Summer Festival, Multipost-Thread

[SumDood]

This thread is for the summer festival.
Anyone is welcome to post here, so long as they obey the mutipost thread rules (see the RPG Rules section). You can post in this thread at the same time as another thread, so long as you take care not to "know things" or "obtain things" through manipulation of the past. Your present day character cannot have or know anything obtained or learned in the Summer Festival until after they have permanently left the Summer Festival.

Description
The Merchant District is a large open-air market. Cobblestones line the streets and walkways. There are tents and beggars and thieves wandering around. You can find jugglers and fire breathers and other entertainers in residence during the Summer Festival. This is somewhat similar to a "commercial" event. The merchants lower their prices and try to make the best deals. This is a good time to buy new clothing, purchase some good wine, haggle for better weaponry or armor. Pretty much anything you could want can be had here - for a price.

Most of the entertainment comes from the Ivanhelm crowd. The Juggler's Guild and the other road-rabble and carnival cronies come to the Merchant District via invitation during this Festival. They're needed here to enhance the attractions and bring some kind of life to the otherwise serious and life-determining act of haggling and trading. If anyone had a need for humor it's these stale merchants. Is it any wonder that once a year the Lord of the Merchant District forces them to have a party?

Dancing and contests of skill such as knife throwing, archery and swordplay will take place accordingly. Feel free to write such into your posts, or whatever else you feel might fit. This is a medieval festival desert style.

Feel free to join in. And if you have any questions, visit the OOC section.

-Dood!

[Sydney]

Sydney was well aware of the Festival. She had participated every year for the past 5 years in the swordplay competition. Even though she felt she was the best she always managed to lose early for this and that such as getting sick or breaking a blade or actually cutting someone and Disqualifying herself.

This year would be different. She was in great shape and the competition was less then grand in her eyes. This year she also entered herself in other competitions as well. She entered the riding challenge and also the mounted and unmounted archery competition. She did not plan to win the archery competitions but it was 4 events that qualified her for the king of the festival prize which was never won by a female. She figured if she won the 2 she was good and and did not place last in archery she had a great shot at the title and the fame that went with it.

[Avylina]

"All Ye Folks of the Merchant District and very much well all of Forwell that wishes to enjoy them selves, by the order of the Governor I now tell you that the Festival has officially begun. Should Ye need to find a list of events please find your way to the Posters around the Grand Bazaar. Do not worry if you can not read as they are pictures not fancy writing. If you do wish to carry a written schedule please find your way to me and I may give you one. Enjoy yourself, Be Merry, Drink lots."

Avy was atop a stand where the town crier usually stood. She enjoyed being the center of attention. All those that could hear her could hear that she was not shouting like that town crier did, but was in a half song voice. This was because she was not very good at yelling, only singing loudly.

"If anyone has question's you can ask me or anyone else, they probably know the answers too. I might not know the answer either. But feel free to ask me or say hello. I do like to meet people."

[Agmir]

The crusty old wandered over the crusty old sand-soaked cobblestones of the Merchant District with at repetitive thump-thump-thumping from the stave in his right hand. His ever present turban, sun faded to a sickly mauve hue from its once bright red, began to unravel a bit at one side. He reached up and tucked the strand of cloth back underneath and the settled it on his head. That was better.

Smells assaulted his nostrils from every direction, and a cacophony of sounds filled the air. Children ran through the area playing games. You had to watch out for the brats. Some of them were pickpockets and cut purses. Agmir kept a wary eye on them whenever they came close, and frequently shot stern looks at any group he encountered. He was good at that. The master of stern looks. There was a trick to it. You had to raise one eyebrow slightly higher than the other, and sort of 'bulge' that eye out. At the same time you raised the opposite lip up a bit to expose the eyetooth on that side. It gave you a sort of grumpy constipated sadistic leer that was sure to scare the crap out of anyone under ten.

"You want some sand?" asked a man's voice from a nearby cart.

"SAND?" spat Agmir. He almost laughed. Someone was selling sand.

