Fog-o-war Begone (Share Your Worlds!)

[Dray]

I would love to see little vignettes of everyone's Nexus-based worlds; characters, places, events, cultures, creatures, etc...

so I was thinking of having a biweekly writing event -- not necessarily for gain of images or anything, just to showcase some things about your worlds and share them with one another. We can vote on topics to have every two weeks, and then if you feel like participating, write up a chunk of info or a storybit and post it in this thread for folks to read! If you're looking for critique or suggestions on ideas or writing, perhaps that can be arranged, as well!

In any case, for the next couple of weeks, I'm going to DM the hell out of the topic to explore, just because it's that time of year!

How This Works:
1) Pick your world of choice. (this could be a ship, a Weyr, or a floating rock in between space -- just so long as it's a location that participates in Nexus events!)
2) Respond to the following topic. This could be in the form of an encyclopedia entry, a story, a poem, an image, etc:

What kind of holiday celebrations do people celebrate around the end of their year? Do they have a solstice party? Are there religious themes? Is it serious or light-hearted? Is it universal or confined to certain sects? Are the celebrations large-scale, or barely noticeable to offworld travelers? Are the celebrations open to offworlders are kept strictly secret?

(Writing can be as long or as short as you like!)

3) Post your writing to this thread. If you'd like suggestions, questions, or other con-crit to help expand the section we're focusing on, please leave a note!
4) Toss some ideas forward for future topics to focus on, if you'd like!
5) This round of writing ends Friday, January 7th and a new one will begin shortly after.

[Yakima]

>.< I is torn between Sentra and Astrael or Falas Weyr! *faceplant* (*imagines the Earth-born riders running around decorating the 'palm-trees' in glow lights for christmas and my Pern-born people thinking they're nuts...and wasting glows...* )

I shall try to think of something...XD

[Shard]

Once reality settles down for me a bit I'll probably do something with Planet Twenty here. That should be fun actually!!

[Dray]

Oh heck, you could do them for each adoption agency world/area that you feel inspired to write for! Just separate each with a bolded title so that we know what area we're reading about!

My idea for this is that it gives some fodder to write a little, and if you like where it's going, you can include it on your website in an info section (or pare it down, if need be.) That way we get little windows into each others worlds... and gives us a chance to maybe think outside the box from the usual info that we tend to write out.

[Dray]

Star City

Before the 1000 Year Regime Was Overthrown
Before Star City was opened to the Nexus, it was ruled by what is known as the 1000 Year Regime, which was headed by a royal family who held the station sacred. Towards the end of the year, the station (as well as Driolo, the city upon which the station's cable is connected) celebrated a solemn event upon which one unlucky slave was sacrificed.

The event would begin over the course of about twelve days, where over one hundred of the family's favorite slaves were pitted against one another on the Flight Deck of the station to determine which was the strongest and most wily. The remaining champion would be crowned for a consecutive twelve days and inducted into the family, in which case he or she or it was treated as an honorary emperor.

On the last day of the event, the slave was paraded through the streets of the various decks, showered with the combined affection and dislike of the inhabitants of the station (including attention from other slaves) and then ritually sacrificed, usually through burning but sometimes through other means. (One year, a slave had managed to escape and hide for three weeks, and very nearly managed to escape by stowing away on a spacecraft which was docked at the station. That year the entire ship upon which she was trying to escape was destroyed in view of the observation platform in a brilliant explosion.)

Basically, the holiday was meant as a way to turn out the old year without sacrificing any of the proper royal family. Many slaves felt that it was an honorable way to go, though many more did not, which is why...

Star City After the 1000 Year Regime
It's been between fifteen and twenty years since the regime has been overthrown (depending upon your Nexus Time, which seems to be different for everyone.) As people on the station have sought new ways to go about their lives, many have reached back to their roots to find ways to celebrate the end of the year; since many of the residents of the station are human or part-human, they have been looking at human customs from other Nexus-based worlds. There is a strong sense of remembrance, too, as families will light candles in their homes for those who died to help free the station and make it a place of equality. Many services are held at this time of the year to commemorate the fallen and to be vigilant against the likes of tyranny.

Since the station has been through one or two tiffs regarding the invasion of a dangerous species, coupled with some less than savory mercenary activity, the last couple of years have become surprisingly lean. Stationers have been seeking new ways to govern themselves -- and there is a growing subset of unhappy residents who would actually prefer to be led by the nose without having to vote or otherwise make their own decisions. They want to be cared for. Star City has therefore been celebrating the end of its year strongly with independence propaganda, linking in the end of the year with the expulsion of an old and evil regime. Invitations to other Nexus-based worlds to participate in games (not unlike those that were held to whittle down slaves, ironically, but without the bloodshed) have been proposed for the next year's celebrations.

