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Happy Cudgelmas!
Dec. 25th, 2018 11:34 amEvery winter solstice, the people of Canmaru, be they human, gnome, canin, subcanin or visitant, all share one holiday: Cudgelmas. Druid, maltheist, Avarian, it matters not. All are welcome, and some compelled by circumstance, to take part in the festival.
Canmaru is no stranger to inequality. Anywhere there are rich, there are poor, and the poor vastly outnumber them. Avarian traditions are very clear in their notions of the role of rich and poor; per their philosophy, the rich either deserve their position or will lose it, and the poor must learn to follow unless it is their destiny to lead. To live in harmony with one's role is among the highest virtues, and to know one's role is a crucial part of that.
The Cudgel
Tane, the chaotic neutral god of playful hounds, whimsy, and disorder, wields a club. It is in imitation of a royal scepter, as he is the court jester to Queen Mahanin, as he was to King Gregonne before, even during the Unending Hunt. It's a simple weapon in every sense of the word, though it may take very ornate and festive forms.
The Mass
The role of the poor is to serve, but the role of the rich is to provide. Cudgelmas is that time of year when the poor are provided for in the deepest, harshest months of winter, long after harvest. The wealthy open their doors and the poor pour in, eating their meat, drinking their wine, and walking out with their best goblets and tapestries. It is mob rule, so the distribution is often unfair, but traditions are never clean, perfect affairs. Not all recognize these beliefs, but they're upheld by both religious and secular belief systems, even in desperate times.
The Cudgelmas
The pious wealthy open their doors and set out their best things. They buy in advance and try to provide enough glad and shiny baubles for everyone. The informal but widely understood contract is that generosity and piety at Cudgelmas should be rewarded by accepting it graciously, joining the patronizing old bastard for a toast or several, and moving on.
The miserly, however, will hide their good silver, and this does get noticed. If you're known to be wealthy, and you seek to keep your material goods from the hands of those who enter your home, you can expect to suffer. The contract is void, your home is theirs, and they outnumber you and are given license to carry clubs. Retribution may come tomorrow, but tonight is another matter, and those present are likely to be intoxicated, greedy, and very possibly full of righteous (and not unjustifiable) indignation.
Canmaru is no stranger to inequality. Anywhere there are rich, there are poor, and the poor vastly outnumber them. Avarian traditions are very clear in their notions of the role of rich and poor; per their philosophy, the rich either deserve their position or will lose it, and the poor must learn to follow unless it is their destiny to lead. To live in harmony with one's role is among the highest virtues, and to know one's role is a crucial part of that.
The Cudgel
Tane, the chaotic neutral god of playful hounds, whimsy, and disorder, wields a club. It is in imitation of a royal scepter, as he is the court jester to Queen Mahanin, as he was to King Gregonne before, even during the Unending Hunt. It's a simple weapon in every sense of the word, though it may take very ornate and festive forms.
The Mass
The role of the poor is to serve, but the role of the rich is to provide. Cudgelmas is that time of year when the poor are provided for in the deepest, harshest months of winter, long after harvest. The wealthy open their doors and the poor pour in, eating their meat, drinking their wine, and walking out with their best goblets and tapestries. It is mob rule, so the distribution is often unfair, but traditions are never clean, perfect affairs. Not all recognize these beliefs, but they're upheld by both religious and secular belief systems, even in desperate times.
The Cudgelmas
The pious wealthy open their doors and set out their best things. They buy in advance and try to provide enough glad and shiny baubles for everyone. The informal but widely understood contract is that generosity and piety at Cudgelmas should be rewarded by accepting it graciously, joining the patronizing old bastard for a toast or several, and moving on.
The miserly, however, will hide their good silver, and this does get noticed. If you're known to be wealthy, and you seek to keep your material goods from the hands of those who enter your home, you can expect to suffer. The contract is void, your home is theirs, and they outnumber you and are given license to carry clubs. Retribution may come tomorrow, but tonight is another matter, and those present are likely to be intoxicated, greedy, and very possibly full of righteous (and not unjustifiable) indignation.
The truly foolish attempt to hire guards. This never goes well. Any other time of year, one can expect loyalty, but only the suicidal get between their employer and a lynch mob the size of a city.
Knightly orders take a holiday (literally), druids retreat to the woods or lead the mob themselves. The vulnerable remain vulnerable for the most part, but often those with a higher calling will look to those most in need, either securing them a piece of the pie or simply guarding them against harm on what is a night of sometimes dubious law and order.
Cudgelmas, while not always fair or just, is a holiday of the people. In Canmaru, a world rife with inequality and injustice, it's a light in the darkness and warmth in the cold.
