Seasons Greetings dear readers! I do hope this time of renewal finds you
all well. Do peruse the pages of this, the latest Issue of the Serin
Mystique!

Inside, you will find current events, riddles, research, and interviews with
the notables of Serin. You'll find gossip of the current days as well as
traditions and memories of seasons gone by.

So please, at your leisure, enjoy!

- Trillian Triffle, High Herald of Serin

This Mystique authored by:

- High Herald Trillian Triffle
- Abecedarian Foggledonk
- Preceptor Mystleaf
- Preceptor Ayinti
- Dilettante Liraz
- Dilettante Broew

With special contributions from:
- Bonfo, the Master of Moustache

With thanks to our Immortal Guides:

- Peer Avenar, the Oracle of the Stars
- Lord Varliv, Supreme Magistrate of Serin

14th Renewal of the Celestial of Retribution

A coda to the recent Tournament of Valour, the Costume Ball was a tastefully
appointed affair hosted in the Royal Library of that same city.

Attendees included Avenar, Oracle of Stars; Bonfo, Master of Moustache;
Cotaphne, the pixie thief; Fiolo, a young elf; Foggledonk, Savant of
Physical; and myself (Liraz, the poison pen). The recently inducted Warlord
Jafran made a brief appearance. So too did Ayinti, Researcher of Warfare,
and Adith, the rodent, occasionally materialize as they battled across
Valour and other parts of Serin.

The Ball began with the awarding of door prizes: Avenar presented attendees
with six-sided die whose numbers changed colors. I'll show you mine if you
show me yours.

Then came the costume parade. Much remark was made over my own costume
(Fire & Ice) as well as Bonfo's, who seemed to have garbed himself in an
imitation of Kryton the Forsaken.

Next, Avenar awarded prizes for the Tournament: first, a Banner of Bravery
for Foggledonk, winner of the Tournament duel; then a lavish lockbox for
Bonfo, winner of the joust.

And just as Avenar was about to announce the winner of the costume contest,
suddenly everything went black.

A disembodied voice echoed throughout the realm. It spoke for a collective
who requested an audience with Serin at the edge of the Void. It left me
feeling empty, dark, and distant, so not much of a change, really.

After the shock of the announcement, Avenar named me winner of the costume
contest and awarded me a wondrous waterskin as my prize.

Then the pageantry yielded to feverish speculation: what of the voice? the
void? what of those ghostly pyramids?

The evening concluded with me claiming my rightful place among the Heralds.

Now we have conversed at the
Edge of the void.
Under cloak and cover,
Travelers have found two of the three
Remaining statues to place upon a broken
Altar. What of the third? Where will you
Look? What
Will you find?
Inside the first two--made only for certain hands,
Not others.
To wit, more secrets--
Even I cannot say what
Rumors await us at oblivion.

Centuries had passed since Zaikkra was banished from the realm. The toll
of the war was felt in a great many places. In the years that followed,
many wished for a calmer life. It was under these circumstances that the
Heralds looked to expand their organization into a Consortium consisting of
three different coteries, including the return of the Mystics. The new
organization would consist of the following:

Heralds - Storytellers and keepers of Serin's history and lore
Mystics - Savants pursuing knowledge of the realm, the planes, and gods
Scholars - Academics devoted to all types of learning

Because of their role as traitors in the war with Zaikkra centuries earlier,
the Mystics were allowed only to return not as a cabal, but as a much more
peaceful coterie with new objectives around knowledge and discovery.

While mortals continued to repair the world, Zaikkra's invasion had shaken
the very fabric of reality. The great battle seemed to stir awake entities
who had long forgotten the plane of Serin. From the depths of far-reaching
places, eyes opened and focused their gaze upon the plane of mortals,
watching and waiting. It was also at this time that Dogran ascended to
become immortal and emerged as the leader of Legion.

Then a strange entity came to Serin in secret: a creature from the void
known as Voraxen the Void Reaper. His whereabouts unknown, the Void Reaper
brought with him a powerful psionic object called The Oblivion Stone.
Whether on purpose or by accident, the power of the stone began to seep into
Serin. Mages suddenly discovered a school of magic thought to be lost to
the ages and the psionicist guild returned. And then, a new terrifying
threat emerged. Throughout Serin, portals to other planes began opening and
demons came pouring through.

