The Feast of Saint Grumble
LOSHIS 3, 2718 | VIENDA
Magical.
That's what the word was that came to mind when one stepped out into the streets of Vienda this wonderful, slightly wet evening. It was the week of St Grumbles, and tonight the whole city was invited to attend the Feast of Saint Grumble. Beautiful phosphorus lanterns were hung from street lamps and houses alike, glowing warmly in the evening drizzle, whilst on the doors and fence railings of their homes people hung decorated wreaths of thistles and drapings of red velvet ribbon. Carolers wandered the streets, singing the Dirge of Grumble and handing out tickets to friends and strangers both for the musical wonderment that would be the Re-enactment of the Dirge at the Aeterna Theatre. Lillian Loveheart herself was playing Lizzie this year, and of course her partner in crime Basil York was none other than Saint Grumble himself. Ever the method actors that they were, the famous duo stayed in character as they paraded in the city, taking their time to attend both the common folk feast set up in Crosstown Court, and the more uptown event held in the ballroom of the Royal Palace. Later in the evening, both Lillian and Basil would retire to the the-ay-tre to prepare themselves for the breathtaking show. Lillian wore a crown of roses, representative of Lizzie's thistles, and a fine velvet coat over a pristine white dress. Basil, not to be outdone, swaggered around in a fine replica of a high ranking Seventen uniform and a gold woven rope 'tail'.
In Crosstown Court, the city officials had pulled together long tables and set up a range of food stuffs, all purchased from the farms in Bad Aisling. The small farming village was in absolute demand during the feast, their produce second to none when it came to quality. The long tables groaned with various meats, sides and beverages, platters replaced as quickly as they disappeared. Humans, wicks and even a collection of less discerning galdori moved around the Court, eating and drinking and gift giving as they waited for the theatre event to commence. Laughter mingled with the sounds of conversation and singing, and high born children ran amok with the lower races in a daring rebellion from their parents.
Low Judge Ogden stood amongst the people, his upper lip curled slightly and drink in hand as he watched the event with distain. Oh, how he longed to be at the palace with his peers, but Azmus had ordered him to attend Crosstown Court along with Pinter Lars, the second-in-command of the First Regiment of the Seventen. Along with a collection of Seventen as crowd control, it was not the place to be if one wanted to rub shoulders with the elite.
"I need another drink." He growled, hunched back and dropping grey moustache lending him an even more dour appearance than could be expected. Beside him, Brent Locksme chuckled and adjusted his wireframe spectacles.
"Lighten up Mars. It's St Grumbles. Do try and enjoy yourself for once, maybe?" The Low Judge scoffed, shoving a hand in his pocket and waving over the people with his half empty tonic.
"How Brent? We've been tasked with babysitting the likes of George Niccols and his shadow Thomas Dovewitt. The likes of us should be up there in the palace, rubbing shoulders with the King and Queen." Brent rolled his eyes and shrugged with a patient smile, sipping at his own cognac.
"I hear it Queen Ester won't be in attendance this year...
"Our Queen is not in her best state, so it was in her best interest to stay away this evening." He turned to survey the passives filtering through the guests, their hands holding trays of food and drink, moving double time to ensure no galdori was left empty handed. From the grandiose doors that led up away from the ballroom, and old frail figure moved slowly into the room, a golden crown nestled all too heavily in a thin sweep of white hair. He leaned heavily on a cane, and his shoulders were dressed with a thick purple robe. King Taelin shuffled forwards, smiling feebling at his guests and utterly obvlivious to the fact he'd begun to shuffle through the dancefloor. Galdori couples moved politely aside for the doddering old man, bowing respectfully and shooting each other wry smiles behind his back. William Azmus groaned under his breath and shoved the drink into the Seventen leaders hand.
"Alioe save me. Hold this." He moved forward to take the King by an arm, smiling with all the warmth of a chrove about to make the final killing bite to its victim.
"Your Magesty, please, this way. We've set up a seat for you right at the head of the ballroom." He said, voice oozing with false friendship. King Taelin smacked his lips together with a grin.
"Is the cheese here? Is it good? Make sure everyone eats their cheese William." The old King rattled softly, allowing himself to be guided to a lavishly decorated tall seat and a table all of his own. Right at the head of the ball as promised. Sitting slowly and carefully, the older galdor looked around at the fare before him, making a sound of delight as he picked up a slice of Bad Aisling Cheddar.
"Wonderful. Always must have our cheese William." High Judge Azmus nodded placatingly, stepping back and waiving at Hanz to join him at the table. The trio sat together, one either side of the King, both aware of the ridicule that went along with the old fool. From the throng of dancers, Basil York lifted his glass towards the trio and boomed in his most lilting and swoonworthy barritone.
