KirayaTiDrekan
Adventurer
The midsummer festival in Aavenloche is a time of celebration and joy...or at least it pretends to be. Families without daughters rejoice and sing, dance and drink. Families with daughters spend most of their time in the preceding days and weeks making the perfect dress, all the while fearing the day when she will wear it.
At the height of the festival at midnight on midsummer itself, the daughters are brought up on a stage - unmarried girls ranging in age from 15 to 25 - and their names are placed in a cauldron. One name is then drawn from the cauldron, the name of the girl who will be crowned Princess of Aavenloche.
For the next week, she is treated like royalty. Pampered, showered with gifts, treated to dinner with Lord Vicomte and his family. And yet, no one wants to be Princess of Aavenloche. Because, at the end of the week, she is put in a boat, alone, in her finest dress, and floats toward the island at the center of the lake. Where waits the dragon.
This year finds Lord Lucius Mortimer de Vicomte attending the festival alone for the first time. His father, Lord Samuel de Vicomte, had passed away several months ago, leaving his title and lands to Mort. The Vicomte family had honored the traditions of Aavenloche for three generations, though Mort's father had secretly and privately found it distasteful. Now, it was Mort's duty to select the maiden who would be crowned Princess and sent off to the island to die. But, that is still two days away. For now, he is scheduled to open the ceremonies at noon this day, an hour from now. Sebastian, Mort's majordomo, is at Mort's side, gently coaching him on what to do during the ceremony.
The elven cleric and the human monk who had raised Leaf since the day it had emerged from the lightning blasted tree were anxious this day. The nearby village from which Leaf's human "father" had come, Aavenloche, was having their annual midsummer festival. The time when one of their maidens would be sent to the dragon. Leaf's elven "father" cautioned patience - the festival had endured for more than a century and it was not their place to interfere. But, Leaf could sense that something was different this year. The thoughts of its fathers were clouded with uncertainty and doubt. Omens in the sky, the patterns of waves on the lake, the habits of the forest creatures...all pointed toward a change, a shift in the energies of the world. Leaf knew it was not the only child of the gods...it had sensed others when it had ventured close to the human village. The convergence of these energies and deific children in one place was ominous indeed.
Darius, his mentor, and their band of hunters and trappers, had returned to Aavenloche just in time for the festival. The band traveled far afield during the spring months, trapping animals for meat and furs, hunting large game to fill the village's larders. Darius had never taken well to such pursuits but it was the only life his mentor knew. Game had been scarce this spring and Darius' mentor murmured constantly about omens.
Jhadzia found herself in the middle of chaotic jumble of fabric as the seamstress poked at her with pins, trying to perfect the fit of her dress. This was Jhadzia's first year as a potential Princess. She'd come to the village in winter, not knowing of the annual tradition, and now she was forced to take part. She was by far the tallest of the maidens this year, a fact that infuriated the seamstress. She muttered continually about orcish blood.
At the height of the festival at midnight on midsummer itself, the daughters are brought up on a stage - unmarried girls ranging in age from 15 to 25 - and their names are placed in a cauldron. One name is then drawn from the cauldron, the name of the girl who will be crowned Princess of Aavenloche.
For the next week, she is treated like royalty. Pampered, showered with gifts, treated to dinner with Lord Vicomte and his family. And yet, no one wants to be Princess of Aavenloche. Because, at the end of the week, she is put in a boat, alone, in her finest dress, and floats toward the island at the center of the lake. Where waits the dragon.
This year finds Lord Lucius Mortimer de Vicomte attending the festival alone for the first time. His father, Lord Samuel de Vicomte, had passed away several months ago, leaving his title and lands to Mort. The Vicomte family had honored the traditions of Aavenloche for three generations, though Mort's father had secretly and privately found it distasteful. Now, it was Mort's duty to select the maiden who would be crowned Princess and sent off to the island to die. But, that is still two days away. For now, he is scheduled to open the ceremonies at noon this day, an hour from now. Sebastian, Mort's majordomo, is at Mort's side, gently coaching him on what to do during the ceremony.
The elven cleric and the human monk who had raised Leaf since the day it had emerged from the lightning blasted tree were anxious this day. The nearby village from which Leaf's human "father" had come, Aavenloche, was having their annual midsummer festival. The time when one of their maidens would be sent to the dragon. Leaf's elven "father" cautioned patience - the festival had endured for more than a century and it was not their place to interfere. But, Leaf could sense that something was different this year. The thoughts of its fathers were clouded with uncertainty and doubt. Omens in the sky, the patterns of waves on the lake, the habits of the forest creatures...all pointed toward a change, a shift in the energies of the world. Leaf knew it was not the only child of the gods...it had sensed others when it had ventured close to the human village. The convergence of these energies and deific children in one place was ominous indeed.
Darius, his mentor, and their band of hunters and trappers, had returned to Aavenloche just in time for the festival. The band traveled far afield during the spring months, trapping animals for meat and furs, hunting large game to fill the village's larders. Darius had never taken well to such pursuits but it was the only life his mentor knew. Game had been scarce this spring and Darius' mentor murmured constantly about omens.
Jhadzia found herself in the middle of chaotic jumble of fabric as the seamstress poked at her with pins, trying to perfect the fit of her dress. This was Jhadzia's first year as a potential Princess. She'd come to the village in winter, not knowing of the annual tradition, and now she was forced to take part. She was by far the tallest of the maidens this year, a fact that infuriated the seamstress. She muttered continually about orcish blood.
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