Open Chronicles A Festival of the Lights

[Empyrean]

"Like this, you see?"

The palms of Raea's hands were awash in golden light. It was the tips of her fingers, the veins that ran through her, with an ethereal glow. And with light, shadows were cast. Endearing figures, ambiguous people--perhaps a smiling girl and a boy. They danced along the wall of the monastery, like shadow puppets without hands to guide them--only the strength of her fortitude and the endless stretch of her imagination.

The young Prospect's eyes widened in surprise, before Raea's hands dropped to her sides and the shadowy figures flickered out of existence with smiles on their ghostly faces fading away. Ganzaya's lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile. Though he himself was a shadow, he was born of shadow and magick, sustained by the will of his Sovereign and tethered to Raea for the rest of her days--long may she reign, he thought silently, though bitterly. It was not a life he wanted for Raea, but every day she grew closer to her potential. She learned too quickly, was too cunning, too much of all the things he feared she would be. For all that she gained in knowledge, pieces of her humanity chipped away in small pieces, unnoticed.

Sabine Fenvaris flanked her right side, tall, silent, and imposing. The woman barely spoke at all, though if she did--it was to address Raea directly. Sabine was aware of Ganzaya, but like many others, lacked the ability to see him. Perhaps she was uncomfortable, Ganzaya pondered.

"Your Grace, you shouldn't display these acts so...publicly." Sabine remarked at last, when the show was over and the Prospect was called away. Though her look wasn't dour, Raea could tell she was anxious. "Sabine, it is literally a Festival of Light! I wish you wouldn't fuss over me. I am grown, now. If you would just--."

"I swore an oath to your father, before--before he--." Sabine cut her off swiftly.
"And you found me. By the gods, you found me!" Raea interjected with a laugh, still impressed by the story at all--and it was a harrowing one indeed. "But you are among your own!" She gestured to the Knights of Anathaeum. "You owe me nothing. We have no House, Sabine. You have the opportunity to--I don't know, start over new! The Knights here have a purpose, a vision--a drive! My journey is my own. It has nothing to do with you." She regretted that last sentence as she said it, Sabine's golden eyes leering down at her.

"House Knight lives with you, Your Grace. So long as you live, so too does my purpose." She replied calmly, though Raea could feel the spike of hostility like hot embers in the palms of her hands. "Efrideet would not want--"

"DAMNED what you think Efrideet may or may not want, with no respect due, Your Grace." Sabine shot at her hotly. The topic of her murdered lover was the sorest spot of all. "That is my business, I do not need you--nor your empathy--to soothe my sour disposition. House Knight lives with you, and I will follow you until one of us dies. That is the end of it! The Oath is binding, Lady Raea. I dare not cross my goddess."

Raea sighed, though her features softened. She took Sabine's hand within her own, the one-armed Spearmistress shifting uncomfortably where she stood. "You are my only family now, Sabine. I don't want to end the evening with you cross at me. I don't mean to offend--you know this. I just want you to find the path that is right--truly right--for you. It cannot be following a silly girl with silly hopes and silly dreams and no path or answer of her own. Just as the lights and shadows of this world, you are light and good and are made to fight evils in this world."

Pursing her lips, Sabine exhaled shortly, a breath of warm air on the cold. It was true, the young Lady Raea Knight had a way of soothing her wounded pride, of quelling he anxiousness and calming the tempest that was her temper. "I may drink--but you will not leave my sight!" She narrowed her gaze on the young woman, "You're thrice as cunning as your father was. It would not surprise me if the Golden One favored you." At Raea's puzzled look, Sabine chuckled, "He is a Trickster, Arun'daeraa. And you, yourself, are trickier still, Your Grace. I will be fine. You know I don't do well outside of combat."

Raea squeezed Sabine's hand gently before letting it drop, "Just think about it, Ironstride. May I mingle?"

"At your leisure, Your Grace. Don't wander too far. Take your Shadows with you." Sabine's fist crossed over her chest and she bowed respectfully. Raea would never accept an apology from her for her outburst. She would say that Sabine was human and to be human was to feel and that everyone had a right to express their thoughts and feelings within reason. If she tried to apologize, Raea would silence her. She was an odd, compassionate woman that Sabine was still learning. No longer the small girl she knew--somehow she surpassed everything Sabine hoped her to be.

