It's been years, but it seems as though it was only yesterday. Just like the first time, a portal opens in the bare, clear sky, and the wagons of the Witchlight Carnival descend; it is a kaleidescope of colors, as wagons large and small, each sprouting a pair of dragonfly or butterfly wings, and pulled by foxes and horses with wings of their own, flutter and glide gracefully to the earth, accompanied by showers of confetti and glitter, and with music like the tinkling of bells. No sooner do they touch down to ground than the carnival's attractions begin to magically unfold from the wagons.
Scores of carnival hands emerge from the wagons and busy themselves with preparations. Rarely could you find such an astonishing variety of fantastical folk, with dwarves and elves and gnomes mingling with centaurs and fairies and countless other unusual creatures. Watching from a respectful distance, you see what appears to be a small walking tree ambling around the perimeter of the nascent carnival site, distributing acorns which promptly sprout and grow into splendid oak trees to rim the carnival's edge. Even some of the existing trees seem to uproot themselves and move aside, re-planting themselves comfortably in more convenient locations. What's more, a great length of wavy blue ribbon unfurls from the walking tree's branches, and transforms into a lazy, sparking river, encircling the site.
Watching the spectacular arrival takes you back to the first time you remember visiting the Carnival. 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, you lost something. You tried to find it, but the carnival owners — a pair of elves named Mister Witch and Mister Light — were decidedly unhelpful. 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.
Now as the sun slowly sets, with the Carnival's preparations complete, you find yourself standing near a ticket booth by the entrance at twilight, just as the carnival is about to open. 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.
Glancing around, you see others waiting in the queue - mostly humans, halflings and others from the nearby town of Nashkel - many of them children with parents, as well as some young couples and a few elderly. They chatter excitedly as they wait with trembling anticipation for their turn to purchase a ticket from the ancient-looking goblin perched behind the ticket counter. As you reach the front of the line, the goblin peers at you quizzically through a spyglass, then lowers it and calls out:
"Greetings, fair fairgoers! Nothing's free and nothing's lost, every visit has its cost. Eight silver for the grown-ups, three for the younglings. Step right up!"
(OOC: The characters have not met each other as yet - all are in their own place somewhere in the line. The first to respond is the one closest to the front, and so on. Each will enter the Carnival as individuals, and then we will see how and when we cross paths...)
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Watching it now it is hard for Mulligan to believe he had almost forgotten having seen it before. Looking up into the sky, the brim of his dented but determined top hat shading the sun, he watches the spectacle without really seeing it. Instead he sees what he saw all those many years ago. He sees what he had forgotten, but which somehow seems like it's been at the tip of his brain ever since, just waiting to be remembered. He sees the unbelievable undeniably swooping down from overhead only to land a fair bit off and recreate a make-believe land he always yearned to see again despite not recalling he had ever been there.
The sight, the pageantry of the fabulous, reminds him not just of what he had forgotten... But of what he had lost. Mulligan strums a few chords on his banjo, it is always close at hand and ready to be played. The resulting tune is a bit melancholic. A bit wispy. He plays for a while. Hard to really say for how long. There is nobody around so he is just playing for himself and letting the tune drift upon the air and go where it will.
It'll be night soon. Not dark but dust... The dimming of the lights to allow the reality to get a bit fuzzy and the fantastical to get a bit real. There's a reason they dim the lights before a show or a performance, it helps the magic to work. And boy, down this hill and across the field there is a whole lot of working going on. The carnival is back at last. Mulligan had been waiting for this forever despite not knowing so. And he wondered to if what he lost was done there. In that circus somewhere. Just waiting for him to return. To find it. To reclaim it. It's amazing how little he missed it when he couldn't recall that he had lost it but now... Knowing what he once had... He wants nothing more in the world.
---
Waiting in line is a parade of extravagance all in it's own self. The glimpses of the carnival are exciting and exhilarating and the variety of peoples to be glimpsed inside is it's own kind of show. It is awe inspiring and had hadn't even gained admission yet. It was so distracting that he hadn't even noticed the line move, and him with it, til suddenly it was himself standing in front of the Goblin running the ticket counter. They looked like a relic, like a thing of ages past and not belonging in the here and now. They also didn't look like someone you would want to mess with.
"Greetings, fair fairgoers! Nothing's free and nothing's lost, every visit has its cost. Eight silver for the grown-ups, three for the younglings. Step right up!"
Yes, it was his turn to pay the piper, so to speak, and gain admission. Only... Only in all his awe and wonderment he had forgotten a very important detail. He accidentally struck a surprised and sad rift on his banjo and felt his guts fall right out of him entirely. Eight silver? Did he even have that much?
Mulligan O'Menihan didn't exactly live pay day to pay day... He didn't exactly have pay days. What money he earned from the odd job here and there or from playing on street corners as passerby graciously threw a spare coin or whatever other detritus they had in their pocket into his upturned hat mostly got him through to the next day and that was about it. Life hadn't been exactly kind to Mulligan. Despite his considerable talent on his instrument, in his own estimable opinion if nobody else's, Nashkel is a small mining town and not the sort of place one is discovered and suddenly makes it big from. He could have, should have, moved on long ago. Traveled Amn and found a place where music was appreciated... But he didn't. Couldn't. He didn't realize it til now but he was waiting for the carnival to return...
"C'mon, c'mon! Eight silver from ya, eh?"
The Goblin again. Anxious to keep the line moving, no doubt. Mulligan reached into his pockets and desperately searched. He was human, as was the norm in Nashkel, and tall for one. His clothes were all a shade of grey or black or brown except for a red scarf which was so old and worn it barely deserved the kindness of color. Still, it was obvious that he cared for his things - kept them clean and mended them the best he could. That wasn't saying a whole lot though. If one were to guess how much coin he had on him it would be very, very generous to guess he had eight silver... And his continued search of his pockets, and his left shoe, and even his top hat, proved that out. He was only able to find six silver and a couple odd copper about his person, giving apologetic shrugs and smiles to those in line behind him as he looked. They were starting to grumble and the goblin may have legitimately had steam starting to leak out of his ears as he waited.
But oh! Mulligan did have one thing of value. Not that he would ever in his life consider giving it up. Not for anything. Still, wedged up high on the neck of his banjo were a couple of picks for those tunes that called for plucking more than strumming. He pulled these loose and added them to the coins, holding his hand out with them all in it for the Goblin to examine. He offered his handful of various coins and bits as well as his best charismatic grin and raised an eyebrow as if to ask if this was enough...
((I know nothing about banjos... or playing instruments of any kind. I'm actually not really a music person, truthfully... But Mulligan O'Menihan has a banjo and so I'll just be making shit up. Just go with it. lol))
The goblin peers through his spyglass, looking down on Mulligan from high on his chair, putting the scruffy human in mind of a judge in court. The goblin aims the spyglass at Mulligan's outstretched hand, and then seems to scan him all over from top hat to toe. Mulligan has done enough performing to recognise that there is an air of theatricality about it, but the goblin's voice remains serious:
Ah, it's you. Well at least you fit the description all right. Good sir, I believe your ticket's been paid for already. Don't want anyone accusin' Nikolas Midnight of derelict'in' 'is duty...
He reaches under his small counter and withdraws something, then hands it down to Mulligan: it is a white envelope with the letters E.T. embossed in gold, inside of which is a Carnival ticket. While Mulligan inspects this, the goblin who calls himself Nikolas Midnight continues with his rapid and practiced banter.
That's good for eight attractions, after that you'll have to pay. That banjo will have to stay here though - don't want to upset the other guests. Ha! I'm jesting, of course. Do as you wish, and feel free to join in with the music at the Feasting Orchard. Just mind you don't overdo it on the custard. Here's your map and your wings. It's four hours until midnight, and four after, with the Big Top Extravaganza at the midpoint, and the crowning of the Witchlight Monarch at the end. In you go. Have a fantastical time! Who's next then?
Nikolas hands Mulligan a large set of pretend dragonfly wings, with straps to go around his arms, just as he has to other guests before, as well as a map of the carnival.
(Carnival Map is on the campaign page.)
