Solsitaine
“It is quite a wonder, is it not? That despite the falls, the tragedies humanity has endured, some at the hands of our own, there is a day where none of that matters. The day when one year ends and we look ahead with hope to the next, when families reunite and the music never stops. I speak of course of Solsitaine. I do not yet know of a land on Ithaca, past or present, that forgoes this blessed day of celebration.
“In truth, Solsitaine is not one day but two. Lesser Solsitaine comes around every four-hundred and twenty-one days, as Ithaca completes another orbit around the suns. It is a celebration yes, but one for families, a time of private joy and the reforging of old bonds over a sumptuous feast. Then there is Greater Solsitaine, which comes every three-hundred and sixty-five (and a quarter) days. Why? Why three-hundred and sixty-five? Why a quarter? Why is this day the Greater of the two? If you find someone alive who knows, send them my way. But the why doesn’t matter to most. I tell you, I have witnessed the turning of the year in a dozen cities across Ithaca. I have seen the Falgrim roaring their sagas to the moons while their pyres blaze against the night, witnessed every stone-faced Corvaga crowing the lyrics to The Song arm in arm with their comrades. Every year the Takhimaar and Galathian elves try to outdo one another in their festivities, with the Takhimaar launching volleys of fireworks from their airships while the Galathians light up the skies with glittering Sigil-magic. Even the Sea Elves, so far to the south, fill the decks of their ships with light and music. But truly one has not lived until they witness Solsitaine in the Selkrim capital. Riolante, Her Light Undimmed, basks as ever beneath the Light of its crowning beacon. But even the Auridian must work hard to be seen on this night of nights. For the Selkrim love fireworks even more than the Takhimaar, and spend all year preparing their celebratory arsenal.
“I do not exaggerate when I say that upon the fourteenth strike of the clock, the sky above Riolante becomes a dome of brilliant light, of dancing white and gold sparks and the thunder of fire-powder. Tens of thousands of rockets shoot from its towers in a never-ending stream and suddenly the night seems as day. I wept, do not doubt it, I wept. But my tears were swiftly banished by the joy around me, for that is the beauty of Solsitaine. No war was ever fought, no treaty ever torn up on Solsitaine. There is no more blessed day than this, may it ever remain so.” - Excerpt from the Tiresias Codex: ‘Festivals New and Old’ by Vialla di Giarrenza, Selkrim historian
