(The story written below was co-written by myself and several others, but it sets up the backstory for Elsie Grey, aka Aranya Northbrook. I'll be posting it in several parts, as it's quite long.)Â
The door of the tavern opened with a flourish, and he entered. That was the moment Elsie's life changed.
She had been sitting at a table by herself, nursing a bowl of stew that was slowly cooling, and watching the other patrons of the bar. Everyone was in a jovial mood. Nearby, a trio of men were sitting around a table, rolling a game of dice. The sound of mugs clattering, people talking, and laughter filled the air. Her eyes were drawn to the man that entered. He was hard to miss. The flickering lights of the tavern were too dim to see the face beneath that oversized top hat. The walking cane was spun and the light glinted off the silver goat's head at its top, smiling back at you with beady and terrible red eyes. The purple velvet coat was faded and worn, its tails dancing around the man's calves. The loosely worn belt served to hold a bullwhip and a dagger with a ridiculously long blade. The black and gray vertical striped pants had seen better days, the material thin and frayed, tucked into knee high brown boots of worn out leather, buckles and straps. He lifted his head just enough to glimpse the goatee and the baleful smile, the black painted lips, grease painted face and teeth that had been filed to points. In one grandiose motion, the hat was removed and he took a deep, extravagant bow, long black hair obscuring his features. His head raised, and the first bemusement of the night is seen in one glass eye, an "X" serving as a pupil.
Elsie was entranced. Her spoon remained poised in midair, as she stared at the man who had just entered the room and captivated her attention. He caught her bemused stare, and flashed a grin so sharp it seemed like it could cut a person. In a few swift strides, he had crossed the room and placed himself at the table across from her.
"Greetings, Lass." His voice was like smooth whiskey. "Might I be joining ya for a drink?" He spun his hat in his hand as it was taken from his head, and plunked down on the table next to him. Grinning broadly, he leaned across the table, his one good eye going from her face, to the mug in front of her, and back to her face again. "What are we having?"
Elsie blinked at the man for a moment, a bit taken aback by the man. He smelled like cherry tobacco, wind and rain. She had never met anyone quite like him before, in her life. Introducing herself, she learned that his name was Jeriko Arcady. That he was the leader of the Duskmoon Fair- a band of drifters, swindlers and rogues that had found their way to one another and traveled from city to city. The two of them talked long into the evening, and he invited her to come see the show, the next night....
Set out among the fields is a long dirt road. A soft glow in the distance tells you that you're on the right path. The old, cracked wooden sign stuck in the ground proclaims that you have indeed found the Duskmoon Fair.
A 10 foot tall fence that is in desperate need of a new paint job obscures your view of what lays beyond it. Usually these places have something sordid about them- which is both intrinsic and necessary. the sawdust on the track, the smell of animal dung, the dust from old marquees, the whiff of sweat below the tent canvas. The silver gleam of the eyes of a nocturnal animal can be seen stalking between the wagons.
The smell of animals, hay, candied apples and popcorn grows even stronger now. Outside the tent, small booths are set up allowing one to test their luck at various games. Knock bottles over with a ball, win autographed circus posters of the act of your choice. Throw hand axes into chunks of wood, win free popcorn or candied apples. There are no cheerful stuffed toys, no annoying calliope music. One booth in particular stands out from the rest....a booth, the classic mysterious fortune teller style..
Finally entering the Big Top tent, filing in like cattle, people pause to gawk at the thing in the cold iron cage. The cage is only just large enough to house the raving lunatic inside. Frothing at the mouth, squirming and jerking, arms stretching between the bars, reaching, straining to grab a hold of a chunk of flesh. He would eat you alive if not for that cage. His skin is deformed, scarred, horribly disfigured. He lets out horrid moaning sounds that meld into a somber duet with the pipe organ music coming from inside. You might even find yourself pushing past the crowd to get into the main portion of the tent.
You find your seat on the uncomfortable wooden bleachers. You catch a glimpse of an old pipe organ, immaculately polished and even though it could use a paint job, it pours out amazing and eerie music that remains in minor tones and almost seems like the whole circus area should be haunted with spirits of acts that perhaps have already seen their final curtain call. Directly ahead is the stage and the ring, centered in front of the bleachers. Occasionally a performer will stroll through the crowd, some juggling, some offering to paint your face like the ringmaster's, some swallowing burning steel rods of flame and then breathing it back out. It's done over the audiences head giving the illusion that if something goes wrong it could easily kill or maim an innocent bystander.
