It is summer. It is the afternoon. And it is very warm, so very warm.
After a whole year performing tricks to lonely farmsteads and small villages — really, most were no more than a handful of families — the members of the Circus of Wayward Wonders finally feel ready for their first performance for a sizeable public: that of the town of Abberton (which is also rather small, but, still, one needs to start somewhere).
For a whole week now the Wayward Wonders have been going around the main square promising a night of daring deeds, lively laughter and enrapturing emotion.
“The largest show in Abberton!” Lily, the halfling barker, yelled. And, truly, she was technically correct — the best kind of correct, in her opinion.
The townspeople, weary with bad harvests, prowling wild animals and disappearing neighbours, drank her words like nectar. A chance to forget their worries, finally. They gathered around, asked about the acts and left giddy with excitement.
Tomorrow is the big night.
Today, this afternoon, all the work is done. Everything that could be rehearsed, prepared, assembled and said has been rehearsed, prepared and assembled.
A small group of the Wonders — Finch, Pandir, Ceija, Grog and Katala — sits idly by the pond near the Big Top. Some chat about things of little consequence; others, perhaps, nervously consider the great night to come.
Whatever it is they are doing, they are interrupted by Myron, the circus’ ringmaster. The human approaches with his usual overconfident swagger, sporting an old linen shirt with a few open buttons and sleeves rolled up. His expression, normally relaxed, betrays ill-concealed concern. He smiles anyhow and gently taps Grog’s shoulder.
“Howdy! You all done for the day? All ready for the big night?”
Katala chuckles at the question. "If we're not it's a little late to change things! But really, we've all been practicing to where everybody knows everybody's act. If something happens the troop can assist, or distract as needed to keep the show going on. I think the worst that could hit my act would be some high powered mage dispelling my magic halfway through it! That would leave me with an empty stage and a couple of clowns...."
Pandir's head bobs along the surface of the pond. Pandir wanted to see if she could drift along like Sister Chamomile could.
She manages not to sink below. Sun, friendship and water - the three foundations needed to flourish. Perfect time to fall asleep...
Myron's voice cuts through her daydream like a thorn in her foot. "No Ringmaster, I wasn't sleeping!" She blurts out. Drowning? Panic! She quickly scrambles to shore and remembers not to shake the water off her foliage. People hate when she offers them rain showers.
"Oh. Hello Ringmaster Myron. I am always ready for performances. But this performance will be even better. Are you ready for the performance?" She blurts out, somewhat curious about his anxiety.
Puffing gently to remove the last curl of wood, Ceija checks the smooth slide of a willow branch in the tube of bark. Blowing softly, she tries a few notes on the newly-fashioned willow flute she has just finished.
♬♫♪♬♩ ♫♫♬♩♩
Satisfied, she looks up at the ringmaster.
"No need to fret, Myron. We're as ready as we'll ever be."
"Katala, we've got ways to deal with that."
"I see danger and humiliation in your future, sir."
"And petal there has her new trick all worked out."
Finch is sat in Grog's prodigious shadow, safely sheltered from the afternoon sun, cradling a comically oversized bottle of spirits. She occasionally takes a sip, leaning her whole body backwards to struggle and bring it to her painted lips, careful not to smear her meticulously applied make-up.
The clown squints at Myron and pouts. "What, do I look green behind the ears? Unlike some, I ain't made of cabbage..."
She crinkles her nose at Pandir's eager-to-please antics.
"More importantly," she adds sourly, "are you ready for trouble, boss? If I was a vengeful cat-lady, this might be where I'd choose to show my claws..."
Finch's voice is high-pitched, but not unpleasantly shrill. She usually varies her speech-patterns between her native Chelish—going from lower-class to faux-sophisticated—and a veteran traveller's motley lexicon. This is her in one of her more straight-forward moods, with little to no rhetorical flourish.
“Good, good! Ceija is right, Katala — besides, it’s Abberton, not Absalom. I’m betting it will be hard finding anyone who can best your magic around these parts.”
Myron’s famous laughter booms at Pandir’s slight panic, but his smile turns sour at the mention of a certain cat woman.
“Pandir, are you still having nightmare’s about your old ringmaster? You can nap whenever you want…except…”
He looks about himself, then at Finch, then at the others, then gestures for the group to huddle around him.
