#neptunalia.

[shewolfaurea]

Aurea, Neptunalia

"My lashes are so thick they could pick up a stiff wind." - Ali, Burlesque (2010) @thequeendomhqinspo

[incubusnero]

Nero, Neptunalia

You wanna put 'em in your mouth, pull 'em all down south You wanna turn this shit out, that's what I'm talking about

[etienneulven]

Etienne, Neptunalia

"I'm a little worried about being a slut." - Bobby Hill, King of the Hill

[flaroh]

Io Neptunalia everyone!🌊 On this day (at least historians are pretty sure it's July 23rd),  the Romans celebrated the ocean god Neptune with games and feasting 🌊

[rancorasael]

who?: open to all where?: mercury's bazaar when?: in the neptunalia verse

It was a passing comment on a stranger's lips, something vague about wanting to learn more about the Vanguard. It pissed Asael off to hear such nonsense and the thick threads of frozen water he began to tug at would've visualized his displeasure. Unfortunately, the glint of Olympian rings distracted him for a moment and his weave misfired, launching his frigid magic haphazardly into the crowd.

Asael didn't have time to stick around and get the scope of his accidental destruction. He slipped away in the resultant chaos, knowing a nearby entrance into the Bazaar. Clutching his hurting, ice-covered hand to his chest, he hoveled through his pain into the darkest alley he could reach, worried that the Olympians were still following him. Asael was visibly in rough shape, however stepping in pain was just second nature to him. When he walked back into another, his immediate reaction was to leap away and raise his uninjured hand, demonstrating that no matter how he may have looked, he was ready for a fight still.

"Well? Think I'm easy all you want, but I'm not," he says, hiding the strain in his voice well enough. He wasn't coughing up blood yet so he could pull off a few more spells before passing out from pain. "You won't get anything if you rob me, I don't got anything. Except for an ass-kicking. That I can give you for free."

[ageofkarme]

who?: open to all where?: boreana when?: neptunalia

The Duchess of the Skies, Athena's Hand, the most graceful airship to grace the skies. She was a gift Karme was still trying to prove he earned through diligent practice of its piloting systems. Participating in combat maneuvers on the front lines of the Queenset Isles was meant to streamline Karme's development as a pilot, but honestly he felt he got the most experience from flying around as he was currently.

The ship dipped, twisted, and flipped in the air, proof that Karme was practicing the controls daily. There was still more work to be done before he could call himself a pro, but the small crowd that had gathered to watch his aerial performance was proof Karme was making progress. As he landed and disbarked he pulled his goggles on top of his head and grinned widely with his arms on his hips. "If you thought that was cool, check this out!" From his pocket, he produced a small object he'd tinkered together in his spare time. It floated in the air and spat out colorful sparks, sparks that changed hue when he tapped the item. He thought it was super cool, plus he made it with his own hands. Sure, flying around in his grandmother's groundbreaking new invention was awesome, but his little trinket had merit too. He thought so at least. "Let's just say this buddy helps to keep the vibe light in the control room," Karme says, showing off how the sparks change color when his finger taps on it.

[lotharx]

starter for open

where: outside the hall of virtus

when: during neptunalia, can take place at any time of the event tbh

note: you ever wanted to talk to a grumbly, rude, old man? here is your moment

An Iskaran, one with little interests towards these Lysaran marvels and festivities; as such, Lothar found himself within the Hall of Virtus, training for whatever may come next. He'd lost plenty as Iskaldrik burned, could do little to stop it, and if Lothar was ever known to be riddled with a sour face before, it was definitely maxed out to the nines as the Lysaran's paraded about gushing over Neptune and ceasing all work and politics. The overall sight of the city was quiet, dozens poured out to Boreana, to Juno's Reach, but Lothar stay put at the cynosure of what comforted him most. He'd found a stepping ground with other members of the Warrior's Guild, frequented the Hall of Virtus as he grappled and fought to merely become stronger.

Perhaps he should have signed up for that dog and pony show that was the gladiator competition, maybe he'd have had a laugh in the strength competition too, but he was never one for much attention. The eternal thrum of Eterna was alive as many buzzed in excitement, but as he exited the Hall of Virtus a brow beaded with sweat from a sparring match, Eterna emulated more of a ghost town than ever before.

Someone lingered near and he nodded in greeting, surprisingly curious that one was not so entrenched in the gauche festivities, "Are you not bargaining for favor?" His tone implied not only his disinterest but his obstinate disrespect; so typical of an Iskaran, it was a miracle he'd even been accepted past Haven.

