Welcome to my running of The Wild Beyond the Witchlight!
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.
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Latimer Trumador Human cleric 1 : Lost Mines of Phandelver
As the twilight sky casts a dreamy haze over the Witchlight Carnival, a figure stands out against the prismatic glow of the entrance. Dressed in a black leather vest embroidered with silvery threads, forest-green trousers, a red cap that droops to his shoulders, and dark, sturdy boots, Mischief appears as if he’s part of the carnival’s allure—a performer, perhaps, or even a magical illusion. His cloak captures the ambient light, shimmering in shades of blues and greens as though touched by some fey magic. His golden eyes scan the surroundings with an air of anticipation mixed with nostalgia; they sparkle like captured stars, but there’s an edge of intensity to them that suggests he's here for more than just the festivities.
The tiefling's tail subtly twines around his leg, as if sharing his mood of uneasy excitement. His ears, tufted with soft, dark blue fur, seem particularly alert, twitching slightly in response to the laughter and chatter that fills the air. His body language oozes an inviting yet elusive aura; his countenance holds an inscrutable expression, a blend of mischievous charm and serious introspection. Even among the eclectic crowd, Mischief demands attention, drawing curious glances from passersby who sense that, like them, he has a complex relationship with the carnival—one marked not just by joy and wonder, but also by a sense of loss and unresolved purpose.
a halfling sits on the ground near the ticket booth, dressed in clothes that look hand-made from various scraps of fabric of varying colours, he is wearing an unconvincing dwarf disguise, his beard a different shade of red to his hair, which doesn't have a hat over it, he is also not wearing shoes, just a pair of socks with a hole in one of them exposing one of his toes, it's not clear whether these raggedy clothes are part of the disguise or not. his green eyes look up at the other people coming to get into the carnival "Come one come all! play a game of watch the gold and win 2 gold back! double your bet!" he announces, pulling out three empty ration cans and setting them down on the ground like a shell game, looking towards the least intimidating looking members of the crowd as he speaks. "Only one gold to play, a steal if you ask me," he notes in a half-hearted attempt at a dwarvish accent "Fancy a game while we wait for the carnival to open?" he adds, in a friendly tone. trying to persuade one of the onlookers to try a game, despite the fact that shell games are typically not winnable. 16 persuasion
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UTC - 5, i like to program video games in my free time.
A human woman looks frantically all around her, even up into the twilight sky and down below, raising one foot after the other. She takes a few steps towards the carnival and wipes a shaking hand across her sweaty forehead.
"Well, break my bones for bread…" she murmurs in disbelief. "I'm back."
She surveys the other guests with a wild grin. She locks onto the tiefling dressed in black with the red hat and gives him a jostling side hug.
"We made it, friend!" she says to Mischief. "I'll be honest: I rather doubted I'd ever see this madhouse again, but… Here. We. Are."
The woman breathes in the evening air. Her hair is a mess (who cuts bangs with a dull knife?), her clothes are a mismatch of colors and at least a size too small, and her boots… are those steel toed? What she lacks in fashion, she makes up for in confidence. She winks at Mischief.
"My name's Alys. Alys Grint. You look like trouble, or like trouble likes you. Do you, uh, wanna roam the grounds together? I… I don't really want to wander on my own."
Alys squats down in front of the hustling halfling. "You look like trouble too. Perfect. Come with and let's get tickets, eh?"
"It's gonna be one helluva time…"
She keeps an eye out for other misfits and will happily usher them into the growing party of oddballs.
Both of you are already employees at the carnival. Since it arrived at your home world/location, you took a quick stroll outside just to look around. You no longer need tickets to re-enter, although you do still have the background of having sneaked in as a child. Perhaps this was at the same occurrence of the carnival returning (once every eight years), or maybe different times. And perhaps you joined the carnival on the same day you sneaked in, or a different time many years later. I will leave it to you to decide if you already know each other and how well. The carnival employs 124 Witchlight hands in total, but you all have your assigned duties, and maybe have not crossed paths much. Either way is up to you - it shouldn't affect the story much.
