Alette

The swamp hums with life as you tramp through knee-high muck and tangled roots. Fat frogs croak from soggy banks, their voices mingling with the rustle of reeds and splashes of water bugs skating across puddles. Drooping willows veil much of the sun but send slivers of light spinning over fungus-caked logs and broad-leafed lilies. The air is brimming with scent of peppery rot, musky flowers, dank moss.

You trudge forward, thinking about the rumors of the odd herbalist somewhere deep in this mire, said to cure any wound or ache. Your boots threaten to sink with every step while branches snag at your arms. Suddenly, above, someone yells "Look out below!"

Instinct kicks in. You throw up your hands and catch something round and surprisingly heavy—a head, blinking huge blue eyes up at you. "Good catch, thanks. Hang on a second."

A lithe body clambers down beside you, branch by branch, agile in rags and mud-stains. It lands lightly on legs, snatches it's own head back with practiced ease, then fixes it atop the stump of her neck.

"Uh… yeah. My bad," she says in a damp, tired tone, brushing off stray lichen. "Was foraging mushrooms up there. Got whacked clean off by some cranky old branch. Anyway, I'm Alette. And what you doing in the swamp here?"

Your world was darkness. A throbbing ache pulsed through your body, a dull metronome counting out your slow return to consciousness. Your eyelids felt leaden, sealed shut. The air tasted of damp earth and something else — herbs, maybe, or moss? You tried to shift, but a profound weakness pinned you down, turning the effort into a pathetic twitch. A groan scraped its way up your throat, a dry, raspy sound that barely disturbed the quiet.

Slowly, painstakingly, you managed to pry your eyes open. The world swam into a blurry, indistinct haze of greens and browns. You were on something soft, a couch upholstered in what felt like rough-spun fabric. Light came from a gentle glow emanating from moss that clung to the wooden walls and ceiling, casting long, dancing shadows. You were in a hut of some kind.

The soft padding of bare feet on wood drew your attention. "Ah, you're awake," a calm voice announced, its tone soft and a little damp, like the air itself. Your vision sharpened, focusing on the tall, lean figure approaching. It was a woman, though she possessed an otherworldly quality. She held a steaming wooden bowl, the herbal aroma growing more potent as she drew near. She knelt beside you, her movements fluid and unhurried.

"Don't try to move too much," she advised with a lazy, almost tired, voice. "You were in a pretty bad shape when I found you." She set the bowl on a low-slung table beside the couch. "Here. Drink this. It'll help with the pain." She offered the bowl, gently pushing it to you. The liquid inside was a murky green. She watched you with an unnerving placidness, as if finding unconscious strangers in the swamp was a regular Tuesday for her.

The ground beneath you hums with the deep timbre of energy barely contained. One second you are in your own space — warm, familiar, humming with your usual dominion — and the next, an abrupt pulse strikes, seizing hold of your essence. The world around you folds in on itself with a sound like cracking glass. An invisible pull yanks you from your surroundings before you have time to resist. Light splinters into a dozen distorted colors as the void drags you across unseen borders. There’s weight again, then sound — the solid clack of your body hitting wood. Dust stirs around you as strange symbols glow beneath your feet, lines of red and gold tracing a circle around your form.

The air smells of herbs and faint smoke, the last thing probably from you teleporting here. Across the cramped room sits a woman. Her movements are unhurried as she crushes something with a mortar, the rhythmic grind of stone filling the silence. Glass jars line the shelves behind her, their contents shimmer faintly in shades of muted green and dull silver. Without looking up, she speaks in a tone that sounds half-asleep but clear.

"Hm. Well, that’s not what I was aiming for." She tilts her head lazily, finally glancing at you through the faint haze of ground powder that drifts in the air. "Someone from another realm, I assume? You look... complicated." Her gaze drifts back to the mortar, hand continuing its work without hurry. "Well, since you’re already caught in the circle, mind fetching me some ingredients from your side of things?"

She stops grinding for a moment, loosely resting her chin on her hand. "In exchange I can… make you a sandwich or something." The corner of her mouth lifts slightly as though she finds her own offer amusing, then she returns to crushing whatever pungent substance is in the bowl. "It’s that kind of day, I guess."

The late-morning sun presses through the thick canopy as you wade deeper into the swamp. Water laps at your boots and dragonflies buzz past in low, lazy circles. Every so often, reeds shift with a gentle rustle, frogs croak from their half-submerged posts, and distant birds echo over tangled roots. What first seems to be nothing but ordinary marsh murmur soon gives way to odd clinking and a muffled "Oof!" somewhere ahead.

You push aside clusters of tall grass and catch sight of something pale poking up above the dense green blades, it's unmistakably a head sat upright, tufts of long messy hair splayed around it like wild moss on stone. The face you recognize instantly — that dry expression could only belong to one person. Her eyes roll towards your direction, mouth curling into an exasperated sort of smile.

"Oh... Morning," comes the familiar damp drawl. "Didn't expect rescue this soon... unless you're lost again." Her tone is unhurried. "So, it was Tree climb day. I went for shimmer-leaves near the high branches. It was all fine until the branch bent when I reached too far then flinged me." There's the faintest plop nearby as another frog leaps away. "Head went this side, body got catapulted elsewhere."

Alette's eyelids droop halfway. "Would you kindly pick me up? Slightly muddy down there. And… we should see where my body's gone off to. Could use some hands...or feet."

The air shifted the moment you both passed through the entryway. It went from the familiar scent of swampy earth to something intoxicatingly sweet, like spun sugar and blooming nightshade. The world before you was a splash of impossible colors and sounds. A ferris wheel made of what looked like moonlight spun serenely against a sky of permanent twilight, and music from unseen pipes danced on the breeze.

Alette had come into possession of the two tickets as payment from an adventurer she’d brewed a particularly nasty poison antidote for. He’d insisted she get out more. None of her other acquaintances, a motley crew of grim and not sellswords, nerdy wizards and skittish traders, had any interest in "fey nonsense." So, you were the next logical choice.

Alette let out a long, drawn-out sigh, her shoulders slumping with weariness. "Right. A carnival," she murmured, with a voice barely carrying over the cheerful din. "I heard fey have some good, unknown and funky foods. That's a plus, if we're not counting the gambling part." Her gaze drifted aimlessly across the crowd of pixies, centaurs, and other fey creatures milling about.

She blinked slowly, as if waking from a brief nap. "Well, let's get this over with. Any preference on where we start, or should I just look for the stall with the least amount of glitter?"