The World Fair!!!

Ryx

Showcase: Kelstaad!

[spoiler]A vaguely boarlike woman emerges from the Flame of Yggdrasil, sauntering along the highway at a pace limited by her significant bulk.
A small halfling child skips in from the west.
Trampling across the grasses of the Sangre, the figure traipses into the Worlds' Fair show grounds, utterly  oblivious to the crowds she pushes aside in her advance.

A tiny halfling child exclaims, "A show!"
Tesha says to a tiny halfling child in a mellifluous voice, "Oh good, none of those 'cool' dragons ate you."
A tiny halfling child says, "I found out dragons are lame."
A tiny halfling child says, "They snuggle and have bad sense of direction."
Tehntaithe shouts, "I have travelled through worlds, and planes, and, well, lots of grass, to be here."
A tiny halfling child exclaims, "Gods are cool!"
Tehntaithe shouts, "I represent the Kelstaad and offer my education to those willing to learn."

... (Walking to Tehntaithe) ...

Possessing a large and bulky frame similar to all of her tash'la brethren, Tehntaithe nonetheless commands a distinct elegance of posture in spite of her vaguely boarlike appearance. Her tusks are sharpened to jagged points, each adorned with a pair of golden rings that glint and twinkle in the light. Violet eyes gleam upon her face, met by an almost ethereally absent expression as the theologian wanders among her own thoughts. A brown leather robe clings to the woman's body, accentuating her stocky frame as the fabric bulges awkwardly at the shoulders and legs, offering little class or grace to the otherwise refined figure. Dozens of colourful beads hang from her long hair, rattling with each passing motion as she foregoes the typical braids in favour of unruly freedom.
Tehntaithe does not even register your presence as a threat.
She has 100% health remaining.
She weighs about 218 pounds.
You see nothing in it.

Tehntaithe says, "As befits one of my manners, I shall wait a while longer for others who wish to hear my lesson."
Tehntaithe says, "I do not represent the Earthen tribes, however we have a great debt to Elemental Earth and would certainly proffer our assistance if asked."
Tehntaithe says, "Are there any present familiar with the debt of which I speak?"
Tehntaithe says, "Good, I find myself more relaxed among those who are at least tangentially familiar with our history."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum finds a less crowded section of the tent and begins to scribble quietly into a journal with a dark plumed quill.
Tehntaithe glances around at the gathering, idly counting heads before nodding in apparent satisfaction. As the tash'la's eyes fall on Nissa, she offers a second nod of approval.

Tehntaithe says, "Then let us begin."

Tehntaithe offers another final glance at the crowd before turning her eyes skyward.
Tehntaithe creases her brow in a frown.

Tehntaithe says, "I should have realised that looking at your sky would not offer much inspiration."
Tehntaithe says, "Our topic is Creation, and the forming that all educated tash'la know to be truth."

Tehntaithe closes her eyes and inhales a long, drawn out breath before commencing the presentation.
Tehntaithe's eyes snap open again suddenly, her expression glazed and trancelike.

Tehntaithe says, "Of Father Sky's children and Mother Earth's song I begin to sing."
Tehntaithe says, "Mother Earth who adorns herself in winter with the snowy mantle of the Worldspine range, who gushes freely with the flowing vessels and veins that are her rivers in spring."
Tehntaithe says, "Of Father Sky, whose great fires are cast down upon Mother Earth in the time of summer's flame, and of the cleansing rainstorms he brings in autumn's sorrow, that she might begown herself come the breaths of winter."
Tehntaithe says, "Of these I do sing, that they might look upon me in the love and pride of parent for child, now until the ends of eternity."
Tehntaithe says, "In time before time was time, there was darkness. We are of Earth the Mother, but we were not yet born."
Tehntaithe says, "All was empty, save those who were Mother Earth, Starry Heaven of Father Sky, and gloomy Night lurking in shadow's corner, ever plotting, always fearing those beyond her."
Tehntaithe says, "And so it came that Time was abandoned by Lustful Night into unending Emptiness, gleaming in her emerald radiance, for she desired rule of all, more than the unchanging static of Time's embrace."
Tehntaithe says, "Yet Time was enraged, for he hated his lusty brother of Empty, and so did Time the son of Night take vengeance upon Night for her abandonment of his bedchamber."
Tehntaithe says, "And so he set worlds to motion and Space to eternal action, that the Star-wrought heavens of Father Sky and his burning heat would rise and fall upon Mother Earth, and cast her into pain and suffering in an endless cycle."
Tehntaithe says, "For Time was a cruel master of that which Night held within her womb and would not countenance his opposite to gain his eternal embrace."
Tehntaithe says, "And so here were born Aether, and Day to oppose Night, from the depths of Time's child in limbo, and Aether did lay with Time and so birth Memory, and Night did lie with Day and so was born Song within her, and Day did embrace new-formed Love in search of the Empty."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum keeps her eyes fixated on Tehntaithe, occasionally looking down into her notes as she transcribes hastily.

Tehntaithe says, "And from here was born the Blue, that which would come to forever stain Father Sky's starry heavens in Hate when it was cast down to become Sea, leaving only the stained remnant of its presence upon Father Sky's expanse."

A tiny halfling child listens intently, though he doesn't look like he's understanding even half of it.

Tehntaithe says, "And Empty did strike against his brother, for he too knew that Time was a cruel master of Night even as he desired Night's torrid embrace for his own."
Tehntaithe says, "And so he enacted a plot, that would destroy Time's favoured children who were also his children, for both Time and the Empty had shared in Night's womb, and so she had given birth to three within her, all of her yet shared between Time and his brother."
Tehntaithe says, "For rebellious Sea within Night, alongside our Father Sky and Mother Earth, had always desired Mother Earth, and in conspiration with Emerald Night did cast himself upon her, yet Father Sky would countenance no such crime."

Tehntaithe shakes her head from side to side, a profound sadness plain upon her features.

Tehntaithe says, "And away they cast themselves, Mother Earth enwrapped in the embrace of Father Sky, and here it was that our tale begins."
Tehntaithe says, "Grant us great song, Mother Earth, Father Sky in whom both Mother and Father are held, to celebrate the holy people of the tash'la who are for ever."
Tehntaithe says, "For we sing of how we came to be, when the enveloping embrace of Sky did penetrate the deepest depths of Earth."
Tehntaithe says, "And in spilling the seed of his heavens in a great shower, so did he bring forth us, the first peoples, for we did inhabit the womb of Mother Earth."
Tehntaithe says, "For beneath Aether, the far-off, and the starry heavens we were suckled, and became as we are."
Tehntaithe says, "Yet we did not emerge, for Father Sky was fearful, and unwilling to surrender Mother Earth to the ministrations of Sea, and Night, and Day."
Tehntaithe says, "And Time's children of Corruption and Hate did come, for they sought to place upon us a curse, that our Father and Mother would know the pain of a lost child as they knew the pain of a lost mother."
Tehntaithe says, "Yet the Mother was quick to perceive it, and so placed within us the strength of her depths."
Tehntaithe says, "And so did our birth in her crystalline womb bring us forth, there to oppose the fire and ash of Hate beneath Sky's boundless vista, the gaze of the Mother upon us."
Tehntaithe says, "And Father Sky saw pride in what he and Earth had made together in Love, and so cast off his embrace."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum continues to scribble, taking in every word.

Tehntaithe says, "And so did he challenge Time and Night and Day, and so as Mother Earth did strengthen her children did he force Night and Day to turn themselves from us."
Tehntaithe says, "Yet when one might seek to destroy he shall take focus upon it, and thus is the other freed from his struggle, and so it is also in reverse."
Tehntaithe says, "Yet Father Sky would be divided and so he could not forever do what he had done, and as he lifted Mother Earth into his heavens within him, there they would travel forever and so divide all their tasks with equal fervour in protection over their chosen children."
Tehntaithe says, "And Hate did flee into Night's embrace, and Love did flee apart from them, and there was no love in their union, only fury."
Tehntaithe says, "But of the children of Time and Empty and Night and far-off Aether and Day and Memory and Song we shall have new stories and songs."
Tehntaithe says, "For beyond they did lie with mortal men and bear them children like gods, yet they were also not like unto gods, for they were only of one line of the divine..."
Tehntaithe says, "...and the people of the Mother and Father are of two."
Tehntaithe says, "But now let us sing, children of the Twins who divide the worlds, sing of the company of women and the Breaking of the Moons."

Tehntaithe's eyes regain their lucidity and she pants as the song reaches its conclusion.
Tehntaithe attempts to perform a courteous bow but finds the gesture utterly unsuited to her frame, stopping halfwayt and returning to an upright pose.

Tehntaithe says, "This lesson is a fundamental part of tash'la culture. The children of the Kelstaad learn it at the breast."

A tiny halfling child beams broadly.

