Open A Winter's Fair

[Chameleon]

A Winter's Fair
28th Winter 517

The street widened out, a row of iced trees replacing the houses on one side. Through the snow-covered branches, lights could be seen. Pinks and blues and greens of all hues broke through the white, and they seemed to flicker on and off, leaving the street basking in the warm glow that lay beyond the trees too.

The hum came at the same time as the lights. It was a low hum, but full bright, light notes that betrayed happiness. Soft murmurs of jokes were followed by tinkles of laughter, blocked out with excited yells and shrieks of joy.

Three steps later, and the trees separated to reveal the Winter’s Fair.

Between the crowds of people, dressed in their warmest, brightest clothing, small wooden stalls with snowy roofs clamoured for attention. Vendors advertised their goods with colourful lines and patchwork displays. On one of the roofs, a man stood with a violin, and on the neighbouring one, a woman danced to his music. Lanterns of every colour hang between the stalls, which are arranged in a horseshoe pattern around the edges of the square.

At the centre of the square, the stalls were replaced with a large fountain, the sprays of water frozen into sculptures that were seemingly impossible. Between the fractal structures, tiny figures could almost be made out – crows flying between the droplets, acrobatics tumbling through the spray.

There’s an unanimous thought throughout the fair – this festival is here for Morwen and her winters.

Meat Pies

From one of the stalls, the intoxicating smell of freshly baked pies drifts across the square. Seemingly appearing out of nowhere, the rows and rows of pies are decorated with flaky leaves and flowers, stained with food colouring, or possible illusions to give the pastry bright, fresh colours.

The vendor is a sweaty looking man, with a large round belly and an apron stained with blood and flour. He’s a butcher and a baker by profession, and the pies are entirely his creation. Head balding, eyes slightly bloodshot, hands fat and clumsy looking, he’s not the most pleasant to look at. But he makes up for it with quick conversation and the best tasting pies that could be.

The pastry has just the right crunch. The meat is cooked through to perfection, mixed with spices that bring incredible flavours with every bite. And a bite into each pie brings completely different flavours.

Some more than similar to gold. Others terrifyingly different.

Roll 1d10 and include the roll results in your post to buy a pie for 5SM!

Mulled Wine

A small woman with porcelain skin, tattooed with beautiful flowers across every piece of visible skin, hides behind a large barrel of liquid, flattened features stretched out into a cordial smile. She calls out with promises of a warm drink and a good chat, although it’s hard to see her behind the wares of her own stall.

The liquid is tinted red, and smells deeply of spices. Slices of lemon and clementines float between the anise seeds and cinnamon sticks in the mulled wine, and the slightest evaporation can be seen from the warm liquid. A ladle lays inside, and Blossom struggles to lift it out and empty it into small mugs, which she sells for 2SM, given that the mug is returned at the end. A few bottles of the drink lay to the side, priced at 10GM, but these go forgotten as people come and go for more mugs each time.

Most come just for the drink that soothes the throat and warms the spirit, but those who stay to talk find that Blossom has secrets up her sleeves and is willing to tell them to anyone who decides to make conversation. The nonchalance with which she shares them is almost impossible.

Feel free to hear your own secret, or leave it open and I’ll give you one instead!

Warm Clothes

At one of the stalls, a familiar looking woman arranges tightly knitted scarfs on a rack, before pulling warm winter coats out from the back. She’s tentative and careful with her actions, and her selling tactic mainly concerns looking pretty and hoping that someone thinks her clothes are useful enough to purchase.

She’s tall, with dark hair and pale skin, with a smile that assures everyone that she’s fine. Because last time she was so public, it was up on the balcony.

Most recognise Eleanor as the woman who asked the city whether she should jump from her balcony. If the event is brought up, she mainly pushes it aside, apart from to the few who actually helped her. Instead, she makes small talk about the fair, the snow, Morwen, and everything related. She doesn’t push her clothes, though. In fact, she only brings them up if someone wants to make a sale.

Compared to styles she used to deal with, these are plain and practical. The blankets and clothing are made from thick wool and other warm materials, and have basic patterns. But they’re original. Her own work. Every piece of the design is her very own. And she’s never been prouder of anything, despite her outward attitude towards them.

Use the price list for pricing on whatever winter clothing you want, or just stop and have a chat with Eleanor!