“Well, truth is, we have a bit of a ‘situation’ here,” he says, emphasising the word with scare quotes and drawn out vowels. “You see, I can’t find Cubby anywhere. The Professor hasn’t really noticed yet, but I really don’t want him to, well, worry, you know? I’m sure that that hyperactive talking mutt is fine, but could you do me a solid and help me look for him?”
"If he has any sense, he's lounging in deep shade under one of the wagons. Where did you see him last? And when?"
Whatever it is they are doing, they are interrupted by Myron, the circus’ ringmaster. The human approaches with his usual overconfident swagger, sporting an old linen shirt with a few open buttons and sleeves rolled up. His expression, normally relaxed, betrays ill-concealed concern. He smiles anyhow and gently taps Grog’s shoulder.
“Howdy! You all done for the day? All ready for the big night?”
Grog gives a grunt.
"I see danger and humiliation in your future, sir."
Opens her eyes and drops her hand. Looks around and winks at Grog.
Grog doesn't look at Ceija, but comically sweats profusely.
Is she jokin' or serious?! he thinks.“Well, truth is, we have a bit of a ‘situation’ here,”
he says, emphasising the word with scare quotes and drawn out vowels. “You see, I can’t find Cubby anywhere. The Professor hasn’t really noticed yet, but I really don’t want him to, well, worry, you know? I’m sure that that hyperactive talking mutt is fine, but could you do me a solid and help me look for him?”
Grog grunts, rising from his sitting stance, accidentally shedding warm sunlight on Finch. He takes a step back with his huge booted foot, casting her back into comfortable shade, and hunches forward at Myron, waiting to see if he answered Ceija's casual inquiry.
"Nightmares. Yes. Well, no. But one of the starving rabbits tried to munch on me once. Mistress Dusklight forgot to lock the cages next to where I slept." She looks about, nervous.
Sherry makes a joke and Pandir laughs. "I'm not made of cabbage, Miss-" she pauses. Miss Rosefinch disliked that name. "Finch. Oh, that was a good joke. You always know how to lighten the mood."
But Pandir's jovial outlook turns to concern. "Cubby? Oh no. Where was Cubby last seen? Maybe he is chasing something. He loves to exercise, I can barely keep up!"
Katala flexes Her claws at Sherry's words. "Let that vengeful cat lady mess with MY magic and.... well, she'd better have more behind her or she'll find herself on the bad side of a combat spell!" She relaxes after and listens to the others.
When the subject of Cubby comes up she glances around, almost nervously. "Cubby? I haven't really paid much attention to him. Cats and dogs you know, even though, well. Of course we'll all look for him. Where was he seen last? Everybody has been back and forth all over the place so tracking is likely not an option though."
“If he has any sense, he's lounging in deep shade under one of the wagons.”
“Sense is not really Cubby’s strongest suit, is it, now?” He chuckles.
“So, last time I saw him, he was walking around the Professor’s wagon this morning. Already checked it, he’s not there, but, I don’t know, might have missed something. Otherwise, he has been hanging with Bardolph lately, since the big fellow got that nasty wound on the pawn, so we could try that? I was on my to his wagon when I saw you.”
"Hmm.... Professor's wagon is by the woods. Maybe he chased something in there? Or he could have seen something in the water and fallen into the stream?"
Myron shakes his head, doubtful.
“I think someone would have heard him if he had fallen into the stream. And even then, there’s barely any current. He could have paddled his way to safety.”
"Water..." Pandir thinks.
And thinks some more.
"Okay, let us speak to Bardolph the Bear. Then we can look at the stones. Maybe Cubby wanted to take a bath? You all value privacy while bathing..."
She moves toward wagon 8, leaving a wet trail as the sun helps her dry.
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Finch complains loudly as Grog moves, only to quiet down when he settles. The halfling listens to Myron's request with a look of naked annoyance.
"Seriously?" she groans. "Ugh, fine. But only 'cause I don't wanna listen to everyone whine over that mangy cur. I'll go ask around."
The clown leaps up with acrobatic quickness and holds her bottle up for Grog to carry. She then tugs on the orc's sleeve and drags him along, in order to keep enjoying the shade as she moves out. "C'mon, you ham-handed galoot. If anyone tries to hold out on me, you can toss 'em in the river..."
"I'll go with you Pandir. You can look under all the wagons while I look for tracks"
Ceija stands up and brushes wood chips off her skirt, pocketing the whistle. She unholsters her whip, and holds it in her hand.
