childrenofbahamutlogs | EVENT #1: FAE FESTIVITIES

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EVENT #1: FAE FESTIVITIES

INTO THE WOODS

Click Clock Wood (Spring) by Grant Kirkhope

2:05 / 4:59

▶︎

Click here to listen.

Grant Kirkhope is a Scottish composer and voice actor for video games and film. Some of his notable works include GoldenEye 007, Banjo-Kazooie, Donkey Kong 64, and Perfect Dark, among many others.

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After making your way through the tiny farming town of Ich and out towards the rim of a massive raised crater, you will find yourself being led through a narrow split in the canyon wall. Inside, glow worms cling to the ceiling and create the illusion of a thousand twinkling stars above the moistened rocks.

When you finally emerge, it is into an impossibly lush landscape of massive, redwood-sized tangling trees and a soft moss carpet. Life abounds here. It feels like an oasis of birdsong and animal activity.

A short walk leads you to the prepared party-grounds. A large clearing with quaint huts all around decorated with strange flowers for partygoers to rest or otherwise entertain themselves.

There appear to be several games and stalls set up, the sweet and savory scents of delicious food fills the air, and so do the patrons of the forest. Seemingly hundreds of Fae folk zip around and greet the newcomers excitedly by placing garlands of vines and crowns of flowers atop their heads.

Glowing flowers and toadstools light your way here. It also seems that even the animals get in on the festivities! Really, just about everything talks here. Almost everything, anyways! Talking to a tree stump might not yield many results but you're welcome to try.

Each entrant is also provided upon arrival a copy of The Rules. A rolled parchment that resists water or any other damage. It also prevents you from writing on it so you can't just do what you want.

The rules read as follows:

DO:

ONLY

DO NOT:

TRADE

OTHER ITEMS TO NOTE:

old woman

GAMES & ENTERTAINMENT

Amongst the games and attractions are a variety of fun possibilities!

GAMES

Battleship! (Fae Style!)

a cup of nectar that refills endlessly, and numbs any pains you may have.

curse

dissipate after a time

Dress Up Darlings!

how

Bobbing For Onions!

Bag of Onions

What's In The Box?

ENTERTAINMENT

Slayd & The Possums!

play

The Crowning of the King of Misrule!

a lottery

King of Misrule

Special Gift

FOR THE FOOLISH

Ahh, but there are rule breakers amongst us aren't there? If you choose to sneak away from the party, chances are nobody will stop you; however, you are now on your own in the Talahee Forest.

FIRST LAYER

Rak'tika Greatwood Theme ( Civilizations ) by Masayoshi Soken

4:34 / 5:15

▶︎

Click here to listen.

"Civilizations" prominently features a female vocalist. The lyrics are in the Ronkan language, and has not been officially translated.

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The first layer of the forest is very much similar to what you have already seen. Everything is coated in a thick mat of moss and trees wind away like a massive birds nest to form the canopy above. The faint sounds of animals can still be heard. Up here, you may encounter Fae who did not attend the party. They'll ask you your name and other personal details.

Best that you lie.

SECOND LAYER

Click Clock Wood (Autumn) by Grant Kirkhope

1:12 / 4:11

▶︎

Click here to listen.

Grant Kirkhope is a Scottish composer and voice actor for video games and film. Some of his notable works include GoldenEye 007, Banjo-Kazooie, Donkey Kong 64, and Perfect Dark, among many others.

code

The further in that you head, the darker the forest gets. It seems you are following a downward slope. The trees get bigger here, as do the insects and toadstools. Bioluminescence rules down here it seems. You may encounter stranger creatures here. Ones that will try to make very tempting trades for your personal belongings. Things that will seem like an amazing deal to you. They offer magical items of great power, or even personal effects from home.

Don't be fooled though. These objects are cursed, and are not at all what they seem. You have the distinct feeling of being watched at all times here.

⁂ Possible Encounters: Owlbear, Displacer Beast, Giant Badger

THIRD LAYER

Saint Mocianne's Arboretum (Hard) by Masayoshi Soken

2:50 / 5:10

▶︎

Click here to listen.

...hordes of aggressive plant life exposed to the strange substance stand between you and the information you seek.

code

Are you getting smaller or is everything else getting bigger? Were Slayd here, he would have told you about the concept of Deep Forest Gigantism. The deeper you go - just like the ocean - the larger that the flora and fauna get.

