Kindled Spirits

[Chronicle]

Timestamp: Cylus 5 717

The cold temperatures and snowy winds that blew in the storms of Zi'da had now became a frigid wonderland of snow. As the denizens of Rharne quickly found that the state of perpetual twilight, brought with it more snow and freezing weather to blanket the surrounding territory. Many preferred to keep inside their homes or wherever warmth could be found, but with a new year finally started; the city council had grown determined to keep the spirit of Rharne warm. Thus today a large pyre had been built from fallen branches, collected and amassed within the vicinity of the Dust Quarter; as others from local businesses brought with them spirits to contribute for the fire.

Now with the large crowd gathered and the heat of the blaze radiating throughout the area, laughter and revelry filled the premises while food and drink were served. Baked goods as well as thickly roasted meats are passed around for those to enjoy, while those who indulged in the beverages found warm ale and cider to enjoy; as well as wine for those with other preferences in taste. Even a band of buskers had gathered to liven up the party as locals danced around, as the festivities would only gather more fun and merriment with each passing bit.

As many stayed longer however and enjoyed the party favors offered there, they later found themselves feeling more indulgent while there. Those that indulged in the ale or cider would find themselves a little more daring, more and more confident in themselves the further they drank, while those that preferred wine found themselves more attracted to others; even deviously interested in their fellow revelers. Of course the braver that dared to enjoy too much of the baked breads and sweets, would shortly find that the party felt more alive and sensual than when they first arrived. Further consumption of any of these favors, naturally, dramatically increased the effect overtime.

!	Message from: Chronicle
	Welcome to the first open event of season! Feel free to join in and post on, while I will sit back and watch menacingly eagerly.

[Zvezdana Venora]

Most of the Priestesses had elected to head down to the festivities. Only a few of the older, well-beyond-the-age-of-partying Priestesses would remain in the Cathedral. Zvezdana was one of the last to leave, having managed to convince one of the older women to care for Alzorn for the evening. Maybe this out-going partygirl streak she was running was bad to develop as a new mother, but Andráska had introduced her to the dark side. Wine flowed freely in Rharne, along with a variety of other fun things that she had never tried before. The bonfire would be a good place to let loose for the evening before she had to return, yet again, to her duties as a mother and a priestess.

Had this been Rynmere, Zvezdana would never have considered attending such festivities. This was a rambunctious group of peasants, but they sure knew how to have fun. The stuck-up affairs of the nobility were becoming but a memory to her. This was what she lived for now. Being a commoner was far more fun than being a noble was any day. Zvezdana smiled more since her self-induced exile from Rynmere. She laughed, hoped, and dreamed of greater things like a normal person. She did not fear for her future or worry that someone would be out to get her. Although she wanted her son to know the luxuries of the noble class and know what a Venoran rose smelled like, this was for the best. It was good for her and it was good for him.

It took her a break to descend into the Dust Quarter. The Cathedral was high above the city and the lift had been full. It took a while for all those from above that were interested in dallying with those below to get there. Soon she was in the vicity of the bonfire. People shared with one another, the warmth holding the Cylus chill at bay. The large fire would keep her warm as she was wearing the same tightly fitted dress as she had worn the first time she had gone out with Andráska. She couldn't help but grab a few looks from those around her as she helped herself to a cup of wine a passing gentleman had offered her.

"Thank you. Ilaren's generosity is vast this evening." Zvezdana offered the polite statement to the man, who simply smiled back and went about offering cups to the rest of the partygoers. She took a sip, her lips parting to let the sweet white wine past her lips. When had she last tasted something this good? There was an odd after taste, but each sip simply made that after taste easier to ignore.

With few friends, Zvezdana found herself milling next to a group of storytellers. They were enjoying their ale, slapping their knees every time someone told a joke. She found herself laughing at the edge of the group, as one man told the story of his failed attempt to seduce a woman. Turned out he had been a man. Each one shared a story, each more hilarious than the last. Zvezdana was nearly brought to tears at the last man's story.

"I have never known such a lovely woman, but Ilaren have mercy, she was wily. You'd think a woman that fierce would be better with her tongue than with her hands. Turns out she was a thief interested in money more than she was interested in my body," He slapped his rather large gut to get the point across. There were a few chuckles all around. "She stole my coin purse, my belt, and my heart. As I stood there in the middle of the road watching her unknowingly walk away with those items, I heard laughter start up around me."

More laughter occured, as many knew where this was going. In a boisterous tone, the man threw up his hands. "Women! And that is how I lost my pants!"

[Andráska Venora]

I have a very busy personality. - Daniel Radcliff

Where there's a good party, there's Andráska Venora.

Rharne was no exception, and the noble was quick to follow the groups of people that chattered excitedly in the cold weather, spurred by the sights of bottles and promises of hot fire. To the Dust Quarter, or the poorer region of the city, as he was quickly learning, he found the festivities picking up, and he grinned like a child receiving a present, opening his arms up to the delightful display of drinks being poured and sweets being distributed freely. Was there ever a more beautiful sight? “Ilaren help me, I've fallen in love.”

The wild eyed youth bounded over to the first table he saw offering drinks, scooping up a mug of golden ale and brought it to his lips. The taste washed over his tongue – so pure, and his green eyes seemed to brighten from consuming the drink. As it ran down his throat, he smacked his lips and drank deeply again, a man and a woman lining up behind him. He turned, realizing they were waiting, and paused in his drinking, “Ale?” he asked, not quite waiting for their response before picking up another drink and handing it out. One for the woman, then the man. Others seemed to see him dispersing the liquid and followed suit.

