Site Wide Event Fiat Lux

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#1
flowerbirth

Nature always prevails, and those who respect it most know to show it due appreciation. So even with the turbulence at the Spire - even with the death, the sadness, the unease and the conflict between Natural and Outlander, the preparations continued. Quietly, serenely, a festival was building.

And even when the Spire was breached - even when the barrier shattered like so much stardust and the world beyond was revealed in all its vibrance and glory - Fiat Lux would not be ignored.

A celebration of renewal, resilience, rebirth... paying homage to Rae and all that thrived in the wake of the longest night. The fact that the world had opened its doors to them at long last only made the festival more important.

And so, from dawn until dusk, the sound of sweet music, of laughter and conversation and merrymaking would drift across the fields - fields marked by bright flags and bunting, by ribbons and streamers in abundance. A variety of stalls had been set up, offering games of chance and food and drink galore, and there was plenty of space for dancing and conversing.

In fact, for those not native to the place, one would think that the Naturals were all but inhuman in their ability to celebrate long and hard, to shrug off the inertia of Deepfrost and embrace the sun.

Speaking of which - a sun had been fashioned out of a great wheel - a Wheel of Fire - and attendees of the festival could often be seen lighting a candle to set it upon the perimeter, keeping the light alive.

Fiat Lux was late arriving, but very much welcomed by all.



Welcome to the SWE for Fiat Lux! You need to reply to this thread twice to get credit for the seasonal event requirement.

Please ensure all of your festival-specific threads are posted in the Fiat Lux board. (Any generic Flowerbirth threads may go wherever you like!)
Maea Valair
Farmer ☆ Loreseeker's Guild
Age: 23 | Height: 156 cm / 5'1 ft | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 13 - Dext: 15 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 8
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#2
Maea
Big dreamers shoot for open skies
The day har come, and yet for all the preparations and all the joyful occasions this festival represented, Maea approached it with mixed feelings. Last year she had arrived in the company of her brother, his wife and three overexcited children, well aware that she would dance with no one, speak only to her kin and leave early with the kids so that Noah and Lienna could have a day to themselves.

This year... well. Everything was different this year. Her morning had begun alone, and the house had been painfully quiet as she went about the usual chores. Feeding the animals, feeding herself, drawing water for a bath. It had been with a sense of unease she opened Lienna's wardrobe to find a gown worthy of the occasion, and the lump in her throat as she made her way across the fields still lingered.

But. It wasn't like she went to the festival alone. Her company this time was just... different.

"Ready to have some fun, Ludo?" she mumbled, a half smile playing on her lips as she addressed the god that draped over her shoulders like a cape. The contrast of black rags against the bright white of the beautiful dress was stark and startling, but where Maea once would have fretted the reactions of others, she now felt a thrill of defiant excitement as she entered the festivities.

Let them look. Let them whisper and gossip all they wanted. She could invite anyone she wanted... so what if her escort happened to be the death god's herald?

Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Soldier / Mercenary ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 17 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 13
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
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#3
 
D E I M O S


The Reaper had never had much cause for celebration – Isilme had fought long and hard for wars and crusades that went nowhere, smoldering in their Pyrrhic victories – and the stretch of another time, another world, had him lurking in corners, shunning the gaiety, the joy, the exultation. He’d been a guard and nothing more; the only notion expected of him, sharpened scowls and reticent frowns while the rest of the kingdoms sang and danced their suffering away.

Respite and repose were odd, uncomfortable things for him; experiences too limited, the unknown whispering its hallowed mirth back at him. What was he supposed to do? Brooding was rarely permitted amidst liberation and deliverance, and it was likely only a matter of time before he’d shuffled himself to a corner and disappeared into the shadows.

For the most part, he didn’t even want to do that.

Deimos did linger by the entrance a bit too long though, gazing, staring, taking in every segment of the commemoration before deciding on his next course of action. Crowds of people shifted with beatific, wild rings of laughter, smiles etched and sketched across their faces (and the urge to flee conspired its way down into his spine, limbs itching for anywhere but here), flags flying in fields, bunting, ribbons, and streamers exultant in the wind, in the breeze, rapture and reverie enhanced in the course of once-monstrous chaos. Games lined their way down rows of stalls, food, drink (which he might require sooner rather than later), and wide-open spaces beckoned, called, flourished across the grounds while he attempted to decipher their siren song.

