faderift | Under the Second Moon

Under the Second Moon

WHO: Everyone Ever. It's your party!
WHAT: S a t i n a l i a !
WHEN: 1st of Umbralis
WHERE: Kirkwall and the Gallows
NOTES: I volunteered as tribute but have no authority save what having like three free hours has granted me. :D

Once dedicated to the Old Goddess of Freedom, Zazikel—but now attributed more to the second moon, Satina—this holiday is accompanied by wild celebration, the wearing of masks, and naming the town fool as ruler for a day.

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The Gallows

Even tamped down by both the imminence of Corypheus's assault on Ghislain and the doleful pleading eyes of the Seneschal the Inquisition means to do its due diligence to Satinalia, its members beginning to appear fairly early on in the afternoon in anything from simple mask to full and elaborate costume, largely eager to let off some of the pressure that has been building ever since the news of the unanticipated battlefield broke.

Along with handcrafted decorations made from cunningly re-purposed bits of scrap... everything... that liven the main areas of the fortress it seems like someone has gone absolutely ham on decorations of the webbed variety. The hours can nearly be told by the yells of disgust and shrieks of surprise—and the laughter of companions—that rise above other chatter to mark yet another victim of this particularly sticky prank of an adornment.

The courtyard is the site of much preparation during the daylight hours, and then well-lit and filled with a feast that is simple but plentiful at dusk. Also plentiful: wine. Some clever person acquired an immensity of cheap horrible wine, floated some bundles of equally cheap spices in it to make the poor quality slightly less obvious, and set it to heat in a large cauldron over one of the temporary fire pits that has been constructed. It's good there's a late start tomorrow. Music is largely provided by the members of the Inquisition that make practice of it, and as a result, dancing is less an organized affair and more something that just breaks out every so often.

It is also true to its name tonight, some intrepid souls having decided that the opposite sides of it were the best places to set up the rival “throne rooms” that are mostly benches dragged into configuration in front of stacked and blanketed bales of hay. It's not much, but not much is necessary: the true decorations of the impromptu Fools' Courts are the personalities of their respective rulers, each of whom seems to have already collected a small zealous following eager to accomplish whatever ridiculousness they are set to in an effort to depart the normalcy that contains a fight for the Inquisition that is no longer skirmish mission after skirmish mission but full battle, pitched and outright.

(Are half of them wearing... beribboned and otherwise decorated toilet seats of cloth, wood, or folded paper around their necks? Better choose your allegiance wisely, I guess!)

The island fortress has enough nooks and secluded spaces that some privacy can be found even in the midst of full-scale celebration. In seeking unoccupied places, however, every once in a while—around a corner, down a hall—shadows raise and move oddly at the corner of your vision, although a second harder look always seems to reveal only flickering torchlight.

It's a strange night.

The City of Kirkwall

While the threat of war looms here also, rather than dampen itself, the city outside the Inquisition's stronghold has turned that nervous energy outward in frenetic release.

The festival atmosphere persists all day: the markets are bright, packed with both shops and shoppers, filled with those intrepid celebrants who have already donned mask, costume, or both, and loud with the laughter of children running in wild packs to prank and pickpocket the unwary. Trickery is tolerated, if not openly encouraged and rewarded, especially if clever. Even so, the city guard is out in force, just in case someone gets a bit too excited.

Once the sun goes down, the city is lit in a way that almost recalls the events that earned Marian Hawke her title. Fires, large and small, blaze along the streets well past midnight, although it is torch and brazier rather than barricade and home, and while the streets are further lit by the bright light of both moons, one can imagine it is the second moon's light that better illuminates the revelries below.

And revelries there are, with abandon. Near every street has its ardent lovers, its merrymakers, its gleeful dancing and laughter. And, to go with them, its footpads, its drunkards, its whores and gamblers taking their games to the cobblestones. Satinalia's freedom is a little freer when what lurks on the horizon has come close enough that one can nearly catch the threatening glint of its red crystal in the darkness.

Moreso, when you live in a city that knows what it is to burn.

