Of Masks and Marionettes

Of Masks and Marionettes is an Official GemStone IV Document, and it is protected from editing.

Of Masks and Marionettes: A Di Penates Tale

'Ware the puppets, foul and fair

'Ware the masks or know despair

'Ware the curtain and 'ware the stage

'Ware the crimson-painted mage.

'Ware it all and in the end

A liar's truth begins again.

The Beginning

That is how it begins, dear ones, and according to some di penates in Naidem, that is also how it ends.

Once upon a short time ago, or once upon an age ago, no one can agree, and what even is time here in Evermore Hollow? Yesterday could be tomorrow, and tomorrow was a thousand years ago, until today made it now. Yes, yes, my dears, I am meandering. It is what we do here in the twilight.

To the point then, in some dark corners and in hushed voices, a small group of di penates tell this tale.

It happened, they say, in the forest, in the dark. It happened quietly, the loudest screams echoing only on the inside, but it first started with laughter. With joy. With light.

Five, six, seven di penates took to traveling away from home and hearth, and in one of the innumerable forests of Naidem, they came upon a faire, or a carnival, or a performance. The point is, my child, they wandered far from home and into an undiscovered pocket of woods. Merriment and games, they found, just what a di penates loves, and in this magical, mystical glade, they discovered also day and night. The tall trees wove a leafy ceiling far ahead, blocking all of Naidem's twilight skies, and the denizens of the glade, the keepers of the mayhem, they used magic both foul and fair to set a sun ablaze.

Basking in their first Naidem daylight, our di penates walked straight into the maw of the faire, and unbeknownst to them, the maw closed behind them. No, they did not, could not, feel the closing in of ancient magicks, for the light drowned it out, and the carnival began to feed.

"Fortunes!" cried one, beckoning a di penates into her rune-covered wagon, "Guaranteed accurate!"

"Fairy floss!" called another, standing beside a colorful cart and doling out the confections to teeming crowds of faire-goers.

The small glade grew bigger and bigger the more the di penates explored -- a ferris wheel at one end, several performance stages, tents and wagons and exhibits, games and prizes -- oh dear children, it was a faire to remember! A delight for both young and old!

And then night fell.

Large loomed the trees. Menacing wavered the shadows. And loudly echoed the screams.

One's first true night in one's unliving memory must be terrifying, dear ones. The vague recollections of night and day fade away in an auroral swirl of twilight, and no twinkling stars and happy moons filled these faire-crafted skies.

Terror filled the hearts of our di penates friends, and they ran, but try though they might, the grounds never gave way to forest, and the respite of an exit was never realized. Soon, however, the cries died away and discordant, yet merry, carnival music began to play. Vibrant globules of light flickered into existence, wreathing the buildings and exhibits in gaudy rainbow hues, and excited chattering filled the air as once again, the carnival came to life -- a different life, child, but life (or not-life) nonetheless.

Mesmerized by the hawkers and vendors, the di penates separated and meandered the night carnival, one taken in by games of chance, another by exhibits of impossible creatures, still another by dazzling displays of juggling.

"Again!" they shouted and "More!"

Above the cacophony, an insistent whisper swirled through the night…

"The merry mask's masque begins again

Where living wood meets living men.

Join us now at the writhing stage,

A taste of mayhem begins to rage."

Crowds of ghostly, cloaked figures raced toward a large, will-o'-wisp-bedecked stage, carrying our di penates along in a wave of excitement. For, you see, the Living Stage's midnight performance was about to begin.

It is said the Midnight Mayhem Masked Marionette Masque is a hypnotic event to behold, a chaotic blend of theatre and dance, puppetry and song, all upon a stage of living wood, where the trees are inclined to join in if the magical moon agrees. It is also said, nay, whispered, that the muse behind the performance traveled far and wide to other mystical places before infiltrating the Dark Carnival in Naidem.

(Or so say the di penates, the only ones to truly speak of such a place as proven reality.)

And so it went. Night to day, day to night, a never-ending feast of extravagance, but much like the fairy floss it sold, the Dark Carnival offered little of true sustenance for those it enticed through its arches and pathways and lost roads. Ah, but it fed, and it fed well. One by one, our di penates forgot to try to leave, and one by one, they were transformed.

