[center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/597506252599328805/1234344779920441344/White_Thers.png?ex=663064a8&is=662f1328&hm=8a8c3185f82605badb107d1b3cd33c777d9deda4d5d451f6f0ec223584f52606&[/img][/center] [center][h1][color=aba000]F[u]estival[/u][/color] [color=gray]of[/color] [color=a0410d]E[u]shiran[/u][/color][/h1][/center] [hr] The shadows of the high mountains have started to cast over the city, reaching even the furthest wharf. Most portmen had finished and those with duties still in need of tending lit candles and torches to guide them through the later hours of Eshiran. With the calming of the port, the people of Zengali and its visitors could hear the eerie waves of the ocean. It had been a long time since the ocean held the admiration of the people here. Now the dull waters of the port just served as a reminder of the monster that stripped the spirit from Zengali. But not all places in Zengali were so lifeless. The encampment of this morning hung with the stench of death and despair. Many have rescinded their lives to Ahn-Eshiran’s hands, only hoping they will be the lucky ones to receive her mercy from the plague that attached itself to them. But as quick as the plague came to them, even quicker was it dispelled by one man and his heavenly song. Never have they heard a sound so comforting as they did from the Sun King that day. Some recited the menana, as it was the only words that could describe the relief they had been given. Many cried as he pulled them from the hands of Eshiran. For the common man, one not blessed by the gift or lady luck, to be saved was a rarity and for all of them was unheard of. Countless blessings were given to the Sun King that day and many started to sing to show their newfound health. Their spirit was infectious, spreading the good word through the town until it reached Alberta’s ears. She hadn’t felt such relief since Raimy convinced his father to give them proper shelter on dry land. As she confirmed what they had heard, a resurgence of energy took place in the Revidian’s heart, soaring them to work harder and bring back that classic Revidian spirit. Enough to give some back to the people who had long endured the thresher’s threat. The festival was set to be a lively one with the remnants of the fleet ready to celebrate their 2nd escape from Ahn-Eshiran. Elsewhere on the docks was a very different scene. One that played out more times than the wharfmaster would like to count. Zarina had portaled to the very dock Keanjano and herself set off from. Her clothes were tattered over part of her abdomen and the color of her skin ran cold. She came not with the lively crew she went there with but instead just 2 men, Daoud and Kilik, and a notebook Keanjaho gave his life for. The first thing Zarina saw was a group of Zengalians standing near the wharf they set sail from. The sight of the portal was more than they could comprehend right away but as they did dread and tears poured from some of the women. Small children were confused about why their parents cried and why their older siblings held them so tight. Slowly, the children realized that their fathers weren’t going to return like they had. The older kids and men only let a silent anger weep from them. They were hardened to death and some only knew that the season of Oraff reeked of death. But they rose, the mothers comforted their children the way they knew they had to. The men let the older kids know it was alright to cry. Kilik, ever the serious, did not cry for he had a duty to tell what had happened this day. Daoud, though injured, followed Kilik to tell tales of the men's bravery in the face of the beast. If there was one last story their loved one needed to hear, it was not of their death but of their life. Kilik looked towards Zarina, a young woman who had more grit and determination than he had seen. [color=blue]“Go find Brother Hodari and give him the notebook,”[/color] It was worded like a command but was ever so meager in that moment. He could only trust that she would. [hr] A young woman, Amani Juma, bustled around the edge of the marketplace. Left on her own to tend to the festival stall, the girl hadn’t the time to greet her uncle at the dock. Instead, she set herself to bartering with the vendors her uncle suggested in the passing. She needed goats, fish, plantains, spices, and of course, chicken. They bartered and traded in their usual way, making jabs at each other and eventually the vendors relented and gave her some for free since she was his niece after all. She carried the stuff with her blessed gift and got to work on [i]all[/i] the ingredients. Some humming was heard as she sliced and diced her aromatic vegetables like onion and garlic. The fire started with a flare of arcane and the goat was tossed into brown and render. [color=pink][i]Uncle always used some kind of trick to make it go faster,[/i][/color] she clicked her tongue and looked around to see he still was not home yet. She improvised by adding some more heat and watched it carefully before clearing the center and adding a small pot of onions, garlic, and various spices to the pool of oil at the bottom to wake them. She juggled her other duties as a cook, watching the delicate spices before a man named Hamisi hulled a large pot of crushed tomatoes over. Together they dumped it in and she adjusted it with more salt. [color=pink]”Has there been any word from my uncle,”[/color] Amani asked Hamisi, worry carried not with her voice but by the way