On the outskirts of Neverwinter, they wait to enter the witchlight carnival. Bubbles, glitter, dragonflies flutter through the air. The high pitched sound of a calliope can be heard. Each has been here once before, each has something to reclaim.
A skinny, dirty, patchwork halfling stands in a line, surrounded by freaks of all types. Behind him, an elderly bipedal tortoise espouses the virtues of different spices to a furry humanoid cat, who seems at once enraptured and completely distracted. A tall noble, the very picture of elegance, looks down his nose at the surroundings, trying to disguise his eagerness to enter. A squat draconic kobold drags his heavy plate armor with each step. A bald, bearded human waits patiently, observing the giant dragonflies that flutter around the clearing. A blue figure with tree branches protruding out of her neck, spiralling up to become horns, stands patiently, observing the people around her.
The entry fee is 1 copper piece, low enough for the unwashed masses. One by one, they enter the carnival. What awaits these strange creatures of flesh and bone? In the dark of the woods. Beyond the gates of the witchlight carnival.
—
The halfling spots a sign for a fortune teller, Madam Foggytwists Acts of Sceance, watch her peer beyond the veil! It isnt much, but it’s a start. the halfling enters the smoky tent.
“You’re tiny!” The seer, perched on a low table beyond a glass ball, is a fairy.
“Takes one to know one.” she scowls “Besides, my size has no bearing on my communications with the spirits. Tell me, young one, is there a poor lost soul you wish to speak to once again?”
The halfing is unconvinced. “I thought you were going to tell my future. And I’m not young!”
Foggytwist doesnt miss a beat. “Your future… indeed the spirits tell me of many realms. Tell me, is there something you wish to know?”
The halfling pauses. Looks shiftily side to side. “This doesn’t leave this room alright? I’m looking.. for my height.”
Foggytwists blank stare lasts only a millisecond. “Spirits, come to me! Divine me the location of this poor childs lost height, grant a vision unto me your servant.” Silence falls in the tent, just long enough for the halfling to consider leaving, before the fairy speaks again. “I see… a forest… a tree with no center… a hollow containing… yes… I see… a rod contained within the wood.” She opens her eyes. “Does that help, sir?”
The halfling glares.
“No.”
—
The haughty noble strides through the gates of the circus, his pace and heart rate quickening as he approaches the source of the music. He pushes past a crowd, only to see a monkey in a hate blowing bubbles from a series of tubes. As the bubbles pop, notes permeate the air. The noble gives a sigh loud enough for everyone to hear, making sure to look as dejected as possible.
Nearby, the kobold and the bald human ponder the lost and found.
“What have you got back there?” asks the kobold.
“Oh, many things.” replies the teller
The kobold thinks for a minute. “Do you perhaps have any kobold parents? Perhaps an ability to lie?”
The teller blinks twice, shrugs, and begins going through his stash. He has boxes and boxes of misplaced trinkets. Old rusted lamps, cubes that change color, chess pieces made of glass, prismatic feathers, warbling slunge, geriatric knucklebones, fuzzy spheres. None of it fits the bill.
—
The elderly turtle shuffles slowly… slowly… through the crowd. He makes his way toward the snail racing. Gigantic snails, each as tall as a mule and round, pit their speeds against on another, jockeys perched on shell-mounted saddles. Crowds of cheering onlookers place bets on their chosen stallions.
The turtle finds a seat next to the athletic feline.
“Finally caught up old timer? You here to bet, I’m afraid they may be a lil fast for ya.”
The turtle takes some time to mull over the words. Just as the cat begins to think he may have fallen asleep, he responds.
“mmmmyes. I think I will.” The turtle slowly pulls out some silver from his pocket. Leaning on his crooked staff, he makes his way toward the start line. The feline hops to her feet, impressed by the turtles gumption.
They place their bets, and mount their snails. The weight of the turtle is too much. His snail curls up inside its shell. The turtle looks down, gently tapping the snail with his staff. The feline laughs, then grins at him. “Nice try, old timer.”
