<strong>THE CELESTIAL PLANE OF BRIGHTWATER</strong><br/><br/>No less beautiful than Arvandor, Brightwater is a well-settled realm full of quaint cottages and elegant manors. While a planar traveler might spend days in Arvandor without seeing another sentient being, Brightwater is bustling with activity—all of it fun. The realm is devoted to joy, good fortune, and beauty, and this focus shines in every face and from every building. The plane as a whole is permeated with a sense of freewheeling adventure and frolicsome activity. Brightwater is a place to take chances, to seize the day, and to live life to the fullest. Though expressions such as these might be spoken only with cynicism in Faerûn, they express the very essence of Brightwater.<br/><br/><strong>THE QUARTER OF THE GREAT WHEEL</strong><br/><br/>Like a large city on the Material Plane, Brightwater is divided into neighborhoods or wards, each the realm of a deity. The Quarter of the Great Wheel is Tymora’s Realm. Gambling, racing, games of chance, and tests of luck abound here. The streets are broad and well kept, the buildings are elegant and grand, and the inhabitants are bold—and sometimes reckless.<br/><br/><strong>THE CIRCUS OF CHANCE ETERNAL</strong><br/><br/>Brightwater's ever-rosy sky was sunless, but pretty bright enough to be said to shine upon the open, yawning stadium of the Circus of Chance Eternal. Its name referred not to any tented troupe of jugglers and acrobats and strongmen (though such traveling shows were commonly enough pitched here) but to the simple architecture itself: a great ring of terraced marble audience stands surrounding a central field. The soil was almost crystalline, but not sharp, like diamond dust, yet grass grew through and seemed quite resilient underfoot.<br/><br/>The audience was varied in race and temperament, and could be rightly said to be of good-natured yet chaotic bent n both the colloquial and planarly aligned senses. Angels and their elf-like cousins the eladrins sat shoulder to shoulder, or wing to wing, as did many humans and elves and other mortals. These were either planar travelers or had 'passed' here in another sense: of bygone mortal generations, and onetime petitioners now in the midst of enjoying the afterlife of those who'd revered Tymora or the plane's other goddesses.<br/><br/>Specifically, they had been enjoying a series of pitches exhibition battles, as various warriors and intelligent creatures dueled upon the field shrouded in a field of nonlethality and slow regeneration, while walls of force rose between field and audience during each duel, all overlooked by a wide circle of Tymoran priestesses, sorceresses, and celestials.<br/><br/>The open stadium hosted many marble columns and other classical stylings. From a high booth, covered in a gauzy peach tent-ceiling, one might but for the feminine coloration have expected some ancient olive-crowned tyrant to lord over bloody spectacle.<br/><br/>Instead, a slender young blonde who might've been pure human stood in a peach gown to match the shading above her, and she held out a scarf which matched alike.<br/><br/>Below, at opposite edges of the diamond-dust field at thus two hundred feet apart from each other, hovered two eladrins, pixie-like coures. Each held a bag, and after looking up to the woman above, jostled their bags as if to shuffle whatever was inside. One then drew out a single token, glanced at it, and pressed two fingers to her forehead.<br/><br/>The lady above called in a voice soft, but everywhere present by magic, surely, "Garland Lufenia!"<br/><br/>At that, a man hopped down from the very lowest row of the stands onto the field. He was so thoroughly armored that it wasn't entirely clear what sort of man he was, but his dimensions were not too towering to've been human. His armor glinted silvery int he rosy light, like that o a storied paladin, but his face-shadowing helm sported two horns almost worthy to crown a pit fiend.<br/><br/>A hefty sword and even longer bow crossed upon his back, each sticking out from the shoulders of a royal purple cape, and bandoleers and pouches crossed upon his armor, holding holstered tomahawks and perhaps other random things.<br/><br/>The knight rose his gauntlets and turned about slowly, in sporting but perhaps vainglorious gestures to work up the crowd. From the helm came a booming voice, along with an upsweep of a gauntlet towards the peach-gowned lady high above. "For thee, fair Sara! Tease not - simply toss now the scarf! 'Twould look the fairer about my own arm!"<br/><br/>The  laughed softly and then called back in the carrying voice, "We shall see! Now to your place, which the dice shall soon determine."<br/><br/>The coure who had drawn the name-token tossed a pair of dice down to its own feet, dropped from its hover, and pointed. Garland's horned helm nodded, and he swaggered to the given place.<br/><br/>Then Sara looked towards the other coure, who drew a shuffled token, and touched its forehead. Sara called, "Rose Longstrider!"<br/><br/>Scattered spectators began furiously betting and swapping gems and coins.