All hands enter into an agreement when they join the carnival: they must never harm another staff member, and they can’t leave the carnival for more than a day at a time. (A longer absence is equivalent to resignation, in Mister Witch’s estimation.) On-duty staff members are required to wear fake butterfly wings strapped to their backs. You are also furnished with small amounts of pixie dust. Witchlight hands are paid only a small fraction of the carnival’s profits, but it’s enough to keep them fed, clothed, and cared for. Some hands work longer hours or do extra chores to pay off debts and loans.
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Latimer Trumador Human cleric 1 : Lost Mines of Phandelver
We still have a couple others to check in here, but I think everyone's characters are pretty well set, so let's begin!
A silver statue of a dancing faerie is mounted on the roof of this ticket booth and 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!”
You can see a sign posted with the ticket prices. An adult’s ticket costs 8 sp, and a child’s ticket costs 3 sp.
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Latimer Trumador Human cleric 1 : Lost Mines of Phandelver
"Me? trouble? no, not at all, you must be mistaken, Dwarves are nothing but loyal, honourable folk!" he notes, packing his game into a large bag with illegible writing stitched onto the side., which he puts on- "but I'll still gladly come with you, I'm very familiar with the grounds, so we shouldn't get lost" he turns to the goblin, leaning in towards him and whispering "Psst, hey, Jerry,it's me, Marwan, I'll be headin' in" he notes, despite the fact that the goblin's name probably isn't Jerry, he just likes to call whoever is working the ticket booth, Jerry, he is noting this to the goblin because he's in disguise, and wants to make sure he isn't made to pay to get in, though, he probably won't be going on duty while he's with this group, he's also never been a fan of the butterfly wings, but he still wears them when he's performing.
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UTC - 5, i like to program video games in my free time.
Arriving a little later than the others, having traveled a couple of days from his village to get here, Xivros stands near the entrance taking everything in. His warm, light brown eyes under straight brows a couple of shades darker than the sun-bleached hair that frames his face (in a conspicuously perfectly careless tousle to his shoulders) are more astute and keen than seems to fit his otherwise boyish face that seems to rest in a faint smirk. He's dressed in gray wool robes, a look that implies bland and boring, but they've been dyed carefully and lined and embellished with linen and skilled embroidery. Whether costly or made with a loving hand, what ought to be drab has a stylish flourish to it. That combined with his uncommon height, causes the young man to draw several eyes away from the riot of color around him, without seeming wholly without whimsy of his own.
After taking in his surrounding and trying to grab hold of the vague memory of his visit several years ago, Xivros approaches the booth and, with a soft, deep voice that, like his stare, doesn't quite match his youthful features, pays his eight sliver for a ticket which he tucks into a pouch with a gloved hand. Only the one glove, again gray dyed leather, sewn carefully with silvery thread in an intricate whorl pattern which might be recognizable to some as having a religious affiliation. "Thank you so much, have a good evening."
Then he turns his attention back to others waiting to enter, looking for anyone who seems approachable. The human woman chatting with a tiefling catches his attention first, being both boisterous and having an inviting smile. Without his own company, he decides to risk intruding on theirs and make an introduction. He notes the .. dwarfling? nearby as well. Though he prefers to spend his sparse coin on the games inside, he offers a "Evenin'," and a nod to be polite as he approaches by. Then, addressing the woman first, "Good evenin' to you as well. May ah introduce myself, Xivros, local-ish from a few villages over. Think I heard you say your name was Alys?" He pauses long enough for confirmation before extending his gloved hand in greeting, if taken, the leather is soft and warm. "Won'erful to meet you Ms. Alys." His tone and mannerisms have a practiced politeness, but his accent is rural and local. He similarly extends his hand to the tiefling next. "Didn't catch your name, Xivros," he repeats, "A pleasure."
Mischief watches Marwan's sales pitch with a knowing smirk. When Alys gives him a side hug, he reciprocates the gesture, looping an arm around her. "Ah, Alys, my new friend! Madhouse or wonderland, it all depends on perspective, eh? But I'm definitely up for a bit of wandering mischief—pardon the pun—with you."
He glances down when Marwan mentions he's a dwarf, stifling a chuckle. "You make for a rather…interesting dwarf. Love the beard."
