[Seasonal Event] deepfrost dreams
Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#1
stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
Rory had inherited his dreamer's side from his mother, but it was Amalia's faith that had him going to the Glade that year. While the leatherworker normally participated in the building of the perch, he hadn't left offerings in the Glade for.. years and years. Somewhere, between the lack of results and his increasing workload at the homestead, he'd just run out of time to trek to the Glade and deposit some snack for a mythical bird that might as well prefer raw hearts over fruit and precious seed.

His concerns were usually of the more immediate variety: charming Luxere, making sure their stock of smoked meat hadn't gone bad, securing fuel, making his Deepfrost deliveries and picking up new orders, many of which had to be finished before the Long Night began. If the Longheat and Leafchange seasons had been bad and feed was low, and Deepfrost looked to be especially harsh, he had to reduce the size of the goat crew, which meant additional work with butchering, shearing, and smoking the meat, and sorting out the hides before taking them to the tanner.

In between all of these things, the simple act of going to the Glade with a handful of carrots or some ground oats seemed like too difficult a task. He frequently went to the Settlement on errands, so spending half a day here and there helping with the perch felt like less of a big deal.

But Amalia's piety—while not a new thing—had inspired him to resume this old tradition. If her faith in the Old Gods was still strong.. well. Rory would much like to see the Spark Bird, and its light, while likely not reaching all the way to his homestead, would be a welcome blessing during the Long Night, or just the darkest hours, even if they were not filled with monsters.

Rory had a handful of winter apples left. Usually, they were saved for other things, barely even treats for the horses, but apple cakes, enjoyed hot and warm from the oven with a cup of tea and good company.

He'd thought about it long and hard, and finally decided to split the stash of precious apples. He'd put aside three, formulating a plan to see if he could bake one cake at least, maybe with Amalia, perhaps invite some friends and just have a nice afternoon at the bakery. (Did foxes like apple cake?) That left four, which he'd scooped into the all-purpose pockets of his greatcoat.

And that was how he found himself in the Glade, where a few scorch marks on the trees indicated the great mythical bird did exist. Some other offerings were strewn about; fruits of varying quality, other vegetables, seeds and cereal. Rory looked at the offerings, then added his four apples—and some chunks of almost-tale rye bread he found in another pocket—to the scene.

[ For Bastien! ]
Bastien De Rosieres
the Dionysian
Ambassador for the Hollowed Grounds / Artist

Age: 41 | Height: 6' 2" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#2
BASTIEN
Cause I’ve been making something out of nothing…Like my soul
Bastien had been far too busy with his church and his new friends to spend much time worrying about all of the Deepfrost ritual around him. He was sure this LongNight could not be as bad as promised, he would simply go to a friends house and wait it out there - he was sure if he brought gifts of food, drink and art he would not be refused.

He didn't much care for the weather either, but he still liked to wander sometimes, take in the place around him and look out for anything new and interesting - another shrine, another ruin. Something that could get him closer to unlocking the cosmic secrets of the place without actually having to get in any danger.

Walking towards the Glade, he caught a smell on the wind of sweet fruits and tried his best to follow it, curious to see what he would find that was giving off such a scent.

When he finally arrived at the spot, with fruit and offerings strung on the floor, and scorch marks on the trees...well, his curiosity was certainly piqued. Hoping he wasn't about to earn himself another slap, he walked about the offerings, making faces at the ones that had begun to rot.

He started as he saw a man stood inamong everything. Was he a God...? Bastien considered the idea for just a moment, taking in his features - no. He was just a handsome mortal. But possible one with answers about the whole situation. Bastien stepped over apples and sweets to get to him, his thin boots making it unpleasant to step in anything even worse than the snow.

"Hey! Friend. Why are you leaving apples and bread here? Hoping to feed a flock of pigeons? Is this one of those Deepfrost things, that I keep hearing of? You seem far too handsome to be doing something pointless, so I would be interested to know the reason."

Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#3
stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
It was a sort of pitiful sight, honestly. Snow and scorch marks and fruit and vegetables—a lot of it frozen solid, but some of it had gone bad on sunny, warm days, or perhaps some Natural annoyed by the bird's reluctance to show had simply given it bad fruit to show their displeasure. Rory didn't like the thought of it. While not rumored to be a god, he was pretty sure the bird could set the entire Settlement on fire if it wanted to. Butting heads with it seemed arrogant and risky.

He heard the sound of boots crunching over snow, and out of wary habits—the glade, while beautiful, was hardly a safe place—angled his head in that direction, throwing an uncertain glance towards the man.

It was not someone Rory knew, and not someone who looked like an outlaw, but still he remained on his watch.

As the man came closer it was obvious he was heading for Rory, who didn't know how to feel about it in such a place as this, and yet he'd experienced more than once that showing his wariness could invite ire from those with a less-than-benign disposition.

