Entry 72: The menagerie

Dear diary,
 
After a well-deserved rest and some much-needed freshening up, we gathered again and made our way out of the keep, into the city of Nimmerhold. With two days to kill before the actual celebration, we figured we might as well explore.
 
Nimmerhold is nearly twice the size of Keralon, yet for a city in the Feywild, it looks surprisingly… ordinary. In fact, it felt like a deliberate copy of Keralon. The resemblance was uncanny—from the winding street patterns to the style of the rooftops. Even the fact that they were plating the outer walls in silver was almost laughable. Keralon is called the Silver City for a reason, and this place seemed desperate to evoke that same prestige.
 
It was Gael who suggested we head to the park, where the festival had already begun. None of us had a better idea, and I was eager to sample some of the exotic foods I'd heard about, so we agreed.
 
As we wandered deeper into the city, the strangeness of Nimmerhold began to set in. At a glance, everything appeared normal—beautiful, even—but the longer you looked, the more you noticed that nothing was quite right. Streets turned at angles that didn’t make sense. Windows reflected light just a little too perfectly. The scent of flowers hung in the air, but never faded, never changed.
 
Then we realized it: the city had been built with magic. Crafted not just to mimic a mortal city, but to imitate one so well it looped back around to feeling artificial. Like a flawless painting of a crooked house—it lacked the grit, the wear, the soul.
 
Eventually we reached the edge of the park and stepped into the heart of the festival. It was massive—far larger than I had expected—and stretched out in every direction with stalls, games, and strange exhibitions. Some of them were clearly permanent, etched into the landscape like fixtures in a dream.
 
Liliana and I wasted no time heading toward the food stalls, while the others followed behind at a slower pace. One vendor in particular caught my attention, his stall glowing faintly beneath a canopy of paper lanterns. A sign above him read: Memory Food.
 
Curious, I asked what it was.
 
The vendor, an older fae with glittering eyes, smiled and said, “Even a single bite of these pastries will bring back your best memory.”
 
How could I not try that?
 
I bought one and took a bite. It worked—miraculously. The flavor was impossible to describe. Warm sunlight, laughter on wind, the exact shade of joy I hadn’t realized I missed. I closed my eyes, letting the memory wash over me, grounding me like a touchstone I hadn't known I needed.
 
When I opened them again, I was already looking around for Liliana.
 
I still had half the pastry left. Of course I was going to share it with her.
 
When I found Liliana at a nearby stall, she had a sour expression, and a thin trickle of blood was running from the corner of her mouth. Concerned, I asked what had happened. With a wry grimace, she pointed to the stand behind her—apparently, it had been selling hot sand cookies. Which, it turns out, are just fancily presented shards of glass. Literal glass. Welcome to the Feywild.
 
I delicately wiped away the blood from her lip and offered her the rest of my memory pastry. Her face softened as she took it, and I watched her expression shift as the magic did its work—whatever memory it brought her, it seemed to make up for the sharp one she’d just experienced.
 
We lingered near the food stalls, still unsure what to do next, when an elven woman in vibrant, mismatched robes approached us. She gestured toward a whimsically decorated booth behind her and offered a warm smile.
 
“You’re outsiders, yes? First-timers at the Nimmerhold festival? Come, try the Wheel of Fortune. No charge.”
 
Naturally suspicious, I asked, “What’s the catch?”
 
She shrugged, too casually. “There’s a very small chance you might lose something. A memory, a moment, a bit of luck. But the odds of reward are much higher.”
 
I could already tell she was downplaying the risk, but it was the Feywild. And, well, how could we say no?
 
Liliana and I both agreed to give it a spin.
 
The wheel was large and ornate, carved with symbols I didn’t recognize and faintly glowing. It clicked rhythmically as it spun—too slowly, then far too fast—before finally clattering to a stop.
 
For me, the wheel granted a wand—slender, twisted like a laughing vine, and enchanted to force someone into laughter for an hour. Useless in most situations… but perhaps the right kind of chaos when we least expect it.
 
