Heady aromas of mead and malt liquors filled the air, mingling with the scents of acrid smoke from bonfires and sweat of celebrants dancing and mingling. Amidst it all was Usil and their companions, enjoying the calm before the chilling adventure that awaited them.
The festivities were an invigorating salve to Usil’s mired emotions. They cackled with delight at Grummen’s radiant appearance, enchanted as he was by the various foods and delights that were available at the feast. They scowled fiercely as they made further attempts throughout the evening to sober the increasingly rambunctious Lorsan, thwarted merely by Dapple’s presence. They brimmed with misty-eyed joy at Mari’s reunion with her long-lost brother. They sighed with exasperation as Farrival bared his name for all to know, and possibly to claim. They puzzled with wonder about Quincy’s whereabouts, and what mischief their fellow warlock was getting into. Though the celebrations didn’t die down, Usil eventually sought refuge away from the merriment and noise, seeking to take in the perpetual autumn air and collect their thoughts. They winced as they felt the Story urged them back to celebration.
Though the rescue party came to the Feywild to rescue Marcello, they very quickly found themselves ensnared in the obtuse narrative that governed the lands, and furthermore at the whim of a soon-to-be Archfey. As much as Usil was confident in their companions' capacity to see the journey through to success, they couldn’t help but wonder what would await them at the end. The Story was a supernatural force that imposed its will upon all within its domain; Any good story is bound to have a tragic twist.
That last thought sobered Usil. What tragic twist awaited them? The dramatic reveal of Margarita Zenatta’s deal was the first, and for this weary pact of warlocks, surely it was a hint of what was to come. The others had been more recently forthright with their pacts, especially Mari. There wasn't a sense of a befouled deal or a one-sided power play in their stories. A twinge of panic gripped Usil's chest, uncertain about their own pact. Everyone was starting to play with an open hand, but what do you do if you don't even hold your own cards?
There was nothing to share about their pact, nothing to reveal. They possessed no knowledge of what they gave up for the Yellow Lady's favor. Before the Yellow Lady and Quillpond there was… nothing. Usil never suspected anything sinister, but as they accrued ailments and further holes that riddled their brain, they began to worry about what restoration would reveal. At best, it was nothing but a mundane past, nothing worth losing… but the Fey don't deal in the mundane, and that's what worried Usil the most.