Evelyn-Greengrass
Only the best flowers were good enough for Evelyn, she'd kneel and examine them for far too long before deciding whether it should be picked or not. And Brighton was running out of patience.
"Just pick it already? We don't have all day," he tapped his foot in the grass a big bundle of flowers in his own hands.
"But the bugs have eaten some of them. They don't want ones that have bugs," she clutched her own, much smaller, bundle.
"If you examine every flower in the garden spring will be here before we even get to the celebration." He stormed over, pulled up the flower she was examining and stuck it with the rest of his.
"Lathander won't bring spring this early," Evelyn argued, pouting now, she'd almost been ready to pick that one.
"Lathander doesn't bring spring, Lathander brings the dawn. Obviously."
Evelyn blinked at him. "Oh."
He heaved a longsuffering sigh and grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the flower garden. "C'mon stupid. We've got enough. They've already got the stall in town set up anyway."
Evelyn wanted to pick more, but she knew she and Brighton were the ones putting ribbons on every single flower so she decided they had enough also and let him drag her back to the house.
The ribbons were already waiting when they arrived, the servants had picked all her favorite colors and, though she was terrible with knots she got excited at seeing them. Brighton had to teach her to tie the knots properly three times before she got the hang of them herself.
"Are you kids ready?" Evelyn heard her mom ask just as Evelyn carefully tied the last knot. She had two things in her hands and Evelyn squealed when she saw them. Her wooden sword was elegantly laced with flowers, both real and painted. She rushed over and grabbed it. Brighton wasn't as excited, his own toy weapon also covered in flowers, but he didn't say anything about the girly traditions of spring.
Their mother ushered them out to the carriage, flower bundles in hand, even the carriage was bedecked with flowers of all kinds. Though none of them were painted as they would only last until the end of Greengrass. Evelyn bounced with excitement the whole ride into town, she had all the prettiest flowers and everyone would be so happy to get them.
As Brighton had expected their stall had been set up before they even got there, absolutely covered in flowers all tied with a rainbow of ribbons. But Evelyn's flowers were better, she was sure of it. So when their mom freed them to go she had a bright smile on her face as she presented the common people of the town with their own flower. And though to each, she said the same phrase there was no lack of security in a single repeat.
"Happy Spring!"
Strix-Highharvestide
Strix hadn't been this rushed since that one guy had chased her around in the hive. She went from one side of the kitchen to the other like some kind of crazed madman, shouting about anything and everything that came to mind. The other tiefling children were busy with their baking, but she would often push them aside to pay special attention to this pie or that donut for just a few seconds before rushing off to another one.
They were all used to this behavior from her by now. Even Imbris knew better than to try to prevent Strix from her frantic baking, it wouldn't work and it would just waste more time. She could, however, distract her for fifteen minutes to give the poor girl a chance to breathe. "Strix, come here please."
Strix shrieked and dropped a plate of cookies in fright at the sound of her name. "I didn't do it!"
"I only asked you to come over here. I need your help with something."
"What is it?" Strix didn't pick up the cookies, instead walking over them to Imbris her small frame shaking with anxiety and pent-up energy. Another kid rolled his eyes and picked up the cookies for her, examining them for anything that could give him an excuse to eat them himself rather than put them back on the serving plate.
"We're running low on flower again. Do you think you can run over and get some?" Imbris asked, handing her a small amount of jink. Strix may not understand money, but if Imbris gave her the exact amount she needed she knew how to spend it.
"Okay," Strix took the bag and ran out of the shop.
The decorations for Highharvestide were up in the street, strange things that didn't match covered every window she could see. There were things Strix appreciated, like bats and rats and weird symbols, but some shops had weird things like a giant decorated tree or a bunny surrounded by eggs. Some shops had a mixture of everything. One she saw earlier that week when Imbris had sent her out for flour had a razorvine bush trimmed in the shape of Sigil, or maybe it was just a big donut, she wasn't sure, it hadn't been very well trimmed. She wasn't the only one rushing around either. Everyone in town was running around with various food or foodlike things in their arms. She even thought she saw a hag with a moving bag, but she hid too fast to be sure. The Highharvestide feast was tomorrow so everyone was making their last-minute preparations, not just Imbris.
She made it to the granary and gave the harried man there the bag, he had to stop her on the way out to actually return Imbris' purse to her, but she left with a big bag of flower and an idea for how to decorate her next batch of cupcakes. She'd draw Sigil on top of them, just like the razorvine bush. Or maybe just a doughnut, Imbris wouldn't want her spending too much time on them.
Strix plopped the big bag of flower down just outside the bakery door, breathing heavily at the exercise, and looked around. Looking at all the new decorations since she'd last emerged from the bakery. The people across the street had made a weird makeshift stain-glass window at some point.
"Hello deary," an old voice came from far to close.
Strix screamed, not looking at where it came from and ran inside, only barely remembering to drag the flour in with her.
Diath-Shieldmeet
Diath appreciated crowds for how easy it was to get lost in them, but at the same time they were so loud and he just wanted to enjoy the festival in peace. He should have known better, Shieldmeet was not a day of peace in Waterdeep. There were people dancing in the streets and stages where wizards showed off their most showy spells. There was a play going on on the other side of town and a jousting tournament in one of the noble's backyards.
Diath had no interest in singing and dancing to loud obnoxious music. Drunken masses tripping over themselves and each other weren't exactly his idea of a quality celebration. He had a much better goal in mind.
Shieldmeet meant one thing and one thing only for Diath. Cheap food. And not just the junk he normally managed to scrounge up with all of the odd jobs he did for coin. No this was good quality food for almost nothing.
