Cernaga Nacathach - City Hall Square, Old Town of Ironcastle, Free Lands of the Selkie. 22nd of September 2020.
Ayden Petrial of the Tribe of Fermanagh.
Opening a Harvest Festival was always something special for a Mayor - this year was no exception, especially after this year. The world held its breath after the COVID-19 Pandemic began, tourism and foreign travel were struggling... trade was struggling, too.
This year was strange.
Every brochure for the "Official Announcements concerning COVID-19" and... it would be a different Festival.
But first, we had to open it.
Notabilities from his City, led by Duncan Iarnród of the Tribe of Louth, the CEO of Ironcastle Ironworks, a dozen or so people, were with me on the stage erected in front of the large City Hall, in front of him hundreds and thousands of people from all over the world. With us was a large brazier, filled with coal.
I saw, from my vantage point, a lot of people in Geansai in all colours of the rainbow and then some, the armors of Marcach, the red-white banners of the Swordmaidens and the blue-white banners of the Arrowmaidens, people packed in thick clothing as it was Mid-September - the sun shone, but I would be surprised, if we had ten degrees Celsius by Midday. Right now, I would guess, that we were at seven or eight.
In any case, here, in front of the City Hall in the Old Town of Ironcastle, the cobbled stones leading past massive buildings of stone and brick, we would thank the Gods not for a rich harvest from our fields, but for a rich harvest in iron to be made into steel, for good business and for merry people to work alongside of.
The clock in the clocktower of the City Hall struck nine o'clock - my job began, as soon as a young man from the Younger Militia, of course dressed in his chainmail and coat of arms proudly displaying the red, green and black of Ironcastle, finished playing his trumpet signal.
It was a general call to attention, nothing too fancy or ambitious.
He was finished, took the trumpet off of his lips and stepped back. I nodded to him, then stepped forward.
Dressed in Red and White, the old High Priest of Carman Fea, Glynn Uisinn of the Tribe of Westmeath, smiled at the crowd as he stepped forward, raised his hands to the sky. He intoned in Selkie: "Carman Fea, Lady of War and Peace, Lodan Lir and Ladra, Lords of the Seas, Rivers and all who live on them, o Abhcan, the Black Vixen, hear our humble prayers of gratitude!" He let a beat pass, especially as the people in the Crowd murmured their own little prayers of gratitude. "They year has been good to us, we are healthy and we are safe - so please accept this offering of us, a part of our feast in Your Honour!"
As an offering, four beautiful young women, one each a Servant or Priestess to one of the mentioned Gods, stepped forward, their heads lowered as they carried the Last Fruits: A large beef steak, several smaller mutton cutlets, fish cuts, bread, fruits. A can of milk and a bottle of really good whiskey were along as well.
I stepped forward, torch in hand, and lit the brazier on fire.
The notabilities stepped forward, Duncan taking the large steak - and he threw it into the fire.
"The People of Ironcastle...", I continued, "... offer these in their gratitude, Gods. We wish a good appetite!"
The present people repeated that and watched as quite a few nice things were sacrificed to the Gods via the flames, the notabilities doing their job splendidly - a short flash shot up as someone sacrificed the whiskey bottle, an amused bit of laughter running through the crowd.
It was harmless under open sky, but for all eventualities, there was a large fire engine by the Ironcastle City Fire Fighters just a dozen or so meters away.
"With this, the Day of Taranis' Feast may begin!", Glynn finished - the cheers made him smile as the Harvest Festival began.