The Furrow and the Plow

All were welcome and encouraged to celebrate The Fall Festival, but at the core of the carousing were themes of agriculture, harvest and the generative capacity for passion among any and all. And in the spirit of husbandry, though not in search of a husband, Melandra had begun her celebrations in earnest quite early in the day. She hadn't caught his name and he hadn't asked of hers, but they were agreed that Hoi was kind to them both and they shared that kindness with one another. Twice. When the shade of the apple tree had slid off their naked bodies like a dark satin sheet, Melandra adjusted her mask, quickly dressed and excused herself while the hard working field labourer went back to plugging away at the field.

Stories like this were common and frequent, and that was just counting Melandra's own activities. Among the rest of the colony similar recreations were happening anytime two willing parties could lock eyes and hips. The sea breeze mingled all smells of salt, smoke, sex & juicy meats; and one need only have the slightest libido in order to be fed. It was a wonderful day; a wonderfully long day that was nowhere near its end.

"I love you," Melandra carolled at those to her left in the square. "And I love you," she praised to those on her right, wobbling and wavering. She walked the civil areas, wine skin in one hand, unfolded parchment in the other. She'd of course read the invitation upon its receipt, but all the fun and drink of the day gave her doubt that she'd somehow made note of the time incorrectly. She hadn't, but it was time all the same to shift the party from the streets to the Keep, and that required a change of dress and deportment. Melandra groaned, muttering her displeasure at crushing corsets and domesticated dancing.

Timestamp: Stoneshade Keep Great Hall - Evening

"It's not about winning," Melandra was telling a group of men and women who'd gathered round to listen. "It's about precision. If you are precise you will strike your intent. And no one intends to lose, do they? Well there you have it." There were gaping holes in Melandra's logic and lesson, but she hadn't been entrusted with the training of the Duke's son because of her ability to teach….well she had actually, but tonight was a celebration and she was drunk and she had no swords strapped to her waist; just the leather trappings on her hips in which her swords would be, were they not accroached by the pompous men manning the Lord Commander's vestiary. Or had those been bonafide guards? Melandra looked around at the others, waving a drumstick for emphasis, "Did no one think to bring a weapon? Was I the only one? Precision counts for very little if you have no point."