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The holidays are upon us, and although Althanas doesn't necessarily have the same religious holidays as Earth, that doesn't mean there aren't any celebrations. This option is pretty darn straight forward and simple:
It's the winter holiday season. How and what do you celebrate? Or do you celebrate?
In the cold clasp of first morning light an island awoke. Though it did so slowly, at a leisurely pace brought on by the commercial decline into the depths of the perma frost, the sense of urgency in the around Duffy Brandybuck was immense. Crackling and cackling, the bard waited in its midst, praying that he had not been let down in the final hour. Wrapped in silk scarves, white bandages and a woollen demi-cloak that smelt vaguely of lavender, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other to try and keep out the frost. Scara Brae in winter was not a pleasant city to live in.
“I see you’ve kept your word, Mr Bracken,” a husky, directionless voice whispered into the bard’s mind, without any trace of age or echo. Once, the sudden apparition of his business associate a few feet in front of him, literally out of thin air, might have startled Duffy. After many long years of exchanges between the pair however, the mystery and wonder had faded.
“You asked me here Mr Jonas, so here I am. I am cold,” he padded down his shoulders, as if to reiterate the fact, “and I am half asleep. Please make this quick.” The cockerel had only crowed an hour or so ago, and though the sun, softened by heavy cloud cover had already risen over the building laden horizon, Duffy still considered it to be a time to sleep until happier climes.
Mr Jonas of Didcot Lane was a provocateur, a savant thief and a prima chef. His appearance gave little clue as to where he had acquired these titles, as he was immaculately dressed, if a little dishevelled. There were no food stains on his collar, no handkerchiefs tucked into his pocket and certainly no stolen goods about his person. He appeared to Duffy to be a very modern gentleman of the lower upper classes, even if that gentleman happened to have been up all night at a very lavish and debauchee party.
In the many years Duffy had counted Mr Jonas amongst his business acquaintances he had learnt it was best not to ask about the origins of these titles. A man like Mr Jonas seldom offered the information, and if rumour had it, it was because it was a fatal mistake to enquire. He stepped forwards, closing the fifteen feet gap between businessman and customer with unnaturally lithe steps. His heavy hobnail boots crunched down the soft layer of snow that had dared to fall down to street level.
“As you are no doubt aware Mr Bracken, in recent months the city has become less…” he licked his lips, with far too much solation for the bard’s liking, “welcoming to my particular brand of commerce.” He tipped his cocked top hat, which was bound in brown velvet and adorned with a crimson sash. The motion flicked the trail which dangled down in a plait at the back like a lashing whip. “Do you quite catch my meaning?”
Unfortunately for Duffy he very much caught Mr Jonas’ meaning. He did not wish to show any signs that he was still intimidated by the man, so he nodded in agreement. It was too near the festival of Yule for bloodshed, or at the very least, a sudden case of disembowelment. It wasn’t a seasonal thing to be inflicted with so suddenly and carelessly.
Mr Jonas was no doubt referring to the civil war in Corone. Over the course of the last year Queen Valeena’s infinite wisdom had decided to inflict heavy taxation on all honourable and not so honourable business ventures. The echoing silence weighed down on his shoulders as he struggled to not let slip he was thinking hard. Mr Jonas did not like to think his clients ill-educated about their acquisitions. A good businessman, after all, did honest exchange even if the goods exchanged were not as honest as his intentions. The bard wondered if the taxation had indeed hampered Mr Jonas at all, or if this was simply part of the man’s sales patter, which was nigh enchanting and sickeningly charismatic.
“Excellent Mr Bracken, then you will no doubt share my sympathies in that regard?” He set his hat back onto his head, quite straight, but not as straight as his pallid smile. Amongst the gutters of the city it was a legendary smile that suggested mischief, but not the sort of mischief that would hurt you if you listened to it very, very closely. “Of course you do, how rude of me to question your loyalty, now where was I?” Mr Jonas folded his arms over the lapels of his smoking jacket, which always seemed to be smattered with a light coating of dust, or perhaps, from his greasy, lacquered hair, it was wayward dandruff.
