Harvest of Fun and Folly

[Deleted]

Late, was all the Judged could think about, so late that one of the suns have dipped from sight. For it was true, one of the suns had sunken past the Imperian Horizon that was known as Trandatum's residences and stone architectures. The festivities had already been at it for about the whole of the day, with night's eventual passing brining on the more adult entertainments and the true festival would show itself from the playful children's shows to the devious games and harlotting that most men would engage in. With full bellies of ale, the night would only bring on the high of drink and the alluring presence of stands and crowds of women. While it meant little to the Judged, he found his calling providing those commoners with their due entertainment and more liquor to fill them up and bring them to him.

He brought with him a caravan of wagons, carts and asses pulling asses, wine and mead dressed on their shoulders. The caravan's held their share of much needed assortments for the celebrations; food, alcohol and a few carted women all the way from his southerly lands of Tivinter. Freshly hunted boars, deers and other creatures horded themselves inside the wagons with butchers preparing the much needed ingredients for pre-roasting their catches. Those men who had barrels in toe found themselves already dipping into their reserves, before the arrived at the city. Meads, wines, brandies, whiskey, ale, he made sure to bring a large selection for his anticipated patrons. There would not be lips dry in this city, if the Judged had his way in the whole affair, luckily he had hand in hand with that affair.

The land of tents he had arrived in, drifting eyes ventured to those large and complex tents with royal families and houses symbols and banners placed atop their temporary conquered patches of land. Bum, bum, bum, large kettledrums started to pound away as his entourage entered the tent-lands attempting to garnish the attentions from those who heard the foreboding drums play in tune as the caravan eventually took stop in what seemed to be the focus of many folk's attentions; ale houses, tents and stands all gathered heavily in this spot. Wagons, asses and men lined up and let their barrels and chests fall to the floors. With that, the Judged took his place atop a large wagon, foot atop barrel basket.

He was dressed in a long and rugged rust colored leather coat, buttons pressed against his pulled up collar and overly shadowed hood that clicked into place on the shoulders of his cloak. He wore a cotten shirt underneath, the laces at the collarline undone and his bare ashen skin shinning brilliantly, if caught away from his cloak. Boots made with black, clasped leather as the pounded on the caskets of ale and wine. As the drumming ceased and those he attracted, caught eye with his caravan, he took a deep breath.

" Imperia!" He bellowed out to those surrounding his caravan and further on, " The land of Tivinter brings their harvest fortunes to your festival! The lands of Tivinter, bring their women and men for you to share!" Shouting brought about an echoed voice, stretched and almost gathering a human's voice to it, deep and commanding. " As we Southern Imperian's know how to swagger on and we know how to bring the party to these festivals, we show this city our finest and best in all classes! From foods and ale, bring merriment and joyful times, we would invite you to indulge in this with us! Have a drink! Eat our pigs! The generosity comes from our own Earl Tyre of Tivinter!" The Judged jumped down from his caravan and walked towards the crowds, " Let our warmth be joined with yours, and cocks brought well together!" He shouted as the men behind him delivered their huzzah and started to unload the belongings.

Tents were pitched and tables brought beneath them as the caravans quickly became homes to shops and those with song and food. The freshly picked fruits and hunted meats were slowly cooking as others that had been pre-cooked and still warmed were brought out to share with all. As the men from Tivinter intermingled with those already in full swing of the festival. Tyre, the man incharge of this caravan and the Judged Earl who laughed and unloaded the supplies with his own men. " Erwic! Let's start on my tent and bring out my banner! Let's set it close to the other lord's tents, I want them to know we are as much royalty as they are!" He boasted as a small and lean man, along with four other workers carried logs and cloths with them and prepared to set up a tent with the other lieges and lords.