Sabine was no lady--not in the proper, noble sense. She was not for dresses or being demure. She did not sew or recite poetry. She understood chains of command, tactics, and war. She understood her magick and communed with the earth, and her place among her people and the Pantheon she worshiped. Thaus, goddess of earth and oaths, had chosen her. And she served the will of the goddess and the will of Raea Knight.

Loitering at the wall of the monastery, Sabine groaned a reluctant sigh of misanthropic shame while Raea retreated into the fray of the festival.

She really needed to get out more...

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast couldn't get a read on Seluria, but he was entertained by the mystery of it.

“Maybe,” Valborast replied, “maybe,” remaining terse as he tried to figure out the meaning behind it.

“It's important to remember where we come from, both as individuals and as an organisation. Else we might make mistakes again. Perhaps becoming too large back then was a mistake unto itself. Perhaps we're more effective as a smaller force, a band of elites. Not to say the past heroes weren't to our modern standards. I think a little lionising of the past heroes does give a good example to squires, but it's important to realise that they were just operating the best as they can. Just as we do,” Valborast said quietly, “as the current generation always does. Although I'm used to the previous generations still being around to influence and direct. Which in way, come to think of it, our Order experiences, despite Captain Helena being youthful, she's guided by the wisdom of her predecessors. As are we all, should we explore the contents of the library, or speak to the spirits, or be visited by ghosts in the library.” Valborast admitted.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

Rumour of the memory stones that could etch a recalled image though Anamnesic Amber had brought him to Astenvale. Such a thing would make an ideal reference from which he could depict Itra. Conveniently, too – rather than waste time speaking of and describing Her, he could simply record the image of Her appearance within and hand it over for commission of the task. The stones would make it a painless process. He’d not need to spend time describing Her, and best of all, he’d not need to involve Her nor even speak Her name. The stones had been primed by the busy work of the squires, ready to receive what memories visitors sought to record. Kiros had arrived for that very purpose.

Guests were all around, mirthful with drink and food and surely with memories that were surely much more pleasant than Kiros’ own to record. Not that they needed to know he’d rather She remain forgotten than be remembered. True sentiments towards his own deity were best kept to himself – he'd be badly smote were he to ever speak candidly of Her. Yet he’d found himself browbeaten into acting as Her emissary, and his reluctance mattered not. Depicting Her remained a part of his task, and the memory stones served too useful towards that end to be ignored. The price was certainly right – the knights were handing them out for free.

There was a small commotion around the shelves from where the Knights placed the stones out. Kiros had to wait briefly among the crowd to select his, taking much less time than most of the others. A minor inconvenience, well worth the greater convenience of having the reference of Her likeness that he needed. Many seemed to browse for a piece of particular shape or size, but Kiros cared not about such qualities. It was just a depiction of Her, nothing he actually held sacred.

He took the first piece available, a dark piece of amber with irregular shape and one rounded side. Tossing it in a pocket, Kiros weaved back out through the crowd to prepare the stone with his memory of Her appearance. But before that, it seemed worthwhile to take a moment to enjoy a tankard of beer. He was in no great rush and wanted the memory to be as pleasant as it could – a challenge that could be aided by a pint. After another brief wait at the bar, he had his beer as well.

Once he had his moment of respite, he’d place his memory of Her into the stone he’d selected. He may not have cared for the true purpose that brought him here, but the destination was an enjoyable one. The festival they threw was filled with mirth and cheer, fitting for the time of year that it was. Though he’d discovered it unintentionally, it was an event he was quite happy to find.

 

[Baise]

Hello again! She chirped when she got close to his table. She sent a smile towards the child beside him before looking back to the bard. Apologies if Im bothering you, good sir, but could I ask you a question? She tilted her head, and a loose curl of red hair tumbled over one shoulder.

Baise turned towards his fellow performer, wearing an easy smile. He gave a salute with his mug of wine.

"Hello!" he replied enthusiastically. "I must say I really enjoyed your set. I did think I was going to be the only lute player to bring some magic to the performance," he admitted with a laugh.

"I am Baise and this is Jude, ask away. I hope you might stay for some food and wine and tell me of your travels?" he asked in returned. With his free hand, he tried to smooth some of his unruly dark curls back over one ear. They were as cooperative as usual and bounced right back.