When Xivros approaches, Mischief's eyes narrow a little, a spark of curiosity lighting them up. He takes the extended hand in a firm grip. "A pleasure indeed, Xivros. The name's Mischief, though most people tend to find that out one way or another. Local-ish, you say? Well, we've got the perfect blend of insider and outsider mischief here then. Shall we all venture forth into this carnival of curiosities? First round's on me," he adds with a wink.
His eyes catch the ticket prices and he pulls out enough silver for his own ticket and a little extra, just in case anyone is short. "Unless of course, our dwarvish friend here can pull some strings for free entry?"
Mischief looks towards the goblin in the ticket booth, then back at his newfound companions. "Either way, tonight's shaping up to be quite the tale, don't you think?"
His eyes linger on the animated night sky and the dancing faerie for a moment, a hint of something deeper passing through his expression, but then he shakes it off, eager for the adventure ahead.
"Mischief" Xivros' slight smile breaks open into a grin. "Now that's a name that give you somethin' to live up to." His eyes follow Mischief's somewhat. "Well, if it ain't fun, it'll still be somethin' ah reckon."
" 'Fraid it doesn't work that way, Mischief, Only employees get in free, of course, you're welcome to try and sneak in, but uh....something something every visit has its cost." he notes, "Can never remember the first part of that line" he mumbles, merely repeating the warning he got back when he first snuck in as best he remembers, "as long as the point gets across, it should keep people from sneaking in" he adds in another mumble, before clearing his throat "Name's Marwan, I appreciate the compliment, Dwarves are very proud of their beards...believe me, if I could get you in free, I would, But it's safer for all of us if you folk pay up," he notes, stroking his beard a little.
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UTC - 5, i like to program video games in my free time.
Suddenly realizing the 'dwarf' is a patron and not just a hanger-on looking to make a few coins outside the event, Xivros tilts his head to look at Marwan more closely and offers his hand for a shake, "Marwan, good to meet ya. I'm Xivros." he smiles. "What was that you were sayin'?" Something in the phrase trips Xivros' memory.
"Just something I heard a long time ago, back before I started working here," he notes, taking his hand and firmly shaking it for a moment, "Just warnin' you lot not to sneak in, part of the job, really," he says, shrugging slightly "Nice to meet you too, Xivros," he adds, giving a smile back. "The rest of you as well."
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UTC - 5, i like to program video games in my free time.
The goblin holds an ear horn, to his ear. Hearing some of the rest of the conversation, he speaks up. "Mischief? Alys? Xivros? I have tickets for you here..." He reaches down into a wooden box, and produces 3 tickets, and a map of the carnival. He also returns the money paid, as it is not necessary to have 2 tickets.
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Latimer Trumador Human cleric 1 : Lost Mines of Phandelver
Mischief arches an eyebrow at the goblin's unexpected revelation. "Now that's peculiar. Wasn't expecting a ticket to be waiting for me. Did one of you lot put in a good word for me, or is this just my irresistible charm finally paying off?" He takes the offered ticket and the map, looking them over closely.
Though he doesn't smile, the gleam in Mischief's eyes does a pretty good job of conveying his amusement. "Well, if our entry's already covered, that leaves more coin for the games and attractions, doesn't it?" He tucks the map into his pocket, already imagining the chaotic adventures that await them.
He glances at the motley group around him. "Right then, tickets in hand and a carnival full of wonder—or perhaps danger—ahead of us. Shall we set our fears aside and dive into the madness?"
His gaze falls once more on the goblin. "Thanks for the tickets, Jerry," he says, deciding that if Marwan calls everyone at the ticket booth that name, he might as well join in. "Any hot tips on which attractions we absolutely mustn't miss?"
Mischief eyes the animated night sky again briefly, still captivated but not letting it slow him down. "After you, Alys, lead our fellowship of oddballs. What's the first stop?"
He's eager to get the night started, but a small part of him can't shake the question of why a ticket was already waiting for him. It's a detail that tickles the back of his mind as they prepare to step into the carnival.