Liliana’s prize was a small rod of silverwood, no longer than her forearm. At a word, it would transform into a fishing pole. A charming, if oddly specific, gift.
 
She turned to Alistan and, with a mischievous smile, handed it to him. “Happy birthday.”
 
Her words hit like a soft blow. Of course. Two months had passed while we were in the Feywild—and in that time, the twins' birthday had come and gone. I hadn’t even realized. A pang of guilt stirred in my chest, and I made a silent promise to find something meaningful for Liliana. Something that would make up for the time we’d lost.
 
Alistan, completely unfazed, pulled a small pouch from his belt and handed it to Liliana. “Here. You can use it with your gift.”
 
Inside was a magically cooled bag containing water and, bobbing within, a small purple fish with golden fins. Apparently, he’d won it while Liliana and I had been searching for food.
 
She beamed at the sight of it, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the weight of lost time, the looming tension with Ulther, even the strangeness of the city. Just a small, joyful exchange between friends.
 
As we stood admiring the little purple critter, a pixie no taller than my forearm fluttered down and tugged gently on Liliana’s sleeve. With an impish grin, he asked if she would aid him in a contest. Liliana, ever the one to rise to a challenge—even when she had no clue what she was signing up for—agreed without hesitation. He led her to a nearby tent that looked like it had been stitched together from old carnival banners and forgotten dreams.
 
The contest? A battle of insults.
 
The pixie, apparently lacking the venom needed for verbal sparring, had entered but clearly didn’t expect to win on his own merits. Instead, he gleefully paid Liliana’s entry fee and perched himself nearby to watch the fireworks.
Liliana, to absolutely no one’s surprise, obliterated the tent’s owner. With her signature mix of razor-sharp quips and cool delivery, she left him sputtering and red-faced before the crowd crowned her victor.
 
For her efforts, she was awarded a delicate silver necklace—an intricately crafted piece known as the Moon's Mirror. It shifted in both color and shape with the phases of the moon, sometimes a crescent, sometimes full, always beautiful.
 
She turned without hesitation and fastened it around my neck.
 
“For you,” she said simply.
 
I felt my cheeks flush with heat. The gift, unexpected and thoughtful, stirred that all-too-familiar flutter in my chest. I muttered my thanks, feeling suddenly, painfully aware that I had still not found a proper birthday present for her.
 
Determined to correct that, I scanned the stalls as we wandered deeper into the park. I passed trinkets, enchanted scarves, pocket-sized weather systems, and sweets that sang lullabies—but nothing felt quite right for Liliana.
 
Ironically, the only thing that did catch my eye was a miniature mantle made from snow fox fur—perfect for Fiachna. My brother scoffed the moment I handed it to my loyal raven companion, muttering something about “dressing up birds like nobles.”
He may roll his eyes, but he forgets how cold our winters get. Fiachna deserves comfort, just like any of us.
 
Our leisurely stroll came to an abrupt end when a piercing scream rang out from deeper in the park. Instantly alert, we turned toward the sound. More screams followed, accompanied by the growing chaos of people running in all directions.
Gael grabbed a panicked fae dashing past and asked what was happening.
 
“Chimerae!” the fae gasped. “They’ve broken free from the menagerie!”
 
Chimerae. Of course. Because what better idea than to display volatile, magical beasts in a festival setting, surrounded by civilians?
 
We exchanged grim looks. Whatever this place was trying to be—dreamlike, whimsical, chaotic—it was time to step in and restore some order. We couldn't just stand by.
 
We had work to do.
 
As we rushed into the menagerie, chaos unfurled before us like a nightmare scene. It wasn’t just the three chimerae that had broken free. A pair of full-grown owlbears—and worse, their cub—were also loose, thrashing through the exhibition grounds in a frenzy. Trapped between the panicked beasts were several terrified fae visitors, too frozen to flee or too injured to escape.
 
There was no time to hesitate. If we were going to save both the civilians and the animals, we’d need to act fast and smart—subdue, not slay.
 
We split up without a word.
 