Some seemed dressed in their finest, newly-sewn and enhanced, rich and decadent; he hadn’t even thought about wardrobe, wearing the same garments he’d put on that morning, lacking furs when the warmth of the sun had melted away spring’s colder hours. It’d make him easier to hide amidst the glamour then.

He clenched his jaw. He knew he looked stupid there, just standing along the threshold, sizing up the possibilities, the hows, the whys, struggling to align himself with the idea of mirth, joviality, and glee (without all the other things that had brought him some semblance of fun - like stabbing and sieges). His comfort had always been amidst those he knew well, where the guards, fortifications, and ramparts could come down in relative ease – the beast snarled inwardly, and then carved his path into the festivities, as if daring himself to endure and enjoy.
Melita Najya
☆ Monster Hunters Guild
Age: 18 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 18 - Dext: 18 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 12
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd
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#4
 
M E L I T A


Melita required very little encouragement to dive headlong into any sort of festivities. Her heart was fire and her lungs were stoked in ferocity, a bewildering, alluring set of movements and motions buoying her into pure, unrefined glee. Phoebe had only briefly mentioned the upcoming festival, a way to ward off the brooding, brewing machinations and upheaval of LongNight, and Melita was more than happy to shed the layers, the lacquer, of brooding consternation from her thoughts. Even if it was only for a short while, she’d prefer to bask in the glow of the sun-kissed earth, before reaching and scorching back into the pressing unknown.

The last festival she’d ever attended had been in the sands, the scorched, blessed Dragon’s Throat, where she’d tasted too much and drank her fill of so many unsuitable things; frankly she hardly remembered or recalled anything after that – but the wildness, the temptation, of it all over again didn’t quite leave her. Her limbs were echoes of untamed, unrestrained vitality, maneuvering with rapt ease, eyes taking in the sights, the sounds, the wonder, the flags, the stalls, the promise of renewal and rebirth on the tip of their tongues. Her whimsical, fey essence yearned to try anything and everything – from the bewitching games of chance, to the glorified food, to the beckoning, siren swells of wheel of fire pressing its flames into the air.

But what to do first? She knotted the ends of her tattered, frayed dress so it bounded against her knees instead of dragging near her ankles, locks completely untamed and savage, every inch the feral youth straight out of the wilderness, launching a frenzy of brisk runs and dashes, intending to inspect and investigate anything she could grasp. She was caught in Fiat Lux’s tethers and had no intention of escaping. They were alive, alive, alive, and naught could be better than savoring every moment of it.




Phoebe Steadman
Midwife / Dean ☆ Caido Medical College
Age: 18 | Height: 5'9" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 12 - Dext: 13 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 20
PIM - Mythical - Dragon (Electricity)
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#5
PHOEBE
Ugh, Phoebe felt sick.

She arrived at the festival alone. Alone. It hadn't been how she had ever anticipated coming to Fiat Lux. She had thought she would have been with someone but... alas fate had decided that wouldn't be the case. So for now, she would busy herself with distributing the flower crowns she had made with friends to help bring the spirit of rebirth very visually to everyone's festival dress. She already wore one atop her head, and the basket in her arms was overflowing with more for others to wear.

The atmosphere was in such stark contrast to what had taken up the last few weeks. Death, tension, conflict...it all seemed a far cry from the joyous festivities going on around her. She was a little overwhelmed if she was being honest with herself. So she quietly handed out her little flower crowns, smiling as they brought joy to those who accepted them.

Frey would want you to enjoy yourself and be happy during a festival for Rae. she told herself, willing herself to be joyous and content in the moment rather than worrying about the future.
I gotta find my place
I wanna hear my sound
Don't care about all the pain in front of me
'Cause I'm just trying to be happy
Maea Valair
Farmer ☆ Loreseeker's Guild
Age: 23 | Height: 156 cm / 5'1 ft | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 13 - Dext: 15 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 8
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#6
Maea
Big dreamers shoot for open skies
The first lap around the festival grounds was quick. A scouting raid so to speak, where the scent of food and the sound of laughing voices wafted över her like a warm embrace. Maea breathed in deeply, let the atmosphere fill her from the toes and up until all the gloom of memories and could-have-been's faded from her thoughts. This was a day to laugh in, a night to revel through, and by the time she found herself by the entrance again, her eyes were bright and the smile easy as she blinded up to a pair of familiar faces.