 

[Melgan the Unready]

ASTENVALE MONASTERY
WISHING WELL

“Come on, come here, yes…” Melgan led his horse forward, bringing him close enough to a barren tree that looked sturdy enough. He tied the reins around it and gave the old nag a pat on the head, “See? Fine. All fine. Wait here.”​

​

The horse snorted and turned its head from Melgan’s hand. He frowned. Judgement from a dumb animal, of all things. Felt like it, anyway. “Right. Be like that, then.” He'd buy a new one and they could both be free of each other soon enough.​

​

He pushed through the woodline, swatting branches out of the way. Think about the money, Melgan, just like that bag of bones said. It was all stashed in a hidey-hole not far off for a ride. He could grab it on his way out. Then he’d be gone. Gone for good. Or gone and then dead, depending on Vardan. Fuck. Shouldn’t trust a strange skeleton in the woods, should he? But what else was he going to do? In for a copper, in for a gold.​

​

Melgan came out the other side of the woods, and there was the well. Crumbly little thing. No winch, no bucket. He wasn’t even sure if there was water in the bottom. Some of the other squires, maybe a few of the knights muttered things to it for good luck. Tossed a few things inside. For the old gods, of course.​

​

Not Melgan, though. Better things to do than that. Missions to avoid. Clandestine meetings to attend. Exits to strategize. He peered into the well once he got close enough. Nothing. Stark black. He sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose.​

​

The old gods lived in this? Took offerings here? Smelled like mold. He heard someone say it glowed once, but the thing was lifeless to him. Didn't really matter much either way, did it?​

​

Melgan took one last careful look around the clearing. Could hardly see a thing. That was probably fine, right? Good enough?

He fished around in his knapsack, looking for the vial…​

 

[Rainie]

I am Baise and this is Jude, ask away. I hope you might stay for some food and wine and tell me of your travels?

Ooh, he was cute.

"Well," the bard purred with a smile, original inquiry promptly forgotten. One of her character flaws was easy distractablity. "How could I turn down such a kind invitation?" She wondered rhetorically, then took a seat at their table.

"Lovely to meet you both," She said, still smiling. "My name is Lorraina, but please, call me Rainie." She offered her hand to shake, in young Jude's direction first.

"As for magic, I only know a few paltry tricks. I'm afraid I have much to learn, still." She explained sheepishly. "Where did you learn your craft?"

 

[Elis Chares]

As always, Elis found himself in a pile of work. His grandparents sent him to go with the delivery of apple butter, honey, and apple flavoring that they always sent up to The Spine. For some reason his folks worried that something would happen to the delivery but Elis suspected this was just another ploy to get him to travel more. They always worried too much. This delivery was to a festival in the Astenvale Monastery. Elis figured it would be easiest if he just helped deliver some of the crates to the stalls.

That was his first mistake. One of the stalls he was delivering to was swarmed with people and they ended up pulling him in to help sell some of the crispy apple flavored waffles. Eventually the crowd died down a bit and he was free from his obligation to help. Unfortunately, other people spotted his assistance and assumed he was there to help with the festival. Someone shoved a crate in his arms and told him to move it into the monastery.

If he had a spine, he may have said no. But the idea of letting a person down, even a stranger, caused a twinge of guilt through his heart. So he ended up weaving through the crowds with a giant crate in his hands as he made his way indoors.

 

[Roebin Featherwind]

He fished around in his knapsack, looking for the vial…

"It's in the side pocket, there." Roebin manifested above the squire's shoulder, hovering effortlessly as he pointed a spectral, glowing finger at the boy's pack.

The Master of Loch's influence in the physical realm waxed and waned with the moons, like a cosmic tide crashing along some distant shore. He was feeling relatively solid at the moment, he could've pulled off a bog standard haunting if he had the mind to. Sounds, chill in the air, moving objects, bit of screeching. On a night like this, with the air thick with magic, even an ordinary lout like Melgan would be able to see him.

The ghost of a knight turned on his back and drifted lazily towards the wishing well. He pretended to get up onto the edge of it, though he had no weight to heft, and sat there upon the cobble stone.

"What do you think's down there?" He asked, leaning back and looking sidelong down the depths of the wishing well. "Of course, I already know the answer. I can just fly to the bottom. But there's something exciting about wondering, hm? Leaning against the edge and peering into the darkness."

Melgan the Unready

 

[Elinyra Derwinthir]

Elinyra had no intention of joining the celebration the Knights were holding today. She had nothing against the event in and of itself, but she found that she hadn't been in much of a celebratory mood of late; not since she'd made a crucial discovery about her affliction. Perhaps she should have taken that as a message about the ephemeral nature of life. Yet it was quiet solitude that she sought now, rather than the company of others.