In short: Rory had learned, the hard way, that life sucked and you were never safe.

But the man wore no weapons, and his approach was anything but dangerous; if anything he seemed concerned about where he stepped, and he did not move with the same deadly grace and precision as Elyna or Deimos did. It was easy to label him as harmless, but Rory would reserve his judgment until he knew if he made it out of here in one piece or not.

Then the barrage of words came out, and Rory found himself laughing, a mild and pleasant sound; a laugh of delight rather than scorn, and he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Pigeons? Far too handsome? My, my; Rory gave his head a small shake, an amused smile lingering on his face.

"That's the first time I've heard good looks argued as a sign of, well, intelligence," he responded, still amused, a little flattered, a little pleased. He was, after all, only human, and while it was a complete stranger giving it, he'd take the compliment. It was dangerous, but so was everything else as well. "But, ah, no, I'm not hoping for pigeons. Leaving offerings here is tradition—an effort to convince the great Spark Bird to come down and bless us with his light." He shrugged one shoulder, trying to quench whatever sense was telling him to be embarrassed about hundreds of years of tradition. "I assume you're an Outlander?"
Bastien De Rosieres
the Dionysian
Ambassador for the Hollowed Grounds / Artist

Age: 41 | Height: 6' 2" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 5 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 22 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 10 - Int:
PITTORE - Mythical - Gremlin (Disappearance)
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#4
BASTIEN
Cause I’ve been making something out of nothing…Like my soul
"Not intelligence. Purpose." Was all Bastien said about the matter, but it spoke volumes about his beliefs - it just seemed wrong for someone handsome to not have a grand story, one where everything had a reason and a grand conclusion. All heroes were handsome and all villains were horrendously ugly. Exceptions could be made, but it had to be generally true for his aesthetic worldview to stay alive.

'The great Spark Bird'
sounded a bit like a children's story, which Rory seemed to understand with the way his expression turned embarrassed. Bastien looked up into the sky like he'd see something approach at that very second.

"Yes....so I haven't heard of Signore Spark Bird. What light is he going to bless you with?" He had been so wrapped up in Safrin that Bastien had neglected a lot of the other lore here, especially the Deepfrost rituals, which mostly seemed like panic and pointless tradition.

Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#5
stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
Rory supposed that purpose was a more accurate word to describe it as, but it still remained a first for him. He rarely allowed someone's appearance to color his expectations of them, and treated everyone with the same measure of wariness. Though, how quickly he abandoned those instincts depended on a great many things, and true, appearance could play a part in that...

Bastien's glance upwards was mimicked by Rory, but there was nothing there: just the sun and some clouds scudding across the blue sky. No legendary bird swooping down to bask them in the glory of its light. Subtly, Rory shrugged. He'd never seen the thing so why would it appear just because they talked about it?

The man's accent reminded him slightly of Remi's lilting voice, and the foreign word had him furrowing his brows. "Signore?" he mimicked with confusion but decent accuracy in emulating the sound. He hesitated a second before answering, wondering how to phrase it, wondering .. what it was they all waited, wanted, for. "As the days grow shorter the darkness grows bolder," he finally said. "The light of the Spark Bird is said to be enough to light up the entire Settlement, and to keep even the monsters of the Long Night at bay. Only, it's been decades since it was last seen."

Rory heaved a small sigh. The more Outlanders he met, the more pitiful his own existence seemed.
Bastien De Rosieres
the Dionysian
Ambassador for the Hollowed Grounds / Artist

Age: 41 | Height: 6' 2" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 5 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 22 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 10 - Int:
PITTORE - Mythical - Gremlin (Disappearance)
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#6
BASTIEN
Cause I’ve been making something out of nothing…Like my soul
"Ah, forgive me. It seems to confuse the people here but I find it hard to drop my native tongue." French had actually been Bastien's first language, but Italian felt closer to his heart, the language in which he had first fallen in love or made art deals. To lose it felt like it would be a great crime and he felt almost obligated to still drop it into his speech.

He had heard of this LongNight. It seemed every time it came up there was some new silly part of it. Now a huge glowing bird? Smiling to himself, Bastien wondered when Jesus and all the saints were going to show up.

"So if you have not seen it for so long, how do you not know if it is dead? Or has decided to go to brighter pastures?" Bastien had no connection to this legend and so it was easy to imagine the Sparkbird having fallen to any number of terrible fates. "And besides, can the monsters not be avoided simply by staying indoors? Why is a bird needed?"

He didn't mean to sound quite so critical, and shook his head. "I apologise. I am being too harsh. I just...do not understand a lot of the ways of this place."

Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#7
stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
Rory knew, of course, that there were more languages than the common tongue they all spoke in the bubble: the books in the Atheneum were proof of that, had he ever doubted. But had he spoken with someone who knew another language so intimately, that this common tongue was not his first language? In that way, he thought Bastien was a first for him, and even though it served to reinforce his feeling of inferiority—culturally, intelligence-wise, everything—it also piqued his curiosity. Rory's head tilted slightly to the side. "What does it mean, though?" he asked, not quite willing to let the subject simply drop.

The questions Bastien asked were legitimate ones, and ones Rory had asked himself, too. In the end, it was a matter of interpretation and piety—how else would you explains the seasonal scorch marks? And perhaps it fed upon belief, a myth that could be real only for as long as at least someone believed.

A physical projection of hope.

He put it in the back of his mind to ask Amalia what she knew of it.

But the constant stream of questions—the way in which they were posed, as if the Spark Bird was an unnecessary luxury, an excess—was.. tiresome, in a way? Rory felt tired of defending his traditions, tired of watching everything change, tired of the voices clamoring for the demon to be brought down, now, tired.. tired tired tired, of the impatience, of the feeling of that this was not enough.

They had come to his home, his world, his life contained by the lethal barrier, and they had weighed it and measured it and found it wanting.

He was tired of feeling like he was not enough.

And yet, in the middle of it all, there seemed to be a kernel of curiosity, and as the man apologized Rory slowly shook his head. "Staying indoors is not always enough. If they have enough reason to, they'll break into your house. It's not only a matter of staying indoor and having a cup of tea and a good time: when they're prowling around the corners of your house... A week of utter darkness with huge monsters might not sound so bad until you've experienced it. There's sharp teeth bearing your name hiding somewhere in that darkness. Remember that." Why was it that every time Rory said this place will kill you if it can, and here are some monsters everyone said lol surely it's not that bad?

like

what the fuck do you know about it

He looked at the other man for a moment, seeing if it would sink in, or if he'd just brush it off as, what, Natural superstition?

Gods sometimes he wished they'd all just get eaten by monsters, and then he could shake his head and Wessex would laugh and life would go on as it always had in the bubble. "Perhaps if you survive the Long Night you'll see why the Spark Bird might be handy," he said sweetly. "And who the fuck knows if it's still alive, but see all the scorch marks around here? As long as there's fresh ones, we believe it's still alive. Besides, I doubt it can get out of here. Nothing else can, so why should it be able to?"

They had not created their rituals and tradition to inconvenience Outlanders.

They had created them to stay alive.
Bastien De Rosieres
the Dionysian
Ambassador for the Hollowed Grounds / Artist

Age: 41 | Height: 6' 2" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 5 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 22 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 10 - Int:
PITTORE - Mythical - Gremlin (Disappearance)
Played by: lancydulac Offline
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#8
BASTIEN
Cause I’ve been making something out of nothing…Like my soul
"Just sir, or mister." Bastien shrugged. He had given much more creative nicknames, though usually to women, who seemed to appreciate them more.

But it seemed this sir or mister had taken his words to mean worse things than they had. Bastien paused and stared as Rory spoke, the words not too venomous but the meaning and face behind them clear enough. He had upset the other man with his dismissal of the sparkbird, he could tell. After a moment to let the air settle, Bastien let out a sigh.

"...Well, I apologise again, then. It seems to be very important indeed. I suppose we all must have our things to work towards, hm? For you it is this bird. What you say of the scorch marks is true." He did not like to cause tensions over unnecessary things, especially not when he had met somebody so soon. Thinking that a compliment never hurt, he continued: "And as I said before. Someone so handsome as you must know what he is doing. So I will respect it. Is there any way I could help?"

Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#9
stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
The man hadn't quite deserved the tirade he'd got: it wasn't his fault that the pressure had been building inside Rory for so long, half confidence issues, half the talk he'd heard among the Outlanders. It had only been a matter of time before Rory grew teeth and the words spilled out, full of sweet threats of their grisly demise. It was only chance that it was this particular man who had triggered him into spitting out what had been on his stressed mind lately.

It was easy to be angry in your mind. It was easy to be angry in the moment. It was less easy to be angry when the anger was spent, when whatever justification you had felt was just .. gone. Vented. Rory brought a hand up to his face, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry too, you didn't deserve all of that," he said, self-conscious and quiet. At the point they were, it seemed wrong to say that the Spark Bird wasn't his most immediate concern—that he did it mostly for Amalia, and out of a sense of duty—he had other things he rather wanted, dreamed, of, but they were personal matters. Private matters.

And Rory was a peacekeeper, when he wasn't being busy snarling.

And there it was again: someone as handsome as you. This time Rory felt less charmed—a little charmed, just not quite as charmed—and snorted lightly. He'd dropped his hands from his face and looked down at them. "Purpose," he repeated with a grimace; it was said rather lightly. "We leave offerings here in the Glade. Traditionally, fruits, seeds, nuts... We've also erected a perch for it down in the Settlement. You're welcome to help decorate it in any way you wish."


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