[Anaxas-Wide Event] The Feast of Saint Grumble

Old Rose Harbor's Introduction to the Feast of Saint Grumble

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Anaxas' main trade port; it is also the nation's criminal headquarters, home to the Bad Brothers and Silas Hawke, King of the Underworld. The small town of Plugit is nearby.

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Fri Jun 29, 2018 2:27 pm

The Feast of Saint Grumble
LOSHIS 3, 2718 | OLD ROSE HARBOR
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Rowdy.

That's what the word that came to mind when one stepped out into the streets of Old Rose Harbor this soggy, rather wet evening. It was the week of Saint Grumbles and the port town was already soaked with rain, not that such weather ever stopped a bunch of half-drowned sailors or ne'er-do-wells ever in their short, violent lives. Still, it seemed as though this year, the King of the Underworld himself had spared no expense to make the celebration as peaceful and uplifting as possible for once: colorful lanterns hung from lampposts and between the alleyways, danced off ships' masts and bobbed along the docks. Wreaths of thistle and blood-red ribbons decorated businesses and whorehouses alike, and the taverns were promising a special brew of mead laced with warming spices from Hox, far to the north. Musicians had set up numerous stages along Haverton Pier as well as in the King's Court, and a special reenactment of the story of Saint Grumble would be played out every house on the chime in full regalia on the King's Court stage all evening long. Rumor had it that the actors and actresses were from the capital itself, but everyone worth their weight in birds knew that rumor was a clocking lie—prettied up prostitutes and a couple of well-spoken sailors were just about the best most in the Harbor could afford, after all.

The week of Saint Grumbles was a particularly strange time in Old Rose Harbor, for this week only required a very special parlay, a decree first enacted when Hawke took power over the Bad Brothers over a decade and a half ago in his rather swift and bloody and well-known coup. Every rival gang and crime lord, every Seventen (no matter whose payroll they answered to), every cut-throat and pickpocket, and every foreign pirate was expected to respect Lizzie's Law, as it was colloquially known as a nod to the holiday. No murder, no theft, no fighting for the entire week. Instead, it was traditionally expected for everyone to get along as peaceably as possible, avoiding conflict and respecting territories. This didn't guarantee a bit of drinking or cheating at a game of cards, but for the most part, magically, mysteriously, rowdily, all of the Harbor got along during the Feast of Saint Grumbles.

If that wasn't magic, then vroo didn't exist in Vita at all.
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On Haverton Pier, taverns opened their doors and lowered their prices, rolling out the Spiced Mead in huge barrels imported by airship from the quiet northern Kingdom of Hox. Hot on the tongue but soothing in the belly, the deep rust-colored alcohol was said to bring peace to even the most brutal of fighters and bring joy to the downtrodden for this week only, though the ingredients were kept understandably secret.

"I 'ear th' Queen's too ill t' attend St Grumbles in Vien'a this year." One of the crowd, one Fish Gutter, grinned stupidly at the woman to his left. Tanned and muscled, the sun-bleached blonde popped a fish eye in his mouth with a wink for emphasis.

"Oi. She ent ill. She's jus' gonna be 'ere." Slip rolled her eyes, the skinny witch piratess set her collection of knives jingling as she elbowed a tall, muscular human next to him.

"Dzeeeeeh. That's a load o' whale guts if I ever 'eard it." Hard Harry Tibbs snorted, shaking his head before downing his tankard of Spiced mead with a satisfied hiss.

Three stages graced the western side of the pier: a musical act calling themselves the Steamers, known for their rather avant-garde use of instruments and progressive use of percussion; a comedy act involving puppets for the younger crowd; and a small fighting ring on the farthest end of the pier just so that all the folks who didn't feel in the spirit of Saint Grumbles could get their swings in without breaking Lizzie's Law. The highlight of the fighting stage this evening was said to be a smashing good time between Hollis the Cudgel and Beefman. All bets this year were totally on Hollis, but a few hedged their birds on dear Beefman as underdog.