Carnival Games

There’s a stand dedicated to games. At the back, a shelf lined with prizes calls for greedy players. There are toys for the children – painted animals carved from wood, hoops, stuffed teddies. A jar of lemon drops and honey candy beckons the sweet-tooths. Card decks, juggling balls, bowls of colourful fish, bags of marbles, horns that change voices to high pitches squeals or low drones, duck calls, wooden flutes, shells, smooth pebbles, little birds, flowers of a million colours, lilies and painted balls and drops of amber can be seen hidden in the back.

But getting hold of them is another matter.

At the front of the stall, a pile of ten bottles arranged in a pyramid waits for the interested player. Although unmanned, there are clear directions, and most Alvads decide to follow them. A small payment of 2CM into a pot, and they take three small balls, big enough to hit one of the bottles.

If they manage to knock all ten bottles down, they get to pick a prize. If they don’t, they get to try again.

Of course, the game’s rigged. But no one needs to know that.

Roll 3d10 and post your results so I can let you know whether or not you can pick a prize!

[Penny Noor]

The people of Alvadas pored from their homes and hamlets. It seemed the whole city was here and Penny was no different. It was the excitement of winter fun that pulled the girl though the wind that bit at her cheeks and the white fluff that crumbled beneath her boots and down to the winter wonderland where the music of a fiddle caressed her ears and the contrast of colour against the grey and white backdrop of the city warmed her heart. It was the atmosphere, the energy of joy so deep into the coldest season that made this day so special.

She was dressed in her sunday finest. A thick, velvet green dress with lace trims adorned her silhouette, cloaked by black to prevent the shivers. Her hair was freshly washed and her pale visage made up and powdered. Raisin lipstick highlighted the pearly white of her smile as she made a straight line for the mulled wine stand where the scent of hot spiced assaulted her senses in the utmost desirable way.

“Could I have a cuppa?” she asked the Blossom, rubbing her hands together to prevent her circulation from completely failing her. She should have worn gloves. Bone white fingers produced the silver mizas for payment, shaking as she handed them over before alas her skin was soothed with the hot sensation of clay against it.

Penny wasted no more breath than enough for a hasty thank you as her lips and the top of her nose plunged straight into the red wine surface, letting the liquid warm her from the inside. Her eyes regarded Blossom dearly, watching the tattooed woman serve a couple more customers before returning her attention to the young illustrator.

“I adore the artwork on your skin.” Penny said, intending the conversation to be no more than some casual banter. A moment of togetherness during the season of loneliness and isolation. “Are you not cold? Although I don’t blame you. If I had something so beautiful tattooed I’d want to be always showing it off too. Say, who did them for you?”

[Dovey]

28 Winter, 517 AV
"Speech"
"Others"

There were trees outside the Cubacious Inn today; Dovey caught glimpses of them through the front door as people hurried in and out of the building, noses bright red and hands tucked firmly into pockets. She herself was leaning against the wall by the staircase which led to her floor, savoring the warmth of the indoors. She had come downstairs with every intention of going out for something to eat, but winter was so cold - and snow was so godsforsaken damp -

She went on idly observing for a few more chimes, until a scent came wafting in through the open door which had her alert and salivating in a matter of moments. Meat! That's good meat roasting. It had to be nearby - unless the smell was an illusion, a discouraging thought but not enough to dissuade her from her newfound quest - and if she didn't find it she'd come straight back in and warm up. Decided, she pulled the sleeves of her dress down over her hands as far as they would go, and struck out in pursuit of the delicious smell.

Once outside it was obvious where the smell must be coming from. Pastel lights glinted from beyond those frosted trees she'd spied a few chimes ago, and the air murmured with the sounds of merriment. Dovey hurried closer, forgetting the chill, and in a matter of ticks she found herself in the midst of the festival.

There was the stall whose smell had lured her here - a table piled high with flaky pies. Steam rose from the colorful pastries into the star-strewn sky. Nearby, a gaggle of children crowded laughing around some sort of carnival game. At the center of the square stood a fountain, its water frozen in the very act of falling, creating intricate tangles and whorls of ice which caught and held the eye. And nearest to Dovey sat a huge barrel, with a woman near Dovey's own height half-hidden behind it, ladling something into a small clay mug. Her customer paid hastily and took the drink in both hands, gulping at it eagerly.

Dovey's stomach burbled. Drink or food, food or drink..?

Well, drink was closest.

