Sweet Summer Solstice

Mikilos is an adventurer. He is, on occasion, stuck in the depths of a dungeon, lost on an extra dimensional plane, incarcerated in some sort of jail, or on rare occasion, temporally dead. Thus when the wizard pledged to make regular tribute to the Fae Queen of the Wee Ones, it was with the understanding that at times he would be unable to do so. But it was also understand the wizard would act in good faith, to the best of his ability. Thus it is that a small wagon of supplies has been brought to this secluded canyon in the mountains, well away from the refugees sheltered in the woods. Strictly speaking, the wagon of supplies is not tribute for the Queen, but for the Wee Ones themselves, who are less likely to wander if all the interesting stuff if freely offered and close at hand.

However, the Queen did casually mention it would be interesting to meet other Adventurers of Alexandria, which in fae talk is practically a command, and thus all of you have been invited to attend. This is not the Endless Lands, and vows are NOT strictly enforced, but you have been cautioned to choose your words with care, and beware making any sort of Deal. And be polite, this may be a drunken party one step away from a brawl and half a step away from an orgy, but it's still a Royal Court. A certain level of decorum is expected. A very low level, but better to exceed than underwhelm.

So the small canyon has been fitted with a number of tables, each filled with an assortment of fruits, vegetables, meats, cheese, baked goods, sweets, and a vast assortment of alcohols, some in bottles, some carefully poured into wide shallow bowls. A couple of campfires hold cooking foods, from a large pot of stew, to fish roasting on sticks, to a small boar on a spit. One may notice said spit is turning unevenly, leaving one side of the boar almost raw, while the other side is burned and blackened. Given the wide range of fae preferences, this was done on purpose. There are also a selection of entertainment scattered about, from lengths of colorful ribbon and string, small pots of bright paint, colored papers, wooden blocks, bouncy balls, shiny bells and pins, and scraps of bright cloth, all simply crafted, but of good quality.

And traveling with the Archmage is a half-elf sorceress clad in a purple dress of silk and very fine and intricate embroidery, white feathers set into the length of the long sleeves and forming the underskirt of her long dress. The dark mark that's so boldly displayed on her chest states who she is rather loudly to the fey--but in stark contrast, Cor'lana Lupecyll, better known to some as Ravenstongue, is rather quiet, her arm wrapped tightly around her better half's elbow.

"I hope this is a happier occasion than the last time I wore this dress," Cor'lana says quietly to Telamon, a glance down to her fine gown. Which really was not all that long ago, but grief and pain have a way of making a rainy afternoon feel like a besieging hurricane.

Tel casually rakes a hand through his hair, brushing it back, as he looks at the spread laid out by the Archmage. "I should ask Master Mikilos what the backstory is behind this. I admit it's kind of comforting -- reminds me of an extended family feast back home."

Carver is an adventurer. She is, on occasion, stuck in the depths of the most foul sewers, incarcerated for drunken brawling, lost in some dirty back alley after a bender, or on rare occasions, sleeping off the worst of the rest of her adventuring. She made no promise to make tribute to any Wee Queen of the Weers. She is here on the understanding that she will drive the wagon. Which is, in the past, one of her most marketable skills as a professional guide to more than a few refugee or mercantile expeditions. She had taken the coin, and with her usual street-earned bravado, had only partially listened to the dire warnings of the nature of fey and fey orgies.

Wait, Fey Orgies?

So, she's here now in the one step off from being a really GOOD story and is oscillating between wide-eyed fascinated staring and twitching excitement to get a good look at these mysterious creatures. No, job to do first. What was the rest of the warning? She pulls at her brain by massaging deep into her hair, fingers digging into her consciousness for what she was told not to do. Don't touch their gold? Don't oggle their women or men? Don't /burp/? The list of morales that she had been only halfway taught ricochets around her head like a damning list.

