You see one of the priests look warningly towards the area from where the sounds come from and your ears follow it till your eyes find a blonde haired muscular and extremely well endowed girl surrounded by various and diverse drums.. her fingers tapping a soft rhythm on a narrow waisted pottery drum. She shrugs and smiles at the priest. Around her are gathered a group of diversely dressed people . An earth motherly woman in a black robe and vibrant eyes sitting astride a large wooden drum.her fingers carressing the mottled skin bringing out a deep thrumming sound... A number of people you cant quite make out are holding clave sticks or have drums or instruments sitting next to them. Four more people who seem to blend and shift are playing various drums. In the centre of this half circle is a man dressed in a green robe with hair cascading down to his lower back.. Around his feet are clustered a pottery drum.. several shaman drums.. and other drums, clustered together with a selection of flutes, whistles, ocarinas, and unusual musical instruments. He looks at the rest of the group with a resigned look and raises his eyebrows. The music stops ... and he looks at the priest and shrugs and smiles apologetically. At this point the music reached that same irritating flutter point seemingly at the point when the music stops. His eyes sparkle at you as if to say “oops I didnt mean that......NOT” and you realize he is the person that was with you travelling at the gathering circle.
Around the outside walls of the pavillion are gathered a ever increasing group of people in a variety of attires. You are guided to a gap in the circle and guided to sit.
You notice as you look around rubbing your chafed knee that there are quite a few others with scraped shins or arms that are rubbing them whimsically and you begin to wonder at how true perhaps the comments of your escorts about faeries are. Hearing a muffled giggle you look over where it came from and cant not miss a set of short cropped hair that seems to glow in a light of its own. It is a bright yellow that impudently seems to stand out in the darkened tent. You see a very slim and elfin figure and a pair of very old eyes in a cute faery like face that sparkle and glint at you. Next to her sits a Redheaded sloe eyed figure who seems quieter yet in that depth there is a magick that seems to reach out. . An older woman dressed in egyptian garb tapping a darambukah. Standing next to her is a woman that takes your breath away with her beauty. Long dark hair cascades down her back, enshrouding a hourglass figure. Her delicate fingers are tapping finger cymbals and her body moves lithely to a rythym quite her own. A face that seems both old and young moves out into focus. At one look you see an eternal youthfullness and a devilish grin. your heart stops for a moment as he has a beauty that seems to reach out and grab you. It is a beauty from within, a stateliness and somehow a burning passion shabbily hidden by masks of the woods and glades, when you look again you see wrinkles cast around the eyes and an agelessness, his body is thin and wiry , and the bones of his face stand out in bold relief. His left hand rests proprietorially on the knee of a sultry beauty clad in whisps of virtually nothing with a sculpted face not unlike his. His right hand is hidden behind the derriere of another beauty to the other side,, and the look of langousness leaves little doubt that whatever he is doing she likes. Some visions move through your mind.. Puck, of the mischievious eyes and horns, hooves, and hairy legs and fauns, a olde passionate sensual abandonness. You blink and try and calm your breathing and look around further. There is a scattering of younger people around him and he seems to be whispering to them and gesturing as they point and smile at what is happening in the ritual circle. You remember tales about brownies and pixies and little creatures that run around and do mischief. Somehow though you dont think they are responsible for the mishaps that seem to be befalling this ritual,, but glancing at the older faery you look at his eyes and are not quite as sure.