Past the ticket booth, Mulligan is immediately inundated with a plethora of wondrous sights and sounds. Carnival attractions range from tiny stalls no higher than his waist, to small shops fronts and game booths, to large tents and compounds, up to the enormous Big Top opposite him. Lights small and large wink on and off here and there. Small creatures fly overhead leaving a trail of golden dust. A merry tune rings out across the carnival, punctuated by the delighted squeals of fairgoers, peals of laughter, and the sounds of vendors and barkers advertising their attractions:
Try your luck, step right up! Answer a simple riddle and win a bag of pixie dust! Bottled dreams, a silver a bottle! Coats of twilight, coats of dusk! Swords of fortune, wands of power! Rings of eternity, cards of grace! Roll up, roll up, step this way! Instruments of music from a hundred lands! Penny whistles, tuppeny hums, thrupenny choral anthems! Salves and ointments, philters and nostrums! Everlasting lavender, Bluebell cloth!
Immediately in front of Mulligan is a brightly-coloured wagon, on the back of which is an instrument spilling forth a merry tune. A capuchin monkey wearing a cloak covered with buttons of all colors and sizes turns a handle at the wagon’s rear, sending music into the air from rows of golden whistles. As he watches this curious calliope, a small goblin dressed as a ladybug toddles forward, rattling a tin cup and dancing awkwardly in time with the music. Meanwhile, a voice like that of a middle-aged human can be heard from the top of the wagon...
Spare a button if you please, I’ll sew it next to all of these. I offer nothing in its place, Besides a smile upon my face.
The voice comes from the monkey, and he waves down to Mulligan with a look far too alert and engaged for an ordinary primate.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Mulligan adopts a look of surprise on finding his ticket has already been paid for and happily accepts the envelope. Normally he would be suspicious and cautious but somehow while surprising this also seemed... right? Even as Nikolas Midnight continues on with his talking, Mulligan holds up the envelope and taps the initials displayed in gold upon it. E.T.? his raised eyebrow seems to ask. Mulligan does pull back a bit and reflexively move his banjo around to his back protectively to keep it out of the Goblin's reach. Jest or not, Mulligan is quite protective and he casts a wary eye at Nikolas Midnight after that.
Whether he gets an answer or not, Mulligan accepts the map and the wings and allows the inevitable wave of traffic heading inside the carnival to carry him with it. He absently struggles to put the wings on, to have them out of the way more than the actual whimsy of them, and he does his best to read the map while not blocking the foot traffic. Mulligan begins taking in the different locations and having thoughts about where to go first when two things strike him more or less simultaneously. The first is the sight, on the map, of a building for Lost Property. Surely that is why he is here and something he should check out... But Nikolas Midnight's words also come to mind and he cannot help but try to decipher them.
Four hours til midnight and four after, he had said. Did he mean it was currently four minutes past eight pm? The Big Top Extravaganza at the midpoint.So the extravaganza is at ten pm? Or maybe nine nine forty-seven or so if he was being precise about the midpoint between now and midnight? Something in the back of his head suggests that maybe indeed the people here would be so precise and tricky... Crowing of the Witchlight Monarch at the end is surely midnight itself, for that is the last time the Goblin mentioned. Yes?
With all this racing through his mind, Mulligan O'Menihan almost trips over some of the tinier stall which would threaten to go unnoticed by him in the best of times. Tripping over them would certainly put his eyes at a better level from which to check them out but he fears his clumsy feet would do too much damage to make that worthwhile anyway. A riddle? Bottled Dreams? A Coat of Twilight? Barkers calling out all of this and more were the next things to grab his attention and distract him from the immediate thing in front of him. How could they ever make any money with so many distractions keeping one from doing so, he wonders. I could use a new coat... But I don't suppose I am here for my wardrobe.
Shouldn't it be the monkey that is dancing and the Goblin-bug running the show? Mulligan asks himself as he unconsciously fingers one of the buttons on his coat. He realizes what he is doing just in time to prevent himself from tearing it off. His clothes are old and much mended but he takes a certain pride in the fact that they are whole... He is NOT about to be ripping off his own buttons! Still, he waves back to the monkey and laughs at the dancing Goblin-bug. Taken away from his button, he preoccupies his fingers instead with mimicking the tune the weird whistle-cart is playing as if he was strumming his banjo. He is tempted to actually join in but it is probably too early to join the circus quite yet. He does stand and allow the music to wash over him for a bit, enjoying it but also just acquainting himself to the cacophony of his surroundings...
After a bit, he decides he is off to Lost Things! It should be just around the patch that looks like a garden, if he has his bearings about him. Mulligan will investigate the Riddle, Bottled Dreams of Coat of Twilight if he passes close by but he won't wandered too far off what he thinks is his path. Not yet...
Many of the barkers' calls are coming from further away, but the riddler is very close nearby. Mulligan wanders over to the young elf at the counter, who is wearing a bright costume decorated with question marks, and wearing a pair of fake butterfly wings.
Ah, we have a contender! Fancy yourself a riddle expert, sir? I expect this will baffle, stump and bewilder you.
What has a golden head and a golden tail, but no body?
It's a bag of pixie dust for you if you know the answer. You have three minutes, sir.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Mulligan tilts his head to one side as he considers the question, and then to the other. He wets his lips and bites his tongue a bit as he considers possible answers. The first thought that comes to him is a story, partially because he is currently biting his tongue and riddles like tricksy tricks like using tail and tale interchangeably... But while stories could come to a head, perhaps, they don't always have one? Rivers have heads but aren't always golden... Hmmm.
He shifts his stance time and again. He takes the banjo into his hands as if that would help him think but there is no luck there. He casts his gaze out about the crowd and the stalls and the carnival as a whole... And an idea occurs to him. He doesn't have any himself, his time at the ticket booth proved that, but it should get the point of his answer across. Reaching deep into his pocket he fumbles around before finally drawing his hand out once more. As he does he holds a coin up between two fingers and turns it this way and that to make it obvious that was his guess. He doesn't have any gold on him but a silver coin should be enough to demonstrate his answer.
((Not sure Toril coins have a heads and a tails side to them but it's all I can come up with without resorting to a google search!))
Greginald is restless, hiding away in the barn of his parents farm reading in his secret hammock up in the beams of the hayloft. There is an itch in his brain that he usually satisfies by learning something new or focussing on making practical processes easier using magic, but this time the itch doesn't go away. He needs to get off the farm, head to town, clear his head.
The repetitive arguments about farm duties and taking responsibilities are old and worn out but apparently, Greginald barely registers the disappointment in his parents face or the gleeful look in his younger brothers eyes as the arguments start again. The gnome packs his bag and is on the road before the next meal, travelling the half days journey to Nashkel, his trusty book at his side, a thick walking stick on hand and not much else.
The carriages in the sky draw his attention as the itch in his brain turns into a full intrusive compulsion to follow, is this what brought him here? Only one way to find out, and if G'Reginald loved one thing, it was finding out stuff, Nashkel would have to wait as he makes his way to the newly forming carnival ground.
By the time his little feet have brought him to his destination the carnival is finished setting up and has drawn quite a crowd. Amazed patrons staring in awe at the dragonflies and performers and all manner of entertainment just begging the question 'how many more delights await within'. But there is a pang of dread mixed with Greginald's awe and curiosity, something familiar that tickles at the edge of his mind and fills him with memories of frustration and loss? Greginald takes a moment on the outskirts of the crowd, listening to the ticket takers instructions whilst performing a short ritual using his spell book, once the ritual is complete the gnome, not wanting to get lost in such a crowd of larger humanoids, mounts his floating disk and moves over the crowd toward the booth, lowering himself slightly so that he is able to pay the needed fee and enter, first seeking out something to eat as he forgot to pack any food at all.
Oh, Bravo! Yes my good man, that is correct. The skinny elf chortles as he claps enthusiastically. You may be lost for words, but not lost for wisdom. The answer is indeed 'a gold coin'. Here is your prize. Thank you for playing, and have a merry evening!
The elf hands Mulligan a tiny silk pouch with a drawstring as delicate as spider thread, inside of which is a pinch of dust that glitters like a mixture of powdered silver and gold.
G'Reginald
The aged goblin at the ticket booth takes G'Reginald's money with a smile, perhaps grateful that he doesn't have to reach down so far. He hands the floating gnome a ticket, a map of the carnival, and a pair of pretend butterfly wings that can be worn over the shoulders like a backpack; as he does so, with a twinkle in his eye he delivers a personalised welcome, emphasising each 'P' sound comically:
Aha, another Pipsqueak Patron! Welcome, Pal! I exPect you could Party with the Pixies without even Partaking of the Potion! Enjoy your evening
(Carnival Map is on the campaign page.)
