Harvest Festival

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Harvest Festival, 19th September 2015
Welcome to the Ealing Harvest Festival! Sponsored by Sylvia Redbright, this event takes place on a bright autumn day in Elthorne Park, Hanwell.

(Images for reference: One. Two. Three.)

FESTIVAL
The park has been transformed into a hub of colourful tents and stalls, a country-style fair selling wood carvings, paintings, baubles, baskets, plant pots and flowers, pretty tin boxes and knick-knacks of all kinds. Of course, this is all to give it an air of legitimacy should the general public wander by. The real wares on offer are those sold by witches: stalls crowded with incense, candles, precious stones, herbs, good-luck charms, spelled trinkets and magical jewellery. Gain entry to one of the small tents and you may be able to buy yourself a low-level spell or potion. It's all there if you know where to look.

Meanwhile, the centrepiece of the festival is the harvest altar: five large bales of hay, stacked around each other, where the festival-goers are encouraged to donate food and other gifts in thanks for the harvest. Tinned food is typically offered. Children attending can make a corn dolly and offer it to the harvest altar. There's food and drink to buy too, of course: vegetable and pumpkin soup, baskets of fruit and seasonal vegetables, home-made bread and jam, tea cakes, fruit cakes, seed cakes, scones and apple pie. Drinks include coffee, tea, cider and fruit juice. In short, it's all very wholesome. And decidedly not vampire-friendly.

A COMMUNITY IN MOURNING
It's not all about giving thanks. Following the hostile takeover by the fae in Croydon and the hard-fought conflict in Barnet, many witches have been displaced and are in desperate need of aid. The poster by the harvest altar says that all donations will be given to the homeless and vulnerable communities in London.

Meanwhile the entrance to the summer house has been disguised by a glamour to prevent the general public from entering. Only supernatural types may climb the steps to pay their respects at the memorial that has been set up to mourn the Daybreak witches and their allies who have recently passed. There are candles, flowers, wreaths and cards jostling for space with pictures of the fallen witches.

RITUAL AT SUNSET
The general public have disappeared but the witches have an important ritual to perform. As the sun sets, they gather up all the donations from the harvest and join hands around the altar. One witch will light a flame. Sylvia herself will invite volunteers of different species to step forward and offer their blood, as a symbol of unity between supernatural communities.

As the hay burns, the witches dance around the altar, their last ritual of the evening.

NB. Sunset is at 18:51.

Comments

[brightwitch]

[Humans come last in the ritual. So Faolan will have watched everyone else offer their blood to the fire before Sylvia turns her eyes his way and gestures for him to come forward.]

Faolan. [She raises the knife.] Representing the humans among us. Humans, who keep our secret. Humans, who defend our right to live alongside them. Humans, who are our kin, our friends, our allies. In the name of peace, we accept your offering.

[This is the cue for Faolan to hold out his hand so that she can cut his palm.]

[reticence]

[Humans come last in the ritual. Of course they do. Faolan is used to being last, though, the lowest on the totem pole as it were. He's used to people underestimating him for it, underestimating him for his height (short, definitely below average for a man), for his build, for his background. For any number of things. So it doesn't surprise him in this regard as well. Though it does give him all that time to keep wondering why. Why is he here? Why is he doing this?

Despite it all, when she prompts him for it, he holds out his hand. His eyes flicking up to her face, more than a little uncertain about what it is that he's getting himself into here. He's seen what happened with everyone else's blood into the fire, after all. This being his turn, feeling the apprehension that he does about just about everything about this, he's hardly certain whether this is going to be something to regret or not. But he does so anyway. In the name of peace. (Lancelot is going to seriously owe him one...)]

[brightwitch]

[His blood goes into the fire and a thick fog of white and grey smoke drifts up, curling this way and that. Its lack of direction indicates uncertainty, the white and grey an uneasy medium between ally and neutral. The fire burns a little higher and stays strong. There's potential here for Faolan to become a strong and loyal ally, if only his doubts can be allayed.

It's not difficult to guess where the doubt comes from: he is a member of Hillingdon, after all. Sylvia is relieved to see that he's not a traitor or spy. That would be quite a different matter.

The ritual has now reached its finale. She nods at Faolan, and then invites all of the volunteers to join their circle. The witches will dance and chant, invoking the magic of unity, marking the land as a place of power.]

[reticence]

[Faolan's not certain what to make of the color of the smoke, noticing that it, like the others' before him, takes its own color and follows its own pattern of things. Sylvia doesn't seem to be upset by it personally, so he takes it as something of a good sign. He still doesn't know what he's doing here, but maybe he at least hasn't done anything wrong.

He steps forward and joins hands with the rest of the circle, watching as they chant and dance and complete their ritual, their spell, whatever the hell this is. It doesn't really mean much to Faolan, he doesn't understand magic. But he'll play his part, like the good little soldier that he is, he supposes. He has ever been good at following orders.

When the ritual is complete, Faolan will take a moment to look over and see if Sylvia is free to speak to. If she is otherwise preoccupied it's no harm done, he's got company waiting for him. But he figures he might as well pay his due respects, if he can.]

[brightwitch]

[She's saying goodbye to the other witches, who all want to be blessed by their Mother, but she's approachable if Faolan is willing to hang around and wait for them to leave.]

[reticence]

[Faolan does wait. It is not for long and he does not have much to say, but he has never participated in such a thing, nor does he know exactly what she gleamed of him from it. So this is more for his own reassurances than anything else, business or otherwise.]

It was quite the ceremony. I hope I did suitably enough? Lancelot suggested you still needed a human ally and, well. [He shrugs, slightly.] Who am I to say no, I suppose.

[brightwitch]

Yes, of course. [She smiles, a little distracted. She's more concerned with the witch covens at the moment; Faolan is a footnote compared to that. But she can spare him a minute.] Thank you for participating.

[reticence]

Not at all. [He can tell that she is busy, and that he is taking up precious time. He will make it as quick as he can.]

I hope that I did not disappoint you.

[His words are carefully chosen, pointedly so. He hopes she understands his meaning -- the smoke, her reactions to it. He does not know what it meant, but he knows that she does.]

[brightwitch]

Not at all. [Deliberately repeating his words. She knows what it means, and he did not disappoint her, although he didn't exactly impress her with undying loyalty either. There's more to be done on that front.] You'll take our blessings home with you, on behalf of every human in our community. And if you don't mind, so will I. It's time to be getting on.

[Home, she means. Pulling on her coat, getting ready to leave.]

[reticence]

[Faolan nods. He knows that he's keeping her, that she's got places to be, more important people to be talking to than himself, especially on tonight of all nights. Though so he does not exactly have his answer, he does not push.]

Of course. I will not keep you. [There's someone waiting for him as well, if he's not mistaken. He gathers his jacket about him with his good hand.] Good night to you then.

[brightwitch]

Good night, Faolan.

[Her smile is a little tired. It has been a long day.]