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The annual festival of piety and hedonism
(This is a thread from Mizahar's fantasy role play forums. Why don't you register today? This message is not shown when you are logged in. Come roleplay with us, it's fun!)by Elysium on January 22nd, 2013, 1:32 am
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by Alses on January 26th, 2013, 7:37 pm
The Glorious Eighty-Eighth. That was the term that some Lhavitians used for the Azure Festival, that topsy-turvy day of piety and debauchery where all work was suspended and the city gave itself over to revelry of all kinds. Parts of it were a sort of practice-run for Aviakittis, or at least had become so over the years even if that hadn't been the original intent, and some aspects of the festival remained an abiding mystery to Alses, even after years of living in Lhavit. Communal worship for instance, that was one which particularly exercised her. Prayer was, surely, and by its very definition, a fundamentally private concern – traipsing around the Temples of Lhavit like a herd of sheep to offer thanks in a big group seemed wrong somehow. That was only her own personal view, though, and not one that seemed to be held by the majority of Lhavit's citizens, given the ebbing and flowing waves of the crowds time and again following brilliantly-attired Taiyang, Chandra or Akka priests and priestesses, heeding the powerful call to worship. Alses, though, had no interest in joining them; she'd performed her own Observances for the season before Midwinter, even, and there was only so much organized religion she could stomach at any one time. Thankfully, the Festival had enough parallel activities that she was never bored in the daytime, even before the greater party roared into full and boisterous life all along the peaks. Preparations for the Glorious Eighty-Eighth had been going on for weeks among the industrious housewives of Lhavit, and the air every dawn had been cargoed with the scents of sugar and caramel, chocolate and spices and the yeasty, bready smell of baking on a grand scale, rising from thousands of homes and shops alike. As the date drew nearer and nearer, the rest of the city had begun to metaphorically sit up and take notice; for the last few days, the streets had been particularly clogged with citizens of all shades busily decorating – from hanging up the spiky glow-lanterns that represented the stars to honour Zintila to stringing streamers of suns and moons from tower to spire to erecting stalls and pavilions that would offer rest and easement from the excitement of the main festival. Anticipation crackled pleasantly in the air, and wherever one walked there was always the faint buzz of conversation revolving around the festival theme. Tailors and clothiers of all shades had done a roaring trade in recent weeks, selling bolt upon bolt of cloth and silver braid: grist to the sewing mills of Lhavit's families. They'd also done well out of innumerable alterations and commissions from those too lazy, busy or otherwise disinclined to spend time with thimble and thread. Come to think of it, so too must have some of the more delicate metalworkers and jewellers, preparing and modifying the masquerade masks that many in Lhavit sported when the first bells of the evening sang out, sweet and clear. Alses cast a glance at her evening costume, glittering in the sunlight streaming through her open window. Blue and silver did not suit her celestial form in the least, no – the coldest colour she could generally get away with was a rich tyrian purple. Red and gold predominated in her wardrobe, along with the occasional splash of white for variety and the aforementioned purple shades. As a Konti, though, the corpse-white paleness of her skin meant that it didn't matter what she wore; white, as with black, went with everything, sooner or later. Whatever else one might say about them, the clothiers and metalsmiths of Lhavit were undeniably skilled in the more delicate, more civilian aspects of their crafts – and a prime example of that was her mask, a beautiful creation of burnished metal, carefully engraved with extravagant sunbursts and hourglasses and polished up to a high shine. She trailed absent fingers over the curves and hollows that matched her own features – at least, her own features as a Konti - noting with approval that the sixth sunburst – one for every year she'd passed since her Fall – blended perfectly with the others. Warmed to the core from her morning bath - a rare treat that she took full advantage of, not having to haul herself up to the Shinyama Peak and the Dusk Tower for chores and/or lessons – Alses dressed quickly in her customary crimson and gold, aiming to keep at least a bit of the residual heat from the Respite's hot springs as a guard against the chill winter weather. There would, after all, be time in the twilight to come back and change into her evening guise. There was no working for anyone today; the Respite's reception desk was empty and unmanned, the door to the upper offices closed and securely locked. 