Renn’s bitter attitude upon arriving in Tusken was only worsened by the drunken crowds that met him. Of course, by some of the worst luck ever bestowed upon him, the end of his long journey had coincided exactly with the rowdiest night of Seundrin, a three day festival held each year during Sovvead. Renn had always suspected the event’s only real purpose was getting the villagers drunk. Really drunk. Conveniently, too drunk to notice that the nobility were spending all of the town’s money on throwing, and heating, the series of extremely lavish balls that always occurred during Sovvead. While the workers of Tusken laboured harder than ever during the snowy season, the poor conditions discouraged the wealthy from doing much besides sitting in too-comfortable lounge chairs, gossiping or playing cards. This, of course, eventually bored them. Thus, without fail, by the second month of Sovvead, ball season had begun.
Almost as soon as Renn stepped through the gates, a strong compulsion to immediately and rapidly leave consumed him. He knew he had already put off his return for too long though. He had spent an entire half month in Myrwille, pursuing an Elvish girl, whom he had promptly lost interest in after finally winning over. However, his relationship with her had not been a complete loss– it had given him the opportunity to tag along with her brother when he ran away to join a caravan of travelling performers. In the month that followed, he had become quite adept at playing the cittern, and had almost forgotten that he was supposed to have been back in Tusken for two months already.