[Yakima]

To save thread space mine is here: http://www.wolf-mage.com/jan_writting.pdf

I wanted to do a then and now type thing but the now might have to wait 'cause I don't what to do with it yet. The intro is...well...yeah, should probably take that out. lol

[Shard]

O.o ritually sacrifice someone ... in... a space station... because - wow that is HARSH and I'm glad the Nexus didn't get wind of them before that time Hell even the Zekirans would be all WHAT? kill off one of my valuable slaves!? are you INSANE?

unfortunately adobe hates my laptop and won't open pdfs :/ I will want to update that soon.

[Dray]

Yup, they were pretty bad folks... and that was one of their high points of celebration. I think the way that the treated anybody other than royal-types and officials was pretty extreme. I've been thinking of the overall timeline of the city and, even before the 1000 year rule, the place was inhabited by some pretty odd folks.

Wow, Yakima, that was all written in response to this challenge? :D Cool! *goes to read!*

[Yakima]

http://www.wolf-mage.com/jan_writting.doc

? That work shard?

[Shard]

Worked! Interesting story, so they take and magic a tree back? Kinda cool

[Yakima]

LOL well, lets just say Amarion/Phillipe had this thing about finding the BIGGEST tree in the forest. lol XD Magic is kinda required...*gets beginning idea for the 'now' part* heehee

[StarFyre]

This got away from me a bit, but considering all the history that's behind the Alaiskya (at least in my head), I guess it could have been much worse =P


The Alaiskya

The Ancients
Long before the Shattering rent the race into two opposing sides, there was a time of prosperity and, if not peace, at least a reasonable facsimile thereof. The Ancients lived in vast floating 'cities', each home to hundreds of thousands of the People, and each powered and warmed by the Will of the Gods through the use of large and intricate Runic Magic. Spire perches reached towards the stars, winding ever upwards, hollow here and there to create homes and places of meeting. Moss and plants clung to the perches and spires, turning the cities into strange forests of life, and it wasn't uncommon to see birds flitting from plant to plant, or insects buzzing from flower to flower.

The Ancients themselves were as different as their cities - slender and wingless, they had long ago mastered the sky and had no need for wings to carry them. Their bodies were covered in vivid, intricate patterns, each unique to a certain city, and the mixing of lineages was frowned upon, as those with the markings of a mutt were considered sullied, cast out from the favor of the Gods. Thrown down to the World Below as soon as they were found, mutts were left to live as best they could without family, Runic Magic, or even flight.

All events, from solstice to equinox to eclipses, from the eruption of volcanoes to the shaking of the earth they no longer lived on, were the focus of ceremonies and rituals in praise of the pantheon of Gods that they followed. Over a third of the population of each city was dedicated to the priesthood, and everyone knew the "Little Words", a manuscript of Runic Magic that called upon the Gods for the 'lesser blessings' - protection, fertility, good health, and so on.

The winter solstice, though, was the highest of High Ritual. It was at this time that the Runic Magic that kept their cities afloat was remade, to carry them through the sky for another year. The week before the solstice, all work ceased. Everyone, from layperson to the Hierarchs, spent the time in quiet contemplation of the Gods. Among those of the priesthood, it was also a time of reaffirming their dedication to the Gods and to their Holy Partner. The Great Words of Runic Magic requires a balance between male and female, where neither voice nor presence nor will is overpowered, but rather in harmony - this, then, was the final requirement for admittance into the priesthood, finding a Holy Partner with whom to sing the Great Words.

If even one Holy Pair was out of sync, the entire Magic could be brought down. Thus, by holy writ, the week approaching the winter solstice was given to reaffirmation and, if necessary, reconciliation. Initiates who found their Holy Partner during this week were considered blessed and so it was that the week was both a time of silence and the furious, desperate noise of hundreds of initiates searching for their Partner.

The solstice ceremony itself began the first second of the new day and lasted until the day was completely over, spanning the full twenty six hours of their day. Everyone turned out for it, perched on every available spot on the spires to watch the singing and spinning of the Magic that kept them aloft.

