Midsummer Festival: Old Light.

[Legion]

Old Light Midsummer Festival Timestamp: 45 Summer 512 A.V. Location: Surya Plaza Status: Open The Midsummer Festival erupted at dawn. It was the hottest day of the year in the Diamond of Kalea. The sun baked the peaks of Lhavit and seemed to concentrate on Tenten Peak where the Temple of the Sun faced east its golden globe exploded with citrine light to further illuminate the sky. It reached so far as Zintia Peak where in the middle of Surya Plaza the Sun Maidens amber and orange robes flowed with the invigorating joy of their dance. Fire burst in streamers around these Taiyang, ushered into sparkling formations by the nimble dance steps and worshipful elegance demonstrated by these keepers of Syna's temple. They formed orisons with the sacred fire to symbolize the strength and heat of their goddess, bold enough to captivate and enrapture even the most jaded of Lhavit's citizens. Shop doors were thrown open across the plaza and tables spread a variety of goods and wares for sale. Tables heaped with fruit and pastries were surrounded by those with free flowing juice and wine, a weighted gift from the Anchorite Hayani to the people. Members of the Seiza and Autava danced to the rhythms set out by the Taiyang on the outskirts of the plaza while those Shinya off duty clapped or joined in. The atmosphere was bright as Syna Herself as if the Sun Goddess sought again to aid Her old friend Zintila. A familiar figure sat on the steps of Koten Temple, the exquisite curve of her horns glowing in the steady, joyous approach of noon. The Sun Lady and daytime ruler of Lhavit, Talora, was an ethaefal of Syna and one of the original founders of Lhavit. She laughed as she gripped handfuls of red paper strips in her sun kissed fingers. The papers fluttered in the breeze as she held up bunches in her fist for a young Shinya to pluck loose and read what was scrawled in ink upon it. The conversational prompts were a time honored tradition and this particular season Talora was taking great delight out of handing them out to any who wished them. She gave many of them away for a kiss and everyone, everyone was beckoned near.

[Oriela]

Oriela was glad to be off duty, carried by the wave of euphoria in Surya Plaza. There was dancing, and song. Food, and drink. Sunshine, and joy. It was a much needed pleasure, after the death and destruction that had followed in the Spring Storm's wake. She joined the revelery with full heart. From the sidelines of the official dancers, garbed in their colourful dress, she danced a little herself. She clapped, smiled, and twirled to the music. Soon enough, she like many others, made her way to Talora. The Ethaefal was radiant, sitting on the steps with the red slips of paper. It was a tradition, and one Oriela had discovered her first Summer in Lhavit. She curtseyed before the lady of the Day. She was almost a conduit of Syna, and for that, Oriela made sure there was deliberation in her gesture. She crouched forward and kissed the Ethaefal on the cheek. The red slips billowed in her fist, hidden words playing on the Lhavitian wind.

[Elhaym]

The sun was unrelenting, and so was her luck. Elhaym crouched among several burly laborers from the farms below Lhavit in the blessed shade of a small tent, rapidly spinning a set of bone dice in her maimed hand. The ragged man opposite her set upon her stooped form with a grown, nervously scratching at the depths of his unkempt beard. Before him was a small pile of Kina, and atop it was a golden band laced with skyglass. The dice came free and bounced with a clicking noise that was all but silent amidst the festivities.

"Double blades, again. You lose, Rekhar."

The onlooker who had taken it upon himself to announce the impromptu series of dicing that had cropped up in this little corner of Lhavit sneered at the bedraggled man even as he moaned and pushed his small horde towards Elhaym. Her single eye focused on his treasure, and then on him.

"Keep your money, and mine farmer. Buy your children something nice from the peddlers."

Elhaym stood and dusted her hands off, clapping them against the loose fabric of her black pants. Her clothes were loose yet seemed to cling to her, a byproduct of the thin sheen of sweat the had amassed while outside for so long. The game itself had only been a distraction. A throwback really, to a time in Syliras when she had nothing better to do than to dice with rowdy men and rowdier women. Taking this man's money held no interest to her, and her own money meant almost as little. She at least did not have to pay to be fed.

