Open The Festival of the First Frost

[Azmere]

3rd of Winter, 515 AV

Azmere found himself standing next to the Wind Knotted Gates. The numerous wraps with their rainbow of colored ribbons, variety of feathers and eclectic collection of beads surrounded him nearly concealing the man from sight. The festival was just getting underway and the crowds were only beginning to arrive. The pounding of hooves could be heard in every direction as the sounds of the party had not yet reached the level of deafening. This, of course, could be attributed to the fact that most were not yet in the city and even fewer still had yet to drain the kegs of their mead. That is when the celebration truly began. It’s the moment when enough inebriation had taken place that talking is replaced by shouting and polite music is consumed by the obnoxious abuse of every instrument imaginable.

Azmere just stared out over the darkening stretch of endless grass and land patched over by the smooth snow. The drifts of soft, white and unmarred flakes appealed to him much more than any festival. He had no stomach for social gatherings of this sort but he would not regret taking part in the savory aromas that filled the air rising from fires all around the city. Still, the sharing of virtue and intelligence did not take place here though one could share a black eye and cracked rib then eventually share a space within the River Flower. Strong drink, young hormones and pretty maidens always resulted in shattered egos, broken bodies and strained tensions between clans and pavilions. Azmere had been such a ruffian in his younger days. A stiff breeze brought the smell of cold to his nostrils and sung just enough to allow a dry chill to tickle the inside corners of his eyes. This timely awakening allowed a painful memory to slip from the Drykas’ mind and refocused him on his purpose.

Asmodeus, the Ankal of the Stormblood pavilion, had sent his grandson to find two men and discuss a proposition for trade. Azmere’s family had done well with certain hunts involving rabbits and deer but were lacking in medicinal herbs for their livestock and various roots and other vegetables which the family would need to balance their diet over the cold months when Morwen roamed the world. Azmere’s grandfather was well connected to the other clans and found a few pavilions who had obtained a surplus while foraging but were a bit short on preserved meats. The young man turned and shrugged his shoulders hoisting his laden pack a bit higher making the load easier to carry through the ever thickening crowds. He scanned the area looking for insignia and wraps that might lead him to his quarry.

It was harder than normal because everyone wore extra ropes, wraps and brighter colors to these types of gatherings. Azmere, himself, had to bypass his normally dull attire for the added indulgence of braided ropes with white beads, stones and feathers dangling from his arms, head, neck, ears, hands and waist. It was odd for him to feel so adorned but then again he was of the Diamond clan and not used to such frivolous trappings like those worn daily by the Ruby clan. Azmere skirted a large cluster of Amethyst clan members. He did not recognize their pavilion’s knot work but had never had very good relations with any of the purple families. Azmere paused a few yards cattycorner to a tent serving ale to scan the assembled masses for something to give him direction. A cluster of vibrant blues tracing through ever shade of the color beat in the wind high above a large fire. Azmere smirked and turned on his heel. He moved around the tents and behind the majority of the men and women waiting in line for more alcohol towards this group.

The Sapphire clan was well respected by the Drykas. Most of the web was laid down by Sapphire mages and so a huge part of the Drykas world was owed to these men and women. Azmere’s first contact was a small pavilion among this clan and he was certain to find the man he sought within this group. As he approached, several young men already into their wind marks with drink rose to stand in his way. Azmere was expecting as much and signed a quick greeting while plastering a smile on his face; a smile that twisted slightly due to his scars. One of the young Drykas who Azmere figured was in his late teens signed reason with a question wanting to know why a Diamond clansman was near his clan’s fire. Azmere nodded and signed quickly that he had a trade offer for the WhistleSpear clan. The second doorman decided to investigate Azmere’s pack which was a mistake on the part of the half-sober young man.

Azmere had watched the younger Drykas flank him and had balanced his weight between both legs with a slight shift. When he felt the tug on his pack, Azmere redistributed all his weight to the right allowing him to drop his left foot back and swing his hips to square himself to the ignorant and rude boy. Azmere snapped his hand out catch the wrist of the younger Drykas. Using his leverage and also his free hand, he spun the man around bringing the offender’s own arm against his neck. Azmere pulled back on the wrist and used his chest as a stop essentially applying a light choke to the Sapphire clansman. Azmere held up his right hand as a sign of stop and peace before he was rushed. “I come for trade with WhistleSpear. This pup tried to go through my pack. I have no quarrel here.”

