Going to the Carnival

The bright crescent moon illuminates the night, a humble abode sits tucked away in a deep holler, in the rolling hills of a far rural community. A single light flickers in one of the windows. Inside, a mystical smoke hangs in the air and a mysterious figure hovers over a piece of parchment. He folds up several sheets and sets it to the side. A twinkle lights in his eyes and he begins to write. His illustrious quill pin glides across the page, conjuring the words on the page almost as if by magic. 

“He, he, he perfect,” chuckles the being to himself, “It’s just about time for that special time of year, that spooky time of year. The Fableverse will have to wait, for I have just the tale for them.”

The words pour from the Writer’s quill, covering the once blank page.

“A tale from the annals of some of the Fableverse’s greatest heroes meeting some of its greatest freaks. The tent is up, the lights are on, the curtain is pulled, and the Freak Show is afoot.”

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The Hero and Dr. Wolf walk down the cobblestone streets toward the park at the center of town. The park is illuminated by a warm bright light exuding from a festive tent. 

“Come one, come all to the Ostricester Carnival,” comes the jubilant call, echoing down the street, the voice of the jolly caller bouncing off of the brick walls of the buildings on the street.

“Can I not go anywhere alone?” growls Dr. Wolf, glancing over at the Hero who is matching him stride for stride.

“You’re going to a carnival, you wouldn’t be alone anyways,” retorts the Hero, “Besides I’m coming to win some games, meet some gals, eat some popcorn, and drink some mead. You won’t even know I’m there.”

“If that’s true, then maybe I won’t feel like one of the freaks in the Freak Show,” says Dr. Wolf, nodding to a poster plastered on the side of a brick building. The poster showed various oddities such as a humanoid-dog, an Adonis-like man with the tail of a fish, a gigantic muscle bound man lifting a massive barbell and wearing a devil mask, and a veiny two-headed beast that resembles a blob of clay.

“These things are always shams. I’m sure the dogman is just a lifter with some professional stage makeup or pieces from a taxidermist. Well, it’ll be something to do before Crimson gets here,” sighs Dr. Wolf. The pair of heroes continue through the iron arches decorated in a festive fashion, disappearing into the throng of people streaming through the parting of the big top tent and into the carnival.