December Vignette

[Tyr]

Welcome to the December Vignette!


Prompt

Your character comes across some sort of festive setting. What happens to be being celebrated and how does your character respond to the festivities they encounter?


Vignette Close Date

December 31st, 2021 at midnight EST


Rules

1. One submission per character.

2. All entries have to be within the declared period. Editing your post and completely changing your submission is okay as long as all the edits occur before midnight EST on the closing day.

3. The moderator judging the monthly vignette contest may post a vignette at the end, but will not be eligible for first or second place.

4. Only on-topic vignettes are liable for rewards. The topics are broad enough that no character should be particularly limited.

5. PCs must be involved in all vignettes. How "canonical" you choose to have the events of the vignette is up to you.

6. All participants receive EXP. The top two finishers also receive GP. (Clarification: this excludes off-topic submissions, as per Rule 4).

7. Entries are assessed on the following merits:

Use of topic: Did the writer use the topic, or write something completely random and off topic?

Creativity: Did the writer make something unique out of the topic or was it more cliche?

Mechanics: Basic writing mechanics: spelling, grammar, punctuation, word usage, etc.

Notes: Additional comments.

[Umbra]

It was with no small amount of trepidation did Umbra linger towards the rear of the crowd. To say the moment was unexpected would have been an utter disservice to the clear and well laid plans that had gone into the night’s festivities, that had clearly been prepared months in advance for this singular night.

Not that Umbra actually knew what the festival was all about, having drifted into town on yet another escort duty for a young industrious merchant that may or may not have said something about the festival that they were obviously attending.

Shouts and cheers rang into the night as men, women and children all danced hand in hand around a large bonfire. Tents had been erected upon an open plain stocked to the brim with drink and food that were there for all to eat and be merry.

Though Umbra felt like that they were intruding, such merriment and heart-warming cheer was not for a person that clad themselves in cold iron. And yet, the same reason that Umbra did not step forward to join in was also the very same reason why they had not yet turned around and left for the local inn.

Such times were rare as trouble often was brewed just over the horizon, even now Umbra could not hold but scan the treeline in the distance for some ill placed beast or a group of vagabonds eager to take advantage of such easy-going people.

There were no guards as far as Umbra could tell, and that worried the mercenary immensely. And so, for that very reason, they had chosen to stay just near enough to intervene should something go wrong.

‘This is just asking for trouble. ’ The mercenary continuously thought to themselves as they rested a hand upon the hilt of their sword. Ideally, Umbra mused the best way to keep these people safe at such a late hour would be to cut the festivities short and send them home.

Realistically, Umbra mentally countered, was that such actions would never hold weight. An observant eye peered more closely at the decorations that scattered around. Symbols and pictures all told a story, bows and arrows, swords and shields delicately sewn onto white sheets as well as a plentiful bounty of food allowed Umbra to come to a conclusion that the festival was a celebration of a hunt.

Whispers and chatter of an earlier hunt lent credit to Umbra’s observations as they concluded that it was a festival of the hunt.

“And what do we have here, tall big and grumpy.” An unknown voice drew Umbra’s gaze from the distant trees to a young girl looking both sloshed and indignant “An where’s yer drink?” She drawled with an accusing squinted glare.

“I don’t drink.” Umbra answered simply and watched the girl nod her head as though she hadn’t thought of that.

“Right, right.” She said sagely to herself, before squinting at the mercenary’s visor once more “An why aren’t you dancing?”

It was times like this that Umbra was sorely reminded that they were not a people person, and that if they were going to keep a silent vigil over the festivities that they were better doing so at a greater distance.

“An where are you off ta?” The drunken girl asked falling into a clumsy pace beside the mercenary.

‘Just as soon as I escape the hunter.’ Umbra thought mirthfully.

[Emi]

Emi shivered and rubbed her arms with her hands. Even in her heavy sea-coat she could feel the goosebumps on her skin. She hadn’t caught the name of the tiny port town where she was putting in, but that hardly mattered. What mattered most at that moment was finding a shelter that was warmer than ’Dancer. She’d seen the lights of the town a good distance out and had used the light as a beacon. Now that she was here, she could understand how such a small town produced so much light.

Every building, lamp post and bunting between buildings had as many light sources on them as possible. Several bonfires burned in the town square with more at every other intersection further out. In addition to the many lamps, streamers of red and green along with pine boughs woven with sprigs of dried berries were strung everywhere. Laughter filled the air as the people, all brightly dressed with the occasional bit of fur for extra warmth, walked and talked. Children scampered between the adults laughing joyously.

