The month of Shellan has ended, and with it, winter has finally released its icy grip upon the land. Temperatures have steadily risen within the past week or two, driving out the remainder of the snow that has stubbornly clung to the stone streets’ edges. The chill winds coming in off the surreally-still bay have gained some hint of warmth, though it will be weeks still, perhaps months, before these mild breezes give way to the dense heat of summer.

The calendar of Vale is universally observed throughout all the nations, as the thirteen months are named for aspects that all peoples agree on: The Nine Deities, the material world of Vale, the moons Tryden and Corvega, and the lone sun, Serana. While each region has its own holidays and traditions observed, there are four distinct holidays that are part of the universal calendar. The Spring Equinox, the Summer Solstice, the Fall Equinox, and the Winter Solstice: These four days are observed between calendar months, serving as four unique, extra days specifically for the festivals, each year.

Between the last month of winter, Shellan (named for the deity Anboshel), and the first month of spring, Valafyr (named for the world of Vale itself), is one of these unique holidays: The Spring Equinox. Each festival has its own traditions associated with it; the Spring Equinox is often observed with a festival sponsored by the local governments, where street vendors provide foods of all kinds made with things like eggs and small game, which are prevalent food sources during the early days of spring.

This is all topped off by a plenty of drink, music, and a community dance where it is tradition for those unencumbered by partnership to ask for a dance from someone of interest; for those who are already in a relationship, asking their partner to a dance is supposed to bring good luck for the two throughout the year.

This tradition is prevalent enough throughout Vale that those currently going through relationship troubles are often spoken of as: “Missing one too many dances.”

It is on this evening of the Spring Festival that the six members of the expedition make their way through the marketplace of Tarn’s Rest. Much of the illumination comes from the lanterns hanging from the numerous occupied stalls, strewn between each stand on long stretches of rope, as the last rays of Serana grasp impotently at the horizon, trying without success to prolong the day as the fiery star descends from view.

The smell of various foods cooking fills the dockside with a wonderful mélange of aromas. Most are familiar, at least to Addy, as many of the stall operators come from mainland Kattelox. Though there are several stalls with foods from other countries, as there are people from all different parts of the world here in Tarn’s Rest.

Much to the dismay of General Flint Thorburn, if he knew.

“I’m telling you. The Loxian nobles are up to something shady,” Cashew mumbles through a mouthful of some form of deep fried meatball with an egg in the center of it.

“Nobles? Up to something?” Wren asks sarcastically, snacking on some thin, fried potato sticks. “I’m not sure I can believe something so outlandish.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, fine. But not just like, ‘Up to something.’ Nobles are always paranoid and scheming some bullshit, but this was shady even by normal standards. The beefcake boot-licker fucker, uh–” Cashew pauses, trying to remember the name of the person he is disparaging.

“Flint Thorburn. General of the Kattelox Military, brother to King Fredrik Thorburn,” Addy explains, happily munching on some planks of fried fish smeared with some kind of thick, white condiment that only Demy was brave enough to taste out of the others.

He said it somehow tasted more like old fish than the old fish it was lathered upon.

“–Sure, that,” Cashew mutters, gesturing toward Addy for emphasis. “He was really adamant that nobody foreign be part of the expedition because he was afraid of spies. And he seemed sure that they were going to find something in particular that he didn’t want anyone else to know about.”

“You’re sure you don’t know what they’re talking about, Addy?” Kaz asks, munching on a roasted hock of some kind of large fowl. Demy, happy in his own little world of food and strong ale, has the other leg.

“Nope! It sounds like they expect to find something related to the Monteith here, which isn’t that strange of a bet to hedge on. The entire continent seems to have some kind of anti-life effect over it, which is either some really, really powerful magic or the result of some kind of ancient technology!” Addy explains, unperturbed by everything.

“It doesn’t bother you that they mentioned you like you were some kind of tool to detect machines with? That them losing the entire previous expedition was just kind of whatever as long as you survived and it turned out you were useful?” Wren asks, seeing what Cashew is exasperated about.

