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[center]At the first breath of dusk, the silent heart of Central Forest begins to beat again. Slowly at first, ever so slowly, until the last of the sun’s rays recede into the purples and blues of evening. Central Forest awakens from its daytime slumber. You smile with anticipation. Somewhere in the back of your mind you worry though; their criteria is a mystery, there are days when very few are allowed to enter. There is no official entrance into the nocturnal Kingdom; many college freshmen have simply tried walking or sprinting in the direction of music or following glowing lanterns that strung about the trees, only to find themselves wandering aimlessly until dawn. 

 [i]Only when The Path reveals itself, will one vanquish all illusions.[/i]

A breeze picks up on this windless day, and tickles at the tips of your lobes. With the strange sensation of eyes at your back, you resist the urge to look around. They- whoever [i]they[/i] are- don't seem to like it when you acknowledge their presence. "Pleasure? Or Business?" Rasps a thin, reedy voice; it's owner is unseen. 

"Pleasure." you answer immediately.

"Tonight's theme is: Roy G Biv. Please remeber that all recording and photography is prohibited." intoned the speaker. 

Like magic, or perhaps it really was magic, your feet sink into the earth with a soft crunch. Looking down, you realize that The Path has revealed itself; its made of glossy obsidian pebbles that flicker in soft lantern light. You follow it deeper through a marvelous web of blue string lights, if they were red and green, perhaps this part of the forest could have felt like Christmas. The air grows warmer and the perfume from apple trees make you hungry, but before you can consider plucking one of the waxy fruit, The Path ends.

Tents. Dozens of them, arranged in a large crescent moon shape, each one unique in texture and size: plastic and striped red and white like the circus, silks and burlap, velvet and tarp, there was even one that was made entirely of glass. The one that catches your eye however, is the largest one of all, it is lavishly constructed out of Persian rugs with a flowing banner reading 'Sultan's Hookah Palace'. Before you can consider your choices, a Fae offers for you to pick from a large tray of concoctions; ruby red wines and cloudy green absinthe, amber beers and orange ales- sparkling violet juices. He is dressed in the colors of the sunset, "Welcome to Tent Country, my friend, where the law is loose and the girls run wild," he chuckles, "and boys, too if you're into that sort of thing?"[/center]

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 [b]Neutral Territory:[/b]

“Other than asking your barber for that layered haircut, when was the last time you did anything about [i]anything[/i]?”
“I know not of this Damien, fellow. Nor do I know who Dirk is- he sounds quite dashing. I am but a humble man of the forest.”
“Dirk!” She felt a small knot of guilt for him. When he didn't make the cut to Sea Tigers, Dirk took it pretty rough. 
"Hello. Yes, why you're a handsome butterfly, aren't you?"
Okay. He took it really, really rough. 

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"Look," she starts exasperated, "I know--"
"Know? Yes, enlighten me Thistle. What do you know about, aside from wiping the King's backside?" the butterfly flutters away, and the corners of his lips twitch "Sorry. Sorry-- that just sort of slipped out--"
"We... have gone to the same school since Wee Acorns Scouts. I know you... At what point did you convince yourself that not making the Damien's gang was your breaking point? "
"I DID MAKE THE TEAM! I--" he looks down sadly at his big cuticle moons, "I mean. I should of made it..."
"Not this agai-"
"What you don't believe me?" Dirk cries dolefully "Why does no one ever believe me when I say that?" in his sorrow, he allows himself to fall backwards and sprawl onto the soft earth. 
Thistle lets out a long, low whistle and slumps down beside him, "It if helps, any--- I believe you."
"You do?" he sits up slightly.
"Fuck no. You're mental, love. I mean think about it," Thistle holds out a hand as she begins to recount his story "You're telling us that during try-outs, you saw a ghostly woman trying to murder Damien O'Shalna in broad daylight--"
"It's true! That's the only reason why I had to actually push him out of the way--"
"Right. Right. Wait I wasn't done" she paused "So. You broke rank, and charged your captain-- probably humiliating him by pushing him in the river... All because you thought you saw a ghost? Dirk. We're friends, and I happen to know that you're about as spiritual as a rock"
"It's true... and maybe it wasn't a ghost. Maybe it--"
"Maybe what? Huh? You think that you saw a Goddess? Get over it, Dirk! Please." having about enough of his nonsense, Thistle rose, dusting off her sleeves "Cummon, you're the only one we could think of that knows where they might be located after you help us find them-- I'll buy you a drink"
"Two drinks?" 
"As many as it takes to find your mother attractive"