Past the ticket booth, G'Reginald is immediately inundated with a plethora of wondrous sights and sounds. Carnival attractions range from tiny stalls no higher than his waist, to small shops fronts and game booths, to large tents and compounds, up to the enormous Big Top opposite him. Lights small and large wink on and off here and there. Small creatures fly overhead leaving a trail of golden dust. A merry tune rings out across the carnival, punctuated by the delighted squeals of fairgoers, peals of laughter, and the sounds of vendors and barkers advertising their attractions:
Try your luck, step right up! Answer a simple riddle and win a bag of pixie dust!
Bottled dreams, a silver a bottle!
Coats of twilight, coats of dusk! Swords of fortune, wands of power! Rings of eternity, cards of grace! Roll up, roll up, step this way!
Instruments of music from a hundred lands! Penny whistles, tuppeny hums, thrupenny choral anthems!
Salves and ointments, philters and nostrums! Everlasting lavender, Bluebell cloth!
Immediately in front of G'Reginald is a brightly-coloured wagon, on the back of which is an instrument spilling forth a merry tune. A capuchin monkey wearing a cloak covered with buttons of all colors and sizes turns a handle at the wagon’s rear, sending music into the air from rows of golden whistles. As he watches this curious calliope, a small goblin dressed as a ladybug toddles forward, rattling a tin cup and dancing awkwardly in time with the music. Meanwhile, a voice like that of a middle-aged human can be heard from the top of the wagon...
Spare a button if you please,
I’ll sew it next to all of these.
I offer nothing in its place,
Besides a smile upon my face.
The voice comes from the monkey, and he waves down to G'Reginald with a look far too alert and engaged for an ordinary primate.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Once inside the feeling of dread minimises slightly for the floating gnome, though the overwhelming and rapturous entertainments distract him enough to at least smile and make the best of the situation. His stomach grumbles, perhaps a dream flask might be nourishing, perhaps it might be mind altering, better to not risk it. Instead he approaches the monkey looking being. He takes a small knife and cuts the tight threads that keep the top most button of his shirt attached and then holds it up ready to throw in to the goblin's cup, but instead waits attempting to gain favour. "The button can be yours but I've no need for your smiles, perhaps you could offer me something else? Information, direction, hmm? I'm looking for a place where I might just find items that people here have lost in the past, I'm sure once the carnival is over all manner of things are accidentally left behind to be collected and await their owners return... Where is that?" He wiggles the button ready to properly thank the monkey for obliging him his request.
Mulligan makes a splash of sound with a big, flourishing strum of his banjo in celebration and then bows a bit as he accepts his prize. There is a smile upon his face, a bit counter to his otherwise drab looking appearance, though it's shine does match that of his banjo. He bows again to the employee who ran the contest and gave him his prize and then does so once more for good measure. If there is any crowd around watching he opens his arms to them as if to invite them into his little celebration and then sweeps his arms toward the carnie as if to indicate they should all give it a go as well.
That done, Mulligan carefully undoes the drawstring, very carefully as it is so delicate, and peers curiously inside. Curious. He's never seen anything quite like this though he has heard of some people who snort something called faery dust. He doesn't think THAT would be so freely handed out, nor so openly, even here. This must be something else entirely... He hopes.
(Does Mulligan have any clue what the dust is? They called it pixie dust, is it a thing I can actually look up? Oh, it is! lol, assuming this is the same thing... But would Mulligan have any clue what it does?)
Re-sealing up the small pouch, Mulligan carefully secures it in one of his pockets and looks around him at all there is to see and do and explore and... But he did have a purpose here. He had decided to go to the place labeled Lost Property on the map. It seemed only logical that he go there first to try to find what he had lost... So this distraction over, he heads once more in that direction.
(Anything just Spoiler'd will be for DM only. If there is anything in spoilers for others then I will bother to label it as such... Anything REALLY secret will be delivered in a PM or such! lol)
Glancing around, Mulligan notices several carnival hands mingling with the crowd, sprinkling them with the same glittery dust. The effect seems to be that the recipient has the ability to hover and glide through the air for a short time, and then land safely back on the ground. Several such patrons can be seen and heard, cackling with delight as they fly overhead. There is probably enough dust in the bag for two sprinklings.
There's is no audience as such, but a few citizens passing by give a friendly smile at Mulligan's antics. His new mini treasure safely stowed, it is a short step around behind the riddle tent to a small square wagon that looks much like a white wooden cabin. A bright coloured sign reads: "Oopsie Daisies - Lost Property", but the thing that really catches Mulligan's attention is the creature laying at the threshold. As large as a tiger and with midnight-blue fur like a panther, the feline form has six legs folded underneath it, as well as two tentacles issuing from its shoulders. In contrast to its imposing appearance is a large colourful pair of fake butterfly wings on a strap, and a small wooden keg hanging from its collar. Two small children play and tumble with the creature - a young girl hangs from its neck while a slightly older boy rolls around under one of the creature's swatting paws.
G'Reginald
The goblin leaps and capers happily at the offer of the button, but then settles momentarily while the talking monkey responds. Without ceasing to turn the handle of the music machine, the monkey says: Certainly, sir! A gift in exchange for a gift! Speak with Daffodil at the Oopsie Daisies wagon. Just a hop, step and jump over there. The monkey points to a small square wagon that looks much like a white wooden cabin, which sits just behind some nearby stalls.
With the requested advice given, the gnome's button clinks merrily into the mute goblin's tin cup, and the little chap dances merrily back to the calliope machine. G'Reginald feels his heart lift just a little more as the music seems to change ever so slightly, and resonate with something deep inside his soul.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Instinctively Mulligan begins rubbing the fingers of his right hand together almost as if against cold or an itch. It's more a sign that he is readying to summon and use a Soulknife, the nervous fingers not an actual part of the using the ability but more just an outward sign of the nervousness and tension that tends to be a prelude to such. Said nervousness and tension arising inside him at the sight of this fearsome looking creature with two children so readily available as it's snack...
Mulligan stops in his tracks and does his best to take a moment and calm himself. To actually assess the situation before he acts. It's helped by the fact that he's no brave and heroic sort likely to jump blindly into a situation no matter if innocents are at stake or not. No, Mulligan is more the recess to shadows and await the proper time to strike, if it all, sort. He doesn't really see a shadow to step into and hide within but it doesn't appear as if his presence has been noticed yet so he just holds very, very still and watches the scene in front of him for a moment. Instinct suggested the kids were in danger and thus the itchy fingers reaction but instinct doesn't always make sense...
It looks like a dangerous creature, no doubt, but taking in the whole picture it occurs to Mulligan that perhaps the colorful butterfly wings the creature wears, so similar to the dragonfly ones he himself sports, are more telling than the tentacles? What wild, ravening, child eating beast would allow such to be put on them? And more over the keg beneath their head? And it seems more than tolerant of the children's shenanigans... Perhaps more guard dog than attack dog? Mulligan cannot help but smile at the thought...
Mulligan moves to stand and lean against the nearest wall, wriggling his fingers a bit to relax them and rid them of their anxiousness for a Soulknife. Mulligan decides to just wait a bit and watch the kids and beast at play, rather than disturb them.
With the button sacrificed and information gained, Greg gives the monkey a bow and a thanks before moving over to the Oopsie Daisies wagon. Upon his approach he asks for daffodil and offers a smile. But then spots the beast, what kind of...? Is that a displacer beast that greginald has read of? No, this large cat has big beautiful butterfly wings, perhaps just a large Fae cat, but with too many legs... It certainly peaks his interest but also his fight or flight response as his pulse quickens hoping that this beast will be a friendly one.
The Oopsie Daisies Lost Property wagon is like a mobile shop front, and behind the counter is perched a creature that looks like a humanoid owl. G'Reginald has to cautiously float his disc between the wagon and the black beast in order to speak to the owl-person, who greets G'Reginald with a strangely accented hooty voice, while its beak doesn't seem to hardly move as it speaks. Hoolloo! Yes, I is called Daffodil. How can I assist you, sir?
Then sensing the gnome's trepidation, it adds: Hoo, don't afear of Dirlagraun. She'll not hurt a feather of you. Looks after the lost children, she does. Those two aren't lost though, just waiting for their... their... PAH-rents to return with food. Now, what have you lost, sir?
Daffodil squawks on the difficult word, startling the already jittery G'Reginald with its suddenness, but making the two children laugh.
Mulligan
Mulligan is just settling himself to wait and watch when another curious individual approaches the wagon. This one is a gnome, but rather than walking like most patrons, or flying by the power of pixie dust like some others, it is floating on some kind of magical disc. Mulligan wonders if it is one of the carnival hands, but there's something about the way the gnome looks cautiously at the black beast that makes him suspect this is another visitor like him. A hooty voice and a loud squawk from within the wagon, and Mulligan notices for the first time there is another carnival-worker creature inside the wagon, that he couldn't see earlier. He waits and watches a moment more...
