November Content Update: Festivals of the Fledgling Realms (Patreon)

FESTIVALS OF THE FLEDGLING REALMS

Montfort Day

Most of the festivals celebrated by the various settlements of the Iron Marches are similar to those which are celebrated in the Concordat. With most of the population hailing from that region, it seems almost a matter of course that they would bring many of their festivals days with them. However, the unique circumstances and frontier conditions of the Iron Marches have given rise to a series of new celebrations, chief among them, Montfort Day.

In short, Montfort Day marks the arrival of the first caravan from the Iron League's headquarters. It is not a fixed day, but simply a festival held the day the first caravan of the spring arrives, marking the end of the rainy and snowy winter which renders great stretches of the Iron Road impassable. For the small, isolated, and often precarious settlements along the Iron Road, the arrival of the first Montfort Caravan represents the end of winter's isolation, the return of links to more deeply rooted bastions of civilisation, and the fact that the settlement has survived the hardest part of the year, and might now look forward to the relatively easier conditions of late spring and summer.

Of course, the Iron League itself does much to encourage the celebration of this day - which after all, can also be seen as a testament to just how integral the League is to the survival of the settlements of the Iron Marches. In these days, those first caravans from Montfort often come laden not only with the customary loads of supplies, but kegs of beer and ale, cured meats, and a great number of peddlars and other travelling merchants intent on selling their wares and services to settlements which have every reason to let loose for a day to mark their triumph over another hard year. The attractiveness of joining such a convoy is enhanced by the League's own policy of doubling the guards provided to the first caravan of the year, ensuring that not even the most hardened bandits could risk disrupting such a ritual.

Thus, the atmosphere of the first Montfort Caravan is like a great travelling fairground, albeit one surrounded by armed guards. When the caravan arrives at a settlement, there is a day of drinking and feasting. Trestle tables are laid out, and the square is given to dancing and music. No work is done. The Divine Court is thanked for allowing the settlement to survive the winter, and toasts are drunk to individuals who were not so lucky as the whole. Even those from settlements which exist outside of the Iron League's control have been known to show themselves on Montfort Day, if only to take advantage of the sale of luxuries and delicacies which they might never have access to. 

When the day passes, there is customarily a second day of rest, to allow the locals to recover from their hangovers, and to give the caravanners time to make last minute deals and pack up. This done, the locals go back to work, and the First caravan continues on its way, repeating the process, until it reaches the end of the Iron Road, celebrating Montfort Day for the last time of the year perhaps a month and a half after the first.

The Golden Circuit

The Mansa of Korilandis holds the same duties as most rulers: the giver of law, the face of the realm in diplomacy, and the leader of the Empire's armies in war. However, the Mansa alone holds another duty, that of ensuring the wealth and prosperity of his vast empire. Every beggar who lives in poverty, every merchant who goes bankrupt, every artisan unable to sell their goods is considered a failure of the Mansa's reign, and one which reflects poorly on the sovereign's ability to reign. Likewise, those who grow wealthy under the Mansa's rule are proof of his suitability.

There are, of course, mundane means of ensuring this prosperity: trade agreements, low taxes, the protection of caravan routes. However, to the Korilandines, the most important of these means is one which is rather more ritual than policy. Once during his reign - usually shortly after his coronation - the Mansa is expected to tour all the great cities of his realm. At each, he is supposed to spend a day dispensing large amounts of his personal wealth in gold to the poor and the unfortunate. Likewise, the governors of the cities themselves are expected to do the same on a lesser scale, touring the city and giving out some portion of the provincial administration's wealth every year, on the anniversary of the Mansa's coronation.

Ultimately, this is more than simply a show of generosity and largesse. It is also a magical ritual of immense power. Just as a Korilandine mage might use a small tag of iron to heat a larger iron bar through the power of sympathy, or irrigate a field by splashing a small bowl of water onto dry land, the Mansa and his governors distribute gold to those least fortunate to deliver wealth and prosperity to the entire realm. Few Korilandines ever contest the logic - as it is the same logic which underpins all of their obviously quite functional schools of magic. Mansas who never complete their Golden Circuits are known to have had unfortunate and unpleasant reigns, while a governor who fails to perform their own duties is one whose removal is quickly demanded.

As for the day itself, it is one which naturally centres around the figure of the Mansa himself. When the Sovereign arrives in person on his so-called "Great Circuit", the city in question bedecks itself in shows of loyalty, and the population of the whole city assembles to greet the visiting monarch. The process of distribution takes the entire day, and the evening is often given over to feasting and revelry. In particular, the beggars who are poor enough to have benefitted from the Mansa's generosity are often given free food and drink, to ensure that the ritual not only ensures the Empire's safety from poverty, but from drought and famine as well. The "Lesser Circuits" of the governors take on a similar shape. Although lesser in scale and extravagance, their more predictable dating and more common occurrence make them perhaps the most anticipated day of the year.