[witchertorsten]

Masquerade at the Winter Palace

"Keep your wits about you, witcher; true tests, never end."

accompanying @afshinxeldar

@thequeendomhqinspo

[juliangladiator]

starter for @blademasterdior.

where: somewhere in boreana, juno's reach

when: during neptunalia, after the gladiator event, but not like right after

note: gladiator bois

The gladiator match had incensed the hundreds within Juno's Reach; a palpable passion that rivaled a thin line of merely being out for blood. A Lysaran always enjoyed a proper show and rumors soon began to swirl through the partying crowds about everything Julian had missed out on. Wherever Dior was to be found, there was often a dense crowd swarming him, fawning over a gladiator who'd been well known, and sometimes borderline infamous, for generations. He'd taught Julian the very essence of such shows; a sanguinary ritual that warranted the spilling of a blood, but a show all the same.

It was late in the evening and he'd found Dior, perhaps supplementing his pride, in the heart of one of the various celebrations that swirled throughout Boreana. Some quietly skirted around the gladiator, others bowed their heads as though in solemn shame, and others still venerated Dior on the pedestal he'd rightfully claimed after so many years of fighting. Julian wasn't interested in bringing up the clashing opinions the crowd on the isle currently had for Dior; dozens still cried he was their fan favorite and others seemed cross at a result that didn't result in a blood frenzy.

Julian mustered a smile, something that matched the often blazing energy of the other, "Dior! I've been looking all over for you since the tournament ended." He'd served his purpose with working the crowd prior to the tournament, but Julian truthfully hadn't stuck around to watch the blood spill, "You're supposed to be celebrating!" Julian's voice lowered as many filtered around them, appearances were crucial to gladiator's even long after the curtain was called on a match. "Had someone really tried to snatch Lady Ilithyia's wig?" Julian had been curious about that one; in the nearly six short years he'd served as a fighter in the gladiator ring, no one had tried such show.

[witchernjal]

closed starter for @witchertorsten

location: post diving course

note: uwu

He'd finally collected his money and gotten his invitation to the Primus. Njal was never going to say he was surprised that he outlasted everyone else to actually find that damn treasure. The odds had seemed stacked against him considering he was a witcher. Anything magical in nature was going to reject him. Everyone had their little rocks and he had...nothing. Well, he had something, but he hadn't really expected the devil to actually help him. Maybe he had judged Kalamar too harshly. Actually, no he didn't. If the damage to his psyche was anything to look back on, the requests for help weren't exactly without repercussions. Still, the point was that he had won and now he had a lot of money and a reputation that would have these Lysarans putting some respect on most Iskarans that had found their way here. He would call that a win.

The first person that he had run into, of course, was Torsten. "Who would have thought it, right?" There was a large and very unusual smile on Njal's face as he spoke. "That crowd fucking loved me." Maybe he was meant for this kind of thing. He wouldn't think too much on that now though. A profession change at his old age? He had maybe ten years left to go. He would be fine right where he was. "Were you cheering louder than everyone else? Be honest."

[fharzai]

who?: @freydis-freydat when?: neptunalia where?: dream realm

It truly was a time of great change. Fharzai still had yet to figure out what specifically was in store for this era or what objective could be achieved by the strange activity from the Arches, but these gaps he sought now in the dreamrealm were equal parts worrying and exhilarating. He'd found another mind with memories of a dream he could not see and felt compelled to go to her. Fharzai wanted to see the life she had led, the choices she made, every memory and dream splayed out before him to enjoy and understand. He could've walked her entire history while she slept, but he refrained. After all, uncovering her truths slowly would do more to enrich his own dreams than if he had dove in headfirst. The dreamscape he provided placed her atop a hill covered in wheat, though the air was much warmer than she would've experienced in Iskaldrik. He wouldn't leave her alone in the dreamscape for long though, appearing after a strong gust of wind at the apex next to her. "Hello, traveler," Fharzai says, setting his far-off, knowing gaze on her. "Usually, I have much to think and little to say. However, when it comes to you, I am at a loss for both." A hint of zeal peeks from behind his eyes, for undoubtedly Fate was etching her into the pattern at large. Pivotal people like her shone like suns in Fharzai's eyes, but he knew he couldn't push like he would a Lysaran. "Have your dreams been well?"

