When winter falls across the realms, and the first frost dusts the trees, the lanterns of the Mythic Midwinter Market begin to glow once more.
This is where tales are traded as eagerly as treasures — where dragons stir up the cocoa, snowmen wander off without warning, and the Guild gathers for a season of sparkle, laughter, and craft.
New stories unfold from behind the stalls and through the snow-dusted lanes. ❄️ Some are whispered by elves beside the fire, some scrawled in Percy P. Quill’s official notebook, and some (we suspect) entirely invented by the dragons.🐉
Whatever the truth may be, the Chronicle keeps record of it all — the wonder, the mischief, and the magic of the Market.
As the first frost settled on the forest floor, a purple glow rippled through the trees. Keith sneezed — a small puff of snow — and the first lantern sparked to life.
Within moments, stalls shimmered into being, their awnings catching the moonlight as if they’d been waiting all year for the signal.
By dawn, the archway blazed bright gold, the dragons were arguing over who’d stolen the best marshmallows, and the Guild’s Winter Watch had officially declared: The Market is open.
Day two began with confusion. Two of the Market’s snowmen — Mr. Drippy and Snowbert the Third — had gone missing from Snowflake Lane.
Witnesses report a trail of cocoa powder and one very suspicious reindeer.
The Lost & Found board now offers a reward: one cinnamon roll (warm) and a pat on the back for any successful snowman wrangler.
“We’re not saying Keith’s involved,” said Percy P. Quill, polishing his quill nervously, “but we did find a melted puddle near his tail…”
The Fireside Nook has become the unofficial heart of the market — where craftsfolk gather, cocoa mugs clink, and rumours swirl thicker than snow.
This whispers may include:
• A candle-witch trading flameproof scarves with the yarn spinner.
• Someone enchanting gingerbread men to do their own dancing.
• A certain dragon (names withheld) learning to knit.
Whether truth or tall tale, the glow of the hearth keeps spirits high — and the smell of cinnamon never quite fades.
As the final day drew near, lanterns were hung from every rooftop and stall. The dragons swooped overhead, their wings scattering glitter like starlight.
One by one, each flame flickered to life — until the whole market shimmered beneath a sky of gold.
The snowmen were found, somewhat stickier than before, and the Guild toasted another year of magic, mischief, and marvellous makes.
With a roar and a flurry of snow, the gates closed… until next winter’s first spark.
As the final lanterns dim and the snow settles once more upon the forest paths, the storytellers of the Guild roll up their scrolls and hang their cloaks by the fire.
The dragons will nap, the snowmen will (mostly) stay put, and the whispers of the Market will drift quietly into legend… until the frost returns.
Thank you for wandering with us through the Mythic Midwinter Market. The Chronicle will open its pages again next winter — with new tales, new mischief, and a few familiar pawprints in the snow.