The Day of the Guns

It is difficult to overestimate the importance of gunpowder artillery when it comes to the stories which the Khazari tell themselves about their greatness. It was the cannon which broke the Khwarzen forts, and created the modern shape of the Nizam-i Khazar. It is cannon still which serves as the primary advantage of the Sultana's armies, granting them victory after victory in lands now far from the Khazari homeland. The cannon is not only a symbol of military might, but of the unity, organisation, and intellect of the society which was needed to forge, maintain, and effectively use these weapons in battle. It is as much a symbol of the Khazari people themselves as the bardiche, the tax ledger, or the Sultana's own regalia - and it is celebrated as such.

The Day of the Guns falls in early summer, on the anniversary of the day on which Murad III's new artillery to open fired on the Khwarzen Forts. Although Murad himself was not present to give the order on that day, his legacy as the first Sultans is inextricably bound up with the holiday, as are his deeds, which are recounted in public squares by poets and musicians. In the capital, a great procession is held, with either the Sultana or her Vizier at its head.

But the long-dead Sultan does not hold pride of place on the Day of the Guns. That honour goes to the guns themselves. It is the day in which the local militias parade in their best clothing, their weapons polished and cleaned - and more importantly, their cannon prepared not only for assembly, but for action. At noon, all across the Nizam-i Khazar, every cannon assembled for the purpose is fired, in a grand cannonade meant to represent the might of the Sultana's armies, and the unity of her people. 

Once this solemn and martial ritual is completed, the day is given over to rather less rigid events. Indentured labourers in particular are given the day off, and free food and drink, in recognition of their forebears who hauled Murad III's great guns into place. Ball games and footraces are held, usually with prizes offered. Cakes and delicacies - in particular, one manner of pastry made to look like the turrets and bastions of a fortress, and another rolled up and frosted to resemble a marble cannon ball - are served usually at the expense of local officials. Those Khazari whose ancestors fought at the Khwarzen Fords are encouraged to re-enact the deeds of their forebears. 

It is a day and an evening of high spirits, but it carries with it always the reminder that such efforts are easily turned from revelry to war, and that the very object of the day's celebration is also the implement with which the Khazari vanquish their enemies.

The Opening of the Sea

Given the immense importance of maritime trade and warfare to the Island-Cities, it ought to come as no surprise that the day in which the first ships of the year leave port is considered the most important of the year. Not only does such an occasion mark the beginning of the trading season, but it also much mark the day in which the denizens of the Island-Cities must show their devotion and make their offerings to the All-Encompassing Sea, to compensate it for the wealth which is to be wrested from its depths or hauled across its surface - or to plead that their own ships of war are spared oblivion in lieu of their enemies'.

This is a day which requires much preparation. Its date is set by the city two weeks or more beforehand, based on the weather, the the political conditions within the city itself. In that time, the city's inhabitants are informed, room is cleared on the docks, and the collected offerings meant to be delivered unto the sea are gathered, tallied, and prepared for the ceremony by the city's religious authorities. In addition, this period of preparation is marked by a great deal of nervous staring at the sky: it is believed that the state of the weather prior to the day of the ceremony is an indication of the city's current relationship with the sea. If skies are clear and the winds are constant, then the city is believed to be on good terms. If the opposite is the case, then sometimes orders for additional offerings are made, in hopes of improving what is clearly a very bad relationship between the city and the sea.

The day of the festival itself is most unlike that of other such days. It is intended to be a profoundly solemn affair. There is no feasting, no drinking, no dancing or singing. Swimming on the day that the Sea is to be Opened is punishable by death as a great sacrilege. The gathered offerings are carried slowly across the city to the place in the harbour intended for it. In times of peace, these offerings will be made of gold - usually coin donated by the denizens of the city melted down into ingots. In times of war, the offerings are iron instead - or in cases of great extremity or extravagance, steel. Prior to his disastrous siege of Concordat, the Doge of Fiore ordered an offering that was both steel and silver, both to show off the wealth of his city, and to set hopes that his coming expedition would bring even more treasure.

The subsequent failure of that expedition is proof to most modern Fiorentines that such a gesture was not only a sign of immense hubris, but a sacrilege which was clearly not appreciated by the Sea. Needless to say, the city has stuck to strictly gold, iron, or steel since.

This pattern remains the same all throughout the Island Cities, from the great cities to even the smallest settlement still adhering to the orthodox means of Sea-reverence. To such people, the Opening of the Sea is literally a matter of life and death, with the firm belief that an insufficient or improper offering will lead to a season of disaster not only for those doing the offering, but for the whole of the city. As a result, those religious officials charged with gathering and making the offering on the day of the ceremony are under immense pressure. Should the season turn bad, it will be they who are held responsible. It is not unusual for such officials to be stripped of office or even jailed. On one particular dire occasion, they have even been thrown into the sea themselves, in the hope that their bodies would serve as sufficient compensation for the offering they supposedly bungled.