The Open Hand: 2021

[Ranger]

The Peaceful Promenade was one of the most infamous and beloved taverns in Scara Brae. While times had changed and its dominance as the best tavern on the island had waned, it was still a stout establishment. The three story building was built for travelers. It had multiple rooms and an incredibly large first floor that was open to anyone. For Arphenion, it was a flashback to a time long passed.

He stood outside, looking at the face of the building. The windows were glowing with hearthlight, dancing as if alive with the flame from the fireplace itself. The frigid wind whipped past him and frosted the edges of the windows. It was a welcoming sight, but one that brought on nostalgia. This was the way things had been for his former self, that cursed dark elf. Ranger Nailo had been part of the Red Hand, a secretive guild that had at one point taken over the Coronian mercantile system. They had, however, been about the people and always took the time once a year to celebrate the holidays.

The Celebration of the Open Hand

It was a yearly tradition where everyone, be they enemies or allies, gathered together to celebrate the ending of a season and the start of another. In the past, Arphenion remember a tavern outside a mining village, but those memories were painful and fleeting at best. He pushed them aside and wandered into the Peaceful Promenade to enjoin the company of those that would join in for the celebration.

This is a moderated thread. That means that it will be overseen by me, but is open to everyone. Anyone that would like to join is welcome! This is a thread for anyone to write a holiday spirit based thread. This is a mixture of the holidays from late December to the New Year celebrations, so everyone is welcome.

I will also be doing a raffle for the top 3 spots (completely random after 1 week), and offering very exclusive rewards for those spots. Anyone that joins is eligible. Everyone else is eligible for a small item/ability/gold boost for joining!

[Nosdyn]

High Priest Crux was a member of the Lady Y'Edda priesthood who operated in Scara Brae bringing hope to the people.

He knew Lord Nosdyn from past experiences and past favors. Once Lord Nosdyn had saved his life. Favors owed, favors paid. Lord Nosdyn had a camp outside of Stonevale where he hunted the local beasts for food for Stonevale and his wife, Cerna. High Priest Crux wanted to invite Lord Nosdyn himself that night. Stonevale was having a large celebration that was going to become an official event.

High Priest Crux walked up to Lord Nosdyn's camp. "My lord, may we speak?" He asked Nosdyn.

A moment or two later, Nosdyn rose from his resting state, he never slept. He walked up to his old friend and hugged him closely. "What troubles you my friend?" Nosdyn asked gently. He wore his mask he didn't want to alarm humans mainly that there was a demon amongst them.

"No trouble this time my lord. Thayne knows you've saved my ass enough." Crux said with a soft chuckle. "I am going to invite you to an evet the Peaceful Promenade is holding this week." He said calmly. "It's a human celebration."

Nosdyn rubbed his thick beard calmly. His eyes narrowed behind the mask. "I will attend." He knew when it was a friend asking a favor of him. He put out the campfire and looked at his friend. "Let's go my old friend."

They speak on the way towards the peaceful promenade....old friends.

[Storm Veritas]

The old wizard was never one to shy from a good time, and any time the Promenade got to a buzzing state, Storm Veritas was carried in almost involuntarily. It was too easy, too simple for him to entertain, glad-hand, and imbibe as a self serving diplomat. Some nights he'd enter to meet powerful people and plant ideas in their heads; other nights he would attend these gala events in hopes of seducing some talented young ladies. Still other nights existed where he merely wanted to tie one on. In all honesty, he entered the sprawling tavern tonight dressed to the nines, altogether unsure of what ends he intended for the evening.

Regardless, he was sitting by the bar in a few moments, regaling a half dozen peasants with tales as they asked stupid questions about his bespoke suit or laser-smooth cheekbones. Recent travels brought a sharp bronze color to his face, contrasting him with the wind-burned (and alcohol soaked) red hues that marked the cheeks and noses of the other wandering plebeians blessed to be in his company.

"You see, the key to success is simply treating people well - respectfully and with generosity!" His left palm opened in front of him as he took a long pull from a cooled stein in his right. The three golden crowns began to tremble on his hand as he continued to gulp, before they leapt to life and began spinning in the air forming a spiral of gold above the hand. The fact that only iron cored, fully counterfeited coins would be responsive to his magic (versus the actual copper and gold of the Radasanthian currency) was lost on the gaping band of rubes surrounding the magician. They clapped and cooed with approval as he slammed down his stein, catching the coins in his palm.

"Three for the dealer!" The coins clanged on the bar to another roar of applause as the barkeep dutifully nodded and accepted the illegal currency. Confidence and the appearance of wealth led an undue credibility to Storm Veritas, whose toothy smile and sharp eyes eagerly offered warmth, intelligence, and star power.

Down the row, the massive lump of demonic muscle made an ostentatious display without any sort of effort. Nosdyn was unmistakable; Storm had known him for years and could pick him out with the blink of an eye or the whiff of sulfur in the air. It was best to make nice with the big mean ones, the electromancer decided, as he had no intention of distracting himself with combat. Producing another two crowns from his waist-pocket, a chipper cheer came from the crow-eyed adventurer.