It was no longer safe to travel. Cities were under constant assault. The
Knights created the Order of Light to recruit citizens into helping repel
the demons. Meanwhile, the Consortium went to task studying the portals to
try and understand what was causing them and how they could be closed for
good. It was discovered that the demons were being led by four Demon Princes:

Prince of the Pyre - from the flames of the Underworld
Lord of the Black Flood - from the endless Void
Baron Zero - from the frozen tundra of Winter
The Shadow Dragon - from the magical plane of Acadia

The first two princes to arrive themselves were the Prince of the Pyre and
the Lord of the Black Flood. They were promptly intercepted by Dogran who
struck a deal with the demon leaders. In exchange for allowing their
invasion of Serin to continue, the demons would lend their powers to the
Legion who would be remade in a demonic image. The princes agreed and
Legion began to be reforged with a new identity. However, after the
transfer of power was complete, Dogran betrayed the princes and destroyed
them, sending their souls back to the planes they came from. The next two
princes, Baron Zero and The Shadow Dragon, simply invaded by force,
attempting to fully consume Serin. The Consortium and their allies stood
their ground, and using powerful binding magic that had been discovered in a
lost archive, they banished the princes.

With the four demon leaders finally vanquished, a brief respite came to
Serin. For his role in helping banish the demons, the Immortals granted the
healer Avenar immortality. The Consortium thrived in an era where knowledge
was sought and history wanted to be written. But in those very moments, the
void magic from The Oblivion Stone continued to make its way into the ground
of the land. Its power had attracted the demon princes and now it attracted
something else. Another entity from the Void named Mordras. Calling
himself the Sovereign of the Void and the leader of the Void Reapers, he
demanded that Serin find The Oblivion Stone and return it to him or the
plane of Serin risked total annihilation by the stone's magic.

The mortals of Serin again banded together and embarked on a great quest
across the land to locate the stone. Finally, it was found in the hidden
depths of a place no mortal had traveled in millenia. And with it, was
Voraxen. The Void Reaper was trapped, bound to the stone through void
magic, being eternally torn apart by psionic tendrils emanating from the
stone. At Voraxen's behest, the mortals killed him to end his suffering.
They found his journal, which explained that Voraxen had come to Serin after
falling in love with a mortal. He had wished to convert her into a Void
Reaper so they could be together for eternity. Something went terribly
wrong with the ritual which resulted in her being cast into the void and
Voraxen's torturous imprisonment. The group of adventurers returned to
Mordras with the stone and explained what they had found. They gave the
stone back to Mordras who thanked them and then disappeared into the Void.

- Dutifully recorded by Avenar, Oracle of the Stars

In a world where cobblestones replace soil and towering spires overshadow
ancient forests, I, a young treant, embark on a quest to find a place to put
down roots. But alas! The medieval gentrification spares no room for
nature's children. Where once meadows sprawled, now lie bustling market
city centers, sparkling under artificial lights. Squares. The streams
where I used to sip are now diverted to fountains in

Seeking solace, I wander into a park, only to find it's a "designated green
space", trimmed and tamed, a mere shadow of the wild. "No rooting here,"
says a sign, "Keep off the grass." I shuffle away, leaves drooping.

Even the outskirts, once a haven for creatures like me, are now dotted with
quaint cottages and manicured gardens. "No room for old, sprawling roots
here," they tell me, as they plant another ornamental bush.

In this new age of cobblestones and cities, where does a treant lay its
roots? Perhaps in the hearts of those few who still remember the whisper of
the wind through ancient boughs, and the tales of the forest that once was.

Mystleaf Windlebrook the Grand Hierophant of the Forest

I went all the way from the border,
Far, far away as the eyes could see,
In the need of fulfilling unknown deeds.
From there I contemplated many needs,
As I blazed trail after trail into Order.

First I went into the Faction of Blood,
Where I punched rogues and kicked mud,
Dealing death and dismay to all involved.
The mayhem's reward, as it soon resolved,
Was just an ordinary piece of wood, a rod.

Then I went into the Faction of Steel,
Where there was another key, another part,
Of the enigma of Order, it was a heart.
Two guards needed keys to turn heel,
And what was left? Hard to feel.

