Morrowind is owned by Bethesda Softworks. The awesome Bethesda appears to be attempting to outdo itself once again with Oblivion. -D

Masaline ushered them gleefully into the deserted Guild-hall. Winterbell was still not terribly happy about being coerced into this excursion, and she walked behind the younger mages with her hands clasped behind her back.
"All work and no play..." Marayan reminded her. Winterbell merely raised an eyebrow at him.

Masaline herded everyone onto the transportation platform. The Breton was practically bouncing with excitement, her big blue eyes sparkling. Winterbell scowled, but she had to work at it, for the cheeriness of the group was infectious. Ajira put one of her paws on Winterbell's shoulder,
"I want to talk to you about someth-" the rest of her words were drowned out in the whoosh of magicka.

The Vivec Mage's Guild was, for once, deserted. The group strode quickly though the eerily silent complex. Galbedir's husband seemed to cheer up a bit, and Winterbell realized that he mustn't have been keen on guild-style travel. He talked to Marayan quite knowledgeably about armour, and was probably relieved to find someone among the mages with even a passing interest in his profession.

Winterbell turned to Ajira to ask her what she had tried to say earlier when Estirdalin pushed open the front door of the guild.

The noise was indescribable. Hundreds of voices in half a dozen languages were raised in celebration. The official lanterns had been extinguished, and everything was lit by ash-lanterns. Bards sang at the top of their voices, people danced, little children feel asleep on the shoulders of their parents, and the ordinators glowered menacingly from the perimeters, unable to join in the fun.

The mages pushed their way out of the Foreign Quarter Plaza; no mean feat, since it seemed half of Vvardenfell was trying to get in. They found themselves out in the cold night air, amongst a crowd only marginally less dense than the one inside. The chilly night was fended off by hundreds of lanterns strung between the cantons and by bonfires lit presumably illegally, since the ordinators were doing their best to put them out.

"Where shall we go?" Marayan hollered over the background noise. The mages huddled to make the decision.
"There are plays at the Hlaalu canton, and a display at the arena. We could go to the Temple canton; the Ministry of Truth will be all lit up" Estirdalen rattled off a list of destinations.
"The display will be over soon, people will be dancing in the arena." Galbedir put in.
"Look!" someone shrieked from the crowd. There was a wave of excitement as heads turned. From out of the darkness, glowing shapes approached the city.

People rushed to the edge of the walkways, leaning over the handrail to get a better view. Word had spread fast, and the crowd thickened. Winterbell snarled as she was jostled into Masaline, who in turn nearly trod on Ajira's tail.
"They're netches!" A keen-eyed High Elf called, "Glowing netches!"

Whoever had organised the event, they'd done well. An illusionist and a netch herder had been assigned to each of the huge animals. The netches didn't seem to mind having light cast on them as they drifted lazily ever closer. A wave of applause swept the crowd as the herders and mages climbed into gondolas waiting by the shore, and started guiding the beasts between the cantons.

Winterbell craned her neck, but couldn't see much over the heads of the crowd. Somewhere someone swore at an ordinator, telling him to take his helmet off. Winterbell felt a tug at her robe, and looked down into Ajira's bright eyes,
"Ajira knows friend Winterbell has been busy lately. Friend Winterbell is now a Warlock, correct?"
Winterbell nodded curiously, wondering what this had to do with anything.
"Now that Winterbell is more powerful, Ajira shares some secrets with her friend Winterbell." The Kaijit lowered her voice even more, and Winterbell bent her head to hear what she had to say. "There is an item of great power that has been lost for hundreds of years. Ajira believes she knows where that item is. It is held in unworthy hands, those of necromancer in a cave on Mount Kand. Ajira hears these things though the escape routes. Necromancers go though a lot of slaves." She added darkly. "I do not want Winterbell to die, but if Winterbell could defeat these evil mages, a good deed will be done." Ajira shot Winterbell a knowing look, and turned her attention back to the parade. Winterbell filed away the information thoughtfully.

Winterbell wasn't too disappointed that she didn't see much of the display. She could have created a reasonable replica of the scene any night of the week, had she been so inclined. Instead she leant against the wall of the canton and eyed the crowd. The netches had provoked more applause and a lot of conversation.