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Greg raises a brow at the mention of lost children, his mother having told him when he was a very small gnome, that if ever he got lost in large towns, someone would find him and sell him to the circus... Is a carnival not just a very large circus? Greg takes his hat off respectfully and then nervously begins wringing it between his little hands "Ahem, ah yes! Well no let's hope not eh? Not a feather on me him? Curious... The lost item yes, I have visited this carnival before when I was a younger gnome, likely the last time this carnival visited us here near Nashkel, the item I rather foolishly or absent-mindedly last behind was a farming hoe, you see as a gnome from farming background this how was gifted to me as rite of passage when I came of age, the fact I had misplaced it here last visit reflects terribly once as a person, on my people's traditions and so it is vital I retrieve it. Any help would be appreciated"
The owl-creature listens attentively as the gnome begins to ramble, nodding politely. However, just as Greg says the words "Any help would be apprec..." there is a loud snarl from behind him and the sense of sudden movement, followed by two shrieks. Greg whirls around, his heart in his mouth, to see the black beast in a crouch just to his left, with one child still hanging from it's neck, while the smaller child is running away, bawling in tears.
Oh dear, oh dear! That is unfortunate and unex-PECK-ted. And then in a language Greg doesn't recognise: Dirlagraun, a ghrá geal, cad atá cearr?
The beast makes no reply, but remains tensed in a crouch, watching the crying child disappear into the crowd.
Mulligan
Watching from nearby, Mulligan hears the gnome start blabbering about something to the occupant of the wagon. There is too much noise from the carnival around him to make out the words, but he catches something about 'Nashkel' and 'farming'. Meanwhile, the smaller of the two children appears to tire of whatever game it was playing with the beast, and wanders over to the wagon. He spies a small wooden box tucked behind the wheel, opens it, and pulls out some kind of ball. The beast looks around, sees the child with the ball, and in a movement so sudden it shocks even Mulligan, it pounces over to the wagon, swatting the ball out of the child's hand and guarding it protectively. The older child on the beast's neck squeals with delight at the activity, but the startled younger child shouts in alarm, and then runs away, crying in fright, and begins to disappear into the crowd...
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How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Mulligan jerks himself into action, looking to place himself between the large cat and the child, but he is too slow. By the time Mulligan pushes himself off the wall and moves in the direction of the child it has already taken off and woven between several pairs of legs in the crowd. Damn the speed of kids! Instinctively he wants to rush straight after the runner, enough things get lost at this carnival, he's not happy at the idea of children being amongst them, but he pauses and looks to the strange feline and the remaining child.
The speed with which the animal reacted to the ball and swatted it from the child was... disconcerting. In that split moment Mulligan had assumed whatever spell kept them tame had broken and the beast was attacking but... now and looking back at it, perhaps it was something else? The remaining child still seems safe and happy enough, the beast itself calm once more. Or at least not chasing the child as prey...
There is others around. That oddly floating gnome and the owly looking chap. Mulligan wagers that they'd be able to look out for the kid still upon the cat's back and so he decides he should run after the other before they get too lost in the crowd. He doesn't call out... Kid doesn't know him and it would likely just spook them, but he does give chase!
(Not sure if you want a roll to chase down and find the kid, or what kind? Let me know...)
Barria Copperkettle steals glances at the carnival setup all day long. She knows she is supposed to be taking care of her shift at the Northern Light Inn, but hot damn, how was she supposed to with all this going on? Not only that, it wasn't like they were busy. Other than selling out the few rooms they had due to the travelers the carnival seemed to have brought in, most people were outside watching anyways.
As the anticipation grows, the thoughts of her Grandma come unbidden and she knows why. This carnival... man did she want to go and experience it all as the others around obviously did. But the last time she snuck in and well, she sighs, it didn't end well at all. But at least this time she would be a paying customer, and wouldn't well.. best not to think about it.
At least her father was going to run the place that evening and let her head out. She was a little bummed her brother didn't want to join her, probably going to go with his buddies, she figures. But the dwarf gets in line with the rest of the town and so many out of towners. Some she recognizes from her travels to pray about Chauntea and rejoice about all she gives to the people, but she holds her tongue for now, eagerly anticipating the entrance of the carnival.
As she reaches the goblin, she found herself feeling quite anxious that he would recognize her even though it had been so long and she was an adult now, and releases the breath she didn't know she was holding when he asks for coin. She happily gives over 8 silver the man. "Um, is there a map?" she inquires.
Greg's shoulders shoot up as he defensively and reactively cowers away from the beast, his disc lowers to a more comfortable and familiar level nearer the ground and as the one child runs away Greg's eyes follow it trying to pick out anything odd that the child might be wearing or holding as it disappears into the crowd. Once Greg feels no attack upon him and none incoming he relaxes slightly and peeks over the counter, "wh- what just happened?"
Mulligan darts into the crowd, searching for any sign of the fleeing child: a glimpse of his blond head, the sound of his crying, perhaps the smell of soiled pants...
Let's have a Perception roll
G'Reginald
Daffodil continues to speak to the beast, who replies in the same strange language. G'Reginald doesn't understand the words that are spoken, but gets the sense of a calmness of temperament. The great black six-legged cat gently lifts the remaining child from its neck with its tentacles and places her on the ground with a soft pat on the head, upon which G'Reg immediately notices a small ball with a surface like a mirror that was hidden protectively under Dirlagraun's paw. With a smooth, deft movement the beast lifts the ball and places it inside a wooden box just behind the wheel of the wagon.
Ah, forgive Dirlagraun, the owlin says to G'Reg in its odd open-mouthed way. How do I... The owlin ponders how to explain without using 'p' 'b' or 'm', which sounds it seems to find most difficult... You see, she has a... a kitten... her own child... that went astray. Never seen again since. It is a sensitive issue, still, though years ago. And the toy there... that's all she has to.. to.. re-MEMB-er it.
Barria
Barria's first legitimate entrance to the Carnival goes smoothly. The goblin at the ticket booth makes no sign of recognition, but displays the usual theatricality common to all.
Welcome, welcome, to the Greatest Show on Earth. Mother of all Carnivals! Here's your ticket: good for eight attractions. Here's your wings, and here's your map. It's four hours until midnight, then the Big Top Extravaganza, then four hours after until the crowning of the Witchlight Monarch at the end. May your joy be bountiful!
Barria receives a pair of bright yellow butterfly wings that sling over her shoulders, and she moves into the main concourse. According to the map, she stands at the centre of the figure-of-eight walkway that circuits the carnival.
Past the ticket booth, Barria is immediately inundated with a plethora of wondrous sights and sounds. Carnival attractions range from tiny stalls no higher than her waist, to small shops fronts and game booths, to large tents and compounds, up to the enormous Big Top opposite her. Lights small and large wink on and off here and there. Some carnival goers fly overhead, either flooding inside huge bubbles, riding on giant dragonflies, or just levitating around leaving a trail of golden dust. A merry tune rings out across the carnival, punctuated by the delighted squeals of fairgoers, peals of laughter, and the sounds of vendors and barkers advertising their attractions:
Try your luck, step right up! Answer a simple riddle and win a bag of pixie dust!
Bottled dreams, a silver a bottle!
Coats of twilight, coats of dusk! Swords of fortune, wands of power! Rings of eternity, cards of grace! Roll up, roll up, step this way!
Instruments of music from a hundred lands! Penny whistles, tuppeny hums, thrupenny choral anthems!
Salves and ointments, philters and nostrums! Everlasting lavender, Bluebell cloth!
Immediately in front of Barria is a brightly-coloured wagon, on the back of which is an instrument spilling forth a merry tune. A capuchin monkey wearing a cloak covered with buttons of all colors and sizes turns a handle at the wagon’s rear, sending music into the air from rows of golden whistles. As he watches this curious calliope, a small goblin dressed as a ladybug toddles forward, rattling a tin cup and dancing awkwardly in time with the music. Meanwhile, a voice like that of a middle-aged human can be heard from the top of the wagon...
Spare a button if you please,
I’ll sew it next to all of these.
I offer nothing in its place,
Besides a smile upon my face.
The voice comes from the monkey, and he waves down to Barria with a look far too alert and engaged for an ordinary primate.