The handful of men had formed an arc along Azmere’s right side and some had taken up arms. The air was tense for a moment while the music and hum of many conversations from the ongoing festival slipped along the breeze in the background. The assembled Sapphire clan’s women and children looked on with curiosity and disgust. Azmere wasn’t sure if it was his scars, the violence or the promise of an early beatdown but his contrasting eyes searched about for something he could use to alleviate the situation. Azmere began to slowly lower his right hand. He recognized no one and was only going to maintain his hostage for so long. His fingers twitched slightly at the thought of drawing up his club in defense when a short man of broad stature pushed through the barrier of men and warriors. He was holding a toddler on one arm and an infant goat on the other. The two small creatures seemed to be smitten with one another and their presence instantly made everyone relax a little.

Azmere took one look into the calm of the older man’s grey eyes and released the wrist of his leverage. He gently pushed the young man away who promptly turned around to lunge but was stopped short by a stern glance from several older members. He stomped away with a hurt expression on his face. The man holding the child and the kid smiled and nodded his head once. “You have your grandfather’s bearing, Stormblood.” He paused a moment to look over Azmere who instantly became self-conscious but did not bend beneath the scrutiny of this man. “I am Inayhus WhistleSpear. Please, join me by my tent.” With that being said, the men dispersed back to what they were doing before the disturbance and the rest of the clan followed suit. Azmere wove amongst them to follow his host to a small bench made of a few logs. The man passed on the child but continued to hold and pet the kid who was now chewing on the man’s tunic. He sat and motioned for Azmere to do the same. Azmere did as he was instructed and removed his pack in the process and placed it between his feet. He shared a drink of water with Inayhus and they began to long process of bartering.

In Drykas culture, trade between clans was not complicated but it was a heavily involved process. There was a deep social aspect to it that involved pleasantries and small talk about ones family, health and endeavors before negotiations ever began. Azmere told all he felt necessary and listened intently yo his host. It was considered rude if one did not sign and comment while hearing the exploits of another. This indicated to the speaker that not only was he being heard but that the audience was interested in what was being said. This went on for some time and would continue as Azmere found Inayhus to be a man worthy of respect but also quite entertaining.

Stormblood

[Yanca]

Almost at the same time, the women of the Windheart Pavilion rolled their eyes at the drunk women and men at the festival. The quiet group of women walked alongside each other as they avoided bumping in or rushing into a simple minded idiot who would take such a mistake as a sign for a fight. [color=purple]"Harlots, harlots and the men who seek them." Iasetta joked as the women walked through the tents of the Emerald clan. There was some truth to what she said. You could always tell the difference between a woman who is married and one who is not during these festivals. Those who were not married were easily being passed from one horselord to another, sharing their ale and cackling with these strangers whom they will never see after this night.

"It's a good thing papa decided to stay in tonight with the children." Yanca told the women, who all nodded in agreement. Their Ankal was not a very sociable man, keeping more to himself and away from others. Ian was not much of a drinker either, something Yanca was very grateful for. She did not like alcohol-- the taste, the look of it and what it did to people, especially men. The more a man drank, the more reckless he would become. The man would forget all of his morals and do something he just might forget or regret.

Where the Emerald clan ended drawed near and when they approached the end, the Windheart Pavilion women split up, going in different directions. They all had plans of their own but decided to leave the Emerald clan at the same time. Yanca and her mother decided to visit their family in the Sapphire clan, where Dela Windheart had come from. The Emerald clan was far off now, the color of the tents being the only thing you could see at this point if you looked back. Soon, the snowflakes constanly falling would be the only thing Yanca would see when she looked back.When she would look forward, the vibrant colors of the Sapphire clan would appear and she would soon enter yet another sea of drunken drykas men and women but due to her grass-colored dress, these women and men would stare.

Every time they passed a tent, the people who reside in the tent would pause and look at them. Their tents would grow quiet but once they passed, chatter would begin to pick up and everything went back to the way it was before. Again, they had to avoid bumping in to people but it was much harder this time. People seem to appear out of nowwhere, half-drunk and staggering in front of Yanca and her mother. Yanca's mother, Dela, was quick and could easily stop herself and her daughter from running into anyone. Dela Windheart was quick to grab her daughter's arm and pull her in a certain direction to avoid taking a blow from a man who was just too drunk to function.

The sight of Yanca's grandparents was a relief. They sat outside of an unfamiliar tent around a burning fire, laughing with a bunch of people she had never seen before. The elders hardly noticed Yanca and her mother until they were almost a feet away. Yanca's grandfather stood and gave a howl, raising both of his arms up in excitement. He then hooked Yanca and her mother into a hug, squeezing them tightly. He did not let go until her grandmother approached, giving her a chance to hug the two too. The grandmother's hug felt like forever to Yanca, if her mother did not slowly pull a way she was sure her grandmother would of held on for the entire night.

