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

Inessa relaxes a bit more, at ease as long as her feet remain untrod. "If you're being pressured into doing so for the sake of custom, no, I would imagine not. I would like to think that the company involved makes all the difference, as I've been fortunate enough to have help there." Between Kain and Ciri, Inessa feels she will be rather spoiled in terms of competent dancers. She doesn't quite rank herself as equal to them in that area, but so far Kain's feet are untrod and she'll count that as a success.

Everyone’s feet being safe is a miracle, honestly. He’s glad, though. This is far better than he’d have imagined it. Just having someone around to dance with… it makes all the difference in the world. Especially since it’s a good friend, he definitely could do without snobby nobles making him dance.

“It does make a difference… a very big difference. Otherwise, I’d probably be stuck hearing every detail of Orlais’ latest fashion trends.” Not fun, not at all. “You’re doing great, though.” He might be leading, but she’s keeping up exceedingly well, she seems to have a good feel for it.

The compliment prompts a self-conscious smile from Inessa, who can only hope that continues to hold. "A fate worse than death, truly. I can't blame you for seeking to avoid it, though if you find yourself thus trapped at some point, just focus on the griffon hatchlings."

No one can be in a bad mood when dwelling on them, right?

"Though if I'm nearby, I will assist and you'll be suddenly messaged with a grave emergency of some kind."

"Well... it's hard to resist those hatchlings..." Kain's expression gets all wistful as he thinks about them and the cute little sounds they make, and how soft and fluffy their feathers are. They are of course, going to grow into very ferocious and dignified members of the Grey Wardens. But for now... they're young and cute.

As the music shifts, Kain leads them into the next dance, adjusting without consciously thinking about it.

"I like your idea. Something terrible to take me away, perhaps something is on fire... perhaps someone is in need of rescue and only I can save them..."

Expecting the dance to end then and there, Inessa is surprised when Kain actually wants to continue. This is definitely not like him, as far as she's ever noticed, so she'll go along with it for the novelty. "You don't have to elaborate too much, you know. It's easy to say 'Warden business, classified' and let them draw their own conclusions. Not to mention it will only add to our aura of mystery, of course."

Kain himself has no idea what's come over him, but if she's enjoying it as much as he is... there's no sense in stopping yet, is there? Not when he's actually on a roll with remembering all of these dance steps. "The old Warden excuse... I like that even better. We can always use a little more of that mysterious allure... it's far better than some directions our reputation has taken."

It's a good thing Kain remembers, since she's less certain about this dance than the last one. As long as keeping up is still possible, though, she'll make an attempt. "Very true, that. You know, I'm surprised you haven't used that 'Warden allure' to your advantage. You would be quite successful at it."

Even Inessa isn't blind to his appeal. If he was one of those Wardens who took advantage of it, well, she couldn't blame him.

Kain is enjoying himself too much to stop now. His friends back in home in Orlais would be completely shocked. He's a bit surprised still himself. He continues along with the dance, keeping the pace easy, very light on his feet.

"Do you think so? Hm... perhaps I ought to start practicing it more..." He has his reasons, of course, for repressing and locking all of that away, things he still hasn't gotten over. But he values her opinion more than most, so... maybe she's on to something. "I'm just... I'm always so busy, there's always Warden business to deal with..."

"Isn't that the truth? It always seems to be crisis upon crisis, of one kind or another. And yet, if you're serious...I suppose I could assist, when I am available." Maybe exposure would make the height difference less awkward, though she's still uncertain that even at the height of her dancing skills, that she'll ever be more than passable.

Well, it couldn't be too bad, right? He knows he spends too much time with his training, everyone always told him that, even Wardens back in Orlais always teased him about overworking himself. "Far too many things seem to go wrong, you're right, and I always seem to be far too preoccupied... but yes, I could do with something like this. I appreciate your willingness to assist, of course."

"You have but to ask, Kain." Inessa glances over to where Garahel is plopped down, wiggling happily on the grass. He looks over at them with a big grin and she chuckles. "I think he approves."

No longer as intensely focused on what he's doing, Kain has loosened up a lot as they continue to whirl around. "Good... Garahel's approval is just as important to me as yours." Kain means that, too. He knows that the mabari's opinion is always something to consider. His approval is always a way to getting her approval, as well.

"It ought to be. Mabari have excellent judgment, after all. If he didn't like you, you would be beyond hope." There's a moment where Inessa's entirely serious before that spark of mirth resurfaces. "I wouldn't worry, Kain. He's well pleased with you, and so am I."

"I'm glad to hear that... from both of you." Kain has been trying so hard to be a better person, to do the right thing, and he's been afraid of failing. To hear this from Inessa is important. "It means a lot to me."

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

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