As Barria begins to look around, the words of the ticket-booth goblin return to mind. Earth. Mother. Bountiful. Was that purely cooincidence? Or could it be that the aged goblin knew more about her than he let on...?
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How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
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Welcome to the Witchlight Carnival!
It's been years, but it seems as though it was only yesterday. Just like the first time, a portal opens in the bare, clear sky, and the wagons of the Witchlight Carnival descend; it is a kaleidescope of colors, as wagons large and small, each sprouting a pair of dragonfly or butterfly wings, and pulled by foxes and horses with wings of their own, flutter and glide gracefully to the earth, accompanied by showers of confetti and glitter, and with music like the tinkling of bells. No sooner do they touch down to ground than the carnival's attractions begin to magically unfold from the wagons.
Scores of carnival hands emerge from the wagons and busy themselves with preparations. Rarely could you find such an astonishing variety of fantastical folk, with dwarves and elves and gnomes mingling with centaurs and fairies and countless other unusual creatures. Watching from a respectful distance, you see what appears to be a small walking tree ambling around the perimeter of the nascent carnival site, distributing acorns which promptly sprout and grow into splendid oak trees to rim the carnival's edge. Even some of the existing trees seem to uproot themselves and move aside, re-planting themselves comfortably in more convenient locations. What's more, a great length of wavy blue ribbon unfurls from the walking tree's branches, and transforms into a lazy, sparking river, encircling the site.
Watching the spectacular arrival takes you back to the first time you remember visiting the Carnival. 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, you lost something. You tried to find it, but the carnival owners — a pair of elves named Mister Witch and Mister Light — were decidedly unhelpful. 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.
Now as the sun slowly sets, with the Carnival's preparations complete, you find yourself standing near a ticket booth by the entrance at twilight, just as the carnival is about to open. 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.
Glancing around, you see others waiting in the queue - mostly humans, halflings and others from the nearby town of Nashkel - many of them children with parents, as well as some young couples and a few elderly. They chatter excitedly as they wait with trembling anticipation for their turn to purchase a ticket from the ancient-looking goblin perched behind the ticket counter. As you reach the front of the line, the goblin peers at you quizzically through a spyglass, then lowers it and calls out:
"Greetings, fair fairgoers! Nothing's free and nothing's lost, every visit has its cost. Eight silver for the grown-ups, three for the younglings. Step right up!"
(OOC: The characters have not met each other as yet - all are in their own place somewhere in the line. The first to respond is the one closest to the front, and so on. Each will enter the Carnival as individuals, and then we will see how and when we cross paths...)
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
The sight, the pageantry of the fabulous, reminds him not just of what he had forgotten... But of what he had lost. Mulligan strums a few chords on his banjo, it is always close at hand and ready to be played. The resulting tune is a bit melancholic. A bit wispy. He plays for a while. Hard to really say for how long. There is nobody around so he is just playing for himself and letting the tune drift upon the air and go where it will.
It'll be night soon. Not dark but dust... The dimming of the lights to allow the reality to get a bit fuzzy and the fantastical to get a bit real. There's a reason they dim the lights before a show or a performance, it helps the magic to work. And boy, down this hill and across the field there is a whole lot of working going on. The carnival is back at last. Mulligan had been waiting for this forever despite not knowing so. And he wondered to if what he lost was done there. In that circus somewhere. Just waiting for him to return. To find it. To reclaim it. It's amazing how little he missed it when he couldn't recall that he had lost it but now... Knowing what he once had... He wants nothing more in the world.
---
Waiting in line is a parade of extravagance all in it's own self. The glimpses of the carnival are exciting and exhilarating and the variety of peoples to be glimpsed inside is it's own kind of show. It is awe inspiring and had hadn't even gained admission yet. It was so distracting that he hadn't even noticed the line move, and him with it, til suddenly it was himself standing in front of the Goblin running the ticket counter. They looked like a relic, like a thing of ages past and not belonging in the here and now. They also didn't look like someone you would want to mess with.
"Greetings, fair fairgoers! Nothing's free and nothing's lost, every visit has its cost. Eight silver for the grown-ups, three for the younglings. Step right up!"
Yes, it was his turn to pay the piper, so to speak, and gain admission. Only... Only in all his awe and wonderment he had forgotten a very important detail. He accidentally struck a surprised and sad rift on his banjo and felt his guts fall right out of him entirely. Eight silver? Did he even have that much?
Mulligan O'Menihan didn't exactly live pay day to pay day... He didn't exactly have pay days. What money he earned from the odd job here and there or from playing on street corners as passerby graciously threw a spare coin or whatever other detritus they had in their pocket into his upturned hat mostly got him through to the next day and that was about it. Life hadn't been exactly kind to Mulligan. Despite his considerable talent on his instrument, in his own estimable opinion if nobody else's, Nashkel is a small mining town and not the sort of place one is discovered and suddenly makes it big from. He could have, should have, moved on long ago. Traveled Amn and found a place where music was appreciated... But he didn't. Couldn't. He didn't realize it til now but he was waiting for the carnival to return...
"C'mon, c'mon! Eight silver from ya, eh?"
The Goblin again. Anxious to keep the line moving, no doubt. Mulligan reached into his pockets and desperately searched. He was human, as was the norm in Nashkel, and tall for one. His clothes were all a shade of grey or black or brown except for a red scarf which was so old and worn it barely deserved the kindness of color. Still, it was obvious that he cared for his things - kept them clean and mended them the best he could. That wasn't saying a whole lot though. If one were to guess how much coin he had on him it would be very, very generous to guess he had eight silver... And his continued search of his pockets, and his left shoe, and even his top hat, proved that out. He was only able to find six silver and a couple odd copper about his person, giving apologetic shrugs and smiles to those in line behind him as he looked. They were starting to grumble and the goblin may have legitimately had steam starting to leak out of his ears as he waited.
But oh! Mulligan did have one thing of value. Not that he would ever in his life consider giving it up. Not for anything. Still, wedged up high on the neck of his banjo were a couple of picks for those tunes that called for plucking more than strumming. He pulled these loose and added them to the coins, holding his hand out with them all in it for the Goblin to examine. He offered his handful of various coins and bits as well as his best charismatic grin and raised an eyebrow as if to ask if this was enough...
((I know nothing about banjos... or playing instruments of any kind. I'm actually not really a music person, truthfully... But Mulligan O'Menihan has a banjo and so I'll just be making shit up. Just go with it. lol))
Mulligan
The goblin peers through his spyglass, looking down on Mulligan from high on his chair, putting the scruffy human in mind of a judge in court. The goblin aims the spyglass at Mulligan's outstretched hand, and then seems to scan him all over from top hat to toe. Mulligan has done enough performing to recognise that there is an air of theatricality about it, but the goblin's voice remains serious:
Ah, it's you. Well at least you fit the description all right. Good sir, I believe your ticket's been paid for already. Don't want anyone accusin' Nikolas Midnight of derelict'in' 'is duty...
He reaches under his small counter and withdraws something, then hands it down to Mulligan: it is a white envelope with the letters E.T. embossed in gold, inside of which is a Carnival ticket. While Mulligan inspects this, the goblin who calls himself Nikolas Midnight continues with his rapid and practiced banter.
That's good for eight attractions, after that you'll have to pay. That banjo will have to stay here though - don't want to upset the other guests. Ha! I'm jesting, of course. Do as you wish, and feel free to join in with the music at the Feasting Orchard. Just mind you don't overdo it on the custard. Here's your map and your wings. It's four hours until midnight, and four after, with the Big Top Extravaganza at the midpoint, and the crowning of the Witchlight Monarch at the end. In you go. Have a fantastical time! Who's next then?
Nikolas hands Mulligan a large set of pretend dragonfly wings, with straps to go around his arms, just as he has to other guests before, as well as a map of the carnival.
(Carnival Map is on the campaign page.)
Past the ticket booth, Mulligan is immediately inundated with a plethora of wondrous sights and sounds. Carnival attractions range from tiny stalls no higher than his waist, to small shops fronts and game booths, to large tents and compounds, up to the enormous Big Top opposite him. Lights small and large wink on and off here and there. Small creatures fly overhead leaving a trail of golden dust. A merry tune rings out across the carnival, punctuated by the delighted squeals of fairgoers, peals of laughter, and the sounds of vendors and barkers advertising their attractions:
Try your luck, step right up! Answer a simple riddle and win a bag of pixie dust!
Bottled dreams, a silver a bottle!
Coats of twilight, coats of dusk! Swords of fortune, wands of power! Rings of eternity, cards of grace! Roll up, roll up, step this way!
