Blackfire Festival, a day off for the Blackflame Plains, where the serfs no longer had to work hard and could freely roam anywhere they pleased.
Some young men and women, hand in hand, wove their way through the groves.
Then there were the elderly serfs, puffing on their pipes, reminiscing about life in the Volcanic Oasis of times gone by.
There were also itinerant peddlers, selling their wares from horse-drawn carts along the roads, pushing hand carts deep into the new settlements, or simply carrying their goods in boxes, peddling them on the ridges of fields. They sold tofu, sundries, bread—all sorts of things.
The land reclamation planning blueprint for Blackflame Plains had almost been set.
