[Game Thread] Chapter 1: Burnt Offerings

[dreamflower]

"I'll take six of those turtle-cakes and two of those cakes with the chocolate butterflies, please," Amariya says to the Avertin twins' mother, handing over the appropriate number of coppers. Watching the three women busily boxing the cakes, she shakes her head with tongue-in-cheek regret over the bargain she'd made with her cousins. Those two probably would've been happy with half as many pastries as she was buying here. But she can't suppress a smile at the bakery twins' enthusiasm and thanks them with all the charm she can muster as they gingerly place the tall stack of boxes into her arms.

As she weaves her way through the crowds, her ears perk up as the fiddler starts another song. She doesn't recognize this one either, but the bouncy, rollicking melody strikes her fancy all the same. All her life, Amariya never could bear to stay away from music and people. Without even consulting her brain, her feet skip and glide in the fiddler's direction. The song sounds a little too childish to dance to, but the infectious rhythm has her tapping her toes and nodding her head to the lively refrain.

Evidently, the nearby children don't share her lack of recognition. A small knot of young boys and girls have gathered to sing along, while their parents smile fondly behind.

"The Lion's gone a-sailing, a-round and a-down the sea
And all the sailors sing of what a mighty captain he be
But if he gets a-thirsting, his grog you'd better pour
Or else he'll shake his mane and you'll hear the Lion roar!"

At the word "roar," the fiddler brings down her bow in a low, rumbling chord and makes a menacing face at the children, causing them to squeal in mock fear and real delight. The adults applaud the little performance. Entirely heedless of the boxes of cakes in her arms, Amariya joins in cheerfully and perhaps a little too vigorously.

With a slight pop and creak of cardboard, the cake boxes tumble out of her arms and onto the ground. Her hands fly to her mouth in dismay to see cakes and boxes scattered seemingly everywhere, while children and adults jump aside in startlement. One turtle-cake, its shell slightly dented, comes to rest against a pair of fine leather boots. She casts an apologetic look at their wearer, a tall young man with rumpled dark-brown hair and sharp features.

"I'm so sorry!" Amariya exclaims, bending down hastily to gather up the fallen turtle-cake. "What a terrible mess. I'm so sorry...let me just get this one...please excuse me..."

[MadSatyr]

Marcel nods his head in thanks to the fiddle-player as she strikes up the familiar tune from his childhood.

These kids are singing the Chelish version. I wonder if that's how they learned it. From the Korvosans. Well. It's still a good song.

Tossing the remnants of his apple into the nearby horse pens, he begins to clap his hands and nod his head in time to the music, even occasionally weaving and turning amongst the gathering children, clapping his hands. It is clear he is no dancer, and some of his sillier attempts to mimic the art draw chuckles from the children.

Ol' Deadeye is probably getting a kick out of this. Marcel, surrounded by children. Well, laugh it up, you old bastard. You did right enough by me on the way out here. I guess you deserve a good laugh at my expense every so often.

As the children begin to form their own re-enactments of the song, Marcel draws back, bowing to the chuckling parents.

As he catches his breath, he is assaulted by a turtlecake. He looks down to find the Varisian dancer apologetically gathering them back up. Squatting, he recovers the cake and helps her pick up the remaining pastries.

"Hey, hey," he says with mock severity. "These are precious commodities, here. I worked hard to keep these out of goblin hands. That's their big plan, you know. Spread misery and drive the humans out of Varisia by depriving them of turtlecakes."

He taps the side of his nose, conspiratorially.

"Say, wasn't that you dancing, earlier? You were really great. You probably saw that I'm quite the dancer, myself. Studied for years to be able to move like that. My name's Marcel. Well, Marcellano, really, but only my parents call me that."

He extends a gloved hand.

[Chrystrom]

Sartov watches the entire spectacle with the butterflies with a cynical look in his eyes.

Pretty but just a bunch of damn foolishness, caging up in a wagon that which shouldn’t be caged.

