A new tradition seems to be in the making where residents launch brightly colored projectiles into the air and dance around the large chunks of meat roasting over the pit. It seemed like genuine fun and I was eager to participate in my own little bit of revelry.
After making a few inquiries, due to their somewhat dangerous and potentially destructive nature, I was directed to Anton and after discussing my proposition, I handed over several sacks of gold and he handed over several crates of the luminaries.
It was with great excitement that I hauled them back to Stinging Tree Hollow where I could delight in their explosive brilliance without the overshadowing arm of Halmar coming out to put a damper on the festivities.
And to be sure, it was marvelous fun. The night illuminated with a brilliant shower of color. Some of these new devices called Fireworks launched themselves to dizzying heights, while others bellowed a fountain of brilliance. Others still made a dazzling display as feisty balls of light spun and whirled in all manner of direction.
Unbeknownst to me, the word Fire, is a key ingredient in the firework, not just part of a snappy name to help sell the product. Had I had such foresight, I would not have stacked and then used the crates themselves as a way to prop up and hurl the works into the air. It was all going so swimmingly well, until the crates themselves smoldered and then ignited. This set into motion a series of events that was at once, horrifically terrifying as well as bedazzling to behold.
Amidst my excitement and jubilation, the first crate began to rumble then exploded in a fireball of sound and color. The fireworks shot from their confinement in every conceivable direction. Their path was utterly unpredictable and I was unable to negotiate a safe path to extricate the remaining crates.
After taking several direct hits to my person, I sought refuge behind the stalwart trunk of a nearby tree. The night was alive with whistles and colors. The fireworks danced and detonated all along the ground. Some took flight, launching themselves at nearby houses and trees. Some where able to find me sheltered behind the tree and discharged mere inches from parts I consider most delicate.
In the chaos and confusion, I made a break for another location to shelter myself. Impaired from the flashes, I miscalculated the direction, and proceeded headlong into the remaining crates. All at once, the contents ignited and launched into the air, the night awash with colors that blinded me. The sound was deafening as each and every device went off in turn. The sparks and streaks of heat caused the other boxes to follow suit and within moments, each crate set off in a dance of blinding fury. I was thrown off my feet by the concussion while the red hot bursts peppered down on me.
It was more than the trees, grass and pumpkins could bear. They added to the spectral majesty of the night. I made the bold decision to run for the tavern and fetch buckets of water. My efforts were thwarted and I took several more shots to the back of the head for no good reason. The tavern had no buckets of water, or mugs, or pitchers, or anything else for that matter. I came to the painful realization I had never bothered to retrieve the items from the bank and furnish it accordingly.
My quick thinking led me to the nearby well. I sprinted through the night, dodging and weaving, trying to avoid being pelted by random projectiles. I was not successful in that endeavor, but I did make it to the well. But all was not well at the well. It was a wishing well, a mere prop decoration to trick travelers out of their coins in the hope of receiving some favorable outcome as though luck is based on some toss of the coin.
With nowhere else to hide, I made a dash for a nearby hot tub. I knew it would one day come in handy and threw myself in. I hid just below the surface and watched the turbulent finale. The sky streaked with radiant colors. The air was thick with smoke and ash. Smoldering pumpkins toppled and oozed under the savage attack. I stared in awe at the ever changing blooms of coloration.
Just when it reached a pinnacle of tension and danger, all was quiet, save for the crackling embers of nearby branches. The fireworks had spent themselves and all was shrouded in darkness again. I slowly exited the tub, but threw myself to the ground in terror as one final work went off. It was silent again. I waited. And then waited some more.
And then, soaked to the bone, with smoldering grass all around, pumpkin flesh scattered in all directions and crate fragments as far as the eye could see, I took stock of the situation. It had been the most spellbinding display I’d ever seen and I quickly counted my coins, tallied how many additional crates I could buy from Anton, and set off for Kingsport.
Oh, look how very exciting.
Magnificent! Hopefully the smoldering fragments won’t rain down upon my head, that could be dangerous.
Huzzah! How fabulous! Good thing these go straight up, because if they didn’t it would be trouble for us all.
More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia
- The economic instability – A Crate by any other name
- The graceful art of dyeing
- Log rides in Upper Fortus
- A Key, A Chest, And That Same Terrible Swamp
- Exciting new items to start the world afresh
- A House in Braemar and Trying Out Decorations in Shroud of the Avatar Release 12
- By the stinking of this dung, something wicked this way comes
- Economic instability forces me to seek secondary employment
- $5 for $5 Holiday Bonus and Most Anticipated MMO of 2015
- Air Powered Propulsion System in Upper Fortus