Rise by Birdsong

A laughter cut through the air, followed by a stammering ‘What-!?’ and with a sly grin Vilas slipped away from the flustered man whose face had turned red like the sun over Siregal. As he disappeared back into the crowd, linking his arm with a jolly stranger in a carefree dance, the mage stole one final glimpse at the red-faced man - only to see them punch some sorry sod right in the jaw.

It really worked, Vilas thought, astonished, and moved on to the next reveler with a playful bow and a charming smile as more people gathered to dance around the now roaring pyre. Shrieks and cheers filled the air, drunk on spirits and sheer anticipation, and quickly the confused yelling he had danced away from became just another noise of unbridled merriment.

The night air was rippling with heat, and with a breathless grin Vilas glanced at the flickering flames that were slowly climbing up and up towards the tall effigy’s crowned head. There was not so much as a breeze tonight, and yet the colorful ribbons that adorned its faceless brow waved in the air like a brilliant veil, woodsmoke swirling around them. When the beat of their wild dance changed, Vilas shot a quick look across the fire at his partner in crime, grinning as he spotted him - even if only momentarily. Mordreaux, his delightful date and reason for being here in the middle of nowhere in the first place.

This wasn’t really proper of him as a representative of the Order, to sneak to the outskirts of a town to partake in this feast of folly after all the destruction Hagia’s rampage caused last year, but when was he ever proper? The wicker effigy crackled in the heat, sending cinders flying up in the sky, and Vilas turned his back to the fire, smiling to himself as he continued on with Mord’s whispered plan to liven things up a little.

Good thing that his loyalties didn’t lie with the Archon, or the Crown, or anyone else who mattered in this moment - nothing was worse than a boring feast, after all.

He spotted a lanky youth with an all too forlorn look in his eyes for a night like this, and Vilas side-stepped a howling couple to reach his new target, tapping the young man on their arm with a small smile. There was someone who wished to talk to him, he whispered and glanced over his shoulder for the show, before leaving the youth at the hands of fate. Vilas didn't stay to watch what would follow next, for his attention was already turned on a scene far too tempting to not get involved in.

A group of nine tittering women had joined the festivities and was now making their way towards the flaming effigy, carrying humble offerings over their heads. Draped in white and with wild flowers in their hair - the first ones of the season - they cut through the ring of dancing people like a line of ethereal spirits, here to bargain with the whimsical Gods for them all. With loud cries of mirth the Nine Wives' offerings were thrown into the hungry fire, each a plea to the distant stars. They all cheered once, twice, thrice - for health, for love, and for fair weathers - and the roar of the crowd reached its fever pitch, leaving Vilas breathless from the shared sense of ecstasy for a moment.

As the Wives started to scatter, tucking flowers from their tied hair behind the joyful onlookers' ears, in their beards, in their hats, Vilas slipped in the middle of them, murmuring to the three nearest to him with a grave voice that the good old Mayor had expressed, very ardently, his desire to dance for the Gods in nothing but breeches, but only if the Wives caught him first. He chuckled, his expression melting into a wide grin as he sneered along with them - who would've guessed that old cranky man knew how to have fun after all, right?

Except he didn't. Vilas hadn't even caught the said mayor's name at the start of this feast.

That mattered little though and he moved on as the Nine Wives merrily cried for their victim to run -  all the while holding onto a flower crown one of the women had discreetly placed on his head. His heart was pounding with mischievous delight against his ribs, and as Vilas continued to proceed with Mord's plan to sow some good-spirited chaos, he was much pleased to come face to face with the man himself. With a quick kiss and touch on the waist he slipped past him, smiling cheekily over his shoulder - their game wasn't over yet.

Vilas spun around to catch another glimpse of his date - only to raise his brows with a curious stare as he saw the man whisper something to an old woman, who soon began to wander the crowd, looking torn between relief and grief.

Ah, that wouldn't do.

Smiling, he glanced around him, combing through strangers for someone who might be in need of some reassurance as well. A fair-headed man in his 30s caught his attention, a wallflower with a stubble and a full mug still in his hands, and discreetly Vilas took a few long steps to bump into him - accidentally, of course. The drink’s amber contents spilled on the man's vest and instead of jauntily waltzing off this time, Vilas stopped to fuss over the poor fellow who appeared mortified beyond belief. The mage apologized for his clumsiness, repeatedly, before lamenting in passing 'And right when auntie was about to say hello! She's missed you dearly, you know, won’t shut up about it, really'. And just like he had hoped to, the man responded with a confused stare and a few stuttering words, which Vilas dismissed with a pat on the man's back, before pointing out the old woman to him from the crowd.

The said 'aunt' had something important to say, and the fellow would do well to heed her words - whatever they may be - and with that Vilas backed away. He waited with baited breath for what would occur, but when the old woman pulled the confused man into a hug like a grandparent might their grandchild, he simply huffed with a half-grin, and moved on once more.

This time he wasn't seeking out another stranger to play little tricks on though, but instead searched the crowd for a glint of that familiar circlet in the pyre’s red glow. As the Wives laughed over the mayor’s grumbling just beyond his field of vision, Vilas spotted Mordreaux again, and he lifted his chin a bit, smiling playfully at the man while beckoning him to come and get that dance Vilas had promised him before this game had begun.

That is, if Mord managed to catch him first.

With each new match the two got closer to one another, and more than once Vilas let Mord get within reach - only to step to the side at the last minute. His attention never strayed from his companion though, and when he finally did catch him, he was more than happy to surrender, laughing with gums bared as they made their way to the treeline, the dance all but forgotten.

In the gentle dark, filled with heated kisses and whispers, Vilas' heart finally settled. With their fingers intertwined oh so sweetly, he chuckled in almost a shy way as his back was pressed against a tree, hands pinned above his head. A wreath as his crown and a becoming blush on his face, he grinned warmly at Mord's murmured words, the many pet names he was now being showered with; a trickster, the man called him, and Vilas was more than happy to claim that title by vanishing into the thin air then and there.

An airy laugh emerged from nothingness as he reappeared behind Mord, flashing a satisfied grin at the amused look he was met with before leaning in close to whisper an earnest wish to continue their celebration elsewhere. Leading them both further away from the clearing, Vilas looked over his shoulder at the chaos one last time, utterly pleased.

Whether the three patrons had heard them or not, this would be a night to remember.