[center][h1][b][color=black]🎲[/color][color=gold] 𝒜𝓁𝑒𝒸𝒽𝒾𝑜𝓇 [/color][color=black]🎺[/color][/b][/h1][/center] Alechior drifted through the Carnival like a breeze, welcome and unnoticed all at once. Laughter bent around them, music warped as it always did, speeding up where excitement spiked and slowing where exhaustion crept in. Games bloomed and collapsed in moments. Dice rolled across tables slick with spilled drinks and promises. To Alechior, it was comfortable, domestic. This was their domain in its most honest state, excess without apology, joy sharpened until it could cut. They lingered near one of the newer entrances, a stretch of road that had once been a merchant route in Ashuru. Mortals stepped through in ones and twos, feetwraps still dusty, packs still heavy, eyes wide with that first flush of wonder. Alechior watched them the way a seasoned gambler watches fresh players take their seats, already knowing who would play cautiously, who would chase the rush and who would never leave the table at all. The arrivals laughed easily. They did not notice how the sky never quite shifted, how the music had no clear source, how hunger and thirst dulled just enough to stop being urgent. They greeted jesters and performers as if they were fellow travelers, mistaking warmth for coincidence. None of them sensed the soft closing of doors behind them, the subtle severing of roads that no longer led anywhere real. Alechior felt no urgency to interfere. This was how it always began, curiosity first then delight. The Carnival did not seize people, it welcomed them. Mortals walked deeper of their own accord, drawn by color, sound and the promise of stakes that felt small at first. A drink here. Some food there. A game that surely could be won the next time. They smiled as another group crossed the threshold, grinning, still thinking themselves visitors rather than forever guests. Somewhere behind them, unseen and unmarked, Ashuru disappeared like a half-remembered dream. Alechior watched it happen again and again and again, already knowing which of these souls would dance until they forgot their own names, and which would break long before the music ever stopped. Alechior wandered toward the inner ring where the game keepers clustered, tall figures bent over tables and wheels that never truly stopped spinning. These were the ones who had bowed before, who knew exactly who walked among them. Alechior greeted them easily, leaning against a counter, fingers tapping in time with a tune only they seemed to hear. “Busy night,” they said. One of the keepers glanced up, eyes already drifting back to the tumbling dice. “Probability is favorable,” they replied flatly. Another muttered something about odds stabilizing after the third loss. Alechior waited, hoping for a spark, a joke, anything that smelled like joy. It never came. The keepers spoke fluently, endlessly even but only about margins, wagers, escalation curves. Fun was not discussed. It was assumed, calculated, reduced. They tried again, drifting from table to table, nudging conversations toward stories, toward the mortals themselves. Who was winning big. Who was laughing the hardest. Who was about to break. The keepers answered but only in figures and outcomes. This one would last twelve more cycles. That one would peak soon. None of them cared what the players felt in the moment, only how long they stayed at the table. Alechior finally laughed, softly and a little disappointed. These ones understood gambling perfectly, but merriment had slipped past them entirely. They tended the games like machines tending other machines, precise and tireless, but hollow. With a shrug, Alechior turned away, already bored, already searching the Carnival for something messier, louder, and far more alive. Alechior drifted on, laughter and music sliding off them as they wove through the Carnival’s endless lanes. They tried again and again, pausing at tables, leaning in close to whispered boasts and slurred confessions. The mortals had stories, plenty of them, sharp little fragments of lives half-remembered, but every tale dissolved back into dice and cards before it could breathe. Eyes flicked down to hands, to wheels, to cups. No one stayed present long enough to be interesting. They lingered near a group locked in a furious game, listening to a man recount a lost home, a river that no longer existed. It almost caught Alechior’s attention. Almost. Then the man laughed too loudly at a bad roll and forgot what he was saying mid-sentence. Alechior sighed. Too far gone. The Carnival had them now, sanding their edges smooth, rounding them into perfect