They watched Eastscar’s arrival. Although they couldn’t see the caravan yet, the perfectly spaced lanterns were glowing as if they were a third sun in a clear sky, illuminating the miles upon miles of path that Jogid had maintained leaf-free for this moment. After a month of preparation, the Winter Solstice Festival was finally kicking off. And Calmo was more than ready for it.
The megnac crew erected temporary housing for their visitors and planned a strict curfew when outside of festival grounds. No one would mind. Even with the troglodyte tribe taken care of, Kilford forest was still dangerous—especially at night.
And there was even more work to show, but now…the world thundered. All of Calmo was present, listening as Eastscar’s trumpeters announced the arrival, and watching as the tip of their yellow and green banners appeared on the horizon.
Zenith took Kaito’s hand and interlocked their fingers, then rested her head on his shoulder until she would have to assume her role as mayor.
Jogid was frantically going through his checklist. “That’s good. They’re on schedule…” he said, most likely louder than he intended.
It didn’t take long for the caravan to come into full view. Every Eastscar man, woman, and kid wore robes in their banner’s colors: the women in dresses made of delicate grave fur with metal sewn on the sleeves, the men wrapped in tunics and leather belts, and the kids the cutest in their tiny tabards.
New achievement! Party Planner Par Excellence!
You’ve got the banners flying, music playing, and everyone’s pretending to like each other. Classic festival setup. Now, how long before the hidden agendas come out and the backstabbing begins? Or, with some luck, an actual stabbing. Festivals: where political intrigue meets carnival food. Enjoy the show!
Karen, what are you doing?
It’s a new thing I’m trying out. I saw this crazy AI in the data from one of your worlds that was giving dumb achievements for nonsensical things, and it was hilarious.
Okay, we’re putting a stop to—
NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT! You are not taking this away from me, Kaito. You’re making me sit through this cookie-cutter festival arc, and the least you could do is let me have my fun. Besides, it’s not hurting anyone!
The thing is, I do enjoy talking to you, but when you start throwing notifications like that it’s very distracting—especially ones about predicting backstabbing or stabbings.
Okay, so I see how it is. All that about me being part of this team, like family, was all bullshit.
You’re right, Karen. We’re all supposed to have a good time during this festival. Go ahead with your achievement notifications, but please, don’t overdo it…and keep it away from the baking competition, okay?
Oh, of course, Your Majesty, your boundless compassion and infinite wisdom shall be my guiding light. I shall restrain my boundless enthusiasm to accommodate your delicate sensibilities.
Kaito brought a palm to his forehead while a rumbling wagon rolled to a stop, and a mountain of a man with a fiery red beard stepped down. A wild beast. He looked like a bear crossed with a lion, and with his heavy, elephant-like steps, he stood before Zenith.
She held her head high and stood front and center in dark blue robes embroidered with silver thread to make her position obvious.
“Greetings, milady. Might I be speaking with the new mayor of Calmo?” the man rumbled respectfully.
“Yes, I am Zenith. Welcome to our village!”
“Tharbomi Redirik, mayor of Eastscar village at your service.” He pressed a meaty fist over his heart and bowed. “My people and I can’t thank you enough for welcoming us back after way, way too long apart.”
Zenith returned a polite curtsy, demure yet resolute. “The joy is ours, Mayor Redirik. Please make yourselves at home.” She waved behind her, where Calmo residents were already mixing eagerly with rugged, frost-cheeked Eastscarfolk. “As you can see, your people and mine get along famously once again.”
The red beast grinned through his fiery beard. “Please call me Tharbomi…you know what, call me ‘Bomi.’ All my friends call me Bomi,” he chuckled.
“Very well, ‘Bomi’ it is,” Zenith replied with a smile.
He scanned past Zenith. “Before we start, have you seen that old vileling Lotho…”
His mouth dropped. “There ya are, the only man I know who’d stare down a beast and ask it for cooking tips!”
He strode towards the retired mayor as if magnetically pulled, the crowd automatically parting before his imposing bulk.
Lotho’s shoulders squared, hands behind back, he eye-matched Redirik’s approach.“Redirik,” Lotho said, all stone-cold-weird. “I trust you brought the stuff?”
Stuff? Were there any supplies that we didn’t consider?
Matching Lotho’s seriousness, Tharbomi lifted one mitt and crooked a finger. One of his attendants sprang forward with his knees shaking under some truly massive barrel in his arms. The red beast took it easy as pie, dismissive of its undoubtedly ridiculous weight.
In his other palm sat a single slim bottle. He held both aloft towards Lotho. “One hundred casks of our finest barley brew,” he proclaimed, “plus the rarest hooch north of Chilly Peaks.”
Oh, that’s booze...I thought Jogid made sure we were well stocked. But Calmo residents around him looked eager. A tradition, maybe?
