Site Wide Event The Festival of Lights

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Festival of Lights
The Outskirts came alive at dusk. It began with a faint glow, pinpricks of light scattered to the wind. When one drew closer, though, the lanterns showed their true beauty.

All along the Outskirts, from the Fields to the Woodlands and everywhere in between (even right up against the border of the Hollowed Grounds) - wooden stakes had been driven into the ground, upon which hung a variety of lamps and baubles and homemade lanterns, all unique, each one with its own personality.

Some were made from paper and decorated wildly with paint and dyes and goodness knew what else. Others were formed out of glass which floated like ghosts, undoubtedly manipulated by magic. There were lanterns of leaves and twigs, lanterns of fabric and ink, lanterns of flame and earth and lightning for those Abandoned who knew how to creatively manipulate their elements.

For every light, there was a person - someone who had crafted it lovingly, painstakingly. All of those people were gathered, too - a firepit crackled merrily at what seemed to be the centre of the celebrations. There they spoke, they drank, they laughed and remembered and conversed with one another. Some were making their lanterns even now.

The Festival of Lights had begun.

Welcome to the 308 PC Festival of Lights! This SWE is open to Naturals and Outlanders alike! What's it all about, you ask? Outlanders, you should probably find some of the natives to ask...

- You will need to post at least 2-3 times in this thread to gain credit for the SWE.

- Have fun!
Remi Taliesin
Portal Guardian
Age: 24 | Height: 5'11 | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 34 - Luck: 31
ISLA - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Odd Offline
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Posts: 5,133

It was a strange thing, to be heartbroken and feel nothing.

To have loved...and yet not lost, for Remi did still love. It was just no longer significant. Loving Loren was like knowing the number of blades of grass in the fields. Interesting in a way, but not the type of thing that moved the alchemist to act, or motivated him to do anything.

What was motivating him at the moment however was the number of lanterns that had suddenly and almost magically appeared. It could indeed have been magic as far as the alchemist assumed, and so with a wariness befitting one who had now encounters two different gods on three different occasions all with varying levels of horror, Remi made his way into the outskirts as dusk settled and the glow from the lanterns was bright and beautiful against the dimming of the evening.

With his hands in his pockets, the normally kind looking alchemist turned brooding looking alchemist, halted before one of the lanterns. Not wanting to touch it lest there be some ritual at work here he was not aware of, Remi merely studied it for a moment trying to glean from its construction and placement what significance it might have.

R ? M I
Since you burned me at the stake, all of my feelings went away
At least there’s no feelings in my way

Speaks with an Italian accent.

Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Let me know if you want to kill him and we can chat.

Magical Items for sale in the wagon: Drinkable Sea-Cup | A cup that transmutes saltwater from the ocean into drinking water. Works one-cup at a time. Full-Smokes | A packet of cigarettes, where each cigarette when smoked counts as a full meal. Clawed-Ring | A ring that when used created claws on the wearer's hand.
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith

Age: 40 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural
Level: 4 - Strg: 31 - Dext: 31 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 31
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Online
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Posts: 1,066

Her lanterns were nothing to look at compared to the magically wrought creations by the Abandoned and actual craftspeople; two of them (excessive, but sentimentality pours out of her during the Festival), one for her mother, and one for her sister. Both dead for a good number of years.

Both were made from bone - the larger one entirely from small antlers tied together tanned leather, and various stolen items: a candle, some deep red cloth stretched around the sides, and a bundle of white mismatched feathers hanging from the bottom. This one is for her mother. The smaller one is fashioned from a large bird’s skeleton; the base is the breastbone, the top the skull, wing bones arcing around to form a loose cage - also lit by a stolen candle. Woven sweetgrass and dried wildflowers link rocks of every hue - perfectly round holes bored into them by sheer strength and determination.

Her stakes are close together, the small lights flickering in the darkness - they won’t win prettiest lantern (she is no artist), so she has no hope of seeing them… but that never stops Wessex from trying. Every year something new, just in case they're watching. While the others turn from their lanterns to remembering the dead in laughter and gaiety, the hard-edged woman remains aloof for a bit. She knows she is welcome on this Night, for all are, but it doesn’t make it any easier for her to join in.