The actual crafting of the magic took place in the sky overhead, tracing a sigil that covered the entire city. Pairs slid out of the ritual as they grew tired, other Pairs taking their place, only to return as they regained their strength. Never were there fewer than five hundred pairs in the sky at once, all singing in harmony as they flew the patterns of the sigil, carving it into the sky with their bodies.

After the day of ritual, a great feast was prepared by the laymen for the priests, in thanks for another year begun. Children of age were also feasted, and those who desired it presented themselves before the Hierarchs to be accepted into the priesthood. Thus would begin a new cycle of life in the floating cities.



Intermission: The Shattering
The civilization of the Ancients lasted for over three millennia, changing little in all that time. For three thousand years the Blessing of Dimakoru was flown every winter solstice, keeping the cities aloft and prosperous for another year. For three thousand years, mutts were cast out to the World Below and left to their own fates. But instead of dying out, as Those Above thought they would, the mutts slowly clumped together in groups and clans of their own.

These mutts, denied teaching in the complicated Runic Magic, turned instead to the small spark of internal magic that resided inside them and began to nurture it, specifically breeding themselves together in order to make it stronger. Along the way they became badly inbred, as there were usually only one or two newcomers every year. Mutations began to arise, fertility dropped, and the future of the Fallen, as they spitefully named themselves, came into question.

And then came Naroka. A brilliant and charismatic young lady, she had been born with functioning wings and a burning hatred of Those Above. By all accounts she was a fanatic, intent on destroying the Gods and Those Above, and these days she's looked upon as both a blessing and a curse. Her drive brought together the small, scattered clans into a relatively unified whole. Her passion drove back the depression that had settled over the people and gave them renewed hope. But at the same time, her crusade brought down the cities, shattered the most prosperous time in history, and destroyed the Gods that all, even many of the Fallen, worshipped.

She renamed her people the Alaiskya, Celestial Warriors, as a snub to Those Above, and built the first of the Sanctuaries that would eventually become the Clan Grounds of today. It was built in a vast cave system deep underground and was a far cry from the elaborate, lush micro-worlds that the Alaiskya live in today, but seemed the height of luxury at the time.

The Alaiskya of this time were too focused on survival and, later, Naroka's crusade to care about ritual or ceremony. Winter was a time of hardship and death, when the weak died and the strong grew weak. Naroka's Sanctuary began to change this, giving her people a chance to grow stronger even through the deepest of winters. Removed from the worst of the privation, the Alaiskya finally had the strength to begin the long, involved process of rebellion.

Though Naroka never lived to see it - in fact, it wasn't until centuries later that the Alaiskya were finally at a point where they could consider success - she was instrumental in beginning the downfall of the Ancients. It was she who identified the true root of Runic Magic - the great spires of the cities. The Gods, she proclaimed, were a lie. They did not 'reside' inside the spires, they were the spires, which was why every city's gods were slightly different, though they went by the same names.

Centuries after Naroka returned to the land, the Alaiskya rose from their hidden Sanctuaries on the winter solstice and shattered the power of the Blessing of Dimakoru.

The once great cities fell to earth, the spires shattered, and the Gods departed from the world forever.



Ainem: "The People"
The Ainem, clinging to their belief in the Gods despite the Shattering, are what remain of the once great Ancients. Of the millions of individuals that lived at the height of the Ancient's civilization, only a few hundred thousand survived the fall and the destruction of the magic that they had relied upon for millennia. Of those, even more died at the paws of the Alaiskya, who were intent on wiping the last remains of Those Above off the planet.

The destruction of the cities and the spires meant much more than just the destruction of an era and its Gods, for as the cities fell, so too did the people. The sky no longer belonged to the Ainem.

Those that survived eventually gathered into three distinct Houses - Dansho, Ligirb, and Mujimon - and went about rebuilding their civilization, still harried by the Alaiskya and rife with internal conflicts as those from different cities argued and fought. Three millennia of purity had created the beginnings of species divergence, with each city holding to its own mating rituals and customs, as well as the ingrained belief that crossing these different groups led to sullied individuals who were out of favor with the Gods.

Religious fervor took hold in Dansho. The shattered spires of the nearest City were carefully examined and painstakingly recreated in the center of a vast plain. The ways of the ancients were preserved, the priesthood rose to power once more, and those of Dansho became known as the Ainem of Belief.

