Greg ponders the situation for a moment, "I see... The crying child may have gotten too close to the memento Hm? You don't perchance need the child to return right? I'm sure they'll be fine... Right?" Greg sweats a little trying to shirk the side quest before it is even asked of him, "I'll remember not to touch the ball, anyway about my hoe?" 

Those words find home in Barria's head and she just can't shake them.  But they are good words.. so they must be happy she is back, right?  The wings are a surprise as she sports the yellow things; she twirls a bit from time to time, feeling the wind against them and feeling like a kid again.  She can't help but smile.

Coats of twilight?  Ooh.. she had to check that out.  She is just about to check out the map to try and figure it out when the button wielding goblin appears.  Looking up at the monkey, even with all the wonders of this circus she is surprised by how this animal is acting.  Barria grins nonetheless and digs in her pockets, but alas, there are no spare buttons.  She frowns and starts looking at the clothes she is wearing.  She finds a couple buttons that are holding her belt in place and she pulls one off.  Reaching over, she drops in the tin cup the goblin is holding.

     Mulligan does NOT search for the runaway child by trying to detect the scent of soiled pants in any way at all... At all.  In fact, odd fairy carnival or not, he imagines going around and sniffing the backsides of young children is likely to cause quite a commotion and lead to hostilities directed against his very own self.  No thank you!  

     Still, he does search... Visually.

Mulligan pushes his way through the crowd, trying to catch sight of the young boy, but only catching snatches of crying, sometimes over there and sometimes over here. Bodies press in tightly, every one of which sprouts a pair of wings which threaten to buffet Mulligan in the face. Then Mulligan sees something...

A figure in the crowd. A child, but not the one he is looking for. Conspicuous by the fact that it is not moving with the crowd, but just standing still, staring directly at Mulligan as the throng surges around her. A child in a dress, wearing a mask like a pig, and holding a huge lollipop. There is something very strange about her, but before Mulligan can put his finger on it, he hears the lost boy crying very close nearby. He looks away for only a second, but when he looks back, the pig-faced girl is nowhere to be seen...

The black beast strides away in the direction of the crying boy, leaving the young girl in the care of the owl-creature, who replies to G'Reg:

Oh, that's okay, thank you. Dirlagraun takes her duty very seriously. Very caring and vigilant over the children, usually. She'll find the lad, for sure, for sure.

The tone of the owl's voice, as far as G'Reg can interpret it, doesn't seem very convincing though.

Now, a hoe you say. Let's see, I don't recall seeing anything like that.

The gnome watches as the owlin makes a somewhat half-hearted attempt to look through the few items contained inside the wagon.

No, that's not it. No, not that either. Definitely not that. A hoe, you say? Strange thing to have at a carnival, isn't it? Oh dear, I think we're out of luck. I should tell you... It's odd, you know. Things do get lost at the carnival, and often, well they just... don't ever return... and aren't ever found again. I suggest you... er... forget it and just... enjoy the carnival.

The owlin stares blankly at G'Reginald.

The mute goblin leaps and capers happily as the button clinks into his tin cup, and the little chap dances merrily back to the calliope machine to deliver the button to the monkey. Barria feels her heart swell just a little as the fluting music seems to take a slightly more jolly turn.

Curious about the nearby coat stall, Barria approaches and listens to the barker's pitch...

Step right up, gentlefolk and wayward dreamers! Cloaks for the curious! Coats for the bold! Woven from moonlight and stitched by twilight itself! Wonders and whispers of the waning day — who among you dares to dress in the dusk?

Behold! The Coat of Twilight Comfort — for those who walk the edge of dreams! Woven in hues of midnight blue, dying gold, and royal violet — this long silken beauty calms the heart and steels the spirit. Smells like violets, feels like a lullaby. In the deepest dark, when the shadows howl — this coat says: ‘Not today.’ Wear it, and once each eve, fear flees from you like mist before morning!

Or perhaps the Coat of Twilight Glimmer — with a hem that glitters like stars caught in velvet! Soft as a secret, black as moonless night, and sparkling with just a hint of mischief! The hem glows gently in the gloom — just enough to find your way… or just enough to let someone know you’re worth following. And an aroma like the last breath of a birthday wish.