After everyone signed greetings and welcome, space was made for them on a log to sit around the fire. The heat felt good against her skin, it was really warming her up. A nice size rabbit was cooking over the fire, you could hear the fire spitting as the juices from the rabbit hit it. Yanca licked her lips as she watched it. She wanted a piece of the rabbit but did not want to ask. Yanca was hungry and could hardly remember the last time she ate- maybe this morning when Jynessa cooked breakfast? She did not exactly know, Yanca never really kept track of when she ate. She tried not to stare at the rabbit for too long, it was considered rude.

But while she tried not to stare at the rabbit for long, it must have been noticeable that she was hungry. Yanca's grandmother cut a piece of the rabbit, putting it on a plate and giving it to Yanca, who tried to reject the plate of rabbit at first. Eat, her grandmother signed aggressively and Yanca almost felt like a child force to eat something she did not want. Of course, she wanted the rabbit though and while she pretended she did not want it at first, slowly she began to eat the rabbit. She closed her eyes every time she took a bite. The rabbit was seasoned well, she tasted many different herbs in it. In no time she was finished but did not ask for another piece.

"Your husband, does he treat you and your daughters well?" The question her grandfather asked her mother was sort of random. Not long ago, he was talking to Yanca's mother about her skills in magic and how she put them to use. "And Yanca, will she ever marry in time to have children?" Her grandfather's eyes seem to wander until they found Yanca, who looked away. She hated when such question about her came about and she tried her best to ignore them. Yanca tried to ignore her grandfather who was looking more for an answer from her then anyone else to his second question. She did not know how to answer such a question though. She never knew how to answer questions about marriage because she could never see herself as a married woman.

"I'm sure the right man will come. Fate will bring him when the time comes." Dela Windheart could see how uneased her daughter was, which is why she was quick to answer the question. "But, a young boy from the sapphire clan would not hurt." Yanca looked at her mother in time to see her sign go and Yanca did as she was told, walking off to go see what she could do, which was not much.

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[Ife]

Life was good.

Life was really, really good.

Ife couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Whether it was the wine, the festival, her recent engagement, the birth of her first nephew or a combination of all four (which Ife suspected it was), she was simply full to brim with happiness. Though she usually was a spirited and positive-minded young woman, even her family had noticed the extra spring in the Inarta’s step in recent days. There mere thought of her wedding, taking place in just two days’ time, was enough to crack a deliriously happy smile on her lips.

“Are you nervous?” Asked the woman whose arm looped through Ife’s own. Though they looked nothing alike, the two were as close as sisters could hope to be. Anya’s skin was tinted with golden cooper, like their father’s, and her eyes shared his broodingly dark stare. In all ways possible she was starkly different to the pale, red-headed Ife whose eyes were grass green.

“A little.” Ife admitted after taking a tentative sip of her wine. The alcohol warmed her belly and subdued her anxiety of speaking so plainly to her sister. The three year age gap between them had never seemed to so vast as it did now. Anya had been married for little over a year, and though Ife had never been bashful about seeking advice from her sister before, now she felt like little more than a child. “I’m more excited than nervous. But…” She trailed off, meeting the wine glass to her lips once again and washing away that last part of her sentence.

Anya, however, would not let her little sister off so easily. She jostled Ife’s arm gently and urged, “But?”

Groaning, the redhead threw her sibling a withering look. Well, there was no escaping it now, and least none of their male relatives were nearby…

“The wedding night. What… do I do? Do I need to be alluring, or coy?” As soon as the words left her lips, Ife regretted speaking so candidly to her sister.

Anya’s sharp bolt of laughter caught the attention of other festival-goers, and earned her a desperate and furious shh from Ife, whose cheeks flushed with humiliation. “Anya! Please! Sh!”

“I’m sorry, Little Bird.” Her sister gasped between laughter. The wine had clearly loosened Anya’s tongue: usually the young woman appreciated secrecy and privacy. “But you be whatever you want. Graham won’t expect you to act like a… a…” For lack of a better word, Anya gestured to a gaggle of young women flaunting themselves on the laps of handsome young men. Some of the women touched and fondled the men as if they were pet dogs, whereas other battered their long eyelashes coquettishly and played the hard-to-get card.

But Anya’s reply bought little confidence to Ife, who instead decided to seek the solace and answers she desired in the bottom of her wine glass. After filling it up yet again, she proffered a toast with her sister: “To my wedding day and night.”

“And to the celebrations beforehand.”

Tonight, the Windstride girls were on the loose, armed with wine and wit.

[Jasmine Stormblood]

Jasmine fought her mother tooth and nail trying to get free from her as she was forced to hold still.

"Mom let go," Jasmine growled tired of sitting still most of the day while her mother put on the decorative beading.

Jasmine sighs looking at herself in the mirror that her little sister had brought to her. The beautiful beads adorned Jasmine's hair mostly, some with was on her upper arm and some hanging from the belt on her waist.

"There now go get you someone," her mother said and pushed the young female drykas out of the pavilion.