Finally, I traversed the Faction of Magic,
A place full of ice, brimstone, and fire,
So as to obtain my third and final desire.
My first visitation was clearly tragic,
but the second only caused one funeral pyre.

Then, at last, I gave the keys to Order's Keeper.
A battle commenced, once all had spells and food,
And then I stripped myself all the way to the nude.
To most, this might seem quite crude, rude, or lewd,
But to me it meant my losses weren't any deeper.

From there, all had gained,
From there, all had pained,
From there, Order had lost,
And so, a victory's crossed.
For all that I had trained?

Perhaps, it is not known,
With the seeds thus sown,
Why a drunk monk has come,
To acquire many, many chum,
To defeat all the unknown.

She lacks incredibly godlike powers,
Shuns weapons, uses fists and feet,
Meditates for a great many hours,
So her energy does not deplete,
And she will rarely face defeat.

For she is herself an artisan of war,
Attracted to all the blood and gore,
Loving all the excitement of battle,
Writing down all the legends and lore,
As some get slaughtered like cattle.

She studies all aspects of the fight.
Why do some feel so compelled to bite?
Why do some prefer the cover of night?
Why do some choose to forsake the Light?
There are endless questions within sight.

"The Three Gates"

A young woman had a dream as she slept,
A dream which upon her waking, she kept.

She was about to choose her circle when she dreamed,
Where angels sang, devils danced, and banshees keened.

She had three ways to go:
Ahead, above, or below.

Within each place contained a portal gate,
Each showing what was her potential fate.

Ahead was Witch Wood and mud;
Clearly, the circle of blood.

Above, on an oak hollow, was a hive of bees;
This was almost certainly the circle of trees.

Below were rocks of various tones;
No doubt, twas the circle of stones.

And then, she woke at last;
And shortly, broke her fast.

What was she going to do?
What about if it were you?

Mystique Cento with a Prize Inside

Sleep softly, my daughter drow
The realm fell silent
As a spider clambers up her shoulder.
So what deems a fool?
It belonged to another.
Stolen from your resting place by vindictive hands,

--Liraz

Seringale is the oldest town in Serin, according to its own scroll. But
that doesn't even begin to convey what it is like in the present day. The
apparent Commander of Justice, Citeros, seems to spend more time in his
guild than out and about on the streets. One of his subordinates, Wigoseth,
is much more active in Serin affairs, but Citeros himself seems content to
stay in his guild like a squatter might put out a tent on the streets. Not
that they are around when you need them most... Mepheus and Kryton both
found convenient times to assault my guild. There are mixed opinions of the
current Justice members overall, but Citeros seems content to sit on his
throne instead of actively taking an interest in worldly affairs.

It seems that Kryton has finally decided to challenge the might of the
law, as he was already a criminal when our investigator came out. He
attempted without success to knock down Citeros, who he once said must have
a very comfy guild hall given how rarely he leaves it. It was impossible to
catch all the action as I did not feel safe following either of them around.
Much of the action seemed to take place within Seringale, or that is what
was observed.

- The Mistress of Hops, Hope and Happiness - Current Researcher of Warfare

Life is short, but sometimes death is shorter, as Durmindin recently
discovered in his brief battle with the bard Dahlya.

I was traveling with the berserker when Dahlya happened upon us in the
Emerald Forest. She looked at him and yawned, which seemed to enrage him.
He attacked her, and she fled.

Then the Minister appeared to me, and I had no suitable offering. He said
that was okay because he was there to watch.

Then the battle was over, and the Minister told me the bard had slew the
giant.

When pressed for comment, Dahlya said that Durmindin let his emotions cloud
his ability. I thought that was a berserker's occupational hazard.

--Liraz

A Recipe for Disaster

Savant Foggledonk said the Rest was haunted by a ghost.

I said what else would it be haunted by?

Find my preparations for a seance below:

{Ingredients}
chalk or blood
a periapt of vision
nine blood candles
an aura of darkness
the fat of a hanged man
an artifact of the dead*

{Method}
1. Using chalk or blood, draw a five-pointed star.
2. Surround the star with a circle of containment.**
3. Place the periapt at the center of the star.
4. Arrange the blood candles at each of the star's five points and four nodes.
5. Combine the next three ingredients in a large bowl and mix vigorously
until smooth.
6. Pour the contents of the bowl onto the periapt.
7. Wait.***

*For the sake of this exercise, I used the oldest Mystique I could find.
It smelled awful.

