The traveling extravaganza known as the Witchlight Carnival visits your world once every eight years. You have a dim memory of sneaking into the carnival as a child without paying for a ticket. That memory has grown foggy over time, though it still conjures a weird admixture of emotions—wonder and awe mixed with loss and regret. During this childhood visit, your character lost something. You tried to find it, but the carnival owners—a pair of elves named Mister Witch and Mister Light—were decidedly unhelpful.

“Silly little screeching cricket,” said Witch. “You forgot to buy a ticket.”

“The carnival goes round and round,” said Light. “The multiverse is our playground. Nothing’s free and nothing’s lost. Every visit has its cost.”

As time passed, your heart became less heavy, and you gave less and less thought to those childhood events. Now, for reasons you can’t explain, the longing to retrieve that which you have lost has resurfaced, as though an old spell has faded away, allowing you to feel the loss as sharply as if it happened yesterday.

The Witchlight Carnival has returned, and you find yourself standing near a ticket booth by the entrance at twilight, just as the carnival is about to open. There you meet others who look as troubled as you. Without knowing how or why, you sense that each of them has lost something as well. Perhaps fate has brought you together.

Please introduce yourself by describing what the other characters see. 

When you look at me, you see a man with pale blue skin and white, shoulder-length hair. A shade under six feet tall, I wear long white robes and hold a long staff on my right hand. I wear a backpack and a deep blue gem hangs around my neck on a gold chain. As I look around the fair, my expression flits between scholarly examination and childish enthusiasm.

I’m tall (over 6ft) and thin, and walk slightly hunched over so as not to draw attention to myself. A good gust of wind would probably knock me over.

My skin is yellow with greenish tones, which only makes me look sicker – but I’m not sick, only haunted. And you can tell that by looking into my eyes.

My face is elongated with deep-set eyes, a flattened nose, and long pointed ears. I have long black hair, which I wear in a braid, and a long black beard, which is also plaited.

I wear dark blue robes and clutch a staff like it’s all that’s holding me up. At my side is a small crossbow, and I wear a backpack fastened tight.

Looking around the fair that expands away before me, I’m at once frightened by what I see, but excited by what lies ahead…

The drow stares.

Her piercing amber eyes survey every individual, one at a time. Sizing them up, possibly judging potential worth or threat level: it's hard to tell, she gives nothing away in her otherwise blank expression.

It's a stare that makes some folk uncomfortable.

She doesn't appear to be like other dark elves. A little above average height, and her hair is jet black with streaks of electric blue, rather than the usual white or silver. She stands straight and with obvious dignity, but doesn't exude the typical female drow aura of self-perceived superiority.

She does, however, stare. At you, and those around you.

At her left is a short sword, at her right a rapier, both appear to be well made. Her clothes are similarly well made, definitely quality but not ostentatious, garb that wouldn't stand out in places where most decent folk can be found, at the same time allowing the wearer to blend in with a crowd.

The drow stares at the ticket booth, at the carnival.

"You have something of mine," she says. "I would like it back."

The first stars of night twinkle above the apricot sunset. Giant dragonflies whir overhead, trailing streamers, and a low mist curls over the ground. Through a floral archway, you glimpse wondrous and vibrant creatures — elf stilt walkers, dancing faeries, and painted performers. Everywhere there is laughter, pixie dust, bubbles, and the wistful tune of a whistling calliope.

A silver statue of a dancing faerie is mounted on the roof of the ticket booth, surrounded by fluttering butterflies. The booth is decorated with an animated depiction of the night sky, with shooting stars arcing across it.

An elderly goblin perches behind the ticket counter, peering at you quizzically through a spyglass. He lowers the spyglass and calls out to you: “Greetings, fair fairgoers!” 

I step forward to the booth.

"Good evening to you, good sir. I would very much like to buy a ticket. And perhaps a map or guide pamphlet."

I shoot a glance at the drow. "Like this lady, I am seeking something important, you see. Although perhaps less material."

The goblin peers at the drow through his spyglass again, muttering. "We're all searching for something, friend."

He drops the spyglass and instead raises an earhorn to his ear. "What're your names, fairgoers?"

Next to the ticket booth, a painted sign of an elf wearing a jester’s hat springs to life and exclaims, “We hope you’re having a delightful evening!”

"My name is Torkalyn," I say to the goblin and to the others near me. "And you are right about all of us searching. I've also lost something... and I'm hoping to find it here." 

You look at me and at first glance, I seem almost boring in my Minotaur-ness. Just under 7 foot, swollen musculature stretching my chainmail. I carry a long sword and have a great axe strapped to my back. Fearsome, unstoppable, a threat.

