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[Head to the Vistani camp.]
It has been time enough at the game stalls. The strange trio in white left you feeling uneasy. You are not sure how, exactly, the woman named Galea pulled off her trick at the shooting gallery. Was it magic, or some other strange power?
You and Maribel hold your toy owlbear cubs as you lead the children through busy crowds. You notice now how passing strange some of the revelers are—knights from the northeastern kingdom of Morgause, in their dark iron armor; groups of tonsured scholars in their flowing robes. Are they all here merely to celebrate? Or might this gathering serve many purposes, as many as there are disparate interests in the Lands of Mist?
A trodden dirt path splits from the paved stone road, leading to a field where many wagons are parked. In customary Vistani fashion, the wagons are tightly packed from end-to-end, forming a semicircular perimeter. The change in culture is tangible. A large bonfire is roaring, its flames ectoplasmic blue.
“Lookit that!” Sabine says. “Are they witches?”
Nature Check: 11
Success
“They might be witches,” you say playfully to the girl riding on your shoulders, “But that flame isn’t magic. Look, someone is throwing metal dust into the fire to make it that color.”
“Then what about this strange smell? It’s wafting from over there!” says another child.
“Apotropaic.”
The voice that speaks the word is deep, accented. In the flickering light of the bonfire you see a lizard man, a dragonborn, whose brass scales reflect strange hues cast by the blue fire.
“We burn artemisia and alliums to ward off evil wherever we go,” he says to the children. They repeat the botanical words to themselves in wonderment.
The dragonborn looks to you with a warm and enchanted glimmer in his eyes. “Come and sit by the fire. We have tales and tonics, and you will hear such music as you have never heard in all of Rowangrave.”
“Is this Madam Eva’s caravan?” you ask.
“Ah. No, it is not,” the dragonborn says pointedly. “It is mine. I am Thaundry.” He pauses for a moment. “Madam Eva was occupied this summer, and so my caravan took her route. Do you have need of a fortune teller?”
“I’d like to have my cards read.”
The Vistani’s expression brightens, and he slaps you on the back. “Good! Good! We have a card reader, an excellent new card reader. Comes from the Feywild. Do you know the Feywild, children? It is the land of pixies!”
He laughs heartily and the children are delighted. With open arms he shepherds your group to the campground, takes Sabine off your shoulders and hoists her onto his own.
You sit by the fire for a while, and cold sweet drinks with muddled herbs are proffered to you. A dark elf plucks a rosewood zither, seriously at first, with tremolo in the strings, and then the melody quickens and other Vistani begin to clap along.
You gaze into the blue fire as a woman with furry ears tells the children a ghost story from a distant land.
“You spoke of Madam Eva,” Thaundry says, taking a seat next to you. “I am guessing that you had hopes for more than cards.”
“It’s my eighteenth birthday come midnight… I was thinking I might want to join the Vistani. Leave Rowangrave and travel the Lands of Mist. When I spoke to Madam Eva at last year’s Festival, she said such a thing could be arranged.”
“Indeed it can be. With Madam Eva, or with me.”
Reflected blue fire dances over the dragonborn’s gold iris, his black sclera. You look over at the children. Your little siblings. Already your heart is set.
Thaundry shows you to a wagon with a little sign hanging over its doorway: “Mx. Lias, Spirit Medium.”
You peer behind you as you enter the wagon, and Thaundry is entertaining the children.
———
Lavender balls of light quiver in the air of the wagon, casting softly onto draperies of dark velvet. The room smells faintly of amaretto.
An androgynous youth, perhaps the same age as you, sits at a round table, resting their chin upon crossed fingers. They greet you with a coy smile and half-lidded eyes.
“Welcome, seeker of fortune. I am Lias, and I speak for the spirits.”
You take a seat across from Lias. Their expressive eyes grow wide with wry amusement.
“Will you perform a Tarokka reading for me?” you ask.
“My. An oni. I’ve yet to read an ogre’s fortune. This meeting must be destined by the fates.”
Lias opens a hard leather box with a blue felt interior, carefully taking out a deck of cards. They begin to shuffle the deck, glancing up at you.
“While I’m preparing the deck, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself? Or about this land—I’ve never traveled here before. Oh, and… Please, feel free to take off that festival mask.”
You take the mask off and set it aside, revealing your face to the fortune teller.
Choice 1: What race are you?
A. Half-Drow
B. Half-Orc
C. Tiefling
Choice 2: What do you share with Lias?
A. The origin of the Long Night Festival.
B. The circumstances of your birth.
C. What life was like in Quietbell.
D. Your plans for tomorrow.
This decision will be left open for a couple days.