She is not nearly as finely dressed as her companions, still in her road leathers and still with her painted eyes that mimic a child's impression of a raccoon. She did keep her bow wrapped up in thick furs though. That's the polite thing to do. She even put on her best thong. For her hair. Not for the Feyhumpocalpyse.

A summoning circle has been prepared, scribed into the dirt with a pointed stick, centered around a large bush. To the layman, it's pretty standard. Circle, magic runes, enough said. To those more versed in the arcane arts, the design is... odd. Without delving into technical details, the average summoning circle is like opening a cabinet, reaching inside, and grabbing what you want. This is more like throwing open a door and shouting 'Come on in!' And come they do.

The Wee Ones are difficult to describe, any general observation one might try to make, there's at least one fae who defies the trait. However, the vast majority are small in size, tiny, one might even say wee. Many resemble forrest animals, insects being popular, but also birds, rodents, and one that resembles a flying jellyfish. Mounts are also popular, with Rabbit Riders and Butterfly Knights, hedgehog chariots, and bird powered flying sleds. But for all the wild and varied assortment, the Queen stands unique, marked by an aura of regal bearing, as well as the way the swarm of lesser fae defer to her.

With great fanfare come the wee folk. The tiny fae. Horns foretell their arrival, and at first you might mistake them for a flock of butterflies. Though of such variation as to be impossible.

Big butterflies, tiny ones. Simple and plain, and ones that are a riot of colors. Moths are mixed and mingled with the butterflies and that's the second thing that tells you that this is no ordinary group.

They come with a twinkling of bells and a fanfare of horns. A grand procession really of tiny people carried aloft by the wings of butterflies. Not all of them have the wings of butterflies though. Some here and there are held aloft by dragonfly wings. They ride some of them the insects that can bear them aloft. Some on small rodents skittering along the ground.

The grand procession is capped by a foursome of white mice carrying a white pumpkin carriage from which the most beautiful of butterfly women emerges. Her little knights surround her. Wearing tiny suits of armor that fit them perfectly. They seem totally serious in spite of their size, and they escort their queen forth. She wears a loose-fitting dress of gossamer white which emphasizes her tiny feminine form. She makes her way immediately toward Mikilos, but not without looking around at those others gathered.

There is no Pothy for the Raven Riders to approach, sadly, but it seems his reputation does precede him. Cor'lana looks mildly pained to see them, but she has a little smile on her face thereafter. One can only imagine the thought that went through her head.

She curtsies politely before the Wee Queen, whose moniker certainly fits her well, but she does not make a notion to speak. The little ones can be dangerous, too, and speaking out of turn in a fey gathering would not reflect well on her nor on her fey forebear. (Although he might not care.)

Telamon actually relaxes a bit, seeing the procession of weird tiny fae. Maybe it's the resemblance to Lily, Mirabilis, and Bois. Or maybe the -lack- of resemblance to the horrid Unseelie he's encountered. But his mouth curls up in a smile, and he deftly twitches his ruffled blouse a bit straighter, his starry eyes glittering with good cheer.

He doesn't speak, of course -- not yet -- this is Mikilos's show for the moment. But as Cor'lana curtsies, the elegant half-elven man bows deeply as well. Respect offered, and propriety sustained.

Carver lacks both of the Half-Sil's courtly grace and experience. She speaks, and though it's hushed, the silence of this regal moment means it cracks like thunder after the tiny horns finish announcing the arrival of just the Weest of Queens.

"On Angoran's sculpted buttocks, tha' is the prettiest little lady I'er seen."

Mikilos smiles. These gatherings may be stressful, but they're never boring, and frequently quite fun. Bowing formally, the elf addresses the Queen. "Your Majesty, always a pleasure to see you. How best may I be of service?" Or in less polite terms 'what are you in the mood for this time?'

The queen, small as she is nods regally to those that bow and curtsy to her, a trace of a smile lighting upon her lips as she is described as 'prettiest of little ladies'. She finishes her approach of Mikilos, hovering a comfortable distance from him whilst held aloft by her own pair of magnificent wings. "Let me alight upon your hand sir, and once I have had my taste of you, we will feast!"

