Luck be a Pixie

Felicitous greetings, mortals! I found myself in need of a break—as I am certain all who read this, need also. & so I stole away to a certain wood—hidden from prying mortal eyes—for a bit of færie fun.

As is custom, I brought gifts to prove my worth as a guest. Fortified sherris sack, & a dozen thimbles; one dough-nut, i’ the “old fashion;” 12 large pine-cones, from the tragically-vanishing Sierra redwood; a “boulder”-type marble from 1992 containing a portrait of Commander Riker™; & an original copy of the Picatrix.

Though we all knew I brought more than enough, they made a show of assessing my trinkets, & I made a show of defending their value—færie appreciate a bit of theatre, whene’er possible.

After the formalities, the fæ-folk broke into the sherris sack, & I into some Moon-draught I brought in my belt. As the stars twinkled & the owls communed, the færie took to talk of wagers—but the wagers of the sidhe, mortals, be no mere passing frivolity. For the fæ-folk, ye see, they make sport of mortals most of all. They mused on manipulating romances, altering fates, dabbling in politick—I played the gentle guest, but had no stomach for such færie trickery this night.

& so, I attempted to sway them to a harmless game of chance—I explained to them the devious mortal delight known as Hazzard! Ye may know it by its lesser modern name, “craps”—but I played Hazzard under the golden Sun-shine of Antioch, & feel most stubborn on this point of nomenclature.

My kindly hosts warmed to the idea, but found the six-sided dice too simple. We fashioned instead a 20-sided & eight-sided pair; & rather than the normal Hazzard numbering scheme, blended it with thy delightful “Black-Jack.” The odds favor the house, in a way illegal e’en in the Vegas, but the færie enjoyed it & so did I. They constructed a gorgeous table, seeded with long-extinct trees, to replace the sterile green felt of a mortal casino. ‘Twas a truly splendid working—lovelier, I think, than anything at thy “Slots-a-Fun.”

We wagered toadstools & truths, rolling on through the misty dawn. I fell asleep around the luncheon-time, ‘neath a friendly pine, & awoke back in the Shattered Empire. Inside my belt, I found a note:

Amœnus,

For the evening we thank,
Thy gift of sherris sack we drank.
The dice were rolled on past the Sun,
& we must admit we had much fun.

A polite note, I cannot deny, but they swiped my mushrooms, & all my coin! My wand is lost, & my head doth ache—but to dice with the fæ-folk, ‘tis worth any price.

Thank ye for reading! & we humbly thank that growing clan of mortals who can & do support our works here with coin!

I shall write ye come Wednesday, with an especial edition! This week, as we travel to TEXAS for the FIGHT OPERA, there shall be no normal show on Friday! Instead, this Friday night, ye shall enjoy a “behind-the-scenes”-style living-stream, as we broadcast when at a renaissance faire. ’Til then: be safe, be well, & remember, the house always wins, especially when ‘tis a pixie…

Cheers,
Amœnus Franco
Wizard, Writer, Dice-Master