"Remembrance of Se’Var Night" By Arealius of Port Olni
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Remembrance of Se’Var Night
By Arealius of Port Olni
The frost lay heavy on the orchards when I rose, the Olni River sluggish in its winter course. My villa, though modest in its five rooms, seemed vast in the silence of morning. I sat in my writing chamber, shutters half-open to the pale light, quill idle above parchment. Scrolls and paintings surrounded me, yet my thoughts were not ready to be set down.
The door opened softly, and Sorana entered with a steaming pot of black wine. The fragrance filled the chamber—rich, bitter, comforting. She poured into two cups, the steam curling upward like incense, and placed one before me. We drank together in silence, until our reflections began to flow.
“Word has already reached us,” she said, “that preparations stir for the Sardar Fair. Even in winter, the thought of pilgrimage and trade quickens the cities.”
I nodded, staring into the fire. “And yet this year has been marked not by commerce, but by devastation. Dar Kosis—what began in Sais spread northward, even to Thentis. I remember the fear on the rivers, the migration of survivors, the turbulence of the Vosk and Olni. The shadow of the disease seemed to move faster than the current itself.”
We paused together, honoring the memory of those lost. Then, as she refilled my cup, her sleeve brushed my hand. “Still,” she said, “the holidays endure. Even amidst plague and fear, Gor marks its seasons.”
Later, as Sorana tended the hearth and laid out herbs for the day’s cooking, I joined her in the great room. The scent of woodsmoke mingled with the sharp tang of dried leaves. I spoke of the Vernal Equinox, the New Year of the northern cities. In Ar, doors are painted green, a symbol of renewal, and the festival lasts ten days, filled with feasts and companionship. Every fourth year, the New Year is observed on the extra day between the Waiting Hand and En’Kara. Even time itself bends to the cycles of Gor. Sorana smiled faintly. “The green paint is not unlike my herbs—symbols of life returning after winter.”
By midmorning, I moved to my scroll room, where maps and records awaited my hand. Sorana brought baskets of fruit from the orchards, setting them on the table as I unrolled parchment. I recalled the Sardar Fairs, those great gatherings at the foot of the mountains. Every Gorean is expected to attend before the age of twenty-five, and for ten days the world converges—trade, games, companionship, and the authority of the Priest-Kings woven into every stall and proclamation. The fairs are the heartbeat of the planet. Sorana nodded, arranging the fruit. “Even the orchards here seem small compared to the abundance of those markets.”
By noon, Sorana retreated to her apothecary, where herbs hung drying and salves simmered in clay pots. I followed, carrying my notes, for her company lightened my work. We laughed together at the memory of Kajuralia, the Holiday of Slaves. Even the strictest order needs its day of folly. Slaves are permitted to play tricks upon their masters, sometimes even reversing roles for a day. In Ar, it is celebrated differently, with restraint, but elsewhere it is a rare inversion of hierarchy. Sorana stirred a pot, smiling. “Like a cleansing potion that purges the system. Brief, but necessary.”
In the afternoon, we gathered in the dining room, the scent of orchards drifting through the open shutters. Sorana laid out bread and cheese, while I sharpened my quill for the day’s records. I spoke of the Planting Feast of Sa-Tarna. Without sa-tarna, the staple grain, the cities would starve. The feast is agricultural, communal, tied to survival. Songs and dances mark the planting, offerings are made to ensure a good harvest. The rhythm of the soil binds villages and cities alike. Sorana nodded, slicing fruit. “It is the simplest holidays that sustain us most.”
As evening fell, I retreated to my painting room, the most intimate chamber. Sorana joined me, carrying fresh cups of black wine. The firelight flickered across canvases and scrolls, shadows dancing on the walls. I recalled the Winter Solstice among the Wagon Peoples. Their New Year begins not in spring but at the solstice, when the Season of Snows descends upon the plains. Herds are moved to winter pastures, women keep calendars by the moons, naming each cycle after a bosk. I remembered the day I received my merchant brands among the Tuchuk, south of Imperial Ar and above the Tahari. Their customs are harsh, but enduring. For them, the solstice is not festivity but endurance, the measure of life itself.
Sorana leaned closer, her apothecary’s mind ever attentive. “Perhaps that is the lesson of this year. That even in devastation, the cycles continue. Disease passes, rivers flow, friends leave us, fairs are prepared, and the solstice comes again.”
Together we sipped our black wine, the intimacy of our companionship wrapping around us like the orchards beyond the walls. In the quiet of the villa, amidst scrolls and herbs, we wove memory and tradition into the fabric of our day. And I thought then that Gorean holidays are not diversions, but anchors—of survival, identity, and renewal. From the painted doors of Ar to the snows of the plains, each celebration binds us to the cycles of sun, moons, and earth. I returned to my writing room and rewrote a poem from my childhood that my mother used to repeat to me every year in this season. I smiled as I changed the words just a bit to fit our Port Olni.