Well, whatever is happening here, it certainly looks welcoming.

Emi tied her ship up at the dock then made her way into the town seeking an inn. She paused for a moment at the edge of the town square, her eyes wide in wonder as she took in the festive scene. While she stood there a middle-aged woman saw her and beckoned her to join several adults around a bonfire. She nodded in a friendly manner and held her hands out to the welcome warmth of dancing flames.

The woman that had invited her chattered on, but Emi didn’t understand what she was saying. Whatever language it was, it was not Common. Even Common wasn’t her first language, but at least now she was reasonably conversant in it. The woman, however, didn’t seem to notice that Emi wasn’t saying anything.

Emi just listened patiently. After a few minutes she began to catch a few words here and there. She’d never understood the “how” of her ability to pick up foreign languages, but she understood that all it took was listening and talking to learn them. After about five minutes she spoke up softly. “Could you direct me to the inn?”

“She does speak!” the woman exclaimed in a good natured manner, “as it happens my dear, I am the innkeeper. Come along and we’ll get you settled in. What’s your name?”

“Emi, Emi Seafarer,” she answered. The new language felt funny to her tongue but the more she spoke it, the better she would get. “What’s going on here?”
“Why, it’s the Winter Solstice festival! Today is the shortest day of the year. Starting tomorrow the days start getting longer again. The nights are quite long this far north.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“We’ve usually had snow by now,” the innkeeper continued as she opened the front door of a two story building. “Maybe it’ll come tonight. Selinda, the Wise Woman, says she can hear it in the wind, but we’ll see. Now, is it just you by yourself?”

“Yes, just me Madam Innkeeper.. Is there a dock fee? And how much will the room cost.”

“Melinda, please. There are no dock fees here. We’re much too small of a town to fuss about that. The room will be free of charge.” She held up a finger to forestall Emi, “Ah, ah, ah, my inn, my choice. It is my Solstice gift to you.”

“But I don’t-”

“Hush, child. Gifts that require a gift in return are not gifts. Now, it is getting late. Here is a key to your room. I will bring up a meal in a few minutes. Go up those stairs and it is the third door on the right.”

Emi gave up trying to get a word in. Apparently, once Melinda had made a decision, it was made. Nodding gratefully, Emi took the key and went up to her room. It was simply furnished with a single bed, a wash stand with a mirror hanging over it and a small, two-drawer dresser with a lamp on it. The single window overlooked the small harbor. She could see Wavedancer bobbing gently.

She lit the lamp and took a seat on the bed. She was accustomed to the firmer feel of her berth on the small ship, but it was always nice to sleep on something so soft and warm. True to her word, in a few minutes Melinda brought up a steaming bowl of fish stew, a few slices of bread, and a mug of hot mulled cider. She left Emi to her own devices with the instruction to leave the dishes and one of her girls would collect them in the morning. Emi took her food to the window and ate quietly as she watched the few boats tied up at the docks.

Solstice. Interesting, I don’t think we ever really had such a thing back home. Day and night are always equal there.

She sighed heavily as thoughts of home filled her mind. Perhaps one day, X’eana might see fit to allow her to return. For now though, she would make the best of what her life had become. She set her empty dinner dishes aside and climbed into bed.

She woke an hour or two later to the sound of a dozen or so voices filling the air with a soft hymn to winter. The voices sang softly in reverence to the season along with notes of hope for the coming spring. Emi donned her coat and boots and went outside to listen.

She took three crunching steps into the town square and stopped. A blanket of purest white snow greeted her astonished eyes as she gazed around in wonder. The falling snow softened the voices of the town choir still singing their hymn. She looked up at the sky and blinked as soft snowflakes fluttered down to land, tinglingly cold for the briefest of moments, on her face. As she gazed up at the falling snow, flakes caught in her eyelashes and hair, soon coating them in frosty white.

“Try to catch them with your tongue!”

Emi looked down at the small child standing nearby. The dark-haired girl stood with her small face turned to the sky, eyes closed and tongue out. Emi’s expression contorted into one of confusion.

“What is this?”

It was the child’s turn to be confused.

“Haven’t you ever heard of snow?” she asked incredulously.

“Snow,” Emi repeated the word. “No, child, I’m from a much warmer place where the sun is always warm. The days are long and so are the nights. Though not as long as your winter nights here.”

The child looked at her skeptically then hurried off at her mother’s call. The choir had stopped singing and broken up. The streets were emptying as people returned to their homes for the night. Emi remained in the square, letting herself be covered in snow. She peered closely at the intricate snowflakes as they caught on the sleeve of her coat, amazed at finding each new flake to be different than the last.

