[You are a Tiefling.]
[You tell Lias about the history of the Long Night Festival.]
You reveal to Lias your pale blue-grey skin. Your long hair, the color of spent ashes, curls untidily into wisps and tendrils around your face and down to your shoulderblades. Two jagged, short dark horns emerge from your forehead. Your long, smooth devil’s tail, tipped like a spade, flicks to and fro anxiously as the fortune teller examines you, a coy smile never leaving their lips.
–––
Name: Cirrus Mist
Race: Tiefling - Bloodline of Levistus
Class: Level 1 Survivor - Sneak
Armor Class: 11
Hit Points: 9
Speed: 30 ft.
Proficiency Bonus: +2
STR: 10 | +0
DEX: 13 | +1
CON: 12 | +1
INT: 10 | +0
WIS: 12 | +1
CHA: 11 | +0
Saving Throws: Dex +3
Skills: Sleight of Hand +3 | Stealth +3
Senses: Passive Perception 11
Languages: Common
Darkvision.
Hellish Resistance. You have resistance to fire damage.
Actions
Dagger. Melee or Ranged Weapon Attack: +3 to hit, reach 5 ft. or 20/60 ft., one target.
Hit: 3 (1d4 + 1) piercing damage.
Ray of Frost. Casting time: one action. 60 ft.
A frigid beam of blue-white light streaks toward a creature within range. Make a ranged spell attack against the target. On a hit, it takes 1d8 cold damage, and its speed is reduced by 10 feet until the start of your next turn.
Bonus Action
Disengage. You take the Disengage action.
Equipment
Dagger
Commoner’s clothes
Backpack
12 SP, 5 CP
Hoo-bear, owlbear cub plush
–––
You think on what to talk to Lias about as they shuffle their Tarokka deck. Not one to dwell on yourself, you decide instead to tell them about the festival.
“The Long Night Festival,” you say. “Sometimes we get travelers asking why it takes place on the shortest night of the year. There are two reasons.”
Lias shifts their glance up at you momentarily and smiles, an indication of their attentiveness. Your tail flicks, involuntarily, in response.
“Ah… The first reason is, the festival is in remembrance of The Long Night, an era that ended two hundred years ago. This land was once blighted and cursed by the Darklord Malafina, a fell sorceress who commanded an army of darkness. When the heroes Aldric, Elfmaid Threnna, and Bjornmir the Mighty banded together and defeated Malafina, they ended The Long Night and brought tranquility to the land. So we honor their victory on the eve when night is at its shortest.
The second reason is simply that it may be a short night for our sphere, but it is a long one for us. The festivities do not end until dawn.”
“It is a good tradition,” Lias says, straightening the freshly shuffled deck of cards. “There are not many places of respite in the Lands of Mist, and Rowangrave is among those honored few.”
There is experience behind the youth’s words, you can tell, and your appraisal of the fortune teller deepens. How different a life they must have led so far, compared to yours, to know of countries beyond the enveloping mist. And Thaundry had spoken of even more–that they had hailed from the Feywild, a land of myth and fable to you.
“Speak to me your name and what you wish to know, seeker of fortune.”
“I am Cirrus Mist. At midnight I turn eighteen, and I will be free to stake my claim on this world. I wish to know what the future holds.”
“Very well. The Druid’s Cross will reveal your fate.”
Lias draws several cards and lays them out upon the table, facing you.
Tarokka Deck, Wizards of the Coast, 2020
The fortune teller’s expression darkens.
“I’m sorry,” Lias says. You see their throat clench. “This is a horrible fortune.”
They breathe deeply and place their head in their hands. Their prior assurance and composure withers. In festivals prior, you have had your cards read to you before. Never has a fortune teller seemed so reluctant to speak. Now Lias stares down at the cards, their hands obscuring the bottom half of their face.
“Lias?”