That’s when the brooding druid noticed the acolyte and the younger girl gathered around what looked like a injured swallowtail. Levering himself off the bench Sartov leaves his bear companion resting in the sun and approaches the two siblings. Overhearing the discussion of taking the damaged insect to Father Zanthus, the large man speaks to them with a voice that rumbles from deep in his chest.

“No need to bother the Father with this, I think I might be able to help the critter.” As Sartov places his hand over the butterfly he also is muttering under his voice. “Damn foolishness is what it is, putting butterflies in the back of a wagon, but no reason the little critter should suffer for the stupidity of these town folk.”

With his hand resting just over the injured swallowtail the druid lets forth a burst of healing energy. The energy flows down and around the butterfly knitting its wing back together and leaving the creature once again whole.

Watching the gossamer wings flutter at rest in the acolyte’s hand Sartov lets a rare smile break on his face as he looks down on the siblings. “Your concern for the creature shows you have a good spirit. Now we can let the feller get on about his way. My name’s Sartov, by the way and that’s Sko over there.” The druid turns and points at his auburn colored bear companion. “The warm sun makes him lazy.”

†

[dreamflower]

Keeping a firm grip on the cake boxes this time, Amariya shakes Marcel's hand. Her eyes twinkle with mingled amusement and curiosity as she looks him up and down. With his sword-callused hands and watchful bearing, he certainly doesn't look like a baker, but she can picture him as a caravan guard, like the warriors who kept their clan safe from brigands and highway robbers during their travels. Granted, those warriors could all dance better than this man, but then, as his light skin and sharp features attested, he was no Varisian, after all.

"My name is Amariya," she responds, flashing a smile at him. She'd seldom met a man who didn't warm to a little flattering attention. "Your dancing was certainly very, ah, interesting. They do say that the most beautiful dancer is not the one who has studied the longest or knows the steps best, but the one who is inspired by a good and beautiful heart."

As she maintains her grip on the stack of cake boxes in her arms, Amariya's face brightens as she glances at Marcel and back at the boxes. "If you do not mind, could I ask you to do me a favor and help me carry these to my cousins?" she asks. "I wouldn't want to let your hard work bringing these to the festival to be spoiled by another accident. Surely, if you brought them all the way here, you wouldn't mind carrying them just a little further."

[MadSatyr]

"Wha... um... sure."

Loading up his arms with boxes, he begins to make his way after Amariya, enjoying the sway of her hips and formulating his sales pitch. You know, these lands have many dangers for someone traveling alone. What you need is a guide and a blade. I happen to provide both, and my fee is very reasonable. We might even be able to work out some kind of arra....

As he walks, he notices a Shoanti with a very obvious animal companion performing some kind of rite over a wounded butterfly held by a small child.

He is a friend to animals and tends to the land as I do. Well, maybe not as I do. I don't have power like that, but still. I should say something to him.

Well, no, that's a terrible idea. Those men probably still tell stories around their fires about their ancestors killing mine, driving the pale devils from Varisia. Still. Ol' Hornhead would want someone commended for taking care of the land - and their little girl's concerns.

"Hey, Amariya, hold on just one second."

He shuffles over to the brewer's booth, stacking pastry boxes on the counter and sliding some coins across to the vendor.

"Hey, listen, those men over there? The ones with the... uh... bear? I'd like to buy them a round. If you have something made from goat's milk, that'd be perfect, if I remember right. If you don't, just find mugs of the vilest, strongest stuff you've got. You can tell them it's from me. Tell them... uh... tell them I'm a friend of the hills."

The brewer looks at the bear with obvious trepidation, but money is money, and it is a festival after all, and mugs are produced and filled. Satisfied, Marcel collects his boxes and goes back to a waiting Amariya.

"Friend of the hills?" Really? Could you have come up with a dumber title?

"All right," he says, rejoining his companion. "By all means, lead on."

And the nights bring a terrible chill if you aren't prepared. Has anyone ever shown you how to stay warm at night in the open wilds? No? Well, you're lucky to have found me, then.