Lotho showed no reaction beyond one knobby finger slowly lifting to point at Tharbomi’s offerings. “Present them,” he commanded.
Tharbomi carefully set barrel and bottle down, sliding them inch by inch until they bumped Lotho’s boots. He straightened up again, fully seven feet of bearded muscle, towering over Lotho’s frail five feet.
Then both men sucked in tremendous breaths, their chests swelling like balloon animals…
‘BA-BOOM!’
Twin wild, joyful ROARS exploded out!
Pure shared happiness transformed into a resounding cheer that made gasps and shouts erupt from the crowd. Flasks emerged. ‘Clinked.’ And were then mutually drained in a single tilt skyward.
Full-throated laughter rang out—Tharbomi’s a landslide of gravel, Lotho’s reedy and fluttering as a leaf by comparison. The barrel-chested mayor stomped over to plaster Lotho’s back with enough force to buckle an ironwood tree.
“Haha! Oh, it does an old campaigner good to see you, Lotho!” Tharbomi chortled. “I’d feared you might have passed on without one last toast between us.”
“And miss our traditional welcome? I may have one foot through death’s door, Bomi, but never that!”
So it is a tradition after all. There’s still so much I don’t know about this world.
More of Tharbomi’s attendants distributed drinks from an immense cask they’d hauled out of their wagons. Kaito accepted a frosted mug and sampled its contents.
“As I said this here is my village’s finest vintage - Soothing Dose XXL!” Tharbomi said, holding his mammoth flask aloft before Zenith. “Lotho knows very well. I brew it special every year for the solstice festivities. Goes down smooth, doesn’t it?”
A chorus of affirmations answered him. It’s true! Familiar, yet better—cremier.
And so, townsfolk intermingled between mugs of Soothing Dose XXL, signaling the start of the festival.
New achievement! Belching 101. You’ve witnessed Bomi and Lotho loudly greeting each other like two old frat bros. Charming as farting in church, those two.
▬▬ι════════ﺤ
“Arrrg, this game’s rigged,” Portia grumbled as yet another ring landed between two bottles. She was on babysitting duty, and the kids had unrealistic expectations about her winning a stuffed animal for each one. Before Zenith could react, her handmaiden snarled and whipped a ring alarmingly fast. It ricocheted off the bottles with a sharp crack and whistled past the attendant’s cheek, leaving a thin trail of red.
“One game please,” Kaito requested, addressing the man whose face was still white from the near-death experience.
Kaito held up the single ring, peering closely as if he were a ring connoisseur. He balanced it delicately on a long, slender finger. With a gentle flick, he set it spinning slowly at first. The rotations smoothed and accelerated gradually, the ring becoming a shining metal disc. Faster and faster it whirled until nearly vanishing from sight.
He stepped closer to the booth. He wet a finger, gauging winds. And finally, he marked distances with slight adjustments of his feet.
With a subtle twist and roll of his wrist, the spinning ring sailed from his hand. It flew a lap around the booth. Then another. And another. Followed by a graceful dance, arcing left and right in sinuous movements reminiscent of a swimming dragon. It pinged sharply off the first bottle, changing trajectory in a complex ricochet off the back wall before rebounding to strike bottle after bottle in smooth succession.
Finally, the band leapt to the farthest bottle, perching precariously on the neck. Then, it spun upwards once more to alight neatly on the attendant’s outstretched finger.
Kaito was already elegantly poised on one knee before the booth attendant, with his outstretched hand as if manifesting a heartfelt proposal.
“It’s magic!” whispered one of the kids next to Zenith.
“I would like one of each prize, please. They’re for the kids.”
Jaw agape, the worker mutely handed over an armful of plush creatures. The children erupted in cheers as Portia burst into tears, sweeping Kaito into a crushing hug.
▬▬ι════════ﺤ
“Can you believe this? After all the preparation…this is the fucking booth I get?” The tall, slender man snarled.
“Boss, it’s not that bad. We’re still in a good spot, lots of foot traffic,” his underling argued.
He grunted, staring at the other baker’s booth. To think this Jogid so callously denied his request. To think he had been reduced to play second fiddle. It’s a mockery!
But he would show him! That disgusting dragonfolk would be washing his whisk before the festival ends! And so would that second-rate baker if he knew what’s best for him!
“So, what do you want to do about it, boss?” Another underling asked mischievously.
A sly smile formed on his face.
“Send Jogid a little ‘message’. Let him know who he’s messing with!” He commanded, and his subordinate crackled wickedly.
“You got it! We’ll rough em up a little.”
The henchmen nodded in agreement.
They prepared scrolls with preloaded spells and slotted Magic-Dampening crystals into their bracelets to inhibit spellcasting. Then, they mixed vials of bottled shadows and silence potions to mask their approach. And so they moved out of Rosto’s booth, blending into the festival crowd with their plan at the ready.