**Don't skimp here. Abyssal creatures like broken circles even more than
hearts.

***I'm still waiting.

--Liraz

Over the past couple Celestials, the monk known as Zyron has sought to
spill my blood. Now, this comes as no surprise considering he's a member of
Legion. To Zyron, it seems very much a sport. And I must say, it's done
wonders for my creaky old joints! I hadn't felt so alive in years. I've
had my fair share of bouts with elite killers but Zyron's skill surpasses
many. In particular, his ability to follow my tracks is second to none. He
tends to have the upper hand in our fights which means I tend to be on the
run after several skirmishes. He finds me rather promptly no matter my
retreat. D'al Kadar, The Forest of Illusion, The Ford, Tainted Valley,
Mount Saidian, Zodiac Island, Redhorne, and more. I even laid a trap for
him by resting at the entrance to Redhorne Mountain in hopes he'd pursue and
mistakenly run into the surround jotun. He anticipated my trap and pursued
anyways, throwing caution to the wind. It did not cost him his life but he
did indeed encounter the jotun several times before narrowly escaping. I've
gained much respect for Zyron following our bouts. As a seeker of knowledge
he's taught me much in a rather short period of time.

I look forward to what transpires next!

Fearlessly,
Foggledonk

The Ankh of Gonturan is a rather unique and legendary item within Serin.
It is found within a chest within the Faction of Steel where Nemhhael
Gonturan stands waiting for a challenger. One can look all around the
Faction of Steel and never manage to open that chest. One can look all over
modern Serin and never be able to open it. What is necessary to open that
chest is to get a key from Gonturan the Defender back in time, beyond the
Void in the Holy Grove. The key seems useless in its era, which it is; the
chest seems unable to be opened... Which it is, until you get the key.

Method: Over the course of one moon cycle, observe a group of ten bunnies
in a natural, enclosed habitat. The habitat is divided into four equal
quadrants: North, South, East, and West. Each bunny's hops are meticulously
recorded, noting the direction of each hop.

Results: The data collected contradicts the initial hypothesis. Bunnies do
not hop in each direction with equal frequency. Instead, their hopping
pattern appears random. The total number of hops for each direction varied
significantly. For instance, one bunny favored hopping northward, while
another showed a preference for eastward hops. Overall, no discernible
pattern emerged to suggest an equal distribution of hopping directions.

Mystleaf Windlebrook the Grand Hierophant of the Forest

Many of you are surely familiar with the classic treatise "How ta makin
da headsock" by Garp Grillparzer, esteemed scholar, and as such you are
almost certainly familiar with that work's limitations. While undoubtedly a
canonical work on the subject of blackjacking, "How ta makin da headsock"
suffers because Garp only details the construction of the headsock, and not
how to use said instrument properly. Writing as one who has both given and
received many a blackjack in my time, I am in a position to expand upon
Garp's seminal work with a level of professional detail that few in Serin
can match. Herein then, is Bonfo's Blackjack Almanac: A Step-by-Step Guide
for Bludgeoning with Style and Charm.

Let us, in this scholarly treatise, use a fire giant warrior as our pretend
blackjack victim.

1) For beginners, hide. The element of surprise is still crucial for your
success. With your headsock in hand, aim for the rear of the brainpan and
if correctly executed the victim will feel a telltale thwacking sensation.
For those looking to imbue their technique with a certain stylish
nonchalance, shouting the victim's name right before the blackjack is the
mark of the advanced practitioner. With this approach, the victim spins
around in surprise and thus meets your headsock directly in the face, and
indeed helps it. Ahh how lovingly it sinks in, not to mention the wonderful
black eye it leaves.

2) The thwack often causes the beginner blackjackee to yell "Help! A
dashingly handsome halfling just tried to blackjack me!", or words to that
effect. The veteran victim who is no stranger to blackjacks however, will
sink softly into an untroubled slumber. Now our real work begins.