A white Griffon embroidered upon a grey shield and a black background, flew just outside the main flap of a large tent that had already been constructed. Oddly, the walls look to have been fortified with barrels of ale, stacked up top each other and vendors on the other side sharing their stocks as few people came to test out the Tivinter's wares. " Good work, men." Tyre's voice rang through the tent and as spirited as his tone could be, he dawned on proper attire for an Earl. Covered with a knee-length black cloth coat and an equal hood to deepen the shadow's on his face. His tunic sported a blue color with silk and embroidered with gold that extended down past his belt line. His belt was thin and metal clasped, which met with his grey cloth pants that looked to be tucked into black, polished long-boots.

" I've a good feeling of this festival, Oryis." He spoke to another man that accompanied him inside the tent. Oryis was a tall man, with a fine robe and tome in hand, he looked to be taking inventory of all items in the tent. " My lord, the inventory seems well and your robes look well." Oryis added, " Do they?" Tyre asked with a longing desire in his voice, his silk gloved hands rummaged over his clothing, taking into account all possibilities that something may be wrong with his outfit. Obsessing too much, none the less if Tyre had any mind to be noticed by the nobility of these lands, he would have to force them to notice him with finery or deeds done at this festival.

Tyre finally stepped out of his tent and brought his eclipsed eyes onto the crowds at the festival, a half-smile formed on his lidless mouth. Snapping his fingers together, a servant boy brought him a goblet of Tivinter's Grape Wine, purple and thick. He sampled the drink and settled himself against a barrel next to the banner of his land.

[Airo Maldorn]

Trandatum
20 of Iliast to 5 Ustramlin AoS 4010
Foundation Gala
Evening moonrise

[/b]

The festivities had already begun by the time Airo and her father arrived. Dancers moved across the makeshift raised dance floor with grace as a minstrel bard band from Grunwald played their oddly shaped instruments of a song meant for lovers. Bowing and gliding through each motion the dancers formed a circle alternating between man and woman with their palms touching. Sighing a little, Nethan released Airo’s arm with a whisper in her ear that he was parched and was going to seek some refreshment. Nodding to her father, Airo stood by herself as crowds milled about her.

Along the far side of the raised dance floor stood a banquet table with no chairs. Servants and slaves alike busied themselves with the food provided there. A large peacock stood as the table’s center, fully cooked but carefully re-feathered displaying its ornate tail with all its marvelous green, blue and gold tail feathers spread out in a fan. Airo wondered to herself how the cooks always managed to put things back as they were, even after the creature had been cooked. Opposite the great banquet table stood three very large casks of ale, one happened to be Ghost Ale created by the Dresari of the Ghost Mist Mountains, very rare and very tasty. There were also a few venders selling souvenirs and other odds and ends meandering through the crowds. A sweet, almost candy like aroma wisped through the entire area. A careful magical illusion designed to keep the scent of those who had not seen soap and water in a few days to a minimum. Beyond all that at the northern side of the dance floor stood a dais where the Empress, her entourage and her children sat talking.

Occasionally, a woman or a man would stop before the dais and bow offering some thanks for one thing or another to the Empress. She would smile, and give a few words of her own before they would back away from her presence with deference. Balian looked sour, which was normal, slouched in the chair to his mother’s right. Airo never liked her cousin Balian, he always seemed like he was a black rain cloud of dour emotions. Even as a child he was always scheming about one thing or another. There was several times in which he had used a transmutation spell on her gown when they were younger and transfix her to whatever she was sitting on. He got a good laugh out of that but then his poor serving boy suffered greatly for it as a switch was taking to his buttocks and thighs while Balian watched. Sometimes it made her wonder if the Prince actually took to enjoying the torment he caused others.

To the Empress’s left sat her daughter Ophelina, her hair done in some weird fashion of curls and tuffs of animal fur. There were several other ladies in the surrounding area with the same sort of fashion but in different configurations. Airo never was one to keep up with the latest fashions of court, though her mother would have hoped she was a little more like Ophelina. Shaking her head, Airo turned away from the entrance to the dance floor by only a few paces before stepping on someone’s foot.

“Forgive me I did not see you.” Airo begged forgiveness as she came face to face with Marcon.

“Little sister, you look divine.” He said as he took both her hands and kissed each cheek. When he pulled away, Airo arched a brow before eyeing her brother’s costume.