You are dwarfed by the mushrooms here in the pitch darkness and only guided by the latent glow of the creatures and fungi that dwell here. Bugs the size of house-cats skitter in your wake. Are you sure you want to be here? Should you encounter anything larger, you’d best stay silent. Or run!

⁂ Possible Encounters: Giant predatory Elk (RUN), Rodents of Unusual Size, Extra Large Bugs

FOURTH LAYER

Poison Tree by Grouper

0:30 / 3:16

▶︎

Click here to listen.

'Poison Tree' is a meditation on the complexities of anger and the internal conflict it causes. It draws inspiration from William Blake's poem of the same name.

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The trees seem to clear out here as you reach the bottom of the forest. There is no light here so hope you brought a match. The landscape down here is a blanket of moss dotted with countless shallow pools. Looking into one of these pools, you will see your reflection... though it may look different in some way.

You will feel extremely compelled to reach down and touch the reflection in the water. Should you give in, you feel as though your world is turning upside down. You could receive memories not quite your own. Memories of a different version of you, even! (CRAU, Canon Update, or Canon AU!)

Yet, you will be experiencing them as your own. A long time could pass in your mind while only seconds have only elapsed in reality. Upon waking, you will find that you have been ejected from the party and the forest entirely. You find yourself at the entrance to the crater. Disoriented, and compelled not to re-enter, you have only yourself to blame as you must shamble your way home with this burdensome knowledge.

Notes

⁂ For the game prizes, we're using the honor system here! So long as you clear the roll then you can receive a prize with no mod permission needed.

Battleship

above a 13

Bobbing For Onions

above a 10

⁂ To sign up for The Crowning of the King of Misrule, comment here! We'll RNG the winner likely within a few days to a week to give folks time to participate if they want!

⁂ The plotting post for this event/November is up!

⁂ Additionally, we have a state of the game post available to people read about updates, clarifications, and a poll to participate in!

⁂ If you have any further questions or feedback about this event specifically, please comment here!

⁂ Full Navigation ⁂

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Someone like him, hm? Who can even begin to guess at what that means.

"'Tis what one grows used to," he says, his face beginning to ache from the force of his smile. "There was a time when I wouldn't even begin to tolerate these so-called social excursions. Nowadays they are simply an inconvenience. Proper planning certainly helps, however. A 'good' party is like a piece of music, it should have a rhythm; a flow."

Emet-Selch doesn't immediately answer Byleth's question. Indeed the man seems reticent to begin digging in with abandon - and he's trying to concentrate on his present task besides, taking a moment to test the solidity of the platter he soon holds within his hands.

He arches an eyebrow at Byleth's reaction.

"Aye. You don't truly wish for me to eat off of the same plate, do you? Though if it's at all like my previous attempts, it will likely dissipate after a few bells."

His Creation Magicks have been distinctly finicky since his arrival, as if they require something more to keep them properly grounded. Emet-Selch has also found that complex spellwork leaves him feeling winded, but then he wouldn't expect the magical laws of this world to be precisely the same as those of Etheirys.

Well...

Since Byleth is clearly curious, he passes over the plate so he might examine it more closely and convince himself that it is indeed (for the time being) real.

"Still a little too much excitement, I take it?"

The erstwhile professor listens attentively, really mulling over the meaning of the words. Like music, he says? Hm. Byleth has never been very musically inclined. Choir practice in the church was... not his favorite.

"I should very much like to attend what you would consider a good party. It sounds very specific."

When Emet mentions eating off the same plate, there's a glimmer of clarity, and Byleth's eyebrows knit faintly.

"Oh, yes. I apologize if that's rude. That is simply how I was raised. My father and I would often share food in this way." He's about to rise to his feet but he's immediately distracted by the pull of curiosity about the object that's now handed to him. He turns it over and over in his hands, delicately examining every detail. He runs a finger over the decorations around the rim.

"This is the kind of excitement I prefer," he says, tilting his head to look at the bottom of the plate once more before handing it back. "If you could make something so finely crafted by simply a snap, I imagine you must be able to do a great deal more. I... won't pry unless you are amicable to indulge me." He learned from the last time.

Ah, but he remembers.

"Let me fetch you another plate. It wouldn't do to have that dissipate in the middle of eating."

"Organization is key," Emet-Selch insists, as if it's law.

"Though not so stringent that there is no room at all left for spontaneity. You will be waiting a long time if you are expecting me to be the one to host it, however. But while I don't see myself going through the trouble required of such a thing, if someone were to twist my arm about it, I suppose I could extend a courtesy invitation."

