Verga’s spring moon is awe-inspiring to behold. The night sky is tinted a dark violet by the pollen of countless flowers suddenly blossoming countrywide. Brilliant rays of moonlight stream through the pollen and become vibrant beams of color, vivid spears of lilac and orchid. The young, the lovers, the bored, the tired—they are all invigorated by the stunning display that nature puts on the night of the full moon. Artists are known to have gone mad attempting to name all the shades of purple present in the sky. Amongst the inhabitants of Verga, the words “purple sky” are synonymous with “the busy week of the early spring full moon” as a result of this special phenomenon’s appeal to foreigners. During the first week of April, the cities flood with travelers of all sorts. From all over they pour in, veritable tidal waves of men and women from Eldra’s poorest hamlet, from central Libra’s largest palace, even from the most remote reaches of Terra’s northern marshes.
It’s a phenomenon in and of itself that these people of all walks of life, for the sake of this one shared interest, blend together and become one. Indeed, Verga City is the largest national and socio-economic mixing bowl of peoples, and at this time of year the most densely populated city in all of Libra. Year after year, the flocking crowds return like pilgrims to their holy land—this land bathed in murasaki moonlight. It is not an easy trip for most. The majority of those who come spend a month on their journey alone, being unable to afford steeds or other methods of transportation. The roads from Eldra are poorly defined and often dangerous, with bandits and marauders taking advantage of the sheer numbers of people to pass their operations off as small-scale. The sounds of creaking wheels and panting animals are associated with the impossibly busy thoroughfares, and the cities fill with the heat and smell of bodies.
Residents of Verga greet the incoming people in a variety of manners, ranging from opening their doors to turning their noses up in disdain. One Vergan might gladly share the wonder of his country’s spring while another might look down on the outsider who seeks it so fervently. One inhabitant of little less than eleven years had his own question as he looked down upon the swarms of people crowding the streets of Verga City.
“But why don’t they simply pick the flowers?” Gem wasn’t particularly asking his companion this so much as posing a rhetorical question. He absentmindedly ran his right hand through his hair after speaking, and turned to look up at the sky. A cool breeze was fluttering around, and up on the rooftops, above the warmth of jam-packed bodies, Gem felt a bit chilly. He held his loose-fitting cloak close about him as he crouched down, gathering his body heat and looking more closely into the sea of heads.
“How do you mean?” Gem had become accustomed to the demon’s rasping voice, but still he started upon hearing its jarring metallic sound. He looked over his shoulder, back at the gray-robed figure standing at the apex of the roof’s slope. The demon’s red eyes shone steadily from the shadow cast by its cowl, never blinking or shifting. “How do you mean, kid?”
Gem’s own eyes, a calm, passive gray, gazed straight at his demon companion. For minutes, their eyes locked on eachother, until Gem broke the connection and turned back to examining the crowds. The wind rustled through his shock of hair—an intense green in the moonlight—and played with the knot of his headband. Facing away and down from the source of light, the metal plate that served as a forehead protector was shrouded in darkness, its red center-set jewel dim and unlit.
From his position atop a five-story inn, Gem could make out a large portion of the city. No matter where he looked, the streets were crowded. Even the back alleys were full of loitering travelers—emptied kegs and storage crates made excellent vantage points for those who wished to observe the moonlight. Gem could see the young of the arrivals, enthused by the unnatural colors of this night, clambering around on the few trees that were scattered within the city limits. Some of the more able-bodied visitors made their way to spots such as Gem’s, a low crouch atop a high building. Some stood basking in the moonlight, eyes closed, drinking in the unnaturally sedative sensation caused by the pollen of the Vergan flowers. Some, with wide eyes and mouths, jostled others for a better view of it—the rose-pink moon set against the deep purple sky.