MOD EVENT ↠ SATINALIA

[faderifting]

WHO: Everyone
WHAT: It's Satinalia and no one dies.*
WHEN: Forward-dated to Firstfall 1
WHERE: The Gallows and Kirkwall
NOTES: *If you kill your character or an NPC please let us know so we can adjust the log description. Fire cw, use other cws for your tags as needed please! And participate in the gift meme if you want to be cool.

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.

I. THE GALLOWS

In Riftwatch's fortress home, the dining hall—not the one recently wrecked by an abomination, the other one—and an adjoining garden courtyard have been decorated (by Benedict, thanks Benedict) in green, gold, and black, with enough torchlight to keep the room glowing once the sun goes down and a fire pit in the garden.

Dinner starts early, to leave ample time for festivities afterwards. Also to make sure everyone has time to eat, because there's a lot of food. Under Colin's direction, the banquet table hosts a spread representing many of the home countries of Riftwatch's members: coq au vin and tiny Orlesian cakes; Fereldan fish-and-egg pie with saffron and some potent cheeses on toasted bread; seafood with white wine sauce on noodles and fresh oranges from Antiva; spicy (very spicy) Rivaini curry and spiced rum cakes; a sampling of Nevarran soft cheeses, fruit, and dry-cured, thinly-sliced ham; and slightly spicy shrimp soup and chocolate-filled pastries from Tevinter. The centerpiece is an enormous and completely edible depiction of the Celebrant (aka the constellation Satinalis). It’s made of various breads—the man himself made of a lightly sweet bread rolled with cinnamon and chopped dates, his lyre golden with an egg wash, his clothes of rye, the stone he sits on of buckwheat. The constellation over him is drawn into the dough, the stars represented by clear rock sugar.

Every table is decorated with a ‘bouquet’ of delicate, edible marzipan roses, and in addition to the table wine and mead from Riftwatch's stores, there's a whole case of semi-decent Nevarran wine provided by Derrica and Athessa.

There's also a table set up to the side with plain, basic masks and a collection of paints and feathers to decorate them with, courtesy of Isaac, for anyone who doesn't have a costume or just enjoys arts and crafts. Some of the masks' interiors are subtly coated with invisible ink, slow-acting glue, fine glitter, or itching powder. Hahahahahaha.

Not long after most people have filtered in and found seats, the mostly-annual tradition of choosing the organization's own Satinalia Fool—usually arranged in advance, sorry, but there is a war on—is upheld, with little warning, by an apologetic Bastien. Volunteers (or those volunteered by their tablemates who don't do a good enough job demurring) are subjected to a few rounds of voting by applause. Some people applaud for their favorites, some for their least favorites, some for their crushes and some for comedy, and in the end Byerly Rutyer and Wysteria Poppell emerge as co-victors. That makes them co-rulers for the remainder of the evening. Or possibly the remainder of the week, by Antiva Rules.

Once the wining and dining are in their dying stages, the music starts. It's informal, at first, with Riftwatch's amenable musicians filtering over to their instruments as they finish their food (or bring it along with them), but once there's a critical mass, they coalesce into a tune that can be danced to. The next hour or so passes with a mixture of peasant reels and formal court dances—the latter mostly by request.

Eventually, after a break for a white druffalo gift exchange, the party disassembles into unstructured mingling. For anyone who wants to stick around, there's more alcohol, smoking in the garden, card and conversation games at the cleared tables, and a game of musical chairs with the rules altered so anyone left seatless has to take a drink and keep playing.

II. KIRKWALL

But across the harbor, the city is rowdy and reveling and will be all night, so making a break for the ferry instead won't be considered rude. The excitement in Lowtown spills out of the taverns and into the streets, with masked celebrants on their worst (but mostly harmless) behavior while street performers of all stripes provide entertainment for tips. The alienage has its own party—not because the gates are locked, but because the elves who aren't working generally don't consider throngs of drunk humans to be a good time—with a bonfire and shadowplays, and friendly outsiders might be allowed, especially if accompanied by an elf.

Hightown is quieter, but mainly because there's enough room in the mansions there for various parties—ranging from dignified, religion-tinged feasts that absolutely require an invitation to a word-of-mouth orgy at a particular mansion that only requires looking sexy and disease-free at the door—to be tucked away inside.