The exchange wasn't verbal, a simple nod of heads as he collected his bet and the few kina Elhaym had put down as well. Each made their way back into the festivities, Elhaym quicker and surer than her weary opponent. Most Acolytes donned their uniforms even if not on duty to display their affiliation; a source of pride to them. She however couldn't stand to wear the blue unless she must, and today she dressed as a civilian. Her arms were fully exposed and thus so was the entirety of the devastation to her left arm, including the ruined nubs of her pinky and ringer finger. She drew few stares however, as it was a day of celebration. There were far too many beautiful things to focus on to bother were the broken visage of Elhaym Vormav. She did them one service at least, and that was to cover her left eye with the strip of cloth that canted over her face and hid what resided within. No stark and painful reminders would do for this day, and even Elhaym could see that.

Her stride was as confident as her single eye's gaze, and her goal was apparent. No one truly made way for her in the crowd, but it was clear none stood too closely in her way. Elhaym's walk was not dignified like the other Shinya; it was the confident and sure walk of a warrior, or maybe just a killer.

"Let us see if Talora truly loves us all equally," she muttered to herself, making her way towards the steps of the Koten Temple. Elhaym had faltered on her path more than once, and most knew of her and her exploits. The simple thought her brave, while the wise knew her to be far too reckless and idealistic to ever be anything but a thorn in the city's collective glass arse.

Her turn came, and the crimson slip was taken with a ruined hand that showcased the price Elhaym had paid for Lhavit's safety. The cocked smile and empty gaze she gave as she received her prize might have been unnerving to one not so divine.

[Legion]

Talora observed Oriela's approach with laughing, sun-shot eyes. A playful smile twisted the line of her mouth, all about her illuminate. There was a child seated a step above her, little knees pulled to his chest. He slumped with slumbrous weight against the ethaefal, his dark eyes at once content and curious. After Oriela kissed Talora's cheek, he leaned up to cup a hand over his mouth and whisper something in Talora's ear. The Lady of the Day stuck her tongue in her cheek, biting back a smile, and made a mark with her writing instrument on the red slip of paper most carefully selected for the konti. "Happy festival, Oriela," she wished circumspectly. The paper in her hand read: All/Duvalyon: Even the stars burn. We can all be lonely. The young boy looked up at Elhaym with vast interest upon her approach, eyes roaming over the hilt of her katana to the damages wrought upon her flesh by duty. The corners of his mouth trembled toward a hopeful smile even as Talora's tongue remained in her cheek and her eyes, oh, her eyes yet laughed. She bent down so that the boy could whisper in her ear in the same manner as previous, an act not repeated for every person who approached. These two, perhaps, were just lucky. At length, Talora straightened to rifle through her red paper slips and ultimately pluck one free. It was squinted at and she nodded to herself, then to the child before scrawling something additional upon it. "Good hunting," she murmured to the acolyte, and winked. All/Oriela: If you cannot heal them, you can see no more get sick.

[Laszlo]

The plan was not to stay here long, but this was the first event of its kind that Laszlo had ever attended. Almost immediately he had become distracted by energy created by Lhavit's summer festival, beginning with the music that drifted all the way back to the Solar Wind Apartments. Once he neared the plaza, it seemed to thrum in the air and vibrate under the soles of his shoes. The crowds of brightly dressed Lhavitians were happily lost to it, dancing or clapping. A little bewildered, Laszlo slipped past them, unconsciously returning smiles given his way and pausing once to watch one particularly fluid dancer who moved in a way he wouldn't have thought possible. When she finished, applause and cheering exploded from around the curious Ethaefal, and she burst out laughing as if she were embarrassed and jogged back into the crowd somewhere. Laszlo made an astonished noise and moved on. Moving onward through the brightly dressed Lhavitians, he felt just a tad out of place in his plain white shirt. Still, the nature of his being compensated for his lack of fashion sense; this was a festival of the sun, a celebration for his Goddess. He was not the only Synaborn Ethaefal here, and he could not help but notice the similar coloring shared by the few brethren he saw in attendance. Like theirs, Laszlo's skin glittered under the gleaming morning sun, and his ivory horns were made more pronounced by the curls of his darker, golden auburn hair. Passing the Koten temple, one particular Ethaefal stood out more than the others, which until this moment had seemed incredibly unlikely. He recognized her as Talora, one of Lhavit's proprietors. Under the sunlight, she positively glowed, reminding him that he was, too. Syna's light and energy was obvious in her as she exchanged odd red strips of paper for kisses. She gave a smile to one such patron, and her eyes went Laszlo's direction. He smiled back at her before he could help himself, then sheepishly he turned away and walked onward to the plaza. Before long he found the banquet tables, stacked with pastries and wine. The smell of baked bread, fruits, and grapes became stronger as he neared. The Ethaefal picked up a pastry from one of the banquet tables, examining it closely as if it were about to talk back to him. Ah, there. Jam filled. Laszlo set it back down. Abalia preferred custard or apple. Again, the sanguine music beckoned Laszlo to lift his head. The brightness of the atmosphere was undeniable. He almost fought to remain weighed down by his own personal tragedies, but there was life and laughter in every direction. It almost felt as if Syna were speaking him. Lighten up! He noticed a unique looking woman nearby, her pale skin adorned with smooth patches of glimmering scales. She held one of the red strips of paper Laszlo had seen earlier. More curious was the mark on the back of her hand, too ornate and bright to be a tattoo. "What does it say?" Laszlo asked her, drawing closer on the pretense of looking interested in a star-shaped pastry near to where she stood. "I'm seeing those everywhere."

