open | the drunk horn's so violent, all spinning out sound

[faderifting]

WHO: Everyone
WHAT: SATINALIA
WHEN: Firstfall 1
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Party hard, use content warnings, move explicit content to inboxes.

Named for Satina, the smaller of Thedas' two moons, Satinalia is a celebration of freedom, marked by wild celebration, pranks, the donning of costumes and masks -- not the fine, delicate masks of Orlais, but animals and caricatures and playful horrors -- and the exchange of gifts both sincere and satirical. There's also the crowning of a Fool to rule for the day, or two Fools, in this case: Iskandar and Valentine are given crowns and the right to issue orders. Non-military orders. Unless they manage to start some kind of battle between their imaginary kingdoms.

Elsewhere in Thedas, the festivities may last a week. At Skyhold, no one can pause the war for that long. But all those who can be spared are released by late afternoon, given the night and the next morning -- handle those hangovers before reporting back to work please -- to enjoy the celebration in the fortress or the even less restrained revelries in the valley.

This day was originally a celebration of Zazikel, the Old God of Chaos, but let's not dwell on that.


SKYHOLD

Tables in the Great Hall are piled high with several whole roasted tuskets, meats thinly sliced in the Orlesian style, a tower of cheeses and candied fruits, and great bowls of Antivan pasta with brightly colored sauces. Casks of ale and wine are tapped, emptied, and replaced to keep a near constant stream of alcohol flowing, only improving the efforts of a trio of bards in the corner playing music that's spirited but still easy to speak over. An area near them has been cleared for entertainers: a small troupe of exceptionally limber acrobats tossing and climbing each other in increasingly impressive shapes, and then a team of dancers, romantic and expressive, performing a piece made famous in the theaters of Val Royeaux.

Even once the entertainers finish and leave space for the guests to dance, the party remains more on the sedate side. The celebration indoors is meant to impress and entertain visiting dignitaries and nobles: others are welcome to assist with the schmoozing, but anyone too rowdy or otherwise controversial will be asked politely to relocate, and no one who looks even slightly mischievous or inebriated is permitted into the gardens or library or other easily-damaged areas of the fortress.

The courtyard is noisier. The sparring rings and archery targets are claimed for contests of strength and skill made intentionally ridiculous: soldiers fighting in costume with raw fish as weapons or their hands tied behind their backs, training dummies dressed in discarded finery, an archer capable of standing on her hands and shooting with her feet who's happy to give demonstrations. As the light fades the play-fighting does as well, replaced by music and dancing, with the way lit by braziers and candles and glowlights from Orlais strung in the trees and along the walls.

After midnight, the celebrations within the walls taper off. Some people need to sleep. But those who don't may make the journey down the path and into the valley.


THE VALLEY

In the valley, there's no one to say shush. The party starts early and runs late enough to be early all over again. The food is less fine -- stew and bread, cider and ale, some barrels of young wine and rough liquor gifted by the quartermaster from a mistaken shipment. For anything nicer than that you'll have to bring your own or charm someone who has, but plenty have brought out their carefully hoarded stocks tonight. Flasks of rum from Rivain or treacle-sweet wine from Antiva, tiny boxes of candies and chocolates, small pouches of smokeable herbs: there isn't much of anything but there's a little of everything, all available for the price of a well-played trick or well-placed kiss.

Tonight instead of the usual spattering of camp- and cook-fires, the camp is lit by torches and roaring bonfires, the entire valley caught in the shifting, flickering firelight. Shadows flare and twist, flames limn masked faces in gold and orange and red, and the constant crackle and spark provides its own accompaniment to the music. Fiddles and drums pound and wail, spinning dancers faster and faster, whether big circles of linked hands tugging each other round and round the fire, or a crush of couples, each clasping and spinning and catching and pressing close again. Some duck into shadows, clutched together out of sight until the wind changes and shadows shift, revealing some and concealing others.

There are games down here, too: knives and axes and arrows aimed at hay bale targets, circles marked out with rope for grappling or boxing rings, a bizarre struggled over a greased pumpkin, even pairs growling across tables as they arm-wrestle. The prizes are mostly just the cheers of a wildly enthusiastic crowd and maybe a half bottle of stolen brandy, but there are plenty of challengers all the same and plenty willing to bet on the outcome. The Inquisition is a truly motley assortment, and scattered around are plenty showing off their skills, from juggling to firebreathing to telling fortunes. Instruments from a half-dozen countries can be heard, and small groups clustered around dry patches of ground or upturned crates roll dice and deal cards two dozen different ways.

