Chapter 1: Flamefade

It is the eve of Flamefade, the autumnal equinox. With the fields laid bare and winter's grasp still distant, all of Arras gathers in joyous celebration of the harvest festival. Folks from even the most outlying farms have made their way here.

Sunset is still a an hour or two away. The wind is pleasant, bordering on chilly, but warmth is found both by the roaring bonfire and in the stock of Galthic's cellar. Children race about the village green and dance around the fires. Older youths, past their naming ceremony, help out where they can or sneak off to get drunk and steal a kiss or two. Market stalls overflow with fruits, greens and all the bounty of the harvest. Little effigies of the goddess Kimra sway in the breeze, made from sheafs of wheat, corn and barley.

Dathana Arborine's famed ciders draw much appreciation, and as she chats up Galthic her partner Charina keeps a hand firmly gripped around her arm, not letting her get too far away. The Corwyns have emerged from Moonspindle Books, if only for a short while, and do their best not to show how much they'd rather be curled up by their hearth with a good book. To find Evelyn Oakroot, always something of a curiosity in Arras, one only has to follow the enrapturing scent of her freshly baked bread and honey cakes. Rolf Miller sits alone by the fire, quietly nursing some mulled wine and smiling as his children dance and holler. Harl has given up on pestering Norn about the make and history of his greatsword, and both men now chug some ale to get through the awkward silence.

For Gaelan Weir though, tonights awkwardness has only begun. Though it can hardly be called a secret, since just about everone knows by this point, tonight is when his recent betrothal will be officially announced...

The past days have been busy for Lirann. Her family being farmers, they take the worship of Kimra seriously and are heavily involved with the festivals preparations. Whenever she thought she might finally finish the endless chores, her mother would send Lirann on yet another errand. With the day finally here, she is mercifully relived of her duties.

She was never the most sociable person and crowded festivities are not her forte. She has found herself a spot away from the busiest part of the village. Lounging on some hay bales, she snacks on a honey cake while observing the festivities from a distance. Finally she has some time to muse over what transpired in the forest recently. That thing that attacked them, she is sure it is still around. If only there was some one to talk about it. Gaelan would have been an obvious choice for that, but he was busy getting married or something. Besides him, the only person around to confide to would be the old hag Anathema. Not even an option at the best of times.

Lirann takes another bite from her cake. It is very tasty, The festival is not all bad she supposes.

Thalen walks out the door of his parents' shop, straightens his cloak, and locks the door behind him. The warmth of the last few weeks has finally broken, and Thalen smiles as a cool breeze moves about him, causing the tails of his cloak to flutter. While normally, he would be looking for a place to set up and earn a few coins, tonight Thalen just wants to find a comfortable seat by a fire, a flagon of Dathana's cider, and some good friends to while the hours away with.

Crossing the village common, Thalen approaches the stall selling a famous brew, plunks a few coins upon the roughshod wood, and picks up his mug. He scans the gathering crowd.

A group of younglings approach: "Mr. Thalen, are you going to be telling stories tonight?" They smile and look up expectantly.

Thalen kneels down to look at them eye to eye. "I don't think so, young ones. Very sorry, but I am just here to enjoy the festival."

One girl with dusty, blonde hair pushes out her bottom lip.

Thalen nods. "I know, I know. But I promise that you will still have fun. You don't want to listen to stories when there are so many other activities that you could be doing." He stands up and shoos the children. "Go on now, go have yourself some fun."

They run off, the flicker of the fires shining on their faces. One boy turns back and waves. "Bye, Mr. Thalen!"

Thalen returns the wave. He walks over to one of the fires and finds a solid-looking stump to sit on. He sips his cider, waves to his parents, and immerses himself in the sights, sounds, and smells of Flamefade.

