Rowan says "Good-bye" to the dogs in the language that Amidor just used without noticing that he's spoken anything other than common.

He then continues on the way with the others, listening to Glister as he speaks.

"Oh, I didn't lose anything, but these three all did. But either they forgot they lost what they're looking for or they didn't think it was such a big deal until recently. Have you ever noticed that? Some people completely forget about something but when they're reminded it suddenly becomes the most important thing in the world? Have you noticed how normal this place seems?" Rowan says before continuing. "No one has ever suggested I could be a hero. I had planned on being a musician with the carnival but I don't think I like that carnival very much any more. We really had to make the owners show us the way here. Though I'm not sure they're really the owners. I got the impression they really stole the carnival from someone else. But you're sister? Well she seems to be where we're going. It would be just mean not to try and rescue her while we're there."

He continues along for another moment.

"My parent's called me special sometimes but I don't think they meant it as a compliment. So maybe it's a good thing to not be special." Rowan says. Then he asks "Are you from here?"

The more Rowan talks, the more Glister seems to relax and open up himself, until he is babbling almost as much as Rowan does. His bright-coloured hair still seems to somehow avoid becoming dulled in the perpetual gloom like all other colours, and up close Rowan can see the faint remains of face-paint, done like a stylised sun-mask.

Sometimes I forget to eat, and then when I remember I feel really hungry. Is that the same? I'm not from here, no... and this place doesn't feel normal to me at all. People at the carnival called us special - me and Gleam - but we're just acrobats. Anyone could do that with some practice. But now that you mention it, our parents used to say something similar about us. Not 'special'. 'Touched' is the word they used. I don't know if that's a good thing. Mister Witch and Mister Light were always nice to us. They looked after everyone at the carnival, at least that's how I remember them. But yeah, they were sad after Gleam left, and were never the same afterwards. I can't imagine them stealing anything from anyone though...

Greg touches his ear as the dogs and Amidor and then much to his surprise Rowan of all people begin speaking in this odd language, but Greg understands it aöö the same, "useful..." he mumbles but doesn't interject anything as the group seem to be fully capable of sorting things without his grumbling thoughts. 
As things turn to the carnival though, Greg cannot help himself "Witch and Light may not have stolen anything themselves but they are quite happy to let it happen and cover up their own involvement in the whole thing, they've no backbone those two, utter cowards I tell ya! They seemed concerned over your sister aye, but they knew exactly who had taken her and weren't concerned enough to sacrifice anything of theirs to get her back!" he crosses his arms as they walk letting his mind wander and focussing more on puzzling things out before shouting out from nowhere a while later, "DAMMNIT! I left that bloody weasel in the carnival.... hmphh! well I hope it's causing them no end of trouble!"

The Adventures of a Forgotten Weasel

When the gnome wizard and their companions stepped through the shimmering portal to Prismeer, there was a small, almost imperceptible pause. A blink of confusion crossed the beady little eyes of the wizard’s weasel familiar as it sat on Mister Light’s shoulder. One whisker twitched.

Then, seeing the party vanish, the weasel made a decision.

After all, the carnival was still buzzing with music, laughter, and the smell of fried dough. It wasn’t every day a humble weasel got free rein of the Witchlight Carnival — and without a wizard constantly summoning it back into danger, it was time to live a little...

Act I: Carnival Celebrity

First, the weasel hopped down from Mister Light’s shoulder and strutted into the crowd with a confidence rarely seen in a creature under a pound in weight. A few children noticed it and squealed with delight, assuming it was part of the show. Soon, a small parade of patrons followed it as it darted through the carnival grounds.

The weasel stopped at the snail racing track, where the announcer immediately declared it the honorary “Starter’s Whistle.” A tiny ribbon was tied around its neck, and at the count of three it was placed on the track — not to race, but to scamper dramatically between the snails and wave its little paws. The crowd roared with laughter and applause.

Act II: Pixie Kingdom Tea Time

Feeling peckish, the weasel followed the sweet smell of honey and flowers to the Pixie Kingdom attraction. The pixies, delighted to have a “giant” visitor, crowned it with a thimble-sized garland of dandelion fluff and served it thimblefuls of nectar tea. According to carnival gossip, the weasel was an exceptional conversationalist — nodding politely at all the right moments and chittering in ways that the pixies found terribly profound.

One pixie even swore that the weasel solved their romantic dilemma by squeaking twice when asked if true love was worth pursuing. (It was.)

Act III: Spreading Joy

By now, the weasel was a local celebrity. It wandered the carnival handing out luck (or at least, giving very lucky pats with its little nose) and turning up exactly where it was needed:

It tripped a pickpocket just before he snatched a purse.

It popped a balloon that was scaring a toddler.

It rode a carousel horse three times in a row, much to the delight of everyone watching.

Act IV: The Coronation

As twilight fell, Mister Light called everyone together to name the Witchlight Monarch — the patron who had done the most to spread cheer that day. It was a foregone conclusion. The ribbon still tied around its neck, the garland slightly askew, the weasel was carried forward by two pixies and held aloft as Mister Light placed the butterfly-wing crown gently upon its head.