'Staff must have already made their way out into the plazas,' Alses thought absently, making a beeline for the doors and following their metaphorical trail out into the bustling city that thrummed pleasantly with joy and goodwill. Alses' lips curled into a catlike smile, richly reminiscent, as a thought struck her. It was probably rather too early for the Summer King to put in an appearance; Sivah would surely favour the more uninhibited and decadent evening phase of the Festival if His gaze turned towards the starry city at all, but there was always the outside possibility that He of the naughty eyes and mirthful voice might turn up during the more solemn, pious part, to make merry mischief and liven up the day, something that, as Alses had already made her seasonal devotions, she would be quite happy to see. Especially if the tales and legends were true about his powers and influence on proceedings. As she wandered through the streets, heading for the grand processional parade of squares and plazas that made up the forecourt of Koten Temple, she cast experienced eyes over the decorations going up on all sides, listening out with a careful ear for a cry of 'Ware below!' from the toiling steeplemen overhead, stringing wires and streamers between the soaring spires of the city's buildings. Accidents happened, it was an unavoidable fact of life, and a quick ear and quicker reflexes could be vital. As it was, she made it to the grand expanses of skyglass flags unscathed, and still none the wiser as to what the actual theme for the Zintia Peak actually was this year. Stars, of course, were ever-present, from the paperchain examples the children made right up to the Glyphed skyglass lights that the Akka priesthood distributed en-masse around Surya Plaza and some way beyond. Morpher mages from the Twilight Tower had told her that Zintila's priests took care to mirror constellations so that, when seen from the air, looking down on Lhavit from on high on the night of the Glorious Eighty-Eighth was to look down on a microcosm of all the heavens. Alses had had to suppress a fiery stab of jealousy at that, and had made her excuses before she'd said something she'd undoubtedly have cause to later regret. Stars, though, meant nothing – all of Lhavit was bedecked in the blasted things – stars, moons, suns and hourglasses made up the bulk of the city's decoration. The clues to the actual theme of the peak were more subtle, and it was a source of mounting (although minor) annoyance to her that she couldn't actually seem to spot any concrete clues. 'Hang on,' she thought suddenly, stopping by one of the many fountains. 'They might not even have finished the decoration yet! I might not be seeing any evidence of a theme because they've not strung the clues up yet – they're always so secretive about it.' Thus buoyed, she went on her way with a spring in her step, stopping to chat every now and then with the less-busy merchants heroically manning their stalls and the workmen as they assembled the long trestle tables in readiness for the evening banquets. Those were generally Alses' least favourite part of the festivities, since it was almost a guarantee that some paralytically-drunk and chatty citizen would try to make her stuff her face with some delicacy. She'd learned that the Shinya overlooked the judicious use of an elbow in those sorts of circumstances, but it still made a scene, however minor, and that was something she generally looked to avoid. Aimless and amiable, speaking to all and sundry as the whim took her, Alses wandered the crowded Plaza, drinking in the sights – off to her left was the Scholar's Demise, or more precisely the narrow street that led to it, a haven for any self-respecting cocktail-lover (amongst whose company Alses counted herself) or simple idler with a few bells to spare, whilst just to her right was the bulking mass of the Ethereal Opera House, finely bedecked in festival bunting and shining brightly under Syna's warm light – truly a jewel in the crown of the City of Stars. It was one of her favourite places in all of Lhavit, the gilt and marble halls of the Ethereal Opera, and one of her commonest pastimes was to buy a ticket and simply drink in the panoply of pomp and pageantry each and every performance afforded – and, inevitably, to wonder at the singers and the extremes to which the voices could reach. The inevitable mingling during the intervals was a side-benefit, and it surely did her reputation amongst the wealthier echelons of Lhavitian society some small amount of good. She smiled happily – she hadn't had a chance to ask any of the Opera House's Powers that Be whether or not they'd be giving a festival performance of some kind, but the setting-up of – she squinted – chairs, perhaps? in the courtyard, and the occasional flash of a costume from the Balcony-level terraces (a pleasant place to spend a summer's evening's interval) – tipped the odds cautiously in favour. |