she anxiously looked about for him. Hamisi looked apologetic, “I haven’t been anywhere near the docks since those pirates came in, sorry,” he waved off as he was also busy with the festival. She rolled her eyes and continued her duties, swearing Uncle wasn’t to get even one mahamri. The sun was setting and his uncle hadn’t returned like he said he would. Warriors were starting to gather around to fill up on spicy stew before the performance but the drink they needed was not there. Uncle had not returned and Amani couldn’t make it. [color=pink][i]Ah, that uncle! Always telling me he would teach me but never the day I asked,[/i][/color] she thought to herself as the warriors grew more testy. She placated them with sweet mahamri and jest whenever they were getting too rambunctious for her liking. [color=007236]“Amani,”[/color] Brother Hodari spoke over the other warriors, partially silencing some of them. His usual tone was present but there was a degree of seriousness to it that she had not been accustomed to. [color=pink]”Ah, Brother Hodari! It is so good to see you,”[/color] Amani quickly prepared a bowl, giving him twice the amount of goat meat in an effort to bribe him. [color=pink]”Now I know why you are here but I promise you it is quick to make and you'll have it very soon,”[/color] she put her hands up in a way to hopefully stall for just a little more time. Hodari’s face was unchanging in his stoicism but there was a moment of realization that took him, [color=007236]“Amani, come with me to speak,”[/color] Hodari asked but nothing ever sounded like an ask with him. Especially as he started to walk without receiving an answer. Amani agreed and they went on a small walk outside of the marketplace, people were still around but it was much quieter. Amani grew increasingly nervous, she knew what they wanted and what they needed. With uncle missing, the marquis was sure to be angry and sent Hodari to relay his message. She was about to start to make excuses saying the winds had been stale or how he was just out but Hodari stopped it. He placed his hand on the young woman who beamed with skill and charisma much like her uncle. Hodari had yet to speak but Amani could feel the words from his eyes. She didn’t want to hear them. She couldn’t hear the same words her uncle said to her when she was only 9. Hodari knew the pain she was bearing and said it anyway. [color=007236]“Your uncle Keanjaho,”[/color] Amani closed her eyes begging for him to just say he was injured or was just running late. [color=007236]“His ship was attacked by the thresher. His soul rests in heaven now, child.”[/color] Amani's eyes opened as tears welled up, she wanted to protest it. It was unfair. He did so much for everyone and had so much more to give and now he is gone. She wanted to scream at Hodari for sending him but she knew it would do nothing. Her anger had no place to go. Amani wiped away the tears before they fell. There had to be more reason he was here than to deliver his passing. And Hodari did have more news but found himself remorseful to watch another child of Zengali lose a part of themselves to the beast. It was painful for the red rezaindian to be unable to purge the world of this beast. But his heart was worn and hardened like how Amani’s would grow to be, the fact she held onto herself after her first tragedy was only a blessing of Ipte. Hodari pulled an unfamiliar notebook from his robes. With no words, he handed it over for Amani to read. She took it and read through each page, her face stayed angry and pained and grew as she got further along in it. Amani committed each note and story Keanjaho left her. Then she got to the last day's entries, which detailed every part of their journey, the crew, Zarina, the weird foam, and a guide on how to get to the area safely. It was more thorough than anything she had seen from her uncle. It didn’t feel like her uncle. But at the very end, 10 or 20 blank pages between the last entry was a message. It was not like the last entry. It was cluttered and unorganized. It switched between Belzagic, Avincian, Toragonese, and Virangish for little terms that he poached and used half haphazardly. It was the recipe for Maji ya Udongo. It was her uncle, a jumbled mess of dozens of words and topics to all say something that could be said in so few. Hodari stood in silence watching the youth process the reality. He had planned on leaving but he would not leave until she would let him. But with a surprise, Amani ripped out about 5 pages from the notebook and presented it to Hodari. There was so much pain and indignation behind her eyes towards him and the Marquis but Amani no longer frowned. [color=007236]“Thank you, Amani,”[/color] Amani stayed quiet and returned to her stall where she started to prepare the Maji ya Udongo away from the warriors. When reapproaching the warriors she carried a large jug, about the size of her uncle's belly, full of a spiced yellow liquid, [color=hotpink]”Come now warriors! You can’t have a festival without Maji ya Udongo!”