The man, who was middle aged, bald on top, and wore a vest of red, blue, green, yellow and pink strips, gestured for Agmir to come closer. "It isn't normal sand, friend. And I wouldn't sell it to just anyone. This is special sand. It's from the home of the Gargameth that dwells in the deep desert. Legend states that he who bears a vial of sand from the Gargameth is immune to the curses of Hu, and no bad luck may befall him. Can you afford NOT to buy a vial of this sand?

Agmir paused. This man, of course, had no idea that Agmir was a Wizard and life-long student of the arcane. You were hard-pressed to find mages in Forwell these days. Only thirty years ago the Inquisition had slaughtered the lot, and that left a bad taste in the mouth of most practitioners of the art. There were nasty memories here in Forwell, and ghosts... Most mages stayed far away. Therefore it wasn't a surprise that this fool was not expecting a Wizard to wander by his stand.

Truth be told, and Agmir was well aware of this, there WASN'T any such creature as a Gargameth. It was just a legend made up to scare children - or entertain them (depending on the child). There WERE a wide variety of other creatures that DID exist, but the Gargameth wasn't one of them. You might as well say you had the feather of a Jabberwocky and that it could keep you from forgetting things.

Agmir regarded the vial of sand that the man was holding. "You've got to be the saddest merchant in this whole place," he finally said. "Reduced to selling sand. Or was this just a challenge? Is this supposed to be like selling ashes to Hu? Because then I can understand it. If that's the case, then good luck to you. Although, between you and me, I think I'd say it was a magic powder that you can sprinkle on your feet to make them less tired. That might appeal to more people."

"You don't think good luck is desirable?" asked the man, so surprised by Agmir's advice that he dropped the pretense of the magical sand. "I'd take good luck over rested feet any day."

Agmir shrugged. "Luck is something you can make instantly. Rested feet - that take time. But I'm not like most people, so maybe my advice is worthless. Anyway, do you know where I can find some pepper-jerked reaper skewers?"

The man pointed toward another group of tents. "They're selling food over there."

"Ah!" exclaimed Agmir. He bowed in thanks. "Good luck selling your sand."

The man smiled. "And good luck finding your skewers."

Agmir wandered off. It was so nice that everyone was polite here today. That was the best thing about merchants. Usually they weren't grumpy because they wanted you to buy their crap. So, even if they were having a bad day, they still treated you with courtesy. Maybe this would be a good day after all.

[Sacred Rectifier]

Between two three story buildings ran an alleyway. It was a fairly long alley, continuing for an entire block without any side streets branching off from it. Yet, at the same time, it was not a highly used alley. No one sold anything here. Not 'officially.' There were no stands or merchants hawking their wares. Rather, it was a back alley without much attention from either end. It was, in fact, the kind of place where you would expect shady deals to take place.

Right now, in the middle of the alley, two men were fighting. No one was around to witness this little battle, but if they had been, then they would likely have been surprised by the speed, skill and strength exhibited by the men. It wasn't something you saw often - inside Ivanhelm or out. Multiple blows were traded every second, and every second they were also dodged. They moved so fast it was hard to see it all.

Weapons were not evident. This was a conflict of fists and feet. Both were highly trained in physical combat. Spinning kicks, foot sweeps, backfists, and defensive blocks and throws were part of the game. As was acrobatics, although one of them was far more skilled in that area than the other.

Eventually the edge went to the acrobat. Nearly two minutes of solid combat passed before the acrobatic fighter finally managed to land a telling blow. It took place during a leap from one building to the next. He was spinning upsidown in the air over his enemy when he managed to bring a frozen-fingers fist attack down into the pit of the other warrior's right shoulder, separating the ball from its socket.

Pain did not halt or even pause the battle. The other warrior continued to fight, but with only one arm to effectively obey his commands, the battle was nearly over. Mister acrobat - who also wore the symbol of the Sacred Rectifiers on his right shoulder, proceeded to beat the unholy crap out of the other fighter. He broke the man's jaw, left tibia, the right side of his collar bone, three ribs and knocked out nine of his teeth. When it was over, the other man lay on the cobblestones, still ignoring the pain. Still trying to get up.

His body just wasn't going to do it.

Rolling him over with a heavy kick to the ribs, the Sacred Rectifier put his boot on the other man's neck and pushed down hard enough to choke him.