III. AFTER PARTY

Late in the evening, there's an outcry at the docks after an over-excited amateur fire-juggler lights fire to a partially-wooden warehouse full of wooden crates. By the time there's an organized effort to put out the blaze, it's roaring, threatening to leap to neighboring structures—including the warehouse and stables Riftwatch maintains on the docks—and visible from the Gallows. Any assistance from Riftwatch members in containing the fire will be noticed and appreciated by the locals, and just in case, it might also be wise for people to move the various horses, harts, nuggalopes, dogs, and any particularly stupid cats further away from the fire until it's under control. Which it will be, eventually, leaving a blackened ruin of the warehouse where it started but only singing one of the walls of Riftwatch's property.

However, for better or worse, someone took pity on the ferryman and sent him home at midnight rather than making him wait around all night, so everyone who'd intended to go back to the Gallows can either draw straws for who has to play ferryman to get people back to the island and then get the boat back to the docks, or else just pile into the stables and warehouse for an impromptu slumber party.

Comments

Sister Sara Sawbones | OTA

[okayimin]

a. Hightown |Early-ish (not the orgy (unless....))
[ Very occasionally, Sawbones is called upon to preform more route Chantry duties. Which is why she's in her fine Chantry regalia with it's gold embroidery, doing her level best to at least not look annoyed as she travels with a few other Hightown Sisters from one fine house to the next, collecting alms for the poor this festive day.

Any memeber of Riftwatch she happens to see at one of these fancy parties or in the streets, she will make eye contact with. Whether she's attempting to communicate the need for a rescue or the plea to Not Be Themselves Right Now, it's up to the individual. ]

b. Lowtown | Later-ish

[ A rambunctious crowd is all well and good unless you also happen to be very small and dressed in eye catching colors. Sawbones is both of these things. So it's maybe not entierly a surprise when a helping hand intended to assist the Sister from almost being knocked over turns into being swept up onto the shoulders of another person entierly. From there she is passed to another and another and really there's only so much a dwarf can be expected to bear with dignity. ]

Oi! Put me down, you sun blind nugfucked mud eating-

c. The Docks | Even Later Still
[ Soot smudged with her braids falling out, Sawbones has given up on things like propriety and image. She finds a slightly out of the way spot to chuck off her fancy Chantry robes, her under dress modest enough. Less inclined than others to sleep somewhere she isn't sure about, she'll cool her heels on the getty, intending to wait til the morning ferryman arrives.

She'll spend a good deal of the night glaring out over the water at the Gallows if someone doesn't intervene. ]

They better not have eaten all the food.

d. The Gallows | Morning After

[ What's up, got a hangover? Here's a tiny dwarf in a fresh, clean habit carrying a pot of coffee and a bowl of suspicious looking glop. ]

Come on, sit up, you'll hurt your back lying like that.

WILDCARD
down for prose or action spam, i'll follow ur lead. also hmu if you want some gallows party prompts, time isn't real

[thereneverwas]

[Barrow's eyes flicker open and he immediately winces, squinting around at the plaza. He somehow managed to fall asleep between a few piles of crates, and is snuggled up with a bundle of net.]

How did I get here, [he asks nobody.]

[okayimin]

That's between you and the Maker, Duster.

[ Yes, she did go to check if any of Riftwatch was still sacked out on/near the docks. And yes, she did bring a hangover remedy. It's in a canteen that she shoves at him. ]

Here. Drink this.

[thereneverwas]

Will it kill me?

[He seems hopeful.]

[okayimin]

Only one way to find out.

[ She waves it a little and the sloshing sounds are uncomfortably thick. There's a faint smell of brine. ]

[thereneverwas]

[All's well that ends well.

Gingerly, he takes the concoction and downs it. Then, handing it back, he reclines again with a miserable groan.]

Just roll me into the sea.

[okayimin]

No can do. If you're conscious, you're still good for something.

[thereneverwas]

What are the chances you'll let me be unconscious again?

[okayimin]

You can be unconscious when you get back to the Gallows.

[ So no. ]

b.