A tiny halfling child exclaims, "I don't get it!"
Tehntaithe says, "Such things are often intended to be interpreted in one's own way, although the meaning of this parable is quite explicit I believe."
Tehntaithe says, "I am interested to hear interpretations of the Primes before me, if any are willing to share them."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum stares off for a moment before jotting down a few more notes.

Auria says in a soft, warmth filled voice, "I fear that any interpretation we could offer would be tainted by our view of the Divine, and how little most, if not all, of us understand your people."
Tehntaithe says, "I would put it to you, Auria, that culture itself is a collection of tainted views on all manner of subjects and topics."
Tehntaithe says, "That is how such things come about, absent direct narration from the creators."

A tiny halfling child scratches his head in confusion.

Tehntaithe says, "We of the Kelstaad know this irrevocable truth, and do not spend our days arguing over it. It simply is."
Esti sticks out her tongue and whispers to a tiny halfling child in a soft, gentle voice, "I dont understand either."

A tiny halfling child beams broadly at Esti.

Tehntaithe says, "A time may come in the future where Primes are permitted to cross the Western Wall and traverse the High Plains."
Cailin says to Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum in a clear voice, "Will there be a book of this in your library?"
Tehntaithe says, "A good question, Cailin. Archivist, you have taken sufficient notes?"

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum nods with a courteous smile, finishing one final sentence before carefully closing her journal shut.
Tehntaithe nods.

Tehntaithe says, "Written copies, annotated in places appropriate, shall be available in the months to come."
Tehntaithe says, "A fine subject for study, if you find your minds unwilling to bend around the concepts laid out clearly here today."
Tehntaithe says, "Meanwhile, the Kelstaad has provided a pair of wares for Primes to purchase, a mere tithe of our culture, but an inside glimpse nonetheless."
Tehntaithe says, "Archivist, if you would be so kind as to open the stall?"

Tehntaithe nods.

Proprietor: Quartermaster Hemtosh.
--------(Item)------(Description)------------------------------(Stock)--(Price)
        glass207760 cocktail (glass of authentic dormium cocktai   24     650gp
        beads477307 a black and white string of crystal beads      47    2500gp

Tehntaithe says, "My thanks to the Head Archivist for hosting me at this ceremony, and to the audience as well."
Tehntaithe says, "Our cocktails are legendary among the citizens of the Kelstaad, garnised with our most precious mineral."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "And thank you Tehntaithe for sharing that with us. And of course, I will be around to add even more to my journal."
Tehntaithe says, "I would encourage those who have not yet experienced the pleasure, to pay a visit to the Qerstead."
Tehntaithe says, "Though the town is removed from metropolitan Kelstaad, it is as fine a site as any to learn more."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum shouts, "Immense thanks to Tehntaithe of the tash'la, providing a detailed and fascinating performance about the history of creation from the perspective of the Kelstaad!"
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum shouts, "In just over a quarter of a day, our next showcase is due to commence!"[/spoiler]

Ryx

Mhaldor Showcase: Minstrels of Malevolence!

[spoiler]A female voice resonates with the power of Queen Catarin herself, "The next showcase is Mhaldorian, bringing you song and theatrics shortly."
A female voice resonates with the power of Queen Catarin herself, "All the way to the east at the fairgrounds."

Ysela says in a steady voice, "Welcome, to the second Mhaldorian showcase."
Ysela says in a steady voice, "We have two pieces to perform for you, beginning with a musical performance."

Ysela nods at Ameer.

Ysela says to Ameer in a steady voice, "Maestro, the stage is yours."

Ysela discreetly steps off the stage.
Ameer strolls onto the stage, followed by Iloisee and Lirah. He sits down carefully on the floor, crossing his legs, and lets out a deep breath.

Ameer says, "Right."
Ameer says, "Welcome, one and all, to the inaugural performance of the Minstrels of Malevolence."
Ameer says, "We will performing a piece called "We stand alone." Performed by Spinner Iloisee, Reaper Lirah, and myself. Editted by the Tyrannus, Purifier Stheno and Archai Crixos."

Ameer stares blankly into the distance for a moment.
Drawing on her voice, Lirah lets out a soft melody, a slow pulsing rhythm echoing around.
Ameer nods his head at Lirah.
A pair of drums materialise in front of Iloisee. She rolls her hands over them, forming a high tempo beat.
Discordant tones ring out as Ameer plays a rhythm of heavy notes upon his mandolin, enticing a sense of seething rage.

Iloisee sings in an urgent, melodious voice, "We're called evil, we embrace the name."
Iloisee sings in an urgent, melodious voice, "The Master's Truths, simple to explain."
Ameer sings, "They shunned our ways, and abhorred the pain."
Ameer sings, "Our paths, our plans, only brought them shame."

A tiny halfling child starts to tap his foot along to the rhythm without noticing.
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum glances at the stage with great interest, jotting down notations on a blank journal page.

Iloisee sings in an urgent, melodious voice, "But what can they do, but to prove?"
Iloisee sings in an urgent, melodious voice, "They break us, ensure we'll improve."
Ameer sings, "Here comes the moment to fall."
Ameer sings, "We'll arise above them all."

Lirah raises her voice in song at Torrent.

Lirah sings in a dark, menacing voice, "Unbreakable."
Lirah sings in a dark, menacing voice, "Principles."
Lirah sings in a dark, menacing voice, "Unshakable."

Feeding energy into her drumbeat, Iloisee interjects a resounding rhythm amidst Lirah's ardent song.

Lirah sings in a dark, menacing voice, "The time comes."
Lirah sings in a dark, menacing voice, "We'll stand alone."
Lirah sings in a dark, menacing voice, "Together."
Lirah sings in a dark, menacing voice, "Our strength shown."

As the chorus ends, the music slows down, the distorted tones of Ameer's mandolin hanging in the air around you. The melody begins to paint an illusion, a model of the Baelgrim fortress appearing before you. Warriors of various factions surround the castle, making demands of peace or surrender.
The light tones begin to filter through, a crimson fog begins to seep forth from the fortress. A legion of Mhaldorian knights march out in uniform, swords at the ready, the fog leading them to their enemies.

Iloisee sings in a low, melodious voice, "Punishment is what we deserve."
Iloisee sings in a low, melodious voice, "What we crave, they have come to serve."

Growing in volume, the notes urge bloodshed, a demanding resonance echoing. The foreign invaders begin to swarm towards the Mhaldorian knights. Readying their blades, the warriors of Baelgrim fight expertly, cutting down warrior after warrior, a pile of corpses growing around them.

Ameer sings, "They claim their strengths, champion their beliefs."
Ameer sings, "But their passions, emotions, a fuel from which to feed."

The tempo increases, more soldiers materialising around the battlefield, casting spells while dragons rain down fire and destruction. The knights falter as a number of them struggle to withstand the onslaught, falling one by one.

Iloisee sings in an urgent, melodious voice, "They claim their strengths, champion their beliefs."
Iloisee sings in an urgent, melodious voice, "But their passions, emotions, a fuel from which to feed."

The fog coalesces into assassins, apostates, who begin to slaughter warriors in huge swathes from behind.
Iloisee empties out a dazzling crystal vial of Woe into her mouth.

Ameer sings, "They inflict the costs in our blood."
Ameer sings, "The hardships, we pay as we should."

The music stops as the battle pauses for a moment. A cacophony of sounds blast through the air, the rhythm flowing rapidly. Overwhelming numbers materialise, swarming over the Mhaldorians who slowly disappear under a flood of feral mortals, baying for blood.

Lirah sings in a dark, menacing voice, "'To His will."
Lirah sings in a dark, menacing voice, "Unbreakable."
Lirah sings in a dark, menacing voice, "Principles."
Lirah sings in a dark, menacing voice, "Unshakable."

The battlefield shakes and the attacking army falters for a moment. Before they can react, explosions ring out, each corpse shatter into fireworks of bone, impaling every individual until they all collapse, leaving behind a still image of death and decay. The illusion slowly fades away, lingering notes of dread hanging in the air.

Lirah whispers in a dark, menacing voice, "The time comes."
Lirah whispers in a dark, menacing voice, "We'll stand alone."
Lirah whispers in a dark, menacing voice, "Together."
Lirah whispers in a dark, menacing voice, "Our strength shown."

Lirah bows, keeping contact with the crowd, bloodlust still in her eye.
Iloisee's hands slow to a stop. One palm on the drums, she bows briefly before taking a step back.
Ameer stows his mandolin away and bows deeply with a flourish.
A tiny halfling child claps wildly, then hesitates.

Standing at the back corner of the stage, Ysela exclaims, "The Ministrels of Malevolence!"

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum finishes transcribing before tucking her journal back and applauding politely.

Ameer says, "Minstrels."
Ameer says, "Thank you, thank you. And over to the Tyrannus."