[/color] [hr] Now that there was the Jug of Maji ya Undongo, Hodari, Raimy, Leon Solaire, the warriors, and performers started to march their way up to Marquis Dume’s home. Upon arrival, many women started to apply makeup for the performance and of course, Leon was no exception. Painted like the rest of the performers and oiled to shine under lantern lights. Huge wooden drums that stood as tall as 2 men were rolled up the mountain for the festival. While most performers already knew the dances and songs, Raimy was tasked with teaching the famous Sun King the same dances and when to blow his vuvuzela. Other performers were snickering at the ‘Sun King’s’ private lesson but became impressed by his speed of learning. With that, the performance was set to begin. [h2][color=Yellow]“Dum”[/color][/h2] [h2][color=Yellow]“Dum”[/color][/h2] Two massive drums blasted a deep resonant sound over the entirety of Zengali. The bustle of the city quieted, and merchants stopped their sales as the buyers had lost interest. Parents silenced their children with hushed whispers, pointing up to the beautiful flames lit at the mountaintop. The songs of the recently cured Revidians slowed and they waited for a sight many of them would not have seen. All eyes were on the recently built pyre, tension building as they waited for the next beat of the drums [h2][color=Yellow]“Dum”[/color][/h2] [h2][color=Yellow]“Dum”[/color][/h2] Out they came and with that a shout from none other than Marquis Dume. Loud enough for the people at the port to hear him. He spoke not words but noises that set the tone and beginning of the performance. Professional musicians within the march started to play their vuvuzelas, and quickly Raimy and Brother Hodari yelled out the same thing as the Marquis then followed all that was behind them. The horns flared again as the Marquis timed the start of the march at the next beat of the drums. [h2][color=Yellow]“Dum”[/color][/h2] [h2][color=Yellow]“Dum”[/color][/h2] The march had started, and the Marquis was in charge of setting the pace and leading his people through. People quickly gathered around the lit road to gain a better view. The performers were tasked with a herculean task to maintain the beat and perform under the pressure of the entire city watching. The musicians played the loud instruments in a way that was [i]almost[/i] enjoyable for their foreign guests. Then a lull in the music took place, maybe a quarter way through the parade. It felt unnatural but the look among the locals was ecstatic, reaching to their sides and raising their own, less ornate, vuvuzelas. Any poor visitor near these were pierced with the shriek of a horn. In no feasible way did it sound good. But the people nearby started to dance and sing just under the volume of the horns. Soon the parade loosened, still led by the Marquis to keep it going, but now there was an opportunity for those in the parade and outside to express themselves. Hodari showed a fluidity to his dance and his very steps shook the ground. Children would bounce in the air with every step and would softly land. Raimy flared to torches, changing colors to create a show of fire that would captivate the imagination of those watching. Even the guests who wished to participate were allowed to do so if it did not stop the march. Though Leon was given a specific moment to wow the crowd by Raimy. Soon the men found their way to the heart of Zengali, encircling it with dance, and yes, even more vuvuzelas. Torches from the crowd were handed to the men in the parade and Marquis Dume took center stage. The crowd and performers blared their vuvuzelas, stomping and yelling rose until it was a cacophony of sound. The energy of the people rose and rose until it came to a head and then, [h2][color=Yellow]“Dum”[/color][/h2] [h2][color=Yellow]“Dum”[/color][/h2] The performers stopped, and the crowd quickly followed. The Marquis took a deep breath, [color=9e0b0f]"Zengali,”[/color] he looked at his people with pride. [color=9e0b0f]"We raise our songs for the people who could not sing with us!”[/color] the warriors shouted back. [color=9e0b0f]"We dance so that the ones below can feel that we are still here!”[/color] The crowd stomped much like the way Hodari did, shaking the very ground. [color=9e0b0f]"And we celebrate for the new day! Let the festival begin!”[/color] [hr] [hider=Events] [hider=The Parade]The Parade: Even if you weren’t explicitly invited to the parade, you can participate on the sides if you are playing to the beat and not slowing it down. Magic, dance, singing, and of course, vuvuzelas are warmly welcomed here! Show your spirit and I’m sure it will be appreciated. [/hider] [hider=The Footrace]Footrace: After the parade entered the heart of Zengali and the festival began, you could see Hodari and some other church members handing out planks of wood painted a blueish purple. Many warriors seem to be taking them and starting to bounce and stretch. From what you can tell, it was a footrace of some kind and the planks allowed you to participate. They also seemed to be some kind of badge that allows you to climb over or go through people’s areas to take the fastest route. Anyone who wanted to join better do so before it begins. Brother Hodari promised that there will be a prize for the fastest runner. You could hear some men whispering about how they were going to try and sneak some beer since they were ‘allowed’ to cross the brewery on the way there… [/hider] [hider=Chicken Wrangling]Chicken Wrangling: It is a tradition across Mezegol during a celebration to have the guest wrangle a chicken into a net for slaughter. These chickens were no ordinary hens though, they were specially bred for their beauty and attitude. Large and proud, they came in a variety of vibrant colors that would catch the eye. The most prized was a Blue chicken with feathers and speckled like the sky on a moonless night. The chicken handler warned that she was quite the feisty one and one should not challenge her half-heartedly. There was of course one catch. The guest was only allowed to wrangle the chicken with the beautiful noise of the vuvuzela. Teams of up to 5 guests may take on the challenge together though there was pride among the Zengali people to do it with only one person. Some grumbling from the darhanic guests about the practice was to be accommodated that if you could catch it, you may instead pardon it or keep it. May your captor be kind Mr. Chicken.