The circus comes to town.

Someone had decided that the best way to promote a circus is a smooth transition from mystery to substance. Hand-written posters went up around Dejune, announcing the impending arrival of "The Carnival of the Endless Dance".

The Aberdeenians knew what a circus was of course. Units from across the nation would put on displays of acrobatics and daring, with martial displays and the occasional honor duel. For some reason, ribbons featured prominently, and everyone would be amazed.

The monastic mountain Tengu knew what a circus was of course. Travelling monks would put on thoughtful, wordless displays, subtly attempting to teach the younger Tengu a little of their history and customs through dance and pantomime. For some reason, masks featured prominently and everyone would leave a little wiser and a little more cultured.

The Tsuen refugees knew what a circus was of course. Elves from distant lands came with strange tales and stranger creatures, and put on displays and shows that would amaze and delight. For some reason, songs played by unusual instruments featured prominently, and everyone would leave with a little slice of awe in their eyes, hearts and minds.

Knocking back her third mug of dinner, Falli Icesmith was heard to opine what a circus was. Dwarves from the old holds would travel across the country, and perform complicated plays and rituals hoping to instill what it meant to be a dwarf, in the divine sense. For some reason, hides of various cave-dwelling creatures shaped into costumes featured prominently. According to her, everyone would leave knowing what being a dwarf meant on a less literal level; what it was to be a child of the earth.

Dejune, however, did not know what a circus was. No one (besides Falli as she worked through a flagon of dessert) really believed that  "The Carnival of the Endless Dance" would be any of those things. They would just need to wait and see.

Dejune, being a young and rather unusual town, did not know what a lot of things were. "Winter" in Dejune meant that it was cold and the rain didn't know if it was going to be water or ice, but it was trying to make up for it with volume. Except on most Thyrsdays it would be warm and sunny, as Pangu's staff of weather control (augmented by Talisa’s tinkering) made the climate a bit more friendly.

Rumor had it that the circus was Frey's idea, as a way to boost morale after the horrors of the daemonic attack. Frey didn't move to quash or confirm the rumor, but her lyre playing that week had a certain portentous edge to it.

(you can listen to it here!)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AsD0FDLOKGA

As the days passed, more posters went up, promising "A day of enchantment" and "wonders not seen here before", which people broadly agreed was not unlikely. Young Tengu were seen stealthily putting the posters up in the dead of night, which at least showed some dedication to the atmosphere. As the day approached (the 338th day, to be precise), a space was cleared on the edge of town, and people collectively held their breath (and drink).

This was not to be a fair where people came from afar to appreciate Dejune and all it's cleverly priced baubles, this was to be a day where Dejune celebrated itself.

On the evening of the 337th day, the Circus Came To Dejune. Bright wagons rolled into town, pulled by horses and ponies and camels and a frankly distressing number of yaks. Someone, somewhere was sure that any circus without yaks was not a circus at all, and had hedged their bets against running out of yaks any time soon.

Animals came in too, but not caged or even really watched over; they had the slightly fat look of pets who were loathe to stray far from their source of snacks. Front and center were a pair of dire tigers and a cub. Some Engineers with an eye for such things may have recognised the female tiger as the one freed from Banth's enclosure; she and her cub look happy and have recovered well from their ordeal. A wooly mammoth (with its fur dyed a rainbow of color) was clearly enjoying the winter; a celestial monkey and a Dalish elf played cards upon its back.

Others creatures streamed on in, and it was not really clear if they were part of the circus, or had simply been swept up in it. A quartet of giant spiders huddled together for warmth around the chimney of one caravan. On the side were painted the words "Madame Esmerelda's Visions of the True Dance: Futures foretold, truths revealed, mysteries unveiled, hair untangled"

Behind them came the performers. Fire breathers, jugglers, and those who normally carry the titles "carnies" or "lovable rogues" or "Hey you!", depending on who was asking. Acrobats are easy to spot, every other sane humanoid had long since bred out the gene that demanded you do cartwheels in freezing mud.

Bringing up the rear was probably The Man Himself; surely no one else thought an entrance was best made on the back of a magically-enlarged elephant. Those who knew the term Ring Master would likely recognize the cut of this tall, gaunt human’s costume, though they would have to look past the constantly shifting colours, not a one of which could ever be described as subtle, or for that matter matching.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Rogues and Rakes, Boys and Girls of all ages, Come and join us in the Endless Dance. See sights you cannot believe, and some you should not. Hear fantastic tales and songs from lands beyond imagining. Learn what the whims of fate have in store for you or simply sooth your soul with a day of entertainment and joy. Everything you seek and more, you’ll find it waiting for you, in the Endless Dance.”

That night, the circus unpacked and then unpacked some more, then began to construct tents, stalls and dangerously high looking trapeze stands. Some of Dejune stopped to watch, others decided to get a solid night's sleep for the next day's events. Those who watched carefully however, could see the signs. The wheels of the wagons were worn and the animals tired. The winter had taken it's toll, and the circus was not about to leave in the next day or so. If Frey really had called the carnival, she was not paying them in coin, but rather in a place to wait out the freezing weather.