You there, lover of bonfires and sun-kissed meadows — the Coat of Duskward Warmth awaits! A short coat of sunset thread and golden glow! Chill winds? Cold rain? Bah! Not for you! During the sacred hour — when day kisses night — you’ll be snug as a storybook secret. Moss-scented, light-woven, and perfect for the wistful wanderer.

Or for the shadowed soul who slips between moments — I offer the Coat of Dusk's Veil. Long and woolen in shifting greys, its weave dancing like smoke. Smells of campfire and memory. And when the world goes quiet — when the light fades just so — you may vanish from sight, hidden in silence, wrapped in dusk. Step lightly, friend… and let the wind forget your name.

Four coats. Four choices. One hourglass spins. Come now — for dusk never lingers, and neither does a deal like this!

     Mulligan finds himself at a loss at the sight of masked girl.  He tilts his head to the right... And then tilts his head to the left.  The sigh of her doesn't change, nor how disconcerted he seems to be by the sight of her.  The bare feet, the bluish skin... the mask.  There's plenty of of wings around here, too many, but she's the first he has seen in a pig-mask.  

     The lollipop does look good though...

     Mulligan runs his tongue over his lips and is about to reach out to the girl telepathically when he gets distracted by the sound of crying.  The lost boy? he thinks/hopes to himself and looks in that direction.  Looking back the girl is gone and he cannot make a telekinetic connection now at all... With a mental sigh and a falling of his shoulders he instead turns back to the crying and goes back to searching for the boy.  His thoughts lingering on the weird little girl though... The way she stared at him seemed...  Something.

Greg is not very happy with the general dismissal of the task at hand, "you know, you'd have a better time finding things that are handed in if you had a better sorting system. If I were you I'd... Bahhh! I did mention it was a family heirloom, didn't I?" Greg letting his frustration get to him tried to calm himself, "sorry, sorry, you're not to blame, I should never have let it out of my sight to begin with... I just very much need it back, but I think I have just the solution, and I hope it works. I'm going to cast a harmless spell, it should help me locate the hoe if it is the vicinity, that's not breaching any rules or anything right?" Without really waiting on a response Greg casts a locate object spell, reading aloud from a spellbook he takes from his side and focussing hard on his old hoe.

Barria frowns a bit when that is all her button grants her.  After the spectacle of the carnival so far, she expected more.  She gives a little shrug and heads off to hear more about these coats.

Dares to dress in the dusk? What kind of place is this?  Barria was a bit concerned but overly intrigued as she steps closer to investigate.  Finally her curiosity gets her, "What kind of deal are we talking about?  And what hourglass?"

The human barker at the coat stall wears his own pair of black and white butterfly wings, which smartly match his dark suit and white shirt. He turns to Barria as she approaches and questions him, calling out loudly enough for all passersby to hear:
The hourglass? Well, dear friend, that is the Measure of the Moment. The fleeting opportunity. The chance that drains away until there is time to act no more. Just as the setting of the sun signals the ending of the day, or the first snow of winter heralds the end of the harvest, after which none can work.

Then his voice drops soft enough that only Barria can hear as he continues:
As for the deal - well now, that depends. Some pay in coin. Others... in stories. Secrets. Memories they no longer need. Or perhaps a loan... the knowledge of your name, for example, or the use of your speech... a loan of just one hour is worth the exchange for one of these fine garments, no?

Finally his voice returns to his original pitch as he calls out and gestures as if to the crowd once more, but still looking directly at Barria:
The sands fall, the time for decision drains away. The choice is yours...

With the image of the pig-faced girl imprinted in his mind, Mulligan returns to the task at hand. It only takes a moment more to locate the small boy huddling at the corner of a candy stand, his pair of fake wings slightly askew. He looks around as if wondering how he got there and how to get back, calling out as he does so: Allowin? Mama? Papa?

