8. Festivity

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1335 DR, somewhere near the town of Secomber

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The songs and laughter that always accompanied Greengrass' celebrations had resounded in the air all day long. It was a very heartfelt anniversary for the peasant communities; almost all the farmers of western Faerûn worshiped Chauntea, the goddess of nature, of life, of the fertility of the earth. And not only those of the earth…

One of the pleasant side effects of being devoted to Chauntea was the somewhat lax morality when it came to mating. Sure, marriage existed in almost every society in Faerûn, and indeed many people would have called themselves monogamous without batting an eye… but it was still comforting to know that your goddess didn't think badly of you just in case.

Specifically at the Greengrass party. There was a moment, one day a year, when people needed to let themselves go to excess, have fun, celebrate the generosity of nature. The elves lived that moment in Midsummer, the human peasants in Greengrass, in the spring. During the day, the celebrating communities could remember normal village festivals, with just some little explicit reference to fertility, but when sunset fell and the children went to sleep, the music took on other rhythms, other harmonies. Large bonfires punctuated the dark and cool night air, in semi-darkness people seeked each other in the dance, in the frenzy of love. Greengrass' clandestine lovers didn't always lay in the bushes with the same person they were supposed to wake up with the next morning. If babies were born nine months later, they were considered lucky and no one questioned their paternity: they were a blessing from Chauntea.

Another peculiarity of the holiday was that no one was ever turned away, unless they were monsters or people with obvious evil intentions. The meaning of the Greengrass festival was to celebrate the joy of being alive, to pray for the goddess to give a new boost to the wheel of life, but also to remember that all natural creatures were children of the earth and were equally well liked by the goddess.

One of those natural creatures was taking its steps towards the joyful confusion of a partying inn. Both the courtyard inside the walls and the gently sloping lawn in front of the inn were crowded with people, especially humans dressed in dull colors but with ruddy and happy faces.

Dùghall plucked the strings of his violin, which trembled under his touch as he trembled with impatience. The traveler considered himself a true party expert, indeed, he thought he could be the soul of any party, which could not be the same without him. With his supernatural power he knew how to get people to dance in ecstasy for hours, even dragging an entire village into endless revelry. But he liked it more when humans were already in the mood to celebrate. They were able to have fun without their thoughts being soiled by the unconscious sense of guilt, their dance was freer. When he reached the first little groups, someone gave him a tipsy and cheerful greeting, but most people ignored him, continuing to dance or entertain each other.

Dùghall was not a bad person, the problem is that technically he was not a person. He was a dusk dancer, a fey who had only a superficial resemblance to humans. Tall and thin, with dark skin and silky black hair, he could almost look like a normal person. It was his eyes that betrayed him: they were completely black, without irises or sclera, yet there was nothing frightening about them because they shone with enthusiasm and joy, reflecting every color like mirrors. At first glance it might seem that a rainbow sheen always hovered around those eyes.

If his exotic appearance weren't enough, as soon as Dùghall opened his mouth no one could doubt that he was…

"Are you crazy?" snapped a peasant, whom Dughall had interrupted just as he was kissing a girl. "Do you think she could be my daughter? Did you take me for a pervert? "

Dùghall understood that he must have insulted the human in some way, but he did not know how. He knew nothing of the concept of incest, but he sensed that he had just broken through a cultural taboo. He smiled, intrigued. Humans and their culture were so interesting. Someone like him, a dusk dancer, was naturally attracted to structured social organizations: cities, villages, clans, families, everything related to a community regulated by written or implicit laws. Faeries had much looser rules, so for Dùghall it was all new.

He apologized to the farmer, but he was no longer listening to him now, much more interested in the young woman in his arms.

Dùghall moved towards the inn where most of the people seemed to have gathered. He was trembling with the desire to play his violin, to combine his music with that played by increasingly drunk humans. It would turn that village party into a whirlwind of ecstasy that would be remembered for decades.

As soon as he reached the inn's large courtyard, he raised his bow and placed it on the taut strings of the violin, ripping out a soft sound even with that light caress. Suddenly, without any gradual transition, he began to slide the bow back and forth. His movements may have seemed frantic but in reality they were precise, his passion was controlled fire. The bow rubbed hard on the strings at different heights as his fingers danced on that part of the neck conveniently called the fingerboard. The way in which he tormented the instrument had nothing to do with the elegant idea of the player touching the strings, Dùghall tore melodies from his instrument with the energy and abandon of those looking for an intercourse. His music seemed to reflect that impetuousness: enthralling like the current of a river, involving, it was going to make certain strings resonate even in the human soul. Everyone around him began to move to the rhythm, then to dance as they usually did, but with increasing frenzy… and after a few minutes the dance had turned into a wild whirlwind of jumps and pirouettes and hugs, people were tugging and they supported each other as if it were unthinkable and blasphemous to allow someone to stop. Fun and joy seemed to emanate from each person and resonate with the emotions of the others, turning the entire party area into a giant bubble of frenzy and hilarity. Some people burst out laughing for no reason, others grabbed even people they had decades-old bad moods with and together they leaped into a wild dance. Dùghall was letting himself be infected by the climate of joy that he himself had led to excess; the happiness spilling from the people around him made him even happier, and not just because he was proud of his job. He liked to bring joy, it made him feel part of that society he didn't really understand.

People whirled around him and the dusk dancer moved with them, he couldn't stop playing but his legs imitated the dance steps he had just seen humans do; he couldn't free his hands to take someone in his arms but often he intertwined his gaze with that of some girl or some young man and for a few moments they danced one in front of the other as if it were an ancient courtship dance. Then those moments passed and the people around him returned to being a single entity, chaotic and multifaceted.

Until he saw her.

The only person who really seemed out of tune among those peasants. They weren't really all humans, there were also some little ones - halflings, Dùghall had heard them called that - but she was different from everyone: thinner than humans but not as ethereal as a fairy, slim but not androgynous like some elven women he had seen, her hair was white as snow, her smooth skin was even darker than Dughall's. The dusk dancer had never seen anyone with a more exotic appearance than him, apart from a few other members of the fairy people. Certainly no one among humans.

The woman was dancing with the same enthusiasm and abandon as the others, but when by chance they came face to face she slowed down her movements and winked at him. It was only for a moment, then she disappeared into the crowd, but that gesture meant a lot: Dùghall understood that she was not under his spell like the others. The woman could stop at any moment, she just didn't want to. On the contrary, from the complicit smile she had given him it seemed as if she were thanking him for his music and for the sudden acceleration he had given to the party. A thought crossed the bard's mind like a gust of wind, out of control: she was allowing him to envelop humans in his spell. She understood that he meant no harm, that he just wanted to be part of the celebration.

Dùghall almost lost the rhythm of his music for a moment and the violin vibrated like an uncontrolled chariot, as if it were protesting that loss of attention. He caught up with the melody in a blink, he was a skilled player after all, but now he was no longer involved as before with the party and the crowd. All he could think about was that he wanted to find the charming woman before dawn, and honor the goddess of life with her.