"Well, I think that I'm the last person to ask my Lady"he replies to Sercha but he does perks up in further excitement that he has been addressed directly with a vital question.
"I would suggest you ask for help from the Ringmaster through there" He points through the big top.
"If you want to find this, Sir Meloigne you ask for, you will need to go forever onward on a mighty quest, get the tokens to find the Fortress and free the realm from tyranny!" [i]He is getting ever more dramatic after being egged on by Alainn on multiple occasions.
Alas, I must now excuse myself now I have fulfilled my own role in this very story to return to my cookery and culinary delights. Perhaps we shall cross paths again in the future. I bid you adieu."
With a low bow he takes off into the night.
Lydia's lips quirk up in just the hint of a smile at Sercha's words, but it vanishes when she turns away. She sighs softly and focuses on the task at hand.
"To the Ringmaster, then. May Desna guide our steps."
The inquisitor casts heroism on herself and Sercha before stepping into the tent.
"People that use elvish words always give me the feeling that they're trying to seem smarter than they are," Sercha mutters to herself once the cook strange man leaves.
"To the ringmaster,' Sercha echoes.
Alainn follows along muttering and fanning through the cards again.
"Hmm... If I can just find the right cards!"
The shabby circus tent seems larger inside than out, curving upward in nauseatingly bright patterns and disappearing into darkness far overhead beyond a tightrope and trapeze. Two precarious bleachers filled with an assortment of bored-looking people flank a large performing space littered with half-eaten food and cheap novelties.
In the performance space, you see what looks like a very sad-imitation of a circus performance. You all arrive in the midst of an unusual animal act and juggling combination. In the centre of the tent you can see a stone giant juggling several household items and, weirdly enough, what look like custard pies. Around him, four bears are riding around on unicycles, waving at the crowd in desperate hope for attention.
As you enter the tent, you find yourself standing at the edge of the performance space itself and the eyes of the audience start turning towards you - you are all now the centre of attention. You hear a lone voice towards the back of the audience shout and a few others, sounding hostile, join in with the call to alleviate their boredom.
Noticing what is going on around her, Alainn recognises that the story played out in front of them was shown on some of the cards she saw a few seconds ago.
The performers do not seem too enthusiastic of this newfound need from the audience, but in an effort to please them, they turn towards you.
"Oooo." The gathlain says, one pack of cards disappearing the other fanning out like a magic trick. "You, you and..." It pauses, examining the audience curiously... "And this, I think."
Alainn looks at the 'heroes' with a grin. "I've got this!"
Wings kick out with a snap and Alainn lifts into the air and swoops over to the giant. "You're the Juggler." The gathlain says with a smile. "Could you stop for a minute? I'd appreciate it if you held me up so I can speak to everyone." She hands the giant his card. "Would you mind helping me with a couple of things? Make some shadows and stuff, nothing major? Please?"
"Bears! Take a break, I've got this!" Alainn call downwards, dropping a second card to fall among the unicyclers.
"Listen up, laadies aaaaaand gentlemen!"The gathlain calls, its voice booming around the tent with what can only be magical assistance. "What sort of carnival is this? We need more than one act! We need excitement, we need magic, we need wonder! And luckily, I have the show for you! Down below me you see two fabulously fair females! Fierce fighters who will flaunt with fantastic flair their famous fighting skills. It would be farcical for you to miss it!"
Just to make the point the gathlain conjures a set of colourful lights which dance above Lydia's head.
"Ladies and Gentlemen I present to you, the lovely, the lucious (she's single ladies, don't all jump her at once!) the Lady of Luck, Lydia!"
"Aaaand on the other side, a woman whom the very shadows obey. Scion of shadow, stealer of hearts, glorious gloomwalker, iiiiiit's Sercha!"
"I am your host and it is my humble honor to welcome you to the performance. Now, today we find our heroes lost in a dark wood." Alainn snaps fingers and the floating lights vanish. With a whispered word the giant holds out its large hand, casting Lydia and Sercha into darkness.
"This did not afear our heroes, for they have confronted and slain many foes worse than mere darkness... but in that darkness they heard..." Rustling comes from beneath the bleachers, a dry, slithering sound, as though a mighty serpent was making its way through the undergrowth...