Ophira stands alone in the mushroom filled glade, a small flat stone in front of her. Arrayed upon the stone are a series of offerings to Kimra, as well as the Mother, that she has crafted--a pinecone carved to resemble a mighty pine, a crown of autumnal leaves, a piece of amber, a ripe apple, and a beeswax candle carved with Ophira's secret wishes, slowly melting away. After she has completed her ceremony, she bows, ceremonially clear the altar, offering the items back to nature, blows out the candle and waves the smoke across the altar, and then sprinkles the stone with salt to cleanse it. She completes her autumnal ceremony with a mindful walk back to the village, enjoying all that the autumn woods have to offer.

When she arrives, she perks up, accepts a flagon of cider, and join the children in a dance. She waves to her childhood friend Thea, offering her a hug when given the chance. She smiles at Thalen, a good friend ever since the tow of them caught those Northern spies together. She spends some time visiting with Beric as well, though she sees him often. And when she sees Gaelan, she makes sure to stop by. They sometimes ran into each other in the glade that they both love and the two have become friends. But Ophira knows he has an especially big night tonight!

Gaelan's arm troubled him for some days after the thing in the woods grabbed it. It's grip had been ice cold and like iron; the strapping young man was glad that there were no further sightings of the death-touched thing after that. And so when the scar on the fisherman's arm became faint, Weir began working with purpose. For his parents, for the village, for those who needed any sort of help for the celebration. Boxes were moved, a low stage built, dozens of casks and barrels carried into place.

There was no shortage of need for laborers, and so Gaelan kept busy... keeping his mind off not just the thing in the woods, but the far more terrifying prospect of pending nuptials. He didn't know this Miller girl, not really. They'd met, of course, perhaps exchanged measuring glances the way teen girls and boys do, but now they--they were betrothed.

Weir's heart ached as he worked. He longed for something more in life than hauling nets and emptying weirs. And milling was not that something more. Tales told to him by Thalen and others made the muscular youth's spirit soar, tales of knights and dragons, of damsels and castles and spells and jousting tourneys. Those thoughts danced in his head as the day wore on, and as more and more people gathered for the harvest festival.

Avoiding his parents and every member of the Miller family, Gaelen continues to work behind the scenes for anyone who still needs help. He sees Lirann at one point and merely nods a hello. Thalen he spies, but does not approach--the popular young man is busy entertaining well before the sun has even gone down.

Gaelan's eyes linger on Ophira when they find her. He normally finds the apprentice easy to talk to and to look upon, but not today. Today a cloud lingers above his head, dampening his mood and his expression. Then the calls come--more wine! Another cartful of animal feed! Wood and tools to repair the door on the church after it was damaged by boisterous children.

If the man could shrink to nothing tonight, he would. But be can't, so he remains a shadow in the background, a villager intent on anything but celebration.

If there's a party in Arras, you can be sure that Thea Wildheart will be there! And Flamefade is one of the biggest parties of the year. The strong heroine who once wrestled a bear into submission makes her rounds around the village square, shaking hands, patting backs, and downing the plethora of free drinks shoved into her hands by smiling well-wishers.

Glancing around as the time of the festival approaches, Thea sees her childhood friends slowly beginning to join the crowd. She gives Lirann and Thalen nods from across the way. She returns Ophira's wave, quickly making her way over to embrace her in a too-tight hug. "Ophira! How is the old witch treating you these days? Working you like a dog, as usual?" she laughs.

As they chat, Thea glimpses Gaelen lurking nearby. She favors him with a knowing smile before retuning her attention to Ophira.

Beric wanders through the festival, taking in the sights and sounds. Nok sits on his shoulder, also looking about. When the smell of Evelyn's sweet breads drifts by, Nok croaks Cake, cake. Beric chuckles. "Patience, Nok. We'll get there."

A few moments later, Beric sees Galen alone on the edge of the activity, looking pensive. He walks over to his old friends and gives him a clasp on the shoulder. "You look like you could use a cider. Want me to fetch you one? And perhaps one of Oakroot's honey cakes?"

Cake! Nok croaks.

"Hush, Nok. You'll get yours."

Gaelen can't help but grin and return his friend's clasp--doubly firm with his meaty hands.