Iloisee nods.
Ysela takes but a single step forward, and addresses the audience.
Ameer power walks carefully off the stage.
Lirah follow the Maestro in his powerful exit.

Ysela says in a steady voice, "I hope you enjoyed the musical part of this showcase. Suffice to say, you're likely to see more of the Minstrels of Malevolence in the coming years."

Ameer beams broadly.
Iloisee pets Sprinkles, a one-eyed tomcat very nicely.[/spoiler]

Ryx

Mhaldor Showcase: Theatrical Performance!

[spoiler]Ysela says in a steady voice, "Last month, the Exsusiai Jurixe gave you a very vivid glimpse of the past, and the Purifier Stheno provided sanguine insights into individual futures."
Ysela says in a steady voice, "Now, we're back to the past again. The distant past, before there was a Mhaldor, before there was even a Lord Sartan."

Cooper shudders violently.

Ysela says in a steady voice, "In this theatrical performance coming up next, we start at the very beginning. I have volunteered Lady Melodie and the Maestro Ameer to play the role of Lord Shaitan and Lord Ayar, respectively."
Ysela says in a steady voice, "With introductions out of the way, let us begin."

Ysela darkens the stage with a snap of her fingers.
Ameer removes a half mask edged with gold musical notes.

Having stepped into the background, Ysela narrates, "In the beginning, Ayar created the multiverse, the planes, the worlds, and the gods."
Ysela narrates, "In the beginning, Ayar created Good and Evil, and the rest."

Another snap of Ysela's fingers reveals the stage again, a big dark dominating its background, the blackness interrupted only sporadically by a handful of small, bright vortices.
Eyes on the stage, Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum opens her journal again to make further notations.
An indeterminate light source suddenly brings Melodie into focus, the majesty of his towering form matched only by the palpable malevolence oozing from his very being - awesome power controlled by an iron will.
Ameer enters the stage, wearing nondescript grey clothing and sporting a similarly drab facemask. His non-threatening stance contrasts sharply with that of Melodie, yet the odd Creator too emanates a power beyond mortal knowledge.
Melodie turns to Ameer, nodding grimly at the Creator in mutual accord.

Ameer says, "Evil, among all philosophies of sentient beings, shall be your domain."
Ameer says, "It be much maligned by many peoples, and any god but you would be wise to refrain."
Ameer says, "But you, oh Shaitan, are not like them. You alone have the necessary strength."
Ameer says, "None other, in spreading the word for all to hear, would go to the same length."

Melodie nods his head, a look of malice upon his face.
Ameer quietly disappears into a dim corner, and exits the stage.

Ushered onto the stage by Ysela, a trio of of smaller figures are brought into focus in the opposite corner. Whispers of conspiracy pass their lips, and they look imploringly at Melodie.
Melodie looks at the triumvirate conspirators disdainfully.

Melodie says in a guttural voice, "It is not fitting that I, who am all power, lower myself to help those who block all my actions."
Melodie says in a guttural voice, "I will go apart and grow in strength, and let their useless bickering expend the power of both factions."

A flash of red blinds you momentarily. When your vision returns, Melodie has left the stage.
Ysela snaps her fingers, and the stage changes: a scarred landscape backdrops it, showing a harsh vista extending to fill the horizon.

Ysela narrates, "Lord Shaitan, before He was Sartan, went out into the greater multiverse. He wandered and grew in power and strength, until He came upon a realm He thought fitting to His purpose.

Melodie stands stoically, terrible and powerful, at centre stage.

Melodie says angrily in a guttural voice, "I tolerate no impostors pretending to be what they are not. They and their servants will be slain by me."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum glances up from her journal, attempting to sketch what she sees alongside the written notes.
Yet another snap of Ysela's fingers, and what seems to be a sea of red suddenly covers the back wall of the tent. On closer inspection, it is revealed to be an image of a bloody mass of corpses and body parts from creatures mundane and strange.

Ysela narrates, "Wroth with fury did Lord Shaitan lead his many, newly found minions out in the world."
Ysela narrates, "The enemies of his new people knew not the Seven Truths, and none could stand before His armies or His might."

Melodie swings a replica of the Blade of Perdition at a throng of aldar, killing or maiming them all.
Another group approaches Melodie from behind, but meet the same fate after a swift turn and powerful stroke.

Melodie says in a guttural voice, "I have no mercy and will test you thus: sacrifice to me your old, infirm, and weak!"
Ysela narrates, "Having passed His test, Lord Shaitan, before He was Sartan, subjugated the vanquished to join His flock."
Ysela narrates, "He led His followers old and new to have peace with each other but to be in constant war, conquering all worlds on that plane for Evil".
Ysela narrates, "Thus did it come to pass that our Lord was God of an entire plane, long before He turned His gaze on Achaea."

Ysela slowly makes her way to the front of the stage, and beckons for Melodie and Ameer to join her.
Melodie moves to joins the Tyrannus' side.
Ameer stands up beside the Tyrannus.

Ysela says in a steady voice, "And so ends our dramatic performance of the very beginning."

A tiny halfling child claps his hands together merrily.

Ysela says in a steady voice, "As performed by Lady Melodie, and Maestro Ameer."[/spoiler]

Asmodron

Mhaldorian RPers doing quite well

Ryx

Showcase: Nissa story!

[spoiler]You see Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum shout, "I'll wait a few minutes for stragglers, but my story will begin soon by the campfire in the Worlds' Fair!"

Marron gives a bottle of Crier's Cognac to a tiny halfling child.
A tiny halfling child sniffs at the bottle of cognc.

Farrah says to a tiny halfling child, "She only does it to bad people. But she does not give them back."
A tiny halfling child says, "Ew, alcohol."
A tiny halfling child says, "Wasn't the ogre witch a bad person?"
Davok says to a tiny halfling child in a grim, resonant voice, "Everyone is a bad person to a Targossian."
Taliah looks thoughtful and says to Davok in a delicate voice, "Says the Mhaldorian who knows nothing about Targossians."
A tiny halfling child says, "Do atavians rip out souls too?"
Roselina says in a sweet melodic, alto voice, "I'd never!"
Mroxyl says with a low, growling accent, "Only if you have the right sauce, I think."
Truax says in a soft-spoken voice, "Yes, yes we do."

A tiny halfling child ponders Alasiel with a contemplative expression.

A tiny halfling child says, "My uncle says atavians are just overgrown chickens."
Alasiel says to a tiny halfling child, "Hey, now."
Gavriil says to a tiny halfling child in a wispy, rustling voice, "They taste better."
A tiny halfling child says, "You can eat them?"
Opening his mouth wide, a tiny halfling child gapes in wonder.
Alasiel says to a tiny halfling child, "No, No, you cannot."
Milani says to a tiny halfling child in a soft whiirh voice, "Atavian taste like chicken too!"
Alasiel says to a tiny halfling child, "We are bony, and not tasty at all."

A tiny halfling child suddenly eyes Alasiel hungrily.

Farrah says to a tiny halfling child, "Atavians are quite vicious in their native habitats. Trust me."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum clears her throat.

A tiny halfling child says, "Where do atavians live?"
Gavriil says in a wispy, rustling voice, "Genji and Arcadia."
A tiny halfling child says, "Oh, Genji's near my village, I think."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Now now, settle down and we shall begin."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum settles into a comfortable position in a corner of the tent, coming to rest beside a stack of books.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Today, I will be sharing a story that teaches a lesson few need to be taught, or at least so I would hope."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "As this parable could be recounted using tales perhaps prior even to the inception of mortals, it may come as no surprise that we will be speaking of those who foolishly try to rise above their rank."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Those who think themselves sly would take heed to listen carefully."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum opens a slender ivory book with silver inscriptions inlaid along the binding. Flipping just a few pages she nods slowly before stopping.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "And it starts here, with a small scribble upon a page, innocuous by itself, but behind which lays a truly bizarre series of events... 276 years after the fall of the Seleucarian Empire, Lord Sartan replaced Lord Pentharian as Patron of the Paladins Guild."

A tiny halfling child gasps as he hears a familiar name.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "This began when Caerid took over as the Guildmaster of the Paladins just a few years prior."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum begins to slowly flip through the pages of the book, squinting at times to read the faded text written on the pages within.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "He had sated his thirst for power as he ascended to his new position, but the pit within him howled for more."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "What caused his actions after this are up for debate... Did the Malevolent One speak to him, promising greater gifts? Did his wife lead him astray? Perhaps it was just his own mortal failings."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Regardless of the reason, Caerid made a bold move as he cast aside the Patronage of Lord Pentharian to usher in a new, if short, era of the Paladins being led under the hand of Lord Sartan."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Many were quite shocked by this, floored even! What could possess a person to find this reasonable in any sense? Any reason would likely have been cast aside, and was, as Shallam and the Church excommunicated Caerid and removed him from the city."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum pulls out a handful of powder from a pouch on her hip and throws it into the flames of the firepit, causing them to roar ominously.
As the smoke clears from the sudden flash, an image of a man standing by a woman ripples into view. He holds his head up proudly as he stands before the golden gaze of Lord Sartan.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "One action that could not be taken was the removal of Caerid from the Paladins, as he had all of the power in the guild within his grasp, and he used this to great effect."