Lydia does her best to play along with Alainn’s act. ”Um... What ho! A foul serpent slithers towards us, Sercha. Draw your weapon, and put your courage to the sticking place!”
She makes a show of drawing her blade as she play fights against the shadows.
Sercha stiffens as all the attention is directed at Lydia and herself. All the eyes upon her is grist for her nightmare mill. Her head snaps to her companion when Lydia joins the farce.
"There's no ... A serpent? Yes, a serpent. We must fight the ... the serpent. And kill it. The serpent."
With a gesture, she pulls shadowstuff from the ether and her blade forms. Now holding her weapon, she stands rigid as a board.
The giant grunts at Alainn acknowledging the request, but Alainn is not entirely sure if that is an agreement. The card somehow defies physics to join the giant's juggling items.
The bears don't move away from the ring, but do fall back a few feet away from the centre watching closely, heads flitting between the audience and the new arrivals.
As the performance begins, and the heroes step forward, the crowd's chants of "Fight! Fight! Fight!" slacken off and they start paying attention to the new performance waiting to see what happens next.
"The sound of the mighty fire drake of Octorbar!" Alainn proclaims in a shouted whisper. "A fearsome beast which slew twenty brave knights in a single battle! Our heroines, with brains to match their beauty, knew that they could not simply charge face on to the beast. Instead they moved quietly to outflank the beast, Lydia moving cautiously through the trees and Sercha sneaking down the main road."
As the heroines (hopefully) split up and begin to 'sneak' around the arena, Alainn abandons the giant to create a silhouette against the tent ceiling, of a long body and a glowing fire!
Lydia raises her eyebrows at Sercha in a bit of a helpless look. The act seems to be working, for now, so she plays along with Alainn’s narration, attempting to “sneak” as theatrically as possible.
Sercha meets Lydia's eyes and there's no mistaking the fact that the fetchling is not comfortable here.
She shakes her head in annoyance and then attempts to sneak around an imaginary circle in the opposite direction that the half-elf is taking. Her movements are exaggerated and there's no way anyone would actually miss her if she was really trying to be stealthy.
You hear a collective intake of breath Alainn announces the firedrake. The bears cycle back even further to the edge of the ring near the exit.
The audience has started listening even more intently, but Alainn and Sercha can tell some are getting a bit fidgety, as this is not the usual style of performance that they normally watch, even if the quality, from the brief snippet you saw of the previous performance, is better.
Alainn picks up on the crowd's cues and spends a terrible few moments racking its brain for a finale that will be exciting and perhaps a little more 'circus-y'. Then inspiration strikes and the gathlain wings its way over to the giant and whispers furiously in his ear. The giant grins in response and nods his large head.
"As our heroes approached within striking distance... oh no! Lydia stepped on a small lizard!" A strangled squark that is suspiciously like a farting noise sounds around the tent.
"The drake turned, fixed our heroine with its fearsome eyes and assaulted her with..." Alainn points dramatically at the giant, "CUSTARD!"
Lydia, poor thing, is promptly barraged by custard pies courtesy of the giant and over the crowd's laughter Alainn continues, "Sercha cannot face the beast alone, or face its custard-y wrath! We need to help! The drake cannot stand the sound of ducks! Quick, quack like a duck as loud as you can!"
Unorthodox though it may be Alainn makes the shadow 'drake' writhe and shrink as the audience quack, shout and laugh until it fades away in a final flash of scarlet glitter that coats much of the audience in light.
"That's our show ladies and gentlemen! Thank you very much and goodnight!" Alainn roars, capitalising on the audiences good will to save Sercha any more acting.
"Custard?!?" Lydia exclaims, moment before she is bombarded by confections. She wipes the gooey gunk from her face and glares angrily at Alainn, her hair befouled and her dignity besmirched. "This had better work," she growls.
The audience erupts into rapturous applause and gives you all a standing ovation as the bears sidle off backstage, humiliated by the amazing performance that they could not deliver themselves. After clapping gleefully and then bowing to the audience, the giant follows closely behind.
At the far end of the tent, next to the exit, stands a sophisticated network of wiry bars and iron embellishments—an elaborate animal cage. The interior is furnished with overstuffed chairs and divans, and teacups and fine porcelain crowd every visible surface.
Inside, you see a sole figure stand up, clap 5 times and he beckons you all three performers over.