The referee takes his stand, and they’re off! The snails work as hard as snails do, go as fast as snails can. Nearing the first bend, disaster strikes. A wayward cabbage from the audience is tossed onto the track. Three of the four snails pile up in a messy wreck, lettuce coating their mouths as they take from the morsel. It looks like the race is about to be a four way tie, before the turtles snail, still in its shell, seems to miraculously glide along the ground and breakneck speeds. A soft breeze whooshes past astounded onlookers as the turtle seizes first place. The referee is astounded, confused, suspicious, but grants the turtle the win.
The feline catches up with the turtle after the race.
“That was amazin’, old timer! How the hell’d you pull that off?”
The turtle stops his frigid advance. Turns half towards the feline. His face is set in an old turtles grin. “I am full of surprises.”
—
The blue figure with branches for horns stands by an enchanted carousel, watching the bustling of the crowd. Her stance is closed off, but her posture relaxed. She observes the architecture of the carousel.
A centaur catches her eye. It’s bumbling around, knocking into people, apologizing profusely. “So sorry… ooh… so sorry!” Every blunder it makes causes three more. “I can’t do this. Why am I here. Ooh gods what am I going to do?” It looks on the verge of tears.
A blue hand places itself on her back.
“Stop.”
The figure jumps, turning to look at the blue skinned woman beside her.
“Be calm.”
The centaurs breathing slows, it looks into the eyes of the woman.
“It’s okay. You’re doing fine. It’s alright.”
The centaurs heart rate returns to normal. Closes its eyes. A calm expression comes over it.
“Do you feel better?” the woman enquires, her voice a gentle tone.
“Yes… yes. Thank you!” the centaur looks around, regaining its bearings. “Yes I think I can do this. Thanks, who are-” turning back to look, the woman has already vanished into the crowd.
—
A scream erupts from a market stall. Carnival-goers turn their heads to look, their mouths wide in cheerful smiles. It takes them a moment to realise it’s not a performance.
A writhing white mass spills out of a jar onto the ground. It expands in volume, forming a cube roughly childsized. The teller is in distress. “Please! Someone, anyone, help!”
A kobold in oversized armor breaks through the crowd. Warbling a cry of war, it attempts to pierce the cube with its rapier. The cube, a jellified mass, absorbs the blow with its spongy exterior. The feline flips in from overhead, aiming with her quarterstaff, but it contacts the slime like it were made of stone. The noble pushes his way to the front of the crowd, observing the situation with a quizzical eye.
“It’s some sort of shape-changer!” he bellows confidently.
The turtle stammers his way into the clearing. “It’s a non newtonion fluid!” He falls onto his belly, flailing with his claws. The jelly is dextrous for something so small. It avoids his blow.
“Non newtonion… of course.” The noble says, as if he’s heard these words before.
The shaggy halfling runs into the clearing, leaping onto the back of the turtle. He uncorks his waterskin, coating the slime in a deluge of water. It does nothing. The halfling, annoyed, taps the turtle with his foot.
“And what the hell does non newt-own-ee-on mean then?”
The turtle responds “Weak attacks have more effect!”
A lightbulb goes off over the nobles head. He leaps into action. “You there, feline, let us switch weapons. Your savage staff for my sharpened rapier. These should suitably offset out skills!”
The felines glare will have to wait until after the fight. Their weapons fly through the air and land in each others palms. They enact a joint attack, being joined by the bald human and branch-horned woman. Madam Foggytwist flies into the arena, slinging bolts of magic light.
A wayward slash splits the cube in two, but the celebrations are cut off when each continues to move! The halfing attempts to grab one in his bedroll, but it seeps right through. Eventually, one of the cubes is stomped by the branch-horned woman, and the other is corralled into a large jar by carnival staff.
The figures stop, panting, looking around to see their fellow combatants.
“We better be gettin’ paid for this.” says the halfling.
—
The group of treated to free food at the feasting orchard. There, over bowls of custard and mugs of ale, Madam Foggytwist offers her services.
“You are all travellers are you not? Perhaps there is something you seek. Let my spirits guide you there.”
“Don’t believe a word of it, it’s all a sham.” says the halfling. The turtle doesnt listen.
“Do you have change for a gold?” he inquires.