Fear raced through the maze of shelters that became Ligirb. A purge was initiated, driving out all those not of the ruling city, that they may remain pure in the eyes of the Gods. An Ainem by the name of Kakenan rose to power in the midst of the turmoil, filled with righteous fury against the Alaiskya and the belief that the Gods had spoken to him and commanded that he purge the unholy ones. Driven by Kakenan's will, those of Ligirb became known as the Ainem of War.

Mujimon took the longest to settle. Harried from one place to another by the Alaiskya, the Ainem who became the Mujimon were the quickest to discard past prejudices against one another in favor of survival of the whole. Not content to hold to a religion that preached such destructive mindsets, the Mujimon discarded the vast majority of the old religion in favor of their own version. Instead of looking back as the Dansho did and trying to resurrect the Gods, or focusing on fury and retribution like the Ligirb, the Mujimon turned forward and began to research new forms of Runic Magic, advancing the art for the first time in two millennia. With their successes, they became known as the Ainem of Knowledge.

Each House sees the winter solstice through different eyes.

For the Dansho, it is time for the Blessing of Dimakoru, with all the pomp and ceremony that accompanies it. It matters not that Dimakoru no longer answers their prayers, that their city of spires doesn't float across the sky and their people haven't been able to fly since the cities fell. It only matters that the ritual is kept in hope that someday the Gods will return.

The Ligirb paint the season in blood and violence. Still caught in their holy war against the Alaiskya, the winter solstice is a time of ritual indoctrination of promising youths into the vast Army that Ligirb fields. Between the autumnal equinox and the winter solstice, chosen warriors are sent out to capture as many Alaiskya as possible. The Alaiskya are then wing-clipped and chained, given barely enough food to survive, and wrapped about with Runic Magic to prevent them from breaking free with magic. They are brought out during the winter solstice games and pitted against promising youths in a battle to the death. Thus bathed in their first kill, the children are feasted and welcomed into the fold.

Those of Mujimon celebrate with a quieter practice. The winter solstice is a time of remembrance and renewal, with quiet family get-togethers and neighborhood gatherings. It isn't uncommon for a Mujimon Ainem to drift from gathering to gathering all during the day, then spend the last few hours of night together with their family in the security of their home. It is on this day that the Blessing of Warmth, one of the new pieces of Runic Magic, is performed - not by priests and accompanied by much pomp and ceremony, but by the people as they sit in their dens surrounded by family.

Thus do the Ainem greet the solstice.



Alaiskya: "Celestial Warriors"
For the Alaiskya, in their Sanctuaries at the hearts of great mountains, the winter solstice is heralded by great resounding parties, vast celebrations of a victory won so long ago that only legends and a hatred of the Ainem remain. The Sacred Ground at the heart of every Sanctuary is flooded with swirls of wild magic, generated by the fervor that the celebrations arouse in the hearts of the people.

Alaiskya with the power to shape stone craft small replicas of the ancient floating cities during the week preceding the solstice, and those with the power of the wind set them to float on the breezes that drift through the Sacred Ground. And on the day itself, everyone, from elder to hatchling, lends their power to the ritual destruction of these floating cities.

The fragments are then gathered - officially to be completely obliterated - and the most daring of the young Scouts, Hunters, and Warriors gather as many fragments as they can carry and sneak out into the darkness. These young females go to whichever Ainem city they desire and, though whatever means they like, use the fragments to rain bits of destruction upon the Ainem. Some are always brought down during this unofficial ritual, caught or killed by the Runic Magic that the Ainem use.

The day after the solstice is a time of mourning and remembrance, the parties silenced in favor of remembering the fallen. It is a solemn, emotion-laden time during which those skilled in Void Magic summon forth the spirits of the dead for their relatives to speak with. That evening is given over to the Feast of the Dead, which is hardly a feast in the traditional sense. Eschewing the plump, healthy game that inhabits the Sacred Ground, those who have nothing else to do, male or female, go out into the winter world above the ground and hunt for game. The meal that night is composed of a combination of winter-killed creatures, scrawny game, and stringy predators, reminiscent of what their ancestors had to eat before Naroka created the first Sanctuary.

Thus do the Alaiskya greet the solstice.

[Shard]

Just... wow. Amazing history!

[Shard]

Winters

Most of my projects and worlds don’t celebrate the year’s turn in the middle of or early Winter. They tend to wait for thaw, in order to truly celebrate the new year.

The Otherforest elves, as well as the Abodean elves from which their concept springs, do certainly have their own Winter celebration though. Abode elves are generally subdued in their ‘celebration’ of the worst hunting and generally the worst weather of the year, and some hardly even understand that there is a difference in the length of the days.