The crowd erupted in cheers.

Some say the weasel bowed solemnly. Others claim it began to dance. Either way, it was a moment for the history books.

Epilogue

By the time the wizard finally remembered their familiar, the weasel was lounging on a cushion in the staff tent, enjoying an impressive plate of carnival treats: fried dough, candied apples, and a very small cup of fizzy drink.

After the sight of the Jabberwok, Barria is humbled a bit.  But just a bit, after all, every world has their ups and downs, don't they?  At least now they had an idea what the one to avoid in this world was.  Actually, that was a bit of luck if you think about it.

She was about to voice this opinion when Glister started talking about Gleam and his worries.  She gets in step with him and like Rowan, does her best to cheer him up.  "Cookies?  Why, I think I still have one in my pocket!" (I believe she didn't eat the last one?  If she did, ignore this part) and hands it over to Rowan.

She tsk tsk's at G'Reg when he realizes he left his pet at the carnival, and mutters under her breath, but probably loud enough for him to hear, "No wonder he lost his hoe, can't even keep track of his pet."

Turning towards the delightful dandelion, "So, how much further?  I am getting a bit parched, are you?"

"my hoe didn't have legs, an appetite for mischief, and a wholly over inflated ego, I'll have you know!" The gnome states from behind a pointed and accusing finger held toward Barria, he did wonder what had happened to the weasel, but concludes with a sense of unearned certainty that it definitely couldn't have made too much of a spectacle of itself "Besides, don't you act all high and mighty, you lost something t- oh are we here! Well then let's go chat with some weird creatures I guess."

Rowan reaches over and claps Glister on the shoulder. He means it as a gesture of comfort and connection but he manages to make it awkward, mistiming their steps and ending up just brushing Glister.

"Oh yeah, I forget to eat all the time. Sometimes I just think I'm tired but really I'm thirsty," Rowan says. "Well I don't think we need to spend to much time thinking about Light and Witch now. They're not here and they really didn't want to have any connection to us being here. I wonder if we start telling people that they helped us get her if that would get them in trouble? Or maybe just let the actually owner of the carnival track them down."

He takes the cookie from Barria and passes it over to Glister.

"I wonder if the hoe could talk here too? That would be helpful. It could just call out to you and let you know where it was, g'Reg."

     Can we do anything to help them?  Help bury their fallen, perhaps?  Or I think I have some jerky in my bag.

     Mulligan asks of the weed before they are pulled away from the hounds.  Mulligan is reluctant to go.  He wants to pet those dogs!  He had even considered trying to win them over to their side, enlist their assistance in the storming of the castle.  It sure would have been a comfort to him to have a good boy by his side...  Bees and flowers are grand, he supposes, but there's nothing like a good dog at your side.

     Mulligan listens as Glisten and Rowan speak.  He has thoughts on the exchange but mostly keeps them to himself.  It's easier that was, specially in a large group.  It's not that the telepathy is tiring but the repeating everything to everyone gets... repetitive.  

     He passes his waterskin to Barria when she mentions being parched.  One good thing about carrying everything you own with you at all times, you always have what you need at hand.  

     Nobody sent us.  We are not heroes.  But then again, more often than not, such things are decided after the fact.  Maybe fate did send us.  Maybe at the end of it we will be looked upon as heroes by some.  I suspect many a hero did not set out to be one.  We shall see.

     Mulligan says this over the Group Chat well after the fact.  He felt he needed to think on it a while to phrase it just right.  He didn't want to come off as hokey or anything, not like he had notions of grandeur or such.  More that what people are is often decided by other people who never knew the whole story to begin with.  Best you can do is the best you can do and then rest comfortable with that while others do as they will with it.

Glister takes the cookie from Barria with grateful thanks, and eats it somewhat daintily. It takes about five seconds for the special ingredients to hit the elf acrobat's brain, and suddenly he is walking along with a completely glazed expression and a line of drool at the corner of his very widely-smiling mouth. Amidor the Dandelion mutters a few words to Polinella, and thereafter stays close to the elf to ensure he doesn't walk off the edge of a cliff. Barria wonders if she looked quite so pathetic in the unknown time she spent wandering the carnival in a daze, and doesn't envy the elf the munchies he will have when the Euphoreo cookie wears off.

The path begins to rise, at first gently, then with an insistent climb. A faint glimmer catches the eye — a tiny lantern resting on a lichen-covered rock, its single firefly pulsing like a living star. As the trail winds upward, the slope steepens, and more lanterns appear one by one, as though guiding the way: some tucked into crags, others balanced on ledges or nestled in moss. By the time you crest the ridge, the world ahead is glowing.

The path opens onto a broad, flat plateau, bathed in the warm, flickering light of dozens — perhaps hundreds — of lanterns. At its heart stands a ring of ancient stones, their weathered faces crowned by capstones like the jaws of some primeval giant. The air feels hushed, expectant, like the storm has taken a nap. In the center of the henge, near the faint, curling smoke of a dying campfire, lies a small checkered board of carved stone. Its playing pieces stand mid-game, as though whoever set them down only just stepped away.