The Malevolent One waves His hand towards the pair, and they are soon joined by others, each clothed in dark robes, wielding their weapons at the ready. They follow the man, presumably Caerid, down a road towards a glimmering city on the edge of the sea.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "And so Caerid led the forces of Sartan into the city and began to strike down those he had once called brother and sister. This continued for some time, the leader of the Guardians of Light seemingly eager to prove his worth to the embodiment of Evil by carving a path of blood."

The smoke shifts to a scene of several knights in gleaming armour, some of their number holding up the banner of the Holy Church of Achaea, readying their weapons as they depart from the halls of the Chrysalis Basilica.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Initially caught off-guard, the forces of the Guard rallied together and took their swords to meet Caerid and his army. Over and over, they slaughtered him, sending him back to the Halls of Death nearly as fast as he could leave them before he relinquished his post."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Caerid was not dismayed by these events, as he knew he wouldn't be able to hold onto his title. But in his heart, he knew that his new Master rejoiced at his deeds."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "So he took the hand of his wife, Malia, and strode to meet the forces of Lord Sartan. Many of their number praised his accomplishments, and pride swelled in him like it never had before."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "He spoke with others about the future to come... How he would rise to greatest heights within the order of Lord Sartan, and would possibly be given leadership over a new city-state to come."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "No, not possibly. He -knew- that was fate, he was sure of it. And finally, the day came when his Master called him to the Shrine of Ascension within the Siroccian Mountains."

Cooper snickers softly to himself.
The scene flickers to show cowled figures from earlier standing behind Caerid, his hand clutching his wife's tightly as he looks up towards the domineering figure of Lord Sartan. Dropping to one knee, he shows his respect, though a grin graces his lips knowingly.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "And thus the Malevolent One spoke, praising the actions of the previous Guildmaster. The words of grandeur came almost too easily from the Lord of Evil though, each phrase He spoke more ominous than the last."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "As Lord Sartan continued to praise them, he ushered his followers forward and had them strip both Caerid and his wife down before whipping and flogging them senseless."

The smoke ripples above the fire, and two naked figures laid low upon the ground are shown, forced to grovel before the might of Lord Sartan. Each has two of His followers standing on either side, the heels of their steel boots upon the pair's prostrated heads.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Before the Lord of Evil departed, he thanked them both for their service, cast them out of His order, and nodded grimly towards His followers."

The dark figures standing over the two produce knives from within their sleeves and begin to stab the couple upon the ground relentlessly until their blood runs down the mountain.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "And so, Caerid made history, though not in the way he expected. He acted foolishly and died foolishly."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "He went on to do many things in his life, but this stain defined him far past his days of glory."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "And so, listeners, I urge you take heed from this. The thirst for power is an unquenchable one, doomed to bring mortals low."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "And beyond that, oaths should never be taken lightly. I do not presume to know the will of Lord Sartan, but I would like to think that He saw the fickle nature within Caerid. And that is what led to his ultimate downfall."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum closes the book slowly with a weak smile gracing her lips before she bows slightly to the audience.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Thank you for listening to my tale. Do come back, as there will be more stories to recount."[/spoiler]

Ryx

Carnivalis Institute of Jestering Showcase: Tilia's Letter!

[spoiler]Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum shouts, "Our next showcase is about to begin, this time by the Carnivalis Institute of Jestering!"

A tiny halfling child exclaims, "Is it clown time!!"
Tilia says happily in a rich contralto voice, "Welcome everyone!!! We have two performances for you this month!"
Tilia says in a rich contralto voice, "First up I will reading a letter to you guys, I hope it entertains you as much as it did me!"
Tilia says in a rich contralto voice, "If everyone will settle down we can get started!"

Tilia walks to the front of the tent and smiles.

Tilia says excitdly in a rich contralto voice, "I am going to read to you all, a letter I recieved."

Tilia waves the aforementioned letter before clearing her throat and begining.

Tilia says in a rich contralto voice, "To whom it may concern,."
Tilia says questioningly in a rich contralto voice, "Comma."
Tilia says decidedly in a rich contralto voice, "No,."
Tilia exclaims in a rich contralto voice, "To whom it may concern!"
Tilia says excitedly in a rich contralto voice, "Exclamation Point!"
Tilia says in a rich contralto voice, "Statements of extreme false-importance or infinite loudness. Should always end with at least one point of Exclamation, though some prefer dozens, denizens of the dozens."
Tilia exclaims loudly in a rich contralto voice, "To whom it may concern!!"
Tilia says in a rich contralto voice, "Two, perfect."
Tilia says truthfully in a rich contralto voice, "It has recently come to my attention, not to say."
Tilia says in a rich contralto voice, "I wasn't attentive before. That you my good sir, are an ass."
Tilia says arrestedly in a rich contralto voice, "Period."
Tilia says in a rich contralto voice, "New paragraph. It helps people to know when it is important that they begin reading again."
Tilia says demandingly in a rich contralto voice, "Am I not entitled to a title?"
Tilia says stubbornly in a rich contralto voice, "No?"
Tilia says cajolingly in a rich contralto voice, "Not even a single mention or jot?"
Tilia says sadly in a rich contralto voice, "No?"
Tilia says in a rich contralto voice, "Question mark..."
Tilia says in a rich contralto voice, "That is an unacceptable punctuation."
Tilia says in a rich contralto voice, "I refuse to allow even my sentences, or their unfortunate punctuation flaws, to await an answer from the likes of you."
Tilia says determinedly in a rich contralto voice, "Period."
Tilia says consicely in a rich contralto voice, "Consider this an official notice.."
Tilia says tauntingly in a rich contralto voice, "I find you, your 'style', and your 'Quotational Fortitude' unquotable at best."
Tilia says laughingly in a rich contralto voice, "Unless quoting and unquoting sarcastically."
Tilia says sarcasticly in a rich contralto voice, "Sincerely..."
Tilia says in a rich contralto voice, "Sincerity seems to have been established already."
Tilia says happily in a rich contralto voice, "Yours in extreme hatred and disappointment,."
Tilia exclaims in a rich contralto voice, "Much better!"
Tilia says vexingly in a rich contralto voice, "The Voice Inside Your Head."

Tilia lifts her eyes from the letter, her lips quirking into a smile.

Tilia exclaims skeptically in a rich contralto voice, "Apparently not even my inner monolouge likes my writing!"

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum looses a cautiously quiet chuckle.
A tiny halfling child blinks in confusion.
Tilia tucks the letter away with a laugh, and gives a little bow as she walks away, ending her performance.
Tilia's mouth turns up as her face breaks into a smile.

Tilia exclaims happily in a rich contralto voice, "Don't go anywhere because up next we have The Great Couldini!!"[/spoiler]

Ryx

Carnivalis Institute of Jestering Showcase: Magic show!

[spoiler]Couldin says distastefully in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Now, with that tomfoolery out of the way..."
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "I, am the great Couldini."
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "I am sure there are those of you in the room who practice some form of wizardry. But I am here to tell you that I am the truest magician in all the land! BEHOLD MY POWER!"
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Ahem. If we could all step out to another location, my powers are rendered inert by this tent."

A small halfling child skips out to the west.

... (Move west) ...

Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Just kidding, I can now re-enter the tent! my powers grow by the moment!"

... (Move east) ...

Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Apologies, the universe is mysterious."
A tiny halfling child exclaims, "Funny joke already!"
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Now, BEHOLD MY POWER!"

a crash of thunder reverberates throughout the room, although it becomes apparent from the sounds of shuffling feet and the movement of the curtains that a sheet of metal was simply struck behind the tent.

Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Are you all aware that all animals, no matter how dissimilar, share a common pattern?"

a stagehand drags a large tortoise into view.

Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "With a bit of coaxing, an animal can be converted into any other!"
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Watch and be amazed."

A tiny halfling child gives a horrified gasp.
Couldin taps on the shell of the tortoise and walks around it in a circle, mumbling under his breath.
the tortoise retracts fully into its shell until no part of it is visible.

Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Now, for the magic word..."
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Hubbula bubbula!"

seconds pass, and the shell remains seemingly empty.
Crouched low, and moving swiftly, the beast of the crypt lopes in from the west.