The figure casts an unusual shadow against the far wall, and as you focus on him past the harsh lights, you can see that he has a crocodile-head and is dressed in a red tailcoat, braided with gold and is sipping daintily from a small teacup.
As Lydia, Sercha and Alainn approach, he calls:
"Bravo, bravo! I have much to praise you for as you have bought some glory to our Midnight Circus. I am Bernaditi, the Ringmaster and am pleased to make your acquaintance."
Alainn descends and starts rubbing Lydia down with a large purple silk handkerchief which the gathlain produces from somewhere. The cloth does a remarkably good job, removing pastry, custard and smeared make-up as though by magic which, upon consideration, is likely what's happening.
As they approach the ringmaster Alainn's clothes shift to match his, a small black top hat and a purple tailcoat leave the gathlain looking like a smaller version of Bernaditi himself, although without the crocodile head.
"Thank you, but the credit goes to the actors really. A story-teller is nothing without their cast." The gathlain exclaims with a dramatic bow.
Lydia regards Alainn with narrowed eyes but maintains her composure as she approaches the ringmaster. She recognizes the fiend for what he is and whispers to Sercha, "Rakshasa. Evil made flesh. Be wary."
"Ringmaster Bernaditi. We were told to seek you out, that you might lend us your aid in our righteous quest. We seek to free this realm from the yoke of the Patchwork Lord and his minions, and rescue one of his prisoners. We would appreciate any assistance you might lend to our endeavor."
Sercha's eyes widen in shock at the pastry assault on Lydia. Unsure as to how she should feel about this, she holds her position waiting for more instructions. When it's obvious that the show's over and along with it her acting career, she relaxes and approaches her companion with a grin on her face, giving away her feelings.
"Taking one for the team, Darling?" she asks as she reaches out to wipe a finger across one custard-covered cheek. She pops her finger into her mouth as Álainn approaches and proceeds to clean her up.
~~~~
Her weapon having been released back whence it came, Sercha itches to have it in her hand when Lydia explains the nature of the creature that they're facing. Feeling that being armed wouldn't help the situation, however, she refrains from summoning it again.
"Apparently," Lydia grumbles. Seeing Sercha pop a custard-laden finger in her mouth elicits some confusing feelings, though, so the inquisitor quickly turns away. Luckily, the dripping pastry filling hides her blush.
Alainn, struck by a thought, riffles through the deck, pulls out a card and (discretely) presents it face first towards the Ringmaster after hearing Lydia's whisper to Sercha.
As Alainn shows him the card, the Rakshasa's face falters for a split second. If you were not all watching him so closely after Lydia's warning, you would not have noticed it.
"Oh, you have the Deck of Harrowed Tales! Excellent work in getting your hands on it. That's one of my best portraits, far better than those cheap decks I see from time to time. Sonnorae put a lot of effort into the pictures, back then..."
"Do come in and take a seat, the door is unlocked and the seats are comfortable, you must need a rest after that tiresome performance."
Taking a sip of tea, as he puts out some more for his anticipated visitors.
"The Patchwork Lord is not much trouble to myself, but I can see that he is trouble for others. Which minions of his are you referring to?"
"Who told you to seek me out? Certainly, I can always help a person in need, but it may not always be in the way that they realise. What assistance are you requiring with this righteous quest?"
”A cook by the name of Biyo Venna sent us your way,” Lydia says. ”We seek the nine Conspirators’ tokens to gain access to the Striding Fortress. You have one of them, do you not? If you could lend it to us, then we can be on our way.”
He chortles at your request.
"Ah, Biyo, the one who sees evil afoot and runs to get help. How I have missed him."
"You have probably heard the story of Sonnorae already, if so you'll remember how she was betrayed and killed by some of the denizens of this Realm. I will honestly admit that I am one of them, a Conspirator. We murdered her, then devoured her body and kept a token to remember. In doing so, we acquired self-knowledge."
"I do indeed have this token that I could lend you but it will come with a price. I cannot freely hand it over, where would the excitement be in that? I need to ensure I also receive something interesting in return"
As he says this, his eyes settle greedily on the gathlain in front of him.
"I'll lend you my token if you do something for me first."
He pauses, takes another sip from his dainty teacup and thinks for a second as his eyes flash with a glint of mirth.
