"Creopan break the chains! Creopan break the chains!" chanted the crowd. Prince Gandin mocked straining against the flowers wrapped around him, while a young woman danced around, twirling a baton.
"A local saint, you say?" asked Nisrioch.
"Oh, yes," said the lady Belecane. "The Synod still doesn't recognize Creopan. They've even tried to supress the Festival on occasion, but--the Graharzes will not hear of this. It's founding dates back to Aethelstan the Great, who was saved by Sutekh the Wicked by the saint, who then lead him to Montfort."
Gandin stood up, and snapped the chain of flowers. The crowd cheered, and the woman with a baton stepped forward, and kissed the boy on the forehead. Gandin accepted the kiss as best he could, a feat that involved fidgeting and glancing around nervously.
"In another four years, he's going to be looking forward to that part," said Morgaine. She chuckled. "I know I would."
"So," said Nisrioch, "will you acknowledge there might just be a connection here? Between Creopan and Marduk Cthonique?"
"What is the badass founder of our line doing as some Milesian saint, ehh?" said Morgaine. "No, Nissy this is all just some random weird festival, with a few weird almost-parallels that you're getting all excited about. I mean--it's not even a similar name! Hells, what does 'Creopan' even mean?"
Nisrioch crossed his arms and mused. "Old Milesian, I believe," he said. "Or a dialect. I believe it's... 'Creeping one', or 'creeper'. Something like that."
Morgaine shook her head. "See? What's that got to do with Marduk? He was a giant of the man! With a mighty stride! He rode a monoceros! Ever see those things, Nissy? They're huge! HUUUUUGE!"
Nisrioch watched as the crowd lifted young Gandin onto their shoulders, chanting "Chains be broken, chains be broken," the woman with a baton leading the way. "Well, you'll at least agree there are interesting coincidences. The chains, the breaking, King Sutekh, the woman with a stick at the..."
"Oh, do not try and tell me that baton-twirler is a stand-in for Ursula of the Staff!" grumbled Morgaine. "It'd be an insult. The woman was as beautiful as the evening star, and as fierce as a winter storm. To be remembered by a girl spinning a stick around is an insult to her memory." She turned to her elder brother. "Face it, Nissy. This is your strange fondness for ancient folkways leading you down some weird path because it amuses you."
"I must admit, I am having flashbacks to the fox festival of Goupil," said Nisrioch with a sigh. He shrugged. "What can I say? I love ancient folkways."
"Yeah, you're a weird guy, bro," said Morgaine. "Who likes things like folkways, and architecture, and weather formations, and legal codes, and I am not even going to get into all the disturbing stuff you and Alcina are into..." She shuddered. "I tell you, the fact you two apparently reproduced is vaguely terrifying..."
"Love you too, sis," said Nisrioch, tossling her hair.
"Yeah, yeah, you are lucky you've got years and height on me," muttered Morgaine. She shook her head then chuckled. "Man, what kind of weird name is 'Aethelstan', anyway?"