Above the heads of the crowd, back in the direction of the Lost Property wagon, Mulligan can see the ends of the two long tentacles of the black beast, although they don't appear to be moving in this direction toward Mulligan and the boy. Something else catches Mulligan's attention however... singing! Above the noise of the carnival, Mulligan is sure he can hear words he recognises, words in the Elvish tongue: Tyrd adref, fy seren fach, mor llachar. And the tone of the voice leads him to suspect it is the black beast singing it. Listening harder, he can understand the meaning of the lyrics:

Come home, my little star, so bright,
The moon is out, it’s late at night.
Your supper's warm, your bed is made,
The owls are singing in the glade.

The wind has whispered where you roam,
And all the trees are pointing home.
The fireflies dance to light your way—
Come home, come home without delay.

I’ve searched the field, I’ve called the sky,
I’ve kept your pillow safe and dry.
Come home, my love, where'er you are—
Come home, come home, my little star.

The gnome incants the words from the spellbook, drawing the attention of a few passersby as his mystic gestures cause his arcane focus to glow softly. But the sense of direction and distance that has always accompanied the spell during past experiments fails to eventuate this time. Given the size of the carnival and G'Reginald's almost central location, he determines that it is highly unlikely that the hoe is here. But if not here, then where?

The owlin watches passively, and doesn't seem surprised by the spell's failure. In fact, it simply repeats what it has told G'Reg already... well almost:
Things do get lost at the carnival, it says, forever even. Witch and Light would rather you forget it and just enjoy yourself.

"No!" Greginald states stubbornly and somewhat belligerently, having had enough of the Owlin's nonchalance, "I said it was important to me and by the hells I'm getting it back! This spell can fail for a multitude of reasons! I've spoken to Witch and Light about this before and they had the same advice, it's a conspiracy I tells you! I'd thank you for the help but then you would have had to have been helpful now wouldn't you!" The gnome stamps his little foot and the summoned  disc raises and takes him away from the apathetic owl and hopefully toward the nearest food vendor. Though the Owlin's words have definitely put a sour note in Greg's head, the theory of a conspiracy does tend to spiral and validate itself in ones mind.

     Hello, little man

     The words just appear in the boys head as Mulligan uses his telepathy (Telepathic feat) to communicate with the boy.  He gives the boy a little smile and wave to indicate that yes, indeed, it is him talking to him.  

     No need to be worried.  I'm just here to lead you back to where you ran off from...  If that is ok with you?  The girl, she your sister?  She sure did seem sad you ran off.  And the big cat?  With the legs and the wriggly tentacle arms?  Well gosh, they sure are sorry that they startled you.  So what you say?  I think I hear them singing now, trying to call you back.  Can you hear it?

     While telepathically communicating to the young boy Mulligan is careful to not make any sudden moves or gestures.  He does slowly lower himself down to sit upon his haunches, put himself closer to eye level with the child, and he does kind of wriggle his fingers when he mentions the wriggly tentacle arms, otherwise he does his best to be unimposing and calm.

Persuasion: 18
(Actually didn't expect to roll that well, what with a -1 and all.  Forgot I wasn't playing a bard and his charisma is crap. lol... But 18 is pretty good so....)

     Assuming the kid agrees to come along back to where he was, Mulligan smiles and points him in the direction they are headed.

     Want to ride piggy-back?  Or maybe you prefer to walk yourself?  You could hold my hand if you want... or I could play some accompaniment on my banjo and you can strut back with your very own musical soundtrack?

     Mulligan waits until the kid decides and is happy to accommodate.  

     I'm Mulligan, by the way.  And Mulligan can when nobody can!  But keep that our secret, eh?  Can't be having people thinking we got notions of being something, eh?

Barria listens to the man, a deal for the knowledge of her name?  She would have given it to him had he just ask...but if it buys her one of these beautiful coats?  Who was she to complain?  

She looks at the four that he describes, they all are exquisite and enticing, but even though the thought of twilight on a coat is what drew her over here, they aren't the ones she finds her heart wanting.  I mean, the length looks like it was made for her!  She looks at the man with the beautiful black and white butterfly wings and asks, "So you would exchange this Coat of Duskward Warmth for the knowledge of my name?"