She'd spent too long in the monastery's walls studying the blight - studying necromancy, of all things. Fortunately, the Knights had amassed quite a bit of knowledge on the subject and seemed open to sharing that information even to an outsider; all under careful supervision, naturally. She couldn't begrudge them caution.

The slumbering forest enclosed her in a silence along a snow-buried trail. She frequently walked this path - one that more game ever tread than people - and had committed it to memory during the time she'd been staying at the monastery. Clad in a hooded grey walking cape, she didn't mind the cold tonight.

Lost in her thoughts up to this point, the druid presently froze in alarm as she approached a small clearing. Her blighted arm jerked away from a large mound of snow reflexively, as if in pain. A warning... but regarding what?

Snowflakes continued to fall lightly from an overcast sky, but not enough to obscure the pile of disturbed snow nor the bootprints and hoofprints nearby. A dusty, deathly odor assaulted her nose; a smell that blight-altered senses had learned to recognize as necromantic energy. Energy that seemed very out of place in this quiet meadow in the woods.

Elinyra had grown more cautious since she'd left the Falwood; cautious enough that she never went anywhere without carrying weapons. She nocked an arrow and, without taking her eyes off of the suspicious mound of snow, moved towards the tracks to investigate.

Vardan

 

[Vardan]

Elinyra Derwinthir

A wet, throaty cough came abruptly from the snow mound, followed by a rather prolonged hocking sound, as if someone were trying to discharge particularly stubborn phlegm from the throat.​

​

Then it was quiet again.​

​

Nothing moved.​

 

[Melgan the Unready]

Roebin Featherwind

Melgan screamed in that brief, sharp way surprised people often do, tripping over himself immediately when he attempted to jerk away from the sound of Roebin’s voice.​

​

He rolled quickly onto his back, and looked poised to start scrambling away when he saw it was only a ghost. A knightly figure which floated lazily about, as if there were hardly a care in the world. If only he could have been so dead and so relaxed himself.​

​

Well, the night was still young.​

​

Melgan stared dumbly at the spirit, brain struggling to piece together the question. A lot of different things were running through his head presently - fear and confusion at the moment, though dismay would follow shortly. Between rapid gasps, he managed to croak out: “What?”​

​

Someone had told him about a ghost before, hadn’t they? It was the ghost of - uh, a guy. Yes. A very important guy, perhaps he had heard it said. Though Melgan suspected he hadn’t been listening closely at the time. Not his strongest suit.​

 

[Roebin Featherwind]

Ah, that's right. He'd forgotten, Melgan was particularly unskilled at the magical arts. One needed a rudimentary understanding of anima to see ghosts, which not every squire achieved.

He suspected that the squires, over the generations, had devised an elaborate hazing ritual where the older ones didn't tell the younger ones anything about his presence at the monastery until they were adept enough to sleuth him out themselves. This left an unlucky few in the dark. Of course poor Melgan was one of the few.

"Hello," Roebin waved a hand in mock greeting, still seated on the well's edge. "It's Roebin Featherwind, Knight Master of Loch. There's one master for each pursuit, you've seen five of them walking around in daylight..." The ghost gave a short, youthful laugh, that must have sounded quite hale back when he was alive. "...Didn't you ever wonder where the sixth went off to?"

Roebin crossed his incorporeal arms, which didn't make a sound. Fat flakes of snow drifted through his form. They fell unimpeded into the bottom of the well. "That's alright, take your time. I'm dead, and you've got all night. Probably most of the morning, too, at the rate your elders are drinking."

Melgan the Unready

 

[Arkobold]

Waddling through the snow, there was a little squire, with scales red as bright berries from the mire. He was bundled up in thick leathers, fur lined and well stitched, but boy how did they itch. Wide eyed and snaggle toothed, he marched along. Well below all those who cheered about and played sweet their song.

Dauntless still, the little squire did walk, dragging behind him a sack full of rocks. But not just any stone did fill up his haul, no no, it was those ambers of memories, that were so wanted by all.

He was no hawker, or proud knight of Dawn, but a measly little kobold, who tried to not be stepped on.

Still, he pet the pup, shaggy and warm. And smiled bright to the woman his size, though different in form. He waddled right up to her and the taller one too, as she dug through her own sack, that seemed to bleed through.