A Se’Var Night’s Tale
By Arealius the Sailor
In Port Olni, where the sun dipped low,
Arealius, a scribe, his tales would show.
Se'Var's night, the longest of the year,
A time for reflection, and memories so dear.
He huddled in his shop, quill in hand,
Paintings and scrolls, his stories to stand.
But then, a chill ran down his spine,
The room faded, and a figure divine.
Korus, a warrior, with leather and steel,
Emblazoned with the Priest Kings' seal.
"Greetings, old scribe," his voice so low,
"Tonight, we revisit your past, don't you know."
With a wave of his hand, the room did spin,
Arealius transported his youth within.
Port Kar's docks, where he once did stride,
A young scribe eager, with a heart full of pride.
He forged alliances, without permission's might,
Nearly costing his life, in the dark of night.
A Black Caste assassin, with eyes so cold,
Emerged from shadows, young Arealius to hold.
"Kill me not here," the young scribe did plead,
"Take me to my accuser, my honor to read."
Korus nodded, with approval so true,
"Your bravery saved you, and the warrior's code too."
The scene shifted, like a canvas so bright,
Arealius faced his accuser, with heart alight.
A wealthy merchant, with sneer so wide,
Met justice swift, by the Black Caste's stride.
The warrior's sword flashed, with honor's might,
Ending the merchant's life, in the silent night.
Arealius watched, awestruck and so still,
As the scene faded, like a Se'Var chill.
Korus regarded him, with eyes aglow,
"Honor guides Goreans, your youthful folly to show."
Arealius nodded, reflecting on his past,
May the Priest Kings' wisdom forever last.
Then, a Physician appeared, with lantern so bright,
"Remember Ianda's raiders, and your sword's plight?"
Arealius' eyes widened, with a smile so wide,
"Lady Sorana, my defense, with cutlass beside."
Arealius then frowned, as he remembered well,
“My sword skill was so lacking, we nearly died!”
The Physician vanished, like a spirit so free,
Arealius pondered, the visits yet to be.
Three more emissaries, with tales untold,
Would reveal forgotten stories, like a Se'Var gold.
A Builder materialized, with voice like stone,
"Recall Kassau's mapping, and your capture alone?"
Arealius chuckled, with a twinkle in his eye,
"My forest craft skills, a comedy to the sky."
The Builder took him back, through years so long,
Arealius relived his capture, and his wrong.
He tripped and stumbled, through forest deep,
A Forest Girl's laughter, his heart did keep.
Vina, the leader, with eyes so bright,
"You're useful for labor, or pleasure's delight."
Arealius struggled, to earn his place,
But his skills were lacking, with a comedic face.
He burned meals, tangled garments, and lost vulos too,
The Forest Girls giggled, at his mishaps anew.
But amidst the chaos, Arealius found a way,
To entertain, with a dance, in a drunken sway.
His flute playing, sent animals fleeing in fright,
But his storytelling put the Forest Girls to sleep tonight.
Vina decided, with a smile so wide,
"You're free, Arealius, to avoid our tribe's shame inside."
The Builder vanished, like a spirit so bright,
Arealius laughed, with a heart full of delight.
Two more emissaries, with tales untold,
Would reveal forgotten stories, like a Se'Var gold.
Elder Scribes Janette and Jarvis, with debate so fine,
Discussed Arealius' fitness for magistracy's shrine.
"Discipline lacks," Jarvis said, with a stroke of his beard,
But Janette countered, "His passion drives insightful decisions, unfeared."
Their debate concluded, Jarvis vanished from sight,
Janette remained, with a knowing smile so bright.
"Arealius' path unfolds," she whispered low,
His purpose revealed, like a Se'Var glow.
The final emissary, an Initiate so radiant and bright,
Appeared with an ethereal glow, on this Se'Var night.
"Arealius, your purpose," the Initiate did say,
"Steward, protector, and servant, on Gor's pristine way."
Arealius' heart swelled, with pride so true,
Tears filled his eyes, with a sense of purpose anew.
The Initiate vanished, like a spirit so free,
Arealius smiled, with a heart full of glee.
The Se'Var night concluded, with tales so bright,
Arealius understood his role, his guiding light.
Steward, protector, and servant, he stood tall,
With the Priest Kings' will, his heart's guiding call.
Editor's Notes:
What Happens During Se’Var
Seasonal timing: The Fair of Se’Var coincides with the Winter Solstice, December 21–30.
