The whole thing felt surreal, but there was no denying the delicate tone of foreboding in the winds. Sure, the whole thing felt like a fucking nightmare, but there was something about the hidden Manor that was clearly magical. It took an actual invitation to even be able to pierce the barrier that surrounded the property, but it wasn’t just that kind of magic. Magic was everywhere, and Raelin was far more adept at seeing magic in things than most, but it was different here. The Arcana was old magic, not as old as Nature itself, but the gods seemed to like to mix the two together from time to time to keep mortals like her on their toes. 

The magic here was Primal. Older than the gods themselves or so it felt based on the absolute weight of air and earth anchoring Raelin’s feet. It was impossible to miss the glowing motes that danced along the edges of the garden, smaller than the fairies of the Sable woods, but far too purposeful to simply float in the cooling night breeze. 

Raelin’s eyes kept scattering to small details everywhere, pulled to fractured cracks in the stonework of the Manor that was clearly made up of magic to hold the stones in place. Or the scent of a fountain to the left surrounded by a kind of flower that bloomed only at night. A scent, not sound, which was confusing to Raelin’s senses. Everything seemed to defy what they knew of the laws of magic or laws of nature, making it nearly impossible to describe the place as a whole. 

Realizing then, with a bit of a smile to themselves, it was intentional. “How… curious,” Raelin spoke in a small whisper to themself. It certainly solved the mystery as to why so little information about the Witchrift Manor was available. It was not that the information was destroyed in some secret, but the magic of the place intentionally forced any who visited to maybe not specific things about it without being able to take it in as a whole. Reflecting on that, Raelin could no longer remember the color that could define the night flower other than it was a flower in full bloom at night.

It was heart-achingly beautiful and sorrowful as this was going to be an experience that they would never be able to remember. 

Which made Raelin’s plans very complicated. Or simple, if they thought about it more closely. Part of how they were able to even attend was with a promise to impart how to get past whatever barrier had hidden the Manor. Suddenly the concern about betraying the promise of the Invitation became an absolute moot point. 

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If they were able to get past the last step to get into the event.

Remained poised, taking in more of the surroundings as they walked up to the Manor’s wide staircase, lined with flickering iridescent colored lanterns, to the intricately designed door that was carved in an ancient story Raelin did not recognize. Old, unfamiliar, and clearly from a time and place that Raelin had never seen before.

Gods, for a Bard, this was going to be a hard one to explain when they left. 

The door slowly swung away from Raelin as they stepped up close to enter. They were neither late or early, but it only dawned on them that there were no other guests at the entrance. Could only one enter at a time? We’re they too early? Or was it the edge of late? Glancing up at the stars and the moon, time seemed no different than when Raelin had entered, and yet the stars were… different. The constellations were familiar, and not at all. Like they were where they were meant to be, but they were not quite in the right place, or one star was a little too far off or too close to another. But clearly Naeva was still Naeva, and Gaysnah was not unfamiliar to them either. 

“Invitation?” 

It was a low rumble of a voice, hollow of emotion but filled with the haute of nobility. One could always tell when a household was rich when the help also looked down on those who were not part of the household. Taking in the figure standing at the door he was visibly quite old and with Elven descent as his ears were longer than a human and to the telltale points but not as long as most High Elves Raelin had met in far too many different Courts. Dressed in simple clothes of some of the finest material that Raelin had ever seen, he held out a tray set upon his hand without neither a shake or tremor to suggest weakness from age. 

Raelin reached into the inside pocket of his vest. Tailored specifically to their figure, it featured delicate embroidery of gold thread on a dark Prussian Blue and Black patterned fabric. It suited well to the black blouse and trousers hemmed in gold. The adventure boots couldn’t be helped, but they had been polished to a shine and appropriately enchanted to keep any step hidden and silent. 

“Here” Raelin set the invitation with a bit of a flourish on the silver tray, and the moment it settled flat burst into a dark blue flame from one edge and consumed it to the other. Pulling back just as quickly, it took a mere moment for the invitation to disappear and have an incredibly detailed raven mask resting in its place. The blues, purples, and gold somehow matched perfectly with Raelin’s outfit.

“Your mask, Master Raelin.”

It should have been Raelin’s first warning, but too relieved at being accepted, Raelin slipped the mask onto their face and stepped into the Witchrift Manor.