Lanterns hung in the gnarled grip of tree limbs, the warm glow of flame within illuminating an inviting path through the dark forest. The wash of golden light cast shadows to squirm and dance along the borders of the path, like fellow party guests ushering newcomers in. Crisp leaves carpeted the path, hiding some of the candies trailed along it from those lacking keen eyes. Somewhere in the distant dark of the night, jovial laughter and melodic flute music echoed in the trees.
The further along the path traveled, the louder and more festive the noise became. Just as soon as one would start to wonder if the path even led anywhere, the trees opened into a clearing. Inside this clearing was an extravagantly large dinner table, piled high and thick with a feast fit for kings. Ornate goblets, pitchers, platters, bowls, plates and silverware decked the length. The crystalline pitchers were brimming with sparkling liquids in shades of gold, pink and crimson. Tea kettles steamed with apple cider. Platters of candied fruits and seasoned vegetables, carved out pumpkins full of hearty soups and chowders, and tins containing decadent pies of all sorts were laid out for guests. Tiered cake stands displayed dainty treats in many scrumptious colors and shapes. There were potato dishes, both diced and mashed, there were fresh salads that tasted of springtime and youth. At the center of the table sat a beast of a roast boar, dressed with an apple and glazed in glistening honey. An assortment of random, wrapped candies sprinkled the tabletop around the dishes of food. The scent that haunted the woods was mouthwatering, both sugary and savory notes to tantalize travelers.
The tree branches that reached into the clearing were strung with dozens more lanterns, attracting large, white moths to come flutter in their glow. A few ravens also inhabited the tree tops, peering down at the feast with laughter in their caws. At the far end of the clearing, a small band of frog looking goblins wearing overalls happily played away at some simple instruments. Near the mouth of the clearing, a lone frog goblin was offering to take cloaks and coats to hang on low branches. All around the edge of the clearing, Jack-O-Lanters were stacked three high, their grinning faces turned inwards at the table.
Only a few seats at the table were taken. One by a small black cat, one by a red fox and one by a frog goblin who was using its fingers to scoop plum pudding into its mouth.
Come one, come all. We’re positively sure you’ll find something that tickles your fancy. Be merry.
The further along the path traveled, the louder and more festive the noise became. Just as soon as one would start to wonder if the path even led anywhere, the trees opened into a clearing. Inside this clearing was an extravagantly large dinner table, piled high and thick with a feast fit for kings. Ornate goblets, pitchers, platters, bowls, plates and silverware decked the length. The crystalline pitchers were brimming with sparkling liquids in shades of gold, pink and crimson. Tea kettles steamed with apple cider. Platters of candied fruits and seasoned vegetables, carved out pumpkins full of hearty soups and chowders, and tins containing decadent pies of all sorts were laid out for guests. Tiered cake stands displayed dainty treats in many scrumptious colors and shapes. There were potato dishes, both diced and mashed, there were fresh salads that tasted of springtime and youth. At the center of the table sat a beast of a roast boar, dressed with an apple and glazed in glistening honey. An assortment of random, wrapped candies sprinkled the tabletop around the dishes of food. The scent that haunted the woods was mouthwatering, both sugary and savory notes to tantalize travelers.
The tree branches that reached into the clearing were strung with dozens more lanterns, attracting large, white moths to come flutter in their glow. A few ravens also inhabited the tree tops, peering down at the feast with laughter in their caws. At the far end of the clearing, a small band of frog looking goblins wearing overalls happily played away at some simple instruments. Near the mouth of the clearing, a lone frog goblin was offering to take cloaks and coats to hang on low branches. All around the edge of the clearing, Jack-O-Lanters were stacked three high, their grinning faces turned inwards at the table.
Only a few seats at the table were taken. One by a small black cat, one by a red fox and one by a frog goblin who was using its fingers to scoop plum pudding into its mouth.
Come one, come all. We’re positively sure you’ll find something that tickles your fancy. Be merry.
Cavalia's footsteps were muffled by the soft forest floor, moss and leaves absorbing the clops and clangs that normally heralded her arrival in the city. Tonight, she is wearing her shiniest performing costumes, her bedazzled scarves wrapped and tucked around her body to keep them from snagging on any stray tree branches.
Though she might be a jaded adventurer, she can't but let out a little gasp of surprise and delight as she comes upon such an incredible feast laid out in the middle of the forest. Normally, she would never touch what appeared to be a Fae offering, but this particular night was a special exception...
