A Festival of Foxes and Frolics

Lightwatch Festival!
 
The air crackles with the promise of adventure, romance, and of course, a smidge of intrigue. Tomorrow, Tarn will fade into a distant memory, replaced by the vast, untamed world beyond. But before we embark on our epic quest, tradition dictates a grand send-off in the bustling main square. But first we have to help out through the town. Chores and errands, bleh – hardly the thrilling start I envisioned. Still, any excuse to ditch the stifling house and mingle is better than none.
 
The Coldperch Inn buzzed with pre-dawn activity. Talk about eager beavers! Alistan, Liliana, and Ileas seemed practically bursting with sunrise enthusiasm. Too early for this wizard, I say. As the wise texts proclaim, a true mage arrives precisely when needed, neither a second early nor a minute late. Thankfully, Hayley, Dadroz, Gael, and I strolled in at the appropriate hour, just as the scent of fresh pastries wafted from the kitchen. I was kinda hoping to see Elsa Collins, the noble girl. But, as expected, she doesn't do peasant stuff. Nobles, right?
 
Edna Fare, the new-ish sheriff, then graced us with her presence. Talk about badass! Defended against a whole centaur raid, she did, and landed herself the job. Apparently, the last sheriff wasn't so lucky in that same raid, Dad mentioned. Edna's cool and all, but I gotta say, she kinda spooks the old man. She's got this laser focus, like her brain's permanently locked onto some critical mission. Maybe it's the whole sheriff thing, but sometimes I swear she could stare through walls.
 
I guess the day started okay, but I can't shake off this weird feeling. Maybe it's just the nerves about leaving with the caravan tomorrow. Or maybe it's just Dad. We hardly talk, and when we do, it's not great. At least I've got Hayley, my sister extraordinaire. Quips sharper than a goblin's knife and always got my back. Seriously, where would I be without her? Probably lost in a forest of social blunders, that's where.
 
So, after Edna gave us the talk about what the plan was today, we need to go from house to house and ask for any chores that need to be done. And she also gave us our first task – go to the old watermill and get rid of those pesky rabbit snares set by those illegal trappers. I thought it was a bit odd but figured we should help out. Before we left, Jeb Tofree called us over. He's a chicken farmer, and he asked if we could swing by his place last since he'd be gone all day. Seemed fair, so we agreed.
 
When we finally got to the old mill, we found those snares like Edna said. One of them caught a poor rabbit. It looked scared and hurt. Dadroz and Gael, the resident animal whisperers, calmed the rabbit down while Hayley, with her healer hands, tried to mend its wounds. Sadly, it wasn't looking good. We set the little guy free, hoping it wouldn't become another forest statistic. Nature, man, it's brutal sometimes.
 
Rabbit rescue complete, we shuffled back to the Coldperch Inn. Patt, the innkeeper, asked us for a favor. We had to carry out chairs and tables for the big festival tonight. He's expecting around 400 people. An hour of sweat and grunts later, we were rewarded with... a weird urn full of corks? Dadroz, ever the curious one, popped a cork and poured water out. The whole thing felt off, like this urn held more secrets than a grandma's recipe box.
 
Next stop: New Light's church, where Father Ellis Brightspin, a gnome who looked like he could sweep you off your feet with a whisk, was busy, well, sweeping. He needed our help crafting a new Worldtree display for the church. Apparently, we were tree-fetching champions now. Gael, the ox whisperer, took the reins (literally), while Ellis hopped along for the ride.
 
So, picture this: we're cruising down the road, sun glinting off Gael's ox-charming skills, when BAM! A rogue fox ninja flips across the path, nearly giving the poor beasts a heart attack. Gael, ever the animal whisperer, soothes their moo-ses like a lullaby, and we snag our fallen tree trophy. Back at the church, Father Ellis (think Mary Poppins with a dusting wand) promises a master woodcarver will turn it into something epic. As a reward, he whips out three potions – what kind of adventure is complete without mystery elixirs?
 
The village was buzzing with activity as it neared noon. We took on small tasks from the villagers, like moving furniture or babysitting. Then, we headed towards the market house, a permanent market where farmers sell their goods. It was super busy, but there were no artisans today, no blacksmiths or carpenters.
 
When we entered, there was a small applause. The farmers had a special task for us. Cue the warehouse of doom – a symphony of putrid smells that could knock out a dragon. Ileas, bless his nose, turns green faster than a chameleon on a lime tree. But hey, that's where my magic comes in handy! A quick scent-removing spell later, and Ileas is breathing (and thanking) again. Magic, gotta love it, especially when it tackles fruit-gone-bad.
 