“Thanks, folks. I knew I could count on you.” Myron winks at Finch as she prods Grog and begins to move south. He joins Pandir and Ceija in paying Bardolph a visit.
Ceija starts her search, but soon realises that looking for any tracks this close to the big top is probably a waste of time: there are too many footprints and marks for her to make sense of here.
As for the wagons, they do have a few new bumps and scratches, but that is standard fare when setting up a show.
A bald woman in her thirties sits by the stream and hums a Varisian tune, her tattooed legs and feet submerged in the cold, crisp water. She lets the melody fade away when the group approaches and turns, smiling.
Next to her, snoring, is Bardolph, the circus’ bear mascot, bandages wrapped around one of its paws.
“Friends. It is good to see you. The stream might wash your worries away, for I see you have many. And in case that doesn’t work, Gidarron should be back soon with something to drink,” she says.
Finch’s tale is convincing enough and, even if it wasn’t, not many people were keen on being the target of the halfling’s anger. They are all very quick to say they have been far too busy the past few hours to give much thought to Cubby.
It is Lily, the halfling barker, who gives the clown something akin to a clue whilst she practices her knife throwing skills.
“Cubby, eh? A while ago I saw him running south, yea. Thought he had to take a piss, but I guess he was just running with your jerky, then. Bastard can’t keep his paws to himself.” Lily throws another knife. “I’ve also heard some weird noises from those boulders near the corrals, but, meh, not the direction he went.”
Grothog stomps along with Finch. The bottle of alcohol, so comically-large for the halfling, is carried gently by the orc's huge index and thumb. The orc's beady eyes broadly scan the distant trees and the stones to the south.
"Bardolph the Bear. So sad." Pandir frowns before moving up to the cage. "What happened to Bardolph the Bear's paw?"
Katala follows along with the group. She focuses on whoever seems to be leading the search, waving her hands in a strange manner near them.
Tahala smiles at Pandir.
“Oh, I guess you weren’t there when it happened. The big marshmallow went and let a wagon run over its paw when we arrived.” Bardolph’s ears flutter a bit; the bear stirs a bit in its sleep. “It will be fine. Katala and Ceija took care of the wound.
But you, little Pandir. You seem worried and so does Myron. What is the matter?”
This melody…Ceija has heard it before, but it is only when Katala sets her sight upon the bard that she remembers more about it. When sung — instead of hummed — this ballad tells the tale of a powerful Azlanti wizard who visits a desert with sands blacker than the night and a sky filled with green stars.
As for her tattoos, Ceija knows most of them — not necessarily because she has seen them prior to meeting Tahala, but because the Shoanti storyteller’s sideshow performance is to show some of the drawings on her skin and tell parables associated with it.
The orc sees nothing out of ordinary to the south. At least not from this distance.
"Oh, poor Bardolph the Bear. He must watch for his appendages more often. A crate of chickens fell on me once. Mistress Dusklight admonished me for damaging the property." She rocks back and forth, to test her mobility some more.
"Ah! Yes Miss Tahala. We are looking for Cubby. Have you seen him by any chance? We are seeking out his last known location."
"Katala, have you or Ceija noticed any clues?"
Ceija juts her chin at Bardolph and asks Tahala, "How is he doing?"
"Myron seems to think that Cubby is missing. I'm not sure why. I don't think he's missed any meals yet. Have you seen him wandering around?"
Turning to Pandir, "I didn't notice anything unusual. But the grounds have been tramped over so much that even if Cubby had left tracks somewhere, they've been erased. Did you notice anything under any of the wagons on our way over here?"
“Oh, Bardolph’s fine, thanks to you. Should be good as new in a couple more days. As for Cubby, he was here, keeping me and Bardolph company…some time ago. Perhaps four, five hours?” She frowns and laughs at the same time. “Little bugger pretended to run away when I asked to read the patterns on his fur again. Said he needed to ‘mark’ the woods south of here.”
As most in the circus know, Tahala’s sideshow performance consists first in revealing each one of her tattoos and explaining their meanings with parables; then, she asks a willing member of the audience to come forth and “reads” an allegorical poem she sees in their markings, blemishes and scars. As such things go, during rehearsals she often enlists unwilling members of the troupe.
Myron mumbles when Ceija mentions he’s worried.
“It’s just, well, it’s usually hard to get Cubby to stop talking, you know. Makes me nervous no one’s seen him for hours. The Professor would be very worried if he knew, so, Tahala, not a word about this to him.”
The Shoanti performer nods in silence.