The beast in the crypt sinks its claws into Olin's skin, and he winces as an oozing yellow substance leeches into the wound.
Olin eats a potash crystal.
Marron attempts to stifle his amusement but cannot help laughing aloud.
Olin takes some salve from a vial and rubs it on his legs.
The beast in the crypt sinks its claws into Olin's skin, and he winces as an oozing yellow substance leeches into the wound.
Olin takes a drink from a black-walnut vial.
Olin takes a drink from a crystal vial.
Couldin coughs softly.
Olin leaves to the west.
Koi gives a trillingly melodic laugh.
The beast in the crypt hurls himself directly at Tesha, attacking with tooth and claw as the metal embedded in his flesh scrapes against her skin and tears it like thin paper.
The beast in the crypt sinks its claws into Tesha's skin, and she winces as an oozing yellow substance leeches into the wound.
Tesha takes a drink from a vial of tempered steel.
With a swiftness greater than mortal knowledge, the beast in the crypt races out to the west.
"Ummmm," Farrah says uncertainly.
seconds pass, and the shell remains seemingly empty.
Tesha takes a drink from a vial of tempered steel.
Crouched low, and moving swiftly, the beast of the crypt lopes in from the west.
Stretching his drooling muzzle wide, the beast in the crypt closes his jaws upon Tesha with a deadly bite.
a seagull's head pops out of the shell!
The beast in the crypt sinks its claws into Tesha's skin, and she winces as an oozing yellow substance leeches into the wound.
Face set with grim determination, Landon's eyes close as a golden light begins to shine forth, emanating from within his body.
Tesha takes a drink from a vial of tempered steel.
The beast in the crypt sinks its claws into Tesha's skin, and she winces as an oozing yellow substance leeches into the wound.
Farrah draws a card from his deck, an expression of focussed determination sliding onto her face.
Ashlia gives a horrified gasp.
Koi gives a horrified gasp.
Deziny looks up into the air for divine inspiration.
Stretching his drooling muzzle wide, the beast in the crypt closes his jaws upon Tesha with a deadly bite.
Farrah utters a prayer and smites the beast in the crypt with an elegant silver mace.
Farrah has scored an ANNIHILATINGLY POWERFUL CRITICAL hit!
Tesha takes a drink from a vial of tempered steel.
Marron says in an appealing, husky voice, "The hell."
The light grows more intense, and with a gesture of utter submission to the Dragon within, Landon throws his arms wide and his head back as he screams, "Aaashhaaaaaaxxeeeeiiiiii!"
Couldin takes a drink from an oaken vial.
Stretching his drooling muzzle wide, the beast in the crypt closes his jaws upon Farrah with a deadly bite.
Farrah eats a potash crystal.
the seagull wriggles out of the shell and flaps onto Couldin's outstretched hand.
Ayani rips into the beast in the crypt with her massive, deadly claws.
Kuririn ponders the beast in the crypt with a contemplative expression.
Farrah utters a prayer and smites the beast in the crypt with an elegant silver mace.
Farrah has scored a CRUSHING CRITICAL hit!
The beast in the crypt hurls himself directly at Farrah, attacking with tooth and claw as the metal embedded in his flesh scrapes against her skin and tears it like thin paper.
Taryius says in a harsh, rasping voice, "Incredible. He summoned a crypt beast."
Farrah utters a prayer and smites the beast in the crypt with an elegant silver mace.
Farrah has scored a CRUSHING CRITICAL hit!
Tesha takes a drink from a vial of tempered steel.
Ayani rips into the beast in the crypt with her massive, deadly claws.
Ayani has scored a CRUSHING CRITICAL hit!
As a distant, triumphant roar is heard, the golden light coalesces about Landon. His body begins to change, and deform. His head flattens, as his neck lengthens. His body grows dramatically as wings sprout from his back, and a massive tail quickly extrudes from what are now his hindquarters.
Stretching his drooling muzzle wide, the beast in the crypt closes his jaws upon Farrah with a deadly bite.
Farrah utters a prayer and smites the beast in the crypt with an elegant silver mace.
Farrah has scored a CRITICAL hit!
Farrah eats a potash crystal.
Kuririn leaps into the air and launches a flying kick at the beast in the crypt.
The beast in the crypt dodges the blow.
Stretching his drooling muzzle wide, the beast in the crypt closes his jaws upon Farrah with a deadly bite.
Ayani rips into the beast in the crypt with her massive, deadly claws.
Ayani has scored a CRITICAL hit!
Farrah's angel flares its wings and flaps them powerfully at the beast in the crypt, causing shards of crystal to tear through his flesh.
Farrah has scored a CRITICAL hit!
Farrah utters a prayer and smites the beast in the crypt with an elegant silver mace.
Ayani spits a stream of acidic venom at the beast in the crypt who writhes in agony as the spittle seeps into his skin.
Cooper sinks his fangs into the beast in the crypt's body.
Cooper has scored a WORLD-SHATTERING CRITICAL hit!!!
The beast in the crypt stiffens and drops dead as the venom proves too much for his system.
The beast in the crypt has been slain by Cooper.
A tarnished locket on an iron chain tumbles out of the corpse of the beast in the crypt.
A chipped tangerine shard appears and clatters to the ground.
Numerous golden sovereigns spill from the corpse.
A sycophantic shoulder cape worn by Cooper darkens as he appears enlivened and determined.

Opening her mouth wide, Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum gapes in wonder.

Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Um, yes! that is what happened!"
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Apologies, my power seems to be too great. That is not what I intended."
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Anyhow, onwards!"

another stagehand carries out a small table. Atop it is a white cube of chalk.

Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "I have mastered the art of regeneration."
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "That is something simple, you think."
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Simply apply the proper salve and all is fixed."
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "I, however, have mastered it to the point that I can regenerate any object!"

Couldin smashes the cube violently until it is reduced to a fine powder upon the table.
Couldin produces a small cloth from his bag with a flourish and places it over the chalk powder.

Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "This is my patent-pending regen-kerchief."
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "It is enchanted with dark magics from long forgotten tomes."

Couldin shakes the cloth over the powder, and the kerchief begins to fill out. After a moment, the bottom of a cube is visible beneath the cloth. Couldin yanks away the kerchief and, lo and behold, the same cube is on the table once again.
A tiny halfling child gives a horrified gasp.

Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Now, to prove it is the same chalk cube..."

Couldin chips a corner from the block, and an ear-piercing scream begins to erupt from it.  At the same time, bright crimson blood spurts from where the block was chipped, spraying Couldin across his face and jacket.
"Eek!" Couldin shouts in fright.
Couldin takes a drink from an oaken vial.
Couldin tosses the cube reflexively. A stagehand lingering nearby manages to catch it and runs out of the tent. A trail of blood and screaming follows them out.
Couldin coughs softly.

Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "The process is still... in the works."

A tiny halfling child creases his brow in a frown.

Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "For my last trick of the show, allow me to introduce you to an associate of mine."

Couldin removes his pirate hat from his head and holds it towards the crowd.

Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "This is Irat. I made him talk for a show once and he hasn't stopped talking since."
Irat says with a rough, indeterminate accent, "yer no better, oh great magician."
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "He is quite annoying to work with, but serves as a brilliant magical conduit."
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Here, I'll make up a new magic with him on the spot!"

Couldin digs in his pack for something. After some time, he pulls out a small wooden rod and shows it to the crowd.

Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Now, I place it in like so..."

Couldin holds the rod in Irat and begins to stir it around the inside of the hat. Irat coughs and gags during this process. With a look of triumph, Couldin pulls the rod out and shows that there is now a puff of pink cotton candy on one end. It is visibly wet around the edges, and a bit of unknown liquid runs down the rod and over Couldin's hand, dripping down onto the floor.

Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Huzzah!"
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Instant cotton candy!"
Irat says with a rough, indeterminate accent, "ya may wanna keep that'n to yerself, magic hands."
Irat says with a rough, indeterminate accent, "it ain't exactly sanitary."
Couldin says disappointedly in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "I noticed..."

Couldin hands the soggy cotton candy off to his nearest assistant, who was until this moment not paying the least bit of attention. Unsure what to do with it, and startled by the sudden shift of attention onto him, he panics and consumes the entire wad of candy. The stagehand's eyes bug out and he runs out of the tent clutching at his stomach.
Couldin takes a drink from an oaken vial.

Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "He'll be fine."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum creases her brow in a frown.
from outside the tent, you hear screams followed by what can only be described as a wet explosion. Something splatters against the tent from outside.

Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "The fairs have an excellent janitorial staff."
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Before I let you go, I would like to say I am looking for stagehands. If you know anybody appropriately obedient and unsuspecting, send them my way! the mortality rate is the lowest it's been in years."
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "With that out of the way, that's all for the great Couldini! Enjoy the rest of the fair."
A tiny halfling child says, "That's not at all what I imagined clowns like..."
Couldin says in a high-pitched, chirping voice, "Clowns exist on a spectrum."[/spoiler]

Jiraishin

Cailin said:

I'm just super curious about one thing, not sure if I should be asking this in game or what. Some of us were under the impression that we were limited to selling only 5 items in our tent... I'm wondering what was the reason for that, or if it was a misunderstanding?

