The chill autumn wind blows through the mostly bare branches of the lone oak tree that stands outside of Warrick House. A raven, with a snail in its beak, cries out in indignation at the warning of winter to come. Several strokes of the raven's powerful wings lifts it up off of the thin branch as it seeks a hard surface upon which to crack open its lunch.

Wings stretch out in a glide as the raven leaves the tall stone keep behind and follows the dirt path that leads down a hill towards the village below. No walls surround the village, and its human-built homes seem to cluster in a hap-hazard manner around the central square. This square is the one place in the village where paving stones have been put down, and thus it is the target of the traveling raven.

Yet, the square looks different today than most other day's the raven has seen it. Tall wooden posts have been erected at regular intervals surrounding the square. Ropes run between these posts, and simple cloth streamers hang from the ropes in varying colors that the bird can only barely comprehend. It lands upon one such rope, and its eyes dart around.

Wooden stalls have been set up around the edges of the village square. Each one is occupied by one or more person who seems intent upon displaying their handiwork.

There is a brightly colored stall where a woman with a patch over one eye is setting out a plethora of small objects, some of them shiny, upon a cloth covered table. Bolts of plain fabric, glass bottles of strangely colored liquids, small bundles wrapped with twine and an abundance of other little things.

Another stall is a colorful extension of the Smithy's workshop, and several objects of metalwork are on display while a smiling bearded dwarf stands behind the table with his arms folded across his chest. A young human girl walks around the table straightening the wares and making sure that the cloth covering the table doesn't get wrinkled.

Out in front of the Bear's Head tavern an outdoor drinking area has been constructed with poles and cloth awnings. Here a blond woman moves happily from one table to the next making sure that those humans who wish to start drinking before the sun has reached its zenith are well provided for. The raven can also smell baking bread, candied treats, and very thinly sliced pork.

The raven looks at the humble stand set up in front of the large stone building the humans call a church. There a dark haired young woman humms a tune to herself while setting out small stacks of slate tablets, bags of chalk, and a few small leather-bound books with the aid of a beardless man who has long dark hair. If the bird could read it would understand the sign next to this stand which stated "Art Contest. Win a book!"

Between two burly looking humans there is a strange contraption that consists of a wooden plank resting upon a cut log about halfway down its length. On the far end there is a large heavy looking rock. Next to the two burly looking humans there is a heavy looking hammer. The raven thinks about using the rock to crack its snail but thinks better of it.

Instead the bird ignores the plethora of other stalls and stands and flies towards the stone ring in one corner of the village square. This is where it has seen humans drawing out large buckets of water from somewhere underground. The important part, however, is the stones it is made from. Here, ignoring those around it, the raven cracks its lunch wide open and proceeds to eat.

............................

It is getting close to noon in the village of Settenhowe. This Godsday marks the last official day of autumn before final preparations are made against the threats of winter. Thus, it is the day that the locals celebrate the Leaf-Fall Festival. It is a time of fun and celebration where people from all parts of the village, as well as the surrounding farms, hamlets, and thorps, gather together to enjoy each other’s company one last time before winter. Many Needfest gifts are purchased during this festival as crafters from all over show off what they have been working on during the summer months.

The main attraction, however, is the central stage of the village square. Normally it is used for punishments and announcements. However, for today the pillory has been covered with a brightly colored cloth and the stage has been decorated with streamers. Those who possess letters would be able to read the sign that hangs from the obscured pillory for all to see.

Noon: Festival Open
1: Wrestling Competition.
2: Archery
3: Contest of Complements
4: Last One Standing Tournament
5: Feast of Flowers!
6: Bonfire at the Old Mill

Next to each of the listed events there is a cleverly drawn image the suggests what event will take place at the designated time for those who cannot read.

In two hours the festival events will officially open. For now the various stalls are just finishing being set up and a few early shoppers are looking around for the best items as the village slowly fills up with fairgoers. Currently the stage is occupied by a small gathering of minstrels who are beginning to play a jolly tune that one can dance to.

Arren stood by the pillory, chewing on an apple and reading over the sign of upcoming events and competitions. This was, of course, the highlight of every year, where rich and poor broke out of their routine to have a little fun... Or in as much as fun could be had in their sleepy little village.

Sometimes, outsiders would come to visit, and even that taste of the outside world would keep him happy for a little while longer. Just a little while. Soon enough he'll back in the forest, traipsing about hunting for bandit gold and long lost ruins.