On the Otherforest it’s different from place to place. Since many of the original elfin settlers there took hold in temperate northern forests or mountains, they were usually more apt to notice Winter and its approach as well as Thaw. Whitecold as it’s known there varies from being a very long, dreary or even brutal season, to hardly even a blip on their weather-shaper’s senses.

The Coastal and Tropical locations obviously don’t have much use for a Winter celebration. However oddly enough also the very farthest north communities, the Northstars and the Tundra Hill holts hardly notice either, though they do combine similarly to the Southerners and Plains Wanderers, because of their year-round snowfall. A smallish but noisy celebration welcomes the Northstars back under the Hill.

Storm Mountain Holt is settled up in a nook at the north end of a narrow, winding valley, surrounded by high, rugged and very dangerous peaks. It can easily be equated to places in Yellowstone, sometimes barren of visible life, but that’s only because it’s buried below heights of snow. The Winter Solstice, shortest day of the year, is often spent in their warm, shaped dens with the whole group of them cuddled up drinking Bear’s potent ale and telling stories of escape or adventure.

Down in the southern hemisphere, a very similar setting but on the longest day of their year, the Crater Holt inhabitants are often out and about hunting the swiftest animals they can chase: birds, rabbits, antelope. However, once caught, they don’t kill these animals, they merely gather them up, aided with some strong Animal Sensing magic to keep them calm, and then let them go once more after being ‘tagged’ magically. Those lucky animals will not be hunted by any elf with the ability to sense magic (that is to say, any elf). Wolves or other animals of course won’t hesitate, but these creatures have been given the blessing of the Sun.

Across the main continent, on the rugged eastern coast, Dare’s Valley celebrates the Winter Solstice with a huge feast (bigger than their others, aside from the Harvest feast) of fish from the nearby sea and generally stewed meats from their storage. Dare’s Valley is filled with ‘children’ after all, and even though they’ve been there more than half a century they still have the penchant for offering gifts, decorating trees with flashy colorful items, and trading baked goods.

Though down in the Southern Holt they don’t really experience much in the way of weather changes or daylight shortages, they do play host to the many Plains Wanderers. Up in the surrounding western bluffs, the Hillanders also accept these visitors – life on the plains in deep winter is positively brutal, with little cover from the plentiful trees that live in the north or south, or on the hills. The Plains folk come down at the last signs of Chilldays season – the coldest part of Autumn, which ends with the Deathsleep season’s start. Deathsleep is aptly named, days can be deceptively warm and clear, but the night will literally freeze everything in it’s path. The Southerners and Hillanders prepare temporary shelters in trees or caverns, sometimes welcoming the same folk into them each year, but often enough whoever winds up in what tree is irrelevant. The Plains Wanderers bring with them whatever remnants of their hunts or herbal gathers they could grab, and not until Thaw or later will they leave the safety of the Holt for the flat grassland plains again.

Greenriver Holt up along the northern border of the Plains plays host to numerous trade caravans during the year, and some years the Ice Traders and Hive are more bold to continue their travels even though the weather is mostly against them. The tall, colorfully-shaped evergreens that mark the Greenriver Holt’s area are a welcome sight to any traveler. These trees grow brighter during the colder seasons: for it’s difficult to see them under a cover of snowfall. The trees had been shaped first when the original settlers came to the area, and have always been the beacons they were meant to be – even to non-elf people. The smaller ones toward the center of the Holt are often hand-decorated during Winter, with small shaped or hand crafted items to leave for someone else in trade, often anonymously (though it’s obvious when one person who is a painter puts things up, as opposed to someone who is a bone-shaper – they don’t speak the names of the gift givers, out of courtesy). The Ice Traders and in particular the Hive folk have taken this to an extreme art: both with busy hands and craftsmanship that rivals even the best elfin shaper, plus the Hive can spin their own webbing and allow for the hanging of items in specially made nets. This doesn’t preclude private or direct gift exchanges, of course, which happen more frequently during the Winter months because most folk are homebound in that time. Greenriver’s snowfall is not often very dangerous, certainly not as bad as south of them on the Plains. But hunting is generally poorer, and thus they spend more time inside, shaping items and fixing weaponry or clothing.

Silverglen in the mountains west of the Plains has gone through several incarnations of Winter celebrations. Notably however, this has been declared a season of “no tricks”. This Holt supports a number of trappers, who often make ostensibly harmless versions of traps intended to embarrass their friends. But the loss of a Greater Wolf and the near-death of one of the elves in one of them during a Winter dozens of years before, caused Sunspark their chieftess to ban such things when there was too much snow to easily account for everyone.