Alistan charged left, drawing the attention of one of the chimerae and an enraged owlbear. He held them at bay with unwavering focus, weathering their blows with grim determination. Meanwhile, Liliana surged forward, darting through the chaos to reach a stranded elven woman pinned beneath a broken cart.
 
The fight was brutal but controlled. Every spell we cast, every blade we raised, was chosen for precision. We couldn’t afford to lash out blindly—not with lives on the line.
 
By the end of it, we had managed to rescue every fae caught in the fray, and even subdued the owlbears without killing them. Of the three chimerae, however, only one survived. The other two were torn apart by the owlbears before we could intervene—vicious, primal violence that reminded me of just how little control there ever is when beasts are involved.
 
And maybe… maybe I could’ve saved them. But I was too busy cradling Liliana.
 
She had thrown herself in front of me—again—and caught the full brunt of a chimera’s attack. Her shield arm had twisted under the impact, and she’d collapsed at my feet. In that moment, everything else vanished. I dropped to my knees, pressed healing magic into her chest, and watched her eyes flutter open as colour returned to her cheeks.
 
“Idiot,” I whispered, more to myself than her. “That was my job.”
 
While I helped her to her feet, the others began rounding up the subdued creatures and guiding them back into their cages.
 
That’s when Luke noticed something… unsettling.
 
“The cages,” he said grimly, “they weren’t broken. Not a single lock, hinge, or bar is damaged.”
 
We all turned to look. He was right. These animals hadn’t escaped.
 
They’d been released.
 
And that wasn’t all. Luke gestured subtly toward the edge of the crowd. Two figures stood there, observing us with unnerving stillness. They wore elaborate animal masks—one shaped like a wolf, the other a stag—and despite the distance, I could feel their eyes on us.
 
This wasn’t the first time we’d seen masks like that.
 
There had been masked guests at the King's party in Keralon. A masked figure had hired the mercenaries that attacked our keep. And now, again, they were here, watching from the shadows while innocent lives were put in danger.
 
Alistan, ever the bold one, gave them a lazy wave. The one in the wolf mask inclined his head in return—acknowledging us like a player tipping their hat before leaving the stage.
 
Then, without a word, they vanished into the crowd.
 
No. This wasn’t coincidence.
This was a pattern.
 
We couldn’t pursue the masked figures—not with the sudden arrival of the exhibition’s owner, an eladrin noble flanked by a small battalion of guards. His expression, one of worry quickly melting into relief, made it clear he hadn’t expected things to get so out of hand. Still, he seemed genuinely grateful for our efforts in subduing the creatures and saving the fae guests.
 
Once he had taken in the scene—the unconscious owlbears safely restrained, the chimerae dealt with, and the crowds dispersing without mass casualties—he turned to us with a grateful bow and asked how he could thank us.
 
I didn’t need gold or gifts, not here. What mattered most was reputation. With a small smile, I asked that he spread word of our actions—that we were the ones who had stepped in and prevented disaster.
He readily agreed, promising to make our names known throughout Nimmerhold. A favor in a city like this, with a court that thrives on influence and image, might prove more valuable than any treasure.
 
But he didn’t stop there.
 
As an additional token of gratitude, he offered each of us a blessing—temporary, but potent. Mine was a curious enchantment: for the next year, I can change the color of my hair, eyes, and even my skin at will. An odd gift, perhaps, but I’ve no doubt it’ll come in handy—whether for disguise, distraction, or simply a bit of flair.
 
After thanking him properly, we made our way back to the keep, the events of the day finally catching up to us. The weight of combat, the lingering unease about the masked observers, and the slow burn of healing injuries pressed down on all of us.
 
Still feeling guilty for not finding a proper birthday gift for Liliana, I offered her something more personal once we returned to our suite—a wellness treatment to help her relax and recover. A hot bath drawn with care, followed by a long, slow massage to ease the bruises from her ribs and shoulders, especially those from where she’d been knocked down while shielding me.
 
She didn’t say much, but the way her eyes softened and her fingers lingered against mine afterward told me I had, at least in part, made up for the missed celebration.
 
Tomorrow would bring new intrigue. But tonight, I could at least give her peace.