Taste? Cor'lana's violet eyes flicker with uncertainty to Mikilos, but her expression is kept in a placid, neutral line upon her face. Her eyes dart over to try and find the Raven Riders again, as though she's hoping that just looking at the birds will distract her from the unpleasant experience that's about to happen.

Telamon's expression doesn't change, though. Perhaps it's the thought that Wee Queen or not, Mikilos might be a bit more to 'eat' than others. Still... he keeps an eye on the archmage, because old habits die hard. Catching Cor'lana's gaze, he offers her a calm, confident smile, as if nothing is wrong. Only the tiny tension of his fingers on hers betrays any worry.

You know that head tilt some people make when they hear something and don't quite know what to make of it even heard correctly? Carver's got that on, and it's no placid expression of serenity on her face. It's wide-eyed fascination of a bystander about to watch some tiny Queen devour this giant elf man like the titanic tasty dish he is.

Mikilos nods. Of the possibilities, this was likely. The elf bows again. "As you wish." Mikilos straightens again and holds out a steady hand, palm up, thumb raised for easy access. Mikilos likely should have clarified the deal he'd made, and what exactly the tribute is, but what's the fun in that?

The queen moves forward. A sudden blur of motion that makes it difficult to follow her and proves that she is no actual butterfly. She lands delicately however on Mikilos' hand, wrapping her arms around his thumb and stroking the finger with her teeny-tiny hands. Her people buzz where they hover in the air and cover the ground, like a bee hive bustling with activity. Not a warning sound, but interested; active.

They draw totally silent as she pulls back slightly, and then bites down on Mikilos' thumb without warning. It's a quick pain for Mikilos, and the queen seems totally enraptured by her feeding. She drinks, and drinks, until spots of color rise on her pale cheeks and then she gasps. "I am satisfied!"

Her people buzz and cheer and she waves fondly to them to enjoy the food laid out for them by Mikilos. "Feed my people, on the bounty brought to us! Be merry!" The rest of the wee fae surge forward, setting to the fruits, the vegetables, and the meats offered with a vengeance. It seems that they've brought their own drink however which is offered in tiny acorn-cups to those that have joined what seems a ready-made celebration.

Cor'lana flinches just a tad as the tiny little bloodthirsty queen receives what is her due. The flinching is quickly replaced by a small, amicable smile, and she goes to take a seat somewhere--although she remains close by the Queen.

"I'd like to introduce myself," she murmurs to Telamon. "It'd only be polite. I brought a gift, too."

Telamon twitches ever so slightly as well at the queen's 'taste'. But he doesn't lose the polite expression, instead following Lana as the pair move to take a seat. He inclines his head to Lana's soft words, and replies, "I wondered what you were doing earlier. Alright, love, lead on."

He watches the Wee Folk swarm over the 'spread', and can't help but grin a bit. "Looks like father took me to feed the ducks once..."

Carver's brow is a furrowed valley of consternation, second-hand embarrassment at observing something that feels like it should be an intimate moment, and CONCERN that there is more of that to come in the future. The exhale is mostly relief that the Queen seems satisfied for now with only just Mikilos's bloody mary.

She watches as the crowd swarms over the buffet, eventually joining Raven and Telamon at the table, plucking a strawberry by reaching between the pair. "Oh, 'scuse me. Been wantin' since we lef' the city." She claims a seat on the other side of the Platinum-Haired, going to take a big bite of the succulent fruit. Until she realizes... this sort of looks like a thumb.

Mikilos winces ever so slightly at the bite, but holds still, smile faltering for just the instant. A smile that widens as the Queen declares the celebration open, the wizard carefully moving to take a seat, hand placed upon a prepared armrest to keep the Queen elevated, should she choose to remain upon his hand. "M'lady, would you have the guests come to you, or shall we make rounds for introductions? Or mayhaps just enjoy the celebration and introductions can wait?" The wizards seems content enough, but tired. It may have been a small bite, but the Drink has certainly taken something out of him.