The child stares wide-eyed at Mulligan as the voice enters his head. He makes no reply, but stands up, mouth wide open in amazement. He nods slowly in agreement to Mulligan's offer to return to the cart, and follows along on his own power, his look of amazement mingling now with a smile of wonder, the occasional giggle of amusement, and more nods (walk back yourself, play the banjo, keep a secret) or shakes (piggy-back, notions) of the head whenever a question is asked.

When the Lost Property wagon appears in view, the boy catches sight of the girl who is apparently his sister, and breaks away from Mulligan, running to her and calling her name, Allowin. The gnome on the floating disc has left, but the owl-creature behind the counter flaps his real wings excitedly (making a slight mess of his fake wings) to see the boy's return.

Returning to the cart directly behind Mulligan is the black beast. It bows its head respectfully toward Mulligan, and speaks in Elvish: Thank you sir. Then it looks up to the owlin and says a few words in another language, upon which the owlin interpets to Mulligan: Dirlagraun doesn't speak your tongue, but wishes to thank you for returning Viro.

The dissatisfied gnome floats away from the Lost Property cart. It is a little less crowded in the air than on the ground, but now in addition to people levitating with sparkly dust, there are people floating inside bubbles and people riding dragonflies. Colourful wings, colourful faces, and a riot of colours from the ground below - it is almost overwhelming. From his vantage point, G'Reg can spot a few small food vendors nearby - candy stalls, fairy floss vendors, and so on - but he can also see not far off a larger eating area where music is being played. Between here and there, to the left is a carousel consisting of eight wooden unicorns, and to the right is a pool of large lily pads where the rideable dragonflies are taking off and landing.

The coat vendor nods and replies earnestly: If that is your desire. The coat is yours to keep, the knowledge of your name mine only to borrow for the hour. A fair trade, no?

He holds the coat out for Barria, swishing it around a little so she can appreciate the golden weave, and handing it to her if she accepts. The dwarf gets the sense that the coat is indeed very comfortable, and would be a good fit.

Barria scrunches up her nose a bit.  She felt that there must be more to this than meets the eye, but what?  What did it mean to borrow her name for an hour?  That didn't even make sense.  But still.. only an hour and she could own this beautiful coat?  It would be foolish to say no....

"Yes, that is my desire.  It's a deal!"

     Mulligan gives a bit of a bow and tip of his hat when the black cat-beast offers his thanks at the return of the child.  He then watches the exchange between them and the Owlin with interest and patience, knowing a bit what it is like to be on the other side of similar relays of words.  He smiles in reply to the Owlin as well before sending words into the Owlin's head.

In Owlin's Head:    
   

      Mulligan offers a sad smile to the Owlin and then looks from them to Dirlagraun and back with a but of pre-disappointed hope in his eyes.  Having "said it aloud" it seems preposterous  even to himself.  Even if the loss of his voice was somehow connected to this place the idea that there would be some cure or such at a Lost Property booth...  He all but blushes at the very foolishness of it. 

G'Reg gives the dragonflies and the lilypads a curious enough look, though he assumes the really enchanting things will be further in to the carnival. He thinks that maybe once he has eaten perhaps he would like to ride the carousel, it seemed low energy and knowing how these conspiracy things work, perhaps he should give some things a shot as the Owlin had advised to at least make it look like he is enjoying himself. For now though the only thing that needed enchanting was the grumble in his stomach which has made its irritation known in his attitude. He floats on over to the eaing area and looks, but also smells, around for something to take his fancy.

The coat vendor smiles and hands the gorgeous coat down to the dwarf, who receives it gratefully. Such a lovely coat, and for what? The dwarf hopes that the entire carnival is this generous, and ponders where to go next. Some more shopping? Perhaps some games? Rides? There is so much to see and do, and the dwarf is confident that she isn't going to run out of money in a hurry, if this coat vendor is any indication. With her new coat tucked under one arm, and glancing down at her map, the dwarf with no name ventures merrily into the heart of the Witchlight Carnival.

(The dwarf currently has no name. If she is required to introduce herself, she will be at a loss of what to say. Even her surname is no longer her own possession, although she can still recall the given names of her family members.)