“Sorry. Right. Let me read this to you.” Their voice grows solemn, incantatory. “You will lose something of yourself, and that loss will haunt you. You will be harried and hunted. Something shall be revealed to you. Great pain awaits you, either yours or others’. Your thoughts shall dwell with the Darklord, with power eating power. Seek out unknown power. You must learn to shape raw power, for you walk the path of death and ill omen. You will not know your hopes from fears. But if you survive this journey, Cirrus Mist, you will have the power to protect. You will have the power to banish.”
“What…?”
“So speaketh the spirits.”
Lias averts their gaze from you, quiet. Then they look you in the eyes and their expression eases.
“They’re only cards, Cirrus. Do not look so rattled! How your tail quivers like a threatened alleycat. They’re only cards. They will not reach out and strike you.”
Insight Check: Natural 1
You reluctantly accept Lias’s consolation. Unsure of what to say next, you think to reach for your coin pouch, taking the small bag from your pocket and untying its leather string.
“You do not need to pay me, Cirrus,” Lias says, returning the drawn cards to their deck. “I overheard your conversation with Thaundry. If you mean to join our band, then you will be family. We do not take money from family.”
The mood lightens, and Lias taps one of the hovering balls of light, causing it to change its hue to a soft pink. They begin to speak again when a hurried little knock comes on the door.
It is Geth standing at the entrance. He looks to you with excitement.
“Look, Cirrus, the moon! It’s started.”
You step outside the wagon with Lias and look up into the night sky. The full moon is blood red. It is the hunter’s moon. A falling star flits across the night sky, passing in front of the moon, and descends into the dark woods as it crosses the horizon.
You see the horseman’s card laid upon the table in your mind. You will be hunted, it says.
The distant churchbell sounds, a low and soulful peal. It is midnight.
It is your birthday.
You turn to Lias in the moonlight. “We have to be going,” you say. “Thank you for… reading the cards. And for everything. I hope to see you again tomorrow.”
“Spirits protect you,” Lias says.
You gather the children and leave the Vistani campgrounds, making your way to the city gates as promised. The sound of wistful music grows more distant with each step.
–––
The festival crowds have grown eerie in the red light of the moon. Folk gaze up at the sky and speak softly among themselves. Your flock of children grow sleepy and weary of the trek back–even Maribel, the oldest, yawns and drags her feet.
Sister Margrite and Father Velholme stand by the side of the road, awaiting your arrival. Margrite takes the children from your shepherding, places her hands upon Sabine’s shoulders.
“Cirrus is very tired and is going to find a place to sleep tonight,” Father Velholme says. “Children, wave good night.”
He stares at you coldly among the children’s waving hands.
You take in the sight of the children, of your family, one last time, and turn to continue toward the city gates.
You are free now, you think to yourself. Free from the Orphanage. Free from the scorn of Quietbell. You will never have to go there again, where people call you goat-child, devil-child. Where they call you knife-tail, and refuse you entry and hide their children from you and accuse you of the death of their livestock. You will not need to suffer their foolishness with a strained smile, or accept and encourage the superstitions of the children you care for. You will not need to pray to a god who hates you.
You think of Geth by the blue fire, his hands damp with the perspiring drops of the chilled Vistani drink. You think of Maribel with her twin owlbear cub. Of Quel donning his ridiculous mask. And of Sabine kicking your shoulders too hard as she rode upon you. Of feeding and consoling and teaching the children for every day of your life. You accepted Father Velholme’s bargain–leave quietly without saying goodbye. But your devil’s heart cannot remain silent.
You turn back on the road, quickening your pace. All you want is to say goodbye. To wish them all good night. You return to the spot where you departed, but your family is no longer there.
Darkvision.
You catch feint movement from the corner of your eyes. Something is moving at the edge of the forest. The children…? Yes, you see the group of them, with Father Velholme taking lead and Sister Margrite pushing them along. But why would they take the children into the forest?
Perception Check: 17
Success
They are taking the children to the fallen star.
What do you do?
A. Confront Father Velholme and Sister Margrite.
B. Follow them from a distance.