[open] Satinalia/Hand Your Life To Me

[venenifer]

WHO: Riftwatch
WHAT: the greatest Satinalia surprise of all
WHEN: During the party.
WHERE: The Gallows' central tower top floor and Templar tower dining hall/kitchens.
NOTES: A smattering of violence and mayhem, but easy enough to opt out should you not wish to participate! Feel free to create regular party top levels if that's what you'd prefer, as the interruption will be fairly short in the grand scheme of things.

Satinalia has arrived, and with it a bitter rain which threatens to dampen any attempts at outdoor revelry. However, the staffed dining hall in the Templar tower is decked out with festive tapestries and garlands, extra candelabra to offer more light to the large stone room, and a feast appropriate for any celebration. Kegs of ale and wine sit at the end of the food table with an assortment of bottled spirits, carafes of tea and coffee, and at least one variety of juice made from the fruit of a northern region, just for the novelty of it.

The night’s music is largely provided by Riftwatch’s own, with enough variety of musicians among the ranks that they’re able to swap in and out at will, do some dancing and drinking, and return to the fun.

It’s LATE EVENING when the first revelers attempt to trickle off to their beds, but find their efforts discouraged by the entryway’s unwillingness to budge. It would seem that it’s been barred from the other side; it will also quickly become apparent to anyone who tries the door to the kitchens that it is equally compromised, much to the confusion of any kitchen staff currently in the dining hall.

Before too long, a voice begins to speak over the open network, echoing strangely from each individual crystal in the room:


This is the promise we make in her name. We lead by example, untempered by the words of heretics. We fall to pave the way for the Maker’s paradise.

As was blessed Andraste in her time, we must be cleansed in fire. The world must move forward, ever forward, and to do this it must end.

We must all end.

Comments

unrelated but thematically similar (closed to Thranduil)

[untiltheyarent]

What a strange thing to say over the crystal, Fifi thinks, making her way out of the communal bath and latrine room with mop and bucket. With everyone sequestered off doing their Satinalia thing, this has been an ideal opportunity to clean the common areas, with some time left over to change into her party dress and make an appearance downstairs.

But something catches her eye, seeping out from beneath the door of one of the private rooms. Perhaps it's a result of the strange feeling imbued in her by the crystal message, but at first glance, it looks like...
...blood.

The bucket clatters to the ground, Fifi's fingers pressing against her lips in shock; has someone been murdered? Is that what this is?
Her shaking hand fishes her sending crystal out from beneath her shirt as she slowly, silently steps toward the door, and cracks it open to peer inside.

[rowancrowned]

He's bleeding, the blood dripping down between his fingers, his palm stinging from the shards of glass. But Thranduil's stern gaze isn't on his wounded hand, but the stem and the stream of wine flowing down the uneven floor, puddling at the door.

Then it's on Fifi, his smile strained- isn't this embarrassing, aren't we all embarrassed- his teeth half-bared in a grimace. He really wasn't expecting company. The room is really in a state. He wasn't in need of company.

"All is well," he says, and he gestures to the spill with his wounded hand, still half a claw, fingers curled in pain. "I will clean it myself. Did you hear the glass break?"

[untiltheyarent]

A tiny gasp at the sight of Thranduil's hand, but then Fifi realizes what she was seeing on the floor: not blood, but wine. She almost smiles from the relief of it, but schools her expression into a more neutral one, giving a little shake of her head.

"I've got my washing bucket with me, Messere," she replies instead, "allow me to take care of this while you see to your hand?"

[rowancrowned]

He makes a noise somewhere between assent and dismissal, and walks away from the spill to do as she suggested. If it were not for the way he carefully cupped his palm to prevent from dripping on the floor further, he might not have seen her at all, but Thranduil's care means the work she offered to do is not spread over a wider portion of the room.

He sits at his desk to pick the glass out of his palm. His fingers twitch at the largest pieces, but he does not wince or whimper.

"Why are you not with the others at the party?" he asks. His gaze is still on his own hand.

[untiltheyarent]

Though not especially squeamish, it's out of concern for Thranduil's privacy that Fifi doesn't look too intently at his hand or his efforts to remove the glass from it.
Instead, she retreats momentarily to get her bucket, then drops to her knees to begin sopping up the wine with a rag.

"It's easier to do this when nobody is here," she explains, squeezing the rag into the bucket, and then gives a little laugh. "...and, I admit, the quiet is sort of nice."