A tale of Erfworld casters, betrayal, and music. “We’ve got a special night planned just for you...”
With a sweaty hand, the man in the threadbare suit opened his door, trying not to let it squeak. He snuck down the steps without bothering to lock the door behind him; there was no point. Once on the grass, the skinny man meandered around his vardo wagon and between the neighboring ones. Night wasn’t really any concealment here in the Carnyvale. Powerball lanterns hung everywhere, illuminating card tables, dice pits, and specially-curtained stages. Other casters strolled every which way, their faces either awed or furtive.
He did his best to look like neither of those, to look calm and open. Being a Carnymancer had taught him that much, at least.
His mind whirred with the rhythm of his neighbors’ nightly showtimes. He curved just outside the lights of stages that had drawn crowds, trusting his neighbors to keep the gawkers’ eyes pointed one