Oh, from time to time, as night fell to day and day blossomed to night, one of them might stir and recall themselves or their past life in Naidem, but such realizations are quickly snuffed out by the Dark Carnival, you see, and the faire played on.

The Middle

The mostly failed rescue attempt began promisingly, dearies, with several armed and cautious family members following the signs and portents and coming upon the patterns leading into the glade at what one in daylit lands might call the highest of noons. The timing itself was fortuitous (or guided, perhaps, one never knows who or what may take an interest in protecting our Naidem residents and when), for the Dark Carnival has moments of vulnerability; none more so than when their makeshift sun is at its zenith.

Once the shock of a sun wore off, the crew found themselves in an abandoned faire in a downtrodden forest glade. Broken rides, decrepit wagons, torn tents, and other tattered remnants signaled a once cheerful place gone to seed, but if one looked closely enough (but oh dear ones, our rescuers did not look so close), the signs were there -- a gleaming tarot card pointing toward an open-mouthed tent, a pinwheel all bright and shiny and new spinning upon a cart with nary a breeze in sight, an immaculate marionette shifting its position upon a bramble-encroached stage.

But no, these things went unheeded. As did the rustles and murmurings from paint-faded exhibits. The tiny signs of 'life' unseen. Of something hidden. Of something More.

In the end, it was the tentacle-covered sheep that awakened our rescuers' senses. A fat ewe with vicious fangs for teeth and purple-black tentacles poking from her fluffy white wool, ambling across the grounds as if she owned the place (and who is to say what truly owns the Dark Carnival -- is it the Muse? Or perhaps it is our proudly tentacled sheep, my children, who are we to say?). Its casual insouciance and spark of what passes for life in all its predatorial glory shook our rescue team to its core, and soon, all that they had missed, they began to notice.

A statuary sister locked tightly in an iron exhibit between sculptures of incredible impossibilities. A hypnotized husband in the backroom of a dark tent, immobile and unresponsive. Brother, wife, mother, all as engraved marionettes upon a rotting stage. Each missing di penates accounted for yet unexplained. Rescuers pleaded and cajoled, pushed and prodded, but their loved ones remained captured.

And then, suddenly, it happened.

The unwitching hour ended with an audible snap, and the daytime faire resumed as if nothing had been paused, the grounds filled suddenly with children and families. And still, the missing remained immoveable. One sat mesmerized by a tarot reading with a beguiling fortuneteller, and all his husband's pleadings fell upon deaf ears and blind eyes. A statue returned to unliving and played the part of zoo creature in her cage, no sense of her di penates heritage remaining.

The rescuers spent the rest of the day navigating the faire, trying to find someone to help, but it was all for naught, as true night fell.

Like their loved ones before them, the darkness loomed about them, unnaturally shaped shadows hurried to and fro, and then the music and the lights and the Living Stage awoke.

"The Living Stage calls one and all

Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall

Join the fray and dance again

When heart meets soul it will begin

Beg the muse to open the way

Pay the price or else you'll stay

A moment now, just be bold

Home you'll be, if hearts unfold

As they watched, a woman with glittering green eyes strutted across the stage, narrating a tale of woe and loss, of betrayal and redemption, and with deft motions, she conducted the marionettes behind her into a dazzling performance.

Had this troupe of rescuers been like so many others, our tale would end here; another set caged by the Dark Carnival and captured and enraptured by our crimson-masked Muse of the crystal green eyes. But you see, my dear listeners, something was different this time…

…Our rescuers had seen the Dark Carnival for what it is. Those who walk in at the stroke of noon may, just may, be able to walk out again, and the compulsion of the faire can be resisted, if one's will is strong enough.

The End

And thus, we come to the end phase of our tale, little ones. Try though the Carnival might, it could not hold sway over the Noontimers if they held true, and while not all did so, enough of them stayed free to make a difference. To hurt the Carnival in a way it had not hurt before. Those few who shook off the compulsions rushed the stage and grabbed two of the marionettes whose visage mirrored their loved ones and whose eyes were filled with horrified and trapped sentience.