"Hi Deimos, good to see you again! And Phoebe! Those wreaths are beautiful! Are you giving them to someone?"

If they allowed it she would hug them both, each in turn, and no matter that she'd only mer either of them once before. It didn't matter; nothing mattered today because Maea was hell bent on enjoying herself to the fullest. No time for awkwardness or propriety here!

And if they noticed her spooky companion, well... She would be disappointed if no one commented on it.

Lily Balfour
Entertainer
Age: 26 | Height: 5'9'' | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 2 - Strg: 14 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 8
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#7

Dawn comes and with it, the sound of music, of people, of life! Never has the entertainer been so elated to rise and greet the day. She darts out of her house in the morning, an emerald green ribbon holding her hair back, another tied in a choker-like necklace around her neck, though that is the only truly vibrant spark of color she could find. The rest of her is rather drab, decked out in the lighter clothes of Deepfrost and it is apparent she could use something new - but Lily tries not to take much notice of it.

Instead she wanders the stalls and peruses the wares for barter, asking a question here and there or stopping to admire something particularly unique or fetching. The energy is infectious, and it seems as if a smile is glued to her face, even as she’s dragged into a dancing circle - gleefully trying to copy unfamiliar steps, yet feeling the music start to take hold of her, telling her to twirl, twirl, twirl! Dance the monsters away. She passes from one partner to the next, swept along until she’s dying for a drink of water and a moment to catch her breath.

Goddamn!. This was even better than ceilidhs. Lily unwraps herself from the group and plops down on the nearby grass, wiping the sweat from her brow.

lily
as if you were on fire from within
the moon lives in the lining of your skin
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Lorekeeper ☆ Loreseeker's Guild
Age: 28 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 9 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 25
ISUMA - Mythical - Gryphon (venomous)
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#8
It was a beautiful day for a party, even if Jigano had slept through the dawn - as he preferred to do, when he wasn't being called upon. He rose well-rested for once, and took his time with his appearance as he made himself ready for the festival. Hair was washed and brushed and left to fall in a silky curtain down his back, fresh clothing was donned with nary a wrinkle nor speck of dirt upon it, his pale green undertunic for once not hidden by the sleeveless overtunic, and revealing subtler darker green embroidery across the front and back panels. His Loreseeker pin was polished and displayed over his breast, and earrings made from a small, thinly-sliced blue agate geode set off his eyes. Leather pants fit snugly and showed off his legs to shamelessly good effect and, of course, his shoulder was adorned with a young gryphon whose wings were beginning to show flashes of lighter and darker blues among her primary and secondary feathers.

Isuma, too, had been washed and brushed and preened until she shone, bright and fluffy and puffed up with pride. Together with his harp and flute slung over his shoulder they made their way to the festival, falling in with other late-risers until they reached the site of festivities and Jigano felt a bright grin escape in spite of all the tension and pressures of the recent past. He bowed gallantly to Lily as he passed the bright woman and her seat upon the grass next to a circle of dancers. He didn't know her well, but that was no excuse for discourtesy, especially on such a lovely day!

His wandering feet took him further along to admire the stalls from which delicious odors wafted, and Isuma reep!ed excitedly at the scent of frying chicken, whose origin had Jigano laughing softly to himself. A tall blonde head caught his eye, adorned as it was with orange and yellow and pink and white blossoms, and he made his way to Phoebe and her basket, kneeling theatrically before her so she could place a crown upon his own head.

