By Roderick Tharn, Chief Correspondent for State Affairs
It was meant to be the most glorious midsummer celebration the Kingdom of Eyehasseen had ever seen. It was to rival coronations. Outshine solstices. Inspire song and possibly modest awe.
It instead resulted in the brief evacuation of three hamlets, the ignition of the Royal Duck Pavilion, and the permanent retirement of the title “Royal Sparkmaster General.”
The year was 961, and the occasion was the 100th birthday of Queen Winifred the Steady, a ruler known for her enduring patience, her love of root vegetables, and her highly flammable garden hat collection.
In an effort to demonstrate the Kingdom’s progress and spectacle, the Ministry of Festal Coordination enlisted famed alchemist-turned-entertainer Joffan Meek, who had recently dazzled Eastgate with a series of coordinated colour-explosions during a cheese fair. Flushed with funding and unchecked enthusiasm, Meek spent nearly six months crafting what he called the “Heavenbloom Array” — a series of explosive devices arranged to spell out “LONG LIVE THE QUEEN” in the night sky, followed by a shimmering crown and the likeness of a turnip.
What he failed to do was properly calculate the wind.
When the fateful night arrived, the launch site — a field just north of Dunharrow — was lashed by a swift and petulant breeze. The result was chaos: letters scattered midair, forming several unfortunate phrases (“GNOME VEG QUILT” was particularly memorable), and the crown image drifted directly over the livestock pens, triggering a panicked stampede and one minor fence rebellion.
The real catastrophe came when the “cascading waterfall finale” misfired into the Queen’s own viewing tent. Her Majesty was unharmed, though reportedly unimpressed. The tent, the aforementioned Duck Pavilion, and two nearby concession stands were reduced to char and legend.
Meek fled the scene immediately, later found hiding inside a grain silo outside Dustmere, claiming to be “just a tall sack of flour with regrets.”
Though no lives were lost, the incident prompted sweeping reforms in firework licensing and the elimination of any event whose official description includes the phrase “what could possibly go wrong?”
To this day, Eyehasseen commemorates the event each year with a quiet lighting of two candles, a prayer for windlessness, and a special soup served room temperature “just to be safe.”