After a little while, she heard Melinda calling out to her. Emi turned, went back inside and up to her room.

Snow. Solstice. Perhaps I will stay here for a little bit.

She turned over in bed to look out the window. There was just enough light from the street lamps to watch the flakes drift through the night. Emi found the sight mesmerizing and soon drifted to sleep watching the winter solstice snow blanket the town.

[Ebivoulya]

The forest stretched on forever.

Great pillars reached up to hold back the sky, but sunlight still pierced the distant canopy. It graced a few scattered beds of flowering growth, but between those loomed the dim gray hall of the old wood. Among the gnarled roots of giants clambered a man in a dark cloak, who scanned the dusky wood for a moment as he rose to the crest. The faraway groans of the wind whispered above, but on the forest floor the ancient trees stood in silence, and the man rested a gloved hand on the dagger at his belt. The soft buzzing in the branches above reached a crescendo as a very large fly swooped down to land at his feet. With a flourish, it bowed formally, wrinkling the tuxedo it wore, and rose to face sharply sideways. The man released his weapon, lifting his hands out to the side, and the fly twitched its head toward the light burns covering his bare arms. After a moment it sniffed derisively, and spoke with a nasally voice.

"Blood ever adorns the beasts of the forest."

The fly skittered a nod and left, snatched up into the canopy with a burst of brown leaves. Soon the buzz of its wings faded into the silence of the old wood, and only its warning hung in the air. The cloaked man lingered in the stillness for a while, eventually following deeper into the gray hall, an ant among pillars of the ancient world. Voices drifted on the murk ahead, and sometimes cheers echoed in the vales; a celebration awaited.



Beyond the gloom the great trees glowed with the amber warmth of cook-fires, their roots home to bustle and excitement. Among the bug people walked a human woman, a giant in their midst. They leaned over fine wooden railings on little balconies above, pausing on their ornate staircases to ogle the tall traveler as she passed. The attention was overwhelming, and Mauri shrank into herself as she smiled and waved. Well equipped and experienced, she fancied herself ready for anything, but none of the many tools she carried could help her here. As she passed a small wagon she noticed the pale leather sacks were wriggling, and instead focused on carefully avoiding the well-dressed bug people who skittered about underfoot like children.

Small slabs of the ancient trees, carved whole from their trunks, lay sized and measured for use. Small houses of wood glowed with firelight at the root of the trees further in, as fine as the aged balconies on the knotholes above. Mauri turned down yet another tiny mug filled with dark blue slop, the drink boasted the musky smell of a barn, and barely dodged a crowd of knee-high beetle people swelling down the road. They surrounded two stag beetles the size of small ponies, whose fierce battle raged on down the steeply sloped street. Whether one of them won, or they simply all crashed at the bottom, the beetle people cheered, and turned off onto another avenue that wound down between the massive roots.

The shrill clatter of tiny drums grew louder as Mauri walked further in, and little conga lines of bug people began wriggling along the streets. Whenever one line met another, they would circle each-other for a moment, exchange a few members, then wind off in opposite directions. The clamor only grew as she continued, and when she spotted a little house warm with light down in a dark and quiet dell, she couldn't help herself. She walked behind the great tree, and carefully descended the slope. Ruins and remote places had been her home all these years for this very reason. The giant trunk buffered the cacophony, and she found a beetle man seated in a small chair in front of his house. A human-sized dagger rose blade-up from the ground in front of him, and his thin black arms held a piece of wood between them, slowly carving it into something. Mauri sat on the clear dirt nearby, breathing for a moment away from the bustle.

"Hello dear. What is your name?" the bug man asked, his voice creaky and weak. Mauri introduced herself, and he continued. "Here for the festival?" he asked, and she nodded slowly. "I've always loved seeing new things," she said, and the old bug gazed up into the far-off canopy.

"The New is a sight to behold, as is old Balzabar." It twitched its head back down to face her, mandibles skittering in excitement. "This feast is for him, you know." She nodded again after a moment, and in the chorus of voices she could hear them chanting his name.

"You aren't joining in the festival?" Mauri asked, and he waved a spindly arm dismissively. "No, I don't get around like I used to. The grand-kids are helping with the celebration, though." He eyed the block of wood he held, carefully chipping away another piece.

"You have any kids, dear?" he continued, after a moment. She reached a slender hand into her jacket pocket as she regarded him, fondling a braided cord of worn leather, the colorful beads on the end worn away to white. "Yes, a daughter." She said softly, brushing her short brown hair to one side. "I saved up so she could go to school, but all she wants to do is follow me."

