Friends At The Table

In one way or another, High Sun Day is celebrated all across Hieron. After all, there is a day each year on which the sun hangs in the sky, resplendent, for what feels like an impossibly long time. After all, there is a day each year on which the heat gets so strong, the weight of the summer becomes so much, that a celebration must be thrown. On the perimeters of encampments on the plains and forests, light dances brilliantly, impossibly. The orcs have called up thousands of reflective objects, shields, mirrored boxes, from their collections and positioned them along the tops of the walls. From a distance, the settlements appear ringed by flame. The sun does not reach the dwarven cities, deep underground, but the stone feels warm to the touch. They close the heavy doors and snuff out the light and in the darkness hear the sound of the stone cooling. In Marielda, there is a train. There is a train and a volcano and dancing in the streets. A god beloved and feared, a populace, for once, at ease. It is High Sun