"Splendid!" she exclaims, while the two guards exchange long-suffering looks. "My most particular interest, at the moment, is dance, and I have heard such things about the festival dances that I shan't want to miss a one of them. I don't feel especially competitive today, but perhaps that will change once I've learned what there is to compete in!" 

A new quest is available! 

About the Town

Serve as Lilian Weald's local guide to Eriksmont during the Festival of Asteron. This quest is complete when you receive your payment. 

Success: +2 Eriksmont Lore XP, improved relations with Lilian Weald, improved Reputation with the Order of Dreams. 
Failure: Reduced relations with Lilian Weald, reduced Reputation with the Order of Dreams. 

Accept quest?

He will try to think Accept at it particularly hard and see if that works. Otherwise he can try to deal with it he doesn't want to mutter something while he has this important person's attention.

Speaking of that important person, "Most of the dancing will be in the town square and the green outside of town. There are some special dances at noon and sunset but otherwise almost everything repeats. You also probably won't want to miss the mock battle between the Queen of the Waves and the Drownfather.

"As for competitions, there's some boating competitions on the river and also the log roll. You might be more used to things like the archery competition or the baking contest. There's also a bunch of races, some traditional and some more intended to have people fail a bit like the three legged race."

After a few moments of thinking at the shade, a couple rectangles appear at the bottom with "Accept" and "Decline" written inside them, along with a small image of a hand with one finger extended below each. 

"I'll be sure to see those dances then! I'd like to see some of the competitions as well, believe it or not we don't get much in the way of archery contests where I'm from. I can't imagine I'd be much good at boating or log rolling, but I want to see those too. Perhaps I'll try out the three-legged race, how hard could it possibly be?" 

"I'm not sure that would be entirely wise —" chokes out the guard named Priscus. 

"Oh nonsense, it's just a bit of harmless fun, as I'm sure our new friend here will attest." 

"I nominate Priscus as the other leg and a half," Welligan offers drily. "For...security reasons." The younger man looks horrified at the thought. 

"Huh, do people there mostly not hunt or do they just have other ways of hunting. I'd expect anywhere people hunt with bows they'd want to also show off their skill but perhaps I'm wrong.

"And that sounds quite doable. I do want to get a drink and a bit of porridge before we set out if you don't mind waiting, but I could also just pick something up from a market stall."

He'll do his best to find a time where poking the accept button won't be obvious. Maybe he can incorporate it into a gesture at the barkeeper or something.

The poke succeeds. 

"Hunting's less common in the Imperial heartland, with most of the land dedicated to farming or grazing," Welligan explains, before returning his attention to his vigil. 

"Oh, I don't mind at all!" the woman says. "By all means get some good food in you first. Doris dear, would you — Oh! Where are my manners, I'm Lilian Weald and this is Welligan and Priscus." 

"I'm Alex Lustig, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. What do you spend your time doing when you're not travelling to distant festivals?"

"Art, of course! And writing. Well, and my formal duties, which consist largely of commissions for vain officials and various Imperial assignments I'm not supposed to talk about. They are terribly boring most of the time, but one must pay one's dues, I suppose."

"Indeed we must. What mediums of art do you work in?"

"My good man, I am a sensation-specialized magus. I am not limited by such trivial things as mediums. Observe!" She makes a sweeping gesture that brushes against Priscus, incanting briefly, and for a moment the guard appears as a marble sculpture of a man, complete with sapphire irises and obsidian hair. 

Gaedoris, in the middle of getting the requested ale and bowl of porridge, nearly drops the tray in shock.

(It's not that magi are all that rare. But superstition and lack of training mean it's unusual for one to run around being this blatantly magical in frontier towns without causing some unfortunate accident.)

"Wow! That's Muto Imaginem right? That must have taken so long to learn! To make such a sophisticated image on such short notice."

"Oh, are you a student of the Arts as well? Yes, it took me quite a lot of practice, but it was well worth it." 

