Chronicles of Adair: Journey’s End

When the Fairelands disappear, where do they go? Surely, as is commonly said at the terminus of every Faire, they fade away into the very Mists that spawned them. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. 

But then, when the Fairelands fade, where do the Mists go? Do they too fade into a more elementary matter? Or do they pack their bags, take an all-expenses paid vacation to Hawaii, and sip Mai Tais by the beach?

As one recently missing Fairelander is about to discover, it’s neither—but also perhaps a bit of both.

The curtains rise on Relay Weekend. A familiar domed palace erupts from beside the track, and from the star portal between the palace’s two wings emerges a purple form.

Chronicles of Adair: The Search for Scheherazade

Now that I was in the right place, all I needed was for it to be the right time. Scheherazade’s face was literally plastered on the walls, after all, and translations of One Thousand and One Nights lay scattered across the tables in this little oasis. There was even a nice fire going.

But that was three hours ago. Now it’s well past midnight, and these scrolls are getting awfully heavy. Maybe I’ll set them down for a bit…

Chronicles of Adair: Don’t Shoot the Messenger

As the Faire enters its final days, celebrations have reached a feverish pitch. Lindens were jailed—and then bailed, wootberry juice was poured and consumed in quantities three times the daily value recommended by leading Dinkie medics, The Tale of the Three Apples was read aloud in lurid detail, and an epic battle between Chaos and Order erupted in a beam of light. Faire festivities are far from over, however. For one, a certain infamous penguin commits nightly vehicular homicide. It is on one such night that we spy a new—yet oddly familiar—face.

Oh dear. You seem to have caught me with my pants down, so to speak. Wait, they’re not actually down, are they? Good. You can never tell with these side-cut pants—or hakama, whatever they’re called. Sakka Flow told me that ninjas wear them, but I can’t imagine how someone could skulk around in the shadows when they’re one misstep away from mooning the world.

Chronicles of Adair: The Missing Score

Hello. It’s me again, the Fairelander. If by some small miracle you are reading this message, then perhaps you will understand my plight.

Perhaps you, too, still set your Scroll of Teleportation for Junction, only to see a blinking cursor above a nameless ocean. Perhaps you, too, still wake up giddy to greet the morning at Midas, only to rub the sleep out of your eyes and realize that Ishtar’s Gate has drifted away with the Mists. Perhaps you, too, adjust the pieces of your complete Her Highness’s Treasures gacha set, only to feel a profound emptiness—a void where something should be.

In my case, that void is the blank page I now hold in my hand, one page among many that I found washed up on the steps of Midas minutes before the Great Bongs of Doom sounded and the Fairelands vanished into the aether.

Chronicles of Adair: An Interlude with a Shapeshifter

Um, hello. Can you all hear me? Oh, what am I saying? You’re reading this note, after all, (or at least I hope you’re reading it!), and I’m writing it.

You’re probably wondering who I am. I’m not so good with introductions. (And no, you jokesters out there, my name is not “Not So Good with Introductions.”)  I generally try to blend in with the scenery, you see, and whenever I don’t, people gawk at me and call me a freak. But you all—you’re not like the other Mainland folk or the Outland folk, are you? You’re Fairelanders, like me. So I hope you won’t think poorly of me when I say that I am a Shapeshifter with no name, and Fantasy Faire 2019 is my very first Faire.