by Seleucus on January 27th, 2013, 4:15 pm
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by Elysium on January 31st, 2013, 7:57 pm
by Alses on February 5th, 2013, 5:33 pm
As she drew closer to the imposing bulk of the Ethereal Opera, her eyes were able to pick out more and more of the details; those were chairs, oh, and there were blankets, too, the whole façade of the opera house getting ready for a grand spectacle. Formally-dressed people milled about under the arches, every one of them masked, in accordance with Festival tradition, and many of them holding fine instruments of one flavour or another: doubtless the famed Lhavit Philharmonic Orchestra gearing up to provide an aural fantasia for the gathering crowds – and the crowds were gathering, drawn by the activity from all across the grand expanse of Surya Plaza. Alses quickened her pace, so as to be in the vanguard and so secure herself a prime position, but others had evidently had the same idea and so by the time she arrived at the Ethereal Opera's forecourt there was already a small crowd there, drinking in the festival atmosphere and the near-palpable anticipation which scented the air, speculation drifting up from the chatting citizens – would it be the impressive pomp, exuberant majesty and full-bore sonic bombardment of Falkenhayn's Catastrophe suite, from the Ballad of Two Kingdoms, or maybe the delicate, wistful strains of the Whispers aria? Perhaps even Sunrunner's sweeping Grasslands symphony? Alses smiled and let the chatter wash over her; it was rather like being at one of the Opera House's innumerable functions, only with less champagne, and that thought was a rather soothing one, especially when coupled with the fact that it was pleasingly anonymous behind her burnished mask, no-one to recognize her or judge her on the pallid blankness of her mortal chain. She kept a weather eye out for Chiona Dusk, just in case, certain that she would be at the Festival somewhere, helping to hold up the banner and honour of House Dusk in the city. There was some sort of commotion at the Opera House's imposing frontage, a ripple of attention which ran through the crowds. Alses scowled – yet another disadvantage of being a diminutive Konti – and craned her neck to see just what was going on under the marble and skyglass colonnades. Ah. Well, no wonder there had been that appreciative intake of breath – holding the gathering audience in the palm of her hand simply by her presence as she moved towards the makeshift podium that had been set up in the centre of a half-circle of orchestra chairs, was the laurelled Director of the Ethereal Opera, resplendent as ever in a numinous costume that would have put the raiment of Queen Kova to shame. Alses indulged herself, and cast a warmly appreciative gaze over Lili A'realia, safe behind her mask and mortal chain both. She'd seen enough of the Ethereal Opera's owner – albeit generally from a distance – on various visits to the Opera House to recognize her, even if she was masked. In truth, her figure was rather a sight on the order of 'once seen and never forgotten', especially given those delicious form-fitting dresses the mistress of the Opera happily tended to favour. Acting as gold-gowned compere to the evening's prospective entertainment only cemented her identity, too, not that it mattered much; she was rather unique, well-known (to say the least) around the city. She was shocked out of her comfortable appreciation of Lili A'realia's splendid features in short order, though, when the shining star of a Director proclaimed: “In fact, I'll need some volunteers,” quickly followed by a grand gesture straight at her and: “The beautiful lady at the back and the man beside her.” Quickly, Alses whipped around to see who Lili had been meaning; rather than finding anyone, she was met instead by a line of encouraging, beaming faces and a wave of sound urging her forward with an almost physical force. She turned to the side, already moving forward by the pressure of the crowd, and her vision was struck by celestial glory. A sharp stab of that oldest of pains went through her heart even as she drank in the sight of a Lethaefal in full glow, moonlight making a spangled corona