"Beric, it is good to see you! And Nok too," the fisherman says. He doesn't stink of eel tonight, and that took some scrubbing. "Thea is here too, and all the others as well, I think."

Village kids who were of and age tended to stick together... but now, they were nearly adults.

"A cider and honey cakes would be grand," Weir adds. "But I'll go with--I have coin of my own, you know."

Ophira notices the shadow behind Gaelan's eyes. She considers approaching him to see if he needs to talk, but it feels presumptuous to do so. they were friends, to be sure, but Gaelan and she had never been confidantes. And as if on cue, Beric appears near Gaelan, looking to cheer him up. Satisfied, Ophira turns to see, and be embraced by, Thea.

She replies to Thea's questions, saying, "Oh yes, strict as ever! Although..." she hesitates, a note of concern coming into her voice. She continues, saying, "Something is off with her lately. I don't know what. I've seen some unusual things in the wood, Thea, and Ana had some kind of ...episode a few days ago. I'm worried, if I'm being perfectly honest."

Then, making a conscious decision not to dwell on such things at the festival, she sets it aside and says, "Well enough about that strange old bird. How are you, Thea Wildheart? Plan to drink any more boys under the table tonight? Or maybe tonight you'll find one to do more than drink with, eh?"

Thalen sees his friends congregating. I should probably say hi. From behind a woman's skirts, Thalen sees the same girl from before--dusty blonde hair--peaking out every once in a while. She smiles at Thalen and then hides again.

Thalen curls a finger towards her. "Come here."

She looks up to her mother who has seen the exchange. She nods. The little girl wanders slowly over, her hands behind her back. She looks down at the ground.

"What is your name?"

"Liora." She moves her feet in the dirt.

"Liora! That is beautiful. You are very lucky to have such a name."

Liora looks up and smiles. "It means light!"

"Yes, it does." Thalen nods. He rubs his beard. "Well, Liora, I know I said that I wasn't planning on telling stories, but I feel a telling of the Song of the Last Dragon-King building up inside of me." He looks around. "Why don't you go run and gather up your friends so they can hear the tale."

Liora claps and jumps up and down. "Yes, sir, Mr. Thalen." She spins and runs away.

Thalen looks up at her mother, who mouths, Thank you.

As the small group of friends gradually join up, the evening air begins to slowly fill with music and laughter. Children bob for apples in wide wooden tubs and troughs, chase each other around or pillage the overburdened communal tables. A handful of them wrestle roughly out of their parents' sight, with one enterprising child having dragged a pelt out of some home and draped himself in it. Judging by the grunts and roars he makes, it seems they're play-acting one of Wildheart's most famous deeds. However, anyone young Liora so much as brushes past seem to drop whatever they are doing. Very swiftly a small congregation of eager listeners start to swarm near Thalen.

__________


After much cajoling from his children, Rolf Miller picks up his lute and strums up a tune. Though he can often seem quite dour and weary on his visits to town, tonight his mood is more in line with everyone else's. Once or twice, his daughter Theda throws an uncertain glance in the direction of their friend group, perhaps towards one in particular. But she makes no attempt to get within speaking distance. Instead, she busies herself by dancing with her youngest brother, the two of them merely silhouettes against the crackling bonfire.

__________


Lirann hears the creaking of old legs before she hears the reedy voice. "My oh my, it seems my favorite spot has been taken already. Hmpf! Oh well, I suppose it couldn't hurt to get a little closer to the festivities." Ada, Beric's grandmother, likely the oldest person in Arras, hobbles over next to Lirann, leaning on her walking cane, perhaps a little too theatrically.
Grandmother Weaver, most call her. The children tell almost as many scary stories about her as they do Anathema, but to Beric's friends she's a familiar face. She gives a sly, toothless smile and cackles, a low, breathy sound as she leans forward. "Just as well. Eyes're getting worse every year. I can just about tell where the big fire's at. But... they still have a little use left in 'em. You're the Cormick girl, aren't you?"