He stopped before them, and stared with big eyes. "A stone for your pies?" He asked with raspy wheezy voice dry.

Pim Lilette Black-Briar

 

[Baise]

Where did you learn your craft?

"Rainie," he repeated her name, sounding it out slowly. "It is a pleasure to meet you, as it was to be entertained by you!"

Baise leaned forwards across the table towards Rainie, giving her his full attention. One hand still held his wooden mug of wine, he kept the other free for expressing himself.

"I've studied all over. I was at Elbion College briefly before I dropped out," he said, wearing a mischievous smile.

He turned towards Jude and his expression suddenly became more serious.

"Which was of course something I regret."

The boy didn't have to follow his mistakes.

"But since I've learned a little from the elves of Falwood and even..."

He leaned forwards to whisper.

"...a few Fae illusionists."

"But!" he said, sitting back and raising his mug, "What about yourself? How did you come to be here?" he asked, clearly providing her his full attention.

 

[Pim]

"One lamb pie coming right up!" Pim replied and handed a slice of pie and a dessert fork to Lilette. She paused for a moment to give a final skeptical glance at the pie before it went on its way.

"If it does anything strange, would you let me know?" she asked in a conspiratorial tone before adding brightly "Enjoy!"

She accepted the proffered wines with thanks, knowing that the caterers would see to it that the wine was properly distributed to the guests. Carefully tucking the proffered wine bottles into a sack she carried for collecting dirty dishes, Pim was about to continue her rounds when a kobold wandered up and tried to hand her something in exchange for some of her food.

"It's on the house today, friend - that is a pretty stone though! What kind would you like?" It was nice to meet someone who she didn't first recognize by their kneecaps, even considering the predatory teeth grinning at her and the fact that he was covered head to toe in rust that seemed to eat right through his armor and onto his scales.

She turned briefly when she spotted Hector and greeted him with a "Hello...*friend!" and a happy smile, as her hands were too full handing out pie slices to wave. He seemed a bit busy in a conversation at the moment, so she left it at that.

*Here was the very brief pause where Pim struggled and failed to remember a name. Pim might have been a master at some skills, but recalling people's names was not one of them. So after a millisecond or two, she automatically replaced the unknown variable with a standard word which was inaudibly different than normal, except for seeming a bit more confused.

Lilette Black-Briar Arkobold Hector

 

[Elinyra Derwinthir]

Birds and mammals had taken shelter from the winter storm. Not a beast was around for the druid to connect with, to see through; not a soul remained here besides Elinyra.

Given the tracks and the size of the niveous pile, she had to consider if a body had been buried here recently. It wasn't all that improbable. Winter was a harsh time of year and more graves would inevitably have to be dug before its end.

A sudden fit of coughing from the snow shook her fully into the present. She halted in her tracks at the unexpected sound, her breaths steaming in the cold air. Had someone buried a living person here? She'd read about similar perverse rituals used in necromancy - not the careful shepherding of death energy as with the art of the death pursuant Abalon, but the vile hedge-magic that the foolish and power hungry dabbled in.

The blight in her arm was a stinging nettle now. She tried to ignore it. Instead she replaced the arrow in its quiver and focused her will on her bow, shifting the yew wood back into a staff. A bow wasn't much good against something already dead, if it had the inclination to attack.

Urt, Zhas, Ohltav, Rahn. A few silent incantations breathed into the night: a hope of protection against any foul magic that might linger here.

"What creation of necromancy lies here hacking in its grave? Make yourself known!"

Vardan

 

[Abrielle Huxley]

Serve drinks they said. It would be fun and the people would surely be nice. But it wasn't the guests behavior that the organizers should have been worried about. The celebration was just picking up steam, and Abrielle was already at her breaking point. She swore if anyone tried anything funny, she was going to-

"Miss! Hey Miss! Over here!" Abrille quickly spun toward the sound of the voice, mugs sliding dangerously close the the edge of the tray she held in her hands. A young man sitting me a the end of a long table was drunkenly waving her over. Abrielle bit back the string of curses that seemed determined to escape her mouth and sighed heavily. "What can I do for you?" she asked as she came up beside him.

"Mind getting me some ale?" he asked with a grin.

"Wouldn't you rather have cider? I have some right here."

"Well.. Hm... Yeah, I would! Wait..." The young man scratched his chin thoughtfully. "No... no. Definitely want ale." Abrielle rolled her eyes. "Oh! And another piece of meat if you wouldn't mind."