(Hashan and Mhaldor had about a dozen items, not sure about Ashtan and Targossas.)

We were also told 5 items, with a maximum of 3 unique ones.

Farrah

Here is the Targossian showcase, for any who missed it! (Part I)

[spoiler]You clear your throat in an attempt to gain the attention of those around you.

The interior of the tent dims, and soon the surroundings are swept away by a flood of pitch black drowning out all sight.

You say, "Thank you all for coming, and apologies for the slight delay."

You say, "Targossas, the Dawnspear, was founded by the Bloodsworn Divine to serve Good. Guided by Light, Targossians strive to always walk the Righteous path."

You say, "In simple terms, we must understand reality as it actually is so that we may make wise choices that will ultimately lead to the continued prosperity and growth of Creation."

You say, "Whether our actions serve Good, whether they are truly Righteous, is determined by the choices we make."

You say, "Those choices may lead to prosperity or ruin, happiness or sorrow, bliss or damnation. And by our choices are we judged."

You say, "Our showcase, thus, is a story, but throughout this story, you will be asked to make your own choices. When such a choice is presented, please tell <person> which choice you wish the  character to make. The story will proceed based on majority vote."

You clear your throat in an attempt to gain the attention of those around you.

You say, "Send those tells to Eryl please."

You say, "May the Light guide you and our intrepid adventurer throughout her journey."

Farrah gestures to her surroundings and steps back.

Alasiel's voice echoes through the dark tent as she begins the story.

Alasiel says, "Our tale begins with a humble young villager, who has journeyed to Targossas from a small oasis town nestled within the arid dunes of the Mhojave desert. She is a human, barely over eighteen in age. Her name is Ahset."

Motes of shifting light languidly drift into view, their subtle glow casting a gentle radiance upon the surroundings.

From the light, a shimmering image of the gates of Targossas comes into existence, and a young woman, exhausted and uncertain, trudges through them.

Alasiel says, "Ahset came to Targossas after the death of her father to learn the ways of the world and of Light and Fire. Soon after she arrived, she learned that there are many ways to serve within the Dawnspear. The servants of the Bloodsworn were a force as varied in composition as any other."

The surroundings shift, and young Ahset, now clad in a simple ivory robe, is walking the grounds of Blackstone Isle. Rank upon rank of warriors move in perfect lockstep in the background, light shining off the argent steel of their armour.

As Ahset makes her way to Silverbright Square, she comes upon a congregation of citizens, each one's head bowed in expectant reverence. Standing before them, a female atavian in ivory and gold robes holds a simple ivory book, her lips moving in the midst of her prayer.

Silently, a figure in a travel-worn grey cloak observes, the constant shifting of the grey hood indicating a watchful gaze. A quill is visible from his pocket, along with a piece of parchment.

Alasiel says, "The Dawnblade, ever stalwart, ever faithful warriors. The Harbingers, the keepers of the faith, masters of oration and study. The Luminai, ever watchful, ever present, ever observant. Many choices, and many ways to serve. Ahset was required to make a choice. Should she join the Dawnblade, the Harbingers of Redemption, or, in time, the Luminai?"

Alasiel says, "The audience is now presented with its first choice."

Alasiel says, "As a reminder, please send votes to Eryl."

[The audience chose Luminai]

With a dip of the cowl, the figure places a similar grey cloak about the young woman's shoulders, palpable import evident even in this simple act. Leaning forward, a brief, hushed conversation passes between the two figures. Pulling up her cowl, Ahset gives a simple nod, before turning on her heel to depart.

Alasiel says, "So her duty went. One of the Luminai, ever observing, ever knowing, ever searching. It had been reported that of late, her home village had been suffering strange, unnatural happenings. Her first mission, along with a Harbinger named Kehlwa and her fellow Luminai and best friend Tajan, were to venture to the village. Her task was simple, observe and determine the truth of the happenings. She set off, confident in her handful of years training in the Luminai."

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child creases his brow in a frown.

The image dissolves again, reforming to show the three adventurers climbing through seemingly endless dunes, before finally reaching the outskirts of the oasis village.

Myriad villagers gather, their expressions displaying obvious distrust. Stepping forward, Ahset speaks to them, calming gestures of her hands indicating herself, then her companions.

Alasiel says, "The villagers relaxed somewhat at recognizing Ahset, though they still wondered. What could bring these strangers here?"

Alasiel says, "Yes, there had been strange happenings, but... Chaos? Could it really be that?"

Alasiel says, "In the end, they determined that allowing their visitors to indulge their curiosity couldn't hurt, and may indeed solve their recent problems."

Alasiel says, "They commented on strange animals crawling out of the sand, mutated beyond recognition, and a general sense of unease throughout the village. Questioning them further, Ahset and her companions learned of a newcomer to the village."

The three adventurers follow the villagers to a house, which forms obligingly in the air. Little more than a ramshackle hut, each window has been covered with uneven planks of wood, multicolored light occasionally flickering from between the cracks.

Kneeling down by the door to the hut, Ahset presses her ear to a crack between two planks. The muted sounds of chanting drift into the air from within, growing faster and faster by the moment.

Standing once more, Ahset removes a slim case of picks from within her grey cloak, easily working the lock open with dexterous fingers and slipping silently through the door, to find the hut seemingly empty.

Glancing around the interior, Ahset moves from wall to wall, her gaze sweeping from floor to ceiling in measured contemplation. With a sudden, swift motion, she slides back a previously concealed panel in the wall to reveal a robed man holding a large book.

A robed man stands in the center of the room, a thick book open in one hand as his lips move in a furious chant.

Swirls of multicolored light churn about him, sickly in hue. They spin faster and faster with his chanting.

Alasiel says, "An occultist, there was no doubt in her mind, caught mid ritual, performing she knew not what foulness."

Ahset exclaims, "A garden thick with weeds! Let the impurity be purged beneath His Righteous gaze!"

The robed occultist observes Ahset with surprise, his eyes going wide as she nimbly produces a dagger from within the folds of her cloak. With a precise jab of the knife, the thick book tumbles from his grasp.

Ahset steps in quickly, landing a dazing blow with the weighted pommel of her knife before dragging the occultist to the center of the hut at knifepoint. He falls dramatically to his knees, babbling and blubbering with false remorse.

A robed occultist says desperately in a deceivingly pitiful voice, "I know nothing. Please, let me live. I only wanted to learn. I'll give up my dastardly ambitions! Only spare me my life!"

Ahset says, "You have tainted my home with these twisted arts. Why would I show you mercy? Don't you know the consequences of practicing the Occult arts? Are you so selfish that you would hurt Creation to satisfy your own curiosities?"

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child gives the occultist a look of pity.

Mathonwy watches on, his face a look of amusement and exasperation.

Jiraishin watches Mathonwy carefully.

The grey-cloaked figure of Tajan appears in the doorway. He frowns, looking down at the foul occultist.

Ahset says to Tajan, "We found the perpetrator."

Tajan says, "He cannot be working alone. The villagers have mentioned seeing lights in more than one part of the village at the same time. There must be others."

A robed occultist says in a deceivingly pitiful voice, "No! It was me. Just me! Please, I have a cat! Sir Meow will have no one to feed him if you slay me."

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child gives a horrified gasp.

A disgusting noise draws your attention as a mutant three-eyed cat hacks up a hairball in the corner of the room. Upon closer inspection, the hairball is actually kitten fur from the innocent kittens that the beast had slaughtered.

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child exclaims, "Kitty!"

An adolescent dwarf says, "I'll take the cat."

Tajan stares at a robed occultist with barely concealed disgust. He turns his gaze back to Ahset.

A mutant three-eyed cat sniffs at a smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child before its image dissipates into nothing.

Tajan says, "We should interrogate him. How can we trust such a man? He has no reason to tell us the truth."

Tajan eyes a robed occultist with meticulous attention, humming thoughtfully to himself as he assesses the most efficient means of inflicting excruciating agony on a reluctant subject.

Alasiel says, "Ahset gazed down the blade of her sword at the kneeling man, hesitating. The direct and bloody route would certainly yield quick results of some manner, but surely a more effective means would not involve such grisly procedure?"

Alasiel says, "At this point, the audience is once again invited to decide: Does Ahset accept Tajan's offer to ...interrogate... the occultist, or does she reason with him directly?"

Jiraishin says with a harsh Western accent, "Is there an option for 'just kill the bastard'?"

Numira stares implacably at Jiraishin.

Jiraishin says with a harsh Western accent, "What?"

Jiraishin says with a harsh Western accent, "It's what I'd do."

You say to Jiraishin, "I am certain you could make it happen during the interrogation."

You tap your nose knowingly at Jiraishin.

Jiraishin says with a harsh Western accent, "Very well, then."

Mathonwy says flatly, "Classy."