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It is Lily, the halfling barker, who gives the clown something akin to a clue whilst she practices her knife throwing skills.
“Cubby, eh? A while ago I saw him running south, yea. Thought he had to take a piss, but I guess he was just running with your jerky, then. Bastard can’t keep his paws to himself.” Lily throws another knife. “I’ve also heard some weird noises from those boulders near the corrals, but, meh, not the direction he went.”
"Thanks a bunch," the clown replies in a familiar tone, her irritation momentarily soothed by the prospect of a task curtailed. "All these walkin' beanpoles have their godsdamned heads in the clouds—worse than useless. I guess that'd be the woods, then. Which side of the stream was that mongrel on?"
She glances sidelong at the boulders, and then at Grog. "Hm. Gotcha, we'll need to check it out later."
Bidding adieu to her short compatriot with only the most rudimentary parting jab at her poor knife-throwing posture, Finch drags her orc-shaped parasol over to the stream and the stepping stones. Seeing the others move about on the other side, she gives them an impatient wave and points insistently southward.
"In four hours he could have marked every tree in those woods individually. It's not that big. I'm surprised we haven't heard him shouting for help!
Let's step across those stones and intercept Grog and Finch and see what they've found. We may need to set up a search party. Thanks, Tahala. We made need to recruit you so we don't have to spread out too far from each other."
Ceija moves toward the stepping stones across the river.
Grog silently stomps onto the stepping stones, and straightens his massive back, pulling himself to his full height to look down the creek. His small eyes attempt to pierce the warm shadows of the fully-bloomed summer trees.
"Doggy." he booms, calling for Chubby.
"Thank you Miss Tahala. Goodbye to you and Bardolph the Bear. We must travel south, then. Please keep watch here just in case he returns." Pandir raises her hands, waves goodbye while shaking her torso, and then bounds towards the stepping stones.
"Hello Mister Grog! Hello Miss Finch! We believe Mister Cubby was last seen south, exiling his waste upon the trees. I say we go there next."
Pandir hops, skips and pirouettes across the stones, giggling all the while.
Katala stays with Ceija for the moment. "If he's applying his scent to the trees.... pity he's not available to track himself! But we should probably spread out and move through the woods to the south. The area isn't really that big so we should be able to find something, either him or some sign that he might have left."
Following different sets of leads, the group nevertheless reconvenes halfway through their search. As far as they can see, Cubby has gone to the woods south of the camp to relieve himself and hasn’t been seen since.
Crossing the stream, they continue moving south, until Grog raises his hand, then points at something on the ground. A few sets of paws, most likely canine, moving deep into the woods. Myron stands next to the orc.
“Is this something? It looks like something. Why would he go so far inside for a quick wee?”
These seem to be wolf tracks mixed with those of a dog matching Cubby’s size. A few metres further, the smaller paw prints disappear.
It’s probably a very small pack, between 2-4 wolves.
Meanwhile, Pandir finishes her pirouettes and lands on the ground with an elegant flourish. She smiles hearing a round of applause, then frowns. That was not applause. Was that a bark that came from the boulders? It sounded really weird.
"Oh! Wolf tracks. Next to smaller canine tracks. Did Mister Cubby meet other lupines?"
Pandir points at the boulders. "Did anyone hear that? What an odd bark. Should we take a look?"
"I didn't hear anything, Pandir. And are you sure those are wolf tracks? It just looks like Cubby's paws to me."
"That's a wolf track. And see there. These tracks disappear. Something is wrong. Cubby's too smart to be fooled by a wolf!" Looking farther to see if the tracks continue. "Who's really good at tracking? Not me!"
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Finch puts her foot down next to one of the prints, looking between them appraisingly. "Uh-huh. That's... big. Yup. Multiple individuals of distinctly wolf-like bigness. I mean, I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but the mutt is so, so dead. Might as well start buildin' a tiny coffin."
There is a slight hint of a grin on her lips, belying her mock-solemn tone. As Pandir points towards the boulders, she narrows her eyes thoughtfully.
"Lily did say there'd been some weird sounds thattaway," says the halfling. "Hm. I s'pose there's no blood anywhere, so he could've swam over to lose 'em. Any tracks on the other side?"
"Oh no! Mister Cubby is dead?" Pandir turns to Finch, still as a tree trunk. "W-w-we should find the body, yes? I will... I will check those rocks!" Keeping eyes, ears and nostrils open, Pandir approaches the boulders.
