Blarkon Dragonslayer
First Post
May 1, 1106 CR
The Festival of Renewal at Stonegate is always a time of celebration. This year is certainly no exception. The Festival Fields south of the city are full of wagons, tents, pavilions, and life. The smells of animals and of cooking food fill the air, along with music of many kinds.
The festival is one of two great festivals of the year, the other being the Harvest Festival, six months hence. Tapestried banners hang from the towers of the city, each one indicating the presence of some notable. Nobles have come from all over Avonleigh the kingdom, and from even further afield.
Yet not only nobles attend the festival. Several clans of halfling wayfarers have set up their wagons, and are plying their trade as minstrels, and tinkers. On the fields of honor, contests of arms are held, well attended by noble and commoner alike.
Seven days of joy, revelry, and merriment, to mark the loosening of winter's grasp on the land.
The stonewalled city itself is crowded. A winter's worth of crafting stands to be admired and purchased, the festhalls and taverns are packed.
- Broderick-
One such festhall, on the corner of Shield Street and Thane's Way, is a stone building, built with loving dwarven skill. The sign above the door, carved in the likeness of a small burrowing beast, spells out "The Granite Badger" Within, humans and dwarves sit at long benches, and smaller tables, drinking ale, eating, and laughing.
At one table, three dwarves sit. They greatly resemble each other, three generations of solid dwarven manhood. The oldest, with the look of a grizzled old warrior, puts down his ale stein, and looks at the youngest. "So, young Broderick. In only a few days you'll be tying your warrior's braid. Then ye'll be making yer own way in the wide world. What plans have ye got?"
-Redbeard-
Travelling with old Olephas had made for slow going. The elderly druid moved slowly, though seemingly tirelessly, along the way from the Tremblewood's green, shadowy depths to this rather dusty path. "Ah, it will be good to see my old friends again. And you need to spend some time amongst other people, Redbeard. A druid must reverence the earth, but you are too young to sink into the treedreaming, eh?"
As they walked a bit further along, they topped the rise, and the whole panoply of the festival fields was before them. More people then Redbeard had ever seen in one place. The few human habitations that remained in the Runefields, and even the Jotun enclaves of the northern coast of Avonleigh the island were small, armed camps and fortresses. None of the cities and proper towns had survived the scourge of the Darkrune.
"You are a lucky young man, to come to Stonegate for your coming of age. Lucky indeed. What do you think you'll be doing here at the festival?"
The Festival of Renewal at Stonegate is always a time of celebration. This year is certainly no exception. The Festival Fields south of the city are full of wagons, tents, pavilions, and life. The smells of animals and of cooking food fill the air, along with music of many kinds.
The festival is one of two great festivals of the year, the other being the Harvest Festival, six months hence. Tapestried banners hang from the towers of the city, each one indicating the presence of some notable. Nobles have come from all over Avonleigh the kingdom, and from even further afield.
Yet not only nobles attend the festival. Several clans of halfling wayfarers have set up their wagons, and are plying their trade as minstrels, and tinkers. On the fields of honor, contests of arms are held, well attended by noble and commoner alike.
Seven days of joy, revelry, and merriment, to mark the loosening of winter's grasp on the land.
The stonewalled city itself is crowded. A winter's worth of crafting stands to be admired and purchased, the festhalls and taverns are packed.
- Broderick-
One such festhall, on the corner of Shield Street and Thane's Way, is a stone building, built with loving dwarven skill. The sign above the door, carved in the likeness of a small burrowing beast, spells out "The Granite Badger" Within, humans and dwarves sit at long benches, and smaller tables, drinking ale, eating, and laughing.
At one table, three dwarves sit. They greatly resemble each other, three generations of solid dwarven manhood. The oldest, with the look of a grizzled old warrior, puts down his ale stein, and looks at the youngest. "So, young Broderick. In only a few days you'll be tying your warrior's braid. Then ye'll be making yer own way in the wide world. What plans have ye got?"
-Redbeard-
Travelling with old Olephas had made for slow going. The elderly druid moved slowly, though seemingly tirelessly, along the way from the Tremblewood's green, shadowy depths to this rather dusty path. "Ah, it will be good to see my old friends again. And you need to spend some time amongst other people, Redbeard. A druid must reverence the earth, but you are too young to sink into the treedreaming, eh?"
As they walked a bit further along, they topped the rise, and the whole panoply of the festival fields was before them. More people then Redbeard had ever seen in one place. The few human habitations that remained in the Runefields, and even the Jotun enclaves of the northern coast of Avonleigh the island were small, armed camps and fortresses. None of the cities and proper towns had survived the scourge of the Darkrune.
"You are a lucky young man, to come to Stonegate for your coming of age. Lucky indeed. What do you think you'll be doing here at the festival?"
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