Jasmine stretched out with a smile and walked to the center of the encampment wanting to see how everything was coming for the celebration later on that afternoon and most of the next day. As Jasmine walked her hair blew making the beads float with her hair, Jasmine smiles gently at the curls in her hair loving the way the beads looked inside of the flowing hair. Jasmine crinkled her nose seeing women flung over young Drykas men who had already been drinking too much ale.

Jasmine did not mind the taste or smell of ale by any means. She enjoyed just sitting back and drinking a nice glass or wine or a glass of ale and relaxing beside of a fire watching the dancing or other form of entertainment. Jasmine rolled her eyes hearing cat calls from many of the drunk men who already had two women attached to them. Jasmine refused to acknowledge such disgusting creatures; what no one knew was the reason behind why Jasmine drank so little and looked inside of the tents for so long while figuring out whether a male or female lives inside of the tent.

She made sure to keep her activities for late into the night in other clans not her own so that nothing could be traced back to her. Jasmine looked around enjoying the light breeze that blew her hair once more. She heard a few women speak of weddings and sighed gently; her father was pushing her much much harder as of late to find a mate before she could no longer bear children.

The Clan is Strength.
The Clan is Life.

[Amunet]

The festival of first frost was usually a happy time. A successful landing of the winter grounds despite the weather getting there. These days though the push of women and men to procreate seemed to be an epidemic. It was unclear as to what the urge was for. She melded into the crowd as she stationed herself near where she could be of assistance medically. That was why she was at the festival, otherwise she would have forewent the whole thing. It reminded her of the almost disaster of an arranged marriage in the fall.

The young healer was tending to abrasions and bruises as well as persons who couldn’t hold their drink. Her hair was braided loosely down her back with the long tail looped over one shoulder to lay on the front. She moved quickly to place a timely bucket at one cot. A small teaspoon of a syrup of Acson and you wait. That is what the herbalists at the River Flower said. The purgative induced vomiting would finally work to get some of the drink out of the system. “You will be ok, let’s get some tea in you to settle your stomach.” With the part of the drunkenness abating, her hand would rest on their forehead as she focused on their well being. The mark would shimmer and the hang over symptoms would ease and in lighter cases cease all together.

Amunet would make a gingal tea at that point with peppermint to sooth the irritated stomach. The festival had plenty of food and drink though so making a restorative soup may be counter productive. The women who was actively seeking men, the men actively seeking their mark and what would come of it in the end would be one misunderstanding after another. Maybe it was a musing that Amunet shouldn’t ponder as it was common place. It was often tradition. A proven girl who already had a baby from a man who was unknown, while frowned upon a little, was not nearly as tragic as it was another Drykas to carry on the race. It was her refusal to give in to such things that made people sneer at her even relish the thought that she may have disfavor of the gods. She had lost her marks in the summer.

There was this enigma of opposites to this red head Healer. She had no marks, but it was very obvious she was bonded. Was she Drykas or wasn’t she? She has no pavilion and seems to have been cursed by the Gods themselves, yet she holds a gnosis mark from the Healing goddess as a sign that the girl was not so cursed. What was this girl made of that she found favor with the goddess? Amunet looked to Rak’keli fiercely now. Not that Zulrav was no small second, it is the patron God of her people and she does give him his due. To look in those sky blue eyes is sometimes like looking at the tail end of the whiplash of a lightning strike as piercing as they are at times. The tea was handed to the recovering drunk and she moved to tend to someone that had fallen and had ragged bleeding scrapes down their hip and leg.

“over here.” She pointed to a likely cot and bade them to put the man on his side. “Someone will need to get him more pants. The Watch gave a small briefing. The watch was a mixed bag as they didn’t know what to make of the little free spirited girl who wandered the sea of grass and now a healer. Some found the change good, some still found her a troublesome child. “it will be fine. “ As she prepared the antiseptic wash with warm salted water.

[Azmere]

Inayhus laughed heartily and slapped his leg then slapped Azmere on the back. “Aw...Hah! …my boy…I haven’t laughed like that since I was your age.” The wise gaze of the ankal was bright with the power of laughter as he took in the young warrior from the Diamond clan. Azmere felt comfortable around this man, almost as much as being around Asmodeus. “Your grandfather tells me you wish to join the Watch. Good on ya, lad.” Azmere nodded an appreciative gesture and unshouldered his pack. He set it between his feet and opened the top while Inayhus continued to talk. “I remember my days in the tall grass.” His eyes went far away as if recalling everything from that period of his life. “I witnessed greatness from the gods, my brothers in arms and the world itself.” He stopped awkwardly and looked away for a moment. Azmere felt the shift in the man’s mood and took the silence as a way to move the conversation along to business.

