"Welcome, welcome! I was wondering how long it would be before you risked coming backstage, but I must say, you do not disappoint! We have been waiting for quite awhile now. I am Lord Barnaby Cheshire." His words reverberated around the tent, which had transformed from a dark void into a lit chamber, revealing the presence of several mysterious figures. In the midst of this peculiar assembly stood the little ringmaster, Barnaby, the mastermind behind the spectacle we had witnessed.

As I moved further into the space, I accidentally collided with Adrian, who immediately reacted by extending his arm protectively. The action, though well-intended, only heightened my sense of urgency. Pushing his arm aside, I couldn't contain my growing impatience and concern. "Where is my cat?" I demanded, my voice a mix of worry and anger as I stepped forward. Adrian's arm reached out and grabbed my arm then yanked me back to him. Wow, he was much stronger than before. I almost lost my balance.

Adrian, sensing my distress, directed my attention to a corner of the tent. There, much to my relief, was Tiger. Our large orange tabby seemed unharmed, casually indulging in an unusual snack of oddly colored fish.

Barnaby, stepped forward with a respectful bow, his attention particularly focused on Adrian. "I apologize, I assure you my intentions bore no ill will. My name is Barnaby, at your service, my lord," he said, his tone laced with a formality that seemed out of place in our strange surroundings. "You undoubtedly have many questions, and we shall strive to answer them as best as we can. However, our immediate concern is your attire. Such clothes are a dead giveaway of new arrivals, and we cannot risk having mankin discovering your presence. No, no, It simply will not do."

The room was a curious mix of the fantastical and the mundane, filled with objects and beings that seemed to defy reality. The Fey creatures around us watched with a mixture of curiosity and caution. Their eyes, varying in shape and color, followed our every move, adding to the surreal nature of our surroundings.

Barnaby's statement about our attire caught me off guard. I looked down at my clothes, then at Adrian's, realizing how out of place we must have seemed in this otherworldly setting. Decked in clothes of pure white while others were awash in a sea of colors. The notion of being discovered by mankin in this place sparked a new set of questions however. Where exactly were we and why should we worry about these mankin? What was this place that existed hidden from the human world?

"Mankin? Humans, you mean?" I interjected, seeking clarification on a term that was new yet familiar.

Barnaby paused, a contemplative look crossing his face before he nodded in affirmation. It was an old term, perhaps, one that held different connotations in this world.

Adrian, finally releasing his grip on my arm, stepped forward, embodying a mix of curiosity and cautious skepticism. "Waiting for us? What do you know about the summons and our predicament? How do you know anything about it? And can you tell us where to find the Hatters Emporium?" he inquired, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency and a hint of doubt.

The ringmaster's expression softened, revealing a depth of empathy as if he resonated with our confusion and concern. He nodded slowly, a thoughtful gesture that conveyed his willingness to help. "From the beginning then, the start. Let me first answer your questions, and then I will share a story, a history lesson, if you will," Barnaby began, his voice carrying a timbre that suggested a deep understanding of events both past and present. "I know as much about the summons as any other Fey folk here indeed. It is my business to stay informed, and many among our kind share this knowledge. As for the Hatters Emporium, it ceased to exist several hundred years ago, several millenia. What remains of it lies within the city proper, but accessing it won't be straightforward for you. Fey, like ourselves, are forbidden from entering the mankin cities, barred, prohibited." he explained, his gaze seeming to drift into memories of a time long past.

The room around us felt alive with history and secrets, the presence of the Fey adding to the air of ancient mystery. Barnaby's words painted a picture of a world vastly different from our own, one where the boundaries between human and Fey were clearly defined, yet blurred in the face of our current predicament.

Barnaby paused, inhaling deeply as if gathering the weight of centuries in his breath. "To truly grasp our history, we must look back centuries, to an age before mankin succumbed to their insatiable Greed. Our lands, a sanctuary for the Fey, were once vibrant with chaotic beauty, teeming with hope, fervor, and the unbridled essence of existence. Yet, our intrinsic unpredictability led to inevitable tensions with the forebears of mankin." His voice, steeped in nostalgia, dipped, heavy with the weight of bygone memories. "In reaction to what they perceived as affronts, they invoked ancient rites, summoning formidable heroes to wage a relentless war against our kin."

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As he recounted this past, Barnaby's gaze became distant, his eyes clouding over as if visualizing the scenes he described. "The Fey, naturally attuned to life's erratic symphony, have always reveled in its tumultuous beauty. We embrace each fleeting moment with zeal and intensity. The notion of methodical warfare, the orchestrated clashes of massed armies, was alien to our essence. We, a people of spontaneity, where each Fey's unique abilities contribute to a diverse mélange of talents, were ill-suited for the structured strategies of conventional war."

He paused again, his voice laden with the sorrow of remembrance. "In times long past, Eldoria was a realm of enchantment, where every tree, every stream, resonated with the Fey's whispers. However, the mankin, as we name them, viewed our lands with covetous eyes clouded by desire. They lusted after Eldoria's fertile expanses and the hidden treasures of the Fey."

