Report: Midwinter Fair
It was a cold chilly night in the far mountain reaches. Snow had fallen everywhere, and the mountain pass north, to the empire of Moira, as well as the pass south, towards the great forest of Galentaur, had been blocked by avalanches. It would take the small community of Carandol, a small village with only a couple of houses and a small inn, weeks to clear these passages after the season of snowfall.
On that chilly night, a terrible storm was raging through the mountains, and the villagers had sought safety in the fortified inn, where, fate permit, a travelling bard was staying, waiting for the road north to open up again.
“Please Lady Firadin, would you tell us another story tonight?” Asked one of the children, Eárwen.
“What would you have me tell, my dear?” replied Firadin, smiling as she saw the children think.
“Tell us of the sin wars!” said a troublesome boy.
“No tell us of the first Merlin.”
“Tell us about the festival tomorrow,” replied Eárwen, “tell us about the Midwinter Festival.”
Firadin sighed, “Very well... This story happened long ago...
The Kingdom of the Sidhe was still in its young years, and magic was all around us back then. The armies had only recently celebrated their final victory in the second Sin War, and were celebrating day and night. Two of the army commanders, Tyrael and Sylph, long time friends, were visiting the tavern of Annonbar, where the local bartender, Elgar, had been waiting to deliver a note from a faraway place.
“Milord Tyrael, great to see ye again. Ye be wanting the usual? Just got me a shipment of mead from me brother.” He said when the two commanders had finally found a seat at the bar.
“Yes please, Elgar, you know I love the taste of dwarven mead”
“Aye I do.” Elgar placed two glasses of his finest meat in front of the two commanders and continued.
“A messenger came here not too long ago, shabby looking fellow he was, told me ta give this here letter to ye. Said he came from a village called Archeon... Ye know that place?” he asked.
“Sure I do,” replied Tyrael, “it is a land occupied by some friend from before I joined the army of the Sidhe... Aragnes that tribe is called.”
He ponders a moment and takes letter from Elgar and rips the seal off without a wince.
“Oh no... We must go there immediately... Aragnes did so much for me in the past... I must save them now.” Exclaimed Tyrael, “Sylph, are you coming with me old friend?"
“I will gladly fight beside you Tyrael,“ he replied, “Oh and sorry Elgar, I do not drink alcoholic beverages, so drink this yourself! Onwards, to glory!”
And so did the two commanders travel a long way due to the east, past the great island of Albion, across the channel, to arrive at Archeon.
“Firadin, how far away is Archeon from here? Asked Eárwen, “I have never before heard of that place...”
“Oh my child, it is a place hundres of miles away from here, due east, a journey that would take at least three weeks, when travelled by using the fastest boat in the kingdom.” Said Firadin, “now, where was I? Oh yes”
Upon arriving at Archeon, the two were welcomed as heroes with mighty armor who would route the barbaric tribes with Sidhe superiority. They taught the men how to fight, when one day, the tribes were back to pillage the village. With the tactics they had used in their earlier battles, the battle was eventually won... and the barbarians retreated.
Later than night, there was a feast, to celebrate that the other tribes had learned that Aragnes was better.
“Men, women, no longer shall you have to fear for the village, no longer shall they...” Tyrael started when a scout quickly approached, clearly frightened.
“The barbarians... they...” he stammered, “Across the river, near the ancient temple... so many.”
“And so they found out that victory hadn’t been a victory at all, for this time, there were more, lots more to fight the heroes of the Sidhe.” said Firadin.
The children gasped.
“But… Did they win? Did they survive those armies?” asked Eárwen.
Firadin paused for a moment, and let a sudden outburst of laughter. “If you would be so kind as to let me continue my story, child, you will find out what happened. Though I fear that the gruesome details of the battle that followed are best left for when you are older.”
After the troublesome news, Tyrael and Sylph went about setting up some traps to make certain that the armies could not surround them, for they were vastly outnumbered by at least two to one. One army even appeared to have a wizard amongst their ranks, so Sylph, having experience warding off magic during the last Sin war, imbued the partly frozen grass to render offensive spells useless.
Soon, the battle was once more upon them, and they fought valiantly against the hordes, like they did in the years before them. Although they won, they paid a price for that, most were horribly injured to the point where they could never again lift an axe or hammer. Even Tyrael, who had suffered a striking blow to the head, was down.
Again the children gasped.
“Please tell us that they survived!” said Eárwen, “I don’t see why we celebrate their deaths during the midwinter festival.”
“Did I say they died then?” asked Firadin, “No no no… Something beautiful happened. You see, the wards to repent the magic of the wizard were made from a very special seed, given to Sylph by the last great druid, High Priestess Loriel, before she departed.
“These seeds were from the tree of life itself. They restored the wounds so the people could begin anew. A new life was ready to begin flourishing all around them. Snow covered the bodies of the invading armies, and would give their remaining breath back to the earth.
“A new year would dawn soon, and thus the heroes of the Sidhe departed again, ready to help others in need. And every year, during Midwinter, the spirits of old bless the land to start fresh once more as the snow begins to fall down on us.”
“Now, children, it’s midnight, look outside. You will see the snow has stopped falling and the tides are turning once more. A new year is at hand, and that, we must celebrate!” said Firadin.
“But tell me lady,” Asked Eárwen, “How do you know this story?”
“Ah, ever so inquisitive are we?” replied Firadin, “My great grandfather, the lord Sianto… he was there, watching from the shadows. Now, come on children, off to bed you go!”