[center][h1][b][color=black]🎲[/color][color=gold] 𝒜𝓁𝑒𝒸𝒽𝒾𝑜𝓇 [/color][color=black]🎺[/color][/b][/h1][/center]


They woke to music before sight, a low rhythm that felt like it was humming through their bones rather than their ears. When their eyes finally opened, it was to a place tucked away from the Carnival’s main stalls, a hidden hollow of lantern-light and fabric walls, like the inside of a tent made from nothing. The air was warm and sweet, scented with fruits and something else they could not name. For a heartbeat, none of them moved. Then one of the children gasped.

Hands came into view, longer than before, fingers elegant and light. Skin caught the lantern glow differently now, smoother, almost luminous. Another child laughed, startled, as they pushed themselves upright and felt the unfamiliar ease of their body, the way it obeyed without strain. Ears brushed shoulders where they had never reached before. They felt like potential itself grew inside them, like standing at the top of a hill with the wind urging them forward.

There was no fear. That was the strangest part. The memory of what they had been was still there, distant but intact, like a story they once told often and no longer needed to repeat. One of them flexed then spun in place, delight bubbling up into a bright laugh. Another touched their own face, tracing cheekbones that felt familiar and new all at once. They grinned at one another, recognizing themselves and something more.

Applause broke out from just beyond the lantern ring. “Lovely,” came a voice, warm as spiced wine and sharp as a coin flip midair. “Absolutely lovely timing too. You always wake up right when the music hits its best part.” From between two hanging banners stepped Alechior, dressed in layered color and movement, eyes alight with pride. “If you’d slept any longer, I’d have had to start charging admission.”

They turned toward them as one, instinctively, as though some part of them already knew this presence. Alechior went into an exaggerated bow, one hand pressed to their chest. “Welcome,” they said, smiling wide. “You chose joy when it wasn’t easy. You chose play when the world offered you very little else. That’s all it ever takes.” Their gaze softened. “Everything you feel right now? That’s yours. No enchantment. No trick.”

Alechior straightened and gestured broadly toward the unseen sprawl of the Carnival beyond the walls. Music swelled, distant laughter threading through it. “Out there is risk, wonder, terrible ideas, excellent games and mistakes you will make gloriously,” they said. “You are not perfect. You are not safe. But you are free to laugh, to wager, to lose and to try again.” Their grin turned playful once more. “Now then. Stretch. Get used to the ears. And when you’re ready, the Carnival is waiting.”

They clapped their hands once, sharply and the sound carried farther than it should have. The lanterns brightened in response, as if leaning in to listen. “Now,” they said, pacing slowly before the newly awakened Fae, “you’ve got the bodies, the smiles, the instincts. Very important things.” They stopped, turned on a heel and tilted their head. “But are you ready for the part that makes it interesting?”

They let the question hang, not pressing, not rushing. The Carnival itself seemed to hush a fraction, like a crowd waiting for the reveal of a trick. “Fun,” Alechior continued lightly, “is not just laughter. It’s tension. Stakes. That delicious moment where something might go terribly wrong and you choose to play anyway.” Their voice softened, coaxing rather than commanding. “What I offer you is not power to win. It is power to play.”

They stepped closer and each child felt the weight of attention settle on them in turn, not heavy, but precise. “This gift will let you invite the world to the table,” Alechior said. “To frame a moment as a game, to set rules that matter, to let chance breathe between choices. You won’t force anyone. You won’t drag them in.” A small, knowing smile. “But when someone agrees, truly agrees, the game will hold.”

Alechior spread their hands, palms up and something unseen stirred between them, like the pause before dice strike wood. “You will feel when it’s right. When joy, risk and consent line up just so. That is when the magic listens.” Their eyes flicked from face to face. “It will tire you if you push it. It will punish you if you cheat. And it will abandon you if you forget that fun is the point.”

They straightened, grin widening. “So,” Alechior said brightly, “are you ready for your gift?” The music swelled again, playful and daring. “Because once you have it, nothing is ever quite boring again. And trust me,” they added, with a conspiratorial wink, “the world is desperate to be less boring.”

Alechior inhaled, theatrically, and the Carnival answered. Lantern light bent inward, music thinned into a single sustained note and the air itself seemed to tighten, like a held breath before a cheer. Color deepened, shadows sharpened and from Alechior’s chest spilled a soft radiance, not blinding, but impossible to ignore. It was divine power, yes but steeped in laughter, soaked through with risk and delight, tuned precisely to this place.