They watched Eastscar’s arrival. Although they couldn’t see the caravan yet, the perfectly spaced lanterns were glowing as if they were a third sun in a clear sky, illuminating the miles upon miles of path that Jogid had maintained leaf-free for this moment. After a month of preparation, the Winter Solstice Festival was finally kicking off. And Calmo was more than ready for it.
The megnac crew erected temporary housing for their visitors and planned a strict curfew when outside of festival grounds. No one would mind. Even with the troglodyte tribe taken care of, Kilford forest was still dangerous—especially at night.
And there was even more work to show, but now…the world thundered. All of Calmo was present, listening as Eastscar’s trumpeters announced the arrival, and watching as the tip of their yellow and green banners appeared on the horizon.
Zenith took Kaito’s hand and interlocked their fingers, then rested her head on his shoulder until she would have to assume her role as mayor.
Jogid was frantically going through his checklist. “That’s good. They’re on schedule…” he said, most likely louder than he intended.
It didn’t take long for the caravan to come into full view. Every Eastscar man, woman, and kid wore robes in their banner’s colors: the women in dresses made of delicate grave fur with metal sewn on the sleeves, the men wrapped in tunics and leather belts, and the kids the cutest in their tiny tabards.
New achievement! Party Planner Par Excellence!
You’ve got the banners flying, music playing, and everyone’s pretending to like each other. Classic festival setup. Now, how long before the hidden agendas come out and the backstabbing begins? Or, with some luck, an actual stabbing. Festivals: where political intrigue meets carnival food. Enjoy the show!
Karen, what are you doing?
It’s a new thing I’m trying out. I saw this crazy AI in the data from one of your worlds that was giving dumb achievements for nonsensical things, and it was hilarious.
Okay, we’re putting a stop to—
NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT! You are not taking this away from me, Kaito. You’re making me sit through this cookie-cutter festival arc, and the least you could do is let me have my fun. Besides, it’s not hurting anyone!
The thing is, I do enjoy talking to you, but when you start throwing notifications like that it’s very distracting—especially ones about predicting backstabbing or stabbings.
Okay, so I see how it is. All that about me being part of this team, like family, was all bullshit.
You’re right, Karen. We’re all supposed to have a good time during this festival. Go ahead with your achievement notifications, but please, don’t overdo it…and keep it away from the baking competition, okay?
Oh, of course, Your Majesty, your boundless compassion and infinite wisdom shall be my guiding light. I shall restrain my boundless enthusiasm to accommodate your delicate sensibilities.
Kaito brought a palm to his forehead while a rumbling wagon rolled to a stop, and a mountain of a man with a fiery red beard stepped down. A wild beast. He looked like a bear crossed with a lion, and with his heavy, elephant-like steps, he stood before Zenith.
She held her head high and stood front and center in dark blue robes embroidered with silver thread to make her position obvious.
“Greetings, milady. Might I be speaking with the new mayor of Calmo?” the man rumbled respectfully.
“Yes, I am Zenith. Welcome to our village!”
“Tharbomi Redirik, mayor of Eastscar village at your service.” He pressed a meaty fist over his heart and bowed. “My people and I can’t thank you enough for welcoming us back after way, way too long apart.”
Zenith returned a polite curtsy, demure yet resolute. “The joy is ours, Mayor Redirik. Please make yourselves at home.” She waved behind her, where Calmo residents were already mixing eagerly with rugged, frost-cheeked Eastscarfolk. “As you can see, your people and mine get along famously once again.”
The red beast grinned through his fiery beard. “Please call me Tharbomi…you know what, call me ‘Bomi.’ All my friends call me Bomi,” he chuckled.
“Very well, ‘Bomi’ it is,” Zenith replied with a smile.
He scanned past Zenith. “Before we start, have you seen that old vileling Lotho…”
His mouth dropped. “There ya are, the only man I know who’d stare down a beast and ask it for cooking tips!”
He strode towards the retired mayor as if magnetically pulled, the crowd automatically parting before his imposing bulk.
Lotho’s shoulders squared, hands behind back, he eye-matched Redirik’s approach.“Redirik,” Lotho said, all stone-cold-weird. “I trust you brought the stuff?”
Stuff? Were there any supplies that we didn’t consider?
Matching Lotho’s seriousness, Tharbomi lifted one mitt and crooked a finger. One of his attendants sprang forward with his knees shaking under some truly massive barrel in his arms. The red beast took it easy as pie, dismissive of its undoubtedly ridiculous weight.
In his other palm sat a single slim bottle. He held both aloft towards Lotho. “One hundred casks of our finest barley brew,” he proclaimed, “plus the rarest hooch north of Chilly Peaks.”
Oh, that’s booze...I thought Jogid made sure we were well stocked. But Calmo residents around him looked eager. A tradition, maybe?