"Hey there?" she calls out confidently. "You expecting someone in particular, or can I pull up a metaphorical seat?"
Though she might be a jaded adventurer, she can't but let out a little gasp of surprise and delight as she comes upon such an incredible feast laid out in the middle of the forest. Normally, she would never touch what appeared to be a Fae offering, but this particular night was a special exception...
"Hey there?" she calls out confidently. "You expecting someone in particular, or can I pull up a metaphorical seat?"
“I take? I take?” The froggy being lurking around the entrance of the clearing croaked eagerly. It’s gangly, webbed fingers opened and closed repeatedly at Cavalia. “Your scarves?” It offered, obviously very excited about it’s job.
“Don’t mind him,” a dapper voice called from the table. The black cat and the red fox had turned their faces toward Cavalia, while the tabled frog goblin did not care for anything but his plum pudding. The thing nearly had pudding up to it’s bulging eyeballs by now!
“All who find the Feast are welcome to it!” The dainty, black cat answered, seeming quite content about that. “Please do come join us,” she insisted with the drawl of an Aristocratic old lady.
The red fox only watched, a pleasant expression on it’s whiskered face but little thought happening behind its shiny, black eyes.
“You look simply divine, darling,” The black cat purred. “Come, come! Find something that suits your tastes!”
“Don’t mind him,” a dapper voice called from the table. The black cat and the red fox had turned their faces toward Cavalia, while the tabled frog goblin did not care for anything but his plum pudding. The thing nearly had pudding up to it’s bulging eyeballs by now!
“All who find the Feast are welcome to it!” The dainty, black cat answered, seeming quite content about that. “Please do come join us,” she insisted with the drawl of an Aristocratic old lady.
The red fox only watched, a pleasant expression on it’s whiskered face but little thought happening behind its shiny, black eyes.
“You look simply divine, darling,” The black cat purred. “Come, come! Find something that suits your tastes!”
The festivities of the evening were completely lost on Sycorax. She'd heard about Samhain, of ritual becoming celebration as old gods were superseded by the new - but she'd heard of it at a distance, and had figured it wasn't hers, that it was an experience for creatures other than herself.
Her costume, too, was entirely coincidental - she much rather preferred working offstage, but sometimes actors were sick. Or drunk. Or just never showed up at all, to far too little questions.
So tonight, she was a woodland puck heading home after a gig, clad in clothes that resembled leaves and moss. It was a costume designed in delicate contrast to the odd and stupendously-fluffy gray-and-gold creature that wore it; she was a boxy, springy inverted triangle, broad-shouldered and long, limber-legged, one that found herself curled in a crouch to hop rather than walk like most upstanding beast-men.
Her species was a punishingly naïve sort, capable of great book-smarts while simultaneously being utterly bereft of wisdom, and Sycorax was no exception to the rule. So when she'd found herself curious and following her nose rather than the usual path she'd often take back home and stumbling upon an absolutely fabulous table-setting, she was a rather typical member of the species in that she'd:
- Followed evident traps in spite of herself.
- Wanted to get food.
- Promptly forgotten that she'd just spent the early evening engaging in a play that centered directly around fae mischief and unforseen consequences.
- Wanted to get more food.
With all of the sumptuous glory and festivities that graced the path, she'd suddenly felt rather self-conscious (surely this whole thing was set up for someone else, after all!) and with some effort she'd pulled herself away from diving in and pawing all over the food and surreptitiously busied herself with the small, wrapped candies instead.
A centaur had already seemed to be busying herself in conversation with several talking animals; it wasn't a leap to guess that they were the hosts - so after Sig rather grumpily discovered that she couldn't silently peel a half-melted hard candy from its wrapper without leaving unpleasant little pieces of wrapper stuck to the sweet, she chimed in.
"'All?' That's also...me, right?"
Her costume, too, was entirely coincidental - she much rather preferred working offstage, but sometimes actors were sick. Or drunk. Or just never showed up at all, to far too little questions.
So tonight, she was a woodland puck heading home after a gig, clad in clothes that resembled leaves and moss. It was a costume designed in delicate contrast to the odd and stupendously-fluffy gray-and-gold creature that wore it; she was a boxy, springy inverted triangle, broad-shouldered and long, limber-legged, one that found herself curled in a crouch to hop rather than walk like most upstanding beast-men.