The old bug clicked and sputtered in a kind of chuckle, and continued carving. Cheers rang down into the dell, and the musky tang of that blue brew hung in the air. The beetle man looked up at Mauri again, and asked "So, are you here for the festival, dear?"

She hesitated before nodding, and said "Yes, I should go join them." The old bug agreed, and she brushed off her stout brown traveling pants as she stood. "Make sure to pay your respects to Balzabar, dear." he added, and she said she would.

As she walked back up to the festival, her eyes fell to the dark metal bracelet she wore on her left arm. It was a gift from her mother before her first dive into old ruins. The twisting flowers inscribed on it had been with her through all the ancient places she had explored. Old age was not kind to the mind, and she was glad she had missed the worst of it. Walking back out into the clicking and twitching throng of bug people, she continued deeper into the old wood.


~~~~~~~


The cook-fires burned low, smoldering oases in the dark. Figures flickered yet around those flames, but most surrounded dinner tables, filling the homes and knotholes that still glowed with warmth and chatter. The pale light of fireflies floated in the dells, tied on strings to line the avenues where bug people still wandered and caroused. A human walked among them, his black hair loose under the dark cloak he wore, but the rabble parted with turned heads and hushed mandibles. His dour features glowed in the sudden flame of a festive centipede puppet winding down the street. With a torch-bearing assistant, the puppet lit the street once more, and the train of bug-people carried the colorful centipede up over the next root.

A tent loomed around the next tree, cloaks and shirts sized for human folk all stitched together. It barely contained the horde of horn-beetles that were constantly falling over, and getting their heads stuck on the flap. They clacked and jerked in time with the tiny band within. The cloaked man stalked past in the pale green light of the fireflies, great trees like massive walls stretching up into the void. Along the avenue lined by glowing little homes, a bug woman in a bright apron tottered around an open-walled kitchen. Tiny glass jars of plants and bugs lined its walls, her home sealed off by a sewn pair of human pants hanging in the doorway. She bent to pull a disgusting pie from the oven, turning to beckon the man over with her tiny oven mitts.

"Would you like a slice, darlin'?" The pie she held up was solid black, and parts of it still wiggled. After a silent stare from the dark-haired man, she set the thing down on the flattened buckler that she used for a table, and began prattling on.

"You'll be wantin' to see Gorgana, if you haven't already." she said, holding one little oven mitt up to her chitinous head as she looked around her kitchen. The music from the nearby tent died down briefly, and the name floated on the night from chants all around the festival.

"She'll be joinin' the New soon; that's why we're celebratin'." The bug woman bent over to check her oven before moving on; the oven was cold. "She's always a sight to behold; doesn't move much, though." Turning around, her many arms twitched in excitement as she spotted the pie on the table. "I think they used to call her Balzabar." the woman said, walking up to the table. She looked up at the cloaked man as he knelt down to her.

"I told you last time to let me out of here, old hag."

The knife slid in-between two plates, blue blood spraying out as it pierced her exoskeleton. The man covered his face with the other hand, relaxing only when her carapace clattered to the wooden floor. The pale green blade slid out clean, and he sheathed it again as he stood to stare into the canopy far above.

"I tire of these games, fly!"

The trees returned only silence, and the bugs who stopped to stare continued when they saw the blood. It turned black quickly, and after many minutes of scraping, the dark-haired man gave up on removing it. The festival carried on, even the horn-beetles braying unconcerned, and he stalked deeper into the forest, the cheers and music fading into the smothering murk.



The cry of a lone owl was swallowed in the gray hall, and the moaning of a storm echoed down from the endless above. Faint chants and cheers still whispered in the dark, but the fireflies lined empty avenues, and the trees rose stark and barren. Through the gnarled vales walked a human woman, wreathed in the warmth of a lantern's light. Mauri peered between the great pillars, and searched over the massive roots, finding there a man in a dark cloak; a human man. With a flood of relief, she climbed the steep path to join him at the crest.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, the dark-haired man turning to face her; his arm was covered in something black. "Where have you been, and where are the others? We were supposed to escape together." she said, studying his dour scowl. The man was turned to one side, no doubt with his far hand on his weapon.

"What others? We are the only ones here, and I agreed to nothing."

Her brow drawn down, Mauri put a hand to her head as she searched the dells, her fear confirmed. With shaky footing, the explorer started and stopped a dozen pleas, each time silenced by the glare of the cloaked man. Perhaps that blue ale they had pushed on her had made her ill after all. None of her tools or experience could do much for a broken past. She did her best to push down the fear, touching her mother's bracelet to calm herself.

"I'm starting to think my husband was right to leave." she said softly, reaching into her jacket pockets and pulling out everything she had. She picked out the junk from among the coins, old arrowheads and trap-strings, some dirt, and a braided cord; the once-colorful beads on the end of the cord were worn white. She dumped it all, holding all her money out towards him. "I'll pay. Please help me get out of here!"

The cloaked man glowered at her hands for a long moment, a distant owl crying out into the expanse, before looking Mauri in the eye and shaking his head. Her shoulders slumped, coins clamped in one hand as she raised the other to her face. The frustration swelled like the tide, but she kept her composure. A chorus of cheers rose in the distance, fading into the faraway groaning of the ancient canopy.

"I will find a way out of this place myself." the man said. "I suggest you do the same."

Then he simply turned and walked off, leaving Mauri clinging to her puddle of light amid the vaunted columns of the old wood. She struggled to make sense of what she remembered. Touching the dark metal bracelet again, she wondered if that was what it had been like for her mother; wrestling with the past, being strangled by it. The cheers rose again on the still air, and Mauri stood for a long while pinching her brow, willing the her life to make sense again. Around her the gray hall stretched timeless, bathed in the pale green light of the fireflies, fresh in the growing musk of the New.