[/hider] [/hider] [hider=The Marketplace] The Marketplace was the heart of Zengali and it was in full swing with singing and dancing. It was the hub of activity for the festival and as such, many vendors stood near it. Food vendors handed away food for the festival goers, always free for the first taste but more would cost you. There, you may have found many spry visitors using this time to meet in a less critical way, one could even find party lines being crossed by the beat of the drums and squeals of a horn. Raimy could be found celebrating with the warriors, speaking in a way unbefitting his mild-mannered self. Though he was with a group of men, he seemed to glance over to a Revidian woman buying order after order of food. Merchants still tried to peddle their wares but it became obvious that the people of Zengali were only interested in vuvuzelas and small trinkets. Still, they kept it open as many people from outside the city had come for the hunt tomorrow. Some sold things like weapons, jewelry, knick-knacks, clothes, and of course, vuvuzelas. The most notable thing being sold though was a yellowish liquid. [hider=Wares of Zengali] [b]Vuvu[/b], the vuvuzela maker, was offering cheap vuvuzelas for cheap. She seemed to have some better quality ones for a reasonable price but there was one vuvuzelas that was held in a bronze display case that commanded a hefty price. No one even dared try to buy it. [b]Mbita[/b], the cloth vendor. and his wife [b]Chika[/b], the tailor, offered their services for whoever wanted to be done up quickly in Mezegol fashion. [b]Madini[/b], a young girl, held up a big sign directing people to her tiny jewelry stand. She seemed very proud of her creations and it had 3 bronze sigils of approval from various important people within the city. Merchant [color=Hotpink][b]Amani Juma[/b][/color] is offering a week of Zengali’s one and only Maji ya Udongo though it seems to be in short supply. The last notable merchant went by the moniker [b]Fanaka[/b]. He traded from Firraz to Revidia and everywhere in between. Sadly, he had been stuck in the port because of that dastardly thresher. Port fees were catching up to him and before he knew it, he needed to sell some of his wares. - Nandi Q's Chutney Sauce - A hexagonal metal container that had an image stamped in of a man with an outrageously good mustache. There seemed to be words on the front and some sort of comical drawing on the back with an old man with a large beard being beaten by the hero on the front. - A hexagonal metal container that had an image stamped in was a bald man who seemed to wear strapped glasses. On the back was an image of him outswimming this scary-looking eaiko quite easily. - A hexagonal metal container that had an image stamped on was a woman wearing a head covering but still dressed with alluring eyes. The back has her sneaking in the clouds, teasing these little children who can’t seem to catch her. - A hexagonal metal container that had an image stamped in was a fresh-faced man with a pair of leather gloves and a grappling hook. The back displays him quite simply free-diving off a cliff and catching himself with his signature grappling hook. - A hexagonal metal container that had an image stamped in was a beautiful woman with flared eyebrows and beauty. The image on the back was just a very detailed drawing of her beauty, showing some of the clothes that she was wearing in color! - A hexagonal metal container that had an image stamped in was a man with a wrapped head and face, only showing viscous eyes. The back had him slaying fiends, riding a flying carpet, and somehow stabbing the ground for an oasis to appear. - A hexagonal metal container that had an image stamped in was an older and esteemed-looking man wearing a coat. On the back seemed to be an instructional diagram of mixing powders with labels together to cause something to happen. [/hider] [/hider] [hider=The Port] The port had grown eerily quiet compared to the crazed work that took place here in the hours of Oraff and Eshiran. Some people still slowly worked under the light of lanterns, checking powders and tying knots. A sizable group of sovereign members seemed to be laughing and eating together, talking about the glory and money they could seize tomorrow. Some shifty fellows seemed to be amongst them but they held themselves to the shadows. Towards the northern wharf, some religious figures seemed to be praying near the edge of it. They were accompanied by Kilik and Daoud. They carried numerous things with them and even the usual storyteller, Daoud, was silent at this moment. Some people followed behind them in mourning. Further down the port, near the warehouses, was a very tired advisor. Years of life and stress had seemed to catch up with him at this moment and he now sat on a crate. He glared emptily at the waters, waiting for either the next person to show or something to appear in front of him. The legendary pirate ship had seemed to be completely dead at this point, not even a