A dense mist had rolled over the carnival ground, shrouding the brightly coloured tents in a thick blanket of pale wispy fog. From the spacious interior of her own fairly large tent, Ghisronia could faintly make out the performance of “The Society of Vagabonds” from up on the makeshift wooden stage. [center][i] “I thought I might find you here, vile insect; dwelling amongst your squabble of hoodlums and lowlifes!” “Impoverished they may be, you obnoxious pretender, but these ‘lowlifes’ have more nobility than any of you up-jumped criminals!” “How dare you sir-“ [/i] [/center] Ghis blocked the performance from her head, having heard each individual scene countless times before, and continue loading the last of her possessions into the sturdy oak trunk that lay in front of her. Placing her waterskin on top of the neatly folded pile of leather armour, the young girl heaved the heavy wooden trunk closed, wiping a bead of sweat off of her forehead. Somewhere behind her, the flimsy patchwork flaps of her tent were gently pushed aside with a delicate flutter, and a lean figure wordlessly slipped into her living space. “For all you known I might not have been decent.” She called back over her shoulder. “I’ve endured all manner of horrors in my day; the prospect of a small naked girl doesn’t scare me” A slimy voice whispered out of the darkness. “I’ve been called a lot of things,” Ghisronia remarked as she slowly got up off of her knees, causing their joints to pop loudly “but small is seldom one of them.” Despite her slight height, Ghisronia was undeniably a larger girl; with a stocky build, and a corpulent body. Her vast belly pressed firmly against the tight material of her simple woollen blouse, and her ankles often ached from supporting her hefty frame. “I don’t remember saying that you were excused from the performance.” Hissed the figure from behind her, taking a few soft steps to close the distance between the pair. “Oh, was that today? The young girl asked drily, turning to face the figure. The troupe master was tall and frail, with sickly grey skin and large yellowish eyes. He wore an extravagant silk outfit, fashioned from fabric swathes of many different colours, and had a long scarf pulled over his mangled lower-jaw. “Choose your words carefully, girl” he oozed in his usual oily manner “if you think that you can just walk all over me then you haven’t been paying attention.” Ghisronia sighed theatrically, folding her arms across her wide chest “I know you’ve got a mighty inflated opinion of yourself, but when it comes down to following your instructions and prancing about on stage with the new meat, whom calling actors is being insufferably optimistic, or answering a royal decree from the bloody king, I’m going to go with the latter every time.” The troupe master shot forwards, placing one wiry white hand under her double-chin, and forcibly tilting her head upwards. “Off so soon?” He jeered, his putrid yellow eyes fixing on the wooden trunk. “You’re breaking my heart, girl.” “I’ll send you a letter from Highmont.” She said plainly, her gaze never falling from his sickly features, her demeanour unflinching. “You’re not going anywhere, you little cu-“ before he could finish, Ghisronia’s left fist shot forwards, barrelling into his frail chest with considerable force. The Troupe master released his grip, stumbling backwards and coughing hoarsely as he clutched at his rib cage. “I’ll cut you for that.” He snapped through coughs, staring daggers at her. “Come and have a go, if you think you’re hard enough.” She snapped back, motioning to herself with one great sweeping gestures. The Troupe master said nothing for some time, glaring at her from behind his scarf. When he finally spoke, his voice was dripping with poorly-repressed malice. “Don’t bother coming back. You don’t have a home here anymore.” And with that, he turned and walked out of the tent, and back into the foggy carnival ground. [center] * [/center] Ghisronia waited impatiently in the line, heavily tapping her foot on the cobbled floor. Having initially amused herself by observing all the exotic looking characters who’d banded together at the gates, Ghis had quickly grown bored, and was anxious to get somewhere warm. When it was her turn to stand before the Court Mage, Ghisronia forced the look of pent-up irritation from her face, adopting a much more agreeable demeanour. She was by no means happy, but knew better than to squander the opportunity she’d been presented with by throwing and angsty fit. She smiled politely as she came before the mage, fluttering her eyelids ever-so-slightly. The mage regarded her with a blank expression. “Please follow the others through into the dining hall.” Skipping along curtly, Ghisronia navigated her way through the castle, until she arrived in the dining hall. Her eyes fixing immediately on the food that was scattered across the long table, Ghisronia snatched up what looked like a bowl full of black mushrooms cooked in garlic, probably intended to feed more than one person, before grabbing a leg of mutton with her one free hand. Slumping down heavily in one of the chairs, which creaked and moaned beneath her weight, the young woman begun to tuck into her meal, taking occasional swigs from a large metal jug that was filled with honeyed mead. “Pleasure to meet you all.” She said to no one in particular, gesturing to the other occupants of the room with one grease-covered hand, before letting out a throaty belch.