"I challenge you to a game of wits. I offer you to ask me five questions and if you catch me in a lie, that you irrefutably prove of course, I will freely hand over my token. If you lose, I get to keep that fantastic performer there to join my circus, not that I will lose of course."
He passes a crocodile grin to Alainn.
"Now before you decide if to partake in this game I think it is only fair to warn you of two things; my token is hidden very carefully so violence is futile, and secondly, I almost invariably lie."
He fills up his tea cup again and takes a sip.
"So, what do you say?"
Lydia smirks slightly at the rakshasa’s misplaced confidence. ”I accept your game, but I think it is only fair to warn you that I am pretty good at sniffing out lies. Let’s play.
“Question one. What is your true name? I presume it is not really Bernaditi.”
Alainn very carefully doesn't say anything. Fey have their own rules, much like rakshasa, much like stories in fact. Violating those rules has consequences, but when one follows the rules... then anything else is entirely excusable.
And Lydia is going to do a wonderful job - heroes never lose a contest of wits!
Unless it's rigged...
The gathlain scowls and watches closely, although watching for what is anyones guess.
"My true name is the name which I choose to call myself. I choose to call myself Bernaditi, and thus that is my true name."
"You're going to have to do better than that." He goads.
”Alright, let’s try this, then. Are you an ally of the Patchwork Lord?” Lydia says, leaning forward slightly as she studies the rakshasa’s reaction.
"Oh, just give up now," Sercha says to the rakshasa. "I've been on the receiving end of her questions. She doesn't give up."
Her lip curls up slightly in a smile. "And I didn't take the last peach," she says towards Lydia.
Ignoring Sercha's warning, he replies:"I am an ally of the Patchwork Lord." He bows his head in acknowledgement.
”That is a lie,” Lydia says. ”but one that I cannot irrefutably prove, so I will let that one pass. But now, a true test. My third question. Where is your token hidden?”
Alainn, meanwhile, is sweeping the area for magical auras, having realised where Lydia is going with this.
He has to pause very carefully to think about this question.
"My token is buried deep under this tent."
Lydia nods. ”A lie. Show me where you claim it is buried, and I will gladly dig as deep as necessary to prove you wrong. Or, you can save us all time and effort and just admit to your lie now and show us where you have really hidden it.” She gazes sternly at the fiend.
"My job is not to provide your irrefutable proof that you believe that I am lying, that role in this story lies to you and I would not deprive you of that role or any other deserving storykin of their roles in this realm."
He pauses looking somewhat shiftily.
"But as you ask so nicely I could provide you one additional question. Six, instead of five. You may need it to help you with your line of inquiry."
”Very well. Is the token somewhere in your possession right now?” Lydia asks.
"As I said before, the token is buried deep under the tent therefore not in my possession."
He sips his tea again as he has done so often.
Lydia smiles coldly. ”That is a lie. Please turn out your pockets. Oh, and empty your tea cup.”
He takes another second to think carefully and cocks his head with a calculated look at Lydia. He then looks carefully towards Sercha and Alainn, sizing them up with a crocodile smile.
"Oh-ho! You are a clever one aren't you." He replies condescendingly.
"Its a pity I don't get to keep this wonderful creature here, but I suppose you have got me."
He takes a long few moments, drinking his tea whilst watching you all closely and puts it down on the small wooden table in front of you. Watching carefully, it is clear that there is something golden in the bottom of the cup, which glints in the light.
"For now, you can have what you need, as a reward for your clever questioning, I can also provide you with this carnival as a safe sanctuary for you to use whilst searching this realm for what you so desire. What do you all say?"
Lydia claims the token as her prize, examining it for a moment before securing it in her belt pouch.
"Thank you, Bernaditi. Desna smiles upon this arrangement. Now, could you tell us where to find some of the other conpsirators?"
"Thats just brilliant, I look forward so much to seeing you again."
"The other seven conspirators are all found within their own realms of course. I know that you know the story. I could find an old map of mine as I have no need of it anymore. The only issue is the Patchwork Lord as he cannot be found by anyone or anything in the realm and has no allies himself, he is just a lonely individual."
He rises and walks over to a cabinet in the corner, pulls out a book full of many cuttings of paper sifting through them until he finds what he is looking for passing it to Sercha.
"This map is of the most use to you, you can find the conspirators here, as mentioned previously, you will see that Zassiron is nowhere to be found here. I am sure your Ladies Maid here will be able to decipher what you need."
