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~: A few days have passed since the heroes of Haven smote the seed of corruption and saved hundreds of lives. Brennondale, even in the face of a possibly harsh winter is alive with activity. The townsfolk and people from the surrounding areas as pouring in to show their gratitude. They're all gearing up for one thing: a massive celebration for all of their saviors.

The various shops have all been contributing as much as they can. Var'Rumsh the green Elf blacksmith has been stringing wires for hanging lights and setting up multiple stoves and pits for outdoor cooking. The food should be varied and plentiful, and though it's all for Haven's heroes he's encouraging them to bring some of their own favorite dishes to the mix.

Even Sir Reginald (the large) has left the confines of his Potion shop to participate. He seems to have teamed up with Queryn Goldslinger, the Dwarven owner of the local tavern. What involvement he'll have he's not exactly saying. But Queryn has promised they aren't going to run out of ale any time soon. A few caravans worth of libations have begun to arrive, Sir Reginald's assistants Lonnie and Jambiani running about to bring samples to the large green potion master.

Writers for the Haven Chronicles have settled in. They've begun taking statements from the townsfolk on their harrowing ordeal. They want to catch the story from the perspectives of both the saved and the saviors. As always they promise honest truthful reporting, the Chronicle's accuracy held in high regard.

A fantastic celebration to be had by all. :~

Alinar glides slowly through the chaos, somehow managing to pull subtle movements that avoided collisions with stumbling keg-bearers and preoccupied party planers. He manages to maintain an air of serenity amid all the hubbub, but not without significant effort.

He stops behind a man preparing paper lanterns, who continues his work unaware of the Elf. Eventually he gathers the multicolored boxes in his arms and turns around - spilling them everywhere with a yelp of surprise.

"Alinar! How long have you been standing there!"

"Perhaps one half an hour."

"Why didn't you say something?!"

The Elf cocks an eyebrow at the unexpected question. "I saw no need to disturb your efforts. I have come to offer assistance. Enchanted sticks employed as illumination within your lanterns will not cause catastrophic ignition should a citizen - perhaps afflicted with inebriation - happen to upset them."

The artisan runs a hand over his beard. "Hey, yeah! Wouldn't set anything a-fire when knocked down, neither!"

"Indeed."

But the human frowned. "But folks tend to find the flicker of candles soothing, and the glow of magic unsettling... I don't know..."

Alinar nodded. "Then I will take my leave while you consider your options. You may find me within the tavern, should you require."

The artisan gave a bark of laughter. "No time for no considering - these lanterns need to get hung now! Thanks, Alinar, but I'll chance the flame."

"Ah, of course. Your time is limited." Alinar nodded again. "I doubt I shall ever become accustomed to festivities such as this. Preparations completed in but a day or two, and all revelry had within a single night - over almost before it has begun - but with a weeks' worth of frolic condensed into those few short hours."

The artisan winked at Alinar as he gathered up his lamps. "Sounds to me like a Sil'van'dar party is rather dull affair! Haw haw!"

The Elf smiled slightly. "I imagine you *would* find such celebrations boring." As usual (and expected), his subtle barb went completely unnoticed as the artisan trundled by with his load, giggling his assent.

Alinar turned back to the Tavern, calculating a route to eloquently thread the massed activity of the field.

from the outskirts of Brennandale, rothek was walking along the perimeter of the forest. he would raise his head and sniff the air every so often as if trying to find a particular until his ears perked up and he barked in approval. he barked a few more times and then waited as off in the distance another bark answered him. pleased by this he turned around and began toward the crowd hurriedly working to set up the festivities.

finding an appropriate spot under a tree rothek scratched bits of grass, dirt and sticks out of the way. circled a few times then laid down waiting for his tribe kin to arrive.

As soon as the first ale wagon stopped, Cirrus was inside, tearing into it, muttering under her breath as she proceeded to check every barrel housed inside, feverishly helping the assembled group to unload.

"Where is it? That booping gropo PROMISED me over the summer that he'd send some up... he's getting soft without me to bother him..."

One of the wagon drivers came up carefully behind the flustered Av'yana, and gently rested a hand on her shoulder. "Ma'am, can I help you find sommat?"

Just that fast, there was a short sword with a slender curve out and at his throat, Cirrus not even breaking her search as Four menaced the driver. "Don't interrupt me when I'm trying to find--OOOH!"

She outright dove into the back, coming up with a huge grin on her face, hoisting a barrel from the Blackwatch Brewery, "Thwarted Magpie Cider" written on the label. She hoisted it with no small amount of effort onto her shoulder, flipping the accosted driver a gold piece before jumping out, fairly twittering her excitement as she made for a tree stump.

Shadows under her eyes, Nellie Duncan gives wane smiles to all that she meets. Her golden-seeming hammer glimmers in the sunlight from where it is strapped to her back by a knotted black sash, leaving her hands free to help with the tasks of preparing for the celebration.

"They'll never understand the beauty of mage-light. They'll only fear magic's bite, just as any bit by a dog fear them forevermore."

