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[Rusty]

::On the south side of the city, outside the main gates and on either side of the road, a large collection of tents seemingly spring up overnight. An astute observer might have caught sight of a large number of citizens gathering the evening before, and rising early in the morning to set up. By the time the bulk of the city is awake, the city of Aturia is ready to commence the Festival of Sails, a celebration of heritage, tradition, and frivolity.::

::The most striking feature of the festival is also the namesake. Dozens and dozens of sails fill in the wind, held up on tall posts set firmly in the ground. A Around each sail, the tired, hungry, sick, and injured people of Aturia make maypoles, small arrangements of offerings for the fallen, ornamental wreaths made from various wild flowers, and the sound of children laughing, for the first time in a long time, fills the air.::

::The people come out of their shelters, and share what food they have. A group of capable citizens return from hunting overnight, by noon, and share their bounty, however meager, with all comers.::

::Not long after the feast is complete, the townsfolk paint their faces and bodies, blue for the orcs, green for a small subset of the half-orcs, and red for the humans. Having done this, they engage in various very different activities, some brawl, a larger group has a dance, and an odd game is played in which various single men and women compete in some way, various foot races, fist fights, and so on, and the competitors are ranked against their genders, and then mate with the equally ranked opposite member, publicly.::

::As the evening winds down, various random citizens elect themselves to give speeches. These are often confusing and illiterate, some of them are drunken, but a few make sense. Most of them start by celebrating their heritage, the orcs as river pirates for the most part, though a few still wearing green paint celebrate their heritage as a wild tribe, and the humans as desert nomads.::

::Among the speech giving is, while infrequent, mention of heroes of Aturia, who have freed us from cruel oppression, though of particular note, nobody uses first or last names at all during the entire festival.::

::As the festival reaches its climax, after the sun has set, and all the food is gone, and all the ale is drunk, and all the games have finished, the people of Aturia observe a somber ceremony, the burning of the sails. Wood is piled at the base of each post, and lit, after soaking the sails in water. As the fires grow larger, the people gather around them in somber reverence, as the flames lick the post and eventually light up the thick canvas sails, they will loudly and clearly state the names, dates of deaths, and crimes committed by those who have died at the hands of the citizens, or their government, for violating their laws. After stating a name, each citizen tosses a folded square of wet canvas into the fire, which shortly goes up in smoke. No cat-calls, no curses, and no lamentations are given for the 'betrayers', only a quiet moment and a puff of smoke, but a moment of reverence nonetheless.::

::The burning of the sails concludes the most dear and rigorously observed tradition of Aturia, and as the fires burn low, the people work their way back into their battered homes, and resume their struggle for life the following day, yet still humming the various sea chanties that were sung at the festival.::

[[If you wish to interact in this ceremony, please indicate at what part of the festival you are doing so. Feel free to describe the reactions of the citizenry, as in reality they are quite unpredictable during this time. Nobody in the party is likely to be shunned for any reason, aside from insisting on using their name, which would be politely corrected the first few times, and then eventually taken as an insult. At this festival, on this holiday, you are Aturia, and no one else.]]

[rydi]

::Dala is interested in the event, and feels that if she is going to call this city home (much more likely, with the recent turn of events) she should be a part of it's rituals.

Indecisive as to what paint to wear, she settles on green, that of the half-breed.

Dala walks through the crowd, participates in the festivities, and dances in the dance. She even joins those competing for place in the public coupling, though she will refuse to mate with any in her party if the situation arises. She lets go, abandoning herself for a time; for the first time, perhaps ever, she is free to do and be whatever she wishes, and this will be the start of a long personal journey.

When the time comes to name the names of those that have died in betrayal of Aturia, she names the names of the corrupt head priest, the orc brothers fleecing the poor, and finally the fallen sun god who unrighteously smote the city and died for his act of petty tyranny.::

[Liquidprism]

Imoak walks through the festival on his way out of the city, a herd of cats in tow. He half expects an attack since so many Arturians are gathered in one place, and already riled up with excitement. He mutters curses under his breath, but walks through in peace.

If they acted like this all the time, maybe they wouldn't be so crazy inside the wall, he thought. He stood by his theory that walls made people insane.

[Avilister]

The festival would have escaped Aine's notice entirely had she not noticed it while surveying the walls. She and the Bulwarkians had a number of plans, but more accurate measures of the walls and what was visible from them.

Though she did not go to participate in the event, she did will the weather to produce sunny skies and cool breezes for the day.