Author's note: The opportunities a successfully (and stylishly) blackjacked
victim presents to the proficient thief are numerous: stealing, prying,
backstabbing, drugging, strap-slashing, dragging, and for the more skilled
among us, planting. All of these techniques, and more, deserve elucidation
in their own rights. I shall limit the scope of this scholarly article to
the before and after of the blackjack with only passing mention of the
application of other skills in our tradecraft. Rest assured that further
scholarly exploration of these techniques will be documented in future
articles.

3) When our fire giant victim awakens, the development will be most
unwelcome as you are now flirting with an alluring half-elf lady ranger
whose rippling silver laughter caught your ear, and whose luscious curves
caught your eye, when she observed your debonair use of the blackjack from
her forest den.

4) Keen to pay you back for the lump on their head, the newly awakened fire
giant will launch an earth-shattering overhead crush at you. The crush will
fall short however, because while the fire giant slept you liberated him of
Un-Rkizk, Trident of Massacre (you did pry Un-Rkizk from him, didn't you?).
Use the time provided by your victim's confusion to make your casual escape
into the forest to celebrate your achievement with your new half-elf lady-friend.

5) Weeping with impotency and outrage, the fire giant might yell out such
things as "Dark Lord of Shadow, empower us to consume all with your unholy
power!" or some such nonsense. Pay no attention to these ramblings. Many
a creature in Serin bears a slap on the skull with manly fortitude, but not
the fire giant. Remember, while a fire giant is big and tall and strong and
powerful, they are remarkably thin-skinned and are prone to bouts of crying
and excessive pouting. One might say they cry-a-ton, to coin a phrase. So,
we must be careful not to damage their fragile egos too much in our merry
fun. Besides, their real rage will be reserved for when they later realize
that you have also stolen their Ankh of Gonturan.

Lick a frog. You can get high!

It's as easy as one, two, three.

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In the heart of the whispering forest of Serin, Mystleaf Windlebrook, the
Grand Hierophant of the Forest, awaited his unique guest. Around them,
ancient trees stood as silent witnesses, their leaves rustling with secrets
of ages past. Today, Mystleaf would delve into the enigmatic tale of
Afales, the Wrath of Nature, a figure both feared and revered.

Afales, a rank 50 Ranger known for his unbridled fury against thieves,
approached with a stern gaze. His aura was a maelstrom of emotions,
reflecting battles fought and inner demons wrestled.

Mystleaf, embodying the tranquility of the forest, greeted him. "Afales,
your pursuit of Seyvv, a thief among the Keepers, has brought much turmoil.
Tell me, what drove you to such lengths?"

Afales' voice was like a storm brewing. "Seyvv, hiding within the ranks of
those sworn to balance, needed to be exposed. My hatred for thieves is
unyielding, ignited by a betrayal that still burns within me."

Mystleaf listened intently, his eyes reflecting wisdom and empathy. "And
your encounter with Amanthi, a monk within the Keepers, what did that reveal
to you?"

Afales' expression hardened. "It was a duel that tested my resolve.
Amanthi's challenge was more than physical, it was a confrontation with my
own shadows."

Mystleaf nodded, understanding the depth of Afales' internal struggle.
"Your past, particularly the incident with Yetuli at Redhorne, seems to
haunt you deeply. Do you believe this path of vengeance brings you closer
to peace?"

Afales looked away, his eyes betraying a flicker of doubt. "Yetuli's
betrayal shattered my trust. Since then, I see deceit in every shadow.
This path... I know not where it leads, only that I must follow it."

The interview concluded with a poignant silence. Mystleaf Windlebrook, the
Grand Hierophant, knew well that Afales' journey was a reflection of
nature's own untamed and unpredictable spirit. And as Afales departed, the
forest whispered its own storya tale of a ranger battling not just the
world's injustices, but also the tempest within.

In my recent interview with Jinzo, a member of the Justice Cabal and a
devout follower of the blood god Davairus, he revealed the dual nature of
his allegiance to the cabal's justice and the darker, more primal demands of
his deity. I questioned him about his decision to kill Voach, and Jinzo
explained that his actions were compelled by Davairus' mandates, which call
for ritualistic sacrifices.

Jinzo spoke of an overwhelming urge that begins in his extremities,
manifesting as a tingling in his fingers and toes, and intensifies in the
absence of a sacrifice. Intriguingly, he shared that if he cannot find
another offering, he is prepared to offer himself to satisfy Davairus. He
envisions his own end with a sense of resignation and dignity, anticipating
a small, private ceremony.