“And you look as stuffed as that peacock over there, dear brother.” Marcon had definitely gone all out for the gala. Golden embroidery over indigo with a gaudy thick chain of gold around his neck as big as her wrist, a hat sat upon his head with a large sapphire and more plumage than a bird. “Where’s Mishalle?” Airo took note of the pretty young thing on her brother’s arm. A slight woman with that ridiculous hair style that was all the rage planted atop her head in a mound of corn silk blond curls. Her face was round but pleasing, though Airo thought her eyes to be too close together and her nose a bit long. She was either a new mistress or a future wife, Airo concluded.

“Mishalle was so shaken by her scolding she has retired for the sake of the baby.” Marcon oozed as he looked down at his new plaything. “I see that you are still begrudgingly unattached.”

“My life, not yours. At least I’m not trying to bed everything in a skirt.” With that she turned on and melted into the dancers as the minstrals struck up a tune worth dancing too.

Music

[Lorryn]

It was an odd sight to say the least, seeing Renir on Camilla’s knee. The comedic value of a Ferdanie perched on the thigh of a… well, Lorryn figured Camilla might have some Dresari blood in her, but to honest she wasn’t clear as to what exactly the other woman was. And while Renir was far from innocent, she’d traveled with the smaller woman before, there was still that unmistakable ‘sweetness’ that came naturally to her race, so the contrast between her and the ‘dark’ intriguing woman she was using as a stool was grand indeed. “Jericho, the warrior from that rescue mission a few months back… with that damned plant. He’s my,” here there was a momentary pause as she considered how best to describe their relationship to the Ferdanie. They weren’t spouses, but nor were they clandestine lovers merely rolling about the sheets at night. With a small chuckle it came to her, “close companion.”

Camilla then drew her from that train of thought to a different one entirely. “Four that you know of?” A delicate brown eyebrow lifted as she gazed at her. That was the sort of response one expected from a man and echoed all too well the tale Jericho had told her of his twin sons, whose name he still did not know. How in the world was she not sure the number of offspring that came from her? Clearly she had to think a moment even to tell her the age of her youngest, only making her wonder more at her strange replies. The answer to which would come as a big surprise.

Her chest hurt a little from the force of expelling the small amount of liquid she nearly choked on and the protective hold of her free hand on her belly only tightened as Camilla slowly confirmed her suspicion, or was it fear? Lorryn felt the blood drain from her face for a moment as she stared dumbfounded. Jericho Almados was her son? Surprised her?! Lorryn had no clue what to say, let alone think. It just didn’t seem possible, Jericho would never lie to her about his mother, and yet… she had been reminded of him from the moment she laid eyes on Camilla. Oh, dear Gods. Lifting her tankard again, she took a good long pull from it. “Believe me, you aren’t the only one surprised.”

And as if she hadn’t heard enough, Camilla finished drinking from her own tankard, dropping a bigger bit of news on her.

If it weren’t for the serious expression the woman bore, Lorryn may have broke out in a fit of laughter, but instead she sat perplexed, too overwhelmed with the notion of this being Jericho’s father too allow her a sensible train of thought. It took a moment for her to snap out of it, realizing where Camilla was looking, her own head feeling incredibly tipsy though she’d not finished even her first tankard. A faint smile flickered on her lips, her second rendition of Camilla’s earlier toast turning nearly into a full bar song, she fought with herself to sort this out and come to terms with the reality of it and one thought quickly sprang to mind at Camilla’s muttering. “Going to be? You mean going to be again.” And Lorryn laughed heartily, rather enjoying the way it felt to turn the tide when Camilla hadn’t paid much attention when she’d said this was to be her second. Both were Jericho’s, both the grandchild of Camilla.

And with night growing outside, making the candle lit interior of the tent become more and more ambient, she could hear the distant music of the gala far off on the other end of town and remembered she had wanted to go and see whom she could remember from her childhood. Boys who would certainly be men by now, and girls turned lady… She only attended a few times herself, but soon she’d add another.