Xivros gives a nod to the goblin. "Much appreciated, apologies for the confusion, friend." He took a moment to look over the map they were given. Snacks near the front and full concessions toward the top, lost and found... "Hmm" Dragonfly rides. "Don' reckon I'm small enough to ride a dragonfly." Though thin and wiry, he stands roughly 6'4". "Think mah knees might drag on the ground." He continued his scan, Swansong lake sounded a bit ominous. Were octopuses known for staring? With a shrug and willing enough to follow those more familiar with the carnival, he fell in line with the others after his short study of the offerings. "After y'all."
Marwan rolls his eyes and takes the fake beard off "Alright, the joke's over when it might get me in trouble, it's me, Marwan, plus, I don't think anyone was falling for it anyway, See ya after the carnival, Jerry." he notes, just before jerry pulls out the pre-paid tickets "My personal favourite attraction is the animal show at the big-top, but I'm a wee bit biased when it comes to that, friends with the animal tamer" he notes, chuckling "I usually run some of the games around here, I like to stick between the hall of illusions and the big top, but I'm told the snail race is 'surprisingly interesting'" He adds, "My personal favourite is the mystery mine, though, definitely a fun one" staying by the ticket booth for a moment, he turns toward the goblin inside, speaking deliberately towards his earhorn "Jerry, any chance you caught who paid for the tickets for our friends here?" he asks passingly, expecting jerry to say no, he's pretty sure the goblin wouldn't have caught a name with his hearing condition.
The goblin looks a bit exasperated. "Why do you keep calling me Jerry? Name is Nikolas Midnight! And I can't say who gave out the tickets... just that it was an anonymous benefactor.”
As he starts to wave you along, he says "Remember. A ticket is good for eight attractions. Once you got 8 punches, your done... or you will need another ticket. If you can't afford a ticket, let me know and maybe I can make you a special deal! And don't forget your wings. They must be worn at all times, or you will be thrown out as non-paying guests."
He gives each of you a pair of colorful cloth butterfly wings to wear.
Welcome to my running of The Wild Beyond the Witchlight!
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.
Latimer Trumador Human cleric 1 : Lost Mines of Phandelver
As the twilight sky casts a dreamy haze over the Witchlight Carnival, a figure stands out against the prismatic glow of the entrance. Dressed in a black leather vest embroidered with silvery threads, forest-green trousers, a red cap that droops to his shoulders, and dark, sturdy boots, Mischief appears as if he’s part of the carnival’s allure—a performer, perhaps, or even a magical illusion. His cloak captures the ambient light, shimmering in shades of blues and greens as though touched by some fey magic. His golden eyes scan the surroundings with an air of anticipation mixed with nostalgia; they sparkle like captured stars, but there’s an edge of intensity to them that suggests he's here for more than just the festivities.
The tiefling's tail subtly twines around his leg, as if sharing his mood of uneasy excitement. His ears, tufted with soft, dark blue fur, seem particularly alert, twitching slightly in response to the laughter and chatter that fills the air. His body language oozes an inviting yet elusive aura; his countenance holds an inscrutable expression, a blend of mischievous charm and serious introspection. Even among the eclectic crowd, Mischief demands attention, drawing curious glances from passersby who sense that, like them, he has a complex relationship with the carnival—one marked not just by joy and wonder, but also by a sense of loss and unresolved purpose.
a halfling sits on the ground near the ticket booth, dressed in clothes that look hand-made from various scraps of fabric of varying colours, he is wearing an unconvincing dwarf disguise, his beard a different shade of red to his hair, which doesn't have a hat over it, he is also not wearing shoes, just a pair of socks with a hole in one of them exposing one of his toes, it's not clear whether these raggedy clothes are part of the disguise or not. his green eyes look up at the other people coming to get into the carnival "Come one come all! play a game of watch the gold and win 2 gold back! double your bet!" he announces, pulling out three empty ration cans and setting them down on the ground like a shell game, looking towards the least intimidating looking members of the crowd as he speaks. "Only one gold to play, a steal if you ask me," he notes in a half-hearted attempt at a dwarvish accent "Fancy a game while we wait for the carnival to open?" he adds, in a friendly tone. trying to persuade one of the onlookers to try a game, despite the fact that shell games are typically not winnable. 16 persuasion
UTC - 5, i like to program video games in my free time.