“Here is the meat that was discussed with my ankal.” Azmere removed several wrapped packages that were close in size but each a bit different. Anyone who had spent some time hunting or preparing food would recognize the parcels to be deer flanks. Azmere stacked up six of these and then set two square bricks also wrapped in the light parchment next to the first pile. These were organs not eaten by people but pressed and compacted into food for dogs. Azmere reached deep into his pack and pulled out two jars that had their lids tied on with twine. He set them on the bricks and sat up straight so his host could inspect anything he wished. The jars held edible organs that had been soaked in brine water, drained and then coated in sawdust for transport. These were things like livers, hearts, lungs and tongues which made excellent stews.

Inayhus rose halfway form the bench and finished the motion by kneeling down to inspect the merchandise. He was counting in his head but his lips moved making it easy for the younger Drykas to follow along on the mental calculations. It seemed that everything was in order. Inayhus found what he had arranged for in the bargain. He motioned to a teenager standing about ten feet behind him and the young lad disappeared into a tent. He came back out carrying a large pack and handed it to his ankal. The older man set it down on the ground next to the meat and waved an arm signing for Azmere to make his inspection. The younger man stood and moved to the pack. He squatted down keeping his back straight then lifted it to check the weight and felt satisfied by how it put a slight strain on his arms. Azmere set it back down and opened the container.

The young Drykas found bundles of dried carrots, medicinal roots, pouches of herbs and a bag of potatoes in the bottom; everything he had been promised. He shuffled the bundles round a bit to take a second count and then sealed the bag up once again. He sat back down on the bench with a smile and looked to Inayhus then signed an all good. The older man slapped his knee and erupted in a roar of laughter which caused many in the area to turn and locate the source. It was interesting to Azmere that such a short man could have such a large presence. The teenage lad took away the meat and carted it off to where the clan stores their food. Azmere never saw him again. He sat for almost half a bell visiting with Inayhus and learning some of the interesting things the man had to tell like stories from the Watch and clan politics. Azmere still had one stop to make. He rose and embraced the man known as Inayhus. To make up for Azmere having to stoop, the older and shorter man squeezed him so tight that Azmere’s shoulder popped. It didn’t hurt just felt a little strange. Azmere thanked his host again and made his way out of the campsite past the large fire. His next stop was with the Topaz clan and was going to be much more difficult.

Stormblood

[Jasmine Stormblood]

Jasmine hummed while walked around Endrykas watching all the commotion around her. She was content to watch others party and get drunk; since Jasmine is not much of a drinker. The beautiful blond haired girl wandered the 'streets' of Endrykas looking around her taking in the sights of all the happy smiling faces of the people around her. Music floated through the air to entertain the many other youth and young adults that were drinking and relaxing on their day off from their normal every day lives.

Jasmine looked into the sky and gasps seeing how late it was getting, "oh man I'm late!"

The young drykas took off at a run heading to find Chaser at the edge of the camp. Colors blew past her as the girl raced past all the different clans. Her mind was amazed at how well the colors seemed to blend as she raced through the camp. As usual when the young girl was not paying attention to what was before her suddenly she ran into something hard but at the same time soft as she landed on the ground a groaned some.

Slowly Jasmine got up and looked over as her face flushed brightly, "I am so so so sorry!"

The young girl helped the man up and quickly picked up all the stuff she had caused to fall from his pack before putting it back in his pack.

"Excuse me for being so rude," Jasmine said and handed him back his pack, bowing at the waist, before raising up once more.

"I promise it won't happen again," She said and took off once more remembering her previous engagement that she still had not made it to.

The Clan is Strength.
The Clan is Life.

[Akasja]

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Inside the warm confines of the River Flower, Akasja finished straining the seed oil into a suitable, clean jar. It had been infusing with arnica flowers for a few hours over low heat and would be soon ready to use. The Festival would surely bring injury or sickness, Akasja had been told, and so she had set to work since morning making sure there were enough infusions and herbs in stock for the River Flower.
"This is ready," Akasja announced to those at work, and moved the jar to its specific place on a shelf to cool. "Arnica," she added carefully, holding up one of the flowers to show the assistants. One of the women shuffled over to her side and, with a nod, briefly took the jar to label it. Akasja signed her appreciation, and looked over the room. All tasks were currently attended to, and everything was well-stocked for now. More work would come later.
Akasja moved to Pearl's side. "I return later tonight," she said in a low voice so as not to disturb anyone. "Maybe we need more help."

Akasja quickly walked the short distance from the River Flower to her own home. The sun was low in the sky, burning brilliant shades of orange and pink, giving her skin and clothes a rosy, almost magical glow. Once inside, Akasja securely fastened her tent's entrance and got a pot of water boiling. After washing up, she dressed herself in the clothes she did not often wear. They were warm, clean, and colorful: her top was dyed a dark, mossy green that bordered on black and her pants were a rich, desert red. She saved these clothes precisely for important events.