Winterbell looked up at the stars partly obscured by smoke and wondered if she could sneak back to Balmora and bed without anyone noticing. She yawned and shifted against the wall when Marayan materialized out of the crowd next to her, his eyes slitted in fury and his jaw clenched. Winterbell raised her eyebrows in surprise,
"What's wrong with you?"
"Here, read this." He growled, shoving a piece of parchment into her hands. He held up his lantern so Winterbell could examine the document.

PeoplE of MORROWIND: For TOO LONG has the EMPIRE stolen Our Ebony and OUR PRIDE! The Wretched OUTLANDER despoils Our LAnd and steals Our Women. He is Cnning and DISHONEST. Did not the Feared BLIGHT strike the Good People of VVARDENFELL after the Imperial TYRANT set his Iron-clad feet on Our Shore? See how he practices VILE NECROMANCY and despoils the Tombs of Our Ancestors! How the IMPERIAL Cult leads Us from the TRUE FAITH and the Temple! STRIKE OFF THE IMPERIAL SHACKLES AND TAKE BACK OUR LAND OUR PRIDE!

"Well the punctuation is terrible." Winterbell remarked, turning over the paper to see if anything was written on the back. Marayan snatched the parchment back and glared at it,
"This is an incitement to fight the Empire. This could lead to civil war!"
"We've had Dagoth Ur gloating from Red Mountain for years, why should this suddenly incite your rage? Vvardenfell has never been the safest of places."
"Vedam was right." Marayan muttered distractedly, "This is getting out of hand. No, it was already out of hand. I can't believe he would do this." He hissed.
"Who?" Winterbell asked, wondering how she was going to calm the irate Dunmer down before the others rejoined them. Marayan's anger seemed to dissipate, and he rubbed his palm across his forehead in worry.
"Look," Winterbell said reasonably, "A bunch of crazies are handing out pamphlets. It's not the end of the world. The others are coming, so if you want to discuss this later that's fine, but we're supposed to be enjoying ourselves."
Marayan looked at her, "Yes, you're probably right. It's just...all right, I'll explain later." He forced a rather sickly looking smile as the others showed up. Winterbell kept an eye on him, but none of the others seemed to notice or comment on the pamphlets.

The group drifted aimlessly, sampling the holiday foods on sale in the streets. Winterbell bought a fried corkbulb, but declared it too salty. Estirdalin was more than happy to finish it for her. Galbedir's husband, whose name Winterbell discovered was Meldor, bought what he thought were sugared bits of ash-yam. They turned out to be crystallized kawana cuttle which were duly shared around. Ajira said quietly that she was glad some foods only appeared once a year.

They were too late to catch an entire play, but a street theatre was putting on a performance of The Three-Legged Guar. Curio's latest play, it was rumoured, was even bawdier, but you had to pay to see it. Winterbell muttered that if she'd been left alone she could have finished reading the play by now. But she said it quietly, and looked a bit shamefaced when Marayan caught her eye.

"Necromancers!" A rather inebriated priest heckled the group of mages near the Redoran canton, "Malefactors! Blasphemers all!" Marayan shoved some gold into his hand muttering,
"A donation for the Temple." That seemed to satisfy the priest, who reeled off in search of more drink. Galbedir gave a wry smile and suggested that it would be a good world if all sins were forgiven as easily. There were grim smiles at this remark, and Masaline chewed her lip at the suddenly funeral atmosphere.

"I know;" she declared eagerly, "let's go dancing at the Arena."

None of the other mages were as eager, but the all ended up winding their way through the crowd for lack of any better suggestion. The doors to the arena pit had been flung open, and musicians and dancers from all over the city and even further afield had gathered.

An Imperial woman with an impressive vocal range was inviting married couples to take to the floor. Meldor bowed graciously to his wife, and the pair stepped down from the stands. A youth with a lute was trying to catch Masaline's eye, and the Breton was giggling with embarrassment; Ajira and Estirdalin on either side of her trying to give advice.

