Story of the Day: Cleasnamirtha
Cleasnamirtha is Frewyn April Fools. Here is a little about it:
The first day of the fourth month in the Frewyn calendar was cleasnamirtha. It was a national holiday rather than one sectioned by the Church, known by all but observed by the select and valiant few. This observance was renowned for its general foolhardiness, mostly where the loss of friends on the side of the participants of such a festival was concerned. So named for the Frewyn God of deceit, cleansnamirtha’s object was to prank one’s intimate friends with frivolity, leaving the larked with aspiration that all the sufferings of the day might lead to a celebration in the tavern at the end. Such indulgences were excused in the name of the day, and those who were yet friends by evening rejoiced that their fellowships were the stronger for enduring one another’s harmless and sometimes not so harmless japes.
In the Diras castle keep, this holiday was regularly unrecognized; many in the servants and yeoman’s quarters had not time or interest enough to participate in so odd a holiday, but the nobles celebrated with due commemoration in the royal parlour, claiming a formal card party and masquerade as their adherence to the order of the day. The citizens of Diras celebrated with masks and games, but there was another cast which, though permitted to celebrate the holiday, rarely did: the soldiery had just enough intelligence not to contribute to the inanity expected of this day, but there were a few of the less unseasoned recruits whose sense of honour had not yet emerged to its fullest height.
Young soldiers, who would be otherwise men of understanding and information, were subject to the stupidities others of their ages might commit, but to perform such foolishness while wearing the livery of their king and kingdom was generally ill-advised. They were the ones meant to guard others during such festivities, not encourage them, and though most of the recruits in the Frewyn armed forces behaved with well-bred propriety while in the keep, there were three new recruits who thought otherwise. They had decided to venerate the requisite observances of the day not upon one another but upon the Den Asaan. Here was a masterful machination, one that would require much preparation, and if successful would boast of their intellectual prowess over the unbeatable giant. Plans must be drawn up, suggestions must be deliberated, and the three latest Frewyn recruits sat, on the morning of this holiday, in the soldier’s mess scheming amongst themselves, whispering of what was to be done and how everything was to be carried out to deceive their obdurate trainer. The question of how, however, soon became an impossibility: Rautu’s watchful eyes saw everything, his pointed years heard every creak and murmur, and what the giant was not present to observe and attend his gull did so for him. They contrived that perhaps an intermediary was necessary to distract from their intentions. Perhaps bribing the herald to steal the Den Asaan’s precious doormat would do, or perhaps Martje could be prevailed upon to bake a tolerable chocolate cake with licorice root with hopes of the giant eating its entirety and therefore passing the remainder of the day in the latrine tower, but none of these plan would suffice. They must think of something else to deceive the giant, and they mulled over their bowls of oat porridge while muttering to one another of new designs and possible successes.