The King's Circus [IC]

[FoxLeFay]

The sun was a searing white semicircle in a deep red haze while the troupe was preparing the tent for the day's performance. While the majority of the members of the circus were used to waking up early for shows, there had been a sense of urgency that prevented a large number of them from sleeping through the night and so they decided to get ready even before the chill of evening had considered retreating. When the inhabitants of this tiny town woke up to tend to their fields they'd be greeted by the sight of the famous cloth structure and deceptively simplistic signs. The farm village was jarringly close to the walls of Kovno's capital and Callan had been bombarded with concerns that they should tone down their show so that they wouldn't attract attention from any guards or aristocrats. She had considered the fact that they might be detained for their show, hell, she'd even developed bags under her eyes from grappling with the thought that they could die for their goals. At this point in time, though, those fears were the furthest things from her mind. She had to keep focused for the sake of the group. Gripping her ringleader's jacket closer over her shoulders, she took a walk around the grounds to make sure she couldn't help driving in stakes or unfurling banners.

Having made a preliminary set of rounds, she stopped by to grab the scepter that was stowed in the main carriage. The moment she unlocked its case it was apparent that the rod was twitching slightly as though pulled by an unseen force. It was an encouraging sign but, paradoxically, it made her blood freeze. Would the rod truly be able to single out the future sovereign in a crowd of enthusiastic citizens? What was their insurance that he or she would show up to the performance? All the same, she grabbed the scepter and made her way back outside to plan which members of the caravan would be headlining tonight. Her concern about not being able to lure in the future leader would only be soothed once she was sure they would be putting on the most extravagant show they could manage. She would take the time to wander through the village a few hours before the show started wearing some inconspicuous clothing as to appear more like a vagabond to run some promotions but today she made the decision to drag the scepter along with her, hoping that it would miraculously run her into the path of their target. It was a stretch, sure, but sitting idly by so close to the deadline would be unethical in her mindset. There was a rumor that kept passing quietly behind her back that people were beginning to doubt in their mission, question their methods and detest their odds of success. She didn't think for a minute that it was baseless and that was part of her hurry. They couldn't get any closer to either Kovno or Lyune without severely endangering everyone and everything in the caravan. The mere discovery that a band of travelling magicians had been allowed to spread their "heretical ideals" and terrorize the populace (despite the mounting evidence to the contrary) would launch both sides into a panic that would more than likely result in war after the paranoia and accusations reached the limit. War would wipe out both countries, and any civilization left over would be hard pressed to remain on the continent. Who knew the extent of the damage Lyune's weapons could do to the land?

"Miss Callan!" the voices of her two youngest performers came together in unison as they rushed up to her. Markon and Bael, twin brothers, had joined the troupe just over three months ago and they had already drawn a lot of positive attention from audiences. Their talent was one that she had never seen before and it allowed them to perform some truly death defying feats: they were able to transfer their weight between the two of them, or so it seemed. While on the trapeze, Bael would leap to reach unheard of heights and be able to levitate for a few moments while Markon crouched down a little before he caught Bael and the twins redistributed their mass. It was a great trick, and it certainly could prove to be helpful in case trouble ever broke out in the tent. They bounced up to her with shining green eyes and grinned up at her, "Will you use us in the show tonight?"

Of course if it was entirely up to her, she'd run everyone tonight, she'd fill the tent to its brim with every act they'd perfected and every peasant they could seat plus a few they couldn't. The twins were currently well-liked and their act was nearly entirely improvisational so they would always be ready and able to put on a routine, so she knelt to their level and returned their smiles, "Sure thing you two. Do you need anything special for tonight?" They shook their heads and bounded off. Childhood innocence, she remarked mentally with some amazement. They had avoided a lot of the hardships and strife of being magicians in today's society, mostly due to the uniqueness of their ability and due to being in the caravan, they weren't exposed to the prejudices firsthand. While she knew it was illogical to think that they'd pass through this life without any of the hardships associated with practicing, she held out hope that once the king was found and the unavoidable damages done, they could be the start of a generation that didn't have to fear for its life because it could tap into an ancient power that has been as natural as night and day for centuries. Looking around, sometimes it was easy to forget exactly how much they were tweaking with the perceived "natural order" and being so close to city walls made her wrist tingle under the phantom weight of her silver shackle.