She made her way over, and now, to her great satisfaction, she saw that the barrel held steaming-hot wine. "May I, please?" she said hungrily to the woman serving, already fishing in her dress pocket for mizas. The air here smelt tantalizingly of cinnamon, and she reveled in the aroma even as her nose stung from the cold. "Thank you," she murmured when the woman handed over her purchase, and then she was drinking, taking deep swallows of the rich, spicy liquid. Her hands stung now with heat instead of cold, and when she rested the mug on her breastbone she could almost forget it was winter.

It was the vendor's previous customer who broke Dovey from her reverie. "...don't blame you," she was saying when Dovey registered the conversation taking place beside her. "If I had something so beautiful tattooed I'd want to be always showing it off too. Say, who did them for you?"

It was a good question, Dovey thought, taking one last swallow of wine before bringing her face out of the mug. She hadn't paid attention to them before, but the inky flowers blooming on the vendor's skin really were delightful. She waited for the diminutive woman to answer the previous question before posing one of her own."They're too lovely," she said, smiling lightly. "Do they mean anything special to you? Or are they simply meant to charm?"

Boxcode credit: Karin Ironyach

[Ambrosia Alar]

For the past two weeks, Ambrosia had done nothing with her free time but stuff her face with food. Having been stuck in the Rear for the first week and a half of the season, Ambrosia had learned what true hunger was. The Stallion’s Rear served no food, and all the dozen or so patrons had to eat was whatever they had brought with them, which hadn’t been much. Now, at any opportunity, she was eating. Even sleep was forsaken for the possibility of food. That was why she was out with her older sister Bethany today. Ambrosia was hungry, and neither of them were good cooks. The only problem was neither knew where to go for food. That had left them wandering, and soon, Ambrosia had found herself following a particularly lovely illusion of an aurora. This one was different from the ones she had seen in pictures and the illusory ones that occasionally graced the sky in that this one lay beneath the surface of the hard-packed snow that made up the streets. Colored lights danced beneath the cold white path in patterns reminiscent of a lazy fire, and though no warmth came from it, the illusion reminded her of heat and brought a warmth to her soul. She was so enthralled with this illusion that she didn’t notice as the noise around her suddenly changed and grew louder with the revelry she had entered and the path widened into a large, open area with several stalls and milling people. Perhaps the only thing that brought her out of her distracted wonder was that the illusion ducked beneath a man’s stall. Maybe, though, it was the scent of the food the man had to offer. There was an assortment of pies, all decorated differently with little floral and leaf patterns but all filled with savory goodness, if Ambrosia’s nose was discerning right. Excited at another opportunity for food, Ambrosia nearly squealed in delight but managed to exclaim instead, “Bethany, look! Pie.” A heavy-bellied man behind the stand beamed a smile at the two. He had either just been very hard at work or been at the ovens removing the pies, because the shiny skin at the top of his head was dotted with sweat and the pits of his shirt were wet. Thick hands gestured to his food. “Hello, my beautiful friends. Can I get you a pie?” Ambrosia wanted to melt into the table, eating all its contents as she did. Meat pies were her favorite food, and if she ate herself to death on them, she was certain she would die a happy woman. Her building saliva had to be swallowed before she answered him. “Love, you are Goddess-sent.” His smile broadened. “Thank you, miss.” “What do you have?” Bethany was the only one of the two not thinking with her stomach, so it was up to her to ask these more practical questions. “Most anything you could want, miss. On this end is mince pie. Next to it is steak with mushroom, then lamb with potato, then venison, and I can’t even remember what’s in these last few.” Contemplating the pies in question for a moment, the big man gave up with a shrug and wiped the sweat off his face with the back of his hand, leaving a thick streak of blood that Ambrosia was sure indicated he was involved in the making of these pies from beginning to end. “Yes, miss, I can’t tell you what’s in those.” Ambrosia salivated and melted a little more. “I want all of them.” “Everything in moderation, Ambrosia,” Bethany reminded her. The baker put both hands on his round belly. “Moderation is for the weak. Weak-bodied and weak in spirit. I imagine you could handle a couple pies, miss.” That last bit was directed at Ambrosia, and she smiled in affirmation. “I’ll definitely take a couple myself. Which one do you want, Bethany?” “I’ll be good without.” Ambrosia groaned and gave her big sister a disbelieving glare. “You always say that. And without fail, a couple chimes into my meal, you want ‘one bite’ which soon turns into everything I got.” Turning back to the butcher-baker, Ambrosia beamed a smile that put his wide one to shame. “She’ll have the mince pie, and I’ll have the one with mushrooms. And I, love, ain’t weak, so throw in one of those mystery pies for later.” Money changed hands, and the big man served the two Alar sisters their pies. Saving the mystery pie for last, Ambrosia sank her teeth into her first pie and was met with an explosion of flavors and textures. The flaky crunch of the pastry was in stark contrast to the perfect tenderness of the meat. The balance of meat to mushrooms was ideal, and though Ambrosia’s taste buds weren’t trained, she could detect a cunning medley of spices within. Illusion work was at play, because the flavor changed from moment to moment, always something savory but different from the flavor before it. She swallowed and looked back to the baker. “It’d be a miracle if some lucky lady hasn’t already stolen you away for her own. You’re short selling yourself here.” “I won’t take any more for them, miss. It’s a fair price.” Ambrosia gave him her best sad face, an unconvincing attempt as a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want?” “An end to this cold,” the big man muttered. “Oh, who am I kidding? It’s nice to see winter again. I just wish I was warm.” “I’ve got just the thing for that.” Ambrosia walked around to his side of the stall and placed a kiss on his cheek. This close to him, she could smell a strange yet sweet combination of herbs on his breath intermingling with the sharp, iron bite of the blood on his clothes. When she stepped away, she could see a blush come to the butcher-baker’s cheeks, one not brought by the cold or by hard work, but the man’s smile said he didn’t mind. That was when Ambrosia noticed the outline of her lips in the streak of blood across his cheek and was certain her lips were now stained with it. “Nothing like a kiss from a pretty lady to get me warmed right up.” Returning to Bethany’s side, Ambrosia took a few more bites of her pie while the aurora illusion distracted her once more. It had decided to take up a somewhat more permanent residence beneath the man’s stall, and the lights served as a sort of advertisement. The unintended light show was drawing more and more people to see what he had for sale. Ambrosia wasn’t sure what brought it to her mind, but something came to her that she had to ask him. “Do you ever use alcohol in your cooking?” “On occasion,” the big man admitted while he served a pie to a couple who had just arrived. “I’m wondering what degtine would be like for cooking.” It was rare that Ambrosia would miss a chance to talk up the Stallion’s Rear. “It’s a specialty liquor we serve down at the Rear. I’ll have Cade send up a crate to you, and if it works out, I’m sure he could get you a steady supply. I don’t believe I got your name. Mister…?”