“No change, but I do take tips.” The halfling watches slack jawed as the turtle gives away a whole gold piece.
“I see… a cottage upon stilts… in a muck-filled mire. Inside… a shelf… and upon it… a book that dazzles with light.”
The turtles grin spreads wider. “Ahh… ma’s cookbook always did glow like that.”
“Me next, me next!” cries the kobold, rustling in his armor. He eagerly hands over another gold coin.
“For you, my small friend, I see… a hollow tree… and within it… a wand… and…” eyes still closed, the fairy screws up her face. “I see a deadly battle, dragon against dragon. One five headed and fierce, one pearlescent platinum.” she opens her eyes and shakes her head. The kobold looks up at her eyes wide.
“A hollow tree, did you say?” The halfling inquires, breaking the silence. “Perhaps we have something in common, you and I.”
The turtle leans forward “Have you lost something as well, little one?”
“I’m not little!” the halfling protests
“Many people at the carnival have lost things. It seems those who are searching for something often find their way to the witchlight carnival.” says Foggytwist
The branch horned woman studies the fairy closely. The fairy does not notice.
“Oh, but you must come to the big top! I’m sure you’ll get a seat, being heroes of the hour. It’s a magnificent show, you really must come.”
“I was going to go to the forest, start looking for hollow trees… but I suppose I’ve got some time.” says the kobold cheerfully.
—
One hour later, the eight are crammed into seats in a crowded tent. After a loose drumroll and mounting anticipation, the show begins. Marvelous feats of acrobacy, dauntless tasks, dangerous animals, towering heights.
The turtle is distracted from the show. He sees a shadowy figure perched on the edge of the tent, looking around suspiciously, before sneaking through a fold in the cloth.
“Do you see something, old timer?” the feline inquires
“Someone leaving early. Now why would they want to do that?”
Foggytwist leans in, “That is strange. I ought to take a look.”
“Aye, this seems more interesting than a bunch o’ flips. I’ll come with.” the halfling begins darting under the legs of showgoers, the fairy flies overtop. The branch-horned woman stops the fairy.
“Wait. Take this.” she says, providing one of her hairs. The hair coils around the fairies finger like a snake.
Once the fairy and the halfling are gone, the bald man inquires. “What does that do?”
“It means I can see them. Now hold me up, I lose my senses while I do this.”
The fairy catches up to the figure first, revealed to be a small raven-like humaniod - a kenku. It carries a sack of trinkets.
“What are you leaving so early for?” accuses the fairy.
The kenku jumps. “What, am I not allowed to leave a show? What the hell do you want?”
Before it can react, the fairy reaches out and touches the kenkus arm, opening her mind to the spirits. She sees a powerful towering woman standing over a cauldron, a devilish grin spread across her face. She sees a castle on a hill, lightning striking behind it, she sees figures with their mouths agape, groaning, yet no sound will come out. She is jolted out of her vision by the halflings yelling.
“What the hell’re you doin, foggytwist? You let ’im get away!”
They give chase to the kenku, who has darted through the crowds into the hall of illusion. Within, the duo see no sign of the kenku, but they do see a clown. Or rather, what looks like a clown, except drained of all color. The monochromatic figure attempts to speak to them, but it seems it cannot produce a voice. The duo struggle to get any information out of the mute clown.
“Alright, can you go back and get the others?” asks the halfling, but as the fairy moves to comply, the rest of the party enters the hall.
“How the hell..?” but the halfling is ignored.
The branch-horned woman approaches the clown. As it gestures to her, she nods her head.
“He says that the kenku stole his voice and fled deeper into the maze. She’s looking for a magical portal through one of the mirrors.”
“You got all that through gestures?” asks the dumbfounded halfling.
“It’s easy to learn if you’re willing to listen.” says the branch-horned woman before pressing on into the hall of mirrors. The halfling and the bald man get lost, but with some help they find the kenku, trying to jam her foot into a solid mirror.
The kenku looks like shes about to run for it, when the noble strides forward, unsheathing his rapier and pointing it at her. “Unhand that which is not yours, blaggard, your villainy ceases now.”
“No! I need this… for my patron!”