 The owlin looks around nervously at the inquiry, replying out loud as his eyes dart back and forth.

Funny you should ask... Twice in one night! who'd have thought? A grouchy little floating fellow was here just now asking a related question, although he said he lost his shovel or such. Who carries a shovel at a carnival anyway? ...

He then drops his voice low and leans forward, raising one wing to partially cover his beak.

Look, I really ought not to talk to guests on this issue.... Orders of Witch and Light... All I can say is that things often get lost at the carnival. And not just little knick-knacks and trinkets... Other things, like what you're talking of, if you'll excuse the phrase. Even individuals get lost and are never seen again. Like Dirlagraun's kitten. I don't know why they do. Chances are even Witch and Light don't know either. At least, they never say. It's sad, I know. Kind of ruins the fun for us workers too, in a way. And it wasn't always so. No sir, the carnival isn't what it once was. Not to those of us who recall the good old days with Isolde...

The owlin looks distracted for a moment, but then comes to himself, stands up straighter, and speaks in his original clear voice.

Cheer up though! You look as though you get along fine without it, eh?

G'Reginald makes his levitating way to the area marked on the map as the "Feasting Orchard". Music and mirth radiate from a small park, along with the scent of flowers, mead and berry pie. Stilt-walkers can be seen plucking fruit from trees; musicians drum, strum and pipe; and everywhere there is singing, dancing, and an inordinate amount of custard.

A long table is lined with carnival guests on one side, with a few spare seats, and piles upon piles of small, glazed cupcakes - perhaps a cake-eating contest? Among the musicians, G'Reg notices a fellow gnome with a lute, swinging on a tree swing, serenading some appreciative patrons as they sit and eat fresh fruit plucked from the branches above.

The sight of all this merriment and banqueting lifts the gnomes spirits a little, and his stomach rumbles...

Feeling her luck improving, she looks at the map and finds an interest in the Feasting Orchard.  Wonders what type of fruit they might have there that she could try.  And as though her luck couldn't get any better, she sees that there is a place called Lost Property on the way!  Is it possible that they would keep things there over the years from plane to plane that they travel?  She doubted it.  But hey!  Luck was on her side!  And so she heads to the Lost Property office, with her fingers crossed.

     He did hear a Gnome earlier, before he took off to find the little kid, but never did quite get a look at them.  Who carries a shovel at a carnival?  Mulligan ponders this for a moment before deciding the Owlin isn't posing a riddle just actually surprised by the behavior.  He shakes the thoughts away just as the Owlin leans in closer and lowers their voice...

     Mulligan eyes the Owlin a bit skeptically trying to decide not so much if he believes them or not but rather if he believes they're telling him all they know.  (Insight check: 16)  

     Did things not get lost in the good old days?  Is Witch and Light what changed?  Did they take over from Isolde?

     The words just appear in the Owlin's mind, flat and emotionless as the written word.  A clever sort can of course gain context from the context of the situation or the expression on Mulligan's face.  He waits patiently, his face one of understanding and sympathy, to see if more answers are forthcoming.  Once satisfied that he has gotten all he can get here he nods understandingly and gives a bit of a smile.

     Thank you for telling me what you could.  A thing being lost suggests it could be found again, does it not?  I'll just have to keep looking.  Do you know where I might find this Witch and Light?  I think I may inquire with them as to where I should look next for the lost thing.  My voice.  The Gnome's shovel.  Mayhap I may even stumble upon Dirlagraun's kitten, assuming they got their looks from her.

     It's really when the Owlin tells Mulligan to cheer up, that he gets along fine without it, that Mulligan's mood changes.  He frowns and strums a discordant note on his banjo as he shifts it to the side.  He pauses considering putting more words into the Owlin's head - A threat? A note of determination? A cry of righteous indignation at his loss? - he wasn't sure what exactly so instead he just nods a farewell and departs...

     If Mulligan did get some lead on where to find Witch and Light then he will stroll off to follow such lead...  If he is directionless then he chooses a random direction.  From Lost Property it looks like the closest destinations are:

1. Calliope Bubble Top Tea
2. Big Top
3. Carousel
4. Dragonfly Rides

     Mulligan has no particular reason to head to any of them so whatever catches his eye, determined by the roll of a die, decides where he goes next!  1

     And off we go!