For once, the Outlanders are far from her mind. When she's gone, will anyone light a lantern for her?

She whispered back, I am the storm
Vervain Calob

Age: 37 | Height: 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 11 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 8
Played by: Honey Offline
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"They're beautiful, aren't they?"

Vervain's voice was soft, barely more than a whisper as she sidled up next to Remi as if she was worried that speaking too loudly would ruin the tranquility of the night. "A few of the regulars in the Rathskeller were talking about this, so I thought I would come and see it myself."

And it was certainly a wonderful and eclectic sight to behold. Now if only she had the foggiest idea what it was all for. Glancing around, she spotted a few people gathered by a firepit, reaching out to touch a hand to Remi's arm. In the darkness it was difficult to see the change in him, though if she had been able to spot it, she'd have certainly spoken up.

"Shall we get a little closer to the fire? It looks like a celebration of some kind."

face the wind
Air Manipulation (Upgraded) - Base Healing (Upgraded) - Fire Manipulation (Basic)
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
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Posts: 1,924
Ah, the Festival of Lights. One of her favorite days of the year, the Festival brings out a rarely seen social side in the girl, who basks with pleasure in the gentle lantern light, the flickering shadows of countless candles softening her features into a soft facsimile of their usual severity. On quiet feet she floats through the festival, dark eyes sparkling with pleasure and pride. Her delicate lanterns are strung on twine, and she seeks the perfect place to display her work.

There- an empty stake, just waiting for an offering to be made. The girl lifts her collection of lanterns, arranging them carefully along the stake. They are made of thin paper, parchment found in the Atheneum - she collects the loose leaves that have lost their books, recycling them annually into delicate art. The candles within shine radiantly through, illuminating lost and beautiful language. The girl loves her careful creations, and though it pains her to see the pages separated from their books, she hopes the beauty of them is a suitable second life.

As she strings the lights, she recites her prayers, her alto voice a melodious hum. "One for Vi, who created the world," the girl sings, hanging the first.

"Two for Rae, who preserves the world,

"Three for Mort, who destroys the world,

"Four for Caido, who holds the world."

There are some who would argue that the Old Gods are not the ones to be remembered, but the girl has been honoring them all her life. Still, from her bag she pulls one more lantern - smaller, simpler, not of ornate paper but still lovingly crafted from thin glass, hand-spun and well cared for and clearly old. The bottom filled with oil and set aflame, she secures it carefully upon the spike, her fingers lingering on the lip of the globe before falling away to hang by her side. There is no sung prayer for this one, no whispered word of love;  only a single sharp tear and a quickly subdued tremble passing over her face like a shade. But the dark unhappiness is quickly banished, for shadows cannot linger in the glow of so much light. Amalia sniffs and looks around, inspecting the lanterns others have hung nearby. She is determined to enjoy herself, to be friendly. That is what they would have wanted, after all.

amalia chandrakant
we might be hollow, but we're brave
image credits
Rexanna De Rosieres
the Penumbra
Queen of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 27 | Height: 5'4" | Race: Ascended x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 Abandoned (Level 3 Ascended) - Strg: 19 - Dext: 14 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 14
Played by: Skylark Offline
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Posts: 1,368
your battle-worn tongue doesn't say the truth anymore
that you are ruined
Rexanna wasn’t sure how she ended up here, all she knew was that she was here. It had already grown dark, she began to notice the lights. Like a moth to flame, she moved toward them, focusing only on them like a dog with a bone – but what they were, were something she didn’t understand. She followed the string of the lanterns toward where she could spot a bonfire and a group of people, as well as others that had begun to join in on the festivities, and Rexanna looked to them and the lantern in hand. She spotted many faces she didn’t know, but she did end up landing eyes on Remi and immediately looking away. Instead, she focused hard on the lantern to her right – painstakingly crafted with paper and designs that Rexanna’s inner art lover adored.