Lirann nods back at the others, not really interrupting her pondering. The old lady finally stirs her from her thoughts. It is mildly annoying, but Lirann does her best to not let it show.

"I am indeed. Lirann is the name in case it matters." She answers, a bit vexed at Ada for not knowing her name by now. "I don't mind surrendering this spot to you." She continues while getting up. "I probably ought to go and see what everyone is up to anyways."

Gaelan and Beric have only started in on their cider and cake when they spot Aidan from across the bonfire. Gaelan's father appears frazzled, looking around the crowd until his gaze falls squarely on Gaelan. He gestures towards the two of them with a calloused hand, its meaning quite clear; we need to talk.

__________


"Oh, that's very kind of you, my dear. Lirann? That's right. Forgive this old crone, the memory's as bad as the eyes, I'm afraid. Oh, and if you see my grandson, tell him I wish he would come by more often. I swear..."

It lasts only for the briefest moment. Like a shadow sweeping over the sky, all light dims around them. At the very edge of perception, Lirann senses something both strange and familiar, a presence reeking of incense and gravedirt, lingering at the edge of the village. Something she has not felt since that fateful night at the old graveyard, when she and Beric nearly paid with their lives for that accursed crown.

"...you'd have thought he might've learned a trade from that Weir boy, but no, instead he spends every day over at that young lady's house, tending her pets and..." Ada continues, apparently unaware of what Lirann noticed.

Gaelan and Beric

It's been some days since Gaelan has had time alone with his good friend, so he's not yet told him about his experience with Lirann and the Thing in the woods near the glade. But before he can discuss the matter, his father has found him.

"I'm neglecting my family," he says quietly as he starts making his way towards Aidan Weir. Then, lower, to himself he adds, "And my betrothed."

Gaelan's eyes find Theda on that walk over to his father, and his cheeks flush. A torrent of emotions swirl within the man, but he does not outwardly show most of them. If the Miller girl looks over, he will nod and hold her gaze... otherwise he will see what his father has to say.

"Alright, but remind your father that this is a festival," Beric says to Gaelen as he departs.

Beric looks around to see where he might wander next and sees his grandmother talking to Lirann - whether Lirann wants to or not. Beric smiles to himself and then heads over to resuce his friend.

On his way over, he thinks maybe the world dims briefly. He looks up, wondering if a shadow of some kind passed overhead, but nothing. Maybe he imagined it.

"HI, Gran Gran," he says when he arrives. "Glad to see you made it out to the festivities." Then to Lirann, "I hope my grandmother is behaving herself." He smiles, but senses that perhaps more than just his grandmother is bothering Lirann. "You should come try one of Oakroot's new salted honeycakes. They're surprisingly good." He gives Lirann a quick wink, hoping she picks up on the fact that he's trying to rescue her from his grandmother.

Braced for Nok to say "cake" again, Beric is surprised when the crow does not. Maybe he sensed the same strangeness that Beric did.

"...Yes..Yes..." Lirann mumbles in response to the old woman's ramblings. She is too distracted with the ominous presence to humor her any more than that.

She briefly acknowledges Beric with a nod. "Yes...Yes.. We should do that." She says in response to his suggestion, not so much picking up on his intentions, but just absentmindedly nodding along.
It takes her another second to snap out of her stupor. "Right. Yes. I heard they are really good." She finally responds in a more coherent way. She gives the old lady a friendly smile. "If you'll excuse us, we ought to try those cakes. Now don't stay out here for too long, the night will get chilly soon." She says to Ada, not unkind in her demeanor.

As they are about to leave, she casts a glance towards the edge of the village where she can feel the unwelcome presence. In her mind she utters a million curses before turning away.

Thea snorts with laughter. "Ha! They should be so lucky! I'm still waiting for the right person to come along who can match me for brawn and bravery. I'm beginning to fear that the dating pool in this village is too shallow for my tastes. Mayhaps I'll need to broaden my horizons!"

She smiles at the children re-enacting her mighty deeds, munching happily on a sweet cake.