"I catch you peddling Jack in Forwell again, and you're DEAD, you understand? No one sells Jack in Forwell without Zoto's permission. THAT'S the rule. You can pass that on to all the other scum-sucking dirtbags you work with. Cross the Sacred Rectifiers and you're gonna be Matrim's bitch. Got it?"

Gagging, the man tried to nod.

Spinning on his heel, the Sacred Rectifier spat in the sand and stalked off out of the alley. His work done, he was ready to enjoy the festival. There were combat competitions here, and he was already warmed up. Inside, he smiled, happy with the knowledge that - jacked up as he was - no one else would have much of a chance against him. Those prizes were his.

[Agmir]

A hot breeze blew down the sandstone walls of the buildings on either side of an alleyway. Holding a bone skewer, a dirty old man topped by a mauve turban wandered down the sand-strewn back road with a bit of a limp. With one hand he thump-thumped the ground with a gnarled old stave. The other hand held the skewer up to his mouth. Angling his head, he repeatedly ripped meat from the skewer. It must have been chewy because he took his time between bites.

As the old man (Agmir) approached the middle of the alley, he saw what appeared to be a man lying in the street. Agmir stopped a few feet away, still chewing. Reaching out with his stave, he poked a leg.

"Unnnnhhh," groaned the man.

Marching in a circle around him, Agmir surveyed the situation. His keen eyes took in the scattering of sand around the cobblestones, the broken debris, and a shattered awning. He also noted that the man's hip or leg seemed to be broken, along with his collar bone and probably a few ribs. It looked like he'd been beaten with a club or a mace.

What to do?

Agmir sighed. He couldn't just leave the fellow here on the ground. He would have to help him. Reaching down, he put his hand under the man's right arm and tried to pull him up. There was an immediate bout of screaming.

"Excellent," muttered the Wizard. "That ought to attract some people. Then THEY can help you instead of me."

"My arm," groaned the man. "It's not right..."

"Dislocated most likely," replied Agmir between bites of the skewer. "That means the bone isn't connected right anymore. You're lucky though. It can be fixed. It's a LOT better than having an arm cut all the way off. Now that's something you can't fix. Who did you get into a fight with? Some fellow who's girl you fancied?"

"Ain't like that," replied the man. "You got any water?"

"Water," repeated Agmir. He pulled off the water skin he kept strapped over his shoulder and handed it down to the man. "You have a name?"

"Kenmore," moaned the man. He guzzled some water from the bag, using his left hand. Then he tried to get back up.

Agmir raised an eyebrow. The man was standing on a broken leg. Considering his injuries, Kenmore ought to be out of commission. He had to be immune to pain or on some kind of drug. "You're a tough bastard Kenmore," he stated.

[Maester Luwin]

It was almost midday and Luwin still felt rested. Avy’s hospitality had been a pleasant change. There had been no sand in his beard upon waking, and his stomach was still full from his meal the night before. Now he wandered through the streets. To either side buyers and sellers haggled, a few deals turning into fights. One was close enough to hear, a man selling banta jerky refusing to accept a collection of clay vases for payment. if’n ye don’t have cash, ain’t worth my… Shopkeep’s children played with urchins in the streets, weaving between the crowd with balls and sticks, playing games that had ever-changing rules.

As Luwin slipped by a rather large man who smelled of reaper sweat and leather, one such child let out a whoop and came running towards him, trailed by a throng of his playmates. Come on! Everyone get Jorah! As he squeezed past Luwin, the old monk felt deft fingers snatch the small coin bag from his robes. It made Luwin smile, wondering who the young boy thought he was in his tattered grey robes. There had been scarcely a bit on him, his most valuable possession being the bowl he both ate and begged with (which was carried in his hand). He supposed that the boy had just seen the bulge and taken it as an easy lift.

Luwin was distracted from his musings by a scuffle behind him. Heavy footsteps had detained the young child’s scrabbing.

“Oy! Get offa me ya’ big-”

“You just stole that from the old man! Give it here-”

“No I di’nt, grams gave me ‘dis ta get some jerky!”

“Lying brat! I saw you just now!”