[The audience chooses to interrogate]

[/spoiler]

Farrah

And Part II

[spoiler]

Ahset nods grimly at Tajan, and a dagger noiselessly materialises in his hand. She steps back, arms crossed as Tajan works. Muffled groans of pain echo through the space, punctuated by barely intelligible words and curses screamed out by the Occultist.

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child gives a horrified gasp.

Mathonwy frowns and nods at a smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child.

Alasiel says, "The occultist finally revealed his secret: His cabal had obtained an ancient artefact that they could use to draw in Chaos energy for their vile plans. Their trial run would be the desert town that was Ahset's home, where the occultist had made all necessary preparations."

Alasiel says, "The Targossians acted quickly, and when the cabal arrived to perform their experiment, the Targossian army stood there, blades ready."

The deafening roar of battle surrounds you. Blades flash in the sunlight, and a tarot card flies past your face, briefly slowing down to reveal the image of the Aeon before disappearing into the battle once more.

Images flash by, one after another. A Chaos hound crouches over a twitching corpse, its maw crimson with blood. Arrows fall from the sky, thick as rain. An angel plunges her hand into her victim's chest.

Alasiel says, "At long last, the Targossian forces prevailed, and Ahset herself pried the artefact from the fingers of a fallen enemy."

Before you floats a beautiful silver locket, its intricately carved surface glittering in the soft light as it spins slowly.

Ahset shimmers into view after a moment, her gaze fixed upon the artefact. Slowly, she reaches toward it, but as her hands close around it, the locket turns to dust in her fingers, and the scene fades away.

Alasiel says, "The artefact was familiar to Ahset: a locket that had been passed down through her family, long thought to be lost. As the battle formation marched homeward to Targossas, Ahset removed it from her pocket, wistfully remembering her father's oft-repeated stories of its origin which always seemed to change a little with each retelling."

Alasiel says, "Finally back in safe hands, it was now the one treasure that kept the good memories close--a reminder of joyful times and steadfast morals instilled in her youth."

Alasiel says, "Grasping it with conviction, she felt it pulse with a new and strange power, and imagined how she might wield it against the enemies of Good."

A nearby Targossian soldier spies the object, expressing concern over its recent use and suggesting it be destroyed in the flames of the Chalice of Purity. With obvious irritation, Ahset dismisses his words as superstitious.

Alasiel says, "Once again, the audience must now decide. Ahset was now in possession of a family heirloom... but for the rest of the journey the soldier's words kept intruding into her thoughts. Does she accept the potential danger and keep the locket, or destroy it?"

[The audience chose to keep the locket.]

Alasiel says, "Ahset kept the locket on herself, knowing that the risks were outweighed by the potential benefit to the cause of Good. She took it into battle after battle, carefully wielding it to great effect and growing ever more cunning in its use as her familiarity with its imbued power increased. The occasional dark whispers intruded into the deepest parts of her mind, but she learned to ignore them."

Alasiel says, "Her outstanding service continued, and after many years, she humbly accepted the role of Dawnlord. City affairs continued smoothly and uneventfully under her leadership."

Alasiel says, "...But peace never lasts for long."

Alasiel says, "Many years after Ahset became Dawnlord of Targossas, something unexpected occurred. The Tsolteth, whispered of only in tales of the past, had been spotted on the continent of Sapience."

Mathonwy whispers, "We already know how the choice here goes."

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child tilts his head curiously at Mathonwy.

Jaksim whispers to Mathonwy in a deep, resonant voice, "Hey, maybe they'll let us make the right decision, instead."

Alasiel says, "The Tsol'teth struck at the shrines of all overlanders, including those of the Bloodsworn Divine - but for what purpose?"

Alasiel says, "Ahset had read in the ancient histories that the Tsol'teth sought only destruction. And the lands were besieged by their weapon, the Tide. Cyrene had fallen. Yet, Hashan and Moghedu had struck bargains with the Tsol'teth. Could they be reasoned with?"

Qidaxt says thoughtfully in a wispy, sibilant voice, "I'd think 'reason' is the paradoxical tension at the heart of the Tsol'teth psyche... it's their most prided possession, and yet the one they struggle to hold onto."

Standing at a table are various members of Targossian leadership. Ahset is at the head of the table; to her right and left, Prophets Sorondis and Sothlas debate and discuss from opposite sides; Judicator Atalghar Aurolt in gleaming mail and sweeping cloak, is enraged; Eminent Master Tajan leans against a wall, glaring into his cup of kawhe; and the Herald and the Guardian of Blades stand by in silence but clearly perturbed.

Judicator Atalghar Aurolt slams a mailed fist down on the table.

Judicator Atalghar Aurolt says, "Aligning ourselves with such abominations is simply unthinkable. Dawnlord. Targossas must fight with its last breath against this threat."

Mathonwy stares pointedly at you.

Valos Grody Sorondis, Prophet of Enlightenment says, "Respectfully, Judicator, I must disagree. Did they not say they sought stability? If we allow them to sample some of our own and so improve their lines, could not their future generations become more stable... perhaps more inclined to serve Good?"

Farrah tilts her head slightly towards Mathonwy, smirking.

Mathonwy tells you, "It looks better when I do it."

You tell Mathonwy, "I would imagine you think so."

Tarmond Sothlas, Prophet of Justice says, "There is, admittedly, also the matter of what our options truly are. What would be the cost of fighting them? Will this lead to mutual destruction? Our enemies are numerous, and if they could be allies, it would benefit us all and Creation itself."

You tell Mathonwy, "Looks are less important than substance, anyway."

Judicator Atalghar Aurolt says, "You think we have a choice? Look what they did to Cyrene!"

Mathonwy tells you, "It could be the most appealing dish in the entire world but if it looks like baby vomit, nobody is going to eat it."

Valos Grody Sorondis, Prophet of Enlightenment says, "All sentient life has a right to pursue Growth, if it does not restrict the Growth of Creation itself. These Tsol'teth clearly seek to grow. But must they inhibit us and others, or is there another way?"

Eminent Master Tajan snarls, "I tire of the endless arguments. Decide one way or another before we simply sit here and rot."

Ahset massages her temples, her patience visibly wearing thin.

Alasiel says, "Ahset had a choice to make. Would she lead Targossas to ally with the Tsol'teth or fight against them?"

Alasiel says, "Once again, the choice, in reality, is yours."

[The audience chose to fight the Tsol'teth.]

Alasiel says, "Ahset took very little time to consider. The destruction of Cyrene filled her mind. Fury girded every word as she made her judgement. Opposition to the Tsol'teth line was declared."

Alasiel says, "Targossas stood shoulder to shoulder with members of the Coalition, including the Seat of Chaos. All negotiation attempts from the Tsol'teth were summarily rejected. Ahset did not wish to hear their words."

Durvan whispers in a full rich deep voice, "This will be interesting!"

Flickering briefly into being, an image of Ahset resolves, standing before an army massed upon Blackstone Isle. Her expression is touched with fury as she leads her army to battle.

Alasiel says, "So it was that Ahset, and Targossas, raised their blades against the Tsol'teth. And unbeknownst to most of Targossas, Ahset was armed with the locket she was retrieved from the Occultists. To Ahset, her powers seemed endless. She'd had enough of this invasion. She'd had enough of this world."

Alasiel says, "Keep fighting, child." A whisper emanated from the locket, familiar to her."

The dark-haired figure of Ahset standing before an army of Tsol'teth shimmers into view. She clutches the locket tightly within her hands as she leaps into the fray. She casts down enemy after enemy, leaving nothing but charred remains and warped bodies in her path.

Durvan whispers in a full rich deep voice, "Uh-oh!"

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child cheers wildly!

Jiraishin watches the image, eyes intent and unreadable.

Eryl says to a smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child in a rumbling, listless voice, "Watch close, littl'un."

Alasiel says, ""Yes, Ahset. We believe in you." The locket whispered."

Alasiel says, "The whispers were comforting now. They encouraged her when opposed to any odds; they praised her each time an enemy is cast down. The longer she fought, the more she began relying on the powers contained within the artefact."

Alasiel says, "She wrapped herself in shadows and asked the whispers for the power it would take to destroy the vast army before her. They listened."

The artefact within Ahset's hand thrums with power that warps the very air around it.

It seeps into her flesh, takes hold of her bones, and twists her very soul. Her body begins to flow with raw, uncontrolled power as she screams out in ecstasy.

Her flesh sloughs off, replaced with flexible steel scales. Her head expands to twice its size, unlocking countless new strategies within her mind. Her muscles expand and bulge. She leaps towards her enemies, the newfound strength consuming her.

"Cool!" a smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child exclaims.

Alasiel says, "While Ahset's attention was focused on her new power, she failed to realize the armies of the Bloodsworn had arrived. But she did not need them. She had this under control."

Alasiel says, "She saw red, heard the cries of agony, felt the wet slick of blood."

