Holidays

Every culture has some sort of holiday. Some day where the general populace pauses normal work to celebrate an occasion. Such some things that are commonly celebrated are the new year, harvest, the death of an influential leader, or the victory of a major battle.

Questions to answer about a holiday. What are we celebrating? What time of year does it occur? Are there any special clothes worn? Is there some traditional meal? Are celebrations large scale, or left to each household?

The former slaves of Sha'aqui would never forget the immense kindness of their rescuers from the heavens. Now to commemorate their liberty, people spend the night of the summer solstice dancing and singing. No one goes hungry that night, as the fried dough chains are free, their salty sweet, fluffy goodness a sharp contrast to the iron chains of old.

 Today is the day, a pickpocket's wet dream. Flogging Day, when all of Tantras celebrates the heroes who dragged the tyrant, Maluicious von Dredd, kicking and screaming from his fortress, and left him in the town square for the oppressed townsfolk to deal with him as they saw fit. Now a wooden statue awaits eager citizens, who press together for a chance to be one of the lucky few who get to maim the martinet's marionette. Of course there's is more to the celebration than the brutal beating of the birch buffoon. They aroma of smoked meats and berry pies fill the air, begging to be tasted. Games of skill and fortune tempt even the most virtuous man with their promising prizes. And with all the distractions, who will notice my slipping a few silvers from a couple hundred pockets?

Daily Life

What is "daily life" to the general populace of the area? Are they well off? Do they slave away in some mine? Some examples of how to introduce this element:

Mining the salt of Sha'aqui is hard enough work on its own, but salt saps the hot air of all moisture. Most don't have the fortitude to last a week. If there was any ounce of morale remaining after working fourteen hours shifts, the Beaters made sure to forcibly remove it. But if you're "lucky" enough to survive, you'll be granted meager hydration privileges. It seems only the vilest souls, the kind who feed on the hard work  and good will of others, those who fester in the heart of community, make seniority out of spite. They live to become the Beaters, to be the ones who lace the workers' hard earned water with just enough salt to keep them thirsting for more. This is no place for kindness, nor pity, nor mercy. This is hell. 

These slaves lead a harsh life, knowing that they can only improve their lot by becoming what they despise. 

The briny mists rise from the sea this morning. The first mate bellows the routine orders, and deckhands scurry 'bout the ship coiling rope, adjusting sails, swabbing the *snicker* poop-deck, etc. The Captain of the corvette Desire begins her daily rounds, inspecting the wood for signs of damage or neglect, checking the horizon for storms, gathering reports from the night watch. All seems clear, and we approach our quarry. The Spanish galleon Tesoro should be returning from the Americas, ripe and heavy-laden with gold, spices, and maybe *drool*chocolate. 

The young lady captain is knowledgeable of her craft, and must keep her more "youthful" reactions in her head to maintain command. The pirates have a routine that probably doesn't need to be barked at them, but the first-mate isn't going to let a thread of authority out of his grasp.