The perceptive will notice someone slinking through the shadows and maneuvering among the wires and 2x4 beams some sixty feet over head.With a sudden, mechanical clang, the lanterns go out and everyone is drenched in darkness amid surprised gasps. Just as the crowd begins to whisper, wondering if something's gone wrong...
A single lantern flutters to life, focused on a small entrance to one side of the stage. The flaps are parted and a menagerie of freaks walks through. A parade of oddities. An incredibly beautiful naked woman with glowing white flesh,( long curly red hair covering the essentials) is seated upon the bare back of a huge black horse with curved ebony horns. Jealousy sparks through the crowd; the women, jealous of her beauty, the men, jealous of the horse. Next, a black and gold painted female clown in a skin tight body suit backflips onto the stage. Up above trapeeze artists slither down from brightly colored ropes, another thin man bent over backwards at an impossible angle walks onstage on all fours. A demon in a red suit walks onstage, muscles bulging, three giggling girls in skimpy outfits perched on it's shoulders. Delighted and excited gasps echo around you as the performers file out. A black haired and white faced young magician walks around offering the children in the front row tricks of illusion and slight of hand. A booming voice heard from somewhere... but where? The more perceptive will realize it comes form overhead somewhere.. in the shadows...
"ARGH!!! Welcome Lads and lasses to the Duskmoon Fair!" Fireworks shoot from his hands to boom and snap under the tent's canopy in a show of silver and red sparks. He descends a rope of his own to land on the platform in the middle of the entertainment that stills goes on. "I'll be yer host this evenin,' Jeriko Arcady..." more cheers and clapping fom the audience.
With long and nimble fingers, Jeriko draws six balls from his pocket, juggling them without even having to concentrate. They begin to glow and burn with an eerie green flame and the crowd coos in delight. The Ringmaster puts both hands up, yet the balls still spin in circles around his face and chest. His finger is brought to his lips in a shushing motion, there is a some quick movement of his hand, an explosion of sulfourous green smoke, and the flaming balls and all the performers disappear. The smoke clears and the Ringmaster remains standing there, hat tilted forward, both hands positioned on the cane. From behind him, two hands reach around to trace his chest. That slow, villainous grin spreads across his lips, and he grabs the hand, to spin her out into a set of pirouettes. She bows low and with a swish of her coat and hair to the crowd and grins back at The Ringmaster. She is a mere 5'6 and 110 pounds of pure grace and beauty. Masses of curling hair falls to her tiny waist in perfect ringlets. Delicate features of angelic proportions crease into a wicked grin. Wearing a corset and a lacey gown of black and purple, she is an image of femininty and style. She steps free of him to turn and pull a long sword from her throat... slowly and deliberately watching the crowd as they gasp. Then another... and another as she hands them to the Ringmaster with a wicked little smile and sparkling eyes.Â
"ARGH! ladies and gents.... The Lady of Swords! Miss Beija Savage!" In a flash of fire and smoke, the Ringmaster disappeared and gave Beija enough time to strip off the long coat she wore to toss it to the side and expose the costume beneath. She was a decent juggler and pulled three daggers from a pocket to juggle with one hand while with the other she pulled a large sword from her throat yet again. The crowd ooh'd and ahh'd as she cleared her throat and smirked. She wagged one crooked finger to a man in the front row of bleachers, beckoning him forward. She laid the daggers and the sword in his hands, and then drew another sword out.... this one was thin and easily manuevered as she tossed it up and caught it between her teeth. The show is ended when she threw the two swords back up and let them slide down her throat again, where they came from. The man who had been holding her weapons shuddered. God she was something. The Ringmaster steps onto the stage again, wearing a longer version of his ringmaster's coat, this one black. He envelopes the young woman in this coat in a romantic and tender motion. And she simply disappears.
And so it went on, one act after another. Eventually all of the performers came out into the ring at the very end, to give a deep bow before the black curtain fell for the final time, that evening...
Of course Elsie stayed for awhile after the performances were over, to meet the other performers, and to talk more with the Ringmaster who so intrigued her. He looped his arm around her shoulder and told her to stick around, because the fun wasn't over....
