Event: Harvest Festival - End

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Event: Harvest Festival	
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Mission 13: Key Matters	
It was dark in Aether, the sun had long been replaced by a starlit sky. It was the last night of the Harvest Festival, and most ‘mons were out enjoying themselves. Of course, most ‘mons were idiots.
Mindaugas wasn’t an idiot, no. He would not waste his time with stupid games and acts, and instead was focusing his efforts on long-overdue projects that, had his idiot assistants been more punctual, could have been finished already.
Some iron dust here, a bit of gold and rosewater there, heated to the proper temperature on low heat and taken off right before they started to boil; he kept an eye on the pot as he worked with his mortar and pestle, pounding together a thick paste of elderberries, animal fat an-
 TUNK! 
Mindaugas nearly dropped the effect of Gravity in his surprise. He quickly turned to face his intruder, but stopped and rolled his eyes when he saw them placing a large cloak on a coat rack.
: I see you’ve returned, how splendid.
: Kindly knock before entering next time.
: I’ll see ‘ow I feel at th’ time.
: Ugh, what do you want?
: ‘Ow goes t’at proj’ct of yers’?
: It goes exactly as I told you the last time you bothered me about it: slowly.
: These are not the simple enchanted playthings you call weapons, these require a significant amount of time and resources and intellect! They cannot be done in a scant few months, let alone a few days!
: Don’t know ‘bout t’at, Yasir seems t’ do fine wit’ workin’ quick’y.
: I’d hardly call that bumbling, ill-bred clout an alchemist.
: Shame, seein’ ‘ow e’eryone else does - an’, las’ I ‘eard, you yerself’ ‘ad somet’in you wanted from ‘im.
: There are two things I wish from Yasir. The first and foremost is something that Itzal promised me he would have that worthless bobolyne and his artless friends deliver to me-
: -the second would be for him to drown himself-
: I feel like t’at’d be ‘ard for ‘im-
: -in lava.
: Ah. Charmin’. Glad t’ see you ‘aven’t changed.
: Hmp! (he turns his back to Bál, refocusing on his work)
: I ‘aven’t ‘eard from Itzal ina’ while, ‘as anyone been sent t’ l-
 HAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! 
Bál turns towards the window when he hears cackling echo through the streets. He looks out just in time to see a flash of orange fly past the window. The Fire type takes a deep breath, pitches his snout, and addresses Mindaugas once again.
: Mindaugas-
: (still not looking up) Bál.
: W’at was t’at?
: Cucurbita pepo.
: In common, ya’ pretentious blob o’ phlegm!
: It was a pumpkin.
: Why is t’ere a flyin’ pum’kin in Aet’er C’ty?
: For the same reason you saw fit to confine your mewling rakefire to the guildhall during your absence.
: W’at do y- (he pauses for a moment, and then turns around)
: Horunge- T’AT VARLOT FOX!
He charges out of the room, slamming the door roughly behind him as he leaves.
: DO NOT DAMAGE MY DOOR!
Outside, it is a crisp, cool night. To fight off the cold of the night, several ‘mons have gathered around a large bonfire constructed near the theatre, exchanging horror stories and snacks prepared for the festival.
In a sudden swoop, the monster bears down upon its victim, and the listeners jump. There isn’t much left of them now, just bones, a few clumps a hair: a warning for all who would walk the woods of Blood Forest alone under the new moon’s gaze. The ‘mon finishes speaking and sits back down, nodding and smiling as people clap and murmur their praises.
Once everyone has quieted down, the host of the storytelling stands up and clears his throat to get everyone’s attention.
: Meraviglioso! Complimenti per il lavoro ben fatto! Your stories have been perfetto in giving me in the inspiration I need for a new creation!
: My muse, she has returned to me, thanks to all of you! With her as my gondolier, my trip up the river of the macabro will be filled with the action and terror that the crowds desire!
: Cari miei, a thousands blessings for your assistance! I greatly look forward to performing our plays for you all very so-
: Mmmmnnnnnnnng!
: CAZZO! (he jumps back, his fur standing on end)
: Oh, this thing is here now?!
: Why is it here? Someone needs t-
Before anyone can act, a blur of yellow rushes at the pumpkin. With practiced precision, Suleta whips her wings and talons around the pumpkin, slicing into it, and breaking through its thick skin.
As the scattered pieces gourd fall to the ground, a sticky, pumpkin-guts-covered body falls with them and groans.
: Owww...
: Huh?! That’s- aren’t you that child that comes to most of our plays? What were you doing in that pumpkin?
: Child, you better have a good explanation for your actions. You caused a lot of trouble during this festival.
: And interrupted my storytelling.
: (he nervously looks around at everyone throwing him accusing glares) H-hang on! It wasn’t MY fault! I wasn’t trying to do anything bad, someone put me in the pumpkin!
: You were… put in the pumpkin?
: Oh? What is that look, good sir hero? Is it so hard to believe such a claim?
Heads to turn to face the dark fox as he emerges from the shadows with a swagger, arms crossed, and a wide, toothy grin across his face. As he approaches, Klutz flies behind Lorenzo.
: Haha, whatever is the matter, boy? It seemed to me you were having good fun in there!
: Wait, does that mean the pumpkin was yo-
: Indeed it does~
: Oh, but worry not, there was nothing malicious in my actions.
: When has a pumpkin ever hurt anyone, hmm? (he smirks knowingly at the fae child, and grins as hears whimpers from behind the cat) He only got out a few times, anyway, so it’s not like I had to shove him in there too often~
: Righ’, t’at’s enough, Umbra. Leave ‘im be.
The Zoroark sighs and rolls his eyes, not bothering to look at Bál as he approached the bonfire - he knew what look would be on the fire type’s face. At the sight of Bál, Klutz flew out from his hiding place behind Lorenzo, and went to his side, though he continued hiding part of his body behind the larger ‘mon.
: Oh, but Bááááááááááááá-
: Do not s’art wit’ me. (he crosses his arms and stares down the fox)
: You don’t wan’ t’ g’t repor’ed t’ our frien’ th’ capt’n o’ th’ guar’, do ya’?
: Ooh hoo~! Did you not hear?
: ?!
: (he grins widely) Dear stars above, I am EVER so sorry! (he gives Bál an over-dramatic bow and wide sweep of his arm) I had assumed that word had already reached you.
: You see, Gawain is not here: he left with Alaric about two days ago. Royal business, I am led to believe.
: (he grits his teeth and glares at the fox) Why did you n’t ‘nform me o’ t’is ‘yerself?
: Oh, terribly sorry, sir! But I was busy for these past few weeks.
: Doin’ W’AT? Bullyin’ a chi’d?
: Oh, I wouldn’t call it that, we were simply playing a little game.
: I didn’t like that game, mister Umbra.
: Oh ho ho, my dear boy-
: That’s just too bad, now isn’t it?
: Enough, Umbra! Yer’ tryin’ my pa’ience. Tell me now, w’at is ‘appenin wit’ Alaric?
: Well, that’s a long stor-
: Don’t e’en s’art wit’ me.
: Vaffanculo, bambini! Take it elsewhere, we’re telling stories here.
Seems Alaric and Gawain have run off with some citizens, but to where?
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Event: Harvest Festival	
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