[Alvaros]

A puff of hot breath escaped Alvaros's lips, dissipating into nothingness as he meandered past rows of buildings. He drew his hands deeper into his pockets in a half-hearted attempt to keep out the cold. Still, there was a certain light to his hazel eyes; he held a liking for winter that did not extend to any of the other seasons. As a younger Isur, he'd always looked forward to the first snowfall (which rarely took long in the mountains). Some of that excitement had remained embedded in his heart, even as time went on, he supposed.

A jumble of voices just up ahead caught his attention, and his gait faltered. Was it a party, or something else? Intrigued, Alvaros continued forward, quietly hoping that this 'party' he was hearing didn't end up being just another one of Alvadas's illusions. He'd been made a fool more times than he'd have liked to admit during the short span of time he'd spent in the city up until that point, and he didn't want to grow that list if he could help it.

As the voices swelled in volume, the road that Alvaros traversed opened suddenly and split into what looked like a small town square. A string of lanterns cast their light on the ground below, dancing off of the fountain's water - ice? - in a shower of brilliant sparkles. Warm conversation filled his ears and jumped all around him, the pleasant tone only enhanced by the melodic tune being sung by the violin on the rooftops above.

Alv planted himself near the fountain, casting a warm gaze from stall to stall. The tantalizing scent of the meat pies was enough to make his mouth water. He fished his coin purse from the pack that was slung over his shoulder and began turning it over in his hands, contemplating on whether the purchase was worth it or not. Eventually caving in to hunger, he approached the man who appeared to be selling the pies.

"Hello," he'd greet with a half-smile. "Those are some decent-looking pies you've got there. I'd like this one, if you don't mind." He gestured to one of the pies to his left, the one that looked particularly crispy. He didn't so much mind the flavor, as long as it was meat and it was warm. Alvaros exchanged the coins for food with a nod of thanks and sat down at the nearest table. He drew in a long breath, savoring the scent of the pie in his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face - Dovey, the girl from the inn. He quirked his eyebrows; he quite liked her. Maybe he'd strike up a conversation, when she'd finished with the woman selling the wine.