“I mean, this is my field of expertise. Felix isn’t wrong, that it would be really hard to find someone with enough knowledge to replace me, compared to someone else. And I would want to be involved if it does end up being related to the Monteith,” Addy says, thinking about why any of this would upset her.

“The others worry that Felix is using you because you’re too nice to recognize their ill intent,” Dahlia explains, finally deciding that she wants to try a piece of the fried fish with the gloop on it that Addy has. Upon tossing it into her wide maw, she determines that it is not nearly as rancid as Demy made it out to be.

“You assume their intent is ill, though. I don’t see why it would be, unless they had reason,” Addy muses, feeding Dahlia another chunk of fried fish, mindful of the Goblin’s tiny sharp teeth and the impact that might have upon Addy’s exposed fingies. “And if they have good reason, it’s not really that ill, is it? Either way, I’m happy to lend my expertise because I want the chance to discover and figure out any new instances of Monteith technology!”

“I wish I was as trusting as you are, Addy,” Wren says with a sigh.

“Tch, not me. We’ll be suspicious enough to even you out, okay?” Cashew says, glancing up at Addy, who just tilts her head in confusion.

“You really don’t need to do that, though. I’m sure Felix has reasons for being secretive,” Addy says.

“We’re just being careful in our own way and making sure we’re all safe–including you,” Kaz says with a smile, which Addy returns with a nod of understanding.

Demy, for the first time, speaks up, “We’re setting out in the morning, right? We should just try to have a good time tonight. We’ll have plenty of time to worry starting tomorrow.”

“Is that positivity I sense?” Cashew asks, squinting up at Demy suspiciously. “Who are you and what have you done to Demy?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“I can be in a good mood sometimes,” Demy argues.

“Literally you can’t,” Cashew argues back. “Pretty sure you’ve gone years without being in a mood that even remotely resembles good.”

“Maybe Demy is just happy that he doesn’t have to be on guard around us constantly,” Dahlia suggests.

“Aww, is someone comfortable with us because we know that he’s secretly just a big, happy pupper?” Wren asks in a saccharine, half-teasing tone as they reach up and pinch Demy’s cheeks.

“Am not!” Demy whines, though if he presently had a tail it would likely give him away due to wagging. “I have meat, ale, and good–adequate company! That’s all!”

“I am comfortable with adequacy,” Dahlia says.

“Adequately friends! Yay!” Addy says loudly as she hugs both Dahlia and Demy–a more lopsided attempt at embrace she could not have partaken of.

While Dahlia seems pleased at this, Demy rolls his eyes and half-jokingly–maybe quarter-jokingly–says, “Whoa there, friends is awfully familiar, isn’t it? We’re acquaintances at best. Probably more like occasional cohorts.”

“Occasional cohorts! Yay!” Addy repeats and hugs tighter.

“We should try to have a good time tonight. Felix wants us to meet up and head out tomorrow morning, so I doubt we’ll be able to kick back like this for a while. Just don’t go overboard,” Kaz says as she gingerly drinks from her mug, which is about half-full with ale. There are a couple stalls set up specifically with various types of ale as well as a few other types of spirits, which she is eyeing up.

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll try to have fun, but certainly not too much, officer,” Cashew says snarkily.

“Fun within prescribed limits,” Kaz reminds him, pointing her finger in his face for added emphasis. “We have work tomorrow.”

The sound of music begins to lilt from the nearby towering tent set up at the edge of the market, just before the ground gives way to the docks. Dozens of people mill about the entrance while the workers finish making sure that the tent is nice and stable. Earlier in the day, the prospect of a closed tent was deemed unnecessary, but the clouds above have begun to gather, ready to let loose the first of many spring rains. The open-air tent is in the process of quickly converting to a closed tent, at the very last minute. Just in case.

“Oh, I can’t wait! I love the spring dance!” Addy exclaims eagerly, already bopping to the rough rhythm of the performers doing their final warm-up. “Dahlia, what about you?”