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Her avoidance of the alcohol has nothing to do with the quality of it - but she feels unsure about it, no matter what, and she feels awkward about it. Her heart feels heavy as more and more people drink around her, and she's more than ready to admit that, perhaps, she had made the wrong choice coming here. Perhaps she should go elsewhere, perhaps she should return to her room, but...

Six only relaxes when she sees the familiar face of Inessa at her side, some of the tension relaxing. She doesn't seem particularly upset by alcohol being wasted, at least.

"Good enough. And yours?"

"Trying to find my footing, to be honest. I'm not much of a partygoer, but...sometimes a change of pace can help." It almost pains her to say that, even as she has to resist the urge to retreat to the roost or library or somewhere else less noisy.

"Have you see what else they're serving for drinks? I'm in need of something else." Nearly anything else, as long as she can trust the source.

"I am not either, but it seemed too wonderful a thing to ignore." It's probably obvious that she's not entirely comfortable, no matter how dressed up she might be - there's an edge of tension that prickles at her, looking around and staring at all the people. Too loud, too many drinks, too much drunkenness for her heart to bear.

She breathes out.

"I've had nothing but water," she admits quietly. "I prefer not to touch alcohol."

A sympathetic smile forms, and she nods. Such a preference may not be a common thing in Thedas, when alcohol is often less of a hazard than water, but she's not one to pass judgment. She's not really a social drinker, anyway.

As a group nearby erupts in drunken laughter, Inessa automatically moves closer to Six and away from them. "Perhaps we can do better than water...at least cider or whatnot. I wouldn't mind company, if you're willing and not waiting for someone?"

It's not the kind of thing that she speaks of often; her background is something she hides away. She is not ashamed of her more than humble heritage, but... It's better not to spend too much time thinking too hard about those memories. All she will end up doing is making herself miserable and now is not the time for such terrible thoughts.

"I would be glad of water," Six shakes her head. "But I would be glad to help you find something better, if you would like the company." She likes Inessa enough to not feel as though they'd be on edge around one another.

"Absolutely." She picks a direction with slightly less crowding, hoping it's easier for them to weave their way through.

"So is this festival in any way familiar to what's celebrated in your homeland? Whether or not you have a second moon, of course." Masks, fools...it seems general enough to her, but if it's not, she'd still like to know.

That, at least, Six appreciates. There's a calm about her as she moves away from the people, some of the tension settling from her shoulders.

"There are some like it," she admits. "Though I do not often partake. I am not usually around large towns and villages long enough to be invited to their celebrations." She very deliberately travels swiftly, to help those she can and, more recently, to protect her sister. "There are masquerades, however, though they are mostly in the hands of nobles."

"I would imagine so; the gaudiest of the masks here are well beyond what any peasant could afford. Some things are the same everywhere, I suppose."

Inessa shrugs, knowing that as a child, she could never have imagined attending such lavish festivities as she's seen now. The alienage just did not have the resources, and it wasn't safe to celebrate outside it. But she could now, as a Warden and ally of the Inquisition.

"Not all the Thedosian ones are this wild, thankfully. I hope you'll find others more to your taste."

"It is often the case that the nobility wish to show off their wealth with such things. If they have the money, I suppose, then there is no blame in using it, but it is not something I would give my coin to."

The most expensive things she had owned were her weapons and her armour and most of those she had not bought. Gifts in some cases, spoils in others - Six had not grown up in wealth. She knows that spending a great deal of coin has always discomforted her.

"Can you tell me more about those? The other celebrations?"

"Of course. The holiday after this is First Day, the traditional start of the new year. It mainly consists of visits to neighbors and family, and in remote areas was once an annual check to ensure all were alive and well. There's also usually a town gathering to commemorate the year past, less loud and boisterous than this but still merry." A small smile forms. "My birthday is the day after, but it's easier to just celebrate when everyone else does.

"A month or so after that is Wintersend; a celebration of the Maker and the end of winter. I don't know what they do in Tevinter, but in the south it's a day for trade, theater and sometimes the arranging of marriages. Consider it a collective sigh of relief in the harsher areas of the South.

Summerday is about three months after that, and as you might guess it marks the beginning of summer. This is often the time for those arranged marriages to take place, alongside those that are not. It's also a rite of passage for those children ready to come of age. They don white and join a grand procession that crosses the settlement to the Chantry, where they're taught the responsibilities of adulthood. At least, that's how it is outside the Circle. I never witnessed it myself."