“You were going to inform Mr Bracken about why he is standing in an alleyway between a church and a whorehouse two days before Yule, quite frozen, and quite at the end of his tether.” He thought for a moment, biting his lip and stamping his feet in a non-threatening manner to keep his limbs from shattering.
Mr Jonas seemed to take comfort in the fact that Duffy, like most patriarchs in the city was suffering from the strains of the winter solstice. “It is indeed the season for it,” he mused.
Mr Jonas, who quite possibly did not believe in the Winter Thayne, smiled wearily. It was a smile that indicated warmth, but in itself possessed none. He made a great show of unbuttoning his jacket to retrieve something from the inner pocket, where most men kept a cigar, a pocket watch, or perhaps an elegant and etched pocket flask. Mr Jonas, who had no time for such vices, produced from within the violet lined cloth a simple, well written hand note. He held it out disdainfully, and Duffy took it with a nod of thanks.
“Though I am certain the festivities in the play house will be raunchy, jolly and without equal amongst the echelons of our great society, I am afraid that I have only been able to acquire three turkeys matching your specific requirements.” Mr Jonas seemed to think that this would somehow be a problem for Duffy, who quite secretly loathed turkey with a passion.
“Oh that is a shame Mr Jonas,” he smiled sarcastically, imagining the look on Ruby’s face when he returned to the Prima Vista to inform her. “I guess,” he opened the note fully and checked the ledger, “three will quite have to suffice!”
Long ago, many people in Scara Brae, nearly all of them male, with many mouths to feed and gifts to buy for had taken it upon themselves to do whatever they could to ensure that the yule tradition was kept alive, whilst the pockets were not emptied to the point of threadbare carelessness. Whenever a wife requested the latest scent, a daughter demanded a pony or a dutiful matriarch with fifteen orphans and close friends to cater for demanded far too much food, the strapping men of Scara Brae came to rely on the mystical art of ‘it’s the thought that counts’.
Of course, Ruby would see through whatever money saving schemes Duffy came up with, which is precisely why she always demanded more from him than she needed. For six years running he had been unable to produce the desire amount, only to in fact acquire exactly what she needed to make the feast of the winter king one to remember until the next eventual day of gluttony came about.
“You sound almost satisfied with the news Mr Bracken.” Mr Jonas became suddenly aware that he had lost his leverage, and disdainfully stepped away from the bard. The dull shade of light dampened his usually grandiose appearance into something drab and dull, antithesis to Duffy’s luminescent garb. “I trust our venture is not voided?”
“No Mr Jonas, this ledger is perfectly accountable.” He folded it neatly into four quarters and slipped it into one of the small pouches resting about his waist. The clip of a metal fastener echoed down the alleyway with a thunderous and overly dramatic snap. “I will pay for the turkeys when they are delivered as per the arrangement.”
Mr Jonas nodded. “You also requested something a little more untoward.”
Yule had many meanings to the people of the island. To the vast majority it was a celebration of the deepest part of winter, when the sun all but died, the snows fell thick and fast and the tundra of the Scara Brae plains became a virulent playground for the ice skating brave souls who assumed unflattering furs and falling on their behinds was a noble past time whilst countries were torn from existence. To many others, Duffy in particular, it meant a new beginning, a time to forgive, forget and dwell on the future, not the past.
“If you were able to acquire it I would be indebted to you.” If being in debt to Mr Jonas was often a fatal thing to be in, being indebted was almost certain to be something the bard would regret. “I may begrudge the expense of this time of year, but tradition is a powerful weapon in the hands of a spiteful woman.”
The dandy merchant undid the buttons of his jacket fully, and flicked the corners of his waistcoat aside. Tucked into his belt, one on each hip were two long thin rods of polished Liviol.
“I assume you will keep to the code of conduct of the Thieves’ Guild and speak to nobody of where you got these, or indeed, the oath we hold that nothing we say to one another will ever be remembered beyond the remit of our mutual company?” Mr Jonas’ had begun to speak verbosely and with great dictation behind every syllable. Though the man intimidated Duffy greatly, he felt suddenly comforted at the man’s rising nerves.
“The oath is strong and the Guild is bonded,” he nodded.
Mr Jonas slid the implements free of his custody and held them out side by side a few feet apart.