She was fearful to look up, to spot Remi in case she’d ruin this for him too. So she remained, still by the lantern, bobbing back and forth along a phantom wind, afraid to look up and join in. She stood by the lantern trying to figure out what it could mean and why today had been the day where they all gathered to show them. Had she looked up, she might have noticed others uncertain in the lanterns as well – except for those around the fire still creating them, and had she looked around she might have seen there were others she could talk to in avoiding Remi as well.

But it was better this way, punishing herself for mistakes she couldn’t have possibly known about otherwise. She was always better at blaming herself than those that truly deserved it. So she waited, brooding and relatively calm, looking at one lantern and the next beside it, and simply doing her best to enjoy herself and the wonders of this new world.


No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Rexanna, without killing her <3
Ronin Taliesin
the Dark Star
Monster Hunter

Age: 27 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 7 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 26 - Luck: 30
SUGAR - Mythical - Dragon (ice breath)
Played by: Honey Offline
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This new world was filled with as many wonders as it was horrors, Ronin was beginning to discover. He had seen the lights and had assumed, at first, that they might be a sign of danger - especially given how close to the outskirts of this place they were - but when he approached (dressed in his old Storm Guard gear and ready for a fight, no less) he instead found... a celebration, it seemed. Or a festival, or both. A firepit crackled merrily at the centre of the festivities, and lanterns bright and quirky glowed upon stakes driven into the ground.

It seemed too organised, too purposeful for it to be random, and given that he and the other Outlanders (as he had heard them called once or twice) had only been here for all of five minutes, this seemed the work of the natives. Slowing his steps to a stroll, intent on taking everything in, Ronin began to make his way towards the firepit to see if he could find out more.

Before he got close, however, he was caught by a song.

Bewitching in its melody, yet puzzling in its words, Ronin found his steps changing to direct him to the sound of the voice. There he found Amalia stringing her lanterns, the former captain falling to a halt and taking in the lanterns all around, as well as the ones she had placed.

"That was beautiful," he said, his voice soft so as not to startle her (hopefully). "But what does it mean?" He didn't just mean the song, Ronin gesturing at the glow of all the lights around them.

Bastien De Rosieres
Guildmaster / Artist

Age: 34 | Height: 6' 2" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 22 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 7
PITTORE - Mythical - Gremlin (Disappearance)
Played by: Lancydulac Offline
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Posts: 830

Bastien did not understand a lot of things in the Hollowed Grounds, but he had always had an intimate affection for parties. He didn't know the exact reason for the event happening, but a fire burning and decorations made meant he had found himself at a party - which meant it was a going to be a good night.

He strolled around with a confident ease, regarding each lantern in turn. Without really trying he naturally evaluated them on their artistic merit. Some did better than others. Still, he smiled at everyone willing to meet his eyes, shabby lantern or no.

He tried to note which people seemed as lost and confused as he was, which ones beared the obvious marks of being from somewhere else. He could see one woman stood by herself, almost hiding behind a lantern, and others about asking what this was all for.

Wanting to know more of the woman stood by herself, Bastien went to Rexanna's side, casually gesturing to a lantern in front of them.

"What do you think of this? To me, it has some authenticity but ah! What scruffy paint marks. Perhaps I have spent too long with more refined work."

Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
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Posts: 1,762

Deimos the Reaper
You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this
long and lonely road to hell
the throne must be such a sad and lonely place

The Reaper was woefully ignorant about this world, a common theme spreading its way through his stitches and seams. He intended to make amends with the nagging, scathing sentiment, for it clawed and sharpened its way down his ribs, through his bones, and echoed in the throngs of his mind. His travels had been bent and shaped by simple circumstances thus far, providing aid in restoring and rebuilding shops and smithies, threading his way through the oddity and nuances of blended lives, and striving to learn from past errors. But his interest had yet to flag or wane; lights harking their way through the darkness drew him in their flames, in their haunting, enigmatic splendor. They glowed and blended their way through the darkness, spreading poignant links and driving their way into his heart – he narrowed his eyes in scorn, in resentment, in the eerie melancholy managing to reach its way through his veins. It reminded him of death and things he’d lost – like bright graves and fireflies, gesturing for him to follow their pathways, to be guided straight into hell, avoiding the outreach of heaven. He remembered burying those he cherished and loved, and almost brought forth a snarl to a particular lantern nearby, and then moved on, passing one by one, fending off the itch to reach out and touch the paper-thin filaments, the blistering rays, the opulent fathoms blinking back at him.