“What about me?” Dahlia asks, finishing off the remainder of her and Addy’s plates of street food.

“Do you like the spring dance?” Addy repeats.

“I don’t remember ever celebrating it with my parents,” Dahlia admits.

Addy gasps, genuinely shocked at this revelation. “You’ve never done a spring dance?!” She asks incredulously.

“I’ve never danced at all,” Dahlia says, looking at the ground awkwardly.

Addy leans down and hugs her little friend, smiling as she asks, “Well, do you want to? I’ll teach you how! I’m really clumsy, so I bet you’ll be better at me in no time!”

Dahlia seems a little hesitant, but seeing Addy’s smiling face, she finally relents. “Alright, Friend Addy.” She lets Addy grab her hand and lead her toward the tent, which is just now beginning to open up.

“I’ve never met anyone who had a more secluded upbringing than me, even,” Wren muses, watching the two run off.

“So your family did the spring festival?” Demy asks.

“Yeah, my clan did. Clan Eklund. In the Crown, the spring festival is more about making morale in the clan better, than anything romantic,” Wren explains.

“Oh,” Demy replies, sounding a little disappointed.

“That’s… not to say that I don’t think it can’t be romantic,” Wren adds, glancing up at him.

“I was, uh, thinking of asking if–you know, if you wanted to dance,” Demy admits, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“You mean to tell me you know how to dance?” Wren asks with a smirk.

“I’ll have you know I’m a great dancer,” Demy huffs, crossing his arms, though his face flushes a bit. “I always had someone wanting to dance with me back in the Fen.”

“I mean, everyone wants to dance with the dog when one wanders into the tent,” Kaz mutters, leaning over to Cashew. He snorts, almost choking on his drink, and smacks Kaz in the thigh good-naturedly. She chuckles in response.

“Is that so? Well, then,” Wren says, crossing their arms.

“Well, then…?” Demy echoes, confused.

Wren says nothing but raises their eyebrow and nods their head toward the tent, smiling slyly.

After a second, Demy understands. “Oh!” He exclaims, then asks, “Would you, uh, care to dance with me?”

Wren taps their chin, seeming to ponder this for a long few moments before responding, “Nah.”

Cashew and Kaz both crack up at this, while Demy whines and pouts.

“I’m joking! I’d love to dance with you,” Wren admits, hooking their arm around Demy’s. “Let’s go show these bumpkins how to dance.”

Demy, who is pretty certain that both he and Wren count as bumpkins more than the average townsperson here in Tarn’s Rest, decides to roll with it and replies, “Let’s give ‘em a show, Red.”

Cashew and Kaz watch the two strut off toward the tent, which has lit up, the front flaps open and showing the festivities currently going on within: A few different stages with performers upon them, a large circle of people surrounding an area full of all manner of folk, old and young, performing various types of dances. Even from here, they can see Dahlia and Addy taking up a large portion of the dance floor, doing odd flips and rolls and getting cheers from the crowd.

“Well, it’s just us now,” Kaz mutters.

“Yeah. We’re not–” Cashew begins.

“–No, no way,” Kaz answers, pursing her lips as she shakes her head.

“Because that–” Cashew continues.

“–Right, just kinda, eh–” Kaz mumbles.

“–Exactly, just not. Kinda cringe to be honest,” Cashew agrees.

The two stand in awkward silence for a few moments.

“I’m still hungry, honestly,” Kaz admits.

Cashew jumps at the break in the awkwardness, saying, “Yeah! There were some nice alcohol stands set up, too.”

“Bar hop?” Kaz asks, eyebrow raised. “Well, stall hop.”

Cashew gives a thumbs up, “S’roll, sister. Bet I can put more away than you.”

“By Kel’s Beard you can!” Kaz says in defiance, smiling in spite of herself as she and Cashew make their way back to the market stalls as drops of rain begin to fall from the dark sky above.

Spring is here.

It’s time to go.