plant.

[As if it is the important job ever, Mirabell nods almost gravely before settling the heel of her shoe right at the edge of Lalli's hole.

One step. Two. Three. Four. Five.

After she counts out her steps, she comes to an unoccupied of dirt and daintely points to the ground. The Lady has spoken, and Loren gestures his trowel in that direction to Lalli.]

After you.

[ilves]

[This hole, like all the other holes he's dug, is... a disaster. Lalli knows this; a part of him even feels oddly foolish because of it, almost like he wants this rude man to approve of the effort he's putting forth here, but—pfft! That's crazy! This has nothing to do with first impressions and everything to do with making Loren go about his business as quickly as possible.

So even though he casts a pointed look at the trowel in Loren's hand—]

...Pfh.

[Yes, yes... he scoots on over to dig precisely where this "Lady" is pointing to, perhaps making the hole a bit wider than it needs to be—but when Mirabell tells him that it's deep enough, he stops and looks back Loren's way. There? Happy? Surely he is Done.]

[agentlenpc]

[The little noise isn't even given another thought. Loren's dealt with angry warlords, fussy Queens, and worse. The Stranger's attitude? This is nothing. He oversees Lalli's work with his arms crossed, trowel resting on his opposite arm.

When the two look his way, he nods and unfolds his arms, calling in Mirabell's favorite watering can. It's a grey metal, dirty and worn, but otherwise brightly decorated with a bright pink flower. A smiley face beams at all to see and Mirabell has a matching grin as she takes it from Loren and shoves it in Lalli's hands. The Steward doesn't hide his bemusement.]

The seed. [Mirabell starts her humming as she drops one seed into the hole and Loren looks to Lalli to follow his instructions.] Then the earth and a bit of water. Enough to wet the soil and seep into the seed, but it won't need much more than that. The Queen's gift will see to it.

[See? Easy as can be.]

[ilves]

[Which one is worse: taking direction from a child, or taking direction from Loren? It's a tough call, honestly, but at least Loren's words give him something to think about other than the fact that this is... terrible all the way around. Dumping dirt on top of the seed is easy; he doesn't even look, like, too annoyed when Mirabell tells him he's added too much, because as he fixes his mistake and pours just a tad of water over top of it—hmm.]

Aha. Her blood. [He looks back at Loren out of the corner of his eye, even as he gives the dirt another quick pat.] ...It helps?

[Ex...plain...]

[agentlenpc]

It does. [His attention shifts from the Stranger to Mirabell, who's already deeming Lalli's effort... acceptable, and trots off to count out her next plot to plant. He follows a step or two behind her and assuming Lalli would follow suit.] Blood sings to blood, as she says. The world can sense the power in her and when she gives her gift, it's accepted. Internalized and fueled by it.

[He raises his trowel a moment to gesture his own jewel, momentarily catching the light from the slightly open neck of his buttoned shirt.] We, and the world, are fueled by dark power. She merely was giving some to the soil as well.

[ilves]

[Well, Lalli's simple question somehow spawned, like, ten new ones, but even though that's frustrating... hmm! He's not a scholar; he's never really spent time, like, puzzling over the hows and the whys, and yet this new magic is curious enough for him to silently—thoughtfully—follow them down to the next spot Mirabell points out. A gift of blood, huh... of so-called "dark power"...

He frowns, brow furrowing as he begins digging this second hole.]

Where does it all come from? [Sorry, Mirabell, but Lalli ignores any and all current direction in order to look back at Loren.] Where are your gods? Spirits?

apologies for lateness; traveling is a bitch

[agentlenpc]

Spirits? [His brow furrows but this time, not because of Lalli's digging.] Not in the way that I believe you're thinking of. And the landens certainly have similar questions. It's a complicated answer, and truly, I don't believe we have all the answers. There are stories, and theories about where we came from. About what we are.

[Mirabell huffs as no one is listening to her, and Loren nods and lets her scamper off to count off for the next plant. He turns to give Lalli a bemused smile.] I can give you a book, if you wish.

np! life happens!!

[ilves]

[The way Loren repeats spirits tells Lalli all that he needs to know, really, and it's... well, he knew this place wasn't anything like home; he knew that familiar things, gods included, were out of reach, and yet...

...And yet. There's a quiet sigh, a slight hunch in his shoulders, but Loren's offer saves him from sinking into contemplative silence. A book?]

Mrr.

[Reading isn't exactly his forte! He's not very good at it, truth be told, which is why he looks—and sounds, in his cat-like way—less than thrilled. It's not all attitude this time, though; there's a clear hint of... discomfort, but does he want to admit that he struggles with this kind of thing? To this man? Of course not, so—]

...Why can't you tell me what's in it? [...] The... big things.

[agentlenpc]

[Loren could see the unhappiness at the mention of a book and he stifles a laugh and turns his gaze downward to hide it. It works as he contemplates on how to explain their world's history.]

Darkness is where the Blood have come from. From its depths the Blood sprung forth, and one day we will be mere whispers in it when we return. I've read books and heard stories that have tried to explain why, and from who or what we were given these... [He pulls out his necklace from the inside of his shirt, lifting the green jewel to let it reflect in the sunlight. [He stares at it for a long moment before shaking his head.]

We've... We await the return of that kind of great and dark power. There is one whose glory we dance for at Winsol. Perhaps she, or the first one, was where this all came from.