Winter is celebrated in the Startree Holt based on the Ice Traders’ customs from their home world (perhaps, or perhaps just their eastern counterparts). Trading of items and sharing of warm foods is most common, then on the Solstice they all go outside braving whatever weather they’re met with, to stargaze. Since they are travelers at heart, and use the stars to guide them on their journeys, they thank the unmoving pole star, and any major constellations they can see from their location. In their case, they weave a story about the head of the Turtle which is just barely visible this time of year (as a Spring sign), poking its head under its shell while the Wolf, a more dominant Winter sign, hunts it. With the Wolf’s guidance, the Arrowhead of the Hunter (also both Autumn and Winter signs) can strike true. Oddly enough, the symbols visible in the skies seem to be common to elf, Ice Trader, as well as the Deerfolk who cast their own dark eyes to the skies.

Obviously the Dragonclan Holt would be... well, whatever WE decide to do with it I suspect there would be a LOT of crafting and sharing of food and gifties. A Lot.

[Dray]

StarFyre, I hadn't imagined that the Alaiskya had such a sad history. :c I hope that they can find a time to heal, eventually! Great writing, though, thank you for sharing.

Shard, I suspect that there would be a lot of Eggnog at Dragonclan, if we have any say in it! XD I enjoyed those characters... they were a lot of fun!

Yakima, thanks for sharing a story-story! ^_^ It's kind of nice to see prompts being used for prose purposes, too.

Do you guys have a preference for next week's topic, or should I toss one up on a whim? :P

[Shard]

I was gonna say whim it, but perhaps that should be the topic: whimsy, play time, recreation/sports?

[Yakima]

Yakima, thanks for sharing a story-story! ^_^ It's kind of nice to see prompts being used for prose purposes, too.

When Philippe is involved, even his old self, it's always fun. And it was nice to write him without a memory loss or necromantic past issue. lol

[StarFyre]

Dray, that's part of the reason why some Alaiskya are going to different worlds and forming clans elsewhere (such as the clan that lives on Nyracii). The Ainem are incapable of teleportation (Until the Mujimon see a reason to research teleportation Runic Magic, that is), so going off to another world effectively escapes that whole cycle.

For the Ainem... well, the Ligirb will probably never let go, they're too caught up in the "Great Holy War". The Dansho are too caught up in trying to resurrect the Gods to actively hunt the Alaiskya down -- however, the Alaiskya are in the scriptures now as the Unholy Beasts, soooo... yeah, no love coming from the Dansho. The Mujimon are the most likely to not care. If anything, they'd be interested in finding ways to combine Runic and Will Magic into new spells, rather than wiping out the entire species. I see the Mujimon in general as those absent-minded scientist types, interested in anything and everything new despite how much their society decries it.

I keep trying to writing something with this prompt for the other races I have, but I keep hitting a wall. For some reason, the Alaiskya, the race I drew on a whim in a college speech class, are more interesting to me at the moment than the Myrsilk or Alevaharin. Fury, the Alevaharin just sorta exist, to be honest. Ah well. Maybe something will hit me before time runs out on this prompt =P

[Dray]

If not, you can still include it later or something! :D

I know how you feel, though... sometimes certain species or characters monopolize brain-space in a way that the major projects just don't.

[Yakima]

Okay, this probably is as rough and weak as my first one (I kinda whipped these both out so i'm sure their are errors...hope no one was hoping for a perfect novel lol. ), but here is an 'now' story at Falas Weyr. Sorry if the beginning is kinda not to the subject but I had to build up to what happens. lol

--

Turn's End Yule Festival
“Oh, will you stop sulking,” Cynte moaned as she pulled on her jacket. “I swear I'm gonna tell J'ren to promote you to Wingleader if you don't quite it!”

“Ha!” Philippe moaned from under the bedding. He flipped them back so he could glare at her. “Trust me, I know as well as any other Wingsecond that we don't have enough dragons for an eighth wing. Well, we do, but J'ren apparently wants to wait. I'm just...”

“Frustrated?” Cynte supplied, buttoning her riding jacket. “You'll return to the wings, Philippe.”

