Festivity’s introductory thread. Aw
After slogging through the burnt husk to the east, the fertile lands on the other side of the halcyon mountains opened up like the gates to paradise. Gaunt with hunger and stumbling with fatigue, it was nigh on the second day before the jackal-wild dog hybrid realized that the landscape was clearly marked by tokens of habitation. Decrepit sigils from humanity’s no-so-forgotten age pocketed hillside and valley; more noticeable than these old failing signs were rich scents rolling on noon’s high breezes. Packs lived here, many and strong so it would seem. Excellent. Her trade relied rather heavily on a dense population. A storyteller is welcomed rarely enough, let alone in these places where civilization was – at best – another lost definition.
There was an old city here though. The canines of the locale had yet to repopulate the long roadways and dark alleys, and the city – soon identified as Halifax – was relatively untouched by pillagers. Experience led the world-traveler downtown and eventually to a large library where she’d eventually establish a quasi-home. Better described as a base camp, here Festivity would leave her heavy pack and scrounge for new books, stories, and ideas to add to her repertoire. Also, it would be the appointed meeting place for Festivity and Valyria, her lifelong avian companion.
The sun had scarcely risen on this particular day. Festivity exited the building with kitchen pot in hand and headed for an old watershed that had turned into lively creek bed. She returned with a full pot of water in one hand and an oblong branch tucked under the other arm. Humming while she worked, the petite luperci stoked the fire and put water on to boil. Attracted by the noise of breakfast-making, the splendid mynah returned from his nighttime perch in order to warble sweet nothings into Festivity’s thrice-pierced ear. She scratched his head gently, and reminded him that all of the flattery in the world would not boil the water any sooner.