"You jus' wait. They say she's prettier than The Dove ever was." Fish grinned stupidly, bits of iris still stuck in what was left of his teeth.

"Shut yer heads, both o' ya! Thems mah favorite band comin' on now." Bellowed a cranky older man in front of them as they all waited at the stage for the music to begin.

"Clockin' sorry, sir. Clockin' sorry." Slip giggled, raising her hands in defense.

"Lizzie's Law an' all, lass." Harry grunted.

This was the one time in the whole year all of the Harbor felt safe, felt festive, and even the most downtrodden seemed to have a smile for a few moments despite the intermittent rain and the soggy roads.
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Far out of the reach of most of the harbor scum, Silas Hawke's palace was festively decorated and well-stocked for his own private party. While he'd promised to make an appearance on the stage in King's Court for the final showing of the Saint Grumbles reenactment, the King of the Underworld had his own celebration to attend first. His palace was abso-clocking-lutely lavish this year, as if Silas wanted to make sure that all of the Harbor knew that the Bad Brothers were, in fact, not at all suffering at the poaching hands of the Drain, decidedly attempting to squelch any rumors that the mysterious pirates had made any inroads into the profits of the Vein.

Beautiful lanterns, lush seating, and a mind-boggling delectable meal had been prepared for Hawke and his closest inner circle, their guests, and a few foreign, interested parties in the Bad Brothers. Everyone who was anyone in the Harbor, including a few very carefully selected rival gang members, found themselves on the invitation list ... and no one ever said no to the King.

The wick stood on the balcony overlooking the beautiful courtyard of his palace, protected from the sputtering rain by a gilded awning, glass of wine in his hand. Dressed as if he would be instead spending the evening at the Theatre in Vienda, Hawke sighed and rest his elbows on the moist stone, turning his dark-eyed gaze upward toward the tall human next to him, his second-in-command, Remses. The quiet, broad-shouldered man watched the festivities, music reaching the pair's ears and laughter rising above the rain.

Somewhere in the crowd, a young wick ran with a tail tied behind him, chased by a rather portly old human woman in a woven crown of soggy flowers and driftwood. Jeers and giggles followed them, one or two of the braver sorts attempting to trip the wick—

"Ye did a benny thing, convincin' that laoso tsuter, Rhob O'Berg to come. The Henchwitches will have their way with him, ye chen."

"Aye, mate. I've always got yer back, Silas." Remses grinned at his King like a hatcher, "That were the plan all along, weren't it? They call him the Durg o' the Sea now. You can bet the whole Vein that's gone to his clockin' head."

"Oes, brunno. O'Berg's had his day with his gang long 'nough, an' we've got him with his boys here at my clockin' party." Hawke smirked, raising his glass and whistling loudly with his free hand. Everyone below him cheered and raised their glasses, a few raised a wench or two, and some sorry lout raised his hook for a hand.

Remses raised his flagon last, shouting above the din, "Here here! Merry Grumbles from your King!"

A few more cheers erupted from the loyal, hand-selected crowd. Silas chuckled and waved, dark eyes lingering on the dark-skinned, fair-haired captain dubbed the Durg of the Sea, the pirate captain leader of a very contentious rival gang that had been too quickly on the rise for his tastes for years now. This holiday was a perfect moment to make sure his competition got the hint, Lizzie's Law or not. Lingering in the balcony for a few extra ticks, the wick criminal swept the crowd for his favorite witches, catching their attentions each with a wink before he disappeared into his palace to wait for them.

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ABBC3_OFFTOPIC
Welcome to the first annual Feast of St Grumbles, which takes place from the 1st of Loshis until the 10th of Loshis, the first week of the rainy season. Classes are out, many businesses are closed, and all races enjoy the story of St Grumbles while feasting and exchanging gifts over the ten days (if they can afford to do so).

This is an introduction, and if you'd like your character(s) to participate in the Feast, please start all of your thread titles with [St Grumbles] and we encourage you to make them Open threads!

If there's a particular NPC that you'd like to interact with, don't hesitate to talk to your friendly staff! Have fun and happy feasting!

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