May 28, 2019 11:53 am
Starday, 1 Growfest, CY 591
Thick, dark clouds hung over the coastline outside of the port town of Seaton, moving slowly inland and bringing with it the heavy rains typical of this time of year. Spring has just begun to give way to the Low-Summer, a time when farmers and merchants alike celebrated the coming planting season.
As Coldeven comes to a close, the entire countryside has begun what is commonly called Brewfest, a week-long celebration hailing the coming season of crops. Prayers, songs, games and great feasts accompany the festival as farmers make ready for planting their new crops. Seaton, while far from a farming community, is not exempt from such displays of festivity, and everywhere in the city there are banners and displays dedicated to the gods of fertility and crops; Atroa, Velnius, Beory, Ehlonna and even the old god Obad-Hai all see dedications in their honor, as do the prominent sea gods Procan and Xerbo. Everywhere you can see signs of celebration.
Andwise has found himself in this place, though it is far from the rolling hills and comforts of home. Seaton is a military town through and through. At the close of the Great War, King Skotti of Keoland ordered an increase of his naval presence in this area in an effort to ward off the slaving ships of the Hold of the Sea Princes. As such, the traditionally fishing and farming community has seen itself change, growing ever larger to support the burgeoning militia presence.
While the weather outside portends a modest start to the festival, the interior of Harland’s Hostel is warm and inviting, with a large hearth already roaring with flame and hot breakfasts served quickly and efficiently by the wait staff. Harland Underbough, the proprietor, was a halfling of some notoriety here in Seaton, and his accommodations include those sized to one of his own stature, which has suited you just fine these past few weeks.
Daily check-ins with Hilgo Bandylegs, your dwarven contact in the militia, have become boring and tedious, though you are both grateful and dejected that your experience thus far has not been as full of excitement as Uncle John’s stories. Your reverie of his tales is broken with the clatter of a plate before you as Idrissa, one of the four halfling serving girls, drops a heaping plate of meats, potatoes, eggs and bread in front of you.
"Good day, master Andy!" she smiles. "Festival starts today! Can you not wait?"
Thick, dark clouds hung over the coastline outside of the port town of Seaton, moving slowly inland and bringing with it the heavy rains typical of this time of year. Spring has just begun to give way to the Low-Summer, a time when farmers and merchants alike celebrated the coming planting season.
As Coldeven comes to a close, the entire countryside has begun what is commonly called Brewfest, a week-long celebration hailing the coming season of crops. Prayers, songs, games and great feasts accompany the festival as farmers make ready for planting their new crops. Seaton, while far from a farming community, is not exempt from such displays of festivity, and everywhere in the city there are banners and displays dedicated to the gods of fertility and crops; Atroa, Velnius, Beory, Ehlonna and even the old god Obad-Hai all see dedications in their honor, as do the prominent sea gods Procan and Xerbo. Everywhere you can see signs of celebration.
Andwise has found himself in this place, though it is far from the rolling hills and comforts of home. Seaton is a military town through and through. At the close of the Great War, King Skotti of Keoland ordered an increase of his naval presence in this area in an effort to ward off the slaving ships of the Hold of the Sea Princes. As such, the traditionally fishing and farming community has seen itself change, growing ever larger to support the burgeoning militia presence.
While the weather outside portends a modest start to the festival, the interior of Harland’s Hostel is warm and inviting, with a large hearth already roaring with flame and hot breakfasts served quickly and efficiently by the wait staff. Harland Underbough, the proprietor, was a halfling of some notoriety here in Seaton, and his accommodations include those sized to one of his own stature, which has suited you just fine these past few weeks.
Daily check-ins with Hilgo Bandylegs, your dwarven contact in the militia, have become boring and tedious, though you are both grateful and dejected that your experience thus far has not been as full of excitement as Uncle John’s stories. Your reverie of his tales is broken with the clatter of a plate before you as Idrissa, one of the four halfling serving girls, drops a heaping plate of meats, potatoes, eggs and bread in front of you.
"Good day, master Andy!" she smiles. "Festival starts today! Can you not wait?"