Alv wriggled in place, finally taking a bite out of his pie, the steam drifting from its outer crust rising and brushing against his face, turning his cheeks rosy.

[ I rolled a 5! ]

[Asterope]

Aster did not like the cold. It took more than it would the average person for it to get to her, with the warmth she radiated, but once it began to affect her she was none too happy. She was a being of light and warmth primarily, and she would much rather bathe in the sun than have to put on endless layers simply to walk outside.

That being said, she loved snow. When it fell gently, light hitting it just right so it sparkled like a shower of glitter, it reminded her of the stars. The endless expanse of glittering, eye-searing white after a fresh snowfall was breathtakingly beautiful. The crunch of it beneath her boots was delightful, the way it surrounded and muffled the world into quite peace.

After the sudden disappearance of Morwen last winter, the snow in Alvadas had been a welcome sight. Despite her abhorrence of the cold, the wonderland waiting outside of the inn was too much for her to resist. Putting on her longest dress and her tall boots, she clasped her heavy fur-trimmed cloak around her neck. She couldn't fit the hood over her head with her horns, so she pulled the fur tightly against her neck as she left the inn and braved the cold.

The first breath was sharp and icy, rasping harshly in her throat. Aster shivered, watching a few children run past her yelling, amusement quirking her lips. Watching them run off, something caught her eye; between the trees that lined the street further down, she could catch glimpses of flickering lights. Clutching her cloak tightly around her, Aster ventured in the direction of the mysterious shimmering lights.

As she approached, they became more evident, ribbons of pink and blue and green winding between the trees, flickering like flames without heat. Aster watched, entranced, but she could hear people nearby; a whole crowd, by the sounds of it. There was laughter and the general hum of people talking.

Casting one last delighted glance at the lights, Aster walked towards the noise and suddenly found herself surrounded by people. Wooden stalls were scattered throughout the square, the smell of food and the laughter of children filling the air. She glanced around, surprised but pleased that she'd stumbled upon such a gathering.

She simply wandered at first, but then she heard a woman calling out, offering mulled wine. The prospect of something warm lured Aster over, though she had no real need for drink in her current form. She smiled politely at the woman running the stall, taking the small mug she was handed and paying the two silver coins. Faint steam wafted from the cup, radiating warmth into her palms.

Aster dipped her head, inhaling deeply, enjoying the smell of spices. She took a small sip and hummed in delight; it was hot enough that warmth ran down her chest and spread through her stomach, but not so much that she burned her tongue. The wine tasted of a sweet but tangy fruit, the spices leaving a lingering taste on her tongue.

Just as she was about to leave, she heard a familiar voice addressing the tattooed woman. "Penny," Aster brightened slightly, squeezing between two people to stand beside the dark-haired girl. "Sorry, I don't mean to interrupt," she apologized, realizing Penny and the vendor had been talking. Across the way, a stall selling clothing caught Aster's attention, and she side-eyed some of the scarves being displayed; but she could go investigate later.

"What were you all talking about, if you don't mind me asking?" She suddenly felt slightly awkward; she didn't want to intrude on the conversation, but she was glad to see Penny again, and curious as to what they were talking about. Another woman standing nearby seemed to have chimed in with something as well, standing in such a way that indicated she was indeed listening to the conversation.

Ledger :

Mug of mulled wine: -2 SM

"Common" | "Nari" | "Pavi" | Thoughts
"Other People's Speech"

[Chameleon]

Penny:

"Cold?" Blossom gave a smirk, rising her eyebrows so it appeared as if the leaves behind the flowers fluttered slightly in an imaginary wind. Perhaps it seemed like she should have been, with the little clothing she wore so her tattoos were visible, but she shrugged it off as if Penny had just suggested that her skin was flawless, or that her wine didn't taste nice. "Nonsense!"

If Blossom was the type to laugh, she would have. Instead, she only smirked a little more, and gave the wine a little stir. Without it even being noticeable until she had moved close enough to speak in a whisper, she added quietly. "Cold's only an illusion. There's no need for me to care, is there? Besides, have you noticed the only people who can actually affect the snow are the Twisted Streeters? They say only illusions can really do anything about illusions..."