The shops and vendors all used Shieldmeet as an excuse to compete with each other. Getting as many customers to try their best quality items to prove they were better than everyone else. And how do you get people to try your food in the poorer districts of Waterdeep? You make it cheap.
Now that was a celebration.
Diath pushed past another drunken idiot his eyes dead set on his favorite vendor. Normally, pies were a luxury he couldn't afford, but on Shieldmeet he'd have two.
"Come one come all! Try your hand and prove your worth! Win fabulous prizes." Game vendors all down the street shouted the same thing at every person who passed by, but one caught Diath's eye. A knife throwing game. He'd never seen one in all the Shieldmeet's he'd frequented. Perhaps because they were dangerous, perhaps because it wasn't a skill most people liked to flaunt, being associated with rogues and thieves. But it was a skill Diath was good at.
The prizes were sub-par, probably not worth as much as it cost to play the game, but Diath wasn't interested in the prizes. He'd learned knife throwing because it was cool, but he never really got a chance to use it. But how cool would it be to show up all the adults watching?
He looked back to the pie vendor, they always ran out of his favorite pie by midday. He still had an hour before they ran out, and the game wouldn't take long. Pay the man and throw one dagger, that's all he needed time for.
Diath pushed his way to the game and paid the man more than the game was worth and the man gave him four daggers. He'd only need one.
He picked up the first one weighing it in his hand. It was poorly balanced, entirely cheap, and wasn't even a throwing dagger, but he'd practiced with worse. Taking careful aim he threw it with a casual flip of his wrist.
It went wide.
He stared at it, annoyed. He could do it so easily when he practiced but the vendor chuckled under his breath at him regardless.
Diath flushed and picked up the next one, no longer showboating. But it too missed it's mark, as did the next. His attention becoming more and more focused with each thrown dagger. He'd practiced so many times, and the target was huge.
He picked up the last knife, pushing everything out but the target. Balancing it too in his hand and ignoring the amused vendor he threw it simple and clean.
Bullseye.
Diath let out a cheer that drew some attention but quickly regained his composure. The vendor congratulated him, still amused and offered him a prize. Diath pointed at some random toy, not really caring about what he won.
Diath rushed away from the game and to his pie stand, his time running short. The pie vendor recognized him immediately.
"The usual?" She asked with a cheery smile on her face. Diath nodded, stowing the toy in one of his pockets. "Here you go, kiddo, last two left." She said handing him two pies in a little bag. Relieved, he paid her and thanked her before leaving with his bag.
As he left the stand he noticed another, younger, kid also taking advantage of the cheap food. Diath had seen him on the street several times, his family was about as poor as could be, and his dad drank pretty heavily.
Diath pulled his prize from his pouch for him. He tossed the other kid the toy, grinning when his face brightened up considerably and made his way away from the crowd with his real prize.
Paultin-Moonfest
"Dad, tell the one about the pirates," Paulin called out the moment his father finished his story and the last note of the mandolin finished its twang. His father laughed his familiar drunken laugh.
"Maybe next time. We only tell true stories on Moonfest." Paultin ducked as his father placed a hand on his head.
"The pirate stories aren't true?" he asked pulling himself onto his father's lap and taking the mandolin. He played a little, slow and careful as he was still learning all the different sounds it could make.
"I'm afraid the pirate story is only true in our heads."
Paultin whined at this and thought back to the story his father had just finished. "So the dragon and the vampire really did get into a fight?"
He opened his mouth to reply when his wife climbed out of her vardo, her hands on her hip and a smile threatening to come out from where it was hiding. "Dragons and vampires. You're supposed to be telling him about his ancestors." She scolded and Paulin played a dramatic tune on the mandolin.
"Well I mean technically…"
"Ancestors have to be dead."
"Again, technically…"
She sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. "You're insufferable, my love. You know that."
He chuckled under his breath and Paultin could smell the alcohol on his breath. He squirmed off his father's lap taking the mandolin with him.
"Hey now. I need that!"
Paultin ran, in a circle around the large fire that chased away as much of the cold as it could. It didn't stop his feet from getting cold, but he was more interested in keeping the instrument from his father than the chilly weather. His mother giggled as she watched them before distracting her husband with a kiss. Paultin used the distraction to hide under the vardo where his father couldn't reach and started playing again. This time a bit more confidently and he only messed up once.
"My son!" his father proclaimed with pride as his mother cheered.
Paultin crawled out from under the vardo, "I did it."
They both congratulated him hardily and his mother promised him extra dessert.
"Our Moonfest feast will be ready in a few minutes, and dear," she paused waiting for her husband to acknowledge her. "Do try to tell him some real stories tonight, okay?"
"Of course, my love. All my stories are real."
"Even the ones that aren't true?" Paultin asked as his father picked him up.
"Especially the ones that aren't true."
"You know what I mean." She replied her smile now on full display as she returned to the vardo. "And don't get too far from the fire. It's the first day of winter don't forget."
"Yes, dear,"
"Okay, Mom."
Paulin made himself comfortable in his father's arms as they turned away from the vardo and looked up into the sky.
"A real story huh," he said mostly to himself. "Paultin do you know why we have that little vampire puppet hidden away?"
Paultin made a face, he hated that thing, it didn't help that his mother insisted he stay as far away from it as he could, as though it had some kind of dangerous magic. He shook his head at his father's question
"Well, let me tell you a real story then. Let me tell you why ancestors should stay dead."
A/N) If you liked this check out my published works at evelynmichellebooks .com or leave a review here. Thanks so much!