Luwin lay a gentle hand on the larger man’s shoulder, his old leathery fingers resting with the weight of a coin. Through his arm Luwin could feel the man’s centre, like a glowing coal resting high in his belly, jolting as the child yanked in an attempt to break free. The human body had six cardinal centres, 246 minor ones, all tied by divine thread to this one glowing coal carried in the belly. In Luwin’s order, these 253 centres dictated all aspects of one’s existence. This man’s was tense and enraged. Luwin could feel a hardness and a resentment in his tug. So reaching out softly through his fingers, Luwin breathed what calmness he could into the man.

“It’s no matter sir,” said Luwin with a forgiving smile, “I am full and he must be hungry. Let him eat.”

The man turned a little to look at him, and Luwin felt his shoulders release all at once. “Really? You know he should have to at least… ah nevermind.The boy Jorah scampered off. The man watched him go for a second before he turned to Luwin. “Well I never seen someone go through ‘at kinda trouble for a pickpocket before. Mighty nice what you did for ‘im.”

Luwin smiled. “He was just a boy.”

It was not until he had found a place among the vendors, and set up the paper, brushes, and ink Avy had given him for calligraphy, that a small form stole up behind him, and peeked over his shoulder.

“Whatcha doin’?” asked the child.

Luwin twisted a little to reveal his trademark grin. Children really did delight him. “What’s you name?”

“You first,” shot back the boy, his voice muffled by something in his mouth.

Luwin laughed his bubbly laugh. “Okay, I’m getting ready to do some calligraphy.”

“Caliwhazza? Is that like painting? What are the brushes for?”

“Yes, like painting. Except that I paint words, not pictures.”

There was a long pause, while Luwin mixed the ink. Around him, the heated clamour of buyers and sellers, showmen and mingling reminded Luwin much of the Roost, if a little more lighthearted and spirited. Back at the roost, it was as if everything was a life or death manner, and sullen vendors eyed each other as if given the chance they would slit each others throats and be done with it. Here the vendors were full of hope, and bystanders gasped and laughed as jugglers threw flaming daggers through the air. From his blanket, Luwin could hear the whoosh of the fire. Finally, the boy spoke.

“I’m Jorah.”

“Ah, Jorah! What are you eating?”

“Ummm… it’s sugared sweetbread dumplings.”

“Mmm, sweetbread. I’ll bet it’s tasty. Was the money I had enough?”

“No. I swiped a lady’s purse after that.”

“Oh my, did you have a lot of money leftover?”

“…maybe,” The boy say suspiciously. He was used to having his spoils taken from him, Luwin thought.

“What are you going to do with the rest?” asked Luwin.

“I’m going to boy a sword!” Said the boy, his voice filled with pride.

“A sword?” Said Luwin with a hint of sadness. Why was it that every boy thought that swords were so very valuable? All swords were good for was killing, or working some other kind of pain.

“Yep. I’m gonna be a knight!”

“Ah, a knight. Who would you fight?” Luwin had forgotten that in this land courage and strength were so very valuable, and indeed their warriors seemed to often bring good to the world.

“Well… my brother Kinley for one, and I saw two guys fighting in an alley just now, and they weren’t using swords but I think they’re the kinda people that a knight’s supposed to fight.”

Luwin chuckled. “Did you now? Well, as long as you’re here, could you do me a favour and tell me if all the chunks in this ink are mixed in?”

“Nope. Not yet.”

((OOC: wow. that was a lot longer than I planned.))

[Avylina]

Avy made her way through the crowds with a group of people around her so she did not really have to be crowded by anyone. She pasued to she the Most Unfortunate Luwin talking with a boy and was preparing to write.

"I see you are already becoming prepared. That is most wonderful."
Avy looked beyond the monk to see the a group of men in the Alleyway who looked as if they had been fighting. Heavens me, the fighting events do not begin for at least another hour. These men are possibly truly fighting and ruining the image of my festival.

Avy whisper to her guards and then the entrouage moved toward the allyway.

"Excuse me, but it is nigh time to be in such a state. Though you may think to be hidden away in the alley the suns beams draw attention to your positon as well as your present state. There are gates just beyond here so if you wish to bloosy yourselves there, I would not lift a finger, but in the midst of a Festival outside of the sanctioned events do not plague about."