The sun had fully arisen by the time she had gotten the advertising signs and banners out and set up both around the tent and at the town limit. She shed her signature jacket and donned a tattered cloak and tunic to spread the news of the circus's arrival to the farmers who by now had probably noticed the apex of the tent with its flags flying but might not have recognized it. She turned to the performers who had finished preparations and asked if any of them would like to come along and help promotion. The schedule for the show had been more or less pinned down and taking an hour or so out of the workday could only benefit them in the end. Callan curled her fingers tight around the staff and couldn't suppress a slight chuckle as it jerked and wobbled westwards towards the rundown houses and the bleak looking fields.

[Taraneme]

Garvanna sat to one side in the tent, lovingly applying the extravagant and intricate powder and paints around her eyes. She had a soft smile on her face - the thrill of performing yet again had slowly begun to pulse through her veins and churn her stomach in anticipation. It was one of her true loves, performing in the tent with the crew she had been with for years. With each stroke of her many make-up brushes, she felt safe enough to gently raise another into the air to help her apply her colours symmetrically. Today, for the performance of her life, Garvanna had picked a wash of ocean, azure and periwinkle blues with eyeliner that matched the night sky. It stretched and swirled softly from the flicks at the corner to then smooth below her lower eyelid. The mirror in front of her hoverered securely, angling as she turned her head slightly from side to side as needed.

She was well aware of the Scepter's quivering. The thought of finally completing, or perhaps starting, their true mission sent electrical sparks of excitement down her spine. This was what she had been waiting for for all these years... perhaps, if she survived the impending war she felt would explode as soon as the Scepter found it's target, she could also find Marcia. In her mind, there would only be one continent. One whole continent instead of the two broken halves... Only one continent to search for her dear sister. It had been years since she had last layed her eyes on her and she very rarely left her thoughts for more than a few hours at most. Just as well versed in swordsmanship as Garvanna was, she wondered how much she had improved over the years, forced to take care of herself. She pondered on how much she had changed...

If she was even alive, that was.

Garvanna shivered, the brushes sudenly zooming from her face so she would not smudge her art. She blinked a few times, then once satisfied she was done and dry, stood up and packed away her paints, powders and her myriad of brushes and applicators. Tidying them into a carved, wooden box, she opened the chest she had been sat on and packed them away safely. Inside contained most of Garvanna's meagre possessions; she travelled light and with little hassle. She took out her two sheathed swords, sliding the belt they were hooked onto around her waist and buckling it up securely. Her greatsword was next, swinging the strap over her left shoulder to keep it safe in place. The leather looked unsightly against her skirt, boots and plain, cotton shirt, but for now she didn't care. Now was not performing, it was promotion time. She would change into her gear later.

Callan's voice rung out and into her ears. Garvanna turned, her luxourious culrs bouncing around her face and shoulders. She stepped forward, one foot in front of the other with an elegant sway of her hips. "I'd be happy too, Callan. Do lead the way."

[Vietmyke]

Amidst the bright and almost gaudy colors of the main tent and its surrounding subtents, the deep purple and blue of a smaller tent stood out quite well. Sizable enough to fit several people and to fill its own small carriage, the tent stood by the main entrance of the main tent, its deep color attracting the eyes of passersby. The tent itself was attached to the carriage, giving it more space, and making it easy to set up and take down. The carriage wheels were held in place by stones, and the beasts meant to pull the carriage were off somewhere, either being used by the main tent or grazing. The inside of the tent beheld a very mystic look to it, the deep purple and blues of the tent were calming, and there were small wooden tables with all sorts of oddities of some sort of mystical value. In the center of the tent were a pair of deep purple cushions. These cushions sat in front of a small pedestal holding a crystal orb. Behind the pedestal were thick purple curtains, effectively cutting a third of the tent away from the total space.

