A New Adventure Begins.....
We find ourselves in the land of faeries, storybook characters, and legends. We are in the Feywild. Told of only in tales, this world has been used by many bards as a setting to inspire wonder, mischief, lessons, and even tales to inspire fear in the hearts of children, merely to get them to do their chores or to behave in the deity’s temple, of course. The land itself exists right on top of the Material Plane we are all familiar with. It is the Material Plane, but it would take you one breath, one blink to determine that this land was just slightly different. Instead of the sun and the moon playing together in the sky to cause natural beauty and manipulate the Material environment, the Feywild draws its life force from magic itself, and it is as fickle if not more, than the weather, storms, and disasters you’re used to. In fact, it has been said that with every beautiful sunset and sunrise, you are getting a small glimpse inside the Feywild. For in this land, it is never truly day and never truly night, forever dozing in the comfort of twilight, or, Magic Hour. You’re right to think it is beautiful. Softened by neon pastels of a pixie’s drifting magic behind her and the irridescent glow of the large-leaved plants that serve as a roof for scavenging sprites, the world is ever-lit by the ever present magic. But not all is what it seems. Beautiful starlight can be revealed to be dancing pixies who thought it might be a fun joke to freeze in place for 150 years. In one moment, a placid pond can animate into a beautiful woman's lips and mouth, and gobble up the literal singing chorus of frogs that were rehearsing on its shore. Beauty, wonder, and danger emanate from everything, and 'good' magic is almost indeterminable from 'evil.' Both are deadly. That being said, song, laughter, and freedom pour from the inhabitants' love of whimsy, randomness, and trickery. To a mortal from the material plane, this place could be explored for lifetimes upon lifetimes and still, they would be able to make no rhyme nor reason of the world, for logical patterns are for any other place than the Feywild. Some of you are from here, some have made it your home, and others are visitors--or intruders, depending on who you ask. You have all been recruited by the Sire Satyr, Humdrum, who was able to contact you in person, through your minds, deities, or simple written word. He has begged for your help in determining the cause of a “blemish” in the magic of his natural community, The Faerie Kingdom of Qlain. This “kingdom” is more of an unruly ecosystem, but you try telling the fey folk that. While there are castles and courts in other parts of the Feywild, Qlain has found a natural comfort and order in the randomness of symbiotic chaos. You were warned that many beings in this land—the flora, the fauna, and the fey, all three orders—tend to operate for their own purposes. Humdrum is a refreshing exception to this rule. At this time, all he’s told you is something is wrong, and when he recruited you, he was not quite sure what. You were asked to meet in the Mushroom Kingdom just on the outer circumference on the southern border of Qlain. You all readied yourselves and steeled yourselves for your adventure, bracing against the dependability of the unknown, and now find yourselves having arrived in the mushy bog, at the exact right time: When the blue vines loosen their hold, and third mossy stone pulls away from the group to dash a fey rat in the eye, blinding it forever. (that is how time and distance are communicated in the Feywild). The air around you is soupy and almost pink while the ground is wet, in places sinking inches to douse your boots or (hooves) in the sludge-y mire of fungal roots that you’re not convinced are not sentient. You’ve found your footing and looking across the landscape, your first thought is color. Caps of differently-hued mushrooms dot the horizon like the most beautiful mixed bag of candy. Bright blues and pinks peppered with yellows and greens. The mushrooms range in variety: from small meadow-like cirles of thimble-sized orange caps, to dog-sized short flat spotted green caps turned into gnomish houses, to gargantuan tree-sized purple superstructures that sway a little too freely in the breeze, sometimes coming down with a BOOM upon the earth, only to right itself to standing tall once more. The natives of the Feywild made their way here by foot. Describe your characters. Morgan, Katie
The members of the Material Plane were provided a portal and an actual time to use it. Describe your characters. Jess, Jarred, Ron