Before she could leave, some final touches were needed. It only took a little water to make the white Eyktolian clay spreadable again. Akasja coated her fingers with it, then regarded herself in a small mirror as she applied the stripe across her eyes and face. She made sure the layer was even, the band straight from one temple to the other. Most everyone was out in their finery and looking fantastic tonight, and Akasja wanted to join them.

After cleaning her hands and applying a salve to them, Akasja finished her makeup with a thin line of pale clay on each eye's waterline. Her gaze was piercing, much to her liking. Finally, she slid on a pair of warm, sleek boots and draped her shoulders with the golden wolf pelt that she was accustomed to wearing. At Akasja's hip, her bone dagger was secured, the dual feathers of her clans twirling and fluttering with her movements. Smiling to herself, she stepped out into the revelry.

In and around the streets of Endrykas, the noise was steadily growing. Even with the sun long gone, people were feasting, laughing, trading, and drinking with spring-like merriment. Fires burned brightly throughout the city grounds, luring Akasja's gaze every which way. Tonight offered a major chance for her to socialize with the people of Endrykas in a way that she usually did not. Perhaps those who often paid her no mind would find themselves staring. Perhaps those who had never met her would muster up the courage to speak with her.

The walk was not far to Baultimes Barrel, although this was not the only place serving brew or hosting a party. The large tent was nevertheless brightly lit, decorated with colorful ribbons and glowing torches, and almost buzzing with sound. Akasja didn't know who she might meet upon entering. It would have been a frightening thought if the city wasn't already electric with socialization and merry-making. Meeting new people was encouraged on this evening. Steeling herself, Akasja strode forward and into the tent.

Inside it was much warmer and smelled of spices, perfumes, wood, and, of course, quite strongly of ale. There was even the faint hint of pipe smoke. Still, it was not too late in the evening, and more people would flock here as the hours passed. Akasja scanned the room, making sure to stand out of anyone's way as she decided where she would head. After a few seconds, Akasja made a beeline for the bar itself.

A smaller Drykas woman stood in front of Akasja, busy ordering her drink. Akasja tried to understand what was being ordered, but it was hard, as they spoke solely in Pavi. All Akasja could catch were the familiar, more cordial signs that the woman and barkeep happened to use. Akasja studied the man behind the bar as he poured the woman's drinks. He was large in many ways and looked to be middle-aged. Although he was in high spirits, he did not look particularly healthy. His face was redder than most others', for one, and his thinning hair was slightly disheveled. Still, he poured the Drykas woman her drinks with a tiny smile on his face all the while. This was probably a fantastic night for his business.

Akasja approached the bar after the first woman had paid and left. The large man stared at Akasja unabashedly, but did not look displeased. Instead of Pavi, he immediately began conversation in Common.
"You look very beautiful this evening, Miss," he began. "But...I don't think I seen you here before."
Akasja paused a second, not fully sure what he had said, before calmly responding, "I work at the River Flower."
"At the River Flower, eh?" the man asked loudly, cocking his head. "Endrykas always need doctors, don't it?" he chuckled.
"I am happy to help," Akasja added, not sure where this large and jovial man was taking the conversation. Part of her hoped it would end soon.
"Well, let me give you my name. You can call me Baultimes. This little place mine." He quickly signed greetings. When Akasja signed greetings, appreciation in response without hesitating, Baultimes' eyes widened.
"You know Pavi, eh?" Baultimes queried, leaning across the bar towards Akasja, a grin on his round face. His voice lowered just slightly. "Smart woman. But you Chaktawe. Tell me, how long you been here?"
"I know a little of your language," Akasja replied carefully, not wanting to pique this man's interest any more than she had to in order to be accepted. She had once heard a rumor that Baultimes would over-charge outsiders who came to his bar. "I live here a year."
Baultimes only smiled wider and signed his appreciation. "A year and you work at the River Flower? That is very good! You help Endrykas, you help our people, you help me. Tell me your name, please!"
Akasja introduced herself. Baultimes seemed utterly delighted by it. "Akasja? That is very good! Beautiful!" The man leaned back and grabbed a mug from below his bar. Without saying a word, he began pouring into it from his ale tap. "Here." He placed the heavy and foaming mug on the counter before her. "Drink this. You don't pay. Enjoy!"