[Oriela]

Oriela graciously excepted the red flyer, curtseyed, and moved from the steps. Even the stars burn. We can all be lonely. Though it was marked all, the name of Duvalyon came before. She knew the name, she thought, her breath catching. The symenestra. The grey man. The medic with whom she had worked a few times in the pavilion. "What does it say?" She broke from her reverie, turning, and more than a little startled. She smiled at the man who stood there, brushing a fallen lock of hair from her face. "Oh, hello there," she said softly, before breaking into a mischevous smile. "Come to Talora. Come and read your own." She reached out, and willing or not, grabbed the man's hand. He was beautiful. Golden eyes. Those curved horns. He was a man of the heavens, she thought. One could not live in Lhavit and be unaware of the Ethaefal's presence. And somehow, in the recesses of her soul, she felt somewhat connected to the Ethaefal. They were both children of the divine - the Konti and them. Syna and Leth burned through them too, so fiercely that she wanted to claim that connection for her own. If he would follow, she would pull him gently to the steps, away from the pastries, to claim his own red slip of paper. Then, perhaps, she'd share the words of her own.

[Duvalyon Hellebore]

"He's been gone a while, Duvalyon." "Hm?" "Would you?" "It's a festival dedicated to sunlight. I'd stick out like a Symenestra at a festival dedicated to sunlight." The conversation began simply enough, but by the end of it, Duvalyon was no longer comfortably perched in the common room. He was standing in the street, staring at recently shut front door and wondering how he had been persuaded to find Laszlo at an event he had no desire to attend. Well, he reasoned, the sooner he arrived, the sooner her could leave. When Duvalyon reached the plaza, he hesitated at its edge. He charted the human tide as it flowed through the great square. His kind were accustomed to trying to discern the path of least press. Bodies radiated from the temple steps and slipped into the bright tables heaped with shining feasts. Dancers hooked about one another rising and bending like tongues of flame. Over it all, a fallen star presided, her beneficent face reflecting the joy she saw before her. He wanted to leave immediately. Duvalyon took a breath, as if preparing to swim, and moved into the crowd. The tables provided some measure of barrier. He scanned them idly. All were stacked with things he couldn't eat, and drinks he didn't trust. Anything given for free on such a large scale was suspect. Half his mind berated him and wondered what happened to the Duvalyon that could enjoy himself at a party. The one that remembered he wasn't even twenty-three and it wouldn't kill him to have a drink. He'd left that one in Kalinor, where it couldn't ruin his carefully laid plans. Now, if he was Laszlo, a terrible, unsettling fiction, where would he have wandered?