“Ale?” he repeated, confirming that's what they were lining up for and began to pass out more drinks. He drank from his own mug, and alternated between handing out and couldn't help the smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. When a group had amassed, he held his drink high and confidently shouted, “For Ilaren!”

Cheers roared over the crowed and drinks flew upwards, and in harmonious motion, they drank, Andras chugging his drink until it was gone. He'd happily toast to the immortal that ran such a city – this place was perfect, a testament to true living. Why would he ever want to go home?

Buskers played loudly and he searched for the source of the music, dismissing his accidental role of bartender to weave through the crowd. Something about the sound was familiar and when he pushed through the bodies, he saw a group of performers and bodies dancing. Arching a brow, his eyes honed in on an instrument that strongly resembled the cello he played in Venora, but it was simpler, the wood darker. The musician was illustrating a completely different style of music than he performed – something more casual, plucking the strings and slapping the body lovingly with the beat, reverberating a new sound. Andras... liked it.

His foot tapped along with the fast paced music, honed in on the hands of the musicians, his own fingers aching to play. His head bobbed and the song ended, followed by clapping. Andras jumped on the opportunity, a confidence creeping into his chest, propelling him forward. Never would he ask to use another man's instrument – it felt almost sacrilege and he knew how uncomfortable it would make him if the tables were reversed. It was like asking to take turns with their lover, but as he approached, Andras reminded himself how fluid Rharnians were in their relationships. Maybe... just maybe...

“Do you mind if I...?” Andras' voice trailed off, his eyes fixating on the man's instrument, and clearing his throat, “I'm from Rynmere. I play, but haven't in some time. I-” the confidence warmed him and he changed his approach, “I'm pretty good.”

He smiled shyly and the man seemed to consider his words, “How good?”

“Uh,” Andras shuffled his feet, an uncharacteristic display of shyness that was almost endearing, “I've played for a king before?”

This seemed to surprise the man, whose eyebrows rose, “The Rynmere King?”

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “Completely different style of music, though. My instrument, I've never... slapped her before.”

The Rharnian busker grinned, “Sounds like she could use a good spanking,” and then he laughed, nodding, “Alright, let's see what you got.”

Andras felt over the moon, his excitement propelling him forward and he eagerly took the offering in his hands. The instrument was far different than his own, not nearly as beautiful, but the wood was richer, darker. He experimentally plucked at the strings, listening to the deep tones and it took a great deal of will power not to re-tune them. The A string just felt a little... low? But maybe that was what the man wanted, and because he was willing to share, Andras left it alone. He took the bow next,taking the man's seat and barely listened as the rest of the buskers were informed of the impromptu decision.

And then, not wanting to waste any time, Andráska Venora settled the cello between his legs, positioned his hands, and his fingers began to dance across the strings. He plucked quickly, the tempo in his head falling outwards in a freestyle, loud and quick. The last song he had played for Tristan's debut had been a soulful, terribly tragic song – that personified the death of the wars, the lamentation of women and children – of loss and hope. The play had been dedicated to Zanik and Vri, and while he thought of Ilaren and Zanik this time, he wondered if the two would know each other.

But now... He was ready to party. He felt his nerves crackle like electricity, but the alcohol in his system kept him firmly planted, and only a few watchers seemed to paying attention to the group fully – waiting for the music to be returned. Andras wanted to express the emotion of happiness and anticipation. He picked up his speed, his fingers plucking at strings, jumping up and down the fingerboard and then alternating to the bow, in quick, excitable slices. His foot tapped with the rhythm, and he looked up to see the smiles and nods of approval of the crowd. Andras fed off of it, using it to direct his play style, when they smiled, he played louder, and his sharp sounds and steady beat allowed the other buskers to jump in, drums being sounded and a fiddle playing off his note choices. Some of the watchers clapped and some children began to dance. He grinned, continuing his jaunty tune, and his head bobbed as he allowed the sound to flow through him. This... This was fun.

This was a party.

[Varath]

Varath had never met a mug of beer or ale he didn't like. Rharne was growing on him very quickly when someone basically forced one onto him. What a glorious place.

He'd just arrived the other day, perfect timing for whatever he was doing here. Starting over? Changing directions? Putting his hands to whatever steered his path for the first time in how many arcs at the very least. He'd found an inn that looked clean and thawed himself out of his rags and washed off the dust of travel and the next trial, right now in as far anyone could tell in a world without he was just trying to get his bearings. Like a moth to light, he found himself drawn to the heat radiating from a large fire down the street. Soon, he was in a crowd, pushed and moved along gently, without force. Like a leaf on a stream being carried along by the current, bathed in a warm glow though this was no autumnal ray of sunshine falling through bare branches. It was those same branches releasing the warmth and light they felt in those days by virtue of the fire that devoured them.

The unkempt foreigner looked about, smiling for a reason he knew but couldn't quite seize and name. He knew no-one here. No-one here knew him. And yet, in the press of bodies and the glow of the fire he felt like he was a part of it all. These people, this city, this world... life. Varath had done the right thing. That became evident when a man pressed an earthen mug into his hand, laughing, "Drink up, friend! Ilaren's blessings!" The man's grin looked like an old fence, with many posts missing and the others in disrepair but seemed all the more honest for it. Muttering his thanks, the former mercenary raised the mug and took a sip. The ale was mulled, warm, wintry. There were cloves and caraway and tastes he couldn't name but they tickled his throat as much as they soothed it. And the warmth and alcohol ran into his belly and spread from there.

Rharne was growing on him very quickly.