Her species was a punishingly naïve sort, capable of great book-smarts while simultaneously being utterly bereft of wisdom, and Sycorax was no exception to the rule. So when she'd found herself curious and following her nose rather than the usual path she'd often take back home and stumbling upon an absolutely fabulous table-setting, she was a rather typical member of the species in that she'd:
- Followed evident traps in spite of herself.
- Wanted to get food.
- Promptly forgotten that she'd just spent the early evening engaging in a play that centered directly around fae mischief and unforseen consequences.
- Wanted to get more food.
With all of the sumptuous glory and festivities that graced the path, she'd suddenly felt rather self-conscious (surely this whole thing was set up for someone else, after all!) and with some effort she'd pulled herself away from diving in and pawing all over the food and surreptitiously busied herself with the small, wrapped candies instead.
A centaur had already seemed to be busying herself in conversation with several talking animals; it wasn't a leap to guess that they were the hosts - so after Sig rather grumpily discovered that she couldn't silently peel a half-melted hard candy from its wrapper without leaving unpleasant little pieces of wrapper stuck to the sweet, she chimed in.
"'All?' That's also...me, right?"
Cavalia shifted on her hooves to eye the grabby frog, raising a thick eyebrow. She seemed to actually be considering the idea of a trade, her performing scarves for admission into this delightful feast. Still, when the others let her know that such an admission would not be necessary, she breathed a little sigh of relief and shook her head to the frog. "Sorry mate, but these are my very best performing scarves, and they're how I earn my bread most of the rest of the year." She paused, an idea seeming to come to her. "But... Perhaps instead of giving you the scarves, I could give you all a performance with them before I fill my belly? That's a fair trade, no?"
A faint yellow glow emanated from the dark trees, the dots slowly getting closer as the ground shook ever so slightly. Eventually, the massive mech rumbled into the clearing, a shipping crate slung under one of his double-barrel carbines by thick, black chains. His massive frame filled the entrance, giving off both an air of intimidation and an air of protection. The vents on his back and on top of his body glowed, enough heat emanating from them that the air rippled ever so gently.
While the centaur was busied with the froggy coatsman, the black cat’s ears perked at the sound of the false puck arriving and she watched unbothered with round, orange eyes as Sycorax approached the table to pick at the wrapped candies.
“Of course, that is also you, my dearest!” The splendid little thing confirmed and stretched forward on her hind legs, resting her two adorable front paws on the table top. She used one to pat the tabletop of the empty seat beside her. “Please, come, sit. Eat, drink and be merry, loves! We could not possibly finish all these delicacies ourselves, now could we?” The black cat had the air of a stubborn grandmother, refusing to let sweet babies go unfed. She cast a quick, side glance at the red fox before returning her big ol’ eyes to Sycorax.
The red fox was bobbing its head happily to a tune that wasn’t there.
The wide mouth of the frog man taking coats cracked into an impossibly large grin. It nodded its head eagerly in response to Cavalia’s proposal, clasping those lanky fingered hands together and shaking them. It bounced in place a few times and spat its lengthy tongue out to re-wet a bulbous eye.
A mechanical rumble accompanied by the sounds of clanging chains caused the black cat to swivel her head, turning to behold the massive mech. She looked surprised, but pleasantly.
“My, my! You are a sight, aren’t you?” The black cat called to the mech. “Well, what are you waiting for, precious thing? We have room for even the likes of yourself! Come, come, find a place!” She assured with muchness.
The frog goblin at the entrance had covered it’s head with its arms and taken to cowering behind Cavalia’s form.
“Of course, that is also you, my dearest!” The splendid little thing confirmed and stretched forward on her hind legs, resting her two adorable front paws on the table top. She used one to pat the tabletop of the empty seat beside her. “Please, come, sit. Eat, drink and be merry, loves! We could not possibly finish all these delicacies ourselves, now could we?” The black cat had the air of a stubborn grandmother, refusing to let sweet babies go unfed. She cast a quick, side glance at the red fox before returning her big ol’ eyes to Sycorax.
The red fox was bobbing its head happily to a tune that wasn’t there.
The wide mouth of the frog man taking coats cracked into an impossibly large grin. It nodded its head eagerly in response to Cavalia’s proposal, clasping those lanky fingered hands together and shaking them. It bounced in place a few times and spat its lengthy tongue out to re-wet a bulbous eye.