"Want me to chew it for ya too?" Abrielle asked dryly, turning her head to look pointedly at the stall that was a only two or three steps away.

"If that wouldn't be too much of a bother."

"A bother?" Abrielle mimicked innocently. "Oh of course not!" She resisted the urge to slap the back of his head with all her might and instead patted his back gently. "I'll be right back so sit tight!" She turned and headed towards the stall. "Jackass!" Abrielle added under her breath. She soon returned with the requested items and set them in front of the young man.

As she turned to leave, Abrielle felt a tug at her sleeve. "You know, you're pretty cute. Why don't you come back by later and we can dance?" Abrielle's face flushed a bright red and a deep angry frown formed on her lips. How DARE that damn miscreant call her "cute"! Though she couldn't deny hearing that made her a tiny bit happy inside. "No thank you!" she spat, roughly jerking her arm away. "I already promised a dance to somebody else." Slamming the tray down onto the table, Abrielle stormed off, her face still burning a bright red.

 

[Melgan the Unready]

Roebin Featherwind

Melgan gawked at Roebin for another few seconds before finally clamping his mouth shut. Gears turned in his head, albeit slowly. Still trying to get back on schedule now that the initial fright was wearing off. Featherwind. Knight Master of the Loch. Yes. Right. He knew that. "I thought they were just... Um. Out?"​

​

Shit answer and he knew it. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Of all the ruddy people to run into... Guess they wouldn't have let Featherwind stay on as Loch-Master if he couldn't catch someone sulking around near suspicious wells at night. Melgan's knapsack had twisted around and was slung across his chest now. Had the vial broken? He didn't feel anything leaking.​

​

It took another moment for Melgan to piece together that Roebin had asked him something earlier, and that this was what Roebin was referring to when he said to take his time. And then another moment trying to recollect what the question was.​

​

"...Uh. Just a bit of junk, maybe, um," Melgan glanced quick-like over his shoulder, attempting to rapidly calculate if he could get up and run faster than the ghost could float after him, "Maybe a little... Water..."​

 

[Vardan]

Elinyra Derwinthir

The mound shifted a little bit, like someone under a blanket might if they were trying to get comfortable... Or were not terribly keen on getting up at all. It also rendered an answer.​

​

"Hnnnnhg. Nay," Vardan grunted, slightly muffled but still quite audible within, "Shan't."​

​

A short cough, and then, when Elinyra didn't immediately leave: "Get thee gone, peasant. Nnh. Thou hast no business with I."​

 

[Rainie]

Rainie listened intently to the expressive man, crossing her arms atop the table and leaning on them. She smiled when he suddenly turned serious whilst talking about schooling, directing his gaze at the child beside him. She had surmised that Jude must be Baise's son, and couldn't help but find the whole thing rather sweet.

She nodded along, backing him up. "Yes, education is very important," said the pirate very seriously. At the end of Baise's description, she perked up with interest when Fae illusionists were mentioned. Ooh, she would bet that was a story and a half.

Upon his returned question, she suddenly recalled the reason she'd even approached their table in the first place. "Ah, yes, well I was in Belgrath selling some wares and heard about the festival. It's been ages since I've been to one, and I was beginning to miss performing for more than one crowd in an entire year." She smiled a bit ruefully at that.

"Well, and then there's the memory stones I heard they were giving out. Have either of you received one yet? I was wondering where I'm meant to go, exactly." She explained a bit sheepishly.

Baise

 

[Hector]

Hector smiled, nervous as Lorinna fixed her glare onto him, his face a little warmer. Ms. Pim called back to him, though the look on her face told a short story. I don't quite remember you. Which, was fair.

She was the owner of a magical oven that spat out pies, and he but a squire that helped her and her wagon on the road. He was glad she had given him her notes though. Probably why he remembered her so well. Helped him think on the finer points of artificery and the magic of bringing to life the inanimate.

He scratched his chin, as Lorinna started up about her father, and how thoughtless he was being. He nod, and took a drink from his cider, smiling warmly as she shared about her family. She didn't do that very often. Rarely really. Mostly talked to folks in her circle, though maybe that was part of being high born.

And maybe being a good listener was part of being half-elf. Or maybe it was just part of who he was. He wasn't quite sure, tell it true.