~: Arvellon Talmin, the "Eyes and Ears" of the Haven Chronicle strode beside Alinar. He'd come to chronicle the events as usual, especially given what had occurred recently for the folks of Brennondale. Bundled in his dark robes he walked with the taller Elf, eyes on the tavern.

"And time is so fleeting for them..a pity. Tell me, Alinar, would you be willing to give some words for the Chronicle? I'm writing a piece about the latest trials and tribulations, and I'd like words from those who combatted it directly. Your drink of choice will be on me should you accept."

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Rothek's help was greatly appreciated by the townsfolk. None here referred to him in any way short of a man, nay, a hero. No prejudices or harsh words to endure. A few even asked him how he and his tribe were doing as they worked to prepare for the night's proclivities.

Later into the setup a Beastman, his body looking like a bipedal crocodile with a leather bush hat helps Rothek with a large crate of assorted vegetables. He looks up and let's out a whoop of success as if he's just won a titanic pot in a game of cards, almost dropping the box in the process. With a thick accent he speaks, rather excitedly as well with teeth clicking against one another.

"Well ain't this just ace! G'day to ya sir! Names Snarl! Snarl Strongjaw! And if I'm not mistaken you're Rothek, am I right? Howling Fang tribe leader? I have a proposition for ya, if'n you're up for it. Personally I'm just stoked ta meet ya."

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The men handling the caravans of liquor knew not what to make of what had just happened. The wagon driver who had received a goal at the expense of pissing himself out of fear simply looked at the coin stupidly in his hand. He excused himself as Goldslinger's men shrugged and kept unloading wagons as they arrived.

The driver returned a few minutes later, wearing a new pair of unsoiled pants. He also didn't come alone. A group of men who usually frequented the tavern dressed in blue tabards and armed with sword and shield walked with him.

They deployed around the offloading area, intent to protect the incoming product from further intrusion. There was some ribbing and light hassling, the wagon driver chuckling as he stated humorously.

"The magpies of Haven. They're nice enough to pay ya for their trouble!"

The men drank to that as they continued working.

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"You should relax. You look as though sleep has been your greatest enemy for many nights."

Var'Rumsh had approached Nellie as he helped set up tables along Brennondale's main strip. He whistled when he saw her hammer, a broad grin on his face knowing his forge had helped in it's creation.

"It came out even better than I hoped. That hammer's got some luster to it. Excellent work forging it. But you should probably take a breather. Lie down and be rested for the party."

The green Elf bumped her shoulder with his, hoping she'd get the rest she looked to be neglecting.

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On occasion a man is seen walking to and fro, observing the various preparations and going-ons. His dark garb embroidered with silver and amethyst. A vambrace of similar color upon his left forearm. He helped where he could but for the most part was content to silently watch.

Setup was nearing completion as the sun began to drop. The fires were lit and the smells of a dozen different meals wafted through the air. Sir Reginald (the large) had set up behind a table, his comparatively small hands adding various ingredients to the boiling contents of a large stew pot.

Tannalys's bakery had cooked several loaves of various types of bread for the occasion. They were also debuting a new product called "battle bread." Apparently it had been baking when strange creatures had knocked down the front door of her establishment. She and her bakers had fended them off. Meanwhile the bread had been infused with all sorts of magical craziness released during the fight. She's rather sure it will become a hit.

Yes, this would be an excellent festival indeed. :~

“I would be happy to contribute, Arvellon. Twilight approaches, and this would be a fine method of whiling away the coming frenzy.”

After a bit of rest under the tree, Rothek joined the others speaking with those working, answering their questions, helping where he could, and overall actually enjoying the conversations he had. It was rare occasion to be able to speak with human’s much less enjoy it.
“ … from what I have been told the battle was quite fierce, the wowl came charging down a hill and directly toward the gate Roscarr and his sept were helping to guard. I’m told by one of the dwarves that was with them that when the great beast brought its claw down in an attempt to crush him, he ran up the damn things arm and drove his axe into its head! That’s my son!!” he said proudly with a triumphant bark.
Looking into a large crate Rothek chuffs, “erff, vegetables, never had a taste for them however they are a helluva lot better than bugs and leaves” as Rothek begins to lift the crate its more difficult than he thought it would be and he struggles a bit more with the parcel than a younger beastman would’ve, after snarl had helped him Rothek turned his full attention to toward the excited Strongjaw

“I am Rothek Howlingfang. Well met Snarl, so a proposition huh? What is it?”
Rothek barely caught what he was asking through the thick accent and his teeth snapping and he had to think for a second on what the word “proposition” but then remembered having heard Korrigan use the term before. he tried to hide the fact that he hadn’t a clue what it meant to be “stoked” however judging from snarls reaction to their meeting he gathered it had something to do with excitement.

"I heard that!"

Despite the angry words and tone, she didn't appear to be intent on exacting due revenge for the slight on her character, rather intent on working through a mug of the dark cider as quickly as possible. With a beak, that was an interesting challenge indeed.