They lifted one hand and the ground beneath the children responded. The boards hummed faintly, the banners stirred without wind and distant games flared brighter for a heartbeat, as if every wager ever made was being remembered at once. Alechior did not force the power outward. They drew it in first, pulling from the endless revel of the Carnival, from every cheer, every gasp, every coinless bet and foolish dare. The realm fed its god gladly.

“Pay attention,” Alechior said, voice layered, as though spoken by many throats at once. “This is not mine alone.” They pressed their palm forward and the gathered power flowed like a living thing, branching, dividing cleanly as it reached the waiting Fae. It did not strike. It settled. Sank in. Chose them as much as they accepted it.

The children gasped as the connection snapped into place. They felt the Carnival not just around them but within them even more deeply than before. A constant pull, a familiar warmth, like knowing where home is without looking. They could sense games being played far away, feel tension rise and fall, taste the difference between honest chance and a stacked hand. For a breathless moment, they understood what it meant to belong to something vast and joyful.

Light bled through their skin, soft gold, outlining ears, fingers, smiles too wide to hide. It was not permanent, not meant to be. A flare, a declaration. The glow pulsed once, twice and laughter bubbled up among them, startled and bright, as the power settled deeper, quieter, becoming instinct rather than spectacle.

Far from them, a thin ribbon of that same power slipped free, playful and precise. It wound through the Carnival’s paths and found Kaelinor at Sarhush's table, like a familiar tune finding the right ear. He felt it as a sudden warmth behind the eyes, a deepened clarity, the sense that the rules he loved had just gained another layer. Not strength, exactly. Permission.

As the light faded, Alechior exhaled, satisfied. The Carnival relaxed with them, music resuming its full, unruly chorus. “There,” they said, grin returning, divine weight easing back into mischief. “Your first gift. Don’t waste it.” Their eyes sparkled as they looked over the newly made Fae. Alechior stepped closer, the last traces of glow still clinging to the children like fading sparks. Their voice lowered, not in threat, but in intimacy, the tone of someone sharing a secret worth keeping. “Now comes the part where you earn it,” they said. 

They gestured outward, and for a moment the sounds of the Carnival quietened, as if listening in. “You will go into the world,” Alechior continued, “and you will offer games. Not tricks. Not traps. Games. If they laugh, if they lean in, if they stay even when the odds turn against them, then you tell them about this place. You tell them there is somewhere that understands that joy and risk are the same language.”

Alechior’s smile sharpened, just a touch. “If they only want a single wager, a harmless contest, that is yours to give. If they hunger for something greater, for contracts that can bend years, luck, memory, or fate itself, then you send them onward. The Game Masters will know what to do. Not everyone deserves that table.”

“You are not merely messengers,” they said. “You may make contracts yourselves, small and fair, bound by play and consent, wherever you go. A game of chance, a test of nerve, a wager of time or trinkets, these are yours to offer. Treat each bargain as part of the Carnival’s breath, never forced, never hidden, and never without a real choice. Through you, the game walks the world.”

They straightened, hands folding behind their back. “You are not judges. You are not enforcers. You are hosts. Watch how they play. Watch how they lose. Watch whether they curse the game or thank it. That will tell you everything you need to know.”

Their gaze swept across the children one last time, warm and expectant. “Spread the word. Let the world remember how to play. And do not worry,” Alechior added lightly, “the Carnival is very good at keeping track of its own.”

With a sharp clap, the space around them folded and split. Gates bloomed open all at once, archways of light and fabric and shifting symbol, each leading somewhere different in Ashuru. Forest paths, riverbanks, dusty crossroads, half-built towns. The children looked to one another, waved with bright, unsteady smiles, and stepped through, laughter trailing behind them as the gates closed one by one.

[hider=Summary & Actions]
As the first natural Fae are "born" Alechior appears and offers them a gift. A gift of Magic. The Magic of Fae Contracts. Then they send the newly made fae out into the world with a mission.
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-3 Conviction - Surreal - To offer the Fae, magic. Game magic, Fae magic, Contractual Magic! 

[url=https://docs.google.com/document/d/1aCe4Iwjic8m9FTi3x9GYc4C_Y62rKDztQFhe9Y5Z2VY/edit?usp=sharing]Click me for Fae Magic[/url]
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