While the other marionettes attacked, while the Muse strutted and fretted and stamped her foot upon the stage, our few fought through and ran, dragging their wooden prizes behind them, and because they came while the Dark Carnival slept, the way stayed open for them, and they escaped.

Once through the patterns and pathways that led them to the faire, our remaining group could have rested, but they did not know that all were trapped safely within. And so, happy to be amidst the auroral twilight yet again, to leave the unnatural day and night behind, they ran on, pausing only long enough to untangle marionette strings and reposition wooden bodies for quick travel.

Alas, the Dark Carnival still claimed many, and those that escaped were not left unscarred. Gradually, our marionettes returned to their di penates form, but one kept a wooden leg and another a wooden cheek, and both felt urges to dance and sing in awkward jerky motions from time to time.

And now, years (or days or weeks or centuries) later, my beloveds, some di penates tell this tale as myth and legend, a caution against wandering too far from what matters -- hearth and home. Though it is whispered that a small few seek still to find the Dark Carnival again, either to rescue those left behind or because its branches caught hold and never truly receded.

So beware, dear ones, take care when walking the unbeaten paths of Naidem, and if you hear the sound of a carnival far in the distance where none should be, think twice before following the sound, lest the Muse and her Dark Carnival twine their way into what is left of your soul.

The Aftermath

As some rescuers fed themselves to the carnival and others escaped, in the chaos and conflagrations to follow, no one noticed the young boy marionette crumpled in a heap at the edge of the stage, a new awareness seeping into his chiseled form. His carved eyes stared enviously at the living puppets being dragged away by loved ones, and he muttered woodenly to himself, "I will be real someday too."

The voracious carnival shook with silent laughter at this pronouncement, and the muse paused in her rage to make note, smiling to herself as she recited:

'Ware the puppets, foul and fair

'Ware the masks or know despair

'Ware the curtain and 'ware the stage

'Ware the crimson-painted mage.

'Ware it all and in the end

A liar's truth begins again.

And the marionette boy cast off his strings and walked of his own, oaken accord, taking his place beside his mistress, the Muse of the Dark Carnival.

Elanthian Tales of Transformation

A brief examination by Chief Scholar Isienaka

Like the Weavers of Arachne, the Storyteller's di penates' tale appears to be strongly of Naidem, and perhaps even more so, as there is no direct correlation between extant halfling folk tales and this. It is also fairly modern, from what scholars can ascertain, for despite what the Storyteller has said, some on Naidem do track the years, and most agree the tale is no more than a century old, at best, and its true popularity only began to peak within the last two decades. Some scholars are pondering whether or not this tale has any ties with events occurring at Velathae in late 5108, and if so, what that may have to do with Naidem today. Did this stem from Dame Cirri's halfling victims? Or is there truly something in the woods of Naidem to spark such a vivid tale, something that sets many di penates quivering with unmitigated fear?

Such musings aside, however, while no specific correlation between this fable and Elanthian ones may exist, there is a long tradition of cautionary tales involving severe consequences for leaving the safety of hearth and home, and those often have corollaries in Naidem. For example, several human cultures have tales of "wildfolk" or bandits who lure children away, and we find mirrors of those in Naidem amongst the bodach and cailleach.

Unfortunately, many of these stem from irrational fears of elves and half-elves, including one famous tale from a village outside Nydds that claims a traveling half-elf minstrel used a magic panpipe to ensorcel all their children and lead them away, never to be seen again. Half-elven groups, such as the Vanadre Chiras, often have mirroring tales, where the precautions are to take great care in their wanderings, never leaving the safety of the traveling group.

Transformation tales also abound across Elanthia. The Kraet tell the story of "Atarnio," a wooden toy whose lonely owner animated it one day. Not content to live life as a wooden figure, Atarnio sets off on numerous quests to petition an Arkati to make him real. The quests and the Arkati in question vary considerably depending on the teller, but the end result usually involves shenanigans, danger for our wooden hero, and finally becoming a living, breathing Kraet.

Early versions of the Atarnio story often had the toy becoming a krolvin or a reiver, sparking scholarly controversy on whether or not this is because those races had similar tales or if it was a result of the half-krolvin desiring to be somewhat else entirely. Versions told today, however, lean into the pride of being a Kraet at last.