It would only be fair. One good turn deserving another and all that. But as Byleth explains these habits first formed with his father, Emet-Selch finds himself listening again. To share a plate with a new acquaintance still strikes him as strange, but perhaps he grew up with little. Or perhaps his childhood was one spent regularly on the move. Certainly nothing like what Emet-Selch is used to. Nothing like the laughably opulent dining hall that once existed in Garlemald's imperial palace, and as for his own father... Long ago as it was, he can scarcely remember the man.

Emet-Selch is quick to stop him, his voice rising sternly as Byleth makes to rise yet again.

"It won't. Sit down, Professor. You needn't keep jumping up and flitting off every few moments to fetch me things."

Though it's a considerate gesture, he supposes. If mostly unnecessary. Although he's still smiling somewhat, there's a firm set about his brow as he shakes his head and points the edge of the plate at him accusingly.

"You're just like him, aren't you? Never doing anything by halves. Why don't you sit still and tell me a bit about your father? Then we'll see about having a discussion on creation magicks."

Edited 2024-11-27 19:14 (UTC)

Byleth has the feeling that it wouldn't be too hard to 'twist his arm' about it, but he's not about to insist on that kind of thing. He just nods, listening carefully to the guidelines of a good party for the moment.

He does stop when Emet tells him to sit, like an obedient dog he returns to his place.

"If you are certain." He says as he nods his head. He supposes it is distracting from the conversation to keep getting up... perhaps it's just his instinct to fetch things for people. He gleans no small measure of enjoyment from it, and all at the monastery always appreciated it. He had always been good at finding things.

Ah, about his father... he considers for a moment, deciding on the best way to describe him.

"He was a very kind man. He raised me by himself in the mercenary company. It sounds like a strange choice, but he was attempting to hide me from those he believed may do me harm." He closes his eyes briefly to imagine Jeralt's warm, comforting face. "He taught me everything himself. How to read and write, tactics, how to defend myself, how to cook and fish. I never properly appreciated him until he was gone."

His eyes open again and he looks down at the dewy grass beneath him.

"I resolved to always try to appreciate those I care about while I have them. He died protecting me, and I have always strived to emulate the lessons he taught me. Be kind, even-handed, trusting but not foolishly so, to always do everything one can for the best outcome. Jeralt was my captain and my father, and I now know how lucky I was to have him as both." His neutral expression shifts very clearly for this. Far more dramatically than it has for anything else Emet has seen of him. A fond sadness, but with a clear sense of pride.

"He always told me I was so much like my mother, Sitri. I never knew her, but apparently I share her affect and sense of practicality, according to him."

Emet-Selch isn't certain how to take the remark about Byleth and his mother sharing the same affect. Was she, too, as subdued in manner? Yet even that doesn't sound quite correct. Byleth is a difficult sort to read, but there are moments - such as when he speaks of his father - where his expressions and personality rise more clearly above the otherwise still waters of his usual mien.

Has any wise man or fool ever said that the best way to understand the soul of a person is to hear them speak of those they hold dear? Perhaps not, but it would not be wrong to say so, he thinks.

Emet-Selch remains politely quiet, weighing Byleth's words and the way they seem to flow from him. At some point, his mouth manages to un-stick itself - for a mercy. It would hardly be appropriate to don a ridiculous smile when one is speaking of such a thing. There was a time when Emet-Selch would not have understood such sadness, when only the fondness and pride would have resonated with him - but now he understands all too well.

"Men like him are the most difficult to lose, or so I have found," he says at last. "'Tis clear you both cared deeply for one another, and that he gave fully of himself to see you succeed. No doubt he would be proud to know that you yet carry his lessons and his legacy with you."

Emet-Selch pauses, summoning a fork into his free hand (it seems the "snap" itself is wholly unnecessary), and at last skewering a piece of the fruit to add to his own plate.

"Mine own parents returned to the star when I was still young, shortly after I entered into the Akadaemia Anyder. They were fine individuals, dedicated in their work, yet you could not have called us 'close'. Not in the way you and your father were."

Edited 2024-12-02 01:21 (UTC)

"Did you have people like that in your life?" Byleth tilts his head. Emet had no close relationship with his own parents, as he said. That doesn't mean he didn't have people, though. He sounds like he speaks from experience.