Instruments of music from a hundred lands! Penny whistles, tuppeny hums, thrupenny choral anthems!
Salves and ointments, philters and nostrums! Everlasting lavender, Bluebell cloth!
Immediately in front of Mulligan is a brightly-coloured wagon, on the back of which is an instrument spilling forth a merry tune. A capuchin monkey wearing a cloak covered with buttons of all colors and sizes turns a handle at the wagon’s rear, sending music into the air from rows of golden whistles. As he watches this curious calliope, a small goblin dressed as a ladybug toddles forward, rattling a tin cup and dancing awkwardly in time with the music. Meanwhile, a voice like that of a middle-aged human can be heard from the top of the wagon...
Spare a button if you please,
I’ll sew it next to all of these.
I offer nothing in its place,
Besides a smile upon my face.
The voice comes from the monkey, and he waves down to Mulligan with a look far too alert and engaged for an ordinary primate.
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Mulligan adopts a look of surprise on finding his ticket has already been paid for and happily accepts the envelope. Normally he would be suspicious and cautious but somehow while surprising this also seemed... right? Even as Nikolas Midnight continues on with his talking, Mulligan holds up the envelope and taps the initials displayed in gold upon it. E.T.? his raised eyebrow seems to ask. Mulligan does pull back a bit and reflexively move his banjo around to his back protectively to keep it out of the Goblin's reach. Jest or not, Mulligan is quite protective and he casts a wary eye at Nikolas Midnight after that.
Whether he gets an answer or not, Mulligan accepts the map and the wings and allows the inevitable wave of traffic heading inside the carnival to carry him with it. He absently struggles to put the wings on, to have them out of the way more than the actual whimsy of them, and he does his best to read the map while not blocking the foot traffic. Mulligan begins taking in the different locations and having thoughts about where to go first when two things strike him more or less simultaneously. The first is the sight, on the map, of a building for Lost Property. Surely that is why he is here and something he should check out... But Nikolas Midnight's words also come to mind and he cannot help but try to decipher them.
Four hours til midnight and four after, he had said. Did he mean it was currently four minutes past eight pm? The Big Top Extravaganza at the midpoint. So the extravaganza is at ten pm? Or maybe nine nine forty-seven or so if he was being precise about the midpoint between now and midnight? Something in the back of his head suggests that maybe indeed the people here would be so precise and tricky... Crowing of the Witchlight Monarch at the end is surely midnight itself, for that is the last time the Goblin mentioned. Yes?
With all this racing through his mind, Mulligan O'Menihan almost trips over some of the tinier stall which would threaten to go unnoticed by him in the best of times. Tripping over them would certainly put his eyes at a better level from which to check them out but he fears his clumsy feet would do too much damage to make that worthwhile anyway. A riddle? Bottled Dreams? A Coat of Twilight? Barkers calling out all of this and more were the next things to grab his attention and distract him from the immediate thing in front of him. How could they ever make any money with so many distractions keeping one from doing so, he wonders. I could use a new coat... But I don't suppose I am here for my wardrobe.
Shouldn't it be the monkey that is dancing and the Goblin-bug running the show? Mulligan asks himself as he unconsciously fingers one of the buttons on his coat. He realizes what he is doing just in time to prevent himself from tearing it off. His clothes are old and much mended but he takes a certain pride in the fact that they are whole... He is NOT about to be ripping off his own buttons! Still, he waves back to the monkey and laughs at the dancing Goblin-bug. Taken away from his button, he preoccupies his fingers instead with mimicking the tune the weird whistle-cart is playing as if he was strumming his banjo. He is tempted to actually join in but it is probably too early to join the circus quite yet. He does stand and allow the music to wash over him for a bit, enjoying it but also just acquainting himself to the cacophony of his surroundings...
After a bit, he decides he is off to Lost Things! It should be just around the patch that looks like a garden, if he has his bearings about him. Mulligan will investigate the Riddle, Bottled Dreams of Coat of Twilight if he passes close by but he won't wandered too far off what he thinks is his path. Not yet...
Mulligan
Many of the barkers' calls are coming from further away, but the riddler is very close nearby. Mulligan wanders over to the young elf at the counter, who is wearing a bright costume decorated with question marks, and wearing a pair of fake butterfly wings.
Ah, we have a contender! Fancy yourself a riddle expert, sir? I expect this will baffle, stump and bewilder you.
What has a golden head and a golden tail, but no body?
It's a bag of pixie dust for you if you know the answer. You have three minutes, sir.
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Mulligan tilts his head to one side as he considers the question, and then to the other. He wets his lips and bites his tongue a bit as he considers possible answers. The first thought that comes to him is a story, partially because he is currently biting his tongue and riddles like tricksy tricks like using tail and tale interchangeably... But while stories could come to a head, perhaps, they don't always have one? Rivers have heads but aren't always golden... Hmmm.
He shifts his stance time and again. He takes the banjo into his hands as if that would help him think but there is no luck there. He casts his gaze out about the crowd and the stalls and the carnival as a whole... And an idea occurs to him. He doesn't have any himself, his time at the ticket booth proved that, but it should get the point of his answer across. Reaching deep into his pocket he fumbles around before finally drawing his hand out once more. As he does he holds a coin up between two fingers and turns it this way and that to make it obvious that was his guess. He doesn't have any gold on him but a silver coin should be enough to demonstrate his answer.
((Not sure Toril coins have a heads and a tails side to them but it's all I can come up with without resorting to a google search!))
Greginald is restless, hiding away in the barn of his parents farm reading in his secret hammock up in the beams of the hayloft. There is an itch in his brain that he usually satisfies by learning something new or focussing on making practical processes easier using magic, but this time the itch doesn't go away. He needs to get off the farm, head to town, clear his head.
The repetitive arguments about farm duties and taking responsibilities are old and worn out but apparently, Greginald barely registers the disappointment in his parents face or the gleeful look in his younger brothers eyes as the arguments start again. The gnome packs his bag and is on the road before the next meal, travelling the half days journey to Nashkel, his trusty book at his side, a thick walking stick on hand and not much else.
The carriages in the sky draw his attention as the itch in his brain turns into a full intrusive compulsion to follow, is this what brought him here? Only one way to find out, and if G'Reginald loved one thing, it was finding out stuff, Nashkel would have to wait as he makes his way to the newly forming carnival ground.
By the time his little feet have brought him to his destination the carnival is finished setting up and has drawn quite a crowd. Amazed patrons staring in awe at the dragonflies and performers and all manner of entertainment just begging the question 'how many more delights await within'. But there is a pang of dread mixed with Greginald's awe and curiosity, something familiar that tickles at the edge of his mind and fills him with memories of frustration and loss? Greginald takes a moment on the outskirts of the crowd, listening to the ticket takers instructions whilst performing a short ritual using his spell book, once the ritual is complete the gnome, not wanting to get lost in such a crowd of larger humanoids, mounts his floating disk and moves over the crowd toward the booth, lowering himself slightly so that he is able to pay the needed fee and enter, first seeking out something to eat as he forgot to pack any food at all.
Mulligan
Oh, Bravo! Yes my good man, that is correct. The skinny elf chortles as he claps enthusiastically. You may be lost for words, but not lost for wisdom. The answer is indeed 'a gold coin'. Here is your prize. Thank you for playing, and have a merry evening!
The elf hands Mulligan a tiny silk pouch with a drawstring as delicate as spider thread, inside of which is a pinch of dust that glitters like a mixture of powdered silver and gold.
G'Reginald
The aged goblin at the ticket booth takes G'Reginald's money with a smile, perhaps grateful that he doesn't have to reach down so far. He hands the floating gnome a ticket, a map of the carnival, and a pair of pretend butterfly wings that can be worn over the shoulders like a backpack; as he does so, with a twinkle in his eye he delivers a personalised welcome, emphasising each 'P' sound comically:
Aha, another Pipsqueak Patron! Welcome, Pal! I exPect you could Party with the Pixies without even Partaking of the Potion! Enjoy your evening
(Carnival Map is on the campaign page.)
Past the ticket booth, G'Reginald is immediately inundated with a plethora of wondrous sights and sounds. Carnival attractions range from tiny stalls no higher than his waist, to small shops fronts and game booths, to large tents and compounds, up to the enormous Big Top opposite him. Lights small and large wink on and off here and there. Small creatures fly overhead leaving a trail of golden dust. A merry tune rings out across the carnival, punctuated by the delighted squeals of fairgoers, peals of laughter, and the sounds of vendors and barkers advertising their attractions:
Try your luck, step right up! Answer a simple riddle and win a bag of pixie dust!