Within the chambers created by the curtains, sat a young boy, in his mid teens at best, and no closer to growing a beard than a fawn was to growing antlers. The boy was peculiar in the fact that his dark hair contrasted with a shock of snow white hair that covered his right-forehead. The boy sat on a cot like cushion, a white cloak folded neatly beside him. He wore a loose sleeved shirt woven from black cloth, and a typical pair of greyish brown working pants.

Hart sighed, breathing out deeply. Today was an important day for them. Moreso important than any other show as he had been told. Hart firmly disapproved of being so flashy with their display so close to the capital city of Konvo, but he believed in Callan, and with all the help and support she had provided to him and his family, he would follow her, despite his worrying thoughts. This future sovereign however, Hart was skeptical of, and even if they did find him, Hart wasn't too sure how loyal he would feel to this sovereign, especially in comparison to the troupe.

Hart slowly stood and unfolded the cloak with a quick flick, donning it in a circular flourish. On a clothes-hanger hung a deeper blue and purple over-robe, which he would wear with his white cloak when the time came. Hart would don that later though, it was large and heavy and was rather difficult to move in. He attached a sheathed palm knife to his belt under his cloak. The knife was tiny, literally fitting perfectly in his palm, the blade itself was only a little longer than a thumb. Hart had never used it, and if endangered, was more likely to use his magic to defend himself than a tiny blade. But he relented to the fact that a knife was a sometimes useful tool to have around. Sweeping out of his purple tent, closing the entrance to it behind him as he did. Hart walked into the main tent to hear Miss Callan ask for hands to help her promote the show. Hart noticed Miss Vanna immediately volunteering to help. While Hart still disapproved of the display of their tents, he conceded to the fact that they still needed to be known. And now that they had already set up, a couple more posters wasn't going to make anything better or worse for them regardless. He made his way over to Callan.

"Miss Callan," Hart said quietly, his voice naturally soft. "I shall join you as well."

[Battlebrew]

Winnifred strode through the mesmerizingly queer maze of tents that made up the circus' campground, stopping now and then to lend a hand in preparing the grounds for the curious villagers that would soon fill their tents to partake in the wondrous sights and sounds they had to offer. The fiery haired teenager loved mornings like this one, mornings before a show - it was like the calm before the storm, if you considered manual labor, careful preparation, and frantically running around calming, and replaced the storm with a awesome tsunami of magic and wonder. Yeah, she thought that was a good way of putting it.

The sun had yet to rise and already the camp was jumping with activity. Performers went about the grounds practicing and perfecting the performances they had lived and breathed for what seemed like an ages; at one point Winnie was forced to duck below a gout of blue flames that had magically erupted from the mouth of a resident firebreather. The less magically attuned worked to set up the various tents and stands that made up the grounds final appearance, their jobs no less important than that of the entertainers. All together the machine that was their circus ground and worked it's way to completion, and as the sun rose into the sky, the King's Circus rose to meet it.

After maneuvering her way across the grounds for a good dozen or so minutes she finally located her Father's tent. She had always found it difficult to traverse the circus while it was being set up. The constant shuffling and rearranging of the layout made it a veritable labyrinth to navigate through. Her Father's tent was simple enough, a brown tarp draped over some wooden poles, ironically enough it's dullness caused it to stick out like a sore thumb betwixt the myriad of colors that made up the rest of the circus.

"Father?" Winnifred called out, as she entered the tent.
Nathaniel Wylde was standing over a small table at the center of his tent. The aging man was looking over a pile of maps and papers that were strewn across the table seemingly at random. As she entered he turned and welcomed his daughter with a warm smile.

"Ah you're back, how's it lookin' out there?" He asked her.

"Everything looks good. The perimeters secure enough, once the camps all set up we should be pretty well guarded, and there's enough open space around us that we should see any unwanted guests coming." She told him.

"Good, that's good Winnie, thank you. How is everyone?"

"Well y'know, everyone's done this all before, but..." Winnie began, trailing off as she spoke.

Nathaniel looked up from his work and looked over his daughter. He was getting on in years, most of his once brown hair had succeeded to grey, and his scarred face was growing weathered and worn. Though he could swing a blade as well as a fit man half his age, his worsening appearance had begun to worry Winnifred, who couldn't bear to think of a world devoid of her Father's presence.

