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

"Good! Pass them on so we can join in and dance to them." Maybe as energetically as they're dancing now, though the poor tavern will endure a lot of spilled drinks in that case. All the stomping and shouts has Korrin raising her voice to be heard. "I don't doubt everyone here is going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow, at the very least. Worth it, though. Speaking of things our bodies might regret, I know there's at least one eating contest around here. I want to see if you'd win!"

"Truly? I would love to partake in such a thing! After this dance show me where it is and I shall see if I can come out victorious!" He really stood a chance since he was large and eating more now that his body required it. Perhaps more so since he was practicing his with his powers more to get a feel for how they'd changed to suit this world. This put him in as a strong contender in a thing like an eating competition. "What is the food I will eat?"

"Pies, mostly! Both meat pies and dessert ones, as far as I could tell. You definitely stand a good chance, especially if none of my kind are there as contenders. Though I'd be interested to see how you match up against them, too." Korrin grins, definitely wanting to see him versus Taashath one day. Or maybe even the Iron Bull, though as Qunari she wouldn't count him as kin unless that changed.

"I could conquer pies easily enough! If there are bets then you should place them on me!" Because that was how these things usually went. Even if there weren't supposed to be there was always someone somewhere making bets on things. So why not ask that she put her money on him? Besides, he was that confident that he would win the competition.

"This I want to see, trust me. And I also want to see if you can move at all afterward, or if your best friend will be the ground." Korrin grins, knowing that many who participate, winners or otherwise, often meet that fate. As the dance begins to draw to a close, she bows just because.

"Ha! I think you will find I will move around well." He bowed to her in return but there was still that grin filled with mischief on his face. This was a challenge he knew that he could win. Easily. "I have always been one to have an excess of things. This includes food and drink. After all, the King must live in such a way for his people even as he bestows such greatness upon them as well. He must have all that they do and more."

To him his people had been such a treasure. He'd showered them with gifts for every great battle that he'd won. Since he'd never lost one well...

"Where is this contest?"

"I'll show you, come on!" Korrin beckons him to follow. Faced with two immensely tall people, party-goers simply part before them rather that risk being knocked over. She leads the way toward a long table where people are just setting out new pies for consumption. There are a couple of rather beefy contestants waiting around, but Korrin doubts they'll be serious contenders.

Iskandar followed immediately and soon was moving forward to say he was going to compete as well. Which just made people come pouring over if they weren't already. After all, it didn't take much for people to realize that this particular Fool had no problem putting himself on display and even putting himself in situations like this which might be uncomfortable. Really he was taking it all in perfect stride.

When the contest began, Iskandar readily proved that not only was he a contender but he was a force to be reckoned with. After all the activity he'd been doing just today he could really pack away the food. Not to mention how much his sheer size was helping.

At some point, perhaps, she'd have to test herself against him...but not when she might have to carry Araceli back. That's just asking for trouble, and she won't endanger her kadan. Deciding to watch rather than bust a gut herself, Korrin immediately sets about to cheering him on instead. "You can do it! Wipe the floor with these assholes!"

Edited 2016-11-19 15:33 (UTC)

Well that was certainly a thing he seemed to be doing. People really did try to put up an effort against him but it was like they were dealing with a bottomless pit. What also didn't work in their favor was the fact that this was something he hadn't eaten before which meant he was happy to shovel the new flavors into his mouth. They were delicious to say the least and he rapidly decimated the competition.

Poor people never stood a chance.

Seeing people groan and slump away from the table, leaving Iskandar with steadily dwindling competition, Korrin's amusement doesn't abate in the slightest the further it goes on. By the time it's over and the rest currently imitating overstuffed mabaris, she's wheezing.

"...you sure showed them. Did you see their faces? Those poor bastards. Remind me to never bet against you when it comes to food."

Of course he won and he was grinning as he waved the competition off with a laugh. He didn't even look like he was full at all despite how much he'd been eating. Instead, he was gladly accepting more to drink as he made his way over to her.

"I am a King. I should be one to do everything to excess and that includes consuming food and drink!"

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

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