"I've learned that blood relations do not always make a family. I was lucky enough to be close to my father, but many more people came into my life later. They are... also precious to me. In a different way, but no less profound." He fidgets with a string of moss between his fingers, watching as Emet summons a fork from nothing. Trying not to stare at the fork.

"Tell me of those you love." The request is so plain it's almost embarrassing for the earnest nature of it. Byleth seems either unaware or uncaring of how naive it may make him sound. Surely, everyone has someone they love in one way or another.

Some ways are less understandable than others, but who is he to tell anyone they're wrong?

He does speak from experience. A particular one among a thousand, thousand, experiences, but--

Emet-Selch openly balks for a moment, mouth slightly agape as if he has never been asked such a question before, and then lets out a loud, embarrassed and highly uncomfortable huff. He might never get used to the blunt and painfully earnest way Byleth simply speaks his mind, asks whatever he wishes in whatever way he pleases.

But at last he relents.
(Byleth did just tell him about his father, after all...)

"Oh, fine. I suppose I can tell you, since one of them so delights in sharing stories of our bygone days when he thinks I am not around to notice."

He'll require food for the telling, though, and so it is that he finally transfers a reasonable amount of the refreshments onto his own plate, leaving more than enough for Byleth. He might also notice that Emet-Selch doesn't touch anything overly sweet and saccharine, seeming to favor more savory dishes, and those of a more natural composition: meats, fruits, vegetables, nuts, and the like.

"You won't mind if I change their names," he starts. "In light of the rules set forth by the fae. Indeed, it's much as you have said. One need not be related by blood to have a profound impact upon the life of another. Long, long ago, when I had yet to grow into my robes properly, I was accosted by a boy named Risus. In those days I had little interest in companionship (being far more interested in books and honing my magical ability), but Risus persisted. In truth, this was the first time I had met someone whose soul sight surpassed mine. Initially, I was vexed. Being a natural gift, there was no way I could rise to meet him in this area. But gradually, and with no small amount of needling, Risus found in me an (unwilling) co-conspirator for his mischief, and I my very first friend. Though he may seem a frivolous sort, Risus is a singularly selfless individual who remains in the wings, offering support to others so they might reach their full potential - even to his own detriment."

Emet-Selch pauses briefly now and again, his table manner considerable. You won't catch him speaking with his mouth full, that much is for certain, although it seems (perhaps surprisingly) as if the otherwise dour man has a knack for storytelling.

"We met Aurora some time after. A pupil of the Traveler, and one with an insatiable desire for adventure. Hardly a surprise that Aurora and Risus became fast friends, and I dragged along in their wake. Aurora was alike the sibling I never had, hotheaded and compassionate, never taking "no" for an answer if a problem could be resolved and the world left a little brighter for it. The sort of rival one admires rather than detests."

"The three of us became inseparable. And it is because of them and their meddling that I was offered a seat on the Convocation, and thereby found my life's purpose."

Byleth feels some small measure of victory at getting Emet to speak of his own past. He seems like the uptight sort. Somewhat reminded of Seteth in many ways. As he begins to tell his story, Byleth tucks his knees up and leans his head on them to listen.

His preference in food is silently noted as well.

If he closes his eyes he can almost imagine a tiny Emet-Selch running around in a robe that fits him like a potato-sack. Though he has a hard time imagining his face any differently, so it's more like just a very short version of him with an adult head. Creepy, but eh. It doesn't take away from the meaning he gleans from the tale.

It's not hard to gather the warmth and love there, the way he words things. Grudging affection, but no less powerful. He is somewhat envious of the idea of having friends since childhood like that. He was lucky enough to have his father though, and their lifestyle did not lend well to making friends. The mercenary company members treated him much as family anyways.

"They sound wonderful." He says finally, clearly basking in the sentiment there like a little sponge. "You must love them dearly. How fortunate not to just have one but two people like that." He means what he says too.

"How did you go about showing your affection? That is something I have always struggled with."

"They were," he says distractedly, as if he's still watching something very, very far away. "Are in one case. As you have said, we never fully appreciate nor understand the shape these people have carved into our lives until we blink - and they are gone."

Emet-Selch does not confirm nor deny the rest, although the answer is plain even to someone who does not know him well. Grudging affection, indeed. A well of deep and abiding love buried beneath a mountain.

It's the question that finally drags Emet-Selch back across the eons. Abrupt enough that his eyes widen as his head whips in Byleth's direction. He manages to look taken aback before his scowl catches up with him - having now returned in full.