"A drink for the big fella down the bar! Make it quick and I've got the next round for the house!"

The crowd began to roar at the wealth and generosity costing the wizard a handful of iron.

[Ranger]

The lithe elf opened the door to the Promenade and it felt as if he had walked directly into a wall, one made of mirth and cheer. Behind him he could feel the sharp winds whirling with their winter chill, before him the pulsating warmth of the hearth and hearty folk enjoying themselves. The dichotomy soured his expression for a moment, his thoughts split between bitter memories of Salvar and the splintered, jovial memories of one once known as Ranger Nailo. His dour expression creased his otherwise smooth and seamless skin, making his expression all the more pronounced.

He absently brushed a wayward lock of golden hair from shoulder, tossing it back over his shoulder before tucking it away behind long, slim ears. With a graceful gait he strode through the doorway and towards the bar. At the bar was a sun-touched man, his tanned skin made Arphenion wonder if he was a laborer of some sort. But the spectacle he put on quickly changed his mind.

Perhaps a conman?

Arphenion slightly shook his head at the display with a cautious smirk. There was no help for the wonder of the common folk, but could not himself but wonder where this man had come from and who he was outside of the tavern. As his emerald eyes lingered on the coins, they started to lose focus and instead extend beyond him to another figure. This one was far more unique, something not quite human but not near large enough to be ork either. The elf took note and decided he would pry later.

The barkeep hurriedly rushed to the end of the bar, bringing with him a massive mug of ale. The top was sloshing off the sides and the froth was holding to the lip as it was placed before Nosdyn. A great cheer rose from the Promenade as the barkeep looked back to Storm and was rewarded with a wink. It appeared the first round of the night would be on him.

As the barkeep ran back and forth, filling mugs of different shapes, size, and apparently cleanliness, Arphenion waved him down. He approached with a wide, beaming smile so big it looked as if his cheeks had joined his eyebrows. “No ale here, I’ll take a wine though and you can leave the bottle.”

The big, brown eyes of the keep appeared as he scoured around behind the bar and eventually brought out a bottle. It was in a dark brown, hand-blown glass with a label that was so worn it was nothing more than a black slip of paper. On the neck was a collection of dust. “Not sure when that one got here,” he said with a laugh, “But it’s been here a while now at the least.”

“Perfect,” he responded with a smirk. He placed a few golden coins on the counter and took the smudged wine glass from the portly man. Arphenion poured a glass, decanting as best he could. He swirled it and let it come to a rest before raising a glass to the room.

“For all those that could make it,” He said with a melodic, sing-song voice. “Welcome to the Night of the Open Hand! Celebrate, be merry, and enjoy!”

All are still welcome to join at anytime!

[Preston]

“...and then this guy… this fucking guy…” a stout dwarf spit out, having to stop midthought to stifle his laughter. His rounded cheeks were flush with a mixture of uncontrolled laughter and the effects of a couple shots of whiskey. He wiped a wide bracer of wolf-pelt across his face to clear his eyes of tears. “...this guy he just, you wouldn’t believe it. He looks up and says ‘A goblin that knows math?’”

The entire table lost it. The dwarven story teller almost fell back on the booth, his arms flapping to regain his seating. Unfortunately, his hand was holding a half-full mug of ale and the brew went everywhere. It splashed on Preston, who was laughing so hard he too started to cry. He pounded his fist on the table with one hand and placed the other on his stomach, trying to calm the cramping pain. Around the table the other dwarves were howling along with him.

“Radur,” he said, clapping a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder, “That is one of the funniest things I’ve heard!”

Preston had stumbled into the Peaceful Promenade for a night of rest from the cold. He was exploring the Northern portion of the small island of Scara Brae for mercantile opportunities and had found himself amongst the company of the dwarves. They were a group of trappers who sold furs to be exported - it was a lucrative and profitable venture apparently. The young merchant was more than happy to sit with them and learn more, but also to share in the spirit of the Night of the Open Hand.

“Another round, on that guy!” Radur called with a laugh, pointing a meaty finger towards Storm. He nodded to him and waved, as if saying thank you. “Welcome to the Promenade kid. I think we can teach you a thing or two!”

“I would be happy to learn!” Preston slammed back the last bit of his ale. He had never celebrated the Open Hand traditions before. His father, a merchant of Radasanth, hated anything that reminded him of the Red Hand or their traditions. He was, however, quickly learning that it was just a day to get together with friends and exchange gifts - be they material, great stories and company, or just sharing of good food and drink.

[Nosdyn]

Nosdyn felt out of place...

He was in a place of human and banded races that had defeated his ancestors so long ago. He needed an anchor. His friend, High Priest Crux had other business to take care of for a while. So he parted ways with them for a bit. Nosdyn looked about and saw a few of the familiar promenade drunkards and riff raff. However one particular face prompted a swelling of memories from the past.