My curiosity led me to ask how he reconciles his bloodlust with his
responsibilities in the Justice Cabal. Jinzo mentioned performing
ritualistic bloodletting to quench his thirst and maintain control, and also
spoke of lighting a blood candle at Voach's death site as a symbolic act of
homage to Davairus.

Aware of the transient nature of his existence, Jinzo urged me to quickly
publish his story. He acknowledged the potential theft of the blood candle,
seeing it as a symbol of the fleeting nature of memory and understanding
among those not initiated in the ways of Davairus. His commitment to
Davairus is unwavering, as he honors the ritual with a single candle for
each life taken. This interview illuminated the complex balance between
duty and devotion in a world governed by both the laws of the Justice Cabal
and the divine dictates of Davairus.

Mystleaf Windlebrook the Grand Hierophant of the Forest

Ulshifhun, the Priest of the Templars, communicates a dire prophecy
received on his fifteenth birth cycle from the Angel of Ilithimus. This
prophecy centers on a ground- dwelling female figure who is predicted to
play a key role in initiating catastrophic events, potentially marking the
onset of the end times. Ulshifhun's messages convey deep concern about the
potential suffering and manipulation this figure might cause, likening her
to a master puppeteer.

He emphasizes the importance of preparing for these foretold end times,
highlighting the sacred value of comradeship in battle. Ulshifhun is
determined to prevent the predicted cycle of atrocities and remains vigilant
against being deceived by this figure, as he is resolved not to be blinded
by a veil of darkness.

Furthermore, Ulshifhun adds that "Serenla is but the beginning," suggesting
that the events involving this character are merely the start of more
significant developments. His parting words, "You watch," serve as a
directive to remain observant and cautious, underlining the urgency and
seriousness of the unfolding situation.

What might we expect from Ulshifhun, and from Serenla?

Mystleaf Windlebrook the Grand Hierophant of the Forest

In the shadowed realm of the Shrine of Dogran, a place echoing the dark
legacy of a mortal turned demon lord, I, Mystleaf Windlebrook, found myself
in a dialogue with Kryton, the Hand of the Dark Lord and Forsaken of Legion.
The shrine, resonating with the tales of Dogran's rise to power and the
Legion's pursuit of dominance, served as an apt backdrop for our
conversation.

Kryton, shrouded in an aura of authority and mystery, allowed me to ask
questions, though he remained guarded about the deeper objectives of the
Legion. Our discourse touched upon the multifaceted nature of power, beyond
mere physical strength, hinting at the Legion's subtle influence within
Serin. Kryton's answers, while revealing the Legion's adaptability and
strategic thinking, were carefully measured, maintaining the cabal's air of
secrecy.

The interview, though cut short by Kryton's duties, left me with a sense of
the complex and enigmatic nature of the Legion, their influence woven into
the fabric of Serin, and their aspirations shrouded in the same mystique
that envelops their leader, Dogran.

Mystleaf Windlebrook the Grand Hierophant of the Forest

In the quietude of the guild, Gwodon, a warrior of formidable repute,
recounted his unexpected encounter with Kryton, the elusive Forsaken of
Legion. Surprised in his own sanctuary, bereft of his usual defenses,
Gwodon faced a swift and ruthless defeat. Kryton, emerging from the shadows
like a specter, exploited Gwodon's unprepared state with chilling
efficiency.

Bruised but unbroken in spirit, Gwodon spoke of his experience with a blend
of anger and determination. His defeat was not a sign of weakness, but a
catalyst for a deeper resolve. Vowing retribution, he shared his plans to
prepare for their next confrontation, a challenge he accepted not out of
bravery, but as a necessary path to confront and overcome his fears.

The aftermath of the battle revealed Kryton's dark ritualistic practices, as
Gwodon's fallen form had been transformed into an eerie altar, a sinister
testament to the Legion's dread power. This encounter, as narrated by
Gwodon, transcended a mere tale of battle. It was a narrative of resilience
and the warrior's path confronting fear, embracing the inevitability of
death, and rising again with renewed purpose. His story, a vivid account of
facing the Legion's terror, stands as a reminder of the courage inherent in
those who stand against the darkness.