Marwan Silvercreek - level 1 halfling bard
GM Rolls for no particular reason
2503714
Latimer Trumador Human cleric 1 : Lost Mines of Phandelver
A human woman looks frantically all around her, even up into the twilight sky and down below, raising one foot after the other. She takes a few steps towards the carnival and wipes a shaking hand across her sweaty forehead.
"Well, break my bones for bread…" she murmurs in disbelief. "I'm back."
She surveys the other guests with a wild grin. She locks onto the tiefling dressed in black with the red hat and gives him a jostling side hug.
"We made it, friend!" she says to Mischief. "I'll be honest: I rather doubted I'd ever see this madhouse again, but… Here. We. Are."
The woman breathes in the evening air. Her hair is a mess (who cuts bangs with a dull knife?), her clothes are a mismatch of colors and at least a size too small, and her boots… are those steel toed? What she lacks in fashion, she makes up for in confidence. She winks at Mischief.
"My name's Alys. Alys Grint. You look like trouble, or like trouble likes you. Do you, uh, wanna roam the grounds together? I… I don't really want to wander on my own."
Alys squats down in front of the hustling halfling. "You look like trouble too. Perfect. Come with and let's get tickets, eh?"
"It's gonna be one helluva time…"
She keeps an eye out for other misfits and will happily usher them into the growing party of oddballs.
Note for Marwan and Carlin.
Both of you are already employees at the carnival. Since it arrived at your home world/location, you took a quick stroll outside just to look around. You no longer need tickets to re-enter, although you do still have the background of having sneaked in as a child. Perhaps this was at the same occurrence of the carnival returning (once every eight years), or maybe different times. And perhaps you joined the carnival on the same day you sneaked in, or a different time many years later. I will leave it to you to decide if you already know each other and how well. The carnival employs 124 Witchlight hands in total, but you all have your assigned duties, and maybe have not crossed paths much. Either way is up to you - it shouldn't affect the story much.
All hands enter into an agreement when they join the carnival: they must never harm another staff member, and they can’t leave the carnival for more than a day at a time. (A longer absence is equivalent to resignation, in Mister Witch’s estimation.) On-duty staff members are required to wear fake butterfly wings strapped to their backs. You are also furnished with small amounts of pixie dust. Witchlight hands are paid only a small fraction of the carnival’s profits, but it’s enough to keep them fed, clothed, and cared for. Some hands work longer hours or do extra chores to pay off debts and loans.
Latimer Trumador Human cleric 1 : Lost Mines of Phandelver
We still have a couple others to check in here, but I think everyone's characters are pretty well set, so let's begin!
A silver statue of a dancing faerie is mounted on the roof of this ticket booth and 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!”
You can see a sign posted with the ticket prices. An adult’s ticket costs 8 sp, and a child’s ticket costs 3 sp.
Latimer Trumador Human cleric 1 : Lost Mines of Phandelver
"Me? trouble? no, not at all, you must be mistaken, Dwarves are nothing but loyal, honourable folk!" he notes, packing his game into a large bag with illegible writing stitched onto the side., which he puts on- "but I'll still gladly come with you, I'm very familiar with the grounds, so we shouldn't get lost" he turns to the goblin, leaning in towards him and whispering "Psst, hey, Jerry, it's me, Marwan, I'll be headin' in" he notes, despite the fact that the goblin's name probably isn't Jerry, he just likes to call whoever is working the ticket booth, Jerry, he is noting this to the goblin because he's in disguise, and wants to make sure he isn't made to pay to get in, though, he probably won't be going on duty while he's with this group, he's also never been a fan of the butterfly wings, but he still wears them when he's performing.
UTC - 5, i like to program video games in my free time.
Marwan Silvercreek - level 1 halfling bard
Arriving a little later than the others, having traveled a couple of days from his village to get here, Xivros stands near the entrance taking everything in. His warm, light brown eyes under straight brows a couple of shades darker than the sun-bleached hair that frames his face (in a conspicuously perfectly careless tousle to his shoulders) are more astute and keen than seems to fit his otherwise boyish face that seems to rest in a faint smirk. He's dressed in gray wool robes, a look that implies bland and boring, but they've been dyed carefully and lined and embellished with linen and skilled embroidery. Whether costly or made with a loving hand, what ought to be drab has a stylish flourish to it. That combined with his uncommon height, causes the young man to draw several eyes away from the riot of color around him, without seeming wholly without whimsy of his own.