[Tanuki]

Lorelin seems at first confused and more than a little concerned at this sudden grumpy interloper--what was he going to do to the butterfly?!--but as Sartov pulls back his hand, faint remnants of magical energy still dancing across his palm, she gasps in shock.

"You fixed it!" The girl watches in wide-eyed amazement as the delicate insect flutters its wings, tasting the air with its proboscises before effortlessly fluttering out of her hands. It circles around the three of them once or twice before returning to the skies. Lorelin claps in excitement, beaming like a miniature sun up at Sartov. "Thank you very much, mister!" She looks over to Sko, a little nervous, a little curious. "Did you use magic to make him not wild and angry, too...?"

Over at the Two Knight Brewery tent, the brewer in charge seems a little concerned; though he'd accepted the money, none of his workers are particularly fond of the idea of tempting that temper and that bundle of fur and fangs again. However, before a decision can be made, the mugs are swept up by a broad-shouldered, dark-skinned Shoanti who wordlessly stomps over to the small group and deals out two mugs of deep brown ale and a smaller glass of milk for the girl.

"It has been many seasons since I last saw a shaman of the Quah here in town," the man says in a quiet rumble to Sartov before politely nodding at Sko. "Our tribes may differ, but there is no mistaking that you are also a brother of the Shriikirri." He sombrely bows his head. "I am Garridan Viskalai. I have long made my home here, and it is truly an honour to meet a shaman so far from the tribes."

[Inimicus]

Aeloric took a moment to study the stranger as he worked his wonders on the butterfly, trying to put a label on the formidable man. He had dealt with a handful of Shoanti in his lifetime, but it was not enough to give him a frame of reference for how to talk to him. Still, this Sartov seemed friendly and helpful enough.

"You are most kind, friend. Not everyone would help such an insignificant creature, even on a day like today."

Looking over at Sko, Aeloric blinks at the large dog - then does a bit of a double take upon the realization that it was not, in fact, a dog at all.

"And if you call Sko your friend, then you've my respect and no small amount of jealousy!"

Before he can speak further, he finds himself holding a mug of ale as a second member of the wandering folk joins them. As the second man introduces himself, he pats Lorelin on the shoulder (who seems unsure whether to be fascinated by the bear nearby, or the two strange men talking to them - Aeloric himself was watching the bear out of the corner of his eye). A shaman? Interesting. Not being familiar with Shoanti culture, he wasn't quite sure what that entailed, but he suspected that this was a man who deserved his respect.

At a brief pause, he interjects without trying to interrupt, "Um, thanks for the ale."

[dreamflower]

More curious than ever about the stranger she just encountered, after watching him buy drinks for a gruff-looking Shoanti tribesman, Amariya bemusedly leads Marcel back toward her cousins' stand. Now that business has died down, the girls are now bargaining with local weavers, dyers and lace-makers for fabrics with which to craft more shawls, scarves and kerchiefs. Amariya calls out a greeting to them - in Taldane, out of courtesy to Marcel, rather than in the rolling, musical Varisian tongue she normally spoke with kin - and their heads swivel in her direction in excited near-unison.

"Ooh, look, Amariya's brought our treats!" the younger girl crows, clapping her hands in anticipation. Quick as lightning, she descends on the boxes as soon as Marcel sets them down. The older girl hangs back, eyeing Marcel boldly.

"Is this a treat for us too?" she inquired slyly, plucking at Marcel's sleeve. "How much did you pay for this one?"

Laughing to see his startled expression, Amariya shakes her head. "No, I met him coming back from the bakers' tent and he agreed to help carry the cakes back for me. He said he was the one who brought the turtlecakes to Sandpoint in the first place."

"Oh. Well, if he cost you nothing," the older girl says, "can I borrow him?"

