Unlooted: Entertainments at the Village Faire
I write random tables as a warm-up every day. You can suggest a prompt here.
Entertainments at the Village Faire
- A fortune teller in a tent made of layered animal skins. Her nails are filed to sharp points that they use to draw a drop of blood from your palm that they drip into a pool of oil and water. They interpret the shapes that form.
- A man surrounded by tiny gilded cages. Each contains a pixie, a wish that will be granted if you eat it before its heart stops beating.
- A pair of talking dogs chained to a sturdy iron post driven deep into the earth. Their guard tells you they were stolen from a place far beyond the edge of the map, and that they’ll lead you to ancient treasures – if you have the coin.
- A pair of jugglers. They weave small cantrips as they play, summoning tiny portals that they throw their batons through, catching them as they reappear out of thin air.
- A roaming flautist, her instrument made from hollowed fingers joined together. Her music is light and brittle, but captivating.
- A bear who walks on his hind legs and speaks with a human voice. He has a man chained to a post, who dances and spins a ball on his nose.
- A painter of caricatures. They capture something the subjects didn’t know about themselves, not always with pleasant results.
- An arm wrestler, muscles bulging and oiled. She offers a prize to any who can best her.
- A weather watcher. She sits hunched over a map of the country, breathing out smoke from her pipe and tracing the shapes its clouds make in the air. She uses them to predict storms – and worse.
- A tattoo artist, armed with an array of needles of different diameters and a small hammer. Her inks shimmer and shift, their hues alien and strange. Her designs creep and swirl on the page, though they lie still once they are put to flesh.
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I write random tables as a warm-up every day. You can suggest a prompt here.