"I beg your pardon??" he sputters, sounding mildly scandalized. He lets out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head as if Byleth has somehow broken an unspoken code of etiquette. "You do just say whatever it is that pops into your head regardless of how others will react, don't you? I'm hardly the most appropriate person to be asking a question like that."

"Still. It is not a matter I would find myself worrying about. Their are some individuals, like the Emissary, who are open with their affection and choose to convey it with words, compliments, and a gentle hand. Others have their own way. Mayhap it shows in their acts of service, or the time they spend in another's company. Or mayhap they do not show it at all and simply feel it privately. None of these are wrong."

Ah. He's asked something strange again, hasn't he? He turns, watching Emet fuss. His head begins to tilt, just a hint. Well at least he's broken free of that unnerving smile.

"I- ah. Are you not?" he seemed like he knew a great deal of love and affection, the way he spoke of his dear friends just moments before. He elaborates nonetheless. He does make a rather large to-do about things he decides to do anyways. Curious man. Byleth is reminded somewhat of Felix, though he was far less mature about it. Far more obvious.

Regardless, it's clear enough, he's guarding. Byleth is familiar with this. Withholding things that desire to come out, despite best efforts.

"My father once said there was such a thing as 'love languages'. I never really understood that much, but I think I'm beginning to." He wonders what his own might be? "Do you feel it privately then? Or do you go out and do things for your friends?"

'Tis a small blessing, truly. Emet-Selch's expressions are no longer at odds with his fussing, though his hair is certainly still shedding dandelion fluff and he still smells as if he just stepped out of a bakery.

"No, I would not say so. I am the keeper of the aetherial realm, remember? Not a specialist in human emotion." Though the longer Emet-Selch hedges and grumbles over the question, perhaps Byleth will get the sense that it isn't that he is unqualified to speak on such things, it's simply that he is unwilling to put it into words when asked so directly about his own personal experiences. He could speak on his friends for bells, but as for his feelings, well... Guarding is is, indeed.

"By the star, are we still going on about this? Why do you keep asking? I haven't thought about it all that much." Which is...more than likely not true, given the man has had thousands of years to dwell upon such things if he so wished. "As I've said, there isn't a wrong way to go about it, necessarily. You will just have to figure out what works best for you when an appropriate situation presents itself."

Edited 2024-12-10 16:55 (UTC)

Byleth sighs at the answer, propping his chin in his hand. His eyes set on Emet-Selch with an unreadable gaze, clearly examining him before eventually turning away.

"I won't press you further on it then." There is so much he still doesn't understand. He regarded himself as 'very normal', but so many others treated him otherwise. In every direction. Fear and adoration. Curiosity and hate. It became abundantly clear that he needed to learn more, know more, about expressing himself.

There is no wrong way.

Hm.

"Thank you for your insight." He will glean from it what he can, and he would be remiss to not express some appreciation. He also knows when to push and when not to, however. People are fickle creatures no matter what place or time they are from, it seems. Instead, he shifts to a different idea.

"Would you care to dance?"

Emet-Selch returns the look with a blunt (if stubborn) stare of his own, carefully training his expression to its default sternness. And then he is freed from such scrutiny, which he punctuates by tossing the last morsel from his own plate into his mouth and chewing it slowly.

The response earns a shrug as Emet-Selch allows the now-empty plate to disperse back into aether, the only indication it ever existed being a few shimmering motes of magic that soon vanish into nothing.

"I'm not a fan of being pressed, but I look forward to news of your progress nonetheless." Not that it's of any consequence to him, really, but 'tis clear Byleth is keen to figure things out when it comes to matters of the heart. How unusual that someone so seemingly surrounded by people (being a teacher, at that), who has dedicated his time to academic service, could be so puzzled when it comes to expressing affection for and appreciation of others. Then again, much of his expertise has a more military lean, if Emet-Selch recalls their initial conversation correctly. Perhaps, following his father's passing, there simply wasn't opportunity to dwell upon more tender topics.

Huh?

Emet-Selch blinks.

"Would I care to?" he repeats, and it is immediately clear that this idea hadn't even crossed his mind for all that he has, in fact, paused to observe the musicians and those partaking of quick-footed merrymaking more than once over the course of his visit. "And what, exactly, left you with the impression that twirling about was even on my agenda for the evening?"

"I suppose I'll have to keep you updated." Byleth says with some amusement to his tone. He's fascinated watching Emet banish the created plate, the shimmering motes that dissipate reflected in pale eyes.

Ahh, but yes. The more important matter is at hand.