She pauses, perking up a little as the scent of apples and cinnamon drifts over. It can't be too far, now.

"The one I find most interesting took place a couple of months ago: All Soul's Day, a remembrance of the dead. The Chantry uses the holiday to honor the death of Andraste, with public fires that mark her immolation and plays that reenact her death, but it's not all Andrastian. Some northern lands have people dressing as spirits and walking the streets in parade right after midnight. Now that I have seen...though slipped away before it could get too chaotic."

It seems as though there are a great deal of holidays for her to learn and Six feels a touch overwhelmed by them all. Six had not celebrated much at home - there was no reason to alone and she was too focussed on training and studies before - but she thinks she might here. She has a sister that she cares for a family that means something to her, friends that are important, and suddenly these festivities seem quite worth paying attention to.

"There are many," Six says softly, nodding her head. "I will try and remember them as much as I can. I do not think I will forget if they are all portrayed as grandly as this one." The Inquisition will surely enjoy them all, she thinks, and that will give her reason to know and celebrate them. There's that, at least, and it gives her something to look forward to.

"Are there often such celebrations for Andraste?" She asks, curious. "I have attended the Burning Blades for my God, Sarenrae, and the Sunwrought Festival. I do not think they would be celebrated here, however, when she is so far."

It's in Inessa's nature to ramble, pleased to share what she knows, though only afterward does she wonder if that was too much at once. She didn't even cover the more minor holidays, and regional variances, but perhaps all that can wait. An apologetic smile forms as she nods.

"Well, to be fair, most of not all of the holidays I mentioned were originally created to celebrate the Old Gods. When Andrastianism became dominant, they were claimed for her and the Maker. Satinalia was once dedicated to the Old Goddess of Freedom, Zazikel, for instance. Now, it's just to attributed to the second moon, Satina." She gestures upward in the general direction of said moon, following that wonderful cinnamon apple scent to a stall that's less popular than the wine but also with less in the way of a line.

Her gaze shifts over to Six again, equally curious. "The Burning Blades? Is that what it sounds like? And what do you do during the Sunwrought Festival?"

It's not something that necessarily upsets Six; she likes having someone else fill the blanks by her own inability to sometimes speak aloud and fill conversations. She knows that she's awkward, she knows that there's something a touch uncomfortable about being in her company sometimes - she knows that she is large and awkward and a little ungainly.

"I did not even know there were Old Gods here." Six frowns. With the overwhelming support for Andraste and the Maker here she didn't even imagine that there was space for any other kind of religion, at least not with in the hands of those that were not from distant countries and cultures.

"The Burning Blades is a celebration of Sarenrae, focussing on her power of healing. We dip our blades in pitch and some dance with the burning blade in hands. Legend says that when one of Sarenrae's faithful are in danger on the festival day her weapon will burn with holy fire." Six breathes out softly. She misses it, not that she danced much. "The Sunwrought Festival is held on the longest day of the year. It is celebrated with dances, gift giving, fireworks and kite flying. There are also markets and battle reenactments in certain places. They portray Sarenrae fighting the God Ravagug."

Inessa's eyebrow raise at the description Six gives her, rather impressed. "I've heard of fire dancers before, but not those that do so with burning blades. If you should continue this practice here, I would be very interested in witnessing it." And providing healing, should that be necessary. She sounds more intrigued than concerned, though. Six must know what she's doing.

"A reenactment of an ancient battle between gods...now, that would be quite the spectacle. Why would this Ravagug oppose a goddess of healing?"

"I had to exchange my blade to take part," Six admits with something like a smile. There's not much chance of her being able to dance with a flaming greatsword that could stand at greater than sixty inches. "But it was an impressive display. If you were able to be with the faithful at the time of the year then it was something to see. A true marvel." She had avoided it for some time - she had not felt as though she had earned her place. Recently, however... She had been trying to find a means.

"Rovagug seeks nothing more than the destruction of creation and the other gods. Sarenrae was instrumental in subduing him so that Asmodeus could contain him and it is said that she placed the fire of the sun at the heart of Golarion to burn the beast in his prison."