players. Further in, the faces grew softer, blurrier. Joy without sharpness. Despair without teeth. Alechior felt a rare flicker of irritation. This was meant to be fun, not stagnant. Not this endless loop of motion without meaning. “Really?” they muttered to no one in particular. “This is what it’s come to?” That was when they noticed one of them. Not new, not fresh, but not yet hollow either. A mortal who had been playing for a long while, long enough to learn the rhythm, to survive the losses, to smile like they belonged. Their thread, though, stretched thin. Alechior could see it, fraying somewhere far away in Ashuru. A body still breathing, but not for long. Alechior grinned, sudden and bright. There it was. Something with tension. With stakes. They slipped through the crowd and reached out, fingers closing around the mortal’s shoulder with easy certainty. “You,” they said lightly, already pulling them free of the table. The Carnival kept spinning behind them, oblivious, as Alechior turned away with their prize, mind racing ahead to what came next. Wish a snapp of their fingers. The sound cut clean through the music, sharp and final. For a heartbeat, the Carnival stuttered around them, colors dulling, laughter stopping, the invisible pressure peeling away from the mortal’s mind like a veil being removed. The man blinked hard, swayed then steadied himself. His eyes cleared. Not frightened. Not confused. Just suddenly present. Alechior watched closely, ready for panic, grief, the usual desperate scramble for meaning. It never came. The man looked around slowly, took in the lights, the games, the endless motion and laughed. Not the hollow laugh of the enchanted, but warm and genuine. “Still love it,” he said after a moment, almost surprised at himself. “Figures. Thought maybe it was cheating me into it.” He shrugged. “Guess not.” They talked. Really talked. About nights that never seemed long enough, about music that made the chest ache in a good way, about the simple joy of losing and winning meaning in the same breath. He spoke of the Carnival like a place that understood him, like it gave permission to stop carrying the world for a while. Alechior listened, head tilted, smile thoughtful. This one was not trapped. He had chosen the feeling, even without the push. “That’s rare,” Alechior said lightly. “Most need the nudge. You don’t.” They circled him once, considering. “Tell me. Would you want others to feel it like this? Properly. Not dragged in blind. Not stolen by accident.” Their eyes gleamed. “Willingly.” The man hesitated then nodded, enthusiasm creeping back in. “Yeah!” he said. “Why wouldn’t I? People forget how to enjoy things. They forget how to let go. If I could help with that, I would.” He smiled wider. “Feels like a waste not to.” Alechior laughed, delighted. “Oh, I like you.” They leaned in conspiratorially. “Here’s the trick. You bring them. You show them the doors, the laughter, the games. You teach them how to stay themselves while they play.” Their voice softened, dangerous and kind at once. “And when the time comes, you help me make them like you will be. A new form. ” Alechior held their hand out, palm open, casual as an invitation to dance. “Come on then,” they said lightly. “Let’s make it official.” The man looked at the offered hand, then up at Alechior’s face. No fear. Just anticipation. He took it. The moment their hands met, the Carnival leaned in. Sound dulled, lights bent closer, the air thickened like breath held too long. Power flowed, shared. The man gasped once as it moved through him, warmth first then something else, brighter, like laughter caught in the chest. His body began to change. Subtle at first. His spine straightened, posture correcting itself with authority. He grew taller, not towering but clearly more than he had been. Strength settled into his frame without bulk, the kind that promised endurance rather than brute force. His ears elongated gracefully, tapering to elegant points, unmistakably otherworldly, unmistakably Alechior’s work. His face followed. Lines of exhaustion smoothed away, scars faded as if they had never been, skin clearing until it caught the Carnival’s light like polished stone. Beauty found him, not perfection but the kind that made people look twice and trust without knowing why. When his eyes opened again, they gleamed with reflected light and something deeper, older. An aura unfurled around him. It pressed outward like a pleasant warmth, a presence that eased shoulders and loosened hearts. Trust came easier near him, smiles too. Beneath it all, a new sense stirred. He could feel it now, the absence