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Along the border between the Leicester Alliance and the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, just north of where Ailell, the Valley of Torment, begins, there exists the largest pumpkin patch in all of Fodlan— a place overrun by families during the cool days of autumn.
Raphael, Marianne, Sylvain and Mercedes wait patiently, occupying the corner booth in a dim yet inviting tavern, for the Wyvern Moon to climb higher into the sky and for the pumpkin patch to empty out.
“I’m gonna carve the biggest of ‘em all!” Raphael booms. The glasses and pitchers in the tavern shake and clink in reply.
Sylvain cuts in with a wry smile, half a sweet bun in his left hand and Mercedes’ hand in his right. “Raph, I’d bet I’ll carve one bigger than yours. What do you think, ladies?” He gestures to them as he finishes the rest of the pastry.
Mercedes chimes in first, her head tilted to one side, as if genuinely pondering the question. “Hmm, I don’t know, Sylvain. Raphael is very strong. Besides, what do you need such a big pumpkin for anyways?”
“I wouldn’t even know what to carve on one so big…” Marianne says, somehow equal parts a whisper and a declaration to the group.
Raphael gets to his feet and rubs at his calloused hands. “It doesn’t matter what I carve because the pumpkin will be huge!” He gestures for them to follow as he heads for the door.
The girls stand up to follow, and Sylvain brings up the rear, stuffing his face with one last sweet bun before slipping through the swinging tavern doors.
Once night falls completely, the tavern is lit up only by flickering oil lamps and the light-hearted chatter coming from the corner booth. Marianne and Mercedes had long returned with their selected gourds, having run out of patience and light to guide their way back. They made their way by torchlight and sat comfortably in the red cushioned seats. At their request, the tavern keep laid out an assortment of knives and blades, some perhaps larger than the task called for, and provided them with four white candles.
Mercedes finishes carving first, primarily interested in getting to light the candle inside. She spins it around to reveal the classic jagged smile and triangular eyes. The tip of her index finger sparks to life with a small flame, which she uses to light the candle before standing it up inside.
Marianne, for all her uncertainty and indecision, is finished before either of the boys have returned from their hunt for a perfect pumpkin. Mercedes’ jaw drops as Marianne reveals a near perfect carving of Dorte, one of the horses in the stables at the academy. “Marianne, this is lovely!” The attention to detail is stunning, from the ears to the mane, and Mercedes blushes slightly when she looks back at her own carving.
Marianne smiles brightly and places her own candle inside after Mercedes has lit it. “Thank you, Mercedes.”
Another hour goes by, and Raphael and Sylvain are still in the patch. The girls resolve to go look for them, just for Sylvain to stagger in with a bright orange pumpkin twice the size of his head, fingers straining to keep it aloft. His grip gives out and it rolls across the wooden floorboards, until coming to a clattering halt against the wall opposite to their booth.
He wipes the sweat from his brow, then draws up to his full height and beams. “I’d love to see Raphael beat that. That’s easily the biggest pumpkin in the whole patch!”
The three of them sit around it and begin to carve. Other than “carve a big pumpkin,” it’s quickly apparent that Sylvain had no plans for his carving. It starts with a semi-accurate approximation of the Crest of Gautier, then transitions into what he claims is an “exact replica of Garreg Mach.”
Mercedes smiles and says, “If you say so!”
By the time Sylvain has exhausted all concepts for the pumpkin, they hear the door behind them creak open. When they turn, all they see is Raphael, white shirt and hands caked in dirt and forearms dripping in sweat.
“No luck, Raphael?”
He laughs heartily, putting both hands on his gut. “No luck? I just need you guys to hold both doors open for me!”
They do as he asks, and watch stunned as Raphael lugs in a pumpkin three times the size of Sylvain’s, balanced on his shoulder as though it weighed the same as an apple.
“I think Raphael may have won, Sylvain,” Mercedes jokes, setting her own pumpkin on top of Sylvain’s.
He groans and hides his face in shame as the other three laugh and begin work on carving the biggest pumpkin in all of Fodlan, an endeavor that will surely carry them through the night and into another cool autumn morning.