“You are a fantastic individual Mr Jonas,” Duffy took the Liviol wands carefully; with shaking fingers and a rumbling stomach for the powers they held.
“Thank you, you will of course return the favour I’m sure?”
“Name your price Mr Jonas,” Duffy deposited the rods about his person in the blink of an eye. “Though the least I can do is offering you a turkey for your trouble?” He shrugged politely, adding question and kindness to his proposition. A soft flutter of snow fell over them both, followed by a gust of wind piercing the shelter of the alley with a ghostly howl.
“I’m quite alright Mr Bracken, though it is the season, it is not my season.” The man nodded, stepped back, and before Duffy could acknowledge the decline with a familiar and warming ‘bah humbug’, Mr Jonas was gone into the shadows and away.
The bard turned on a heel and made his way past Mrs Longley’s Lady Love Shack with a gait and a swagger. He had the perfect gift for the perfect person, turkey to lay on the table and the whole day to himself whilst he was banned from the playhouse for the usual ‘day of wrapping Duffy’s gifts whilst he’s not spying on us’ ritual. He pictured ribbons, six year olds screaming and Lillith having a breakdown over wrapping paper and felt quite relieved things were just so.
In three days’ time, they would all be a pound heavier and a lot poorer, but the build-up felt like it was all worth it.
If Scara Brae was put back together with the Liviol Wands of the Sorcerer Molyneux*…then perhaps this year, for once, the gifts given would last through the spring…
Spoiler:
"Blasted screw! Go where I tell you!" Sheex demanded of the object that simply refused to go into the hole. And no, before anyone says anything, Sheex was not making some sort of sexual metaphorical joke. He really was trying to screw in a screw; first time for everything.
"Eh eh eh? Need a hand? Maybe you ought use the one that you have down my shirt?" his wife, Leila, advised as she playfully licked his ear.
"Or you could use one of yours? Like the one that's in my pants?" Sheex replied as he did his best to pick up the screw (which had fallen), and screw it back in; no easy task.
So maybe some sexual things were going on, but he really was trying to screw in that screw. Honest.
Every year it was the same thing. The night before Christmas, Sheex and his wife stayed up late to wrap gifts, and usually do some assembling of the larger ones. Their two children, Guy and Nami, were already fast asleep, so now it was time for the adults to have a bit of fun. In this particular case, "bit of fun" was code for drinking, groping, and usually (scratch that, always) sloppy sex by the fire place. Over the course of his marriage, Sheex had learn that his daughter Nami always wanted something that involved him building it, be it a bike, doll house, or jig saw puzzle (he had to do that last one with the little girl of course), and that building such things wasn't that hard even when he was drunk. Hell, it wasn't even that hard when he was fondling his wife either.
Being drunk and fondling his wife though. That was a trick.
"Christmas time, oh Christmas time!" Leila sang melodically (and drunkenly; the couple had a bottle of champagne...somewhere around here), "I'm so happy it's Christmas time!"
"And so am I! Ack! Dropped the screw again," Sheex swore as he fumbled about, failing in every way, shape, and form to build his daughter's doll house. It had taken him over two hours to just finish half of it (easy ten-step instructions his ass), and it was looking to be at least another two to finish the job. Not to mention all the gifts that still needing wrapping (which was supposed to be his darling wife's job, one she did not seem to intent on finishing).
"Hey. You've got to finish wrapping Troy's present. What'd we get him again?" Sheex muttered as he dropped the screwdriver. More important matters had...risen.
"Errrr, it's like some sort of gift set for his hair. I don't know, but Noel said he'd like it," Leila responded as she flung aside the wrapping paper. Noel was Troy's wife, should anyone care to know.
"She only said that cause she likes his hair. What'd we get her?" Sheex asked as he grabbed a nearby blanket; a very thick warm one.
"Some sort of spice rack...thing. I don't know; why do you ask all these hard questions anyway?" Leila managed to slur as she bundled up close, next to the man she loved more than anything else in the rest of the world.
"Cause your fingers seem to like hard objects. They can't help but run their slender skin up and down...and up and down...and," Sheex let out a bit of a grunt; forces beyond his control made him unable to finish his sentence.
