Carnivals... 

Oh how they are perceived. 

The bright lights drawing in young and old alike as if will'o'the'wisps from the forest...the colors leaping from the tents and stands and exuberant performers...the sounds of playful booth challenges, sly snake charmers, wise fortune tellers, and children's laughter.... Yes, she was quite familiar with the prospects of the “fabulous attraction,” and the draw it had to all spectrums of mortal... and immortal... imaginations.

It wasn't set up yet, of course. The screams, the lights, the laughter... those would all come later. For now they were replaced by the sounds of preparation, sounds that barely pricked her human ears as she sat pondering within her own tent.

It wasn't easy, of course, not with the shrieks, calls, and cries of a dozen different birds, showing off plumage that dared to rival the colors of the outside world, and especially not with the incessant squeaking of a little fire-ferret that was slithering in and out of the folds of her cloak. She laughed softly, like the trills of the birds around her, as she stood up, grinning at the little mammal's actions.

Her eye caught the mirror-like surface of a magically induced waterfall, though, causing her smile to fade just as quickly. The woman who looked back at her was of medium height, young, but grown, her muscle structure leaning closer to strong than skinny. Black, wolfish hair hung down her back, the shine of a light silver highlight present in the brightly illuminated room. Around her body was a leather-like outfit of a simple brown, designed as to provide mobility while directing attention to the ornate shawl-vest about her shoulders. But what drew in the most attention were her eyes. A deep, golden hazel, they shone out from the black paint drawn across her upper face, giving the impression of a beast's glimmering far from within a cavern. She was not particularly fond of the get-up that she had to wear, but she much preferred it to the peacock apparel that some of the other performers were forced to don... or, more horrifyingly, chose to.

Crow shivered at the thought of having to wear such material, but let that same thought trickle away into the naturalistic lusciousness of her tent. The air was thick as a jungle, and ripe with the odors of flowers and ferns, the borders filled with a variety of exotic and unusual foliage. The majority of them were real, of course – as her touch on a veridian leaf confirmed – though, for the sake of storage, many of the border plants were simply illusions to make the room feel more full. Magic also assisted in the amplification of experiences: though in a small tent, she had seen many a guest turn their head to identify what they thought was a howler monkey in the distance, or try to run off into the perceived forest only to find themselves no farther from the center attraction than they had started. Full immersion was the correct stage terminology, if she recalled it correctly, and it was the only time she truly endorsed external manipulation by magic.  

Most performers did not have their own tents, but hers was a special case. Within this hall of wonderful wilderness she was able to unleash her own touch of the wild to the patrons of the event. Every bird, every mammal, every reptile responded to their own subtle call, and with this call she was able to bring out the wild in them, enchanting with creatures thought only to exist in tales of fancy. But within this tent were also the patterns and shapes of mystical runes, a magical powerhouse for the trapping of souls. It only took one touch of her hand to mark those young human pups for Mr. Seil, one invisible rune to capture their spirit forever. Many of the carnival looked down at her for her untroubled conscience in such matters, but the other half of her job – a half she feared would be arriving all too soon --was all that it took to expose mortals at her worst...They dared to laugh at her, spit on her, jeer at her forest-born heart for being different, a monster, and for that, she would make them pay for the rest of their lives. 

It was this thought that remained on her mind as she finally drew her arm away from that leaf of perfect green, but the shuffling within her cloak reminded her of the companions who had decided to rest within the fabric's folds. A whistle drew them out --A pygmy amphithere and the fire-ferret huddled in her sleeves, while a dormouse shifted from sleep in her ebony hair-- and a double click of her tongue informed them that “training” was over, a cue that roughly translated in this circumstance to “you do not have to come.” Regardless, the creatures returned to their comfort. Crow shrugged. She did not mind bringing them about, and actually favored such; the company of such creatures was highly preferable, in her mind, to the beings that haunted this carnival. Though she would be attending a meeting demanded by Mr. Seil himself, she did not worry for their safety... as long as they were the key to providing more souls to the hungry ringmaster, their safety was nearly ensured. 

Wrapping the cloak slightly tighter about her and the warm bodies of her friends, Crow left the safety and peace of her “forest” abode, departing for the meeting location, her body moving with an almost feline grace. A few hustling bodies rushed to complete their tasks, hurriedly reminding the time and location of the meeting, though she barely paid attention to their human, goblin, and other faces. All she wanted to do was return to her position, to her realm of trees and plants and naturalistic life, before the disgusting visitor presence was imposed upon her domain once more.