"I wish you the best of luck with your endeavours my friends."
Lydia studies the map. "Hmm... It appears this carnival is at the center of the realm. The other locations are scattered in various directions. It's not clear what the best place to begin would be."
The half-elf points to the house to the northwest. "That seems as good a place to start as any. What do you both think?"
Alainn nods with a wide smile, "Wherever you choose to lead, oh mighty leader!" From almost anyone that would come across as sycophantic but for Alainn Lydia really is a mighty leader, so its perfectly legitimate.
The Gathlain does seem to have something to deal with it waits until the circus well out of sight before pulling the group to a halt. "We need to look at this deck properly." It pulls the deck out and starts fanning through the cards. "Each of the cards I played vanished and if the nine conspirators divide the deck between them then there should be six cards for each one. I only worked out four of Bernaditi's but we should consider what cards will match which conspirators."
Lydia studies the cards that Alainn lays out. "Let's see... The Rabbit Prince is in the Tangled Briar. Perhaps the Demon's Lantern will make an appearance there.
"The Barrow King. A wight? The Lost, maybe.
"Marzalee, the Mute Hag. In the Waxworks. On the Empty Throne.
"Balimar is in the playhouse. The Theater.
"Tick-Tock is in a volcano. The Forge?
"The Peddler of Night sounds like the Foreign Trader. He's in the Desert.
"And the Patchwork Lord is the Tyrant.
"That still leaves quite a few cards, though. I suppose we'll have to recognize them as we come across them."
Sercha looks over the map and listens as Lydia conjectures regarding which cards match which conspirators. "That leaves a lot of cards, yes. We'll have to keep an eye out for suggestions on which means what."
She folds the map up.
"So, that way?" she asks, pointing to the northwest, agreeing with Lydia.
Between Lydia's directions and Sercha's occasional suggestion of change of course, you all make your way through a fairly dense forest.
It slowly gets lighter and upon entering one clearing, you notice that the 'sun' has risen high in the sky; a glowing orb held by the mechanical arms, just as the moon was. You're not sure how long you have travelled, but it certainly has not been long enough time for night to fall and the sun to rise.
Further along your journey, it is quite astonishing how different many of these areas are. You sometimes come across a picturesque clearing with yellow buttercups, grazing deer and fluffy rabbits. At other times you find yourself hacking your way through dense dark thickets that feel that they are about to engulf you.
The map certainly does not make it look this as if you should have travelled this far.
Eventually, the woodland lets out, and the dense tree cover stops abruptly. In front of you, you can see a lone, steep volcano (or at least some form of mountain) rising from the woodland without the warning normally provided by foothills.
Pipes of copper and stone run through it at bizarre angles, as though they were buttresses struggling to hold the mountain upright, while a large steep and perilous stairway cuts up one side, leading to a stout, blocky structure near the peak. You can hear low rumbling sounds coming from inside the volcano.
In front of you all, you can see a set of steep stairs that rises to a space at the front of the building balancing on the edge of the caldera.
"There's either a blacksmith working up there, or someone's fighting," Sercha notes as her eyes move over the structure.
She then pulls out the map and looks it over again. "Did you get us lost again?" she asks. "Because this certainly looks like the volcano on the map which was to the northeast of where we were before."
Lydia enjoys the more pastoral scenes they pass through, but she scowls when they come to the volcano. ”Again? I seem to recall you were leading the last time we got lost,” the half-elf says. ”I am confident we were heading the right way. Perhaps the realm is playing tricks on us. Regardless, we are here, so let’s explore.” She leads the way up the steps.
Sercha rolls her eyes, but follows after the half-elf. "I seem to remember someone saying, 'I'm sure the inn is just over this next rise,' for about two hours. I also remember us sleeping in the woods that night. Now who was saying that? Hmmm... let me think."
As they begin climbing the steps, she glances back the way they came. "If this is the forge, would it be a good time to use the card for 'The Forge'?"
"Sure!" Alainn says brightly, extracting the Forge card and waving it around dramatically...
The gathlain then murmurs the words for a spell and grins. "So I'm going to fly. Anyone want a race to the top?" Assuming that there are no takers Alainn leaps up into the air and shadows the heroes from a hundred feet above.