The door of the tavern opened with a flourish, and he entered. That was the moment Elsie's life changed.
She had been sitting at a table by herself, nursing a bowl of stew that was slowly cooling, and watching the other patrons of the bar. Everyone was in a jovial mood. Nearby, a trio of men were sitting around a table, rolling a game of dice. The sound of mugs clattering, people talking, and laughter filled the air. Her eyes were drawn to the man that entered. He was hard to miss. The flickering lights of the tavern were too dim to see the face beneath that oversized top hat. The walking cane was spun and the light glinted off the silver goat's head at its top, smiling back at you with beady and terrible red eyes. The purple velvet coat was faded and worn, its tails dancing around the man's calves. The loosely worn belt served to hold a bullwhip and a dagger with a ridiculously long blade. The black and gray vertical striped pants had seen better days, the material thin and frayed, tucked into knee high brown boots of worn out leather, buckles and straps. He lifted his head just enough to glimpse the goatee and the baleful smile, the black painted lips, grease painted face and teeth that had been filed to points. In one grandiose motion, the hat was removed and he took a deep, extravagant bow, long black hair obscuring his features. His head raised, and the first bemusement of the night is seen in one glass eye, an "X" serving as a pupil.
Elsie was entranced. Her spoon remained poised in midair, as she stared at the man who had just entered the room and captivated her attention. He caught her bemused stare, and flashed a grin so sharp it seemed like it could cut a person. In a few swift strides, he had crossed the room and placed himself at the table across from her.
"Greetings, Lass." His voice was like smooth whiskey. "Might I be joining ya for a drink?" He spun his hat in his hand as it was taken from his head, and plunked down on the table next to him. Grinning broadly, he leaned across the table, his one good eye going from her face, to the mug in front of her, and back to her face again. "What are we having?"
Elsie blinked at the man for a moment, a bit taken aback by the man. He smelled like cherry tobacco, wind and rain. She had never met anyone quite like him before, in her life. Introducing herself, she learned that his name was Jeriko Arcady. That he was the leader of the Duskmoon Fair- a band of drifters, swindlers and rogues that had found their way to one another and traveled from city to city. The two of them talked long into the evening, and he invited her to come see the show, the next night....
Set out among the fields is a long dirt road. A soft glow in the distance tells you that you're on the right path. The old, cracked wooden sign stuck in the ground proclaims that you have indeed found the Duskmoon Fair.
A 10 foot tall fence that is in desperate need of a new paint job obscures your view of what lays beyond it. Usually these places have something sordid about them- which is both intrinsic and necessary. the sawdust on the track, the smell of animal dung, the dust from old marquees, the whiff of sweat below the tent canvas. The silver gleam of the eyes of a nocturnal animal can be seen stalking between the wagons.
The smell of animals, hay, candied apples and popcorn grows even stronger now. Outside the tent, small booths are set up allowing one to test their luck at various games. Knock bottles over with a ball, win autographed circus posters of the act of your choice. Throw hand axes into chunks of wood, win free popcorn or candied apples. There are no cheerful stuffed toys, no annoying calliope music. One booth in particular stands out from the rest....a booth, the classic mysterious fortune teller style..
Finally entering the Big Top tent, filing in like cattle, people pause to gawk at the thing in the cold iron cage. The cage is only just large enough to house the raving lunatic inside. Frothing at the mouth, squirming and jerking, arms stretching between the bars, reaching, straining to grab a hold of a chunk of flesh. He would eat you alive if not for that cage. His skin is deformed, scarred, horribly disfigured. He lets out horrid moaning sounds that meld into a somber duet with the pipe organ music coming from inside. You might even find yourself pushing past the crowd to get into the main portion of the tent.
You find your seat on the uncomfortable wooden bleachers. You catch a glimpse of an old pipe organ, immaculately polished and even though it could use a paint job, it pours out amazing and eerie music that remains in minor tones and almost seems like the whole circus area should be haunted with spirits of acts that perhaps have already seen their final curtain call. Directly ahead is the stage and the ring, centered in front of the bleachers. Occasionally a performer will stroll through the crowd, some juggling, some offering to paint your face like the ringmaster's, some swallowing burning steel rods of flame and then breathing it back out. It's done over the audiences head giving the illusion that if something goes wrong it could easily kill or maim an innocent bystander.