"Sounds right insensitive it does," he added when there was pause in her telling. "And like you miss your life back home," he looked at her from the corner of his eye, and smirked, mischievous like. "Could just, be a squire about it though," and he picked up his sack of goodies and started to away. "Say you got caught up in one of the duties he's so keen to remind you of, and," he shrugged. "Have a bit of fun?" he smiled to her. "Do something you can write to your sister about? A bit of lively trouble during a magical festival, and how you danced under spell light and made memory worthy of a stone," he looked down into his mug, then he looked over to her again. "I'm going to have myself a dance," he smiled. "You can join me if you'd like?" He set down his mug, and moved to the nearest crowd of revelers singing a song and clappin' their hands to the cadence of the song.

Folks around the tables joined in. Clapping and stomping and raising their voices in chorus to the tune.

 

[Wesley Argent]

Wesley Argent had been glad for the excursion, the strip from Route to Astenvale was not far out a reach but journey enough for him to see new sights. The last time he left the kingdom was when he accompanied his queen and her marriage propect to his home, which had not ended happily.
Now something completely different had crossed his path. He was to fetch a memory stone for her majesty and return it to her.
Aside from this journey he was keen on mingeling with those from verious walks of live and homelands spread across the continent, interacting with other warriors, well  knights as many called them from different organizations who served other rulers.

For the young warrior the festival did not mean much except his need to retrieve the stone. Back home they had their own festival quick approaching, The Lilly Of Lights Festival, that was were he would celebrate the incoming new saulstice, it was also the reason Esme herself was not here, but non the less, he planned in partaking im the festivities and merriment for what was life without enjoyment?

His arrival time was perfect, merriment was in the air. As the crowds grew thicker Wesley would dismount his stead, and remove the thick fur he used for a saddle. "Off you go then," he told the colt who immedietly turned and trotted off. Raven wouldnt go far. Almost immediately Wesley was part of the hustle and bustle, strolling between stalls and partaking in polite chit chat. He found his mind wondering to the various attire, some very different to his own. He probably looked like a wealthy bandit in his leather armour, sword handing loosly at his side, his dirt boots and thick, almost matted fur coat.

 

[Lysanthir of Arapat]

"You look to be having a fine time, my friend!"

Lysanthir nudges through a small bit of crowd to come up next to Dal, clapping him on the shoulder with a grin fit to blind, and two small, empty cups in his other hand.

Bells jingle about the bottom of Lysanthir's thick, vivid blue tunic, and throngs of cheerful red ribbon lace across his torso and arms, ending in dangling puffs of fur. A wide red belt holds a heavily embroidered pouch packed full on one hip,and the stiletto dagger in question sheathed on the other. To top off the look, two rows of illusory white flame dance across the top of his horns like sparklers, giving off no heat.

"Do you mind if I join you, and vice versa?"

---

Dal

 

[Dal]

Dal passed a few magic users who were performing their art, their hands gesturing in arcane movements, their robes of bright colours reminded him of the mages during the trouble with the portal stones. How they bickered about the source of their power. At the time he had no interest or aspirations towards magic, but nowadays, it was often in thoughts, gnawing at him with his own inexperience and inadequacies with magic. He wondered if he ever would be able to do such a thing, how it might aid him in combat, and to attain the rank of knighthood. That thought too was persistent within this mind.

He was still dressed in breastplate, and at the sight of so many people in casual attire, had a moment thinking that perhaps he should have bought some finer clothes to fit in better. But this thought was fleeting.

I am a warrior, he thought.

And returning to this thought, he added something else which was becoming more familiar yet not instinctual yet.

I am a squire.

I am...safe here?

These words didn't quite comfortably yet, but his sense of self was being eroded by the warmth and compassion on display around him. He chided himself for being comfortable, but even as he did so, he chewed on more chestnuts.

This is foolish. I should be training. Or asking about magic. Or-

It was then that he saw. Dal dropped the bag of chestnuts in surprise, and taking a few moments to collect the emotional attack upon him upon seeing his old comrade, he made approach to Kiros. First Mountainwanderer had sought him out in the Monastery, and now, Kiros too? What providence, he thought. The one who saved legions of dwarves with his abilities, and fought valiantly with him...even if he did chide him for not knowing magic.

It was at this point that he completely realised that he had been a completely ignorant fool concerning magic, and it hit him hard. He had talked to a few people about magic in earnest now, and remembering how he had compelled someone who was had expended so much energy in casting a spell to physically move, well.