of lights around his glassy, half-there horns and leaping to gentle moonstone fire on his skin. Soft light gleamed on his lips and pooled in his eyes, detailed the exquisite classical proportions of his body and highlighted every fluid shift of the perfect musculature beneath his shining hide. It was less sudden, less immediate than when she was confronted with another Synaborn, the wrenching pain and prickling loss, but in its own way more cutting; when she saw another child of Syna they were both at least on an even footing, but before the gently-shining Lethaefal next to her, she felt small, insignificant, and even more wretchedly imperfect than usual, and never mind that the nacreous scales which wound up her arms and legs, washed over her back and belly and merged seamlessly into corpse-white skin at her forehead were brightly iridescent tonight with the many and conflicting light sources all around. 'Is this how mortals feel when they see an Ethaefal?' she wondered. 'If so, I don't know how they stand our collective presence in Lhavit!' “Oh, no – that is, I can't...” she muttered feebly, against the tide of encouragement that was sweeping her – and presumably the other unfortunate sacrifice to the altar of theatre – along. It seemed futile to resist; from every side there came murmurs of encouragement and envy and even admiration, inexplicably not all of it directed at the Lethaefal, presumably bobbing in the crowd close behind her; she didn't dare look for fear of doing something...unfortunate. The crowd closed up ranks as she passed through its heart, cutting off avenues of escape, and in short order she'd been surfed from her nice, safe, anonymous position at the back to right in the limelight, as it were, under the expectant golden gaze of the Director of the Ethereal Opera and what must have been several hundred people. Alses felt herself wilt and give in under the pressure of the gazes, choosing, as so many others had down the centuries, potential delayed humiliation over the here-and-now embarrassment of making a run for it. There was a roaring in Alses' ears at the thought of being seen by so many people at once, and time and again she fervently blessed whichever deity had decided masks and masquerades were a good idea; hers covered more of her face than was precisely usual, following every curve and contour, and didn't show her shock and fear to all and sundry. “Syna defend me, I must be quite mad,” she gulped, and gave a flutteringly nervous smile to Lili, made all the more wavering by the butterflies which generally hatched in her stomach when she was near the woman. She snuck another glance at the Lethaefal, in the sure and certain knowledge that the sharpness of regret would cut through the nerves and the butterflies both. |
by Elysium on March 3rd, 2013, 1:00 am
by Alses on March 5th, 2013, 5:22 pm
As if to add to Alses' nerves, there was yet another unexpected development; from out of the left field, as it were, there came a statuesque figure, striding out of the crowd and carrying himself with an air of absolute assurance and total confidence that saw the citizenry in front of him simply melt away. Alses turned from her conflicted contemplation of the radiant Director at the flash of movement, just in time to see a trim and lithe figure effortlessly intercept the Lethaefal a half-step or so behind her. A brief exchange of muttered words – she was too far away, the crowd's noise too great, to catch what was said - saw the celestial figure melt back, perhaps gladly, into the audience. It was an audience, rather than a simple crowd now, too, and internally Alses quailed at the thought of hundreds of people watching, evaluating, judging her. She was distracted however, the very next second, from that awful thought and the concomitant desire to have the ground swallow her up. “Excuse me,” came a pleasant voice, rich and silky and flowing like liquid chocolate, a lascivious invitation couched in innocence somehow encoded in the very tone. Alses turned on the spot, dragging her eyes from the resplendent Lili who, it had to be said, was very difficult to stay annoyed with, especially when in full and radiant bloom, the callous side of her hidden beneath a thick coating of effervescent charm and goodwill. Rather a microcosm for the Ethereal Opera, when one thought about it, though there was no time to dwell on that too much. The speaker, standing companionably next to her – rather closer than she was used to, actually; as an Ethaefal people tended to keep their distance just a little bit, and she didn't have a great deal of experience with her mortal chain – had very, very green eyes, seeming to swirl and dance with a thousand melting variations on viridian, quite a contrast to the