Penny and Dovey:

By the time she got round to answering the short haired woman's last question, she had served up another woman who seemed interested in the conversation. Her voice moved up to her standard tone, and she continued with the same expression: pleased with herself, but for some reason that was impossible to guess. The conversation had shifted to her tattoos, and it was something she had enough to say about.

"You heard of the Poisoned Arrow? From there. They do piercing and tattoos and their work rival anybodies. A Myrian owns it - Yara's her name. Her tattoos are good. Really good. Shame about those packages she's been getting from Syka..." The woman trailed off, wondering who else had heard.

People said Blossom had a loose tongue. Those people were wrong. Her tongue wasn't loose, it was properly unhinged. Even if they didn't ask for it, secrets came pouring out, with the aim to cause as much damage and reputation ruining as possible. Worse, her secrets often came with a grain of truth so none could be considered lies.

Expect from when it came to her own secrets and reasons.

"Of course they mean something special," Blossom said, then added without batting an eyelid, "But is that really for you to know?" Her expression hardened, despite her features already being fairly hard before. "But no, they aren't to charm people. I'm not one who has to flirt constantly, unlike others." With this last statement, she left a lingering stare on Dovey, as if accusing.

Seconds later, and she was serving more customers as if she had said nothing. It was clear she wasn't interested in saying anything additional to these two women, not unless something else came up.

Ambrosia:

"It's Mr Burek, miss," the butcher and baker said with a smile as the blush faded from his cheeks. "Call me Isaac, though. It'll be Isaac to you." He gave a light chortle, then wiped his hands against his apron, trying to hide the sweat that was building up. It was clear he was a little nervous from all this attention from the young woman.

"And that business sounds good. We can talk about it further, yes? Enjoy the fair, but I'll come to the Rear tomorrow? Will you be there?"

A nervous expression shadowed across his features. For a few seconds he was thinking. Then he spoke again, trying to be careful about his words but also betray that he wasn't entirely certain about what he said. "Careful with that mystery pie. They're not all good on the teeth."

Oh, lucky you! Ambrosia's found herself buying a pie full of rocks! While the surrounding meat and spices taste great, every mouthful comes with a few pebbles, which may not be the most pleasant. Careful when eating this, you don't want to choke!

Alvaros:

The approach of the Isur disturbed the butcher from conversing with Ambrosia and he turned to him a little flustered, but trying his best to recompose himself. "I hope you enjoy!" the man smiled quickly.

What's Alvaros got? Hmm... It smells good! What a lucky pick, it seems - it's just rabbit. The pie taste absolutely heavenly, like nothing he could have tasted before. What more, the pie is so warm and filling, after eating it, Alvaros has satisfied his hunger for the next day and won't feel the cold the whole evening!

Asterope, Penny and Dovey:

Blossom's eyes flickered as the Ethaefal approached the congregating women. She debated replying for a second. But what particularly could she say that the others couldn't? No, she had customers to deal with. Let the others explain - she'd only add something if she had something worthy of being added: something only she would know about, something only she would be able to say.

Or if the question was directed at her specifically. But it wasn't. So she didn't have to say anything.

[Dovey]

28 Winter, 517 AV
"Speech"
"Others"

Dovey's lips parted in shock, her incredulous gaze fixed on Blossom's accusing face. What had just happened? The conversation had been perfectly cordial a moment before, and now... What exactly was she being accused of? Unattractiveness, desperation? How did this woman even know about her penchant for flirting? Her heart tightened in her breast. In the moment of the attack she had been too surprised to be angry; now heat rose in her cheeks, defying the wintry weather, and she glared at Blossom from beneath fiercely drawn brows.

Yet the tattooed woman seemed utterly unconcerned, her attention now devoted to ladling out wine for other customers. Disrespectful, taking a cheap shot and then hiding from the consequences. Disrespectful and cowardly. This woman wasn't worth her time. Dovey sniffed and turned her head away, savoring her wine aggressively. Whatever its source, it was still delicious, and if the only revenge she could have was in benefiting from something Blossom had provided her, then she would enjoy that revenge as best she could.

Another customer had joined the conversation, greeting by name the woman who'd begun the discussion. Dovey gave the willowy figure beside her a cursory glance, only to look back again with much increased interest at the glassy green horns spiraling from the woman's temples. She'd seen a few slaves with horns like that in Kenash, just glimpses of them hidden behind Dynasty walls or ensconced in well-guarded carriages. Hadn't she heard they were stars, fallen to the earth? What were they called - ?