[innerharbor]

Amos is wandering through the crowds, not really bothered by or participating in anything. He's large enough that he's mostly left alone, until-

He recognizes that voice, and his first move is always the same. One arm grabs Sis away from whoever's giving her trouble, and the other punches the guy out. One hit, squarely to the temple, and the idiot falls back into an alleyway, out of trouble and consciousness.

He looks to Sawbones. "You good?"

[okayimin]

Sawbones makes a small noise that she will deny is a squeak, relaxing when she recognizes whose grabbed her now.

"You got fast reflexes," she says, "I'm good, just a bit turned around." It's hard to tell where she is when she's being carried around.

[innerharbor]

"Yeah, I got that going for me." He looks around the crowd, full of quick steps and marching drunken idiots. Amos understands Sawbones' desire to walk on her own, but doesn't want to have to clean her off the pavement. He ducks into an alcove that ends up being the Alienage gates, though he doesn't have a clue what that means. He just knows the partying is less raucous.

"Nobody did anything to you?" A flat ask. He wouldn't mind fucking somebody up, if he had a reason.

[okayimin]

She huffs at him. Still she lets him maneuver them out of the crowd. She normally gets by on sheer force of will, but there's a limit to that sort of thing when you're barely hip height to the average surfacer.

"Not like they'd be able to when I got this on," she gestures at her formal robes with their heavy embroidered closures, "I'm fine, don't worry."

[innerharbor]

He stares at the getup, clearly taking it in for the first time. "What're you dressed as, a Christmas tree?"

[okayimin]

She has no idea what a Christmas tree is, but she still smacks his arm lightly. "They're formal robes. Satinalia's not just for getting drunk and carrying on, you know."

[innerharbor]

A dull stare. "I do not know."

[okayimin]

Well... "I suppose you wouldn't." She considers for a moment and then adds, "To tell the truth, I don't know the finer workings of it myself, that's for the Sisters who do service. For clerics like me, it's one of the days where we play proper Chantry Sisters in our finery and convince the nobility to cough up more coin for donation."

She's not going to say it's a grift outloud, because that's frowned upon, but...

a

[degenere]

Sister! A most pressing matter!

[In a Hightown street, Val de Foncé--all in blue and silver and wearing a dragon mask (which is a perfect match for his artfully scaled blue-and-silver cloak, merci beaucoup for noticing and commenting upon it), and yet even masked, still recognizable, perhaps it is his voice? or his walk? or just that he is so thoroughly memorable!--detaches himself from the knot of rampaging partygoers that he was accompanied by, and comes dashing up to the Chantry sisters. Fully earnest, he doffs his large and very stylish Orlesian hat, and performs a bow.]

I am afraid it cannot wait. My apologies, deepest and true, from keeping you from this sacred and solemn task that you are upon--but you must believe me when I say that your assistance is needed in a matter far more solemn. Please, please, you must--

[okayimin]

[ Relief wars with severe trepidation. Actually, the trepidation has a bit of an upper hand. Nevertheless, whether it's an unexpected alliance or a genuine call for assistance, Sawbones separates herself from the pack of Sisters. ]

Of course. [ She turns slightly to nod at the others. ] Please give my pardon to Mother Helena, I'll rejoin you when I can.

[ It isn't exactly a lie. ]

[degenere]

To Mother Helena.

[With solemnity, Val touches the brim of his hat and inclines his head, just a little, in a show of great respect.

He maintains this air until he has led the Sister about twenty paces from the column of other Sisters. Then he remarks to the open air--]

It is a party, you see.

[okayimin]

[ Out of the frying pan into the fire. She eyes him suspiciously. ]

What kind of party.

[degenere]

[He gestures to the festivities going on around them--lanterns and laughter, masks and elaborate lush costumes, the smell of food and drink and crackling fire all high on the air.]

It is Satinalia, dear Sister.

[okayimin]

[ She tips her chin up and says rather primly: ]

I had noticed, yes. The question still stands, Monsieur.

[degenere]

Does it? I think it has answered itself, if you think about it. It is a Satinalia party, is the kind of party that it is. One with very fine food and drink and music and dancing and entertainment, and decorations unparalleled, I am sure. It will be a sight to behold.

[okayimin]

And is this a party where clothing will be staying on?