The village is in pandemonium as it's the winter festival and it's time for the annual snowball fight. Snowballs lightly colored so the color stayed on those struck. Those struck were 'out'. And just to be fair, since the one meant to judge it was down with a very bad cold, Wraithvine was asked to judge it. And ze and hir friends were asked, as well, to come enjoy all the festivities, music, food, and fun the event had to offer. -- The New Guy
[AN: Fixed the pronouns]
There were special gloves and special coats. The snow was readily available and in plentiful supply. The instant someone scooped up snow with their special gloves, the resulting ball changed hue. Once thrown, if it landed a hit on someone's special coat, the colour stuck and the victim was out of the game.
As one might expect, the otherwise sleepy town of Aldavale was absolute bedlam.
Cunning gangs of children ganged up against their least-favoured adults, wily grandparents assisted their very small grandchildren against their older siblings. Teens were out against everyone, including their mortal enemies - other teens. Some crept and hunted. Some staked out sniper positions. Laughter reigned in the streets.
Watching and judging, Wraithvine over saw it all from the central tower. All over the roofs of Aldavale, hir friends from the local Kobold burrow oversaw the alleys and byways. They were equipped with fur and straw coats, as well as semaphore flags with which to signal Wraithvine and the Kobolds running the scoreboard.
They were also running book on the celebration. So far, the smart money was on the Blue Tag Rogues. They were a gang of scrappy ten-year-olds that possessed speed, cunning, and a vastly necessary deadly aim with a missile. They were fighting for a year's supply of pastry treats at their local bakery.
Wraithvine, not allowed to bet on the outcome, was watching out for the town's underdog.
She was also ten, and from the poorest edge of the town. Her only caregiver was ailing, and there was no-one else willing to take her in because she was a bright orange Hellkin. Even if she lost, Wraithvine was going to help her, but ze wanted to see how close it was.
Had ze known about young Magnanimity, Mags for short, ze would have done something a lot sooner. Probably to the people who refused her any help. But that was a moot point, now.
There she was. A small figure in a too-large coat and too-big boots that she'd stuffed with rags, paper, and fluff. She was amazingly hard to spot because a blobby, brown, non-human shape that close to the ground was dismissed as an animal at first glance. Her opponents didn't get a second glance, because Mags had struck by then. A snowball once held in her cosy-shrouded tail was already in flight to her latest target.
Then she'd scurry through the narrow byways before any of her target's allies could return fire.
She'd picked off the Bower Street Braves one by one. Though for three of them, she'd sparked an internecine squabble between five of them with one snowball. She stalked and hunted the Blue Tags until just three remained inside their snow fort. She went after Red For Dead as they attacked the Blue Tags, and circled around to catch the Yellow Powder team as they looked for any stragglers.
She was the only one not having fun with the fight. She was the only one who didn't laugh. She was the only one who treated the Midwinterfeast Snow Fight as if it were the most serious thing in the world.
For her, it was.
One by one, teams dropped off the board. They joined with the festivities for hot cider, mulled wine, or warm pie. Some even laid bets on the remaining teams.
The Blue Tags were knocked off by Yellow Powder, who were then eliminated by the Reds. The last standing member of which got smacked by a bright orange snowball in her butt.
The one, clear winner that year, was Magnanimity Gemmasward. She only appeared in the town square because the jubilant Kobolds literally carried her in. Wraithvine came down from hir high perch, floating gently from high vantage to solid ground. Ze winced when Mags flinched.
"You've won the year's prize," Wraithvine announced. "Name it, and it shall be yours." This with a glare to the Mayor and his vividly blushing daughter, who were trying and failing to protest. "Those are the rules of this game."
Mags, who had the Mayor's daughter's nose, cleared her throat and said, "Proper care for Gemma and me. For the year."
The story came out, eventually. Gemma was a hedge witch of sorts. Making herbal remedies when she wasn't eking out a life far away from the society that shunned her. Well. Shunned her until her skills were necessary. She'd seen to a lot of births and a lot of sickbeds, and knew a lot of secrets. That was why few messed with her, lest her memories become public knowledge.
She'd seen to the Mayor's daughter for an 'illness' that kept her indoors for five months. And one day claimed she found a newborn, infant Hellkin in the woods. And for five years, Gemma had the mysterious magnanimity of the Mayor.
Wraithvine knew how to press those levers, too. Under the new pact ze made with the Kobolds, the Mayor would honour his promises or suffer the most dire consequences a pack of Kobolds could concoct.
Ze also helped in hir own way, gifting a packet of small seeds to Mags once the deal was done. "Plant them on the east side of your house, and make a tea with the leaves. They will help with Gemma's sickness."
Ze'd come back in a year, to make sure they were faring well.
[Photo by benjamin lehman on Unsplash]
If you like my stories, please Check out my blog and Follow me. Or share them with your friends! Or visit my hub site to see what else I'm up to.
Send me a prompt [24 remaining prompts!]