"What were you all talking about, if you don't mind me asking?" The woman was diffident, just a hint of awkwardness audible in her tone. Dovey was suddenly determined to prevent the rude Blossom from insulting this stranger as well. "The conversation's gotten a bit unpleasant, actually," she said, smiling politely at the woman with the horns. "Certain people seem unable to behave like decent and civilized members of society." She nodded briefly in Blossom's direction. "I surely won't stop you from greeting a friend, but I wanted to warn you what you might be walking into."

She took a long draft of wine, draining the cup to a quarter of its original fullness. She would leave for another stall just as soon as she'd finished her drink, but she still had to return the mug, and she didn't want to give it back with wine left at the bottom. That would look like she was running from Blossom - and, all right, she didn't want to lose out on any of the spiced drink either. It was that good.

Boxcode credit: Karin Ironyach

[Alvaros]

ALVAROS SOLTROS
WINTER, 517 AV
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
"Common" | 'Thoughts' | "Isurian"

Alvaros offered the man behind the booth a tight-lipped smile and a nod of thanks as he took the pie, the food's warmth already creeping into his fingers and making his stomach growl. He stepped away, glad to leave those present to their conversation, and seated himself at a table near the fountain.

The pie in his hands was nearly tantalizing. Perfectly round, baked until the crust took on a slight golden-brown tinge, with steam billowing from its surface carrying wonderful smells... There was an inkling of doubt in the back of Alv's mind. After all, what were the chances of a pie being this perfect? Perhaps it was all an illusion, and he was moments from sinking his teeth into... a big rock, or something. He wouldn't put a trick that foul past the city of Alvadas;
since his arrival and his initial struggles, he'd been extra cautious. Then again, he was also very hungry, and his hunger was beginning to outweigh his fear.

The Isur leaned forward for a hesitant first bite, his mouth immediately flooded by the rich flavors of... was that rabbit? Yes - rabbit, without a doubt. He closed his eyes and took another bite, savoring the taste. It warmed his throat and his stomach.

It wasn't long before Alv had finished the pie, very much at peace with his purchase. He opted not to move - not yet, at least - and instead watched other Alvads as they went about the fair, allowing his meal to settle. He was eager to visit more of the booths - the carnival games in particular had caught his attention - but at the same time, he wasn't looking to empty his pockets all in one place. It wasn't like he had money to throw around or anything. Perhaps he'd just sit back and enjoy the atmosphere.

[Chameleon]

"Decent and uncivilised?" Blossom snorted, rather lacking and femininity, "Rather a harsh judgement. Are you really one to be dealing out judgements to us native Alvads?" She gave a smirk, then extended it into a more cheery smile. "But no harsh feelings between us all! Here, another mug on me, if you'll have it?'

The sudden changes in Blossom were as plentiful as the illusions in this city. But her ladle was ready in the mulled wine and at this point, her offer really was genuine. No one had to take it, of course. But the smile on her face seemed so weak, as if refusal would cause it to shatter at once.

It was up to them to decide whether they cared, however.

Meanwhile, a large clamour of people had started gathering at the fountain, a few braver ones stepping onto the frozen water. They were shouting. Happy shouts, though, filled with prospects of joy and hope and good cheer. "Everybody! Do you see what's happened? Morwen has returned!" The false idea rippled through the air, no one able to tell the truth so they accepted it anyway. "Winter has come to us! So let us celebrate - the world is right again!" How the thought that it was only an illusion hadn't occurred to anyone, it was hard to tell. Perhaps it had - but they were playing the prospect of something greater. "To Winter - and to Morwen who brought it back!"

"To Morwen!" came the joined voices of many, some who believed it, some who simply wanted part of the joy.

Leth blinked at the proclamation. In that moment, the wind rose. The sudden cold chill froze through them all, especially those who had just given out a cheer - a chill that didn't come from the wind exactly. Then the snow rose in fury, launching thickly upon them. The blinding white cut into their skin and filled the air.

There wasn't panic, exactly. But the cheer was replaced with chill and those who could made their way inside. The others were stuck with trudging back - or trying to stick it out in the square - under the onslaught of constant snow. The Winter's Fair was over - and it had been the illusions that wanted them gone.