Bottled dreams, a silver a bottle!
Coats of twilight, coats of dusk! Swords of fortune, wands of power! Rings of eternity, cards of grace! Roll up, roll up, step this way!
Instruments of music from a hundred lands! Penny whistles, tuppeny hums, thrupenny choral anthems!
Salves and ointments, philters and nostrums! Everlasting lavender, Bluebell cloth!
Immediately in front of G'Reginald is a brightly-coloured wagon, on the back of which is an instrument spilling forth a merry tune. A capuchin monkey wearing a cloak covered with buttons of all colors and sizes turns a handle at the wagon’s rear, sending music into the air from rows of golden whistles. As he watches this curious calliope, a small goblin dressed as a ladybug toddles forward, rattling a tin cup and dancing awkwardly in time with the music. Meanwhile, a voice like that of a middle-aged human can be heard from the top of the wagon...
Spare a button if you please,
I’ll sew it next to all of these.
I offer nothing in its place,
Besides a smile upon my face.
The voice comes from the monkey, and he waves down to G'Reginald with a look far too alert and engaged for an ordinary primate.
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Greginald's journey
Once inside the feeling of dread minimises slightly for the floating gnome, though the overwhelming and rapturous entertainments distract him enough to at least smile and make the best of the situation. His stomach grumbles, perhaps a dream flask might be nourishing, perhaps it might be mind altering, better to not risk it. Instead he approaches the monkey looking being. He takes a small knife and cuts the tight threads that keep the top most button of his shirt attached and then holds it up ready to throw in to the goblin's cup, but instead waits attempting to gain favour. "The button can be yours but I've no need for your smiles, perhaps you could offer me something else? Information, direction, hmm? I'm looking for a place where I might just find items that people here have lost in the past, I'm sure once the carnival is over all manner of things are accidentally left behind to be collected and await their owners return... Where is that?" He wiggles the button ready to properly thank the monkey for obliging him his request.
Mulligan makes a splash of sound with a big, flourishing strum of his banjo in celebration and then bows a bit as he accepts his prize. There is a smile upon his face, a bit counter to his otherwise drab looking appearance, though it's shine does match that of his banjo. He bows again to the employee who ran the contest and gave him his prize and then does so once more for good measure. If there is any crowd around watching he opens his arms to them as if to invite them into his little celebration and then sweeps his arms toward the carnie as if to indicate they should all give it a go as well.
That done, Mulligan carefully undoes the drawstring, very carefully as it is so delicate, and peers curiously inside. Curious. He's never seen anything quite like this though he has heard of some people who snort something called faery dust. He doesn't think THAT would be so freely handed out, nor so openly, even here. This must be something else entirely... He hopes.
(Does Mulligan have any clue what the dust is? They called it pixie dust, is it a thing I can actually look up? Oh, it is! lol, assuming this is the same thing... But would Mulligan have any clue what it does?)
Re-sealing up the small pouch, Mulligan carefully secures it in one of his pockets and looks around him at all there is to see and do and explore and... But he did have a purpose here. He had decided to go to the place labeled Lost Property on the map. It seemed only logical that he go there first to try to find what he had lost... So this distraction over, he heads once more in that direction.
(Anything just Spoiler'd will be for DM only. If there is anything in spoilers for others then I will bother to label it as such... Anything REALLY secret will be delivered in a PM or such! lol)
Mulligan
Glancing around, Mulligan notices several carnival hands mingling with the crowd, sprinkling them with the same glittery dust. The effect seems to be that the recipient has the ability to hover and glide through the air for a short time, and then land safely back on the ground. Several such patrons can be seen and heard, cackling with delight as they fly overhead. There is probably enough dust in the bag for two sprinklings.
There's is no audience as such, but a few citizens passing by give a friendly smile at Mulligan's antics. His new mini treasure safely stowed, it is a short step around behind the riddle tent to a small square wagon that looks much like a white wooden cabin. A bright coloured sign reads: "Oopsie Daisies - Lost Property", but the thing that really catches Mulligan's attention is the creature laying at the threshold. As large as a tiger and with midnight-blue fur like a panther, the feline form has six legs folded underneath it, as well as two tentacles issuing from its shoulders. In contrast to its imposing appearance is a large colourful pair of fake butterfly wings on a strap, and a small wooden keg hanging from its collar. Two small children play and tumble with the creature - a young girl hangs from its neck while a slightly older boy rolls around under one of the creature's swatting paws.
G'Reginald
The goblin leaps and capers happily at the offer of the button, but then settles momentarily while the talking monkey responds. Without ceasing to turn the handle of the music machine, the monkey says: Certainly, sir! A gift in exchange for a gift! Speak with Daffodil at the Oopsie Daisies wagon. Just a hop, step and jump over there. The monkey points to a small square wagon that looks much like a white wooden cabin, which sits just behind some nearby stalls.
With the requested advice given, the gnome's button clinks merrily into the mute goblin's tin cup, and the little chap dances merrily back to the calliope machine. G'Reginald feels his heart lift just a little more as the music seems to change ever so slightly, and resonate with something deep inside his soul.
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Instinctively Mulligan begins rubbing the fingers of his right hand together almost as if against cold or an itch. It's more a sign that he is readying to summon and use a Soulknife, the nervous fingers not an actual part of the using the ability but more just an outward sign of the nervousness and tension that tends to be a prelude to such. Said nervousness and tension arising inside him at the sight of this fearsome looking creature with two children so readily available as it's snack...
Mulligan stops in his tracks and does his best to take a moment and calm himself. To actually assess the situation before he acts. It's helped by the fact that he's no brave and heroic sort likely to jump blindly into a situation no matter if innocents are at stake or not. No, Mulligan is more the recess to shadows and await the proper time to strike, if it all, sort. He doesn't really see a shadow to step into and hide within but it doesn't appear as if his presence has been noticed yet so he just holds very, very still and watches the scene in front of him for a moment. Instinct suggested the kids were in danger and thus the itchy fingers reaction but instinct doesn't always make sense...
It looks like a dangerous creature, no doubt, but taking in the whole picture it occurs to Mulligan that perhaps the colorful butterfly wings the creature wears, so similar to the dragonfly ones he himself sports, are more telling than the tentacles? What wild, ravening, child eating beast would allow such to be put on them? And more over the keg beneath their head? And it seems more than tolerant of the children's shenanigans... Perhaps more guard dog than attack dog? Mulligan cannot help but smile at the thought...
Mulligan moves to stand and lean against the nearest wall, wriggling his fingers a bit to relax them and rid them of their anxiousness for a Soulknife. Mulligan decides to just wait a bit and watch the kids and beast at play, rather than disturb them.
Greginald's journey
With the button sacrificed and information gained, Greg gives the monkey a bow and a thanks before moving over to the Oopsie Daisies wagon. Upon his approach he asks for daffodil and offers a smile. But then spots the beast, what kind of...? Is that a displacer beast that greginald has read of? No, this large cat has big beautiful butterfly wings, perhaps just a large Fae cat, but with too many legs... It certainly peaks his interest but also his fight or flight response as his pulse quickens hoping that this beast will be a friendly one.
G'Reginald
The Oopsie Daisies Lost Property wagon is like a mobile shop front, and behind the counter is perched a creature that looks like a humanoid owl. G'Reginald has to cautiously float his disc between the wagon and the black beast in order to speak to the owl-person, who greets G'Reginald with a strangely accented hooty voice, while its beak doesn't seem to hardly move as it speaks. Hoolloo! Yes, I is called Daffodil. How can I assist you, sir?
Then sensing the gnome's trepidation, it adds: Hoo, don't afear of Dirlagraun. She'll not hurt a feather of you. Looks after the lost children, she does. Those two aren't lost though, just waiting for their... their... PAH-rents to return with food. Now, what have you lost, sir?
Daffodil squawks on the difficult word, startling the already jittery G'Reginald with its suddenness, but making the two children laugh.
Mulligan
Mulligan is just settling himself to wait and watch when another curious individual approaches the wagon. This one is a gnome, but rather than walking like most patrons, or flying by the power of pixie dust like some others, it is floating on some kind of magical disc. Mulligan wonders if it is one of the carnival hands, but there's something about the way the gnome looks cautiously at the black beast that makes him suspect this is another visitor like him. A hooty voice and a loud squawk from within the wagon, and Mulligan notices for the first time there is another carnival-worker creature inside the wagon, that he couldn't see earlier. He waits and watches a moment more...