Lotho showed no reaction beyond one knobby finger slowly lifting to point at Tharbomi’s offerings. “Present them,” he commanded.
Tharbomi carefully set barrel and bottle down, sliding them inch by inch until they bumped Lotho’s boots. He straightened up again, fully seven feet of bearded muscle, towering over Lotho’s frail five feet.
Then both men sucked in tremendous breaths, their chests swelling like balloon animals…
‘BA-BOOM!’
Twin wild, joyful ROARS exploded out!
Pure shared happiness transformed into a resounding cheer that made gasps and shouts erupt from the crowd. Flasks emerged. ‘Clinked.’ And were then mutually drained in a single tilt skyward.
Full-throated laughter rang out—Tharbomi’s a landslide of gravel, Lotho’s reedy and fluttering as a leaf by comparison. The barrel-chested mayor stomped over to plaster Lotho’s back with enough force to buckle an ironwood tree.
“Haha! Oh, it does an old campaigner good to see you, Lotho!” Tharbomi chortled. “I’d feared you might have passed on without one last toast between us.”
“And miss our traditional welcome? I may have one foot through death’s door, Bomi, but never that!”
So it is a tradition after all. There’s still so much I don’t know about this world.
More of Tharbomi’s attendants distributed drinks from an immense cask they’d hauled out of their wagons. Kaito accepted a frosted mug and sampled its contents.
“As I said this here is my village’s finest vintage - Soothing Dose XXL!” Tharbomi said, holding his mammoth flask aloft before Zenith. “Lotho knows very well. I brew it special every year for the solstice festivities. Goes down smooth, doesn’t it?”
A chorus of affirmations answered him. It’s true! Familiar, yet better—cremier.
And so, townsfolk intermingled between mugs of Soothing Dose XXL, signaling the start of the festival.
New achievement! Belching 101. You’ve witnessed Bomi and Lotho loudly greeting each other like two old frat bros. Charming as farting in church, those two.
▬▬ι════════ﺤ
“Arrrg, this game’s rigged,” Portia grumbled as yet another ring landed between two bottles. She was on babysitting duty, and the kids had unrealistic expectations about her winning a stuffed animal for each one. Before Zenith could react, her handmaiden snarled and whipped a ring alarmingly fast. It ricocheted off the bottles with a sharp crack and whistled past the attendant’s cheek, leaving a thin trail of red.
“One game please,” Kaito requested, addressing the man whose face was still white from the near-death experience.
Kaito held up the single ring, peering closely as if he were a ring connoisseur. He balanced it delicately on a long, slender finger. With a gentle flick, he set it spinning slowly at first. The rotations smoothed and accelerated gradually, the ring becoming a shining metal disc. Faster and faster it whirled until nearly vanishing from sight.
He stepped closer to the booth. He wet a finger, gauging winds. And finally, he marked distances with slight adjustments of his feet.
With a subtle twist and roll of his wrist, the spinning ring sailed from his hand. It flew a lap around the booth. Then another. And another. Followed by a graceful dance, arcing left and right in sinuous movements reminiscent of a swimming dragon. It pinged sharply off the first bottle, changing trajectory in a complex ricochet off the back wall before rebounding to strike bottle after bottle in smooth succession.
Finally, the band leapt to the farthest bottle, perching precariously on the neck. Then, it spun upwards once more to alight neatly on the attendant’s outstretched finger.
Kaito was already elegantly poised on one knee before the booth attendant, with his outstretched hand as if manifesting a heartfelt proposal.
“It’s magic!” whispered one of the kids next to Zenith.
“I would like one of each prize, please. They’re for the kids.”
Jaw agape, the worker mutely handed over an armful of plush creatures. The children erupted in cheers as Portia burst into tears, sweeping Kaito into a crushing hug.
▬▬ι════════ﺤ
“Can you believe this? After all the preparation…this is the fucking booth I get?” The tall, slender man snarled.
“Boss, it’s not that bad. We’re still in a good spot, lots of foot traffic,” his underling argued.
He grunted, staring at the other baker’s booth. To think this Jogid so callously denied his request. To think he had been reduced to play second fiddle. It’s a mockery!
But he would show him! That disgusting dragonfolk would be washing his whisk before the festival ends! And so would that second-rate baker if he knew what’s best for him!
“So, what do you want to do about it, boss?” Another underling asked mischievously.
A sly smile formed on his face.
“Send Jogid a little ‘message’. Let him know who he’s messing with!” He commanded, and his subordinate crackled wickedly.
“You got it! We’ll rough em up a little.”
The henchmen nodded in agreement.
They prepared scrolls with preloaded spells and slotted Magic-Dampening crystals into their bracelets to inhibit spellcasting. Then, they mixed vials of bottled shadows and silence potions to mask their approach. And so they moved out of Rosto’s booth, blending into the festival crowd with their plan at the ready.