Gaelan

In the middle of dancing with her little brother, Theda's eyes meet Gaelan's across the crowd. She pauses, mid-step, holding his gaze. Her brother pulls impatiently on her wrists to resume. For a moment, it seems she might break away and head over to him, now that he is not surrounded by friends. However, Aidan makes his way towards Gaelan and blocks the view between them. By the time Gaelan manages to glance past him, Theda is back to dancing, if perhaps a little half-heartedly.

"There you are! Been keeping busy I hear. Everyone I've talked to had seen you at some point, but nobody could tell me where to find you." Usually quite composed, Gaelan's father is a practical, down-to-earth voice both at home and at Stone Hall gatherings. Right now though, his face—as rough and leathery as an old shoe—is drawn tight with worry. Despite the evening chill, he seems to be sweating noticeably.

"I needed to- I mean, we need to talk... I know this isn't..." Aidan trails of a little as he looks his son up and down. He takes a few gulps of air, and when he speaks his voice has steadied a bit. "Look, Gael, I know this might not be how you imagined things would turn out. The Miller girl, she's... it's the best match anyone could hope for. Your mother and I—your mother especially—worked hard to make this happen."

He pauses. With a hand scarred from years of working the nets, he scratches nervously at his chin as he looks over towards the bonfire. "Just earlier tonight, I had to talk Rolf down, he was about to call off the whole thing. The betrothal, the announcement tonight, all of it. Said we had pushed him into this, that his... that Ida never would have agreed to it. I managed to get it sorted, but..." He glances over where Rolf Miller had sat just before. Now his empty lute rested against the chair. "Please. Son. I know your heart might not be into this, not yet. But, for your mother's sake, just don't give him a reason. Show him the very best side of our family."

---

Lirann & Beric

"Oh there you are, boy! Yes, yes, of course, go and enjoy the festivities, I'll just take a seat here for a while. You know..." Even as she waves the pair off, her idle small-talk trails behind them as they leave, until the cacophony of the crowd subsumes it. As they walk, Nok turns his head in the same direction as Lirann, towards the outskirts of the village. But says nothing. Whatever presence briefly streaked across Lirann's senses, she can't feel anything right now. However, Beric notes that the sounds of horses and oxen in the nearby stables have grown agitated and restless, and several small rats scurry past them, away from the village edge.

---

Ophira & Thea

Harl somehow manages to disentangle himself from his stilted conversation with Norn. The smith gives an uncharacteristically enthusiastic wave towards Ophira and Thea and hurries over. "Ah, you two. Hope you're enjoying the evening. I- er, I trust the axe I made you serves you well, Wildheart?" He glances over to where Norn stood, but the weathered old man seems to have made himself scarce.

---

Thalen

"The Last Dragon-King? A fitting choice for the evening, I must say." Elder Caitrina's voice carries easily over the throng of over-excited children gathering around Thalen. The most junior of the three members of Arras council since Rolf Miller stepped down, she easily stands out in the crowd. Her elegant, fur-lined green cloak, intricately embroidered dress and even a few pieces of jewelry all show her as one of the most well-off virgaters in the Arras. The children quiet down at her arrival, but are still visibly buzzing with excitement. She gives a wide smile towards the young storyteller. "I was preparing a few announcements, but I suppose I could hold off a few moments more. I'd hate to see disappointment mar their faces."

Ophira giggles a bit at Thea's response and says, "I don't blame you. The pool is shallow indeed here, even for those of us who do not favor a specific gender! We both need to venture out if we are to find someone good enough for the likes of us, yeah? I mean, look at us!" She laughs again.

When Harl approaches, Ophira listens to his request and leaves him to Thea. She turns and scans the crowd around her, curious about how the others are faring.

"Something spooked the animals," Beric says to Lirann as he watches a rat scurry by. Quieter, he says, "I'm not a student of the mystic, but I thought I felt something strange a moment ago. Something not quite natural? Maybe. Did you notice anything?"