Edited 2018-11-15 22:09 (UTC)

It's almost Inessa's turn, just one person ahead of them, though the bulk of her attention is still on Six. She listens with fascination, curious her friend's homeworld, and the differences -and similarities- to her own. Taking a moment to readjust her mask, she nods thoughtfully.

"It seems a fitting fate for him. You're always welcome to tell me more about your goddess, as you please. It must be difficult, cut off from other worshipers or even those who know of the goddess. I'm not so devout an Andrastian that any of it would offend me." The local clergy would be scandalized, just as much as they would when hearing about the Creators of the Dalish. To them, the Maker is the only god and anything else is blasphemy. But everything that Six tells her about the goddess has some appeal, perhaps more than a distant one who abandoned the world.

"...as for the Old Gods, where it not for the Blights, I doubt any but scholars and the odd cultist to be found would even know of them. Their worship declined long ago, though as with other aspects of the past, some content yet lingers here and there."

Six is content to wait patiently while her friend gathers her drink; she cannot fault Inessa for the desire, though she thinks she might have to excuse herself if it seems to be getting too much. She knows her own limits and, for now, she is comfortable, even as her eyes deliberately avoid anyone with ale or heavy goblets of wine in hand.

"I would be glad to share the stories with a willing audience," Six admits quietly. "It has been difficult to adjust to the lack of her presence, but I have learned. Thedas is not so dissimilar from my own world, so I have learned to try and make a place for myself here, even without her at my side. I will pray all the same, in case she might hear me through a Rift." There's no promise that it'll ever happen, of course, but Six has to believe. There is nothing that could happen here that might have her turn her back on her God.

Nodding, Six considers for a moment.

"It is much the same where I am from. Gods are given different names by different people and confusion develops. Perhaps the same could be said for the Maker."

"Perhaps she does hear, even if she can't tell you so. It can't hurt to try and reach her regardless." Inessa listens with a sympathetic nod, a little hesitant about possibly prodding at sensitive topics...and yet, hopefully voicing her support will help somewhat? That's all she'll do, offer hers and then leave it up to Six (or whoever) to bring it up again. It's better to leave the ball in their court about such matters, or at least so she's come to conclude.

"...and it's certainly possible. Actually, this reminds me I have been wanting to ask rifters at large about the faiths they bring with them. The only reason I've held back is because I don't quite know how to ask over the crystal without it seeming or becoming controversial somehow." It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world for natives to learn about non-Andrastian faiths, in her opinion, but any subjects to do with people from beyond the Veil can be explosive even without malicious intent. It's a little frustrating.

Finally, it's her turn. Waiting patiently another moment, Inessa is rewarded with her own fragrant cup of hot spicy cider. She has enough manners to step aside for the next person before inhaling the scent and taking a sip, careful not to burn her tongue. That little bit is enough to provoke a contented sigh afterward. "Now this is better...."

"It is why I do not stop. I see no reason to abandon her just because she might be a distance from me. It would be unjust and unworthy of me to even consider it." The truth is, of course, that the thought had never even crossed her mind. Six would never dream of abandoning Sarenrae - the very idea is almost nightmarish to her, a panicked feeling that she shoves aside and ignores in favour of focussing on her work.

"If that is something you are curious about then I would join you." Religion has interested her since she met Adrian, so learning more of others would be no hardship. "It may be soothing for you to have a Rifter to offer confidence that your interest is not to belittle or harm them." A smile, then, something that flickers over her face before she relaxes and breathes out.

The smell of cider is strong, but not as strong as the fruits. It could be worse.

"Where to next?"

Six's steadfast faith provokes a warm smile from Inessa, who can admire her devotion even as she envies it a little. Faith is a lot more complicated in a land the Maker has abandoned, even more so for an elf. That will probably never change, but at least there's hope for something different elsewhere.

"I would appreciate that support, thank you. The last thing I want is to cause anyone to feel as though they are targets for ridicule."

She takes another savoring sip, then glances around. Lively fiddle music and rhythmic clapping reach her ear, and she gestures in its direction. "If you like the music, we can venture closer."

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Under the Second Moon

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