A mechanical rumble accompanied by the sounds of clanging chains caused the black cat to swivel her head, turning to behold the massive mech. She looked surprised, but pleasantly.
“My, my! You are a sight, aren’t you?” The black cat called to the mech. “Well, what are you waiting for, precious thing? We have room for even the likes of yourself! Come, come, find a place!” She assured with muchness.
The frog goblin at the entrance had covered it’s head with its arms and taken to cowering behind Cavalia’s form.
Cavalia grins back at the froggy coatsman, and trots around the clearing a bit, looking for the best spot to stage her performance. Finding an area where all can see her, but that she won't be in danger of knocking things off tables or getting her scarves caught in tree branches. At about this point she notices that the mech has arrived, and her grin grows even wider. She remembers it from earlier in the night, and finds it fitting that it will get to witness one of her performances as thanks for the treat it had given to her.
A lute was slung over her back -- not the human back, but the pony one, resting against her furry right side. She reached for it, plucking a few strings to check that it's still in tune before beginning a song about ghostly romance. Her voice is a clear, expressive alto, and though the piece is sung it somehow feels more like excellent storytelling than actual song.
After a few verses, she lets go of the lute, and it stays hovering in place and goes on playing by itself. Cavalia pulls on a corner of one of the scarves that was wound around her human torso, and it comes undone, suddenly bursting into yards of gold, orange and black silk in her hands. The scarves are long - very long - and as she begins to canter around the perimeter of her performance space, they stream behind her, and she twists and waves them in an increasingly intricate dance, her hooves weaving through complicated steps to the melody.
A lute was slung over her back -- not the human back, but the pony one, resting against her furry right side. She reached for it, plucking a few strings to check that it's still in tune before beginning a song about ghostly romance. Her voice is a clear, expressive alto, and though the piece is sung it somehow feels more like excellent storytelling than actual song.
After a few verses, she lets go of the lute, and it stays hovering in place and goes on playing by itself. Cavalia pulls on a corner of one of the scarves that was wound around her human torso, and it comes undone, suddenly bursting into yards of gold, orange and black silk in her hands. The scarves are long - very long - and as she begins to canter around the perimeter of her performance space, they stream behind her, and she twists and waves them in an increasingly intricate dance, her hooves weaving through complicated steps to the melody.
"Ah. T-thank you. That's horribly nice." That cat was awfully hospitable!
Finally freeing (most of) a candy from its wrapper, she popped it into her mouth and slid slowly, ever-so-slowly into a seat. If there were any fae curses to be had, she'd at least go out with a mouthful of sweets and an eyeful of the centaur's performance first!
"I don't have anything like she has, what I have is more...behind-the-stage. Usually." She side-eyed the grabby little frog uncertainly before returning her gaze to the rest. "This is very generous of you, is there an occasio-ooAAAH?!"
The mech, vents alight and aflame, appeared and momentarily wiped any coherent thought from her head It was larger than anything living she could conceive and to all appearances seemed built for war.
It didn't appear to bother most of their flurry of furry hosts though, and she couldn't decide whether that was reassuring or unsettling. Realizing that she'd managed to mash herself into a tight and small ball into her chair, she cautiously uncurled and, with the tiniest 'hello' to the towering mech (was anyone inside? Or was it automata?), she instead attempted to busy herself with watching Cavalia's performance, and greeting it with generous applause at appropriate times.
Finally freeing (most of) a candy from its wrapper, she popped it into her mouth and slid slowly, ever-so-slowly into a seat. If there were any fae curses to be had, she'd at least go out with a mouthful of sweets and an eyeful of the centaur's performance first!
"I don't have anything like she has, what I have is more...behind-the-stage. Usually." She side-eyed the grabby little frog uncertainly before returning her gaze to the rest. "This is very generous of you, is there an occasio-ooAAAH?!"
The mech, vents alight and aflame, appeared and momentarily wiped any coherent thought from her head It was larger than anything living she could conceive and to all appearances seemed built for war.
It didn't appear to bother most of their flurry of furry hosts though, and she couldn't decide whether that was reassuring or unsettling. Realizing that she'd managed to mash herself into a tight and small ball into her chair, she cautiously uncurled and, with the tiniest 'hello' to the towering mech (was anyone inside? Or was it automata?), she instead attempted to busy herself with watching Cavalia's performance, and greeting it with generous applause at appropriate times.
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