It might be for a celebration, he thought, because there were so many gathered there in the mist and midst, holding their torches, crafting their wares, pressing guiding flickers and beams into the void. But the way some had been melded and molded together gave him great pause: bones and skeletons, perhaps honors for soldiers or warriors, and he blinked away the sudden sting behind his eyes, pretending it was a brief glimmer of rain, and even in that scandalous instant, he was hollowed and carved out. How might he have sculpted one for all the losses? His fingers went to the link of furs and reached within his pocket to ensure the tiny shred of blue cloth was still there; he clutched it, held it tightly in his grasp, then wandered further, away, away, away from the pain suddenly striking against him. He wouldn’t break: not here, not now, not ever.

Deimos caught sight of Remi and Rexanna nearby; fought the urge to crawl his way back into the darkness, where he came from, into an abyss where he could spiral and devastate without preamble. But the actions would’ve just been another way to return to the detached void, to re-enter barbarity and despair, to live forlorn, desolate, and ruined, marred, marred, and marred, scarred by every inch of flesh, never a thought, never a soul, never an essence except ash and soot. He scorched his instinct and meandered his way through; not savage, not sinister, but cold and nonchalant, attempting to remain stoic and reticent when his heart hurt in the glimpse of the unknown, in the unearthly forces dragging across his ether. His piercing gaze landed on others nearby, one looked strangely familiar again and he wondered if it was just lives blurred over again, before landing on the silent pair. “What is going on?” He intoned, neither sardonic or irreverent, simply curious, dipped in interest and intrigue, to slide, to glide, past the melancholy drenching his frame.

Photo and Table by Time
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary

Also brief mentions of Wessex ;D
Desmond Sariel

Age: 27 | Height: 6’ | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Natural
Level: 0 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 8 - Endr: 10 - Luck: 7
Played by: Sage Offline
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Posts: 24

A soft breath escaped the man, as he looked at the few lanterns he had created. The Festival of Lights was always such a beautiful thing, one of the rare times that brought peace to his stormy soul.

His lights were simple; fabric with some earthy designs painted on them for individual character. He was no artist, far from it in fact, but it was an opportunity to express his love for the beauty and unity that the festival brought to the community, however small and struggling it might be. People didn’t always get along, but seeing the lights dot the ground and cast such a warm glow brought a touch of hopeful love to the healer’s heavy heart.

Desmond walked away from his lanterns, instead approaching the crackling fire pit with a drink in his hand. He gazed into the fire with a warm smile on his face. The healer was an extremely approachable man, he had to be in his profession, so he wouldn’t be against anyone coming over to say hi.

Many of those who gathered seemed to be of the group of newcomers, so no doubt they would be curious about what the Festival of Lights was. Who knows? Maybe they’d even be interested in making a lantern. He wouldn’t mind lending a hand there - or just some supplies to do it themselves.

Talk to the Moon, Heal the Soul

Asavvi Kouris

Age: 20 | Height: 5'11" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 0 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 13 - Luck: 0
Played by: Laine Offline
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Posts: 15
My mind, my body, my soul
Only feels good standing out in the cold

When Asavvi had been a girl, she’d often had a dream where she could make stars. Not the cold, distant pinpricks, but warm, fist-sized balls of light that would dance and spin around her and she’d treated them like friends. She hadn’t had that dream in years but every once in a great while she thought of it and it warmed her from the inside out. She thought of it now, standing on the edge of a gathering and watching as lanterns were hung.

Not everyone, it seemed, was as new to this land as she, and from the talk she’d picked up on it seemed like this was more than a celebration but a longstanding tradition. She watched with curious eyes those that moved to hang their own little lights, some with handmade creations, some calling on magicks to set their glowing beacons. No matter how they were made, each lantern seemed like it was hung with care, almost with reverence, and often with murmured words that she’d been unable to hear.