[shewolfaurea]

Person: @emissaradia Location: Just off the dance floor note: neptunalia baybeeee

"I abandoned my shoes. That's something that's never been written about in any etiquette handbook I ever had to read because you'd have think it'd be common sense." Her face is still flushed as she comes off of the dancefloor and over to where Aradia is beside the table they'd been sat at before she'd hurried off. Standing there, hands on her hips as she takes a second to catch her breath, she feels a bit sheepish despite the grandiosity of the whole affair and she's barefoot. Because she'd handed off her shoes to someone because she hadn't been about to be outdanced by some nymph. "I packed flats, Althea is never going to let me live this down."

[elokian]

who?: @vuldak-juneau where?: tiber bay when?: neptunalia

Naturally, Elokian was eager to put the whole experience behind him. Whoever he became in the prism would remain in the prism. The things he brought back with him were far more pressing than worrying about the state his other competitors had seen him in. Elokian was still the Captain of the greatest armada on the Veild Sea and that had to remain his priority. Though, however resolute he may have been in such sentiments, from atop the deck of his ship he couldn't stop his eyes from following her down below. Everyone experienced a unique sort of pain during his trial, and Elokian experienced more types than anyone. But the feeling of Juneau's impacted him deeper than any pain he'd experienced before. "Aye there girl, don't tell me you've come to cash in on my offer already," he shouts down, leaning over the edge of his flagship. "I have a rather busy day of tavern hopping and flirting with pretty boys ahead, but I can squeeze a kneecapping or two in for a fellow survivor."

[etienneulven]

Person: @afshinxeldar Location: Neptunalia "Is this what people do here?" Etienne takes in the whole scene of the bustling Winter Palace, the extravagance of it all with awe and skepticism. For the most part he's kept to the edges of things just to observe and take whatever snack or drink was handed to him, as he thought it impolite to refuse such a thing. So naturally he was standing there holding a small cheese bread of some sort and a glass of something that smelled strongly of....Plums? Not an ideal fruit but he doesn't want to be rude. "Throw big parties?" The man who'd also been handed a cheese bread by a very enthusiastic person holding a tray of them had to be Iskaran. It was the furs without a shirt combination that gave him away.

[temperednuvi]

who? @abelasx where? the feywilds

Nightmares are not gone when one wakes, and Shenuvun had not expected for all that had terrified her for years to fade in the morning light. The experiences she had gone through in Iskaran lands would mark her forever more, the scabs sitting just beneath the skin and aching, begging her for her to scratch at them until they bleed once more. Only time would turn the scabs into scars, only time would heal the wounds imposed on her by Iskaran hands, but she did not want to give them any more time. She had lost years in their care, and now she had to live in the aftermath, reminding herself every night that she would not wake up in the caverns once more. 

The reminder helps, but it doesn’t make waking up easier. There are days where sleeping in her apartment is too much for her, days when she wakes up feeling choked by the walls closing in on her. 

Sometimes those days turn into weeks. 

Nuvi has taken to camping with Harajatish on those days, and as dawn breaks over the trees of the Feywilds, she knows it was the right choice. Hands buried on Harajatish hair, she sighs as she rests her head against his flank and considers her options. She has to go back to Bacchus, but she wants to stay in the forests for a little bit longer, the fresh air soothing her sentences. Breathing in deeply, she goes to stand up when she hears steps against the forest floor. Head snapping up, she looks around with narrowed eyes. 

“Who goes there?”

[hiddenvaldis]

who? @afshinxeldar where? The Cisterns, Eterna

Making it to the Cisterns while keeping a low profile in Eterna is more of a bother than she wanted to admit, and for a brief moment Valdís yearns for the time when she was relatively anonymous among the upper class of Lysara. Then she remembers Lady Ilithya’s face when she tried to steal her wig, and a snicker escapes her. Perhaps she doesn’t regret it nearly as much as she should, she muses as she makes it inside the bar and heads to the bar to order a pint, her eyes falling upon an elvhen that seems rather out of place with the usual crowd. Curiosity piqued her, and she considered her options for a moment before shrugging carelessly. The worst that can happen is that she meets another asshole with a stick in his ass, like the Queensguard in Caribella, and she is itching for a fight so if that ends up being the case. Well, all the more fun for her. And if not? He might have something of worth to share. 

“Yours is a face I haven’t seen here before,” she muses as she settles into an empty space a few feet away. “If you wanted to have a taste of Eterna’s Neptunalia festivities, I would recommend more popular venues. Or are you looking for something else?”