He took another bite of his apple and grinned, body thrumming with anticipation. He always enjoyed watching the competitions as a lad, and this year, a little older and a much more skilled, he wanted to take part! To win, obviously but also to be able to strut into the Bear's Head tavern as the Champion of Settenhow. For once, it wasn't going to be his Ma who got all the cheers and attention from the locals, but her son. And if word got around...

Arren Rowe, Champion of Settenhow. Yes, he rather liked the sound of that. It even rhymed.

So he read over the sign:

Wrestling competition: Interested, even though Andrea will probably drop him on his head.

Archery: Considered himself the winner already.

Contest of complements: Intriguing, if only for the boost to his confidence.

Last one standing: Drinking?

Feast of Flowers: No idea what that was.

All topped off with him celebrating his victories with an ale by the bonfire.

'Twas going to be a good day.

He looked down at himself once more to make sure he looked as a Champion should. Wearing his best clothes, freshly scrubbed, hair tidy. Looking dashingly handsome and ready for opportunity.

Ilyana breathes deeply as she walks through the village, taking in the tantalizing smells coming from the village square as well as the first taste of winter being carried by the wind. She doesn't really care for winter itself, it's boring and dark, but somehow the signs that it's coming, the cold bite of the air in the morning, the swift grey clouds, the lowering sun, always make her feel excited about something that she can't really name.

On some days, they also make the village seem smaller and even more insignificant than otherwise, but not on festival day. Her pride has kept her from dressing up for the occasion, so she's wearing the same faded trousers, rumpled shirt, and scuffed boots as always. The one concession she has made to the significance of the day has been to braid her hair, and even that looks sloppy. But in reality, the festival is something she's been looking forward to for weeks. The food, the drinks, the competitions, the dancing, the gambling, the big bonfire in the evening ... this is always one of the best days of the year. She starts walking faster the closer to the village square she gets.

Reaching the square, she immerses herself in the crowd, greeting some of the people she meets, grinning at the disapproving stares of others. She pilfers some bread and slices of pork from the tables in front of the Bear's Head, then, munching, continues around the square for a bit before she spies Arren at the central stage and walks over to him.

"Hey," she says. "Think I've got a chance of beating you at that archery competition?"

Picking up a small pebble, she playfully chucks it in the direction of a raven sitting on the rim of the well.

As the pebble tossed across at the snacking raven flew, it just so happened to be intercepted mid-flight by an unintended target.  Not out any effort to snatch it out of the air, of course - rather by the fact that someone blithely wandered right into its path and gave a sharp hiss as it struck them in the side.  One could hardly blame Andrea for having little in the way of peripheral vision at that moment anyway; she had her arms up to support a pair of heavy barrels balanced on either of her burly shoulders.

"Oi, if you two have time to dally about, why not make yourselves useful?" Andrea called to her less-dutiful friends.  Everyone pitched in to help set up the festivities in one manner or another, but having the various Duvals running about was practically a tradition in and of itself after so many years.

In reply to Ilyana Warrick (msg # 3):

"A chance? Sure. A very small chance," Arren said with a cheeky smile to his friend. Ilyana was as graceful as he was, perhaps more, but he did love his bow and arrow. He finished his apple and tossed the remains over his shoulder. He scratched his chin, a tell-tale sign that he was having another one of his half-baked ideas. "Now if you're interested in making some wagers on today's competitions..."

His plans were interrupted by Andrea walking by, balancing two barrels on her shoulders. Formidable, he thought, smiling to himself.

He took on a mock-offended expression at the accusation of dallying. But in fact, he had planned a whole day of dallying, lazing, and tomfoolery. "Illya and I are the welcoming committee for visiting dignitaries and to direct the crowds towards the fun... Once they show up," he joked with an elaborate bow. "You're not going to be working all day long, are you? A little time for some fun? There's a wrestling competition that I'd wager you'd win..."

Over by the Bear's Head tavern Tormon Littleford stands in front of a table with an apron on and hands dusted with flour. He grins as he kneads and turns a ball of dough next to a small pot of chunky red tomato sauce, an enormous bowl of very finely sliced cheese, and a large platter of sausage rounds. He glances over at Alwain as the younger man watches his efforts.

"Its an old family recipe. I've made a few adjustments. Sadly, I don't get to cook outside of rest days. Thank you for letting me share your oven."

"Its not my oven," The younger man protests mildly. "Its Kensa's oven, but she's just as curious as I am."

"Well, when the time comes you both can test it and tell me if its worth the effort and expense." Tormon grins and continues working on the ball of dough. There are more balls of dough of similar sizes inside a cloth lined basket on the other side of the table. "I think five coppers a slice aught to be a good price."