Akasja thanked Baultimes twice before he waved her off, still grinning. A little frazzled from the loud and sudden conversation, Akasja took the opportunity to turn around make her way over to a vacant table near the corner of the room. Thankfully, a small and cozy fire burned nearby, carefully ventilated through the roof of the establishment. Akasja sat at the table and sipped from her mug. The ale was warming, crisp, and delicious. Now that she had a drink -and a free one at that- Akasja could relax and watch the goings-on for a while. She hoped that it wouldn't be long before people started playing music. At the seasonal gatherings in Eyktol, there would always be dancing and music long into the night. Her father, too, would play the flute alongside his brother and a few other musicians from their clan. Akasja's brow furrowed. Home was very far from here, and she missed it with a sudden, almost violent intensity. Taking another sip of her ale, Akasja sighed and looked out quietly into the crowd.

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[Yanca]

She looked lost among the sapphire clan, wandering aimlessly among the people as she tried to find something to do. But the festival did not appeal to people like her. Booze, intimacy-- everything that pertained to the festival did not interest her. She wished she had stay home with her father and helped him with his livestock. She would have fun chasing zibri calves and feeding her father's pigs. Afterwards, maybe when they were done her father would take her hunting and teach her how to hunt when Leth was out or maybe they were just ride their striders and talk. Yanca loved the conversations she would have with Ian Windheart. They were different than the ones she would have with her mother or the other wives. Yanca could tell her father more than she ever could any woman in her family. Surprisingly the old man understood her and not once had he judged her based upon things she had said.

Yanca was considering going back home now. Her mother did not need her anymore and it was obvious that she did not want her around. As she walked through the tents, people (mainly drunken men) urged her to join them, offering her ale and food and she declined it all. She just wanted to go now. The mixed blood was so close to exiting the tent when someone grabbed her hand. A man with hair longer than her own and a beard that looked like a nesting place for birds and pale skin covered with freckles. The man did not appear drunk but he did not look sober either. "Join." He kept repeating the word, even after Yanca said no. The man's grip was tight around her hand, she could not pull herself loose of it, no matter how hard she tried. "Please sir, I must go back to my own clan." She tried to reason with the man but he did not care. He just kept repeating join. It must've been the only word he knew in pavi. Yanca was growing frustrated now. she wanted to hit him and she planned to do so. Yanca raised her hand to do so but something had stopped her from continuing.

"Young man, come back!" It was the voice of a man not too far away from her began shouting. There was no response, no one had returned like the man demanded and when this happened, the man began to grow frustrated, returning to his tent. "Which one of you young men want to go track him down?" The man was still loud enough that she could hear him. What he had just said gave Yanca an idea.

"That man in that tent you see," She pointed at the tent the man entered. "He's my uncle and he needs me and if you do not let go of me, I will scream and all of his sons will come out the tent and not like what they see." She did not know the man in the tent and it was clear he did not either. He let go of her hand and looked away, like nothing ever happened.

Yanca moved toward the tent. She had to make her story seem believable, which is why she did not hesitate to enter the tent.

"WHICH ONE OF YOU GLASSBEAK BRAIN IDIOTS WANT TO FIND THAT MAN!" The man hollered once again. His frustration could clearly be heard. Yanca stood at the entrance looking the man over. She did not notice the goat kid he was holding before. "I will do it." Yanca finally spoke out. The tent grew quiet as people looked her way.

"You'll find him?' The man raised an eyebrow, which lowered once Yanca nodded. "I just need someone to deliver a message to him. Tell him..." He stopped to think about what he wanted to say, "Tell him to let his grandfather know I will be in the market next week. I want his grandfather to come find me."

Yanca nodded once again, twirling around so that she could exit the tent. She was a good feet away when a question came about. [color= purple]"What does the man look like?"[/color] She did not turn around to ask the question.

"He's carrying a sack." He clearly did not get a good look at him. "And his face... nevermind, he should be the only man during this festival carrying a petching sack.





OOCThis is a crappy post... the next one will be better!"

[Azmere]

Azmere made his way along the side of gatherings trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Fortunately, any woman who was searching for a man had plenty of drunken buffoons to choose from and all of the men were watching women or looking after their own children. This made traveling across Endrykas quite easy even considering the backpack and rucksack which Azmere toted. By now the party was in full swing and the cold air and light snow didn’t seem to bother anyone though many had moved inside the pavilions. That didn’t stop Azmere from having to turn his head to avoid seeing some intimate activities being performed in the shadows. He shook his head and wondered why anyone would do such a thing in public. He was certain it had its appeals but why not make use of one of the thousands of tents that comprised the city? These were thoughts for another time.

A large gold pavilion loomed ahead of him and as the messenger drew near he slowed his approach as half a dozen armed men moved from posts shrouded in darkness to collapse an arc around him. Azmere stopped and lifted his chin a bit to show he was neither afraid nor ashamed. The leader of the group was a middle-aged man with many scars from war and fighting which included one over his left eye. This gave the eyebrow a thicker bed of skin that sank down over the vision of the man like a sagging belly. He regarded the newcomer with a cold detachment until light from a torch revealed Azmere’s scars. The cold star turned into a furnace of hot coals almost instantly. The man signed something and Azmere was taken ahold of by rough hands with two arms binding each of his own. The lazy-eyes man leered at his ‘guest’.