He winked up at her as Isuma chirruped and fluttered her wings in greeting, happy to see the girl again, and tumbling into the basket of flower crowns in her eagerness for pets. But Jigano's eye was caught by a dour countenance he recognized from baking with Amalia - though then it had been wreathed in smiles. Stealing one of Pheobe's crowns from her basket he slipped up beside Deimos with an innocent smile of greeting - and then reached up to drop the flowers on the Reaper's head where few others could likely reach, his grin turning mischievous. "If Kiada catches you looking so dour she'll start braiding blossoms into your beard," he warned, remembering the easy camaraderie the two had shared over the flour fight.

Remembering, too, the stolen glances and lingering looks his leopardess friend had given the dark-haired man that day. Perhaps he might ignore Remi's accusations and allow himself to meddle just a smidgeon if the opportunity arose... say... during a dance?

Then he turned around as he was laying his plans and there was Maea, a study in monochrome with her pale dress and Ludo's rags over her shoulders - and not just the god's rags! He adroitly sidestepped any attempt to force a hug, but his eyes were gentle as he smiled at his student. Whatever their differences before the festival or after it, this was a time for celebration and joy. He smiled, too, at the god he had come to feel a most unprofessional fondness for, and offered the spirit guide a bow of respect. "You're looking well," he greeted Maea proudly, and bent to kiss her hand in courtly fashion. He wasn't quite brave enough to take such liberties with Ludo, but his smile quirked wryly. "As are you, Ludo. Might I suggest the fried Magna Vermis?"

But then Isuma was trying to eat a flower crown and he had to rescue the curious gryphlet with an embarrassed apology to Phoebe before retreating. He still hadn't found who he was looking for in the crowd: a tall, lean man with braided blond hair and gentle blue eyes. "I'll see you all later, I promise!" he laughed to his friends, and slipped away into the flow of the revelers to continue his search.
Only simple tables without images or background colors when threading, please. It's much appreciated!
Remi Taliesin
Alchemist ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 21 | Height: 5'11 | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 24
ISLA - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Odd Offline
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#9

Remi arrived though ... he wasn't sure he particularly felt much festival-ing. It was so strange. The man he used to be loved crowds, loved gatherings despite his lowly social status. Now he simply wanted to shy away, to keep precious and hidden the parts of him not entirely shattered. What if he saw Sam? What if someone asked after Ronin?

What if, what if, what if.

But he did force himself to go, if only for Aoife's shake. She deserved to experience her first Fiat Lux properly, and not from the guildhall. And so, Remi came with the small child perched upon Isla's back. She wasn't quite in a saddle—more like a harness to keep her upright and support her head—but she was entirely delighted. Slapping Isla's neck with her chubby hands and cackling happily, Remi could feel the warmth of the unicorn's laughter through their bond, which did much for his wounded heart.

With a smile and nod towards those he knew— Lily, Melita and Deimos (he missed Jigano entirely)—Remi walked towards the one face that stuck out most.

"Hey you." He said gently despite the uproar of the group, moving to stand behind Phoebe .

REMI
Loving you was sunshine, but then it poured
& I lost so much more than my senses
'Cause loving you had consequences
Speaks with an Italian accent. Looks visibly blind.


Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Let me know if you want to kill him and we can chat.
Phoebe Steadman
Midwife / Dean ☆ Caido Medical College
Age: 18 | Height: 5'9" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 12 - Dext: 13 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 20
PIM - Mythical - Dragon (Electricity)
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#10
PHOEBE
Phoebe heard a familiar voice and turned first to see Maea with...Ludo of all beings. Her eyes widened a little in surprise but she was careful not to stare. "They are flower crowns. Would you like one?" she said, offering Maea one before her eyes slid over to the soul guide. "You are welcome to one too, if you would like." she said, offering a flower crown to Ludo as well, though she doubted they would take it. For some reason, flowers that symbolized rebirth, gaiety, love, devotion, passion, and joy didn't seem like their thing. Rather...flowers in general didn't. But that wouldn't stop her from offering them one.

Then another approached, Jigano this time. She smiled a little at his theatrics, carefully placing one of the bright colored crowns upon his head. Isuma of course got her pets, and even a little "crown" placed upon her head (Phoebe had intended it as a bracelet but a crown for a gryphon also worked). She was glad that the flower crowns seemed to be brightening people's moods, happy to be bringing them some joy in some small way.