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Greginald's journey
Greg raises a brow at the mention of lost children, his mother having told him when he was a very small gnome, that if ever he got lost in large towns, someone would find him and sell him to the circus... Is a carnival not just a very large circus? Greg takes his hat off respectfully and then nervously begins wringing it between his little hands "Ahem, ah yes! Well no let's hope not eh? Not a feather on me him? Curious... The lost item yes, I have visited this carnival before when I was a younger gnome, likely the last time this carnival visited us here near Nashkel, the item I rather foolishly or absent-mindedly last behind was a farming hoe, you see as a gnome from farming background this how was gifted to me as rite of passage when I came of age, the fact I had misplaced it here last visit reflects terribly once as a person, on my people's traditions and so it is vital I retrieve it. Any help would be appreciated"
G'Reginald
The owl-creature listens attentively as the gnome begins to ramble, nodding politely. However, just as Greg says the words "Any help would be apprec..." there is a loud snarl from behind him and the sense of sudden movement, followed by two shrieks. Greg whirls around, his heart in his mouth, to see the black beast in a crouch just to his left, with one child still hanging from it's neck, while the smaller child is running away, bawling in tears.
Oh dear, oh dear! That is unfortunate and unex-PECK-ted. And then in a language Greg doesn't recognise: Dirlagraun, a ghrá geal, cad atá cearr?
The beast makes no reply, but remains tensed in a crouch, watching the crying child disappear into the crowd.
Mulligan
Watching from nearby, Mulligan hears the gnome start blabbering about something to the occupant of the wagon. There is too much noise from the carnival around him to make out the words, but he catches something about 'Nashkel' and 'farming'. Meanwhile, the smaller of the two children appears to tire of whatever game it was playing with the beast, and wanders over to the wagon. He spies a small wooden box tucked behind the wheel, opens it, and pulls out some kind of ball. The beast looks around, sees the child with the ball, and in a movement so sudden it shocks even Mulligan, it pounces over to the wagon, swatting the ball out of the child's hand and guarding it protectively. The older child on the beast's neck squeals with delight at the activity, but the startled younger child shouts in alarm, and then runs away, crying in fright, and begins to disappear into the crowd...
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Mulligan jerks himself into action, looking to place himself between the large cat and the child, but he is too slow. By the time Mulligan pushes himself off the wall and moves in the direction of the child it has already taken off and woven between several pairs of legs in the crowd. Damn the speed of kids! Instinctively he wants to rush straight after the runner, enough things get lost at this carnival, he's not happy at the idea of children being amongst them, but he pauses and looks to the strange feline and the remaining child.
The speed with which the animal reacted to the ball and swatted it from the child was... disconcerting. In that split moment Mulligan had assumed whatever spell kept them tame had broken and the beast was attacking but... now and looking back at it, perhaps it was something else? The remaining child still seems safe and happy enough, the beast itself calm once more. Or at least not chasing the child as prey...
There is others around. That oddly floating gnome and the owly looking chap. Mulligan wagers that they'd be able to look out for the kid still upon the cat's back and so he decides he should run after the other before they get too lost in the crowd. He doesn't call out... Kid doesn't know him and it would likely just spook them, but he does give chase!
(Not sure if you want a roll to chase down and find the kid, or what kind? Let me know...)
Barria Copperkettle steals glances at the carnival setup all day long. She knows she is supposed to be taking care of her shift at the Northern Light Inn, but hot damn, how was she supposed to with all this going on? Not only that, it wasn't like they were busy. Other than selling out the few rooms they had due to the travelers the carnival seemed to have brought in, most people were outside watching anyways.
As the anticipation grows, the thoughts of her Grandma come unbidden and she knows why. This carnival... man did she want to go and experience it all as the others around obviously did. But the last time she snuck in and well, she sighs, it didn't end well at all. But at least this time she would be a paying customer, and wouldn't well.. best not to think about it.
At least her father was going to run the place that evening and let her head out. She was a little bummed her brother didn't want to join her, probably going to go with his buddies, she figures. But the dwarf gets in line with the rest of the town and so many out of towners. Some she recognizes from her travels to pray about Chauntea and rejoice about all she gives to the people, but she holds her tongue for now, eagerly anticipating the entrance of the carnival.
As she reaches the goblin, she found herself feeling quite anxious that he would recognize her even though it had been so long and she was an adult now, and releases the breath she didn't know she was holding when he asks for coin. She happily gives over 8 silver the man. "Um, is there a map?" she inquires.
Greginald's journey
Greg's shoulders shoot up as he defensively and reactively cowers away from the beast, his disc lowers to a more comfortable and familiar level nearer the ground and as the one child runs away Greg's eyes follow it trying to pick out anything odd that the child might be wearing or holding as it disappears into the crowd. Once Greg feels no attack upon him and none incoming he relaxes slightly and peeks over the counter, "wh- what just happened?"
Mulligan
Mulligan darts into the crowd, searching for any sign of the fleeing child: a glimpse of his blond head, the sound of his crying, perhaps the smell of soiled pants...
Let's have a Perception roll
G'Reginald
Daffodil continues to speak to the beast, who replies in the same strange language. G'Reginald doesn't understand the words that are spoken, but gets the sense of a calmness of temperament. The great black six-legged cat gently lifts the remaining child from its neck with its tentacles and places her on the ground with a soft pat on the head, upon which G'Reg immediately notices a small ball with a surface like a mirror that was hidden protectively under Dirlagraun's paw. With a smooth, deft movement the beast lifts the ball and places it inside a wooden box just behind the wheel of the wagon.
Ah, forgive Dirlagraun, the owlin says to G'Reg in its odd open-mouthed way. How do I... The owlin ponders how to explain without using 'p' 'b' or 'm', which sounds it seems to find most difficult... You see, she has a... a kitten... her own child... that went astray. Never seen again since. It is a sensitive issue, still, though years ago. And the toy there... that's all she has to.. to.. re-MEMB-er it.
Barria
Barria's first legitimate entrance to the Carnival goes smoothly. The goblin at the ticket booth makes no sign of recognition, but displays the usual theatricality common to all.
Welcome, welcome, to the Greatest Show on Earth. Mother of all Carnivals! Here's your ticket: good for eight attractions. Here's your wings, and here's your map. It's four hours until midnight, then the Big Top Extravaganza, then four hours after until the crowning of the Witchlight Monarch at the end. May your joy be bountiful!
Barria receives a pair of bright yellow butterfly wings that sling over her shoulders, and she moves into the main concourse. According to the map, she stands at the centre of the figure-of-eight walkway that circuits the carnival.
Past the ticket booth, Barria is immediately inundated with a plethora of wondrous sights and sounds. Carnival attractions range from tiny stalls no higher than her waist, to small shops fronts and game booths, to large tents and compounds, up to the enormous Big Top opposite her. Lights small and large wink on and off here and there. Some carnival goers fly overhead, either flooding inside huge bubbles, riding on giant dragonflies, or just levitating around leaving a trail of golden dust. A merry tune rings out across the carnival, punctuated by the delighted squeals of fairgoers, peals of laughter, and the sounds of vendors and barkers advertising their attractions:
Try your luck, step right up! Answer a simple riddle and win a bag of pixie dust!
Bottled dreams, a silver a bottle!
Coats of twilight, coats of dusk! Swords of fortune, wands of power! Rings of eternity, cards of grace! Roll up, roll up, step this way!
Instruments of music from a hundred lands! Penny whistles, tuppeny hums, thrupenny choral anthems!
Salves and ointments, philters and nostrums! Everlasting lavender, Bluebell cloth!
Immediately in front of Barria is a brightly-coloured wagon, on the back of which is an instrument spilling forth a merry tune. A capuchin monkey wearing a cloak covered with buttons of all colors and sizes turns a handle at the wagon’s rear, sending music into the air from rows of golden whistles. As he watches this curious calliope, a small goblin dressed as a ladybug toddles forward, rattling a tin cup and dancing awkwardly in time with the music. Meanwhile, a voice like that of a middle-aged human can be heard from the top of the wagon...
Spare a button if you please,
I’ll sew it next to all of these.
I offer nothing in its place,
Besides a smile upon my face.
The voice comes from the monkey, and he waves down to Barria with a look far too alert and engaged for an ordinary primate.
As Barria begins to look around, the words of the ticket-booth goblin return to mind. Earth. Mother. Bountiful. Was that purely cooincidence? Or could it be that the aged goblin knew more about her than he let on...?
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?