The celebration was held the next day. Tables were brought out from the Lake Caldera and filled with bread and fish. Most of the civilians in the city helped cook, which was the only reason this many people could get fed with only a day's preparation. None of the tables were uniform, and not all of them were even tables. Tristan saw work benches from smithies, supply crates, and even a squared boat that had been flipped over.
While the food was limited mostly fish, bread, and a few different dishes made with corn, the drink menu was much larger. Tristan was surprised at how many different things could be fermented. He saw Olfred bragging about how he had managed to make a barrel of the stuff out of some kind of lake plant. People milled about, quiet at first, while the mourning was still in effect, but increasingly boisterous as the level of intoxication grew.
Parties were a new concept for Tristan. He had been to aristocratic parties, where everyone was well dressed and dignified. Grace had made him cinnamon rolls for his birthday and the miners had all been excited about that. Neither experience prepared him for the drunken free for all that a victory celebration was.
In hindsight the idea that people would get drunk to forget the bloody few days that had preceded. Tristan had attempted to follow their example, just to see what it was like, but Luke snagged the cup out of his hands.
“No, never take anything that alters your mind,” Luke shook his head.
Tristan frowned, “There aren’t any threats that can take advantage of it.”
“Threats that you see coming aren’t truly threats, they are challenges that you failed to prepare for,” Luke raised an eyebrow, “Also you can’t tell me that a drunk tier four is a good idea.”
Tristan almost pointed out the Lord of the Underworld, but it actually proved Luke’s point. The original plan to deal with it would have worked, dumping gallium into a mine shaft that the elemental lord could not escape. It got out of hand when Regis unexpectedly showed up and melted his way through. Unexpected threats lead to danger.
Tristan felt a bit odd about taking social advice from Luke. He was as social as a pack of wolves. Still, he was right. Tristan’s reputation had improved over the last few years. Despite all he had done, it would only take one dumb decision for people to go back to complaining about the silver devil.
Sighing he dumped the contents of the mug into the nearest fire pit. The cook who was roasting some kind of kebab, swore at Tristan when the flames grew from the alcohol burning. Tristan ignored him, staring at the fire, it did give him some ideas.
“So if we can’t drink, what will we do?” Tristan asked, hoping Luke had some kind of answer.
Luke shrugged and patted his pet on the head, “I am going to stuff myself, then I am going to stuff Fluffy, and then I am going to get some sleep.”
Tristan nodded, “I have a better idea, do you have any Epsom salts, any scribe’s mordant, and know where a glass shop is?”
“I have no idea what you just said,” Luke said, “Are you sure you haven’t been drinking.”
Tristan rolled his eyes, “No I haven’t, just trust me. I started reading up on fire and some of the warriors with fire kerns mentioned some interesting things that could be done with those substances.”
“So it might blow up,” Luke waited for Tristan to nod then smiled, “Then I’m in.”
The first thing they needed to do was to get permission. Eve would not like her first day as overlord to be messed up by him throwing fireballs over most of her citizens. That and he was not sure he could survive Commander Blacklake. Poisons were the easiest way to permanently take Tristan down, and Blacklake was the best poison user that he knew of.
They weaved their way through the mass of people. It was easy, as most people remembered them and stepped out of the way. Being in the last group of the rewards ceremony had its perks. The few leaders of the Caldera were not tightly bunched together like he was used to seeing them. Instead, they had divided into three loose sections.
There were two living guiders who were surrounded by acolytes, though many normal people approached and greeted them. The army was surrounding Siren and Commander Blacklake, who was doing his best to keep the Caldera’s best fighter from making any promises. Most of the aristocrats were surrounding Eve. In a previous time that might have scared the common man off, but all these aristocrats had sweated, bled, and died just like everyone else. It built a bridge that made them vastly more approachable, and more congenial to be approached.
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Tristan had assumed these groups would be cellular in nature. He was wrong. Just about everyone served or had family who served in the army. Most everyone went to the temple. Everyone was under Eve’s leadership. It led to a more relaxed gathering than what it might have ordinarily been.
Shouldering his way through, Tristan made his way to Blacklake. The man was sitting in a chair, crutches leaning up against its arm with a frown on his face. True to form the battle hungry warriors were asking for pointers from Siren and the man was giving them. This was likely the oddest political figure that Blacklake had ever advised.
Tristan listened in while walking up. A warrior with a war pick and a shield demonstrated a motion. Siren nodded, making a black duplicate of the equipment, getting appreciative murmuring at the display.
