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

_{[ Kirk's answer to that accusation was a laugh, because he could not deny it all. He was actually that bad, especially given his penchant for making Sam blush at any given time. He looked back at the yelp, letting forth another laugh when he saw the spectacle of Sam thrown over Iskandar's shoulder, his rear so delightfully displayed. Thankfully they were not far from the armory, close enough that Kirk could point to it. ]}

That's it there. The stairs are near the back. I'll go ahead and get the kittens out of the way.

_{[ Because they would take Iskandar as a climbing challenge, and as cute as they were they could really ruin the mood. He trotted ahead of the other two men and bounded up the stairs, gathering up Nikita and Leonard and putting them into the little cage he had bought to act as a carrier and slid a blanket over them. Thankfully, they usually slept when that happened - turns out you can train a cat to some degree after all.

With that done, he went to work on the bed, stripping it down so he could begin tugging at the mattress and move it to the floor, listening for Iskandar and Sam to come up the steps. ]}

[Turns out that Iskandar moves pretty fast for a large man. Not only does he manage the steps just fine but he even does it in a way that keeps Sam safe the entire time. No accidental bumps for the mage. He's still laughing as he goes in and sees what Jim is doing.]

And here I thought I was supposed to be doing that.

[Just to stop Jim from doing more, he plops his mage prize right down onto the bed. Get some added weight in there to make things difficult.]

Now both of you go over there. I'll have this taken care of after that.

[Because once they're out of the way he pretty much can just do one yank to get the mattress on the floor. Done and done.]

[It's a new feeling, being manhandled to this degree, and because of it, it takes Sam a moment to gather his thoughts after he's been deposited onto the bed. Long enough that he needs to be told to get up and move to the side.

Sam watches with interest as the mattress is quick and effortlessly removed from the bed and set on the floor.]

... I might be a bit jealous...

[He says that more to himself then anyone, hands on his hips as he watches and experiences this raw show of strength. Having that level of strength after all would be amazing to have working the forge.]

_{[ Kirk smiled and did as Iskandar told him, used to the gently demanding way of him, and finding few faults with it. It gave him the chance to come up behind Sam and wrap his arms around him as they watched, nibbling along the back of his neck, nose brushing the fine hairs. ]}

The bear fur and the other sheets are over there, Alex.

_{[ Kirk motioned with one hand, the other slipping beneath Sam's shirt to brush across the sculpted stomach and up towards his hard chest, teasing the edge of a nipple. Of course, reaching up that far gave Iskandar a view of Sam's abdomen as the shirt rose upwards along his arm.

What? Iskandar deserved a reward for his hard work. And Kirk wanted his own chance to manhandle Sam a bit. ]}

[He sees what he means quickly and grabs them. It's true he is a King but he is able to at least set up the bed enough that they will all be quite comfortable when they're on it together. Satisfied with his work, he turns to see that Jim is giving him a very nice view of Sam's lovely body. Again.

Well he'll just have to take a moment to appreciate that view then.]

Mmm. I like what I see.

[Reaching up, he removes the crown from his head and sets it aside. It's likely to just fall off with what they're about to do.]

Go ahead and get that off of him, Jim. He's not going to be needing it.

[Continued here]

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

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