Mystleaf Windlebrook the Grand Hierophant of the Forest

Reminiscing of Yore

As I think back on the memories of my youth I am filled with a strong sense
of nostalgia. The joy I felt during those wholesome years is indelible. I
will write of one tradition in particular that brings a smile to my face
more than any other.

Every Celestial of Vanity (as it would be known in Serin) the gnome children
would gather around the village square for the annual scavenger hunt! This
was no ordinary scavenger hunt though; it was always full of magic and
mystery! Small wrapped packages were hidden about the village and its
outskirts for the children to find. However, not all these packages were as
they seemed. Some were simply figments of our imagination, others would
float freely, often out of reach of the youngest gnomes. And yet others
were given the appearance of something entirely different, though these
transmogrifications tended to be rather obvious to the keen eye. But the
most intriguing part of all is that one of these packages contained the
grand prize that every child dreamed of finding. This prize was never the
same so we never knew what to expect. One year it was a bottomless bowl of
fflewderdue stew (delectable, trust me!). Another year it was an excursion
to another realm for a full Celestial! And the year I found it the grand
prize was an ancient tome of secrets! What was within you might ask? Well
it was a tome of secrets, not un-secrets!

Festively,
Foggledonk

It only took me one taste,
Of brandy made from plum,
With everything twas done,
During a flurry of haste,
That I ran towards slum.

As a kid, I rode a sled,
Having fun and being jolly,
Til I fell and hit my head,
Kids might say, "By golly!"
But I was rushed home to bed.

I felt much agony and pain,
As I was laid down to rest,
Carefully aided, undressed,
My neck I could hardly crane,
To numb my pain was quite vain.

So my mom took out the brandy,
Made of some strong elixir mix,
Capable of numbing with licks,
Without using excessive magicks,
Which proved to be very handy.

However, it came at great cost;
Later, without booze I was lost.

Or so I felt. Strythmas brings mixed joys to me.
The presents are nice, and the food, and the tree.
But today, I recall no joy, some sorrow, and no glee.

- Recounted by Ayinti, Preceptor of Warfare

Greetings, one and all! At this festive time of year I thought I'd take
the time to share with you all a tale of my youth in Acadia. Yes, yes, I
know. There is not Strythmas in Acadia as Stryth was a God of Serin.
However, there are seasons. And as in most lands, the seasons are marked
with festivities! Here it may be Strythmas. In my home, the celebrations
took place upon the Winter Solstice. This particular tradition is quite
interesting! Indeed, indeed. As it is both tradition and rite of passage.
It is the coming of age moment for every young pixie.

Now, the very well read amongst you may recall my mention of a particular
difference in the nature of reality between Acadia and Serin. I wrote of it
in "The Proceedings of the Mystics of Arcana, Vol 1, Issue 1". That
difference is object impermanence. To refresh us, recall that reality is
far more malleable in Acadia. Things can be changed with relative ease.
Objects can be altered, appearances shifted. But the altered item remains
the very same thing despite these alterations. So how does one know what is
what? You simply know. This "knowing" is ability that comes to all pixies
eventually.

So, to the Winter Solstice tradition! In the weeks leading up to the
Solstice all of the older pixie lads and lasses steal the favored toys of
their juniors. Now the occasional nicking of goods is quite common indeed.
But at this time of year, it has purpose. The borrowed toy isn't simply
passed about or left forgotten. The adolescent pixie changes the size and
shape of the toy to make it into a sparkly ornament or some such. They then
leave the altered item in the eves of their house for trickster Fae
Astorway, the spirit guide of all wayward things, to collect. Legend has it
that Astorway gathers them all and on the Solstice attaches each item to
adorning ribbons that dangle from a large pole in the central green. In the
morning, the young adults ribbon dance about the pole whilst the children
fly about trying to identify and reclaim their transmuted toys. Each who
can successfully identify what is theirs is acknowledged as a young adult.
The newly acknowledged form a new pocket of pixies, forever bonded together,
and are now generally free to run amok about town without the supervision of
any adult from that moment forward.

I do hope you found this tale enchanted. I certainly enjoyed telling it.
Tell me, tell me, what are traditions from your place of origin?

- Trillian Triffle, Exile of Acadia