“Yes, that works if whatever you're hitting is also tier three. If you want to to kill things at a higher tier you need to take some risks and plan ahead, remember they should be half again better than you in every way,” Siren demonstrated an ankle sweep. It was a less debilitating strike than the head overhead strike the warrior used, but also one that was far harder to block.
Tristan nodded at that. When fighting something stronger, especially as a group, he had found it prudent to disable an enemy’s mobility first. Basic stuff that the warrior most likely knew already from a life on the ramparts.
Within a few moments, they were past the two training men and at Blacklake. He looked up and squinted at them, “You don’t want pointers to?”
“I have already fought him a few times, though it was before he got his force,” Tristan said, “No, I wanted to know if it was alright to put on a show.”
Tristan explained what he wanted to do. Blacklake thought about it for a few moments before nodding, “Under one condition, if it's a success, Eve sponsored it. If it's a failure, you get punished.”
That did not seem quite fair. However, no one ever accused Blacklake of being fair. However, Tristan had little choice if he wanted to make the display he had planned. There were probably other ways to fill the night with fire and not make a panic, but Tristan couldn’t think of one. Vulcan was close to being healed, but the small amount of flames that needed to be ejected would still light up the sky like a second sun. He glanced to the east, a third sun.
“I can work with that,” Tristan nodded.
Blacklake nodded, “Don’t start before midnight, I need to warn the people.”
That was why Tristan had approached Blacklake in the first place. They left the commander to prepare while Tristan went to source the supplies. Each one burned a different color when burned, white, green, and purple. He was not sure if it would work how he was imagining, but even if the flames were simply yellow and red, it should still be a spectacle.
Epsom salts were the easiest to come by. Many wealthy people used them in their bath water. A few questions had them hauling a bag of the stuff from the local supplier. Evidently, it was pulled from the ground in the Stone Caldera. The mordant was less accessible. It was used to help keep ink from running on parchment, but large amounts were unneeded for the profession. The small amount removed from the lake would only turn the fire green for a few minutes. Finally, the material from the glass shop assisted with the product's clearness, Tristan had no name for it. Thankfully it was used in high enough quantities that he and Luke could take a sizable amount.
They hauled all the supplies to the top of the wall were a few confused guards watched them. Tristan had assumed the city was left unguarded, but not everyone had the night off. Well from here they would have the best view, so they had gotten lucky in a way.
“So what do we do now,” Luke asked.
Tristan had gotten everything a bit faster than he had anticipated. He had a habit of arriving early to events he planned out, “I think we need to wait an hour or two.”
Luke sighed dramatically, “Fine, wake me when the light show starts.”
While Luke took a nap Tristan leaned over the battlement and looked down on the throngs of people. Every so often a few would look up at him. More and more did this as time moved on, letting Tristan know that Blacklake had spread the word. When the moon was overhead Tristan nudged Luke.
“Could you shoot off some lightning,” Tristan asked.
Luke blinked slowly at Tristan, uncomprehendingly. Tristan did not wait, he reached into the bag of Epsom salts and squeezed. There was little water vapor in the bag, stopping it from clumping. He was still able to use his infusion alloy as a bridge to shovel as much fire essence into the salt as possible. It started to glow like the sun, Tristan only had a second or two before he lost control of the construct. So he threw it as hard as he could.
BOOM!
A white ball of flames expanded in the sky. It was big and bright and loud. It was everything Tristan needed. He scooped up a handful of copper solution from the glass shop and threw it. This one exploded in a ball of blue light. Several people in the crowd cheered as the white, green, and blue lights lit the sky for a good half hour. Luke even joined in and threw a few lightning bolts.
They had quite a bit of fun with it, but eventually, Tristan felt the fire essence hit the level he needed. The low recovery rate that Vulcan possessed meant that he was almost completely out of essence. Tristan was not sure how that would affect the soul tool, but he used his most gentle voice to communicate.
“Hey, you awake,” Tristan asked.
He felt something akin to a man waking from a deep sleep. Vulcan was not rested, and he was still hurt, but he was conscious. The voice sent over the mental link was exhausted, but frantic.
“Run, get out of the Caldera. Or you will die.”
Tristan blinked, unsure how to take that. They had just won, the war was over. Then from the east, a pillar of fire stretched from the ground to the sky, curling upon itself like a massive mushroom. The shockwave hit a handful of seconds later, destroying every window in the Lake Caldera.