Enter Hayley, our resident foodie, armed with enough bread and fruit to feed a small army. Girl knows priorities – gotta be fuelled for the epic festival feast tonight! As we escape the warehouse, the farmers shower us with the ultimate prize: a cart and a horse! We christen him Thorin, after some legendary hero – gotta give our new steed a name worthy of its future adventures.
 
Suddenly, we're transported to the Tarnfolk Windmill, where Varr, the half-elf Adonis with abs that could shame a washboard, is loading flour shirtless (because why wear one, right?). Naturally, the girls around are having a collective heart attack, and let's be honest, a part of me wouldn't mind trading places. But hey, gotta channel that jealousy into something productive, right?
 
Turns out, this charming (yet slightly exhibitionist) dude has a task for us – a doozy so tough, no one's cracked it yet. Apparently, there's a secret passage in the mill's basement connecting it to the Old Keep and the Inn, lost to time like a misplaced sock. We tried using Detect Magic, but it didn't work. We even used smoke from some grass, but still couldn't find anything. Varr was impressed with our efforts, though, and he gave us trail rations as a reward for about 10 days. Not bad!
 
We headed to Terrin's Cabin, the old hobgoblin's place. He was sitting outside, skinning a deer. It was a bit grim, but that's how things are around here. Terrin gave Hayley a parchment with a task for the day – picking herbs in the forest. Hayley said the forest near the village is safe, as long as we don't wander too deep.
 
We finished up the task and brought the herbs back to Terrin. As a reward, Hayley got a dagger – wooden hilt wrapped in leather, with a stone blade engraved with some runes. I got a knotted branch, roots at the top with a polished rock and a single rune. Very cool! However Terrin's about as grumpy as a troll with a toothache, muttering about skipping the festival. Talk about a buzzkill! The highlight of the night was supposed to be his secret tradition with the youngsters, and now it's hanging in the balance? Ugh, the drama!
 
Just as the day's chores start to feel like a never-ending to-do list, we find ourselves at Ashlyne's Honey Farm. The place is eerily quiet, with empty patches of wildflowers mocking the winter's barren grip. Ashlyne, the dwarven farmer new to Tarn, seems genuinely surprised to see us, task-hungry on the eve of our departure. But even surprise doesn't stop her from throwing a curveball – feeding the slumbering bees in the winter warehouse with sugary beet water. Bees, you say? In this weather? The air crackles with anticipation, and Alistan's valiant attempt to channel his inner beekeeper with a mismatched suit only adds to the comedic relief. Thankfully, Gael's calm demeanor (and lack of allergic reactions) saves the day.
 
Leaving the warehouse with buzzing ears, we head towards the chicken farm, expecting Jeb Tofree's usual chores. But instead of clucking chickens and Jeb's booming laughter, we're met with a cacophony of panicked squawks and frantic flapping. Foxes, several of them, are causing absolute chaos, ripping through the coop like feathered fiends possessed. This shouldn't be happening – shouldn't Corkscrew, the trusty pseudodragon, be guarding the place?
 
The fight scene unfolds like a chaotic ballet. Dadroz's arrows fly, Gael joins the fray, Ileas's attempt at fox-charming backfires spectacularly, Alistan becomes a valiant chicken defender, and Hayley unleashes her magical curses. Even I get in on the action, raining down magic missiles like a miniature mage-god. Thankfully, Gael delivers the final blow, knocking out the last fox.
 
But the relief is short-lived. Hayley's confirmation of rabies sends shivers down our spines. Liliane's healing touch might save the fox, but it can't erase the fear. Then, the discovery: a broken door, a ransacked kitchen, and Jeb, our friendly chicken farmer, lying unconscious on the floor. He mumbles about his missing pseudodragon, Corkscrew. The pieces start falling into place, painting a picture of a sinister attack and a missing protector.
 
Jeb told us that he came home and found intruders, or Reynards as he called them (a type of gnoll that looks like foxes), trying to kidnap Corkscrew. Gael and Ileas found tracks for 3-4 Reynards heading into the woods.
 
We plunge into the foreboding Lorewood, shadows dancing and tension thicker than winter stew. Thirty minutes later, bam! Our quarry - a crackling campfire illuminating four Reynard fiends and a bound Corkscrew. But Ileas, bless his stealthy heart, forgets the ninja handbook Rule #1: don't be seen! Cue the fight!
 