"Here's to the King!" Around him, the nobility did the same, echoing his words with false loyalty.
"Why do you bother Jon? Each year it just feels more and more depressing." The clean shaven older man looked around at the gathering of dirty humans and wicks, children and adults a like, a small smile on his face and one eye hidden under a patch.
"Because for just a little while Alyssa, we can give the downtrodden a break. A moment in time where they can pretend to be free and happy. A minute to enjoy life before it comes crashing down again." From the darkness a familiar study face appeared with a large nose and a chuckle.
"Serro, the hero of the people, right Jon?" The leader of the Resistance laughed, patting the other man on the back.
"Ah shut your head Stu. You're just as bad, although your ale is probably more of the hero right now." Stu chuckled again, chugging his own supply with a deep sigh. Alyssa looked at them both with a frown, her jaw twitching.
"This is the ideal opportunity to take them all and flee to Dorhaven. Free the people, for the people! I still don't get why we're standing here pretending to be happy." Serro sighed, watching the children playing and people chatting softly.
"Because as good as you are with those knives of yours my dear, you're no match for the Seventen and their chroves just waiting for exactly that beyond the city boundaries. They won't just capture these people Alyssa, they'd slaughter them, without a thought to the contrary. No. We don't run, not tonight. Tonight we laugh, and we give gifts of food and drink." Grinning, the man moved to reach for a woven crown of twigs and daisies, placing it on the assassins head with a laugh.
"Besides, we need a Lizzie to my Grumble." Jon said, turning to show her the dull rope tail tied to his waist. Alyssa rolled her eyes, but there was a tiny hint of a smile in the corner of her lips.
That's what the word was that came to mind when one stepped out into the streets of Vienda this wonderful, slightly wet evening. It was the week of St Grumbles, and tonight the whole city was invited to attend the Feast of Saint Grumble. Beautiful phosphorus lanterns were hung from street lamps and houses alike, glowing warmly in the evening drizzle, whilst on the doors and fence railings of their homes people hung decorated wreaths of thistles and drapings of red velvet ribbon. Carolers wandered the streets, singing the Dirge of Grumble and handing out tickets to friends and strangers both for the musical wonderment that would be the Re-enactment of the Dirge at the Aeterna Theatre. Lillian Loveheart herself was playing Lizzie this year, and of course her partner in crime Basil York was none other than Saint Grumble himself. Ever the method actors that they were, the famous duo stayed in character as they paraded in the city, taking their time to attend both the common folk feast set up in Crosstown Court, and the more uptown event held in the ballroom of the Royal Palace. Later in the evening, both Lillian and Basil would retire to the the-ay-tre to prepare themselves for the breathtaking show. Lillian wore a crown of roses, representative of Lizzie's thistles, and a fine velvet coat over a pristine white dress. Basil, not to be outdone, swaggered around in a fine replica of a high ranking Seventen uniform and a gold woven rope 'tail'.
In Crosstown Court, the city officials had pulled together long tables and set up a range of food stuffs, all purchased from the farms in Bad Aisling. The small farming village was in absolute demand during the feast, their produce second to none when it came to quality. The long tables groaned with various meats, sides and beverages, platters replaced as quickly as they disappeared. Humans, wicks and even a collection of less discerning galdori moved around the Court, eating and drinking and gift giving as they waited for the theatre event to commence. Laughter mingled with the sounds of conversation and singing, and high born children ran amok with the lower races in a daring rebellion from their parents.
Low Judge Ogden stood amongst the people, his upper lip curled slightly and drink in hand as he watched the event with distain. Oh, how he longed to be at the palace with his peers, but Azmus had ordered him to attend Crosstown Court along with Pinter Lars, the second-in-command of the First Regiment of the Seventen. Along with a collection of Seventen as crowd control, it was not the place to be if one wanted to rub shoulders with the elite.
"I need another drink." He growled, hunched back and dropping grey moustache lending him an even more dour appearance than could be expected. Beside him, Brent Locksme chuckled and adjusted his wireframe spectacles.
"Lighten up Mars. It's St Grumbles. Do try and enjoy yourself for once, maybe?" The Low Judge scoffed, shoving a hand in his pocket and waving over the people with his half empty tonic.
"How Brent? We've been tasked with babysitting the likes of George Niccols and his shadow Thomas Dovewitt. The likes of us should be up there in the palace, rubbing shoulders with the King and Queen." Brent rolled his eyes and shrugged with a patient smile, sipping at his own cognac.
"I hear it Queen Ester won't be in attendance this year...