The Kraet are not the only ones with toy-to-life transformation stories. Some halfling children are told tales of how, if one loves their toys enough, they might become real. The most beloved version of the story is told from the perspective of a stuffed polar bear cub. He suffers through the indignities of being chewed on, drooled on, and dragged around until threadbare, and all the other toys are jealous because, as they tell it, he is the most beloved toy of them all.

Bear-Bear eventually is lost; dropped by the side of the road and buried in a snowfall. The child was inconsolable for weeks to come and even into young adulthood, she would fondly remember her stuffed best friend and feel pangs of sadness at his loss. It was then the transformation occurred, and our long-lost Bear-Bear became real, a tiny, orphaned polar bear cub bawling by the side of the road as his now-grown friend passed by. Distinct markings emulated that of her lost toy, including a gnawed-upon red velvet ribbon tied about his neck. Reunited with his child, Bear-Bear became a tame and faithful companion, and the two had many adventures in the frozen wilds. This folk tale sparked a series of adventure novels about a young halfling ranger and her polar bear companion -- The Adventures of Raika and Bear-Bear are numerous and popular even today.

In Ta'Loenthra, the Tale of Pyntala tells the story of Beleria, who despite her many suitors, fell in love with a beautiful statue named Pyntala. She is said to have caught the attention of Jastev, who appreciated her ability to love perfect artistry, and Cholen, who found much cause for mischief and merriment in her attachment. Together, the twin Arkati brought the statue to life, giving the woman a chance to woo her true love. In some versions, the statue abandons her and takes up with one of the other suitors, and in others, the two fall madly in love and live happily ever after (after the requisite number of trials and tribulations, of course). Often, the woman is the artist herself, crafting her ideal match in marble as the living had done nothing but disappoint; other times, the artist is her most ardent suitor, inadvertently creating that which would win her love's heart rather than winning it herself.

These are but a small sampling of cautionary and transformation tales found throughout Elanthia, often with similar variations in Naidem. The messages are typically to be wary of strangers, stay close to family, and love carefully but well.

Carnival Glass

Originating with the Dark Carnival, carnival glass is a coveted and rare glass found in Naidem. Legend says it is made of shattered mirrors from their funhouse and ash from "the souls who died twice" (no one knows what that means, but it appears in every tale and document about carnival glass).

In its primary form, carnival glass is an opaque and mirror-sheened grey-black, and it has been described as a "living" glass because of the white spirit-like items that will occasionally appear on its surface and drift about. The glass is also known to unexpectedly make ghostly noises, and from time to time, owners of carnival glass claim they can hear the distant sounds of a carnival, which is almost always followed by faint screams. The glass's mirror-like surface reflects images around it in a distorted manner reminiscent of its origins as a funhouse mirror.

Living carnival glass is rare, and it is typically only used in small items. Examples include placing one or two small panes amidst other panes in a window (its opacity means it will not let in light, so it is typically an adornment in a larger piece), adding a pane or two inset into a mirror for special 'surprises' when looking at oneself, small trinkets, and even jewelry. Some feel it holds trapped spirits, and there is a market for those who collect such items. Others swear their carnival glass trinket holds the soul of a loved one who has already crossed the veil, and they put these in places of reverence in their homes.

While true carnival glass cannot take a dye, there is a secondary form known as carnival deadglass. It gets its name because Naidem residents believe carnival deadglass started out as true carnival glass, and then the spirits were freed, allowing the glass to "die" and transform into a translucent glass with ghost-like white markings. Per their tales, it settles itself naturally into either the grey-black of the living glass or bright carnival-esque colors, such as cotton candy pink, orange, yellow, violet, and turquoise. While not as rare as carnival glass, carnival deadglass is still relatively rare, and the Dark Carnival is not sharing how this glass is made.

OOC Information/Notes

• Created by GM Xynwen, October 2026, for 2026's Ebon Gate Festival
• Carnival glass requires special scripts to be on it
• Carnival deadglass requires alter fodder and should be grey-black or a bright, vibrant "carnival-like" color