Hayley unleashes her verbal fury, cursing two of the beasts, while I unleash my magic, setting the Reynards on edge. Chaos breaks loose like a piñata filled with rabid squirrels. Ileas takes a nasty hit, teetering on the edge of oblivion, but Liliane's potion yanks him back from the brink. It's a dance of steel and spells, arrows whizzing past like angry bees.
 
Dadroz, the silent assassin, flanks the Reynards, freeing Corkscrew, who promptly joins the brawl with the fury of a miniature dragon with a chip on its shoulder. Alistan takes a nasty swipe, Hayley taunts with her razor-sharp wit (turns out Reynards have mommy issues too!), and Gael gets tagged by an arrow. The fight's a whirlwind of missed swings, lucky dodges, and the satisfying clang of steel meeting fur.
 
Finally, with a well-placed Frostbite, I send the last Reynard packing to join its furry ancestors. We ransack their camp, finding nothing but scraps and a measly 20 silver. But the bad feeling in my gut grows heavier than a troll's toenail clippings. Something's rotten in the Lorewood, and it stinks worse than a swamp troll's armpit after a week-long fast. This attack wasn't about treasure, diary. It was about something bigger, something sinister lurking in the shadows. Buckle up, because tomorrow's festival might be less about feasting and more about facing whatever darkness awaits in the heart of the forest...
 
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues as we stumbled back into the village. Jeb, the frazzled farmer, and Sheriff Edna, all stern brows and crossed arms, were waiting. Edna's lecture about reckless heroics stung, but her begrudging congratulations warmed the cockles of our hearts. Reuniting Corkscrew with Jeb was pure joy, punctuated by the clink of 200 gold coins – way more than we expected, leaving us feeling both grateful and vaguely guilty.
 
Gael needed patching up, so we whisked him to the church for a healing touch. Alistan, ever the charmer, vanished towards the river, no doubt prepping his best festival face. The lively tunes of Hillfield musicians filled the air as we entered the bustling square, setting the mood for revelry. My eyes instinctively scanned the crowd, and there she was – Elsa, bathed in the warm glow of twilight, as dazzling as the stars I longed to reach. A goofy grin stretched across my face, momentarily erasing the shadows of the Reynard encounter.
 
Suddenly, worried parents swarmed us. For Hayley and me, it was our aunt, Dad opting out of the festivities like a grumpy hermit. The aroma of free food tantalized our senses, and Alistan, Liliana, and Ileas bravely took the stage for an impromptu performance. It was okay I suppose, and the cheering crowd proved their enthusiasm.
 
The festival roared to life around me, a symphony of music, laughter, and the irresistible aroma of grilled boar. Tonight, under the twinkling canopy of stars, I planned to conquer my own Everest: getting closer to Elsa. Just the thought sent a nervous flutter through my stomach, as exhilarating as it was terrifying.
 
But before I could embark on my heart's quest, there he was – Alistan, with the same starry-eyed look fixated on Elsa as my own. Now, normally, I wouldn't be one to back down from a friendly competition, but the thought of a night filled with awkward silences and Elsa caught between two bumbling suitors wasn't exactly appealing.
 
A mischievous glint sparked in my eye. What if… instead of battling, we combined forces? A unified front, two charming heroes instead of one. Alistan, bless his valiant heart, bought it hook, line, and sinker. Together, we marched towards the noble table, our recent pseudodragon-saving exploits our not-so-subtle icebreaker.
 
While Lord Collin boomed his praise for our Reynard escapade, the normally rather reserved Alistan, stunned me as he turned to ask Elsa to dance. A quick glance from Lord Collin confirmed a silent approval - after all, Alistan's minor nobility held some sway, something I still lack.
 
I considered a discreet retreat, but Lady Collin, Elsa’s mother, a woman with eyes as sharp as a hawk, swooped in before I could vanish. "Care for a dance, young sir?" she proposed, her voice laced with amusement. While I wouldn't claim complete composure, I tried rising to the challenge. The dance with Lady Collin, unexpected as it was, proved surprisingly delightful. A welcome distraction, perhaps, from the image of Elsa twirling in Alistan's arms.
 
Yet, amidst the twirls and smiles, a steely resolve solidified within me. This may have been Alistan's dance for now, but the war for Elsa's heart had just begun. This wasn't a mere waltz, but a game of cunning and passion, and I still have plenty of tricks up my sleeve. The battlefield of love awaited, and I, armed with wit and charm, am more than ready to claim victory. Let the games truly begin.