"Hee hee hee. Break time?" Leila asked as she pulled the blanket across the two of them.
"Break time," Sheex concurred as he pulled Leila's shirt over her head, exposing her naked breasts to the gentle light from the fire place. With a grace that no swordsman could possibly equal, he flicked his tongue across her pink nipples. She let out a moan of satisfaction.
It was always the same old song. Build presents, wrap presents, fail miserably at both, have sex, and start again from the beginning. The funny thing was that they always got together with their friends the next day to have a big feast, and all the while Sheex and Leila would giggle as their friends opened their presents (usually because the love birds were whispering about the position they were in when that particular present had been wrapped).
Anyhow, some time after their passions had been spent, the two lay perfectly content by the fire, naked save for the blanket they had draped over them. Leila laid her head across Sheex's chest, and gave a soft sigh of contentment. Sheex smiled, gently stroked her ear, and gazed at the fire.
"Hey, you think we'll still be doing this in five years?" Leila whispered softly. Her husband chuckled.
"Having wonderful sex? I do hope so, because I'm pretty sure that was in our wedding vows," he flashed her a toothy grin. She gave him a playful slap in response.
"I was being serious, you big jerk!" Leila snapped (sort of) at him. Sheex only chuckled again in response.
"So was I. I snuck that in under my breath near the end. If the sex ever turns sour, the marriage is null and void...so you better keep you game up. And by game I mean butt, cause I happen to like it when you," the words disappeared into a cough, but not one of pain. Leila did enjoy a bit of playful hitting, but a bit of playful licking, she had learned, was a far more effective way to get her husband's attention.
"All right, all right! That tickles damn it!" Sheex laughed as Leila's tongue, more accurate than the greatest archer in Althanas, flashed about. "Yes, we will be doing this in five years! Why would you even doubt such a thing?"
"I don't know. I mean, kids grow up; Guy and Nami won't always come bounding into our rooms so they can open their presents. Just look how much you've changed since you've come here. Once upon a time, you were a wanderer, who called no man master, and called no place your home And now you..."
Sheex's wife let out a small squeak as Sheex hoisted her up, and onto his bare stomach. He wrapped the thick blanket around her shoulders, and gently touched his forefinger against her lips before she could finish her thought. His dark brown eyes met her emerald green eyes; flickers of flame gave the two lovers an unworldly glow.
"And now I have the most wonderful home in the world, and a master who is unequaled in beauty, wit, and charm. For you're the master of my heart, oh sweetest love," Sheex whispered as he gently touched Leila's cheek; a feeling of warmth passed between man and wife.
"Compared to you, the stars lose their brilliance. Compared to you, the sky is a dull shade of gray. When put next to you, the sun sets in shame, and the flowers stand a bit taller to bask in your warmth. No wind is cold with you next to me, and no journey is too long if you're by my side. You're my north, south, east, and west; and without you, the gods above may as well dry up the ocean, and set fire to the woods, because I know for certain that if I don't have you, I'll never be any good."
Accompanied by the softest smile, a single tear trickled down Leila's cheek. Her soft hands cupped her husband's face. His skin was a bit rough, and the bit of stubble there felt coarse in her hands. Leila put her lips together, and leaned forward. The blanket that covered her slipped of her shoulders, revealing her naked body in the firelight.
She wasn't the prettiest girl in town, she had always known that. Nor was she the ugliest, Leila had always known that too. But the way her husband looked at her made the luckiest girl in all of Althanas.
"You always had a way with words," she whispered as she kissed Sheex's lips. Their love was, after all, most easily shared with this simple simplicity. When the two kissed, the rest of the world simply ceased to exist. When Sheex and Leila locked lips, they were the only two people in in all of Althanas.
Every year, it was always the same old thing. Laughter and love; the very best gifts of all.
BUMP! Since the holiday season often keeps up very busy, I have decided to extend this particular Vignette to the end of January. So that means you have 28 more days to write a wintery celebration! And if you don't like the "traditional" holidays, make one up gosh darn it!