Difficult though it was, Amariya restrains herself from bursting into giggles as Marcel's mouth falls open. Whatever he'd been thinking when he followed her back carrying the pastry boxes, he surely hadn't expected her cousin's shameless attentions. She wishes she could tell him that the flirting was only in jest - in truth, no man would get more than a kiss out of any of them - but it wasn't the sort of thing you told a non-Varisian.

However, she takes pity on him in her own fashion, laying a hand on his arm and grinning mischievously. "I think Marcel might be more interested in dancing than scarves. He claims to be quite the dancer himself, you know. Once I get the first dance, though, I promise you can have your turn."

Taking her cue, her cousin contents herself with a wink for Marcel before turning away to the pastry boxes and claiming a chocolate butterfly-topped cake for herself. Amariya gently pats Marcel's arm and smiles kindly at him. "I hope you don't mind. You looked a little - what is the word - bewildered rather than interested by my cousin, so I thought I should say something. Especially since you were so good to help me with the boxes. You don't really have to stay for any dance if you'd rather not."

In the distance, the fiddler starts up another festive tune. Involuntarily, Amariya closes her eyes and listens closely to the song, enjoying its rapid, intricate rhythms. She turns a brilliant smile on Marcel. "Unless of course, you would like to dance…?"

[MadSatyr]

Marcel rubs the back of his neck.

"Oh, sure, you bet. I'll try not to hog the spotlight."

With that, he places his fist together and begins to make a motion that looks somewhat like rowing a boat while running backwards in place.

[dreamflower]

Quizzically, and with growing pity, Amariya watches as Marcel continues carrying out the motions of something that he must have imagined was a dance. Perhaps it was considered a dance where he was from, somewhere in some Chelish town, but if so, he apparently hadn't learned the movements very well. Finally, she reaches forward and catches his arm, stopping him in the middle of another unfamiliar-looking gesture.

"Your dance is very, um," she says gravely, striving to keep her lips from twitching into a smile, "well, it's very entertaining. But I don't think it's quite right for this kind of music. Here, why don't you try to do as I do and see if we can share that spotlight a little better?"

Without waiting for his reply, she settles into a subdued, quiescent stance, her back straight, arms slightly bent at her sides, and head held proudly high. For once, the fiddler is playing a song Amariya recognizes, a lighthearted, bawdy Varisian folk song. In time with the beat, she begins to sway from side to side and clap her hands, letting her body flow with the song's familiar rhythms. Remembering Marcel, she glances back to see if he's mimicking her movements. Mostly in unison, they step lightly from side to side and lift their arms to trace fluid circles in the air, bending and twisting gracefully like flower stems in a soft breeze.

Then Amariya begins to spin, her arms extended on either side. Her dark hair and colorful skirt flare out behind her, almost perfectly matching the sweep of the scarves draped over each arm. As the song reaches its joyously raunchy conclusion, she slows and drops into a proud, sensual strut, her feet stamping sharply on the ground.

Her family and clan members would be so disappointed in her for giving even a brief performance like that one without at least setting out a shawl or hat to collect earnings. But it was the Swallowtail Festival, after all. She could earn profits any other day of the year, but today, at least, she was happy to dance, meet new people, and enjoy herself.

[Tanuki]

The burly Shoanti man glances to Aeloric with a half-smile. "I did not order it; your thanks properly lies with some young fellow I did not recognise. I simply seem to be the only one close by willing to approach a bear..." Garridan pauses a moment, then smiles a little, his eyes twinkling upon Lorelin. The young girl seems to be engrossed in the half-grown bear, her milk all but forgotten. She fidgets on the spot, her brow furrowed in deep consideration, occasionally taking a half step forward then one right back again.

"Excuse me for the interruption, as well," Garridan adds, almost as an afterthought. "It may be hard for a non-Shoanti like yourself to understand. But proper greetings are very important to our people. Unlike some of my settled kin," his left eye twitches, "I intend to not forget what is important to us."