She turned once more, hearing a familiar Hey you from behind her. "Oh! Hello Remi!" she said, truly brightening up to see her friend. "Do you want a crown? Isla, too? I can probably loop it around her horn." she offered, spying Aoife up on her perch. "Well, now, look who is a big girl now, riding a unicorn all on her own!" she said in a peppy tone to the star-eyed girl. After reaching up to tickle one of her cheeks, she turned to look back at her friend with a soft smile. "Are you meeting anyone?" Or was he here alone, like her?
I gotta find my place
I wanna hear my sound
Don't care about all the pain in front of me
'Cause I'm just trying to be happy
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Soldier / Mercenary ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 17 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 13
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#11
 
D E I M O S


The Reaper fully expected to be ignored; to follow through on the lines of history, cold, icy borders, apathy and neglect, tipping his skull and left to his desolation. It’d be a singular ritual and pattern, stoked in the fibers of reincarnation and resurrection, isolated in the elements of his own making. He wandered forth, only to be ultimately met with surprise as arms suddenly encircled him.

Arms locked, frame somewhat trapped, Deimos looked down to see who’d mistaken him for someone else, only to recognize the depths of ivory - Maea. He wasn’t certain where she’d achieved the gumption and determination to single him out for an embrace – his eyes were still wide in apparent shock, looking around to see if anyone would be willing to free him. “Hello,” he offered instead, naught else to say or utter, before his attention wavered to Lily, before he slithered out of the pale girl’s hold, before he was swarmed again, before astonishment, wonder, and disbelief kept catching him, tethering him to sentiments once more.

Predictions and presumptions had been firmly denied in a space of moments, in a decree of flowers laden in a crown placed upon his head, bright hues blending into the darkness of his frame, piercing eyes sliding over to the perpetrator, Jigano of all people, whom he’d hardly known –

Something pierced him straight in the heart then, and he thought he could recall the name of it, sliding along the tip of his tongue – was it acceptance again? What had he done to earn it this time? Why didn’t they discard him, leave him to his own devices, let him wallow, brood, and brew, stirred into lamentation by the brush of shadows, by the sullen eaves? Everyone else always had.

He swallowed down the exultation, the impish discord reeling back along his skin; but visibly relaxed, eased, instantly comfortable even with a shroud of blossoms encompassing his cranium. The beast didn’t know how to express his gratitude, his appreciation, his thankfulness in simply being in their existences, in their orbits, allowed to partake in the depths of celebration with others rather than apart. He opened his mouth once or twice, but was met with silence – gaze catching on the glimpses of others he knew. He nodded towards Remi, uttered “Thank you,” to Phoebe as he grabbed hold of one of her offered crowns and tossed it towards Lily simultaneously, and with precise, deliberate accuracy, before catching on Jigano’s words.

Deimos lost all his reticence then, turned towards the silver-haired man, and laughed. It was a loud roar, vivid and tangible, amused, diverted entirely out of his melancholy. “No need to give her any more ideas.” He’d lose all might and dominion then, with tiny petals woven into his beard. Thereafter, because suddenly he wasn’t so lost and forlorn and damned alone, his stare swept over the grounds again, glancing for particular inhabitants, like Rory (whom the Reaper was certain would’ve been with Jigano) and Amalia. The notion of friends and comrades was nailed in his fibers now, and he didn’t want to lose the nuances again.

Remi Taliesin
Alchemist ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 21 | Height: 5'11 | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 24
ISLA - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Odd Offline
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#12

With an adoring smile, Remi looked at the flower crowns that Phoebe had made. "How could I say no?" He asked, his smile widening slightly.

For her part, Aoife cackled as she was addressed, patting Isla heartily with her chubby hands, who stood enduring all of this with perfect ease. "Aoife might try and eat hers, but we can try. And I am sure Isla would love one." This wasn't true at all, and the unicorn swished her tail and gave Remi a mental nudge.

Shaking his head gently, Remi's eyes sobered slightly. "No. It is just me. Well, us." He said tilting his head towards the unicorn and the girl. But as for coming here to see anyone? No.

"You? Is Emmett here?"