of joy, the hollowness where merriment should have been. Sadness stood out to him like a bruise. There wasn't any in the Carnival but when a doorway to Ashuru opened, it called to him. Alechior watched with satisfaction. “Ah. There it is,” they murmured. “Now, a rule.” Their tone playful but firm. “You cannot lie. Not ever.” They tapped his chest lightly. “But misdirection, wit, jokes that dodge the truth, those are fair game.” A grin. “You’ll manage.” Understanding settled into him, knowledge without pain. He knew he could choose others now, not everyone, only those who truly loved the games, the laughter, the endless night. Those who played because they wanted to, not because the Carnival whispered too sweetly. From them, he could make more like himself. That was how they would grow, not by birth, but by recognition. Alechior released his hand at last. “When you leave here,” they said, gently, “you’ll wear whatever shape you arrived in. Mortal, mundane, forgettable.” A shrug. “But you’ll live longer than you should. And when death finally catches you, as it always does, you’ll come back.” Their eyes glittered. “Right here. To run the games. To spread joy. Real joy.” The Carnival surged back into full motion around them, laughter rising, dice clattering, music swelling. The new Fae stood among it all, changed and yet himself. Alechior stepped back into the crowd, satisfied. The party had just learned how to invite people properly. [hider=Summary] Alechior notices that the Game Masters of the Carnival are [b]boring[/b] and only care about gambling but not joy, about merriment. After a few failed attempts of chatting with them, Alechior finds a mortal that wasn't for too long in the Carnival but gone from Ashuru for a while already. Someone who hasn't yet fully succumbed. Upon briefly dispelling the enhancement on them, the man still loved the Carnival. Still wanted to play. Still wanted to enjoy themselves. 'Thus, Alechior gets an idea and transforms him into a new race and gives him the ability to make others that are in the same conditions. like him. [hider=Actions] Modification of an existing species - Out of Domain (?) - -2 Conviction - To Create modify the ur-human race into the first Fae. Blessing - Lucid - In Domain - Merriment Aura (already applied earlier on the trading caravan) Blessing - Ludid - In Domain - Loss of Merriment Sense - The Fae have the ability to sense the lack of happiness in people as a discomfort in themselves. [hider=The Fae of Alechior, Joybound Court] The Fae are not born, they are chosen. They originate from mortals who enter the Carnival and prove without coercion, that they love merriment, games, chance and shared joy even when the enchantment is lifted, by their own means or not. When such a mortal is deemed worthy, a Fae may invite them into transformation. This process is voluntary, immediate, and irreversible in nature, binding the individual’s soul permanently to the Carnival. In their true form, the Fae of the Joybound Court are always male and clearly otherworldly yet approachable. They are taller than most mortals, with elongated, elegant ears and features refined into beauty, scars and blemishes fade unless they wish to keep them as marks of character. Their movements are light and confident. An ambient aura surrounds them, encouraging trust, openness, and ease in those nearby. They look like the best version of who they once were, not perfect, but compelling. Fae possess heightened physical capabilities compared to mortals. They are stronger, faster and more enduring. Their longevity exceeds that of normal mortals, yet they are not immortal. Upon death outside the Carnival, their souls return to the Carnival, where they reconstitute as full Game Masters, eternal stewards of the realm’s games. Fae can sense the absence of merriment, detecting sadness, despair or emotional emptiness in others as discomfort. They radiate an unconscious influence that makes others more willing to listen, trust and engage. They cannot lie under any circumstances, a binding rule, though they may misdirect, joke, speak in riddles, often turning honesty into performance. Outside the Carnival, Fae appear in whatever form they possessed upon entering it, mortal or otherwise, their true nature hidden unless revealed by divine means. Over time, memories of the Carnival fade from those who leave it, but a Fae never forgets. They exist as recruiters, hosts and custodians of the endless celebration, ensuring that the Carnival continues not merely as a trap but as a place for those who truly choose joy, risk and play above all else. [/hider] [/hider] [/hider]