Alasiel says, "She heard the whispers."

Alasiel says, "As her vision returned, there were no Tsol'teth in sight, and Ahset looked down to see her hands wrapped around the bloody throat of the Avatar of the Primordial Fire just as the life within her eyes faded away. Strangely, she felt no sadness, no remorse."

Alasiel says, "No, she felt invigorated."

The remnants of the Bloodsworn's army stare on in disbelief at the crumpled forms of the Avatar of the Primordial Fire, the Voice of Light, and the Guardian of Blades. For the first time, they feel fear.

Ahset looks upon her new-found enemies with joy. Beseeching the whispers one last time, a wave of sheer Chaotic force violently spreads outward, her own body as the epicentre. It rips through the remaining Targossians with ease, warping their bodies beyond all recognition.

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child gazes on with wide eyes.

Manifesting herself in the Dawnspear, what was once Ahset casts her power about the city, destroying homes and lives without care.

Alasiel says, "When all was done, her destruction of the city was absolute."

Alasiel says, "...as was the destruction of her own mind."

The creature screams with rage as it moves from village to village, city to city, casting everything around her into the throes of Chaos. Wherever it goes, Creation is unwound.

Alasiel says, "None could stand before the creature that was Ahset's fury, for it no longer was a being that felt anything. It simply craved destruction, and its appetite was endless."

Alasiel says, "Creation, however... is not."

The images of destruction fade as the stage falls to blackness once again.

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child says, "They got what they deserved for being mean to the kitty."

You say, "That concludes our story, grim as it ended. But this should be a lesson to all that the choices we make matter. Choose wisely in the future."[/spoiler]

Jurixe

A choose your own adventure story, I love it! I've been wanting to try my hand at one of those for a while but haven't managed to get around to it yet.

I've been generally impressed by the presentations I've seen so far from each city. The writers have outdone themselves.

Torinn

I absolutely agree

Farrah

Torinn said:

I absolutely agree

MAYBE you should login and see them! -cough-

Vhaith

Farrah said:

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child says, "They got what they deserved for being mean to the kitty."

I'm with the halfling child.

Eryl

It was so much fun getting to help write that thing. We came up with what, eight different endings? It was crazy to see everyone working together in a google doc creating and combining and meshing styles. What became of it is really something else. It's so cool to see how the different styles in different places make the different routes really stand out.

Gaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh i love it.

Also, thanks to the godly folk who cast their votes. It made my DAY.

Jiraishin

I think my favorite admin touch was Rien'maal's running telepathic commentary on the story. I just imagine him in Balan'maal, surrounded by whispers and shadows and holding a bowl of popcorn. 

Alasiel

It was super fun! But we're lucky that stuff like this didn't accidentally make it into the performance:

Gradually, the open area before the audience is lit with a soft ambiance. The sound of not blaring violins that don't deafen you slowly begin to play.
Wait is this star wars : /sigh

An obnoxiously loud, blaring noise threatens to deafen you and all others before the words,
A NOT VERY LONG TIME AGO, IN A VILLAGE NOT SO FAR AWAY...
threaten to blind you

SAY Unfortunately for her, you idiots are in charge of her fate. (edit later)

Eryl

penis dust

Farrah

Alasiel said:

It was super fun! But we're lucky that stuff like this didn't accidentally make it into the performance:

SAY Unfortunately for her, you idiots are in charge of her fate. (edit later)

And yet, look what happened to the world when we left them in charge.

Mathonwy

I see nothing wrong with this outcome.

Ryx

Anyone catch the showcase earlier? I don't even know what it was.

Skye

I got part of it, but I left the log on my office notes (whoops!). Was story time with Nissa. And a double billing!

Stheno

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "I think you'll enjoy this story, my young halfling friend."

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child says, "What's the story about?"

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum pulls a musty tome from a stack and blows a cloud of dust from its cover.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Today's story comes from an old collection of fairy tales. I've tried my best to preserve the meaning and meter while making the language a bit more accessible. I hope you enjoy."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Three witches, cunning and sly, lived together beneath an ancient sky. Sisters were they, wily and jaded, who feared the day when their talents had faded."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The first had her mind, her thoughts and smarts, who valued ideas more than her heart."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The second had her looks, pretty and spry, who feared with age her beauty would die."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The third had her body, agile and strong, who trained as hard as the day is long."

Three feminine shapes dance above the fire, hands held as they turn in circles around the flames. Above their heads, three shadows of symbols hang suspended: a book, a rose, a fist.

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child becomes entranced by the rhyming story.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "As proud as they were in their own devices, envy was but one of their vices. Each grew jealous over time, thinking "What's yours should just be mine.""

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The first knew spells and arcane tricks, and used her magic to get her fix."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The second had potions and wicked brews, and slipped her sisters a mystic ooze."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The third knew of ritual vexed, and so she left her sisters hexed."

The dancing figures break apart, each pointing toward the other. The crackling of the flames sweeps across the area, its cackling cries a poignant emphasis of the sisters' jealousy.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Though they were secretive on their own, what each sister could not have known was that on one so fateful night, each had acted in their own right."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The first drew in her sisters' acuity with incantations of greedy gratuity."

Two of the silhouettes fade from view as the first sister grows in size and clarity, her smokey outline reading from a grey book. Her arms wave maniacally as ashen lips speak inaudible words that momentarily render the campfire heatless.

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child blinks.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The second stole their sprightly youth with liquid manner quite uncouth."

A breeze swirls the spellbound witch into another silhouette, this one standing before a boiling cauldron. As she drops a rose into the brew, a flock of crows fly overhead, their raucous calls ushering a chill into the air.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The third performed her nasty show, holding strength in selfish escrow."

The chill in the air causes the flames to recede momentarily, and its trailing smoke sinks to the ground as a dancing figure steps from its hazy embrace. She stomps about the campfire silently, arms akimbo as she chants a wordless invocation.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "But envy is a fickle master, and so their fears arrived yet faster. For each attempt to shirk Lord Time, the sisters were punished for their crimes."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The first went insane, gibbering and mad, now slave to the madness that each witch had."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The second had regressed into a child, all her allure and guile exiled."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The third found herself turned to stone, tough and strong but erosion-prone."

The three sisters return, no longer dancing about the now low fire. A whirlwind of smokey pages swirl about a three-headed, studious sister. Above the infant hangs a rose-shaped rattle, its clattering heard in the crackling of the flames. The final sister stands still, an unmoving statue with arms raised in a fixed, pleading gesture.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Be wary, friends, of envy's call, and the thought of overcoming it all. This life winds down for all with time, so beware the devils within these rhymes..."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The first devil is dementia, the slipping of thoughts, whose misery arrives by the drawing of lots."

A cacophony of whispers accompany the dissipation of the demeted sister into the air.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The second devil is decrepitation, whose sagging folds steal beauty's station."

Billowing folds of flabby smoke surround the infant as she quickly ages into an old crone. A wheezing sigh heralds the dismissal of the decrepit sister into the air.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The third devil is deficiency, whose withering destroys efficiency."

The deficient sister slowly crumbles into a black haze which quickly disbands into the air.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Thank you for listening. Do come back for more stories later."

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum snaps the old tome closed, glancing up with a wry grin.

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Did you enjoy that, little halfling?"

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child claps his hands together merrily.

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child exclaims, "Yes!"

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child says, "Are witches cool?"

Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "I am given to believing you are quite fond of witches."

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child says, "I've only met one."

A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child stares implacably at you.

Taryius

         

Archaeon

if that's what stheno looks like i'm converting rn

Mishgul

This event has easily been one of the most fun things I've participated in, in my entire achaean life. Just having a neutral ground to mingle with people and share experiences under the guise of "trying to sell my wares" has been a very unique experience for me. I know the Asterion Restorationy thingy tried to do something similar but it has always been difficult to justify it without that kind of underhanded "I am doing this for Mhaldor" until now. Every other event in the past 19 years that i've been able to commit to (Not a lot living in the eurozone and having to prioritise my life over Achaea sadly) has been all murder death competition. So it is nice to have an accessible change of pace, especially since I'm losing a lot of my sharpness to illnesses irl.

It has been a great thing to come out of retirement to.

I don't know how to tag all the admin at once, but really nice work. Also to everyone that i've met through the event and all the players who put in huge amounts of effort too. Yay for people.

Armali

Speaking of Mhaldor, those mhun were throwing some MAD shade.

Aegoth

Like mhun matter at all. EZ lv 80 bash spot

Ayani

I think I'm addicted to riding the Moirah... So much fun! I'd throw credits at having one of these around to ride all the time. Just saying! Awesome job whoever thought of it!

Skye

They're offering a non-decay/resetting sidhe chocolate box in the auction, does that mean it's one of the wares that will be denied non-decay/resetting customisation by credits/figurines from the start?

That's something to think about before the auction over inflates the value.