The elf pulled a scowl and pout in the same expression, flinging the covers off him so he could stand and sit on the edge of the bed, watching her prepare for Fall. It was the second Falas would fly since the massacre that happened nearly a month before. While not all the severely injured riders and dragons had returned, the wings had juggled leaders and riders to reform wings to continue protecting Pern, as was their duty. Philippe, despite the improvement to his heath since his resurrection, was still being denied his position by K'man and J'ren. Well, at least his riding position. K'man seemed to be taking full advantage of his new Wingsecond's free time. Philippe guessed (and he was right), that K'man was testing his abilities as a Wingsecond. He was also returning to Sentra several days out of the week to help his father deal with the council and help train Randaril, his brother, to be the new High Prince of Shaor.

Pile this all on the elf and he was downright itching to fight Thread.

“I'll be old and crippled by the time that old watch wher lets me fly Thread,” he muttered, standing up and grabbing a shirt to pull over his head. He was reaching for a pair of pants when he looked at Cynte. He froze, giving her a smirking look. “What?”

“You're an idiot,” she chuckled. “It's good to hear you still swear in Pernese, you know. I was afraid Philippe would fade once you remembered Amarion.”

The elf snorted, his hopes to distract her from leaving for Fall shattered. “The old Amarion and Philippe are not much different, or did Calyenna not tell you that?”

“Trust me, Yenna has told me a lot about you from the Before incident.”

She left the sleeping room to get Phalinth's harness. Philippe followed, thoughtfully after her. On the table was a stack of papers K'man wanted him to finish (he was over halfway done so he wasn't worried about them yet), as well as matters from Sentra. As he watched his weyrmate inspect the harness under the glow lights, he was silent in his thoughts. “I just realized today would have been the first day of Yule,” he said quietly.

“Hmmm?” Cynte asked, looking up from her finished inspection. “What?”

“The Yule Festival. You would call it Christmas,” Philippe said, letting out a deep breath and moving back toward the table to shift through papers. “It's a pity that my father isn't going to be able to celebrate it the right way this year.”

Cynte moved toward the exit, harness in hand. “Why?”

“Well, there is the slight problem that the Central Hall was destroyed,” Philippe said in an amused tone though he was still riffling through some of the papers and scrolls from his father. “That's where we put the Yule Tree.”

“Christmas tree?” she asked.

“Yeah, though we didn't put presents under it and we used magic to decorate it. Glim-lights, for one, and it's easier to use magic to put ribbon and stuff on it. One year we created an illusion of ice hanging from the bows. That was the prettiest tree ever,” he smiled sadly as he remembered it. “I never really did miss Yule until now. Philippe's Christmas' were always simple. Amarion's were, well royal.” He laughed, finding a paper he sought and looked at it. “Yep, maybe next year father can set up a Yule Tree.” Then he grinned, looking back at Cynte who was still on the doorway with the harness in her hand. “I bet Randaril will never find trees like I did!”

Cynte laughed. “I can only imagine the trees you found,” she said. “But I have to go or K'man will chew me a new one.”

The elf snorted. “Okay, okay,” he said, dropping the repair report and coming to kiss her, holding her close. “Just...be careful. I'm not out their to protect you...”

She rolled her eyes. “M'len and K'man watch out for me. And I managed without you.”

He waggled a finger at her. “You were pregnant most of the time I was gone so you rode safely in the Queens Wing. Come to think of it, perhaps we should have another one just so you don't fly in the fighting...”

“Oh, no, elf-boy! You ain't getting another one for a while!”

“Dammit,” Philippe muttered. She used that opportunity to escape down the tuned and to the ledge where her dragon waited. He followed, watched her harness Phalinth from the secure location against his dragon's shoulder then watched them off. He stood on the ledge, watching the wings form, his eyes on the pale golds (even his elven eyes couldn’t tell which one was which) riding in K'man's wing, until they all vanished between to Delta Hold.

She'll never allow it, Faroth said as he came to enjoy the morning sun as it peaked over the Rim.

Philippe sent his dragon a smirk. We'll just see about that, you big blue-and-black lout! You enjoy the sun. I'm off to make a request!

Leaving his work behind him on the table, Philippe made his way to the Lower Caverns where weyrfolk were preparing for injured dragons and riders. He managed to find Raytah easily enough. After about a half an hour of bribing, bagging, and determination, Philippe finally won. Told ya so, he thought smugly to his dragon who only huffed and returned to dozing. It wasn't until after Fall when riders and dragons were tended that the Headwoman finally had time to help him plan his grand scheme.