But then your eyes look past the obvious and pick up smaller details. My beard is long and straggly, unkempt - partially obscuring a copper amulet you can't quite see. I carry my sword not in battle-ready stance, but rather lean on it.

I look at you one by one, and when your eyes meet mine, you don't see the primal rage my people are known for, but rather a warmth, the light of a fading lamp.

"I am Magnus," I say. "And I too search."

The dark elf raises an eyebrow.

"Fair? I think your spyglass is broken. I am neither fair, nor your friend."

"I am Phaalisse. 'Far', as in not close to you, and 'lease', something that money will not give you ownership of."

"And I am Zephram Bareez," I say, drawing myself up to my full height and meeting the eyes of each of you in turn. "Graduate of the Lady's College at the Conclave of Silverymoon, mentored by Naivara the Golden, winner of the Lebon Prize for rigorous application of wisdom to my thesis of choice, and example to future generations throughout the university. Sage, scholar, researcher, delver into mysteries, I come, like yourselves, as a seeker, but my prize..." I pause meaningfully... "shall be knowledge.

"While I appreciate your detailed introductions, however, do you not think our time would be better spent exploring this carnival? This festival of the fey? This fayre of the fair?" I turn to the goblin. "A ticket, if you please, stout fellow."

A cool breeze drifts across the area and the sun briefly hides behind a single cloud before peeking out again. 

The goblin squints through his spyglass at something under the counter. "Hmm... it seems I have prepaid tickets for you four. From an anonymous benefactor." He reaches over the counter and holds them out. 

Sure enough, there are four named tickets. "Phaalisse", "Zephram", "Magnus" and "Torkalyn" are written in curling, flowing script at the top of the papers. 

"These tickets are valid for eight punches," the goblin continues. "Most attractions cost one ticket punch each. If you want to visit more, you need a second ticket, and that will cost you 8 silver each. No more freebies."

He also hands you a map of the carnival grounds and gives each of you a colourful set of embroidered cloth butterfly wings: royal blue and aqua for Zephram, brown and orange for Magnus, purple and indigo for Phaalisse, yellow and cerise for Torkalyn. "Please keep these on. The wings will show that you are paid visitors." 

Where do you wish to visit first?

I place 8 silver pieces on the ticket counter, slowly, one at a time, letting each one clink as I stack them.

"I accept neither charity from, nor debts to, a stranger, no matter how well-intentioned or otherwise. I only accept charity from those that I despise, and while I may yet come to despise the payer of this ticket, that is not yet the case. Should these coins not be able to be conveyed to the 'anonymous benefactor', may this be payment for a ticket for the next soul to pass this counter. Either way, I consider my debt paid."

I look at the map. 

"I shall be heading to the Lost Property. If what I once lost is not there, then I shall proceed to explore widdershins. May it not be unlucky for the unlucky."

I look at the group, trying not to stare as I survey each one.

"I'm sorry, I have forgotten my manners. Would you care to join me?" And I briefly smile.

The goblin raises his bushy eyebrows, grimaces slightly and pulls the small tower of silver towards himself, muttering half under his breath, "Suit yourself..."

I take the free ticket without hesitation. "What kind of academic would I be to refuse the offer of funding?" I say. "My thanks. And yes, lost property sits well with me. Lead on."

As you turn to move away from the ticket book, you see a twelve-foot-tall walking tree garlanded in golden ribbons marching down the thoroughfare. Emerald clouds swirl above the tree and rain down golden, spinning sycamore seeds. Fairgoers try to catch the seeds before they hit the ground. As the seeds gently fall, a chatty squirrel scampers along the boughs of the tree, handing dandelions to select passersby.

If you wish to try to catch a seed, please roll a Dex check.

(you can do that in this forum by clicking on the "dice roller" icon that looks like a die with three pips at the top right of the reply box and adding your modifier, which will insert the following without the spaces: [ r oll ]  1d20+1[/ roll] . When you post the comment the roll will be calculated and added in, like so: 18  . Please make the rolls in the forum so we all know what they are, rather than rolling your own dice at home and nobody knows what was actually rolled. You can see the red banner at the top of my post which basically flags if someone has edited a post with a dice roll on it -- mine has changed from a 6 to a 17 to a 10 when I edited it, so just reply again if you need to change something in a roll post.)

If you wish to collect a dandelion or talk to anyone, just say.

I have also taken the free ticket without hesitation and readily agree to go with the cantankerous drow. "Lost property seems the obvious first choice, although I doubt we will find what we've lost there. That would be far too easy for a place such as this...But yes, let's see what we see."

I will try and catch a seed.

3

I'll try to catch one as well

14

And I'll take a dandelion too, because I want to blow the little parachute seeds off it - but I hold off for now and thank the squirrel, asking "Are these somehow special?"