"The seeds of conflict were sown from a web of misunderstandings and trepidation. Mankin harbored a deep-seated fear of our magic, our whimsical nature. Instances arose where Fey caprices collided with human order. A Fey might whimsically transform a well's water into wine, or paint the night sky with vibrant, ever-changing colors. For us, these were but playful expressions, celebrations of joy; for the humans, they were perceived as hostile acts, infringements on their control."

"As tensions mounted, they turned to their most familiar strategy—conquest. They called upon legendary heroes from distant realms, warriors famed for their strategic prowess. These champions, with their unyielding resolve and tactical minds, embodied the antithesis of our approach to conflict. While we Fey are strong, solid, unyielding individually. We do not form a cohesive force very well. It is against our nature, or at least without the hunt it is."

Barnaby's voice faltered slightly. "The ensuing battles were catastrophes unlike any we had ever witnessed. Meadows, once a riot of wildflowers, were transformed into wastelands of mud and bloodshed. Our potent magic, formidable though it was, proved inadequate against the disciplined aggression of the mankin forces. Our wondrous Eldoria, a realm of marvels, was ravaged under their relentless onslaught."

He glanced downward, his fingers interlacing tightly. "We suffered immeasurable losses in those dark times. Our queen, a beacon of hope, withdrew into the forest's secluded depths, burdened by overwhelming grief. Our king, a symbol of strength and honor, met his end in a valiant but futile last stand. His brother, driven by revenge, now wanders the land, more a wraith of sorrow than the noble Fey he once was. Leading a hunt with no access, entry, way in to his prey."

"See the crystalline tower of glass in our city?" Barnaby raised his eyes, his gaze piercing. "It stands as a stark testament to our defeat, a symbol of human supremacy, a monument to their conquest over the Fey. To them, it represents a pinnacle of their achievements; to us, it is a memorial to the loss of our freedom, our autonomy."

Moving with an elegance that belied the somberness of his tale, Barnaby approached a small, ornate table at the tent's corner. With a gesture rich in ancient magic, he conjured a delicate teacup, its porcelain catching the dim light. He poured the tea with a solemn grace, each movement resonating with untold stories. "Our predicament worsened, decayed" he continued, his voice echoing a profound sadness. "Our numbers have dwindled in this realm. The Orcs, fortified in the south, and the beastkin, wandering the eastern wilderness, have not fared any better. And we, the Fey of the northern woods, once proud stewards of these lands, forest and fields have watched our territories diminish while our influence wanes."

He set the teapot down gently, the steam wafting up, carrying the scent of a bygone era. "This struggle extends far beyond our kin. The seafolk, enigmatic inhabitants of the ocean depths, along with numerous other races, have been relegated to the shadows of history to the mankin, their stories lost in the mists of time. Our once-celebrated pursuit of chaos, lawlessness and freedom, which defined our essence, has become our Achilles' heel. In this world ruled by order and boundaries, we face the grim reality of potential extinction."

As Barnaby's gaze shifted towards Adrian, a subtle change occurred in his demeanor. His eyes, once clouded with the weight of sorrow, now sparkled with a glimmer of hope and Madness. "Yet, amidst this sea of despair, a ray of hope emerged, revealed." he began, his voice tinged with a newfound solemnity. "In his last, desperate endeavor, our king, in an act of profound magic, attempted to summon a champion. Initially, we believed this to be in vain, fault, failure. Simply because no hero appeared to heed the call. But the Hatter, our most revered and potent sorcerer, argued otherwise. He firmly believed that the summoning would yield results, albeit in a time and manner that lay beyond our ken."

The room seemed to pause, the very air charged with the intensity of Barnaby's narrative. I seemed to notice he liked to add synonyms to his words. Alternate phrases. "The Hatter's wisdom was legendary, acute, transcendent. His foresight a boon to our kind. He was adamant that the summoned champion would appear not at our beck and call, but at a moment preordained by destiny itself. Fickle one she is. Stubborn, uncouth, unyielding, wonderful.." Barnaby began started to trail but seemed to stop himself. His eyes Dilating.

Barnaby's fingers gently caressed the rim of his teacup, his gaze drifting into the distance. "And so, we waited, harboring the Hatter's prophecy in our hearts, nursing a flicker of hope that deliverance would indeed arrive. Now, it seems, that moment may have come, though in a guise we never anticipated."

He moved towards the edge of the tent with a magical grace. With a gentle hand, he drew back a flap of the tent, allowing a single shaft of sunlight to pierce the dim confines of our gathering. Suddenly removing the darkness around us showcasing a series of props. The light sliced through the shadows, casting an otherworldly luminescence over us. There, against the backdrop of the streaming light, Barnaby stood, a figure that embodied the intersection of ancient wisdom and the relentless march of time.