2022-12-06 Season XI Finale - Party Like It's 1499 - Wik

The Winter Fair is in full swing as I walk through the crowds, deftly turning from side to side in order to find a gap through the throngs.

I pull my wool coat around me, the bright red fabric hugging tight to my hips as I cast my gaze out through the fringes of fur that frame my face, out towards the multitude of stalls that line the road. Each sells a variety of goods and treats; at one, steaming cups of coffee are handed out; at another, skewers of grilled meats are bit into with relish.

The bonfire at the centre of town, visible from all points of the festival, casts long shadows across the assembled crowds, illuminating their delighted faces with its flickering light.

I smile at a handsome halfling that steps to let me past, curtseying with a wink as I sidle past. Mm! So many... treats here today.

I take a few steps backwards, my eyes lingering turned to look at the man a little longer, before spinning my coat out in and arc and facing forward.

In front of me is a peculiar looking booth. It appears to be grown from the ground itself - great branches arc and twist over the head of the proprietor, a woman with long plaited hair that stretches to her waist. In her hands, she hands out small vials of liquid - some red, some green, others made entirely of mist. Her patrons satisfied, she places her hands on the long, flat log that serves as her bench, and looks out to the crowds.

"Greetings! Salutations! Come on over," she calls out, catching not only my attention but that of a few others nearby.

She is Leona Autumn, and this is the Piccolo Fiore, she explains. A pop-up shop, a smaller version of the Fiore Popular in Daring Heights. Apparently the main shop fell victim to the recent Gith invasion, but it will open once more soon.

She hands me a small vial of swirling red & green. There are others, here, too: a man in sharp dress, Alphonse; an endlessly snacking aarakocra, Kreekor; a bookish drow, Calla; a skeptical sergeant of the City Watch, Grimes. They each take a vial, too, and down it in a single gulp.

Mm. Peppermint. The liquid starts bitter, the biting cold of the mint quickly chased with the smoothness of nutmeg, vanilla, and a hint of rum. Leona looks at us all expectantly as we savour the drinks, her hand quickly collecting the empty bottles.

She has something more, she tells us. A way to make our own cocktails, if we would like. She takes out from beneath her table a variety of different mixers - rums and brandies and sours and bitters and syrups.

I take a few from her, mixing them in a glass until they turn a brilliant verdant green. Then, with another vial palmed, I begin spinning the opposite direction as I pour the contents from the other vial in. The liquid stays green for a moment, before switching to red in an instant, a brilliant, deep crimson.

The drink looks akin to blood; blood spilt in haste, blood given in service. But as the question is asked, and the answer given, it changes further, becoming as bright and vibrant as a candy apple.

"I just need one more thing. A memory. Good or bad, so long as it is from the last year."

I think, numerous images flicking behind my eyes. Collecting my winnings from dice at the Gilded Mirror. Defending a town from an encroaching hoard of fire elementals. My daggers ripping through fiery undead. My rapier dancing in the dark with a tabaxi knight at my back.

Leona looks up to me expectantly.

And the answer comes easily.