“I still don't understand why you would kill a tree just for the sake of decorating it,” Raytah muttered as she watched Philippe place stones with runes on them. He had made them after she had given him her permission while helping the Weyrlings. Though S'mar, who was working to 're-train' him and Faroth back to the same skill they had before their death, still thought he wasn't fit to fly in the Fighting Wings, he let Philippe and Faroth join the relay teams to bring riders their sacks of firestone. This defiantly made Philippe happier though it also brought an ache as he watched Monaco and Falas fighting. It had also taken a lot of will power to prevent Faroth from trying to join them. After the Fall he had found six slabs of stones, used magic to break them in half and to burn six rune sets into each. The stones were about the size of his hands, flat on both ends and made out of the brownish-gray stone common to the Falas islands. He was placing them in the location Raytah had decided he could put his tree.

“Why do Pernese swear by the first dragon hatched?” Philippe said, standing up to inspect the rune-stones. He nodded to himself and reached for his gloves. By now, word had spread and people, riders and weyrfolk alike, were whispering. Philippe was too giddy to really bother telling them. “Just wait till I'm done, Raytah,” he said with a wink, patting her arm as he walked by. He grabbed his riding gloves from the table then turned to her, walking backward as he pulled them on. “Just make sure no one, and I mean no one, enters that circle. Wolf, fire-lizard, weyrbrat. I cannot give you a time as to when I'll be sending the tree.”

The Headwoman promised, shaking her head. So Philippe left Falas Weyr and sent Faroth to a location where evergreen's were covered in snow. Not long after he began to fly over the Telgar forests did several dragons and a wolf appear and fall along side him. What are they doing? he demanded of his dragon.

Faroth chuckled as Phalinth, Jesioth, Aaleth, and Seune fell into line next to him. Phalinth says not all traditions have to stay the same. We choose a tree together.

Despite the old urge to do everything by himself, Philippe did smile, shaking his head and resigning himself to the presence of his friends – and family. After all, that was what Yule had been about. And this wasn't Sentra, this was Pern. Change was inevitable.

It about an hour before the five (for Yenna was riding with M'len) riders to locate the perfect tree for Philippe's Pernese Yule Festival. He placed the stones around the tree and, after sending Enya, Elnora, and Silence back to Falas to make sure no one was in the circle, sent the Tree to the Weyr. Then they returned to their tropical home.

One tree, of course, ended up not being enough. The tradition for the elven Yule festival was that the festivities began on the twentieth and lasted until the end of the year, by the Sentran Calendar. The Day of Gifts had started several decades after the settlers which fell on Christmas. While the elves had their own religious beliefs to their gods and deities, the Terran meaning of Christmas was lost to them. After that day their was a week of celebrations throughout the city. (Basicly, while we Terrans spends hundreds of dollars on gifts, the elves spent hundreds on feasts, balls and parties.)

Pern, of course, had no such costumes at this time of year save Turn's End. So the tree idea was a strange but eventually highly addicting fun addition.

By the first day of Turn's End, which beings three days before the end of the Turn, their were trees everywhere, not just Philippe's big one. Outside the Caverns weyrbrats had drug in small trees from the woods and put glows all over them as well as ribbons, rope, or anything they could find. Some of the riders had put together wreaths and other decorations and hung them around the Central Cavern. The Terran riders had went as far as decorating the hearths (the main one especially) with a tropical version of garland (vines, leaves with glows and ribbon), and even putting Christmas stockings over them. That, of course led to other non-Terran riders and weyrfolk making their own (and trust me, they ranged from the hilarious to the beautiful), until by the beginning of Turn's End the Weyr was in full Christmas swing.

Philippe, of course, was beaming with full pride at his accomplishments. One would never guess that he had been dead only a month before.

On the first day of Turn's End, everyone couldn’t wait until evening when the trees would light up the Gather Field. Trees were moved to decorate the landscape and Philippe even moved his Yule Tree (which, by the way, was as tall as the Senior Queen...to her shoulder), outside so that they could see it during the celebrations. K'man and others surpised Philippe by bringing his father, brother and some others from Sentra to join in the party. Jarel, Aenon and other Trevalian friends came, as well (poor Kesukiath was a little out of place but made up by flying to the FGPC to pick on a certain sport sized sunset orange female!)

One thing was for sure, it as the best sharding Turn's End anyone could remember, even if the meaning to the trees, stockings and presents were lost on the Pernese!

--

Now, if I could think of something for Treval...*thinks and draws blanks* *headdesk* Oh well! Philippe's idiocy is much more fun!