midnight and silver of his festival robes and mask. Lili A'realia, still resplendent, seemed to be trying to bore a hole clear through the newcomer via the sheer, unremitting force of her glare, even as he introduced himself more fully, sweeping a courtly, flourishing bow that wouldn't have been out of place in Nymkarta Palace. Where had that thought come from? Nymkarta, Nymkarta...the name was familiar, for some reason, resonating with a whole host of memories, but she couldn't quite place it... With a brief shake of her head, she came back to the here-and-now, her lips curving up into a small smile, even as she returned his bow, operating purely on ingrained reflex. “The pleasure is mine, Aoru. My name is-” a brief, split-second pause, almost too small to notice “-Sela.” It was the name she used – rarely – to separate her two halves. Easy to remember, a simple reversal of her chosen name with a letter removed to make it trip cleanly off the tongue, but it still wasn't quite as natural and instant as 'Alses' had become over the years. “Apprentice at the Dusk Tower,” she finished, quietly, hoping that, with luck they would mistake her stumble for nerves, of which it had to be said she was a jangling, tingling bundle. Fortunately, at that point, Lili stepped in, eyes dark with barely-suppressed irritation at the effortless subversion of her entertainment. “Well, since you're so keen you can play the part of the star-struck lover. It suits you.” And there was the dark underbelly of the shining Director, two spots of high colour appearing on her cheeks and a tightly-controlled verbal snap lashing out at the urbanely confident Aoru, whose rakish grin and frankly appraising eyes were doubtless pitched to annoy Lili A'realia as much as possible – although why he chose to irritate and needle his employer, along with the reason for his hijacking of her choice in 'volunteers', was so much mud to her. Alses didn't dare touch upon her talents to wring so much as a hint of a reason from his aura, not so near the crowd with its massed ranks of auras waiting to wash over her weakened state and take her away on a tide of emotion and passion. The vague, mantling impressions she got from the ever-active low synchrony were already quite powerful enough in that regard; they'd steamrollered over her on a tide of emotions and led to her current predicament, a stand-in actor for one of the glorious Ethereal Opera's shows, against her own better judgement. The die was cast, as a scholar might say, and there seemed to be little recourse but to bob along in the prevailing current until she either saw things through or an opportunity for escape presented itself, a prospect that was looking more and more distant every second. "Anyway," Lili continued more quietly, her anger banked and squirreled away behind the polished mask. "Let’s move to the House. From there I’ll show you what to do." There was even a kindly smile attached to that, proof positive that she in no way associated Alses' corpse-pale mortal chain with the burning Ethaefal of the day; the two hadn't parted on the best of terms the last time they'd met. To the cheers – and catcalls, as Aoru seemed to feel the need to stand closer still – of the crowd, Lili turned, even before Alses could formulate a response, ready to sweep majestically towards the arching portico of the Ethereal Opera and the maze of corridors and practice halls that lay beyond. 'It looks like I'm going to experience the Azure Festival rather more intimately than I'd planned,' she thought, resigned and - as they turned away from the scrutinizing audience and the roar of conversation faded somewhat with distance - with just a frisson of nascent excitement tingling down her spine. Her shoulders came back and down, no longer half-hunched in a defensive, worried position, and her head angled up. “Lead on, madam Director,” she all-but instructed, turning to meet Aoru's amused gaze and pretending not to notice the way Lili's perfect shoulders bunched under the sheer silk of her gown as he murmured, mischievously: “She's a kitten.” “You mean vicious, lazy and self-serving?” Alses whispered back, voice pitched so as to only just carry to Aoru's ears and no further and her face - such as could be seen behind her mask - carefully, theatrically blank, conveying amusement by the sheer lack of its outward expression. Alses raised her clear voice once more as they passed under the shadowed portico and into the Opera House proper. "What, exactly, are Aoru and myself to perform, if you don't mind me asking? I warn you now, too: I'm afraid I've no acting experience whatsoever." |
by Elysium on April 1st, 2013, 5:57 pm
by Elysium on August 4th, 2013, 7:23 pm
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