For the moment the little queen seems wholly satisfied to remain in Mikilos' palm. Lounging there like it's a fine throne rather than simply a hand. She actually seems very much like a cat who's had a fair bit of cream. Her tiny lips rosy with the blood that she had taken from Mikilos. "Let them come to me as they will." She waves to her tiny guardsmen who bow and take up post around Mikilos in order to protect her should anything go awry. Not that she seems worried.

Cor'lana nods to Carver as the girl approaches, smiling in a bit of a relieved manner to see another mortal face--although it quickly shifts to concern as the thumb-shaped fruit. "Careful not to eat and drink what they've brought," she says quietly to the newcomer. "Things grown and made in Quelynos, the home of the fey, can taste so brilliant that you lose your taste for anything else."

Then, a little louder, "Call me Cor'lana," she says. "I've got to go make my introductions to the Queen--we can talk in a moment?"

Not lingering long to hear Carver's reply, she makes her way to the Wee Queen to stand by Mikilos, drawing a small sachet from her bag of holding. She curtsies, closing her eyes--

And when she stands back up, her violet eyes flash with a sort of confidence of the consummate professional, accompanied by a sweet smile that almost clashes. "Your Majesty," she says, "I am called Cor'lana Lupecyll, child of Alud'rigan, the Feathered One. I am deeply honored to be here, and so I have brought you a gift."

The feytouched sorceress opens it up to reveal a small, wooden box. "This contains a tea blend grown by my forebear. It is his mint-lavender tea, which has not been had in many fey courts for quite some time. I hope you can accept it as an offer of my friendship."

Telamon nods. He leans over as if to offer a humorous bon mot to Carver, but murmurs as well, "Indeed. Just relax, she and I will get you through this and you'll have a tale or two to tell when you're back in Alexandria." His eyes twinkle cheerfully, and he grins impishly.

Following his bride-to-be, he makes his bow as she does, letting her take point in this interaction. When he straightens, his expression is serene, the calm not of the forests or meadows but of distant stars and strange new worlds.

Carver is left alone with the difficult decision to have the best food you've ever had, or go without so you do not hate everything else for the rest of your life. With all the average philosophy of a human, she dives right in as the others go to make their introduction to her Royal Highness.

Like, she's attacking it all with the same gusto as the buzzing Wees, and trying everything with a feverish delight.

GAME: Carver rolls fortitude: (17)+4: 21

Mikilos is content to hold still and quiet as introductions are made, but is slight concerned as to what exactly is happening at Carvers table. He trusts nothing too terrible will come of a friendly gathering, but 'not too terrible' can still be pretty bad.

The wee queen peers at Ravenstongue pleasantly, offering a faint warm smile and motioning for one of her guards to accept the gift of tea on her behalf. "Your gift is accepted. I remember your forebearer. He refused the honor of being one of the Queen of Air and Darkness's Ravens. Something that is almost never done." She looks Cor'lana up and down and then nods her head to her. "I will remember to mention your gift in the right company..."

Is that mischievousness there? It seems like it, but is hard to read features so small.

Carver is being offered her third acorn-cup of wine, and being plied with food by the various little ones who find her voraciousness to be delightful. She's in a good mood, they're in a good mood. Eating and drinking merrily.

Cor'lana nods with a chuckle and a smile. "The right company is any company that wishes to engage in merriment, Your Majesty," she says, her violet eyes twinkling. "Archmage Mikilos has said pleasant words of your presence, and so I wanted to meet you."

She looks back to Telamon with a smile--and then to Carver with a bit of a worried one that quickly eases as she looks back to the Wee Queen. "I don't want to take up more of your time, Your Majesty. It was a pleasure to meet you."