[Quasar]

Syna's light only rose higher in the sky as Oriela led the Ethaefal by the hand to his heavenly sister, whose broad smile would not wane until the burning sun sunk far beneath the mountains. Her radiance dominated even Laszlo's ethereal beauty as she looked to the boy at her side, who only looked up at the two curiously, his eyes on the platinum horns that adorned Laszlo's head. This time, Talora herself picked a slip from her hand, seemingly at random, a playful look in her golden eyes as her hand brushed his. All/Alses: Though it seems a fearsome foe, the darkness of night grants a trillion suns. A tug at Duvalyon's garments drew his attention to a little girl, dressed in a kimono of reds and yellows and bright orange flower patterns. She stood at less than half his height, breathing hard as though she had been running, her black braided hair already disheveled and loosening. "Look!" She said loudly in order to be heard over the commotion. Her hand shot out, revealing a colorful necklace of polished rocks, glinting in the sunlight with painted hues of green, yellow, and blue. "My big sister made this," she said proudly, "She told me to give it to someone nice. She went to go see Talora," she said, shoving the colorful pendant into Duvalyon's hand, and pointed toward where the Sun Lady stood. "You should go see her too, and she'll tell you who you will fall in love with today, and you two can be together forever." The dreamy girl would have gone on if a worried looking middle aged woman hadn't grabbed her and disappeared back into the crowd, not sparing the Symenestra a single glance. Later, when the festivities were over, the little girl would be reprimanded by her family for giving away the pendant to such a creature. Duvalyon : You've received a pretty necklace! Feel free to add this hand-crafted token of Lhavit's midsummer celebration to your possessions.

[Alses]

Midsummer Day! Day of glory, day of celebration! The very fabric of the city, the heaven-sent skyglass, sang Syna's praises, blazing like the most exquisite of fire-opals, and the streets all around the grand expanse of the Surya Plaza buzzed and hummed with life as Lhavitians from all quarters of the city flooded in to take part in the Midsummer festivities. Since well before dawn teams of workmen, merchants, performers, caterers and many more had been dragging colourful pavilions, stages, tables poles and plenty of bunting into the Plaza; the air had rung with hammering and chatter, crackling with anticipation. Alses had awoken at the very first touch of dawn, every part of her body filled with a fizzing, boiling energy, her soul resonating with the exultation of the sun, iridescent skin catching every beam of light and reflecting it warmly back and her crystal crown-of-horns quietly glorious, rising out of gilded hair. Even clad in fairly commonplace crimson cotton, she still looked as though she had stepped straight from the canvas of a master artist's crowning glory. Anywhere else, sculptors and painters would have been falling all over themselves to immortalize her in marble and oils, but ah, this was Lhavit, the celestial city of stars, as close to divine beauty as the mundane world got. Ethaefal were often drawn to the city, seemingly floating betwixt heaven and earth and guided by the benevolent hands of Zintila, and so, whilst figures of that same distant, holy beauty as the painted heroes and heroines of yore were not precisely common on the glittering streets, they weren't so rare as to draw a crowd – or city authorities, come to that. Then, too, no Lhavitian born and bred would dream of being so impolite as to gawk, which suited Alses right down to the ground, thank you very much. Her fingers were unusually jumpy, fumbling with her signet ring as she slid the heavy gold memento on, and butterflies flitted and danced in her stomach. Even without looking, she knew her aura would be vibrating like a plucked string, shivering eddies and currents distorting its edges as it shifted and moved. Anticipation, uncertainty, a dash of fear and a touch of joy – who couldn't be joyful on Midsummer Day? The streets were thronged with revellers – Alses spotted several of her compatriot students happily engaged in the swilling of cheap beer and gave them a wide berth. To her, raised on the tastes of fine Zeltivan wine and brandy, beer was like - to be blunt - rat's piss, and no amount of drunken inducements would sway her on that front. 'Where's the fun in watching other people getting legless in some poky street when the main festival has so many wonders to gawk at?' she thought, mildly irritated. Brilliantly-coloured tents and pavilions in all the shades of the rainbow rose up through the throngs of people, showing off exotic wares, shading stages upon which acrobats and actors performed – snatches of their recitations caught at her ears, causing wonderment and not a little confusion - '...and I tell you, Halkyn, I killed her!' - but the tides drew her onwards, to where fire-eaters belched long streamers of rainbowed flame in dramatic arcs that faded away to nothing before they touched the crowds and the outriders of the Taiyang dancers skirled and whirled with merry, free abandon through the common throng. Everywhere, all around, there was the busy hum of happy, carefree conversation and laughter of all shades and cadences – from the high, chiming chuckles of children to the deep and full-throated guffaw of some of the merchants from the Azure Market to the reedy, broken laughs of people on the cusp of puberty, awkwardly enjoying themselves nonetheless. Long trestle tables garlanded the edges of the vast space, laden with all sorts of appetizing treats – Alses savoured the light and airy sweetness of a honey candy on her tongue with a touch of auristic power, always moving with an Ethaefal's grace closer and closer to the sun come down from heaven and Lady of the Day. The city had been nothing if not kind and helpful to her since she'd first passed through the colossus of the Amaranthine Gates, and so it would have been churlish of her, at the least, not to thank one of Lhavit's founding figures for the kindnesses of the culture they'd helped to form. Somehow, quite naturally, despite the considerable crush elsewhere, there was a small clearing in front of the Lady of the Day – though that might have had something to do with the Shinya. Off-duty or not, there was no doubt in Alses' mind that, to a man, they'd all rush to their lady's defence should she appear to be threatened. Even for an Ethaefal, Talora was beautiful, every curve exquisitely proportioned and her skin like liquid gems and gold, a sight which could surely lift even the most jaded and bitter of hearts – and the smile, the smile lit up her face and threw sunbeams all around, positively radiating good health and fortune. As Alses approached, cautious and a little unsure of herself, her ears battered by the tidal waves of sound rushing in from every direction and her eyes dazzled by the abundant reflections of sunlight from metal, skyglass and sumptuous fabrics, two other supplicants – one an Ethaefal, whose horns were almost painfully bright to look at under the noonday sun, and another, 'A Konti,' she thought, in sudden shock, whose ice-pale skin and hair drank Syna's light and haloed her in gilt – moved aside and suddenly subjected her to the full, unbridled force of the Day Lady's presence. Operating more or less on automatic, she took a few steps forward and then swept a deep, archaic curtsey, one dredged from the depths of memory. She had intended nothing more than a gentle “Merry Midsummer,” but the firm, steady warmth of Syna beating at her back, the wash of happy people and the sheer, exuberant life of the festivities filled her to the brim and she burst out instead with: “Joyous Midsummer, my lady!” in a strident, chiming voice buoyed with delight and wonderment. “This is a beautiful way to celebrate!” One of Lhavit's endless supply of playful breezes sent a wave of spice-scent washing over them – rather than cough or splutter, Alses breathed in deeply, letting it fill her lungs with a smile that just didn't seem to dim. “Our thanks to you for taking part, and for...” words failed her, and she gestured broadly around at all the merriment that filled Surya Plaza to bursting. “...all of this!”

