The cold has settled into Piltover by now, with every morning crisped with frost and one’s breath visible with every exhale. Today, Wisps’ Beckoning, recognises that the lights that were released on the marshes might be coming back, that tricksters and ghosts might abound if one is not careful. Piltover might largely safe from the Mist’s encroach, but the effects of the Harrowing are still felt here. There are old powers stirred up by the Ruined King’s forays, after all. Jealous powers.
From the old traditions of leaving out offerings, children go from house to house to collect sweets and other gifts until their baskets are full. The yordle community has taken to this particular tradition with aplomb, both in terms of giving and collecting the treats. Those who do not give proper gifts are often the victim of pranks - paper, egg, snowball and ink, mostly - as punishment. For those who aren’t planning on collecting sweets, there is still plenty to do: the faire is still open, live performances still are staged, tours to museums and art houses are discounted… until the sun goes down, and all goes to rest.
Then the only things open are the mazes. The only lights provided are hand-lanterns and the gleaming grins of the carved pumpkins placed all over the fields and paths, a rite of terror and courage that honours the darker parts of Piltover’s history. Under starlight and moonlight, guides with lanterns and torches will guide visitors across Piltover’s wide landscape, showing the sights that - by daylight - were sweeping vistas of green, now shrouded in shadow and mystery, and telling tales of the darker parts of Piltover’s history: the witches, the werewolves, the wandering spirits, the King and his Court.