"Indeed," Telamon purrs, apparently unfazed by the merriment and the relatively diminutive nature of the Wee Queen. "Enjoy the rest of the party, your Majesty; Cor'lana and I certainly will." He offers his arm to Lana again, gallant and polished, his eyes dancing with wry humor.

Carver laughs, as more and more of the acorn cups are delivered to her as gifts; or tiny little challenges. The pleasant buzz of intoxication clouds best intentions, and so, she finger dances with one Wee one as she plucks another one of the incredibly potent acorns from the table.

"To ya health and happiness!" Down the hatch it goes. The thumb bloodening is quickly fading from her memories.

Mikilos smiles as RavensTongue and Telemon depart, murmuring quietly to the Queen. "Lovely young couple, very ernest. You'd like her familiar I think, but he's currently a Guest of Air and Darkness. In exchange, the young lady now wields Mortal Dread."

The tiny queen watches Cor'lana leave long after she's returned to the festivities. Offering a nod to both the half-elves before they go. "I am aware. He has been made a guest of the Unseelie court, and I have seen him there." She does not remark further upon the situation. Nor does she explain how she has had a chance to see Pothy in his new abode. Instead she watches as her people party in excess. She seems slightly amused with Carver in particular. "You will have to keep an eye on her, or one of us will likely charm her."

Indeed though there seems no ill intent to the little fae, they will offer drinks to all, and ply those who do not take said offerings with morsels provided by Mikilos which are certainly safe to eat. They want everyone to be having as good a time as it seems that they are having. The party is in full swing.

There's a look that Cor'lana gives the little fey as they walk, the feytouched sorceress walking hand-in-hand with Telamon. Her violet eyes regard each and every one of them as a friend unmet, a cousin not known, a fellow soul--and yet there's a hint of sadness in her gaze, too, her hand going to touch the mark of the Feathered One on her chest, which shimmers subtly beneath her fingers.

"One day," she murmurs to herself, which is then followed by, "Or maybe not," and then she goes to check on Carver.

The best and the worst thing that can happen to a mortal is to be charmed by the fey in that noxious and double-sided way that Cor'lana is, in some sense, all too familiar, after all.

Telamon seems to fit in fairly well, though he's wise enough to watch what he eats or drinks. And his silver tongue serves him well in this stead; soon he is recounting tales from his own adventures as well as thoughts from his own studies. His dark eyes are merry, but he never goes far from Cor'lana, and often his hand rests unconsciously in hers. A matched pair, as he applies his gentle, wry charm in copious doses to the chattering wee folk.

Noticing his lady's sadness, he murmurs, "All will be well, Lana." That calm reassurance, the lifeline he knows she needs. His eyes follow her gaze to Carver, and he can't help but chuckle. "Oh dear..."

The fruity drinks are always a trap. You think, because they're so sweet, that it surely can't be that much alcohol. When it's the size of an acorn, and you tower over nearly all the guests in attendance, it's not unreasonable for a greenhorn adventurer to think they're fine. She drinks all the time! Been to the rowdiest human bars. Even got a date with the youngest girl of a smuggler family.

No life experience can truly prepare one for the intoxication of fey, and when not prewarned or too bull-headed to listen, it's often at your own detriment. She's a giggly fit, sharing a bawdry joke about roosters, when Lilac and Silver visit her to make sure that she does not wind up with a binding handshake or the future ability to remember her own name. Her wide, glassy eyes shoot back between the pair like she's beset by some deep philosophical torment. "Wow," She blurts, her gap-toothed smile fully on display as she stares at Cor'lana. "You're so pretty." Then Telamon's visage catches her, and it's another graceful burp of a compliment. "Wooooow, you're soooo pretty."

Mikilos nods, filing that tidbit of info away, not surprised. The elf accepts a bit of fruit and cider, but avoids eating or drinking much, content to watch and listen as he rests. He does make a mental note to look up the names mentioned in some of the fae songs. Solid chance the lyrics are based on real events. Ever the researcher.

-End