There was something about Salvar that brought with it a sense of danger and comfort simultaneously. It was a region constantly bombarded by the thwarting efforts of mother nature, always seeking a way to prevent the people from spreading their influence into the most pure and unexplored reaches of Althanas. Yet if one went north enough, north to the regions of Berevar, they would find mother nature to be the victor of that battle.
It was in these parts that Artemis found himself now, tucked into a small cavern away from the night chill - at least, as far away as one could get. He had gone on a journey to find a rare artifact that legends told lay in the mountains, tucked in the 'mouth of the dragon,' whatever that meant. Yet as he sat there, tucked against the wall with the fire burning brightly to keep him warm and only his sentient bow Judicis to keep him company, the young man found himself with nothing to do but think.
And so he did, first thinking on how grateful he was for Daros, the eccentric wizard who had crafted the underarmor that kept Artemis alive in that moment, its magical fibers keeping his body temperature at comfortable levels. Then his thoughts drifted to Axel, the bowyer who had actually sold Judicis to the young man despite it clearly being worth more - though to be fair, Judicis did have a say in the matter. He thought on the Norlond brothers, Bazzak and Nalin, and how they had taken him in as an apprentice in Knife's Edge and given him their knowledge of blacksmithing, as well as the Shaper's Signet that Artemis wore on his finger. Finally, the thought that kept Artemis warmest of all - Jay, his love. He couldn't help but close his eyes and smile as he thought of her lavender perfume that so perfectly embodied the soft tone of her skin. The dark elf had become the target of Artemis' heart and affection, and for a reason he couldn't quite articulate, he would do anything for the woman.
Yet as he thought of all of his closest friends, all the while wishing he could get a warm meal from Harki, the dwarf barkeep at The Bearded Gnome, he couldn't help but remember his circumstances. His trip to Berevar had been more troublesome than he had initially imagined, and they had warned him not to come alone. Yet this was something that only he could do, given the magical composition of his body, and they knew it as well as he. And so he sat, alone and miserable on a journey that was taking far longer than he had expected, while all of Knife's Edge were celebrating the Summer Solstice - a time of great joy in Salvar as it is some of the warmest weather that the region gets to experience. And while they all smiled and drank and sang and ate, Artemis would sit alone by a crackling fire with only Judicis' magic and the howling of mother nature's wind.
'What a horrible way to die,' Artemis thought, staring out at the thick white snow that fell so heavily one could barely see a few feet ahead.
It was Berevar where one was reminded of how fickle humans could be. With the endless political strife of Knife's Edge, the war in Corone, the xenophobia of Fallien, and even the competitions of The Citadel - in Berevar, these were all things to mock. It was an unforgiving region where there was no time for such petty squabbles. It was a land so vicious and dangerous that the only thing one could worry about is the immediacy of their own existence. Death was commonplace and just a part of existence, not a consequence of decision. It was not a place where one had time to celebrate such silly things as holidays or anything of the sort. It was nearly impossible to even imagine how children were born under such conditions - though to be fair, few humans made their home in the regions of Berevar, and they weren't always pureblood; there were many half giants living in the mountains.
'I expect one would rather die asleep in the night than by a blade in the day,' Judicis commented, though there was apparent humor in his message. 'Though to be fair, I'm not one to say, as I'm not very familiar with these notions of life and death.'
Artemis couldn't help but let out a chortle, then closing his eyes shortly after, trusting that the fire and underarmor would keep him alive through the night. And so he slept, alone through the holiday, with not another person within miles and miles. At least, none that he knew of.
And that's it for December and January!
Here are the results...
Sheex : This was a very amusing story and it makes me giggle every time I read it.
Duffy Bracken: Well written as usual. Though it took awhile to see what the connection was with the Yule season and the conversation between Duffy and Mr. Jonas.
Sir Artemis: This would have had a better chance of winning had you followed the prompt as written. I said WINTER holiday, summer solstices take place in summer, not winter. Otherwise, though a little sad that he was all alone, this was good. I would have liked a little more info on what he was up to than a general thing of being a mission only he could do.
The awards are as follows:
Sheex: 400EXP and 200GP
Duffy: 800 EXP and 175 GP
Artemis: 300EXP
EXP/GP added. Somebody with appropriate powers please close and move this thread to the archives.