[Laszlo]

"Wait, I just—" Laszlo's hand was made a prisoner before he could stop it. The banquet table and its pastries slipped away from him as the woman led him away. The Ethaefal was too bewildered to fight her, as the scaled woman seemed to embody the greater spirit of the festival. Pulling away from her would feel like spurning the entire event. This was a celebration for his own goddess, after all. A nagging sensation of guilt remained; Laszlo was here for a reason. He could only tarry for a short while. The woman brought him to the temple steps, where Talora was handing out her bits of paper. Laszlo stole another glance at the Konti before facing her, wearing a look of uncertainty. Somehow, that melted away when Talora smiled at him. Even for an Ethaefal, she was breathtaking to look at. It was difficult to believe that they both shared the same divine mother. The peace and patience in her features were remarkably reminiscent of what he knew of Syna. Looking at her, it was like he could almost clearly remember. As Laszlo took his strip of paper, he was distracted by the round face of the young boy, lingering near Talora. The young Ethaefal finally managed a smile at him, thinking him to be the least threatening presence he'd encountered so far at the festival. Of course, everyone meant well, but in the recent months, Laszlo rarely breached the comforts of routine and familiar company. Before he could read the slip of paper, Laszlo moved aside to make way for a third Ethaefal, another Synaborn. She was by far more spirited, which seemed to delight Talora. Laszlo could see why. It was strange to see so many Fallen gathered in a single space. On any other day, a scene like this might have been somber. Laszo sent a glance to the Konti, finally surrendering with a shrug, as he lifted his hand and read the message scrawled onto the red strip. He narrowed his eyes in confusion. It sounded like a fortune, but… "Alses?" he read out loud. Was that a name? It certainly wasn't his.