[Agmir]

Agmir looked the woman up and down. Who the heck was this? She wore an elegant robe, like a noble, and trailed very long wavy hair behind her. It was dark hair, but not so dark that it was black. In the front, her bangs were bright orange. Agmir wondered how she had got them that way. Long earrings dangled on either side of her head, catching the light and causing the old man to squint.

"Well hello there!" he said to her.

She rambled on about some kind of plague and not being here in the alley. He wasn't sure. Her speech was odd. Maybe she was from a distant land where everyone wore robes like hers and had orange hair in front. Weird. Or maybe she really wasn't wearing robes and didn't really have orange hair. It was just that Agmir was hallucinating. It was possible wasn't it? He had been insane not so long ago - or so the Forwellian courts had told him.

He licked his lips and brushed some of the sand out of his beard with his sleeve. He was very tired of helping Kenmore along the alley, so when the woman finished speaking, he grinned and got his head out from under the wounded man's arm. Stepping back, he watched Kenmore to see if he could stand. Sure enough, he still could. "You're incredible," said Agmir. "I've never seen anyone wander around as wounded as you. You aren't bothered by the broken leg or the broken collar bone or the dislocated shoulder?"

"Unh," grunted Kenmore. "Shoulder's a bit of a problem, yeah. Can't move me arm very quick, and it's a tad painful too, I'll admit. Wish there was something I could do about it. Any of yew know where's I ken find myself a healer?"

Agmir shrugged and turned to Avy. "I don't suppose YOU know where a healer might reside?" he asked hopefully. "Maybe you could help this poor man."

Please, please, please - the Wizard silently prayed. Tor, goddess of the Wind, please take this wounded warrior off my hands so that I may proceed to the festivities and fun without the burden of another's well being upon me. Pray relieve me of this horrible responsibility! But out loud, he said nothing.

[Chas]

Lucky shifted uncomfortably in her clothes. Midday in her excessive garments certainly left much to be desired; she was, afterall, enshrouded from head to toe in white vestiges including gloves and a veil. She could not, however, see herself passing up the chance to attend the summer festival. Being a captive for most of her life made her hungry to experience as much of "outside" life as possible.

Voj used to tell her stories about the world outside her cell. She strode through the streets and alleys remembering the times Voj would tell her about the bustling streets of Forwell, the bazaars, the infamous West District, and the Roost. She practically felt like she had been living there for years.

Lucky smiled to herself, thinking of Voj, his weathered tan face, grey eyes, smooth dark hair--she stopped in her tracks. That wasn't Voj she was thinking of at all . . . it was Wade! She shook her head clear and approached a poster advertising the events of the festival, studying its images.

"Archery and knife throwing, eh?" she said to no one in particular. She perked her ears at the announcement coming from none other than Avyonelix herself. Boy, she's everywhere Lucky thought. Soon a crowd began to form around the famous painter who pushed through the mob, approaching an elderly man. Lucky followed quietly, curious as to whether or not any of the competitions would be heald after sunset.

Meanwhile, Lucky was attracting the curious stares of patrons. Two children whispered back and forth, giggling about a private joke and pointing at Lucky. One nudged the other with his elbow and received a retaliatory shove. The kid stumbled forward, almost falling into Lucky. He looked back at his partner in crime who nodded at the boy. The scamp, unnoticed by Lucky, snuck up to her and yanked off her veil. She immediately unsheathed her daggers and spun around, eyes frantically searching for the culprit. She had to lower her head to shield her eyes from the beaming sun, squinting she scanned the crowd. The scoundrel, proud of his misdeed, skipped away and tossed the veil to his collaborator. The two pitched it back and forth, chanting, "Ghost lady! Ghost lady!" while circling around her.

"Filthy rats!" she hissed and stuck out her foot in the children's path. As planned one took a tumble and fell to the ground, crying out, the other tripping over him and doing the same. Lucky laughed aloud and snatched up her veil. Pointing one of her daggers at the boys, she said, "Guess that will show you." She winked at them, sheathed her daggers and put her veil back on. Headig back through the onlookers, determined to speak to Avyonelix.