"I'm only a novice. I can't cast any spells; I've just read some books."

"Tch, that seems such a waste of your talents. No offense, of course. Books are a fine thing, but to properly understand an Art I've always felt one has to live it. After all, how can one possibly replicate the soft touch of Yan Tei silk or the tang of a pickled Crescent eel if one never experiences them for oneself? Art is in the doing, and never you forget it."

"I tend to agree, but there aren't many opportunities to learn outside of books out here, far from the capital."

"Why do you think I'm here? Besides the excellent wine, that is." She raises a jaunty glass towards the barkeep. "Oh, the Orders have their apprenticeships and Grawtosh Academy has its classes, and it can be quite the task to pull oneself up by one's bootstraps without something in the way of mentorship, but I find most of my colleagues tend to spend far too much time in their towers and libraries and not nearly enough on the road. Have you at least been opened to the Arts*?" 

*According to Alex's books, an expensive season-long ritual invented by Petronus himself grants a Gifted individual a much more intuitive understanding of the five Techniques and ten Forms of Petronian magic. It is only offered at the Academy, and comes with a long-term commitment of service to the Miezan Empire. Those Gifted who choose not to make such a commitment are called hedge magi, and their magic tends to be weaker and more varied. The Empire hasn't forcibly recruited Gifted in decades, not since the start of Imperator Khale's reign, but many hedge magi still prefer to avoid Imperial attention.

"I haven't been through the ritual but I think I have some native gift."

"Well, your reasons are none of my business, I'm sure, but if you'd ever like a referral to the Academy, you need only ask." 

"I'll have to think about it. Now then," Alex proceeds to go into more details about the days events as he finishes his breakfast.

Lilian is delighted to hear all about it.

After a few minutes, Navic seems satisfied that nothing is about to violently explode and ceases his nervous hovering. Or rather, he adjusts his location to one that permits him to go about various chores and festival-preparation tasks while still keeping a suspicious eye on things.

The brown-robed traveler departs shortly thereafter, as does the town guard. A few more customers file in, several of them so busy gawking at the Imperial magus that Gaedoris has to remind them to order.

Once Alex is done he'll lead the way towards the log rolling competition and start explaining the rules for that.

"So both people, though it's usually men, are balancing on the same log. There's a bright red line painted on the center and they're not allowed to cross that center point or to touch each other.

"Otherwise they have free reign to spin or jostle the log from their side as much as they want to try to unbalance the other person. Oh, they also have to keep one foot on the log at all times no jumping allowed."

This time of year the river is cold with snowmelt; of course that makes birling an even more popular challenge for the hardy and boastful youth of Eriksmont. In the final bout, a hirsute fellow by the name of Raskos expertly pitches his opponent into the Cabelpas, to much applause from the watching crowd at the riverbank. (Said crowd gives Lilian and her guards a rather wide berth.) 

It's almost noon when the audience breaks up to head back towards the city proper, following the enticing smells of baked bread and roasting meat. 

Preparations for the Feast of Thresholds have begun on the eastern green, the only place large and flat enough to accommodate most of the town. Households will traditionally bring a mix of ingredients preserved from last harvest (pickles, jams, dried fruits) and something fresh-sprouted (first herbs, spring onions, fresh-caught fish). Several large fires already burn, pigs and goats slow-roasting in groups of four and eight by long tradition. The feast itself is to begin at dusk, after the blessings and ancestor-offerings. For now, a space is cleared for a round of (largely disorganized) dancing and singing under the noonday sun. 

But if the evening belongs to the old gods, the day belongs to the new. Near the center of town, the Miezan temple will have thrown open its doors and emptied its larder into the square, offering bread, cheese, and imported figs and olives. Those who keep the Miezan tradition, or who wish to be seen doing so, will make their offerings of blood and libum, while Eriksmont's bakers compete for the right to bake the offerings for the most influential citizens.