"But?" The man inquired, despite already guessing her concerns.

"C'mon Da, you know. We're awfully close to the Capitol. Seems some are a little on edge, that's all." She told him, hiding her own doubts in those of her travelling companions.

"Right. Well you know I agree with many of those concerns, but I trust in Miss Mordred. She has led these people quite far Winnifred, and she took us in without question. I believe she knows what she is doing." He spoke, nonchalantly addressing his daughters fears without expressing his awareness of them, "Now, I hear Callan is heading into town to promote the show, why don't you see if she could use an escort. Just to be safe."

Winnifred nodded, and while she was not completely satisfied with their small conversation, she knew her Father was most likely right. Callen Mordred had brought all of these people together under a single unified cause. She had led them this far, it would sure be uncharacteristic of her to falter now. She departed the tent and set out to find the ringleader.

[FoxLeFay]

In a matter of hours, their city of tents had risen up and they glowed under the morning sun. She had eased the mind of most of the performers and even allowed some of her biggest names to stay out of the headlines due to nerves. It was much better to accomodate them now than to give them a reason to run screaming for a small town where they would be discovered and more than likely executed. Callan took it upon herself to keep her troupe, her friends and family as it were, safe from the prejudices as long as they were on the road. Once everything changed and they were on the forefront of what was sure to be a nasty war for reunification, she dreaded to consider the losses they might endure if she made too many mistakes along the way.

Standing at the front of the circus grounds, she adjusted her traveling cloak and fiddled with the hood for a few moments. She had never felt the need to obscure her face before, as it seemed altogether too suspicious for a traveller to walk through a town on a not particularly sunny nor cold day and did nothing to improve the credibility of her information. Townsfolk out here enjoyed being able to look into someone's eyes and judge their story by their expression; the words couldn't count for less. Distributing most of her weight onto the rod as though it were a walking stick, she noticed a few people coming towards her, more than likely responding to her call for company on her run. Garvanna, Hart and Winnifred all approached from their areas of the tents and Callan couldn't help smiling. She expected Garvanna if only because she had been a steadfast supporter of the plan and incredibly motivated for as long as she'd known her, but somehow, seeing the tall swords expert and the familiar swirls of her elaborate eye makeup made her feel more validated in her effort. The same went double for both of the younger members. Winnifred worried about her father and the casualties of war as much as Callan herself, and Hart, while a loyal and irreplaceable fortune-teller of unparalleled showmanship, even let on that the recent advances into Kovno had startled him. Seeing the three of them ready and willing to accompany her in their unremarkable commoners clothes and casual expressions made her feel a little something she had been afraid was slipping away. She hadn't begun to give up hope yet, but this certainly bolstered her beliefs and she was able to stand up a little straighter against the scepter.

"Thank you for deciding to come," she said, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes and looking between the trio. She pulled out a few fliers that they had managed to create which should be distributed cautiously and not wasted in too dangerous or alternately, too desolate a place. "As you know, we're just hoping to drum up attention but remain as distant from the show itself as possible. We can't be seen as promoting it so we must appear fascinated only from an empirical point of view," Callan reminded the three, "As Hart is used to doing in his fortune telling, sometimes the intrigue is more important than anything we can actually say."

The dusty road mucked up the bottom of her robe and her worn down boots, but any degree of weariness they could conjure would only work in their favor. Callan had had to make a promise to herself not to tweak the emotions of the villagers in order to convince them to attend. Although it was against her moral code to do so anyway, a trait she inherited from her very cautious and compassionate father, it had crossed her mind more and more recently. With her head bowed against the conflict she had been housing since the scepter chose this town, it took only a moment or two before they passed the very first boundary of houses in the small town. She cast her gaze ahead a moment or two too late, as she bumped into an anxious young man with the most interesting eyes. The rod stirred in her grip, but it didn't pull in his direction at all. Callan apologized in a low, gravely voice in an attempt to further veil her identity and the man with the different-colored eyes simply laughed it off, "No need to be sorry. Have you travelers seen that circus set out just a mile away? I'm headed over there right now." She tried her best to hide her surprise and only turned to her companions once the youth was completely out of sight. It seemed that they had already begun to have success, but it was too late to turn back now. Someone in the troupe could surely answer the stranger's questions in their absence.