A man caught her eye as he returned to the gathering and she moved closer to the fire herself to stand near him. Desmond had an approachable countenance and so she didn’t feel so intrusive for asking a few questions. "I hope you don’t mind me asking, I’ve not been here long, but-" She glanced outward at the hanging lights and back "What are they for? "
Devrum Calob
Farmer / Butcher

Age: 38 | Height: 6' 0 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 24 - Dext: 10 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 3
Played by: Andy Offline
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Posts: 456
"You go on and keep your mouth shut. Drink this here..." Devrum muttered to Alistair who walked along side his friend as the bear man attempted to get him out and about.

"Can't focus on things in your life you ain't got no control over. Understand? You did what you had to do and ain't no one that could take it from you. Now drink up...go on out there and talk. Don't care to who, just keep your lips moving and drinking. Don't want to see you by my side the rest of the night...or on my life I will beat the ever loving hell out of you and give you reason to mourn." All of this quietly muttered, paw-like hand clasped around the back of his neck.

"Of all the things she wanted to see..." Vervain asked for little, really nothing from Devrum other than to avoid trouble she couldn't be involved in.

So for her, he would attempt his hand at culture. The thought made him take a pull of the bottle he handed Alistair before handing it back to the young man, setting off on his own.

He would occasionally glance at Vai and Remi and gave a faint smirk. She seemed happy with the boy...he wasn't half bad, by Devrum's standards that was high praise.

The barrel-chested farmer/butcher approached one particular lantern and examined it in his best 'oooh interesting' face he could muster.

Age: 84 | Height: 6' 1 | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 15 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 7
Played by: Andy Offline
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"Organic." Archebold responded to Bastien even though the question was asked to Rexanna . He flickered a fanged grin to both, eyes squinting as he observed the lantern in question.

His silent steps had made it appear as if the ascended being just poofed out of thin air...a fact Archebold was notorious for.

He would lift his ivory walking stick between them gently as he motioned along the designs.

"No stroke is manufactured. Each an organic piece, flaws and all...guided by hand..this particular design, brushed by a left-handed stroke, as the curvatures support...slightly jagged edges hint at early stages of arthritis but not enough to detour the creation of this peace.

Beauty in pain...rather poetic." He concluded as the tip of his stick traced along the painted lines.

"So much more to appearances if you take the time to read the lines presented before you."
Jorseval Craik
Vagrant / Priest

Age: 26 | Height: 5' 10" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 0 - Strg: 8 - Dext: 10 - Endr: 8 - Luck: 9
Played by: Laine Offline
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Posts: 21


Jorseval wasn’t too interested in the Festival of Lights for its own sake, it’s not like he had anyone he cared to remember anyway. If asked when he was in a sour mood he might have had a bit to say of time spent better honoring gods over long-gone people but he didn’t really mind it, and most gave Mort his due in asking him to look after the souls he’d taken. So Jory brought no lanterns, lit no lights, but at least this year he didn’t ignore the gathering altogether. Where people gathered in numbers opportunities for mischief abounded and tonight he was of a mind to take advantage of that and came anyway to see if he could make fun for himself. (Most likely in the form of trouble for someone else.)

As the crow, he swoops over the heads of the gathered, and spotting a few less then celebratory faces amongst the crowd picks those out as targets for an (admittedly not very complex or clever) bit of tom foolery. One at a time he wings his way above the crowd and tries to drop little pea-sized pebbles at a few opportune times.

He gives up his rain of tiny stones when he spots Amalia leaving her own lights swinging and moving back towards the gathering. He doesn’t know her well, it’s true, but he takes a bit more of an interest in her than he usually does with most people. She has a true devotion to the Old Gods, and he likes that at least. With a caw of warning he swoops down to perch on her. shoulder and leans in to nibble lightly at her nose in greeting. It doesn’t occur to him to try and remember if she’d recognize him in this form or not. He then turns his head to point beady little black eyes at Ronin and give an obnoxious caw in his direction.

{Tries to drop pebbles on Remi Wessex  & Deimos XP}

Force and magic can be used against Jorseval without permission.
Unless explicitly stated, he will only ever use Jory and not his full name.

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