With the others distracted, Winterbell asked Marayan about the pamphlet.
"When I visited Vedam last summer, he wanted to talk to me about Orvas. Apparently he is becoming more vocal and extreme in his views about the Empire. I thought it was just Vedam overreacting as usual, but now I'm not so sure. I've been acting as a go-between, trying to get them to be nice to each other. Orvas's letters have been...strange. He goes on these odd tangents about the Empire; I think he's trying to convert me."
"You think he wrote that pamphlet?"
"No. But I think he talked to the person who did. 'The Imperial tyrant's iron-clad feet' is a favourite phrase of my brother's now. It...shocked me to see it in that context. It's one thing to argue for more trading rights in the council, it's another to incite innocent people to riot."
So this is what Aryon meant, Winterbell thought. Out loud she said,
"Do you think people will take any notice?"
"Not tonight. But they'll remember. They'll remember next time they pay their taxes, or next time the price of bread goes up, or next time they hear of someone catching the blight." Marayan turned his troubled gaze to Winterbell, "I am scared of just how far my brothers may go."
Winterbell rested her hand on his shoulder, "I cannot begin to see a solution to this. But if there's anything I can do," he smiled at her. "Anyone I can kill." She added cheerfully.
"Don't make jokes like that; I can never tell if they are jokes or not." He did, however, seem a bit more cheerful.

Galbedir and Meldor rejoined the group in time to see the youth stammeringly ask Masaline if she'd like to dance. Estirdalen grinned at the pair and the Imperial woman on stage called for all 'young and free folk' to dance.
"You don't have a husband tucked away somewhere do you?" Marayan asked Winterbell suddenly.
Winterbell blinked at him, "No." she answered with a bemused expression. Marayan took a deep breath and seized Winterbell's elbow, muttering,
"Pleasegrantthissoularequest." and practically frogmarched her onto the sands of the arena.
"Dren!" She protested, "I can't dance. I'm not young-oh good grief. You used those bloody words didn't you?"
"Yes." He looked rather guilty, but didn't let go.
"Fine." She narrowed her eyes, "Prepare to get your toes trodden on."

Like all of noble birth, Marayan had been taught how to dance, and to Winterbell's faint disappointment, she didn't tread on his toes once. Winterbell wasn't quite the oldest person dancing; she caught a glimpse of Crassius Curio leading his own kind of dance while declaring,
"I'm young and free darling!" and unbalancing people trying to follow the music.
Winterbell sniggered, Telvanni councillors may be crazier, but at least they don't advertise it.
Marayan smiled at her, "And I thought all those afternoons were wasted."
"I take it they made you learn to dance."
"Yes. And now I'm grateful for it." He grinned impishly, "Because you don't have a clue!"
Winterbell made another attempt to stomp on his foot.

When the music ended Estirdalen suggested they go to the Temple canton, but her heart wasn't in it. Tired, and with heads buzzing from the noise, the group decided to head home. Masaline said she would stay in Vivec and go back to her apartment, she sent the others back to Balmora right there on the Arena balcony.

Yawning and blinking, they exited the Guildhall. The celebrations in Balmora were continuing, but were far more subdued. Estirdalin wished Sharn a happy new year wherever she was, and thanked everyone for coming. Then the group wandered around, dropping people off at their various abodes.

By the time Winterbell and Maryan waved Estirdalen off at the Southwall, the Eastern sky was paling in the false dawn.
"It wasn't too bad, was it?" Marayan asked, "I know you didn't want to go."
"It was all right." Winterbell said through a yawn. "I'm gonna need a week's sleep to recover though."
"That's generally the way it happens on the Night of All Souls."
Winterbell climbed sleepily up the stairs to her door.
"That reminds me," Marayan looked up at her, "you didn't get your request."
"I probably would have requested the wrong thing." Winterbell fished in her pocket for her key.
"Maybe." Marayan turned to go.
"Wait! Grant this soul a request."
He spread his hands, as if to say 'anything'. Winterbell gave a tired smile,
"Try and talk me into going out again next year."
A slow grin spread across his face, "You have my word!"

It was not until she finally tumbled into bed that Winterbell realised with a stab of disappointment; the odds of there being a next year were very slim indeed.

A/N: The game of Morrowind doesn't mention much about holidays and the like, so I've taken a few liberties here. Since Vvardenfell is a fairly pastoral society their holidays would likely be based around the summer and winter solstices. It was a tradition in medieval Europe to put out all the fires on the longest night of the year, a kind of show of faith that spring would once again return. I've taken a few liberties with that as well.

All of which doesn't have a lot to do with the Tribunal. Remember, however, that the gods of Morrowind were once men, and although it's not made clear (as far as I can recall) how long ago it was that Vivec and Sortha Sil enacted their drama, I'd imagine these seasonal celebrations date back before that time. The Temple, I'm assuming, has appropriated these older customs into their canon, however uneasily they fit.

I could ramble on all day about how religious the people of Vvardenfell may or may not have been, but in the interests of brevity I'll leave it there. - D