REMI
Loving you was sunshine, but then it poured
& I lost so much more than my senses
'Cause loving you had consequences
Speaks with an Italian accent. Looks visibly blind.


Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Let me know if you want to kill him and we can chat.
Phoebe Steadman
Midwife / Dean ☆ Caido Medical College
Age: 18 | Height: 5'9" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 12 - Dext: 13 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 20
PIM - Mythical - Dragon (Electricity)
Played by: Grant Offline
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#13
PHOEBE
Phoebe’s smile widened and she happily placed a flower crown atop Remi 's head. ”Pink suits you.” she said decidedly. Though she was a bit biased. Pink was her favorite. The thought that Aoife might eat her crown had her a bit worried. Some of the flowers were edible but not all of them. So she carefully picked the honeysuckle out of one crown – which she then wound around Isla’s horn because how else would it stay on? – before nimble fingers wove the honeysuckle into a mini crown for Aoife. ”There. Now if she eats it the worst that will happen is a sugar rush followed by a very hard nap.” Phoebe said with a little smile.

But when Remi mentioned Emmett her expression faltered. ”Ah…he is probably here but uhm…not with me…or waiting for me.” she said, glancing down. ”He broke up with me…because I’m too much…and an Outlander I think.” she admitted quietly, looking down at the bright and happy flowers in her basket.
I gotta find my place
I wanna hear my sound
Don't care about all the pain in front of me
'Cause I'm just trying to be happy
Leatherworker
Age: 28 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 8
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#14
RORY
Rory had been up early to help set up the festivities: he hung banners and ribbons between erected poles, offered his hand at setting up stalls. A couple of shopkeepers had asked him if he could haul their goods out with the horses, so for a time in the early hours of the day Esaia and Talys had made the trip to and from the Settlement, and then stood around nibbling on the fresh spring grass as Rory placed his lanterns all around the festival grounds. They were rawhide lanterns, easy enough to make, and splashed with all sorts of bright and festive colors—or at least the ones he knew how to make with earth and herb dyes. The effect was wasted in the daylight, and the lanterns were unlit anyway, but it usually looked rather nice at night.

Then he took his trusty animals home, and gave himself a good scrubbing to rid himself (mostly) of the scent of sweat and horse and horse-sweat. Once clean he pulled on some of his nicest clothes, which consisted of dark, thin wool pants (they fit rather snugly), and a high-collared dark blue shirt. It wasn't exquisite, but it was softer than most of his work clothes and had a nice patterned trim, and was still in good condition. He left the laces at the throat undone, tied a bright sash around his waist, and braided back his hair in several smaller braids following his skull on one side, roughing up the rest into somewhat of a golden mane. For dramatics, he stuck a couple of iridescent feathers into the braids.

The thing was this, though: Rory wasn't in a particularly good mood.

How could he be, with everything that had happened lately?

He was lost and afraid, paranoid and anxious, irritable in a way that was very unusual for him. The idea of Fiat Lux filled him with dread and distaste (the entire world did); he just wanted to lie down on the hard floor and turn his back against the door and lie there until he was only dust.

But if it was one thing Rory decided somewhere in between the barrier's fall and the dawn of Fiat Lux, it was that he was not going to let them (whoever that included these days was unclear) ruin Fiat Lux for him. He was going to go to his damn festival and he was going to enjoy it, and everything else be damned.

So he was going to get on the drunk side of tipsy and he was going to stay that way until he had to sleep.

He cut a dark, but striking, figure as he slipped back onto the festival grounds, beelining for a brewer who made the most delicious honey beer and trying to avoid anyone who might waylay him. He normally avoided getting drunk and rarely had reason to drink, but he wanted to be able to enjoy the festival, and that just wasn't going to happen unless he found some way to relax.

Plus the honey beer was just great.

So.

His fingers closed around the tankard as he sipped from it, finally daring to let himself look for familiar faces in the crowd.



Rory lurks and is going to get himself drunk if left to his own devices because he's an unhappy idiot. Imagine his hairstyle is like a much less jpop and longer-haired version of the feather dude's in this picture. <.<
as if you were on fire from within,
the moon lives in the lining of your skin.
burn scars crawl up the left side of his neck and onto the lower left half of his face


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