“It’s been a looooong time, runt.”

Azmere set his jaw. His eyes showed no signs of fear or uncertainty. He knew what was about to happen. The Starwind pavilion had been waiting fifteen years for a chance to even the score. Even though it was decided that Azmere fought in defense, the family refused to believe their patron could’ve been bested by a mutilated teenager. The cracking of knuckles was the first clue. The seditious grin was the second. Azmere exhaled and pulled his will into a mailed fist as the punch came flying at his face. It was a stern punch and made the outsider’s head swivel to the right. Azmere instantly felt the warm, metallic blood run along his gums and pool inside his mouth. He was about to spit when he saw a second blow and tried to brace but was less effective. This hand came from one of the other men and caught him above his right eye snapping his face downward. He shook his skull trying to stabilize his mind and prepare for another round then spit out some bright red vitae at the feet of his captors.

“Ahhh, runt.” The lazy-eyed man signed expecting and glorious but Azmere missed the third sign as another fist turned his gaze away. He stiffened and flexed his arms against the men that held him. It was to no avail because all Drykas were strong. Another haymaker caused Azmere’s eyes to close for longer than he would have liked. That one hurt and made the muscles in his neck ache. The ugly little man lifted Azmere’s chin with his grubby, fat fingers.

“Such pretty eyes…freak!” He spit in Azmere’s face then brandished a sharp little dagger. “I think I’ll take the gold one first.” This brought a laugh from the assembled thugs. Azmere felt the slime run down his nose and mix with the blood on that side of his face. He marked each man he could see taking time to memorize their features. Fifteen years wasn’t enough to make them move on and this little escapade was going to cost them…provided Azmere survived this encounter.

Still refusing to show fear, Azmere straightened and squeezed his arms together trying to pull himself free. This only got him a jab to the ribs and wrap on the back of his skull. The hand was lazily thrown but very lucky to hit the same spot he’d been clubbed the day before by the assassin. The dagger was placed against his cheekbone. Maybe he wasn’t going to live through this. Azmere stared at the assailant with burning desire to tear his body limb from limb.

“Say hi to my brother, petch.” The man started to force the dagger ahead but a harsh shout caused everyone to freeze.

“Unhand him, Topher!” The raspy voice belonged to someone that Azmere could not see. He wresteled his arms back from the goon squad who let him go.

Without a tick’s though, Azmere balled a fist and swung with all his might planting it firmly on the lazy-eyed man’s ‘good’ side. The blow sent the man spinning to the ground. Azmere drew his club before the man hit the ground then whirled it about his form creating space. The other five men drew swords, axes and a spear.

“ENOUGH!”

An old man bearing a staff and a bright gold robe came and stood amongst them. He laid his eyes on Azmere first. “Lower your weapon, boy.” Azmere would have argued yet the glassy appearance of the grey eyes indicated this man was blind. Azmere respected the order and stood at ease while allowing his arm to sag and the club to hang by his leg. The other men backed off and lowered their weapons as well. The old man turned in a slow circle. “All of you; be gone. This man is here on business for the clan.” Slowly but surely, each thug made his way back into the shadows and disappeared leaving the blind man and the scarred man. The lazy-eyed man held his face and made a sign for dead as he walked away. If looks could kill, Azmere thought.

Azmere turned to the old man. He was bleeding in several places on his face but would be fine in a day or two. He was about to sign to the old man but stopped his hands mid-thank you. The old man smiled at his visitor.

“That’s right, boy. I can’ read your signs.” The raspy voice sounded the same in laughter as itt did when shouting.

“Thank you for coming when you did, I’m not sure ho-“ Azmere was cut off by the old man’s upheld hand.

“No need, lad.” The golden robe swished as the elder turned away and started towards a small tent off of the main pavilion.

Azmere followed and once inside the exchange was very brief unlike how the trade had been turned into a social affair with Ian Whistlespear. He was pleased with how smoothly things went but every time he tried to bring up the conflict the old man utterly silenced him. Once things were complete, the old man patted Azmere’s shoulder. “Be safe, boy. Your life will find meaning soon enough.” Azmere didn’t know what to say and simply left. Now that his work was complete, Azmere wanted to go home. He could use the snow to pack on his face and reduce the swelling that had started above his right eye, on his left cheek and jawline and the knot forming at the base of his skull. He spit more blood into the snow and started to make his way out of the city.

ImportantWill the next person to post create a PART 2? That would make it easier on the graders. You could post the link here or just send a group PM. Thank you.