"Ahh, Arren." Peter Candid, already dressed in a fine red doublet with a light tunic on underneath and thick red hosen, strides up to the young man with a nervous smile upon his face. "Itsh nish to she you thish morning." He stops, then clears his throat. "Ahem, my apologies. I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time young man."

Dressed in his festival best, with a new feather in his cap, Edmond grins as he quietly walks up behind his younger sister. He winks at Arren, positions himself behind her left shoulder, then reaches out and taps her right shoulder.

"Heya!" He said, perhaps a little too loud. "Mother wanted me to tell you that she had your festival clothing set out today. Something about, "Better change into it before the feast or else..." He grins. "Anyway, now I've told you. Anything good happen yet?"

"Andrea!" A young voice calls out to her older sister as Milla turns from where she was wrapping a garland around one of the tall posts near the Bear's Head. She blushes slightly and glances towards Alwain whom she had been sneaking furtive glances towards. Then she clears her throat. "What do you have there?"

Before Andrea can answer a grin crosses Milla's face. Her eyes suddenly go wide and she places a hand upon her lips and turns towards the young man watching Tormon. "My goodness, Alwain, look at my sister. Surely she could use some help from a kind strong arm." She turns her face so that Andrea can see her mouth, and sticks her tongue out just slightly.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:05, Thu 01 Apr 2021.

Ilyana winces slightly when her projectile actually hits something, or rather someone. "Sorry, Drea! Didn't see you."

"But I am being useful. You know I'm no good at this stuff. So I help by staying out of everyone's way." She leans back against the pillory, closes her eyes and adopts what she thinks is a serene expression. "No need to thank me."

She's about to say something to Arren when Edmond taps her on the shoulder. She jumps and starts to spin around, then realizes who it has to be and growls at her brother. "Not yet, but I could cover you in snails and feed you to that raven over there. That would be entertaining."

"And thanks for telling me. Now I'll have to think of some new excuse. Do you think she'd buy a sudden landshark attack on my way back?""

Though it was paired with a surrendering smile, Andrea still couldn't help but sigh and shake her head over her troublesome duo of friends.  If left to their own devices they'd either get nothing accomplished at all or somehow manage to enact far more mischief than anticipated, it seemed like.

"You're not going to be working all day long, are you? A little time for some fun? There's a wrestling competition that I'd wager you'd win..."

"I intend to win them all." a bold boast, and one Andrea made every year as she set out to do just that.  She'd yet to actually accomplish it but had never been deterred from the effort.  "I'd best see some good effort out of you this time, Arren.  It's no fun at all if it isn't a challenge."

The arrival of her younger sister drew Andrea's attention around and anyone too near to her would have to duck quickly to avoid being cracked upside the head by her raised arms and barrels.  Milla's teases brought a momentary pause as Andrea looked back and forth between her and Alwain, then somewhat awkwardly feigned a sudden bout of weakness as she began to lean to one side under the apparent strain of her workload.  Hardly a matter worth being fussed over, in truth - the barrels were empty as they were simply aging casks for spirits her family had prepared for delivery to Hedra.

---

Performance - Oh-no, I am taken by a sudden case of the vapors.  How unfortunate.  If only there were a strong and burly man to help me.

Andrea Duval rolled 2 using 1d20+1
Nat 1 on the first roll of the game couldn't be better.  ^^

In reply to Andrea Duval (msg # 11):

"I always put in the effort, Andrea. I just make it look effortless," Arren said with a sly wink. "Pray we don't match up in the wrestling competition. I'll just nimbly dance around you until you tire yourself out." It was all boast, he had no doubt she could toss him up a tree if she wanted to, but the important thing is not to let the competition think they could win that easily.

A familiar voice spoke behind him, making Arren raise an eyebrow. Peter Candid, merchant fisherman and her mother's business acquaintance. Come to talk to him. Once more. As always, Arren was a little confused about the occasional interest the old man had in him, but knew that the old man had connections, and literal boats that could sail him away. So he spun on his heels and gave the old man a polite bow and smile. "Sir Candid! Good morning! What can I do for you?"

Back turned, he didn't see Andrea's strange sway and faint, or be prepared if any barrel or warrior-woman fell his way.

Edmond grins as his sister asks about the landshark. "You might be able to dodge the bulette but Mother is a law unto herself." He winks. "Well, I wish you the best of luck! By-eeeee!" Then he turns and nearly hops up the stairs onto the central stage. A lute, hidden under his cloak until this moment, is produced with a flourish and a bow. With a few strokes of the strings Edmond joins the musicians.