SATINALIA

[incaenstrix]

WHO: Everybody!!
WHAT: SATINALIA!!
WHEN: Backdated to the first day of Firstfall
WHERE: Gallows courtyard
NOTES: Drunkenness and shenanigans. HALLOWEENMAS!!

This Satinalia is, perhaps, less grand than in years past. Blockades are still limiting access to luxury goods, after all, so the fine liquors and dainty foods that have been featured before are nowhere to be found. And Tertia, the temporary Morale Officer, doesn't have the connections or deft touch of organizers past, so things are rougher than they've been before - the musicians are less polished, the ale a little more watered-down, the decorations somewhat haphazard.

But you know what? It's still Satinalia. Nothing can really screw up Satinalia. Especially because there are some rather lovely touches, the best of which might well be the ice skating rink. A section of the Gallows Courtyard has been roped off and frozen over with magic, leaving a (largely) smooth sheet of ice covering it. Skates are available to borrow if you don't have a pair. Of course, some injuries are definitely going to result (if you skate off the edge, you're smacking into stone instead of a soft snowbank, which can be disastrous), but hey, it's fun.

Other perks are the bonfires, with mulled wine and cider being served out of cauldrons around them, where people might sit and reflect while watching the flame. There's also dancing, of course, with the musicians basically being any band that's been recommended by members of Riftwatch - so there are lots of half-competent cousins-of-friends playing here. What they lack in skill they make up for in enthusiasm; this is the first gig for a lot of them, and they're thrilled to be here.

One thing that's missing is the Satinalia fool being named ruler. Tertia wasn't familiar with this tradition and didn't arrange it - so there's a last-minute campaign being held, in which people can either nominate others or self-nominate to be named Riftwatch's greatest fool to be celebrated.

Enjoy yourself. Exchange presents. Get drunk. Have a blast. Don't lose any teeth.

Comments

iii.

[portalling]

“Well, it’s my first one here, so I certainly hope the Gallows doesn’t burn down before my next Satinalia.” The man seated beside Byerly is a newish face: a rifter, anchor glinting in his hand, sitting alone and mostly gazing contemplatively out onto the festivities. He’s tall and bearded, with scarred fingers laced around a mug of hot mulled wine. The warmth of the drink is good; eases some of the pinching ache he’s been feeling thanks to the cold.

But curiosity sparks, makes him glance over. “Why? Do you think there’s a chance the org will pull up stakes and move again?” There’s a little bit of surprise, a tilt of an eyebrow. He’s only just gotten accustomed to Kirkwall, come on, don’t scare a man.

[bouchonne]

Byerly laughs in response. "Sometimes," he says, "I think I might be the only optimist in this whole place."

He looks over at the newcomer and raises an elegant eyebrow. Much about Byerly is elegant - just in a seedy sort of way. Even now, years into respectable work and respectable life, months into sobriety, he radiates an air of louche oiliness.

"We could win the war, my dear man. Win and disband."

[portalling]

“Hm. Fair. I got the impression it was going pretty poorly, though, and not like we’re teetering on the cusp of a decisive victory any day now.”

Realising how morose that sounded, he adds quickly, “Don’t get me wrong, I’d much rather this end and I get to pack up and not be conscripted into a war. I’m simply trying to mentally prepare myself for the worst, so anything else is a pleasant surprise.”

The stranger is talkative, breezy in a way where he’s not self-conscious even to be dropped wholesale into a conversation (or an entire world) out of his depth. Thedas still has that new sheen to it; its names and places and syllables still sound fresh on his tongue.