"Nothing, that's why I'm asking." He extends his hand as an invitation. "It's a party, is it not? Dancing is often expected, at least where I am from." Even the rowdy, drunken parties that the old mercenary company had included some dancing. Haphazard and usually ending in injury or property damage, but dancing nonetheless.

"Perhaps I could teach you a dance from my world?"

"I suppose you will," he says, though it's clear enough that he has no such expectations and that he is also in on the joke.

But, yes.

Emet-Selch regards the proffered hand. He's well aware of how common dancing is at these sorts of gatherings, of course, but it has always been optional. And really, who would dare tell the Emperor of Garlemald that he must waddle out onto the ballroom floor in his armor and cane and cut a rug, as it were? No one, obviously.

Emet-Selch mostly just appears less than eager to get up from where he's resting and go through the trouble of exerting himself without good reason.

"It is a party, yes, and I have noticed some few people dancing - though not all. Are you truly so eager to have your feet trod upon for the sake of a lesson?"

Brave man. Brave, but foolish. Emet-Selch still hasn't agreed, however; he seems to prefer to be difficult.

Edited 2025-01-09 17:07 (UTC)

Byleth shrugs, a slight tilt of his head at the assertion that Emet makes.

"I've had far worse done to me. I wouldn't mind. But I also won't needle you into it." Byleth isn't really keen on trying to convince someone to any great effort today. As such, he stands there, shifting his weight to his other foot.

His gaze is as reticent as ever. So much so that it creates that awkward vacuum of conversation or action that Byleth is so often prone to producing by his mere presence. He's like a video game character waiting for a dialogue option input from a player who has forgotten to return.

(What is he, a masochist...? )

Emet-Selch shifts to rest one arm upon his knee, gesturing freely with the other in a dismissive 'well, what can you do about these things, eh?' sort of a way.

"Well, haven't we all?" the question is meant to be rhetorical, an insertion of some levity for what might otherwise be an awkward situation for the both of them. Or an uncomfortable conversation. Emet-Selch doesn't inquire into what Byleth means by his words, simply continues to speak into the resulting silence as if the other man hasn't just fallen abnormally silent.

"Fortunately for you, I must insist upon sparing you the discomfort this time. Consider it my thanks for the...snacks."

Though what Emet-Selch should probably be thanking him for is the company. The Ancient glances up at him, not revealing much in the way of his own thoughts. Indeed, the professor certainly is a strange one, but he seems to mean well in his especially unique way. Mayhap he'll repay him for real in the future. After all, unselfish kindness is a rare trait in this world, one half-forgotten.

Emet-Selch shakes his head.

"A shame these trees don't much lend themselves to napping. Much more of this merriment and I may grow weary simply from observing it all."

"Yes... well. I think mostly due to the clamor of the event. I bet I could suss out a good napping tree if I really tried." After all, all that moss does seem rather cushy. Byleth stares off into the forest, glowing with magic light.

"Hmm. In fact, I may take a walk. You are welcome to join me of course, but a break from the noise might be nice."

Byleth waits a moment more before getting to his feet again. Perhaps Emet can delay the inevitable. Either way though, he will end up walking into that forest.

Emet-Selch appears less than keen to move from his current position, though his brow does furrow in displeasure as Byleth reveals his plans. He's had quite enough excitement for one day, and although there may be a slight tug of curiosity in his heart-of-hearts, intrigued by what lies beyond the clearing, the last thing he needs is a gaggle of magical creatures descending upon him to enact punishment for ignoring their carefully written house rules.

"That may well be, and yet I specifically recall the fae ordering us not to go wandering off into the woods, and certainly not alone. Whilst even I've a penchant for breaking the rules on occasion, I believe such a venture would be ill-advised."

He offers a shrug. "You may do as you like, of course. Simply experience talking. The last time I decided to take a nap in an unfamiliar forest, I was set upon by a group of ferocious Viis. Therefore, I will be remaining here, clamor or no."

Ah, yes, the inevitable. Would things have turned out differently had Emet-Selch accompanied the professor on his ill-advised walk? There's simply no way of knowing. Yet perhaps, in its way, that one misstep set something else into motion.

Cause and effect.
Or what some people call: fate.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

EVENT #1: FAE FESTIVITIES

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Roll for persuasion. Need 12+ to dance (halfheartedly) and 16+ to dance (well)

he failed so bad

it's par for the course for these two, it's okay

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Fin?

Fin!