Pilgrimage: Every Gorean is expected to attend a Sardar Fair before age 25, making Se’Var a spiritual and civic obligation.
Commerce: Booths, banking, money changing, and letters of credit are all conducted under Merchant Law. Cities enforce this law even against their own citizens to keep the fairs open.
Duration: Ten days of trade, companionship, games, and announcements, much like a planetary “World’s Fair.”
Atmosphere: Though solemn in its pilgrimage aspect, Se’Var is also festive, with markets, performances, and gatherings of castes.
⚖️ Risks, Challenges, and Nuances
Not a “holiday night”: The term “Se’Var Night” is sometimes used informally, but canonically it is a ten-day fair, not a single evening.
Merchant Law dominance: Transactions at Se’Var are governed strictly by Merchant Law, sometimes at usurious rates, but universally respected.
Regional differences: While the fairs are universal, local customs may color how citizens prepare for or travel to them.
🌠 Narrative Reflection
Se’Var Night is best understood as the closing festival of the year, when Goreans gather at the foot of the Sardar Mountains. It is a time of both solemn pilgrimage and vibrant trade, where the cycles of sun and season are honored. For the Wagon Peoples, the solstice marks their New Year; for city dwellers, Se’Var is the last great fair before the renewal of En’Kara in spring.
🌌 Gorean Winter Solstice Traditions
Wagon Peoples’ New Year: For the nomadic herdsmen of the plains, the solstice is the start of the New Year. It signals the transition into the harsh Season of Snows, when herds are settled into winter pastures.
Season of Snows: This period runs from late November through late March, encompassing the coldest months. It is a time of endurance, survival, and community solidarity.
Moon Calendar of the Women: Women of the Wagon Peoples keep their own calendar based on the phases of the largest Gorean moon. Each division is named after a type of bosk (e.g., “Moon of the Brown Bosk”), tying celestial cycles to the lifeblood of their herds.
Contrast with Northern Cities: While the Wagon Peoples celebrate the solstice, many northern cities instead mark the Vernal Equinox (March 21) as the New Year, painting doors green and holding festivals.
⚖️ Risks, Challenges, and Cultural Nuances
No universal solstice festival: Unlike Earth cultures, Gor does not have a widespread, planet-wide solstice celebration. Traditions vary by region and caste.
Harsh survival context: For nomadic peoples, the solstice is less about festivity and more about preparing for the long winter. Celebrations are practical, tied to migration and herd management.
Lore gaps: The Gorean books rarely detail solstice rituals beyond the Wagon Peoples’ observances. Much of what is known comes from reconstructed lore and fan chronicles.
🌠 Narrative Reflection
The Gorean solstice is not a festival of lights or feasting as on Earth, but a marker of endurance and renewal. For the Wagon Peoples, it is a solemn yet hopeful turning point: the herds are secured, the moons guide the women’s calendars, and the people brace for the long snows. In contrast, city dwellers look to spring equinox for their renewal, showing how different environments shape cultural rhythms.
🌟 Major Gorean Holidays & Festivals
Gorean New Year: Celebrated on the Vernal Equinox (March 21) in most northern cities such as Ar. Doors are painted green, and a city-wide festival lasts ten days. Every fourth year, the New Year is observed on the extra day between the Waiting Hand and En’Kara.
Sardar Fairs: Four massive trade fairs held at the foot of the Sardar Mountains, coinciding with solstices and equinoxes. They last ten days and serve as pilgrimage sites—every Gorean is expected to attend before age 25.
Kajuralia: Known as the “Holiday of Slaves,” this festival is akin to Earth’s Feast of Fools. Slaves are allowed to play tricks on their masters, sometimes trading roles for a day. It is celebrated in most cities on the last day of the 12th Passage Hand, though in Ar it is observed differently.
Planting Feast of Sa-Tarna: A springtime agricultural festival marking the planting of staple grain crops, celebrated in rural and city communities alike.
Wagon Peoples’ Solstice New Year: Distinct from the northern cities, the nomadic Wagon Peoples mark the Winter Solstice (December 21) as their New Year, beginning the Season of Snows.
⚖️ Risks, Challenges, and Cultural Nuances
Regional differences: Not all Goreans celebrate the same holidays. City dwellers emphasize equinoxes, while nomads tie their calendars to moons and herds.
Religious undertones: The Sardar Fairs are not just trade events but also spiritual pilgrimages, reinforcing the authority of the Priest-Kings.
Social inversion: Kajuralia is rare in Gorean culture as it temporarily suspends hierarchy, but it is tightly controlled and symbolic.
A Gorean Christmas Carol haha I love it.
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