The game board looks strikingly similar to dragonchess; the pieces are made of either dark shale or white chalk, and are familiar enough to see past the noticeable differences: a tall male figure with stag antlers on both sides, a dryad and an oak treant in shale, a tall slender female in fairy wings with a pair of unicorns and another dryad in chalk, and a collection of sprites of both kinds.

g'Reg looks to the dragonchess set laid out with much interest, and unless his new adventure-mates stop him he will cross the stone boundary and approach the set. "It looks like its mate in one or two moves, let me see here... hmm a few more if you want to guarantee a total domination"

(Int check + PB bonus:  7)

     Mulligan approaches warily and then pauses to study the board.  He raises an eyebrow then g'Reginal the g'Nome pipes up.

     Careful, my friend.  This is a game of skill and patience.  One must study all possibilities and weight the repercussions before dashing in and making a move...

     This is what he says to the Group Chat but once he sees g'Reginald stepping up to cross the barrier, Mulligan rushes forward himself and attempts to make his preferred move!

(I figured roll initiative?  Mulligan rolls 14.  Mulligan will attempt to move the tall, slender female with fairy wings from G5 to C5.  Best to ruin their Sprite Structure, he assures in group chat.)

Greg watches Mulligan with amusement and lets him take his move, assuming the other side of the board he quips. "This game was won by the next player to make a move, IF they made the correct one. You my friend were not patient or skillful enough." And he takes the black castle from E3 and moves it down two spaces to E1, "that is checkmate."

Rowan looks at the dragon chess board but loses interest fairly quickly and wanders over to look more closely at the lanterns.

"Hey little guys," Rowan says to the fireflies. "Do you like being in there? I'm not sure I'd like to be trapped for the sake of light for someone who may or may not ever show up."

Rowan then looks for a way to open the lanterns. If he finds the latch, he'll start freeing the fireflies while the others deal with the henge and chess board.

Barria notices that the eight standing stones, each of which is about 20 feet tall, are hewn from a different kind of rock: one each of shale, chalk, flint, granite, slate, basalt, obsidian, and marble. Even from a distance, her dwarven senses prickle: the stones are not just standing, but waiting. Her heart pounds with anticipation, reflecting of the silent thrum that seems to come from the monoliths themselves.

Rowan casually looks around. He passively observes the lanterns... the campfire... the stones... the two sets of footprints of some kind of small cloven-hoofed creature that have recently stamped out the campfire and run right up to two of the monoliths...

Greginald mulls over the game board, his brow furrowed and his chin taking a good rubbing as Mulligan watches in amusement. There is a flurry of activity as both make their sudden, impulsive moves, but at the moment the gnome cries "checkmate", two unfamiliar voices break the stillness...

Ha! cries the first voice, with the high-pitch squealing sound of two slabs of shale sliding across each other. That's it! I win, fair and square!

Fair? Ha! You call that fair? cries the second voice, with a low voice like chalk grinding on chalk. I'd never make such a foolish move.

The voices are coming from two of the monoliths - but no! not from the monoliths, but from the strange hairy faces that are poking out of the monoliths! One grinning from the shale column, and one scowling from the chalk column, as though carved from the very stone. The faces are followed by heads with great shocks of wild hair, which are followed by squat little bodies... and within moments, two short figures have popped out of the monoliths, without leaving so much as a crack or even a speck of dust. They waddle toward one another, gloating and complaining respectively, as their tangled manes . Both are shorter even than Greginald, extremely hairy all over, and walk on limbs like the hind legs of a goat. The first looks and sounds distinctly feminine, and the second masculine.

Shale: Now, now, it's just a game. And it was a fair move, even if not very clever.

Chalk: But you heard the other one. Win in one or two moves.

Shale: Remember the rule of three! They have come with good intent. We must make them welcome. But first...

The male falls silent as the female picks up a loose rock from the ground. There is a brief flash of light and heat as she squeezes it tightly between her hands... (she glances a few times back and forth between Greginald and Mulligan, before settling on Mulligan...) ...then holds it out to Mulligan. But where a plain rock was before, there is now a brilliantly faceted star sapphire, glowing with a soft blue inner light.

The other one played my winning move, but I suppose he couldn't have if you didn't do what you did first. A gift for a gift. Now, what brings you to see Argantle of Shale and Jagu of Chalk?

I expect this is the male, but who knows?

Barria ignores the babble at the chessboard as she checks out the monoliths.  A separate stone for each of these crowned treasures?  What a breathtaking display!  She grins as she walks up to closest one, tall, intricate granite.  She places her hand on it as the silent thrum pulls her towards it.  

The shock of the two creatures evicting themselves from the two stone towers was enough to almost bowl the poor dwarf over.  "How?!  How is this done?"  She leaves the granite one and keeping a close eye on the creature, she steps up to the shale one and places a hand upon it, wondering if the feeling she was getting from these monoliths is now gone from the shale and chalk ones.