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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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Well, well! Royalty before my very eyes." Kaisa strolled on over to Iskandar, eye-catching in her own right with her very...unique costume, if you could call it that. She has a mug of ale in her hand, which she raises to him with a wide grin, giving him a slightly tipsy mock-bow.

"Hail to the King, huh?" And with that, she plops down--not on his lap, but next to him. He still gets a friendly swat on the arm, though. "Andraste's ass, look at you. You're as tall as some of the qunari running around here. You're a rifter, right?" She takes a break in her chatter to glance at his hand, and to possibly breathe, before going right back at it. "You gotta tell me, man. Do they make 'em like you standard where you're from, or did you really just drink a shitload of milk an' eggs as a kid?"

"I would say that I am rather unique in my height but certainly far from the tallest. I once defeated a man nearly twice the height that I am now! Though when I was but a boy I was very small. It seems that manhood served me well." To answer her question about if he was a rifter though, he willingly lifted the hand with the shard in it. This was not something he ever hid and not something he ever would hide. Being a rifter simply happened to be a part of who he was currently as much as anything else about him.

"Where I am from I am King as well. Not of Fools but I certainly was called foolish by those who love me more than once." He laughed about that though, obviously not insulted by it. Then again, it was really rather difficult to insult him in the first place. When one embraced everything it made it difficult for others to gain that edge.

"Maker's brass balls, twice your height? I hate t' tell you, but that wasn't any man you fought, that there was a damn giant. Did he have tusks?" She holds her fingers to her mouth, mimicking the tusks that the giants of Thedas sported, though who knows if they were the same wherever he was from.

She's clearly taken aback even more so when he reveals that he was actual, real royalty, and she has to take a moment, staring at him with a startled expression. "Well--I mean." Kaisa doesn't exactly make a habit of hanging out with royalty, or even nobility, really, but she's pretty sure none of them looked or acted like this guy.

"I'm more interested in hearing about how your manhood served you well, your majesty." When in doubt, obnoxious flirting is clearly the answer, and she grins, giving him a gentle elbow to the ribs. Get it, Iskandar. Get it. "Or, I mean, feel free to talk about the whole king thing, if you'd prefer." And a way to avoid the obnoxious flirting, because Kaisa isn't a rude ass.

He threw his head back to let out a roar of laughter. "I can assure you he had no tusks. Darius was a man but very large indeed. A fine King who I was honored to meet in battle."

Of course there was more laughter as she so openly flirted with him. Well he wouldn't be himself if he just let that slide by. Besides, he found her to be an attractive woman so of course he would extend that same attention her way. Anyone so attractive and bold certainly deserved that sort of thing in his opinions.

"Well I could tell you but really how my manhood has served me over the years is usually best put on display for attractive women like yourself. Though I can say my lovers and wives never had any complaints about what I can do."

Kaisa's pretty sure that this Darius guy is some kind of tuskless giant, no matter what Iskandar says, because just do not get that big. Hopefully. Kaisa was already feeling a little odd to be so much smaller than Iskandar. If a dude who was twice that size showed up, Kaisa would probably punch him in the knee.

But more importantly than punching giants in the knee is Iskandar reciprocating her flirting, which earns a satisfied smirk from Kaisa. She holds her drink up to him, and takes a long sip--right until he gets to the w-word, whereupon she sputters, chokes, and coughs forcefully. Ale, it turns out, does not make a good substitute for air.

"W-Wife? You're married?" Quickly, and slightly nervously, she glances to both sides, as though the spouse in question might appear out of the crowd to lay justice on a Warden homewrecker. Not that Kaisa ever purposely slept with anyone who was married. Marriage was, after all, a promise, and she was big on keeping promises.

"Wives. I have three." Just to correct that since she'd stopped at the singular while missing the plural of that. Always important to remember that he had multiple wives rather than just one. "Honestly I would marry some men too but that does not seem to be a thing that happens so they tend to remain just my lovers. But I've certainly enjoyed women as my lovers as well."

There weren't many that had such open relationships as himself but here he was. Right there for all the world to see.

"..." Kaisa stares quietly at Iskandar, then stares at her hands, then stares up at the sky, uncharacteristically quiet as she digests this new information. Not that he enjoyed both genders--that was something she understood well enough. Finally, she turned to Iskandar, and nearly whispered as she leaned in, eyes intent and as curious as she was utterly baffled.

"...You can have three wives?"

This was not something she'd ever considered, but--damn. Damn.

"Well I do so I imagine that you can. I don't see why I can't have more if I so desired to as well."

Was it really that amazing? It seemed to be just the sort of thing that just happened as far as he could tell. Perhaps it really was so unusual here?

"I have three wives and many lovers. I'd say it works out quite nicely."

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

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