Myron shakes his head.
“My boy Cubby is tougher than, what, a couple of wolves? He probably chased them into the forest, you’ll see, Finch. Tails between their legs!”
Whilst he speaks, both the halfling and Pandir keep following the tracks. Instead of leading into the stream or towards the boulders, they continue deeper into the forest and away from the camp itself.
Finch shrugs at Myron. "Whatever you say, boss."
She moves after Pandir, plainly amused by the leshy's panic. "Since it doesn't seem like he was dragged away into the woods, we might as well check out those boulders. The noise doesn't necessarily have anythin' to do with the mutt, but it's still pretty damn suspicious."
"Lily just said the sound was 'weird'? No better description?"
Looks down at tracks and shrugs.
"Ok, so they're wolves. But there's no blood, no wisps of fur, nothing to suggest that Cubby has been harmed."
Ceija walks toward the boulders and stops next to Pandir.
"What do you see in the rocks, Pandir?"
The boulders and rocks are warm to the touch after a whole day soaking up the merciless sun. A lonely cicada sings.
“Cubby! You around here, boy?” Myron yells, waits a moment, shrugs. “Huh, guess not? Big old bucket of nothing here, figures I never got around inspecting it.”
While Finch is looking at the ground, trying and failing to discern any paw prints, the rest of the group has their attention capture by one of the boulders.
It is curious. From a distance, this rock looks very much like a cow or some other quadruped of similar shape. The part that would correspond to a real animal’s hind leg seems thinner and more unstable than the others.
Grog dispassionately observes the wolf tracks. As Finch declares her findings, he shakes his head.
”Doggy iz strong,” and follows, picking up a fallen round piece of wood. He waves it to cool himself off (as well as any other member who begins sweating in the warmth),
When he reaches the ‘cow’, he grins in hunger, and takes a few steps forward.
Not a few steps in and the shrill crow of a rooster shatters the song of the cicada. That was the sound Pandir had heard before: like a howl or a long bark mixed with heavy and wet coughing.
A monstrous excuse for a rooster appears from a hiding hole behind a cluster of boulders. Once it sees the group, the creature spreads bat-like wings, takes flight and makes towards what it clearly sees as intruders.
Myron takes a few steps back and grabs a stone from the ground.
“Definitely not Cubby! Definitely not Cubby!”
With the discussion about Cubby possibly being dead Katala shakes her head. "More likely he smelled a wolf female in heat and.... Just hope she doesn't lure him back to a pack!"
Moving up toward the large, strange rock and seeing/hearing the monstrous rooster she calls out the words to a cantrip. "This might light up a tail feather or two! Nasty bird! Where's Cubby?"
"Mister Grog, Miss Katala. Do you think Cubby found some entertainment? How fortuitous!" Pandir hops to and fro until a... oddity appears.
"Ah, hello Mister... your name is unknown. I will call you Mister Cocles. We are looking for Mister Cubby. Have you seen him recently?" Pandir has never seen such a creature, but she's certain he is natural.
Her arms droop to the ground and she begins teetering forward, barely maintaining her balance along the way.
Despite its clumsy appearance, the monstrous rooster is nimble: it swerves at the last minute and is barely singed by Katala’s bolt.
Pandir, meanwhile, tries really hard to think about what Mister Cocles might be, but in the end she has to accept she has no idea. Mister Cocles might remain forever a mystery.
Used to deadpan performances, Finch takes the creature's appearance in stride. "Huh. Not what I expected, but I have been hungry for chicken..."
The clown skulks forwards, eyes narrowed with killing intent, drawing both of her dirks with a practised flourish. She crouches behind Grog and allows Pandir to attract Mister Cocles' attention, waiting for a chance to strike at the gallinaceous monster.
Mister Cocles continues his flight towards the perceived menace. He circles Grog once, showering the warrior with painful pecks before landing on the dirt. In each spot the creature touched him, the orc feels his muscles go numb.
Myron, not much of a warrior even when armed, shouts some advice instead.
“Big guy, watch out. It’s going to peck you on the leg!”
Myron: move ◆, forbidding ward ◆◆
Cockatrice: move ◆, strike ◆, strike ◆
"Hey!" Finch hisses as the creature assails Grog. "Pick on someone your own size! Most preferably the ambulatory houseplant!"
She clinks her dirks together loudly before lashing out with a vicious stab at the beast's neck, attempting to startle it.