single soul could be seen on the deck. Though there seemed to be some new crates lining the edge of the port that weren’t there earlier. Even more mysteriously, an elderly woman seemed to be speaking to some Zengali men that seemed to be quite confused about her presence next to dastardly pirates. [/hider] [hider=The Encampment] The once sickly encampment now carried an energy that could match that of the Zengali’s at the festival. Songs were being sung, drinks were being poured, and friendly competitions took place with their newly healed bodies. All sorts of jovial conversations were taking place but underneath it were hushed whispers of what they think really happened that day. No matter their thoughts, they knew that all they had to do was retrieve what they had lost and they could return home with great pride. [/hider] [hider=The Marquis’s Home] No guards were stationed out front of the gate and instead, it was open like an invitation. The tables set outside from earlier were still there though now they were covered in various dishes and more importantly, wine. The advisors seemed to be drinking with the Marquis and having an exquisite time complaining about their job in front of their boss and the Marquis played with them about it as well. The only thing of note is that Dume has still not taken a drink and the seat directly next to him sat empty. The advisors, even within their allowed jesting, did not make note of the empty seat even if it sat on their mind. [/hider] [hider=The Villa on top of the Mountain] The villa provided to Yvain was quite stylish by modern standards. It seemed loosely inspired by Torrongonese design in structure and openness but it still was very much of Mezegol aesthetics. The path to it was highly decorated with intricate bronze work and well maintained so that any visitor should be able to walk it even if they came home bumbling drunk. A botanical garden, filled with a variety of plants from Mezegol and Belzagg lined the path and seemed to stretch into the dark quite a distance. Outside the gated courtyard was a young and beautiful Zengali woman, eyes bright and eager to greet whoever had been sent to stay here. [color=lightgray]”Welcome to Chemchemi ya Mlima, the Marquis warmly welcomes you,”[/color] The woman gave a deep curtsey to her guests. Rising from it to meet their gaze, [color=lightgray]”My name is Lady Siti, head maid of the household and at your service for the night,”[/color] she turned and the gate began to open on its own. The courtyard was well lit and many servants were moving about to make the place as enjoyable as possible. Beyond the servants, were well-dressed women who seemed to be enjoying themselves in the courtyard. One of them looked over to the guests and seemed to ‘appreciate’ them. Lady Siti watched people’s reaction to the women with some pride and amusement. She continued guiding the guests through the courtyard, past a few rooms and a small band ready to play at their discretion to the back way. What lay beyond was a grand heated bath. It smelled of flowers and spices and was decorated with wonderful Zengali bronze, inviting any weary guest in. Siti then led each guest to their room only to show them it and said any and all service they may need can be accommodated. Of course, they had left the festival but the villa was still full of wine, food, women, and the soft sound of music. A room had also been set aside as a library/ conversation room for any guest trying to find a cozier spot to be alone. [/hider] [hider= The House with the Trees] Toward the end of the night, Raimy made time to meet with Leon. The offer was simple to the young man, a house during his stay in Zengali. It was to the west of the port and was an old house used by other noble visitors when they found themselves in the port. He prefaced his generosity as just a simple extension of hospitality as an alumnus of Ersand’Ernise. Hidden far on the western slope of Zengali was a grove of decorative fruit trees in full bloom. Fireflies had taken flight and lit up the entryway to an old, but well-maintained household. It was rather long and only 1 story tall but very well decorated with lanterns and plants. An old maid, maybe a decade or 2 older than Marquis Dume, stood at the last set of fruit trees holding a basket of berries and other small fruits that were ready to be harvested. [color=lightgray]”I welcome you to this home, my name is Salene Neema. I manage this estate on behalf of young master Raimy.”[/color] The older maid bowed to the new guests but couldn’t get quite as far down as she used to. [color=lightgray]”Please let me show you to your rooms.”[/color] The interior was rather different to the places the guest here grew up in but it still somehow had a rather comfortable vibe. The stress and the lights of the city did not reach past the grove, it felt truly secluded. Each room was carefully prepared for the guest’s one-night stay. Whatever the guests needed, Salene would do her best to accommodate the guests of young master Raimy. Looking up towards the sky, one could notice the very nice house up on the mountain near the Marquis. There was a small dirt path that seemed to connect the 2 if anyone would be so bold to walk the unlit path. [/hider] [hider=Ciro’s Ship?] Whether it be by the songs in the encampment, the whispers of the merchants, or the disgruntled conversation of the Perrench, word finds you that a Volta ship is in the port. With a little bit of searching, it could be found. [/hider]