Thyrsday, the 338th day of the 1789th year of the age was a festive one indeed.

As one entered through the rather improbable iron gates, the atmosphere changed. Everything felt more alive. The smell of exotic spices and mystic perfumes mixed with the earthy scents of animals and well worn canvas. Strange music drifted by, at once soothing and disquieting to the listener. Men and women in outlandish costumes moved through the crowd, some selling strange foods or trinkets, others wetting other appetites with hints of the performances to come later. Every so often a beast would walk seeming unrestrained along an alleyway, scattering and yet thrilling the audience.

Those with the eyes and the minds to see past the costumes and the masks could see the machine at work. They could see the craftsmen keeping an eye on the tents and stalls and mechanical games. They could spot the security officers, making sure that no one sampling the exotic liquors got too out of hand, and that no outside forces decided to take advantage of the large and distracted crowds to enlighten their pockets. A truly canny observer could tell the entertainers, the jugglers and firemen and acrobats, from the true clowns, who played tricks on those not in the spirit and gave gifts to those who were, influencing the crowd and drawing them all further into both the carnival, and the magic of the day.

The main attraction was the Big Top (which the Aberdeenians recognised for what it was), where shows could be performed in relative warmth. The mammoth proved adept at flicking colored balls through hoops with its trunk, and acrobats performed on high wires while the tigers chased them around the tent. The tigers would nearly catch a performer, but at the last moment he'd seem to fall off a wire, only to catch a passing trapeze and swing to safety. Apu the celestial monkey worked some magic with cards, and told jokes. The jokes weren't particularly good, but it was bizarre enough that everyone laughed anyway.

As the acts continued, one began to get the sense that the gaudily dressed dwarf guiding the audience through the evening was not merely hosting, but was also weaving some grand story, something subtle but with a deeper subtext, like those heard far below the surface in time of the dwarves’ prime. Possibly it was just the overly dour clown who accompanied him, often acting as the butt of jokes and yet showing a nuanced control of the large whip he wore wrapped across his chest, control more suited to battle than performance.

A juggler asked the front row to give them their weapons; he would juggle everything he was given. A magical sabre proved too difficult, and the crowd averted their eyes when it was clear the poor man's career was about to come to a painful end. Instead, he exploded in a flock of small colorful birds. A magician hiding behind a pillar came out and bowed, and the real juggler came out and this time performed perfectly.

The carnival games were rigged of course; floating wooden ducks were to be hooked by flexible bamboo poles with a less-than-optimally-curved nail hammered through the end. Those fortunate enough to hook a duck (a copper gave you three goes) were rewarded with paper tickets, redeemable for prizes.

Still, there was something there; while the ducks were all worth a single ticket, some were much lighter than the others and floated high on the water. The children with sharp wits did well, earning more than enough tickets to afford a mid-sized hand-knitted stuffed animal or a wooden sword.

Another copper piece bought you two stones to throw at a set of balanced iron cans. The cans themselves were much more stable than they appeared, but a ticket was given for every third can to fall, rather than for knocking over the entire pyramid of twelve. The cleverer among the participants soon noticed that it was easier to hit the top three cans off one stack than it was to knock an entire stack down (a rather satirical commentary on greed, surely). Not all the rocks were equal; while they all grey and roughly the same size, some were much heavier than others.

The other games had similar themes; they were all games of skill, but not the skill that the game traditionally tested. Greed was punished, while cleverness was rewarded; the number of tickets being dispensed made it unlikely that the games were going to break even, considering the quality and workmanship of the prizes.

Madame Esmeralda was certainly...something, although opinion was divided as to what. Her caravan was decorated with the spiral of Pharasma, hearkening back to the time where the Judging God was also the god of prophecy and what was to come. She had a raven that perched on a skull (as is practically required by law), but her fortunes were a little too accurate and personal, people left her tent looking more than a little uncomfortable. She told fortunes with a crystal ball and a deck of (what she assured Talisa) was non-magical harrow cards.

That night, while the engineers relaxed at the Planar Anchor, Gus approached their table and turned to address Shades. He appeared to be a slightly rotund half-elf of fairly average height and unremarkable appearance, if one could first get past the costume, which would require either being blind or a rather substantial will save.

"You are the Lord Shades of Dejun are you not? The leader of these Great Downwards Engineers? We have heard many times of this Lord Shades and his Engineers, and it is with meeting him in mind that arrangements were first made with your most fine associate Freydan. But we are sorry, we have not introduced ourselves. I, am the great Gustavo Bambilla," at this the man bows an improbably deep bow while flourishing an implausibly large hat, "leader of the Endless Dance, and this is my adjutant Siegfried Royman. We have come to offer you our services in your merry little band."