~~~~~~~


Those great pillars grew pallid and thin further in, the constant clatter of falling branches struggled to drown out the dull and rhythmic thwacking that echoed in the dark. Between the ancient trunks snaked a pale blue web, crawling down to blossom large patches of moss. They glowed softly in their basins, swallowing the meager light of the fireflies. Winding down the twilight road, a jingling procession of floats and freezes came upon the cloaked man. The bug people pulled scenes of mountains, and puppets of squirrels and birds, writhing rivers, and a single boot. That one hung suspended above its rolling base by a cloud of moths, and on it was painted a cat's eye. Beyond the procession a human woman wandered, clutching at her short hair. Underneath the tinny drums and little flutes, the rhythmic thwacking in the distance stopped.

Stiff shoulders and a clenched fist belied the man's composure, and his curses were not soft when the flock of moths gently enveloped his face. The bug people tried to help, but the man backed away swatting at his head. The dead who littered the dry dirt were gathered by their strings, and the man continued past the solemn stares. The parade clanged their way into the soft blue night, and just beyond the next pale trunk, a splash of red colored the forest. Atop a stone slab, a great axe was propped in wooden framing, with pulleys above to lift it again. The blade was not sharp, and the stone was slick with crimson. Behind the gory dais glowed a patch of blue moss, misshapen lumps scattered on the luminescent hillside. The air was filled with the musky stench of a beast's den.

It was there the fly returned, sharp in his tuxedo, to perch above the massive axe. The cloaked man drew his pale green dagger, but the dapper fly simply sniffed. "Truly the fool, to think we would bargain in sincerity with you baser animals." Its nasally voice filled the vale, and it glanced toward the human woman being escorted by somber beetle men.

"You simply hastened the others toward the inevitable. The past must wilt to make way for the New." The woman mumbled incoherently, clasping at the dark metal bracelet on her left arm. Her eyes passed over the pair, but she saw nothing of the world. "Only once they are empty are they fit to grace the Throne, and gather more time."

The scowl deepened on the face of the cloaked man, and he shifted the dagger to his other hand. While the fly skittered and preened, he clasped his spool of steel wire to the handle of the blade. Up against the cliff-side of upturned roots left by a single fallen tree, the pale blue moss glowed a mountain.

It was there the bug people led the woman, slowly stripping her of all but her metal bracelet. She sank into the moss like quicksand, azure tines clinging to her writhing form. With her legs submerged, her back arched as the moss enveloped her head, leaving only her mouth free. Her terrified mumbling and groaning echoed between the pale and withered trees.

"Despite your resilience, without the past, without time, you will never learn."

The fly followed his words with a shrill, skittering whine. The black blood coating the cloaked man's forearm exploded into a blue mist that flooded into his nose and mouth. He gagged and dropped to his knees, the mist congealing on his tongue and crawling down his throat. A violent cough wracked his hunched form, and the fly looked down with contempt.

"Your very nature entraps you, Beast."

Finally, the man coughed up a blue and red lump, which wriggled off to join the moss. The world swirled, and he held one hand to his head as he struggled to stand. The fly was gone, it had said... something important. Another burn marked his arm, and voices filled the night, chanting a single name; Mauri. Picking back up his dagger, the man looked around at the giant trees, lit from below by the azure glow.

The forest stretched on forever.