A day on the road with no food due to his own lack of planning makes a gnomes stomach very roomy, G'Reg is willing to believe that such an empty stomach could be an advantage to an eating competition and so floats his way over to an empty chair on the long table, looking around for whoever might be organising this little event for some rule giving. The other upside, G'Reg thinks to himself, is that contests like this are usually free or at least cheap in regards to how much food one consumes.

The dwarf approaches the Lost Property wagon. The first thing she notices is a large black six-legged feline creature wearing a huge pair of monarch-butterfly wings and lounging on the ground in front of the wagon, playing with two small children. Behind the counter is a humanoid-looking owl-type creature, who calls out to the dwarf as his previous customer, a rather disheveled human in a floppy hat, departs.

Greetings, fair fairgoer, says the owl-creature, who seems to speak with a slight whistle without ever fully closing its beak. How can I assist you this fine evening?

That's right, says the owlin. In fact Witch and Light traded their carnival for this one, with Isolde. And things were fine for years. Then things changed. I don't know for what cause. And they have felt on edge ever since.

Insight: The owl seems legit, and although it may not be telling all it knows, it certainly appears to be telling more than it should. Mulligan's impression is that it is trying its best to keep everyone happy, and not ruffle any feathers, as it were.

Witch and Light, they control affairs from the staff area for the first half usually. Then after the... the BIG TOP... Extravaganza, then they tend to walk around the carnival, interacting with the guests. I would try then if I were you...

Another carnival patron, a female dwarf, appears to be waiting for the wagon, and there doesn't seem to be much more to be had out of the owlin, so Mulligan bites back any mental retorts and moves along. Looking around, it seems to Mulligan that the Teapot attraction is just as close as the Staff Area behind the Big Top, so he takes the opportunity to have a look. A twenty-foot-tall teapot rests on a wooden platform, its painted surface whirling with moving imagery of flying dragons breathing streams of bubbles. A door at the base of the teapot allows entry to its interior, with patrons emerging from the spout enclosed in a bubble that detaches to float off across the carnival.

Seven goblins is bright yellow butterfly wings are sitting around the platform, sipping tea from mismatched porcelain cups. An eighth goblin with similar wings, as well as a string of teaspoons on his belt, stands at a small counter, and gestures to a sign on the table as Mulligan approaches, which reads:

The word that you intend to say,
Try saying it a different way.

The goblin then speaks to Mulligan: One lunch of your thicket gets you entry to the tree-knot and a trouble ride. Step right up!

The cake eating contest seems to be a fairly loosely-run affair, with a rather large rotund human male in an oversized chef hat and a booming voice calling out the rules.

Well well well — what’s this? A last-minute hero joins the fray! Step right up, sir, and trade me one measly punch of your ticket for a shot at sweet, custardy glory! That makes eight daring devourers, eight champions of confectionery chaos — and now the table is set! The rules are simple, folks: sixty seconds, all the cupcakes you can cram, gobble, or inhale! But beware — if it don’t stay down, you’re outta the running faster than frosting on a fairy-cake! And what’s the prize, you ask? Oh-ho! Only a one-of-a-kind, whisper-enchanted, sugar-swirled magical cupcake, baked under the light of a candy-colored moon! One bite, and who knows what wonders await! Pick your favorites, place your bets, and let the feast begin!

G'Reginald has a large plate piled with small berry-custard-filled cupcakes before him. Looking along the table, his competition appears to be:

1) A human male child, probably barely eight years old
2) A thin female elf with darting eyes
3) A female halfling with a huge grin and custard stains on her frock
4) An elderly human female with a confused expression on her face
5) A surly-looking male dwarf with a huge red rose
6) A male halfling who appears a little drunk
7) A tall human male with dark eyes and slick black hair
8) G'Reginald

A few of them seem to G'Reg to be serious contenders, while the rest are probable pushovers. He has a moment to decide before the ticket is punched and the contest begins...