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

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

"I have! Of course I have mainly just used it as an excuse I did not require to kiss people but I am still having fun all the same." Lifting his own cup, he grinned then took a deep drink from it. When he lowered it, he let out a pleased sigh before just wrapping an arm around Jim to keep him close. Something he honestly would have done without drink or the party. He liked the young man, after all!

"Though having handsome man under my arm always improves things for me."

"I suppose just this one day I can indulge you," he said, letting the other manhandle him. In truth he rather liked it - he had noticed, in recent years, that he had developed a liking for letting others take a modicum of control from him, letting them call shots and commands. Probably a symptom, he thought, of being in command all the time.

He sipped from his cup, happy enough to keep close and soak up his warmth too. The valley was chill, even with the bonfires. "Any other requests before you must retire your crown, your highness?"

"Only just today?" He let out a hearty laugh and then gave him squeeze. Iskandar was obviously having a lot of fun with this. Looking out at the people around them, he drained the rest of his cup then set it aside. What could he ask for next? Honestly he hadn't really asked for much so far. But he could work with that man wanting to indulge him. Which was really half the fun wasn't it.

"Let's see. I could say something clever about having you come to my bed but it would be quite the problem!" He laughed again as he went to explain. "You see I don't even have one of those here!"

"Well, maybe on certain other days. I think I'll have to pick specific ones or I'd never get any rest," he teased the big man, patting the thick arm wrapped around him.

He craned his neck back and up to look at him, somewhere between surprised and amused. "Really? Well, I do suppose you're a bit larger than the average bed frame allows. Where are you sleeping at night then?" There's a touch of concern in his voice, the tiniest crinkle between his brows.

"Bah! I'd give you rest! Besides, I already know that I have to share you with others." He hardly minded though. He was already sharing himself with others, after all! It would be unfair of him to ask otherwise from someone when he would hardly maintain that himself.

"Hm? Oh I have been sleeping with my horse in the stables. He does not mind sharing his hay for things like that." He grinned like he was completely oblivious to why this could ever be a problem.

"Hah, probably a good thing, or else I think my body might not make it. I can handle a lot more than I used to, but I do still have limits," he shook his head, as if lamenting this fact, which he very well might be.

That earned the king a look, if only because it had not been the answer he was expecting. Even in his short time knowing the other, he had come to expect unconventional answers, but even that went beyond what he had thought the man would go to in terms of comfort.

"You are a strange one, Alexander," he chuckled. "But I like that."

"Well you are not likely to go down in history if you are not at least a little bit odd."

He laughed though, clearly not minding it. Obviously he'd been called it one too many times in the past for him to care about something like that now. Not that he would have before really. This was Iskandar, the Alexander the Great. He was a man who simply walked his own path and ignored the ones carefully laid out previously. Why take those when obviously he could do his own thing!

"Besides, being strange means that people are not likely to predict what you will do next. It makes life fun that way."

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

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