The noble raises an eyebrow. “And your patron is… where exactly?”
The kenkus eyes dart towards the mirror then back to the sword. “She’s… through the mirror!”
“You seem to be having a tough time making your way through. Could it be that your patron has tossed you aside. Found you… unworthy?”
The kenku looks desperately toward the mirror. She seems about to leap for it.
“Enough!” commands the noble. “Justice is at hand. You are beaten, blaggard. Bequeath us your goods and surrender to the law.”
The kenku looks around at her seven other enemies. She drops her sack, looking towards the floor. Countless shiny metal trinkets spill onto the floor.
The branch-horned woman approaches. “Where is the clowns voice.”
The kenku slowly produces a small doll in the likeness of the clown from her cloak and hands it to the woman. The woman looks down on the kenku with a mix of pity and distaste.
“Thank you.” she says
The clown is returned his voice, and explains that tricksters taking things has been a common occurrence as of late, and that surely the carnival overseers will want to speak with them about this. Madam Foggytwist leads them to an ornate caravan.
The door opens as they approach, and a slender elf in a flamboyant suit presents himself. He holds a cane adorned with a butterfly. His pale face is a wide smile, but his eyes twinkle with mischevy.
“Welcome, welcome! We have been expecting you. I am Mr. Witch. Come in, come in.”
The kenku is taken by carnival staff. The eight pile into the caravan. An oversized man sits and an undersized desk. The elf takes a place to his right.
“And this, is Mr. Light. We are in your debt it seems. For defeating a slime and capturing a thief!”
“Not just a thief.” says the noble. “She took a man’s voice!” exclaims the halfling.
Mr. Witch and Mr. Light look at each other.
“Her work?” says Mr. Witch.
“Undoubtedly.” says Mr. Light.
“Any of the three?” inquires Mr. Witch.
“One, both and all, I’d say.” answers Mr. Light.
“Is this why you were expectin’ us? So you could say words to one another?” snaps the halfling. Mr. Light shoots him a glance that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“There are now Two before You, but We were once Three.” he speaks with rhythmic intonation, smiling.
“Our compatriot.” The bigger man speaks slower. Lower pitched. “Iggwilv, though you may also know her as Tasha, once worked with us. But ever since she locked herself in the plane of Prismere, she has been sending her agents to steal things. Not just things things, but untouchable things as well. Height, lies, so on.”
“Indeed” chimes in Mr. Witch, “it’s become quite a problem. As you will see on the wall behind you-” the eight turn to look at a large dial on the wall. A series of faces ranging from misery to overjoy is painted on the wall. A thin golden rod, capped with a rose-quartz butterfly, points at a face which frowns slightly, just to the left of the center. “-we have ways of keeping track of the fun or un-fun which our carnival attracts. The more forlorn souls enter - or are created within - our carnival, the worse things will get. We have been backed into a corner by Tasha’s efforts.”
Mr. Witch looks at Mr. Light. Mr. Light nods. Mr. Witch looks back at the 8.
“We would like you to help us. Aid us against these terrible actions of Tasha.” The halfling opens his mouth. “You will, of course, be paid for this great service to us.” The halfling shuts his mouth.
The group share an anxious look together. The halfling steps forward. He points at the kobold and the turtle. “You’ve lost something. You’ve lost something. I’ve lost something. Have we all lost something?” The members of the party slowly shake their heads. “That binds us together. If someones gonna get paid for it, why not us?”
Some are still unsure, but they come to an agreement.
“We’ll do it.”
The group exit the caravan into the cool night air. The sounds of applause erupt from the big top tent.
“Well, it seems like we’re in for more than we’d bargained for.” says the turtle.
“Indeed, and now we are to work together.” surmises the bald human.
“I’ve seen what ya’ll can do up against a white cube. As long as it’s all those we should have no problem.” says the feline, grinning.
The noble stands up straight, fiddling with his scabbard to make sure it sits just right. He wears a slight frown. “Well, if we are to work together.” The others look at him trepidatiously. The noble scans their faces, drinking in the uncertainty, before folding into a slight smile.
“I’d like to know your names.”