The Feast of Servalin

The serving staff of the palace began serving the feast. All the dishes ranged from small hors d'oeuvres to massive roast cow. The first thing that assaulted the assembled diners was the poignancy of spice wafting from the platters being brought in. They contained eggs in all shapes, sizes and preparation. There were poached, fried, pickled, boiled, and deviled. They ranged from grouse and sparrow eggs being the smallest up to and including dragon eggs which were about three feet long. The particular aspect of dragon eggs is that one could feed twenty people, takes four people to carry the tray, and about three hours to cook, providing you survived collecting the egg in the first place. The collected assembly waited with baited breath for the Queen to announce the feast to commence. “I call the feast of Servalin to order. On this the shortest night of the year we honor Servalin and all he has done. May the days remain warm and clear. This time of year, we welcome his return as the nights get longer and we slide into the time of harvest and plenty. Let us hope that the winter is both mild and temperate with the largess of our harvests lasting well into the spring. As you all know we are not one for lengthy speeches, so in closing we say enjoy the feast” implored the Queen with reverence.
Queen Amsarill, a vivacious young woman just entering the full bloom of womanhood, her long flowing locks of raven hair pulled up into an ornate do, wore her power with ease. Her silken skin, like polished alabaster, glistened healthily in the light of the candles and torches. Her gown was crafted of fine rose-coloured crushed velvet adorned with fine jewels of ruby, garnet and sardonyx which caught the light and reflected a blood tinged spray of light, clung to her form like a second skin accentuating her curves. Her tiny waist was the envy of every woman at court, while her voluptuous breasts drew the eye of every male in the room over the age of twelve. The fact that she was unmarried was the curse of every potential suitor, for she showed no signs of interest in any of them.
The diners chose their starters with precision and care. Of course, the dragon egg was presented to the head table first. As the Queen carved into the milky white meat and cut into the rich sunny yellow of the yolk which started to flow from the slice to pool on the tray around the rest the feast began in earnest.
The sound of chatter rose filling the room with raucous gaiety as the diners conversed with their neighbours. Gossip was rampant about the druids whose absence was unusual for this holy day feast. It was unusual for there not to be a druid presiding over the day’s events.
As the feast progressed from the hors d’oerves to the first course, the scent of the soup wafted in, rich in cream and spice. The unusual aroma of the meat brought thoughts of the exotic. The rich redolence of cinnamon and frankincense filled the room. Many feasters eyed the tureens with eagerness and shock. The bouquet is legendarily unique, only one type of meat had that specific fragrance, Dragon.
The soup was served to those reverently awaiting the pleasure of a once in a lifetime experience. Some of the older lords and ladies who have had the pleasure of trying dragon chowder, awaited their portions with baited breath. Every portion was small, so all could have a taste. The grumblings about the potentially grievous slight began passing through the massive dining hall, from some of the younger lords and ladies with the senior nobility trying to hush the outbursts. The soup was thick and creamy, decent sized chunks of meat floated merrily in the rich broth. The meat melted in their mouths succulent and sweet.
The smell of the eggnog wafted through the nostrils of the imbiber leaving the scent of rum and nutmeg lingering. The taste was like ambrosia as it slid across the tongue to slowly slide down the throat. Burning as it glided into the stomach sending out tendrils of warmth throughout the body. The sound of hundreds of throats swallowing nearly simultaneously was deafening for the young pageboy. As the warming effects reached the head you could see the pleasure on each person’s face. The resulting sigh of enjoyment roared through the hall. As each member reached again for their goblet to imbibe once more it was like a choreographed dance with hundreds of people dancing all at once. With the second draw some became more relaxed and just folded into their seats. The odd few started scowling and became agitated. Soon they started grabbing cups off trays and just swirling them back.

— Excerpt from draft of novel by The Author

History

The Feast of Servalin was first held by a small gathering of Druids of Corrigenda and the local townsfolk on the day of his internment.  It spread quickly over the years to include the entire world by the time he was acclaimed one of The Eldritch.

Execution

The only requirement to celebrate the Feast of Servalin is just that a feast.  Whether it is a large or small gathering makes no difference, however usually an entire town would gather with each household bringing something to the table for the feast.  This feast is to celebrate the life, death and teachings of Servalin.  Young children are reminded that through their actions and words are they judged.

Components and tools

The only things needed to celebrate the Feast of Servalin, if done properly, is good food and great company.

Observance

The observance of the Feast of Servalin is held on the summer solstice which is the 21st day of Samhradh Moon

Corrigenda    Summer Camp 2020      The Feast of Servalin

Unusual Tradition of Craglim Reach:
In Craglim Reach the eating of Dragon meat is a newer tradition.  At the time of the quote, this was only the second time it has occurred.  Most of the Nobles of Craglim Reach had heard that the old Queen had discovered a means to turn back the passage of time.  Since she was aging and had not yet produced an heir this seemed to be the best thing for the kingdom.