The perceptive will notice someone slinking through the shadows and maneuvering among the wires and 2x4 beams some sixty feet over head.With a sudden, mechanical clang, the lanterns go out and everyone is drenched in darkness amid surprised gasps. Just as the crowd begins to whisper, wondering if something's gone wrong...
A single lantern flutters to life, focused on a small entrance to one side of the stage. The flaps are parted and a menagerie of freaks walks through. A parade of oddities. An incredibly beautiful naked woman with glowing white flesh,( long curly red hair covering the essentials) is seated upon the bare back of a huge black horse with curved ebony horns. Jealousy sparks through the crowd; the women, jealous of her beauty, the men, jealous of the horse. Next, a black and gold painted female clown in a skin tight body suit backflips onto the stage. Up above trapeeze artists slither down from brightly colored ropes, another thin man bent over backwards at an impossible angle walks onstage on all fours. A demon in a red suit walks onstage, muscles bulging, three giggling girls in skimpy outfits perched on it's shoulders. Delighted and excited gasps echo around you as the performers file out. A black haired and white faced young magician walks around offering the children in the front row tricks of illusion and slight of hand. A booming voice heard from somewhere... but where? The more perceptive will realize it comes form overhead somewhere.. in the shadows...
"ARGH!!! Welcome Lads and lasses to the Duskmoon Fair!" Fireworks shoot from his hands to boom and snap under the tent's canopy in a show of silver and red sparks. He descends a rope of his own to land on the platform in the middle of the entertainment that stills goes on. "I'll be yer host this evenin,' Jeriko Arcady..." more cheers and clapping fom the audience.
With long and nimble fingers, Jeriko draws six balls from his pocket, juggling them without even having to concentrate. They begin to glow and burn with an eerie green flame and the crowd coos in delight. The Ringmaster puts both hands up, yet the balls still spin in circles around his face and chest. His finger is brought to his lips in a shushing motion, there is a some quick movement of his hand, an explosion of sulfourous green smoke, and the flaming balls and all the performers disappear. The smoke clears and the Ringmaster remains standing there, hat tilted forward, both hands positioned on the cane. From behind him, two hands reach around to trace his chest. That slow, villainous grin spreads across his lips, and he grabs the hand, to spin her out into a set of pirouettes. She bows low and with a swish of her coat and hair to the crowd and grins back at The Ringmaster. She is a mere 5'6 and 110 pounds of pure grace and beauty. Masses of curling hair falls to her tiny waist in perfect ringlets. Delicate features of angelic proportions crease into a wicked grin. Wearing a corset and a lacey gown of black and purple, she is an image of femininty and style. She steps free of him to turn and pull a long sword from her throat... slowly and deliberately watching the crowd as they gasp. Then another... and another as she hands them to the Ringmaster with a wicked little smile and sparkling eyes.Â
"ARGH! ladies and gents.... The Lady of Swords! Miss Beija Savage!" In a flash of fire and smoke, the Ringmaster disappeared and gave Beija enough time to strip off the long coat she wore to toss it to the side and expose the costume beneath. She was a decent juggler and pulled three daggers from a pocket to juggle with one hand while with the other she pulled a large sword from her throat yet again. The crowd ooh'd and ahh'd as she cleared her throat and smirked. She wagged one crooked finger to a man in the front row of bleachers, beckoning him forward. She laid the daggers and the sword in his hands, and then drew another sword out.... this one was thin and easily manuevered as she tossed it up and caught it between her teeth. The show is ended when she threw the two swords back up and let them slide down her throat again, where they came from. The man who had been holding her weapons shuddered. God she was something. The Ringmaster steps onto the stage again, wearing a longer version of his ringmaster's coat, this one black. He envelopes the young woman in this coat in a romantic and tender motion. And she simply disappears.
And so it went on, one act after another. Eventually all of the performers came out into the ring at the very end, to give a deep bow before the black curtain fell for the final time, that evening...
Of course Elsie stayed for awhile after the performances were over, to meet the other performers, and to talk more with the Ringmaster who so intrigued her. He looped his arm around her shoulder and told her to stick around, because the fun wasn't over....
