"I do believe all of the games and entertainment are available for the duration of the festival, yes," considering the fae, whose festivals and feasts were known to last for far longer than singular days. Hopefully they will all be able to leave at sunrise freely. Idly he reaches into the bag of onions and takes one out, places it back, and pulls an entirely different species of onion out, then places that one back in.

This repeats for a few times.

Finally, he stops. "There is a game of skill and chance they are calling 'Battleship' in which the prize is a cup of endless nectar that refills on its own, that numbs any pains you might be experiencing. That appears to be the other decent prize of the night. Though, should you fail at the game, you are afflicted with a mild 'curse."

He pauses, and sighs gravely. "My single curse is that with each inhale through my nose has the addition of a strong scent of mustard."