"Would you rather we split up," she asked when they reached the heart of the community, "in order to get this done more quickly? Or will staying together look more natural?" Swords and strange makeup on their own were often markings of foreigners, and a contained group would arouse less curiosity than four individuals who all more or less had the same tale to tell.

[Taraneme]

With a slight flick of her hair to clear it from her shoulders, Garvanna blinked with a finger pressed softly to her lips. She glanced down to little Hart with a slight smile to her lips. Fear was something she had numbed to over the years; her stomach no longer churned at the worry of being discovered, her mind no longer kept her awake at night; she no longer felt her heart pounding against her chest when she thought of spreading the news of the impending circus. She chuckled deeply as the young man bumped into Callan but so resisted making any comments, instead trusting their leader to handle to situation herself and taking a protective position standing behind them, a single hand resting on the hilt on one of the swords hanging from her hip.

She pondered silently for a moment about splitting up. Gavanna then shook her head. "I personally would prefer safety in numbers, but I’ll respect your decision either way.” Her deep gaze fell down to Hart and then to Winnifred. “Together we are a curious group of friends, perhaps a family. Separated we are mysterious, suspicious and much more likely to fall into trouble. I cannot defend any of you when I’m not around.” She offered a deep, warm laugh, eyes sparkling.

Her eyes perused over the crowd, falling on the occasional passer-by. “Also, my dear Callan.” Garvanna took a pause to let her gaze slide across to the troupe leader. Despite being eight years her senior, she was more than happy to follow the lead of her, as she had done for years. To herself, the troupe was her family, she had always felt a low thrumming in her heart and soul to stay with and protect them. To loose her family again would break her, Garvanna knew deep inside. She needed them. “My dear Callan,” the swordswoman repeated after the prolonged pause, “You brought the sceptre…” her voice dropped down low and she took her position behind them as they walked, following Callan’s lead. “As excited as I see it is, what do we intend upon doing if it finds it’s target before our performance later on tonight?”

[Vietmyke]

"Yes." Hart replied simply as Callan explained to them their jobs as they headed towards the town. It was a rather small town, built by the long dusty road they were travelling on.

"Miss Callan, a confrontation grows near." Hart called out, calmly, quietly, moments before an anxious man ran smack dab into their ringleader. Hart allowed himself a small smile. "My predictions are never wrong, it'd be best to heed them, Miss Callan." he continued, his calm, serious voice in stark contrast against a the humorous glint in his eyes.

They reached the heart of the town soon afterwards, a small plaza like area, partially paved with mottled and sparse cobblestones. It was surrounded by storefronts and stalls. The plaza was only starting to fill with the many people of the town as they began to go about their everyday businesses. Hart had already been able to pick up on several suspicious glances directed in their direction. While they had not yet been noticed by the whole of town, Hart had already seen several prominent seeming figures nearby the town center that had seen them arrive in a group. These prominents seemed to be of more intelligence and wit than simple-folk, and Hart had no doubt that suspicion may arise if the group split up in the center of town.

"Yes." Hart murmured, seconding Garvanna's thoughts, "Miss Vanna is correct in her assumptions, several notable people have already been made aware of our presence." he said, omitting the fact that he felt more comfortable in the presence of his fellow troupe members, "It is necessary that we remain together if I am to ensure none get into trouble," he continued, giving Miss Vanna a knowing glance.

As caring as Miss Vanna was, Hart had long noticed her tendencies to get protective over her family troupe, and with numerous blades constantly at her side, Hart feared she may too quickly strike out with her weapons, escalating an easily diffused situation. He had often had conversations about the topic with Miss Vanna, and had come to the conclusion that he must strive to stay at Miss Vanna's side to prevent her from seriously harming someone. Not only that, as a child, he made for the most vulnerable seeming, and harmless target, and as way of reasoning, anyone looking to cause them trouble would have difficulties causing them said trouble, as the most 'harmless' of the group was with arguably the most dangerous of the group.