Unlike the spectacle that is Marcel's so-called "dance", Amariya's performance attracts more than a few wolf-whistles and inspired stares. She is quickly gaining a name for herself here at the festival doing nothing but what she loves most,

OOC As you may have noticed, this introductory festival portion is fairly open-ended. I want to give Pais and Sartov a chance to respond to their respective side-events here, and of course let anyone else do anything else they want to do, before I skip ahead a little in time and get things rolling.

[MadSatyr]

As the crowd begins to notice the dancers, or more accurately, the dancer, Marcel begins to slowly drift his way back to the crowd to clap along and watch, contributing his share of wolf-whistles, but stopping short of howling.

As the song finally winds down, the small crowd erupts in applause and, among many compliments to Amariya, begins to disperse and file back into the festival, proper.

"That was great," Marcel tells her with a broad smile. "You can tell that's what you're really passionate about."

[Chrystrom]

The young girl’s smile is like the sun breaking through dark clouds on a winter’s day. Sartov finds his face responding in kind before he even notices. The freshness and beauty of this innocent flower simply pulls an answering smile of enjoyment from the dour Druid.

Suddenly Sartov finds a mug of deep smoky brown ale in his hand. Turning he sees what is obviously fellow brother of the Shoanti. The stranger smiles and says,

"It has been many seasons since I last saw a shaman of the Quah here in town. Our tribes may differ, but there is no mistaking that you are also a brother of the Shriikirri." He somberly bows his head. "I am Garridan Viskalai. I have long made my home here, and it is truly an honor to meet a shaman so far from the tribes."

Sartov bows his head in an answering greeting. “This far from home it is I who is honored to meet another of our people. It does my soul good to speak with a fellow brother of the tribes. I would not mind hearing your impressions of this place and it's people. It seems I may be here for a while.”

Turning back to the brother and sister, Sartov smiles with fondness at Lorelin again. “Pardon our rudeness but as Garridan said the proper forms must be observed amongst our people.” Facing Aeloric, the Shoanti druid gives him a bow of greeting as brother to brother. “If your sister would like, I am sure that Sko would not mind a few visitors. In fact he’s lazed around long enough in that sun beam, it’s time for him to get up and meet some new friends.”

†

[HenryLockwood]

Arkann, watching the people in the square, sees two Shoanti talking, and sees them exchange the peace-sign, bowing the head. It is a gesture peculiar to the tribes; it does not convey submission or even, necessarily, respect, but it does promise peaceful intentions - and it is a severe insult not to reciprocate.

The warrior pushes himself to his feet, stretching muscles that have been sat in one place most of the morning, and strolls over to the others. While he is less imposing than the shaman - and much less imposing than the great bear! - the crowd is still wary of obstructing him. There has been peace in these lands for all of Arkann's life, but folk-memories last longer than lifespans.

"Brothers." Arkann greets the men, bowing his head to each in turn, and to the bear. "This festival seems to be a gathering-place for all peoples!"

[Inimicus]

All these Shoanti customs have Aeloric a bit out of his element, so he does his best not to insult anyone and nods his head respectfully. Lorelin, of the two of them, seems almost oblivious to the cultural differences, though it wasn't the people who had her attention...

Originally Posted by Chrystrom

“If your sister would like, I am sure that Sko would not mind a few visitors. In fact he’s lazed around long enough in that sun beam, it’s time for him to get up and meet some new friends.”

Aeloric considers the creature for a moment, unsure of how to respond. There didn't seem to be any immediate danger, and yet... well, it was a bear. Lorelin seemed quite interested, however, and he wasn't exactly the sort to say "no" to such a hopeful expression.

"Ah, I... suppose... that would be fine. How about it, Lorelin? I can't say I've ever seen a bear like that before either."

Though he had occasionally had to drive predators off of farmland, seeing such a beast in a docile state was a rare treat. Perhaps there was something in the Rysmourne blood that made them curious, rather than fearful, when seeing such a thing in a crowded place.

OOC Aeloric isn't really planning on giving the present to Lorelin until later in the day, so no need to worry about that for the moment.