Unlike up at the keep, this party takes a little while to ramp up, as more and more people finish their shifts and make their way down to join, and it only gets louder as the hour grows late. There haven't been many chances to let loose since all this began, and Maker knows they've all been under plenty of stress. Loud laughter and singing and music continue well into the wee hours, and the crowd only finally thins out several hours past midnight, with a hardy (or foolhardy) core still just stumbling home at dawn.

Comments

[conqueredhearts]

Iskandar had taken notice of the elf on the table singing. Laughing, he went over to have a better look at him, clapping when he finished. It was impressive to say the least. More the abandon but he was willing to applaud the skill as well as he would with any accomplished musician. It was something he greatly admired himself since he happened to be one too.

"Wonderful! Wonderful! It is always good to see one up on the tables for song! I'd be up there too but I might shatter it if I did so!" The crowned Fool might be one but he hardly was stupid. Enormous, loud, foolish...all definitely applied. But stupid? Not at all.

[dalishious]

"Yeah, better stay down there, big guy," Merrick agrees. Then he turns and actually hops over to where the ale is flowing, and fills two tankards to overflowing.

He strides over to Iskandar and passes him a mug, and lifts his so they can clink them together.

[conqueredhearts]

Taking his mug, he gladly clinked them together before taking a deep drink from his. Wines and ales and who knew what else had gone into his system tonight and he was loving everything. It was all delicious to him, this one being no exception to that.

"And who might you be, my friend? I am Iskandar."

[dalishious]

Hold on, Iskandar. Merrick tips his mug back and chugs the entire thing, then lets out an exhilarated breath once it's all down the hatch.

"Merrick," he replies. "You a qunari? You don't much look like one."

[conqueredhearts]

"You know, I seem to get that question quite often. Luckily one of the first people I met was a qunari so I can see why." Obviously he wasn't bothered by the comparison and just seemed genuinely amused by it. Then again he'd learned to roll with the punches a long time ago.

"I am no qunari though. But if I was I should love to have an impressive set of horns like they do! I quite like them!"

[dalishious]

"Me too," says Merrick with a quick, fond laugh. His fingers trail to the dragon's tooth at his neck.

"So you a rifter, then?"

[conqueredhearts]

That laugh, the look, the touch to that necklace... His new friend was in love and it was with a qunari. This pleased the King who wore a smile that understood such feelings so well. After all, he was one who had spread his heart far and wide.

"I am." He showed the hand with the shard. "It seems that was not held against me for being crowned Fool."

[dalishious]

"That's good," Merrick remarks, smirking. "Creators forbid you can't be called a fool."

He glances toward the cask of ale, and gets a mischievous look. "So, your Foolishness. What say you to a drinking game?"

[conqueredhearts]

"I'd say you're traveling dangerous waters for I could very well win such a thing."

Of course the fire in his eyes showed his love of competition. "What are the rules for this game?"

[dalishious]

Don't underestimate him, Iskandar. Merrick leads the way toward the cask, and starts filling up tankards.

"We drink, and the last one standing wins," he announces. He sounds playful, but the look in his eyes suggests he does not take competition lightly.

[conqueredhearts]

"That is easy enough. Does the winner win something? Aside from the drunken satisfaction of remaining on his feet?"

He chuckled at that even as he leaned over him so he could see the size of the tankards. Not bad. Certainly big enough for him to hold easily enough. There should be quite a bit of alcohol in there as well which was a thrilling prospect.

[dalishious]

"Pretty much just that," says Merrick impatiently. There are too many words and not enough drinking happening right now.

He picks up his own tankard and clicks it against Iskandar's before swiftly chugging it at unprecedented speed.

[conqueredhearts]

"I like it."

Just like that he started to drink. It was something he was quite good at really. Then again with all the partying he'd done in his lifetime to celebrate his many victories... Iskandar soon had this one down and was already going for more so that way he could work on this drinking until one dropped business. Quite the fun game!