Dal felt ashamed.

At this point, Dal was addressed and clapped on the shoulder by Lysanthir.

“Lysanthir, good to see you. Come, join me. There's someone I'd like you to meet. Someone I haven't seen in some time. Someone who saved a lot of lives in hard fought battle.”

He gestured for Lysanthir to walk with him, and walked over to Kiros and smiled. No plate mail adorned Dal anymore, just the equipment of the humble squire. The sword and rondel remained, features that Dal relied upon in combat, it was as close to him as his own shadow.

“Kiros,” Dal said, and sighed a deep breath of relief that his comrade appeared in good health.

“Kiros, it is good to see you again. First of all, I want to say thank you. And, well, that you were right to shout at me. I didn't have the understanding. I think a lot more days about magic these days,” Dal said. “And well, about a lot of things too. Things have changed."

He beckoned to Lysanthir and looked between the two. He continued.

"Kiros, this is Lysanthir of Aparat. He's been helping me get my bearings as a squire of all things. I'm a squire of Anathaeum now, Kiros. No longer a mercenary, can you believe it?"

He gave out a small hum of satisfaction.

"Introductions. Lysanthir, I'd like to present a very powerful man of faith, who saved a lot of lives and acted with distinction in war. It's my honour to introduce you to Kiros Rahnel, priest of Itra."

 

[Rulgak]

Bereft of duties, Rulgak had remained in bed later than usual before finally rising from it to start the day. There was no need to head to the forge today, for there was no work to be done so that all could be free to attend the Festival of the Lights and enjoy the event. It was a tradition of the knights that Rulgak had gotten used to over the years since she’d joined the order. Food and drink was plentiful, and the Monastery was filled with guests who’d travelled from afar to attend and receive their memory stones.

Gifts had all been sent out, and it was a small feat that they had been. Among them, Montbank's armour was tricky to craft, and she had finished it only a day before she gifted it. Far from rushed, she'd put great attention into the detail and work, selecting lightweight metal for its construction and joints that afforded the wide range of motion he needed. Hopefully he would find the gift fitting and if not, she might briefly open the smithy to personally attend to adjustments. Fixing a gift seemed a fair exception for her 'no working today' rule.

Between her quarters and the monastery lay the Wyvern's Nest, the smithy where their gear was forged. On most other days the sound of hammers striking steel and the commotion of numerous smiths could be heard, but on this day the smithy remained silent. Not another soul was present, save for a new apprentice spotted waiting in front of the smithy doors.

“What are you doing there? How long have you been waiting?”

“A few moments, Syr Rulgak.” Commented the apprentice.

“Why are you here today?” Asked Rulgak, more astounded rather than actually angry. The poor apprentice was too stunned to give an immediate response, pausing for a moment to find the words.

“…I don’t know?” Replied the shaken squire, earning a raised eyebrow from Rulgak. He had arrived only a couple of weeks ago from a village she couldn't recall. Once she remembered, it became evident he may be unaware that today was the festival.

“…I mean, I didn’t know where everyone else was and-”

“The festival is today.” Stated Rulgak stoically, expecting the brief statement to quell his apprehension, yet it did not. The poor apprentice remained tense and perplexed for a moment until Rulgak cleared the matter further.

“...We don’t work during the festival.”

“Oh.” He replied with sheepish realization.

“No one told you?” Inquired Rulgak, a suspicious tone injected into her words as she suspected someone to be in trouble.

“Syr Galnar mentioned it. I just forgot it was today and I'm really sorry and-”

“Stop.” Replied Rulgak, shaking her head with an open palm in a gesture that the shaken young squire wasn't in any trouble at all.

“Go. Drink. Revel. Be merry.”

“Thank you Syr Rulgak.” Replied the apprentice, scrambling away while uttering his nervous response.

“You don't look very merry.” Rulgak called out in a tone of jest that the apprentice did not catch. She expected him to laugh and ease himself, but in his nervous fret the apprentice didn't quite process it that way. Rather, out of panic he awkwardly jumped in a confused attempt to assuage Rulgak's imagined chiding. Rulgak, for her part buckled over with a guffaw at the reaction, once he was out of both view and earshot.

Some moments later, Rulgak arrived and made her way towards the cider to pour herself a large glass. Once that first order of business had been handled, she looked to see who else had arrived while searching for an empty seat to enjoy it.