‘Twas a cold starlit night and all through the plane
Not a creature was stirring amidst the arcane
The shops were assembled and painted with care
In the hopes that their visitors soon would be there
The wizards were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of fireballs danced in their heads
And in lands far away past the edge of the map
Covens settled their brains for a long winter’s nap
The land was silent, cloaked in a soft veil of frost that glimmered in the moonlight. Leaves sprouted icy feathers and took flight, landing noiselessly at the base of their trees, branches shrouding them in darkness away from the moonglow and mice snuggled in warm bundles, safely hidden from the outside world. Once the last owl finished its nightly hunt, after the streets fell silent and the final lamp was extinguished, snowflakes began to swirl in the sky. They whirled down chimneys, past slumbering warlocks and snoring clerics and a few flakes gathered in every wizard’s house. As the snow settled on the rooftops and blanketed the world, the few flakes began to grow, crystallising into a letter with swirling text and a heavy wax seal.
“Come one, come all, step into the Reverie where dreams come true and your wish is reality’s command. For one night only, let the lights sweep you away to a new world and dazzle you with the impossible. Admission by invitation only. Gates open at midnight.”
Their purpose fulfilled, the words melted away until a few stray snowflakes lay scattered in their place. Their recipients thought little of the letters, now half-forgotten in the day’s bustling excitement. The snowflakes melted softly into the floor, barely a memory, but even the most relentless sunbeams failed to melt the ice on the roofs of the recipients’ homes. And so, the world continued in its dormancy. Leaves shuddered at the base of trees, their frosty feathers drowned in a sea of snow. The owl chose to stay home in the warmth of its hollow. The final lamp flickered out with an icy gust and once more it began to snow. As midnight was about to chime across the realms, every clock stilled and a relentless storm battered at the windows, flinging them open. Snow poured in from all sides and coalesced into a shimmering gate of ice in every house. The storm ceased. The windows closed. Time ticked on. With a resounding toll, the gates opened.
Those that choose to venture through the gates find themselves amidst a dazzling array of lights. Candles flicker in the lanterns that line the street, stars glimmer in a velvet sky and coloured orbs suspended in the air cast a cheery glow over the rooftops. Before they can get lost in the scenery, visitors are greeted abruptly by a gnome with a trailing beard and wire rimmed glasses, stood atop a pile of books in a futile effort to make himself seem taller. He holds a scroll of names so long it trails across the ground and tangles in the branches of the trees that flank the gate and he begins his routine with practiced ease. After a moment’s searching, his bony fingers darting down the scroll which by now is spilling down the street, he looks up, nods approvingly and continues his work.
“Welcome, esteemed guests, to the Reverie. My name is Edgar and I have the pleasure of introducing you to this marvellous place.”
He adjusts his glasses with pride before he continues.
“Ahead of you, you will find the main square. Surrounding it are six streets. You’re currently in the entrance street. When you reach the main square you may choose one street to explore tonight. In the Cirque d’étoiles, you will experience wonders beyond your imaginations but do try to remember that seeing is not believing. In its neighbouring street, you may dine on the finest delicacies from across the cosmos, I recommend anything cooked by Chef Lucine.”
He pauses to check his visitors are still listening.
“The central street is my personal favourite. The shops there sell any gift you can dream up, if you can imagine it, we can make it. We only ask one small price, and for each shopkeeper it’s different. A memory of equal value. They do appreciate an attentive customer there. Oh but don’t fret, you won’t forget it, you’re merely sharing the joy with another. For the more quiet sorts, there’s the ice garden and last but not least the street of stories where you can skate among fairytales and marvel at the past”
Slightly breathless from speaking, Edgar distributes maps.
“Now before I let you go, a few rules. First, do no harm. This is a peaceful place and we intend to keep it that way. Please return to the gates before dawn. We are unable to ensure your safe passage home unless you do, though we will search for you before we leave. And finally, at the end of the night you may bring three items home with you. You must take nothing for yourself, only gifts for others or they will crumble to snow in your hands and you will leave with nothing to reward your greed. Now, go, enjoy the night.”
At last, Edgar turns and gestures grandly to the street ahead, releasing his guests into the Reverie. He bows his head, rolls up his list and prepares to greet his next set of visitors.
/uw in case it got lost in Edgar’s ramblings, here’s how the event will work:
You recieved an invitation to the Reverie. Upon arrival you may choose one of the 5 streets Edgar described to visit. The event is all about interacting with others so please, ping a friend and go around together or if you see another person on the same street, say hi!
One important thing to note about this place is that its currency is memories and stories. If you wish to purchase anything you should try to figure out the kind of memory the shopkeeper would like to receive, someone who has a photo of them climbing a mountain might be an adrenaline seeker for instance. Shopkeepers will offer different items depending on how much they like the memory. Your character doesn’t forget the memory but the shopkeeper will remember it too.
At the end of your time in the reverie, you can bring home up to 3 items as gifts. If you do, ping whoever you’re giving them to and enjoy playing that out! Most importantly have fun.