After taking in his surrounding and trying to grab hold of the vague memory of his visit several years ago, Xivros approaches the booth and, with a soft, deep voice that, like his stare, doesn't quite match his youthful features, pays his eight sliver for a ticket which he tucks into a pouch with a gloved hand. Only the one glove, again gray dyed leather, sewn carefully with silvery thread in an intricate whorl pattern which might be recognizable to some as having a religious affiliation. "Thank you so much, have a good evening."
Then he turns his attention back to others waiting to enter, looking for anyone who seems approachable. The human woman chatting with a tiefling catches his attention first, being both boisterous and having an inviting smile. Without his own company, he decides to risk intruding on theirs and make an introduction. He notes the .. dwarfling? nearby as well. Though he prefers to spend his sparse coin on the games inside, he offers a "Evenin'," and a nod to be polite as he approaches by. Then, addressing the woman first, "Good evenin' to you as well. May ah introduce myself, Xivros, local-ish from a few villages over. Think I heard you say your name was Alys?" He pauses long enough for confirmation before extending his gloved hand in greeting, if taken, the leather is soft and warm. "Won'erful to meet you Ms. Alys." His tone and mannerisms have a practiced politeness, but his accent is rural and local. He similarly extends his hand to the tiefling next. "Didn't catch your name, Xivros," he repeats, "A pleasure."
Mischief watches Marwan's sales pitch with a knowing smirk. When Alys gives him a side hug, he reciprocates the gesture, looping an arm around her. "Ah, Alys, my new friend! Madhouse or wonderland, it all depends on perspective, eh? But I'm definitely up for a bit of wandering mischief—pardon the pun—with you."
He glances down when Marwan mentions he's a dwarf, stifling a chuckle. "You make for a rather…interesting dwarf. Love the beard."
When Xivros approaches, Mischief's eyes narrow a little, a spark of curiosity lighting them up. He takes the extended hand in a firm grip. "A pleasure indeed, Xivros. The name's Mischief, though most people tend to find that out one way or another. Local-ish, you say? Well, we've got the perfect blend of insider and outsider mischief here then. Shall we all venture forth into this carnival of curiosities? First round's on me," he adds with a wink.
His eyes catch the ticket prices and he pulls out enough silver for his own ticket and a little extra, just in case anyone is short. "Unless of course, our dwarvish friend here can pull some strings for free entry?"
Mischief looks towards the goblin in the ticket booth, then back at his newfound companions. "Either way, tonight's shaping up to be quite the tale, don't you think?"
His eyes linger on the animated night sky and the dancing faerie for a moment, a hint of something deeper passing through his expression, but then he shakes it off, eager for the adventure ahead.
"Mischief" Xivros' slight smile breaks open into a grin. "Now that's a name that give you somethin' to live up to." His eyes follow Mischief's somewhat. "Well, if it ain't fun, it'll still be somethin' ah reckon."
" 'Fraid it doesn't work that way, Mischief, Only employees get in free, of course, you're welcome to try and sneak in, but uh....something something every visit has its cost." he notes, "Can never remember the first part of that line" he mumbles, merely repeating the warning he got back when he first snuck in as best he remembers, "as long as the point gets across, it should keep people from sneaking in" he adds in another mumble, before clearing his throat "Name's Marwan, I appreciate the compliment, Dwarves are very proud of their beards...believe me, if I could get you in free, I would, But it's safer for all of us if you folk pay up," he notes, stroking his beard a little.
UTC - 5, i like to program video games in my free time.
Marwan Silvercreek - level 1 halfling bard
Suddenly realizing the 'dwarf' is a patron and not just a hanger-on looking to make a few coins outside the event, Xivros tilts his head to look at Marwan more closely and offers his hand for a shake, "Marwan, good to meet ya. I'm Xivros." he smiles. "What was that you were sayin'?" Something in the phrase trips Xivros' memory.
"Just something I heard a long time ago, back before I started working here," he notes, taking his hand and firmly shaking it for a moment, "Just warnin' you lot not to sneak in, part of the job, really," he says, shrugging slightly "Nice to meet you too, Xivros," he adds, giving a smile back. "The rest of you as well."