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"...first year that she's ever missed the event actually." Muttered High Judge Azmus, twirling his waxed thin mustache as he scanned the nobility that had attended the ball. At the palace, the affair was much grander than Crosstown, with lights and red velvet decor intertwined with creeping rose vines and magically enhanced fountains of the prettily sparkling Gedwin's Patent Mood Elevator. The great chandelier that hung above the ballroom was lit, shining rainbows on the walls through its crystalline structure. Music played, a lilting string quartet that softly played a classically adjusted version of the Dirge, allowing people to dance or simply mingle. Hanz Morde looked at the High Judge with a slow nod, sipping his Twemlaugh and rubbing at his steel clockwork leg through his Seventen finery. The man was massive, a chrove of a man as they said, and his leg hissed mechanically as he walked."Our Queen is not in her best state, so it was in her best interest to stay away this evening." He turned to survey the passives filtering through the guests, their hands holding trays of food and drink, moving double time to ensure no galdori was left empty handed. From the grandiose doors that led up away from the ballroom, and old frail figure moved slowly into the room, a golden crown nestled all too heavily in a thin sweep of white hair. He leaned heavily on a cane, and his shoulders were dressed with a thick purple robe. King Taelin shuffled forwards, smiling feebling at his guests and utterly obvlivious to the fact he'd begun to shuffle through the dancefloor. Galdori couples moved politely aside for the doddering old man, bowing respectfully and shooting each other wry smiles behind his back. William Azmus groaned under his breath and shoved the drink into the Seventen leaders hand.
"Alioe save me. Hold this." He moved forward to take the King by an arm, smiling with all the warmth of a chrove about to make the final killing bite to its victim.
"Your Magesty, please, this way. We've set up a seat for you right at the head of the ballroom." He said, voice oozing with false friendship. King Taelin smacked his lips together with a grin.
"Is the cheese here? Is it good? Make sure everyone eats their cheese William." The old King rattled softly, allowing himself to be guided to a lavishly decorated tall seat and a table all of his own. Right at the head of the ball as promised. Sitting slowly and carefully, the older galdor looked around at the fare before him, making a sound of delight as he picked up a slice of Bad Aisling Cheddar.
"Wonderful. Always must have our cheese William." High Judge Azmus nodded placatingly, stepping back and waiving at Hanz to join him at the table. The trio sat together, one either side of the King, both aware of the ridicule that went along with the old fool. From the throng of dancers, Basil York lifted his glass towards the trio and boomed in his most lilting and swoonworthy barritone.
"Here's to the King!" Around him, the nobility did the same, echoing his words with false loyalty.
text
In the Soot District, the affair was far less then any of the prior. No galdori attended this one, and no produce was shared from the larger events. Instead, Jon Serro set up barrels of nameless ale and placed plates of bread, cheese and cured meats on upturned wooden crates inside of of the abandoned factories. The children of the district played quietly, eating as much as their tiny tummies could handle and stealing sips of the ale. There was no fine music here, but a couple of the Resistance members had found themselves with a fiddle and a harmonica, and so the small gathering of the poorer than poor enjoyed the unstructured delights of their combined musical interlude. Around the gathering, there were lit candles or low burning oil lamps, giving the old factory a sort of warmth. Alyssa Pierre sipped her ale and shook her head."Why do you bother Jon? Each year it just feels more and more depressing." The clean shaven older man looked around at the gathering of dirty humans and wicks, children and adults a like, a small smile on his face and one eye hidden under a patch.
"Because for just a little while Alyssa, we can give the downtrodden a break. A moment in time where they can pretend to be free and happy. A minute to enjoy life before it comes crashing down again." From the darkness a familiar study face appeared with a large nose and a chuckle.
"Serro, the hero of the people, right Jon?" The leader of the Resistance laughed, patting the other man on the back.
"Ah shut your head Stu. You're just as bad, although your ale is probably more of the hero right now." Stu chuckled again, chugging his own supply with a deep sigh. Alyssa looked at them both with a frown, her jaw twitching.
"This is the ideal opportunity to take them all and flee to Dorhaven. Free the people, for the people! I still don't get why we're standing here pretending to be happy." Serro sighed, watching the children playing and people chatting softly.
"Because as good as you are with those knives of yours my dear, you're no match for the Seventen and their chroves just waiting for exactly that beyond the city boundaries. They won't just capture these people Alyssa, they'd slaughter them, without a thought to the contrary. No. We don't run, not tonight. Tonight we laugh, and we give gifts of food and drink." Grinning, the man moved to reach for a woven crown of twigs and daisies, placing it on the assassins head with a laugh.
"Besides, we need a Lizzie to my Grumble." Jon said, turning to show her the dull rope tail tied to his waist. Alyssa rolled her eyes, but there was a tiny hint of a smile in the corner of her lips.
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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!
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!