A life time ago he once met the old wizard Storm Veritas...

That was a life time ago and Nosdyn noticed how the old man had aged. He smirked. Nosdyn had aged himself he was no longer the green mercenary that Storm Veritas once met. He was a demon lord with his own house at that point. He rubbed his long and thick beard for a long moment and approached Storm's place of seating.

"Old friend..." Nosdyn wasn't sure if he could call Storm a friend he didn't know all of the human traditions and customs.

Nosdyn knew he'd changed and was no longer so war like. He'd become more of a strategic and tactical warrior.

He nodded for a moment. It admittedly felt good to see Storm alive and well. Relics from the past. Nosdyn had a lot of questions and perhaps his old friend could help answer many of them. He sat down next to Storm, admittedly without permission, but he knew the occasion was one of celebration insofar as the humans did it. He was always good for a party anyway.

"Storm..." Nosdyn began. "It is good to see you well." The grizzled old warrior said calmly.

[Rehtul Orlouge]

Cold winds whipped around the covered form of the mage as he opened the door to the Promenade. The warmth of the multiple fireplaces dotting the walls of the common area immediately warmed him to him bones as he pulled his hood back from over his face. A din of chatter echoed through the room as he made his way to a nearby empty table. Black bags hung under the man's eyes as he waited on a server to come to his table. He rested an elbow on the table and propped his head up in his open palm.

"And what can we get you, sir?" a portly middle aged woman asked. Rehtul yawned and stretched his arms over his head.

"Much as I'd like to drink tonight, I think it'll knock me out. The strongest black tea you have and a portion of whatever that wonderful smell is coming from the kitchen."

The woman nodded, jotted down his order, and wandered off toward the kitchen. The mage knew his tea would take a few minutes, as it wasn't ordered particularly often around these parts, so he bided his time by watching the people around the room. Another mage seemed to be nearby, one who had been performing some kinds of tricks with coins. Curiosity led Rehtul to wonder if he was just some parlor mage or a true master of his arts. Electromancy was one of his father's specialties, though one that the ice mage had not dabbled in himself.

Nearby there was also a young man, unremarkable but friendly looking enough, and further away was a man with an immensely powerful and somewhat brooding aura, and another who appeared to be elven in nature.

As a plate with a fine china teacup slid across the table under his nose, the mage fished out a gold and handed it to the woman. She took a look at the shining piece of metal and bit it to ensure its quality before Rehtul spoke.

"A rather... slow night, it would seem."

"Aye. Were it not for the mage, I doubt we'd be making much in the way of coin tonight. What bring you here?"

"Research, mostly. Profit, also. I've been taking notes on some ruins nearby that happened to be unearthed during the recent quakes. Quite fascinating, though..." he wandered off as he saw the woman begin to lose interest. Seeing he noticed, she had the good grace to blush before excusing herself.

"Ah well, not much to be done about that, I suppose," he said to himself as he sipped his tea and kept an eye on the gathered group. Now that he had some caffeine in him, he could definitely feel the power radiating off of the other mage. Perhaps the two of them could have a fun discussion if time permitted before the younger man went up to his quarters for the night.

[Ranger]

There was a mixed response from the elf’s toast to the night. A spattering of eyes fell on him and acknowledged, all raising a glass towards him though some perhaps too intoxicated to know why. Arphenion smirked either way. There was a sense, deep within, that this was right and something that he once would have enjoyed. Not that the Raiaeran did not enjoy imbibing a few glasses of good wine himself, but the celebration of a holiday attributed to the Thayne in any way left a feeling of bile on the back of his throat.

He sipped his wine to flush down the reflux, finding that the incredibly smooth drink was more of a restorative tonic. The glass of deep, opaque liquid had a magenta hugh and was very acidic, yet bright. Arphenion grabbed the bottle and tried to make out the label, but it was no use. He turned back to the barkeep to ask more, but the man was scrambling back and forth. As he waited, a young woman rushed between him and the barstools.

“Pardon, comin’ through.” She barely looked up or around herself as she used one hand to lightly brush aside patrons, and the other to hold a tray above her head. Caught off-guard, the elf took a couple half-steps away and plopped down on a chair.

“Rude,” he said with a bit of a scoff as he turned around in his new seat. It appeared that he had a new associate to drink with, or drink in front of, he was not sure which. The man seemed a bit mousey in a way, with long hair and glasses. His clothes were a mix of white and blues, muted in a way that made them soft, with streaks of black. Arphenion could feel magic reverberating from him in a way only another mage could.

He smiled, unabashed and confident.

“Oh, tea?” he asked respectfully, nodding at a good choice. “I’d be drinking that myself if it was not for the festivities at hand. Instead,” he raised his glass towards the lad and took another heavenly sip. “What interests do you have in Scara Brae, or are you another adventurer from a small village wanting to make a name for himself like so many others I’ve met?”