UTC - 5, i like to program video games in my free time.
Marwan Silvercreek - level 1 halfling bard
"Jelly? Berry? What are you saying, dwarf?"
The goblin holds an ear horn, to his ear. Hearing some of the rest of the conversation, he speaks up. "Mischief? Alys? Xivros? I have tickets for you here..." He reaches down into a wooden box, and produces 3 tickets, and a map of the carnival. He also returns the money paid, as it is not necessary to have 2 tickets.
Latimer Trumador Human cleric 1 : Lost Mines of Phandelver
Latimer Trumador Human cleric 1 : Lost Mines of Phandelver
Mischief arches an eyebrow at the goblin's unexpected revelation. "Now that's peculiar. Wasn't expecting a ticket to be waiting for me. Did one of you lot put in a good word for me, or is this just my irresistible charm finally paying off?" He takes the offered ticket and the map, looking them over closely.
Though he doesn't smile, the gleam in Mischief's eyes does a pretty good job of conveying his amusement. "Well, if our entry's already covered, that leaves more coin for the games and attractions, doesn't it?" He tucks the map into his pocket, already imagining the chaotic adventures that await them.
He glances at the motley group around him. "Right then, tickets in hand and a carnival full of wonder—or perhaps danger—ahead of us. Shall we set our fears aside and dive into the madness?"
His gaze falls once more on the goblin. "Thanks for the tickets, Jerry," he says, deciding that if Marwan calls everyone at the ticket booth that name, he might as well join in. "Any hot tips on which attractions we absolutely mustn't miss?"
Mischief eyes the animated night sky again briefly, still captivated but not letting it slow him down. "After you, Alys, lead our fellowship of oddballs. What's the first stop?"
He's eager to get the night started, but a small part of him can't shake the question of why a ticket was already waiting for him. It's a detail that tickles the back of his mind as they prepare to step into the carnival.
Xivros gives a nod to the goblin. "Much appreciated, apologies for the confusion, friend." He took a moment to look over the map they were given. Snacks near the front and full concessions toward the top, lost and found... "Hmm" Dragonfly rides. "Don' reckon I'm small enough to ride a dragonfly." Though thin and wiry, he stands roughly 6'4". "Think mah knees might drag on the ground." He continued his scan, Swansong lake sounded a bit ominous. Were octopuses known for staring? With a shrug and willing enough to follow those more familiar with the carnival, he fell in line with the others after his short study of the offerings. "After y'all."
Marwan rolls his eyes and takes the fake beard off "Alright, the joke's over when it might get me in trouble, it's me, Marwan, plus, I don't think anyone was falling for it anyway, See ya after the carnival, Jerry." he notes, just before jerry pulls out the pre-paid tickets "My personal favourite attraction is the animal show at the big-top, but I'm a wee bit biased when it comes to that, friends with the animal tamer" he notes, chuckling "I usually run some of the games around here, I like to stick between the hall of illusions and the big top, but I'm told the snail race is 'surprisingly interesting'" He adds, "My personal favourite is the mystery mine, though, definitely a fun one" staying by the ticket booth for a moment, he turns toward the goblin inside, speaking deliberately towards his earhorn "Jerry, any chance you caught who paid for the tickets for our friends here?" he asks passingly, expecting jerry to say no, he's pretty sure the goblin wouldn't have caught a name with his hearing condition.
UTC - 5, i like to program video games in my free time.
Marwan Silvercreek - level 1 halfling bard
The goblin looks a bit exasperated. "Why do you keep calling me Jerry? Name is Nikolas Midnight! And I can't say who gave out the tickets... just that it was an anonymous benefactor.”
As he starts to wave you along, he says "Remember. A ticket is good for eight attractions. Once you got 8 punches, your done... or you will need another ticket. If you can't afford a ticket, let me know and maybe I can make you a special deal! And don't forget your wings. They must be worn at all times, or you will be thrown out as non-paying guests."
He gives each of you a pair of colorful cloth butterfly wings to wear.
"Follow the rules. Enjoy the show!"
Latimer Trumador Human cleric 1 : Lost Mines of Phandelver