If you came here for a dark story, then my name has sorely misled you. Certainly--you might find something ill-natured. Something devious, disguised with elaborate words and frilly little adjectives. You are also apt to find some kind of encouragement--inspiration--insight. There is also bravery in my whittled words--just as there is lax description of, perhaps, the inept soul. I am all of this, and more--because I have faults and strengths and words to make all things true and false as I please. That is the power of words, and the power of a soul.

Now, you're either interested--or, more likely, confused. Why bother with such elated words? Who is this, to speak so highly of himself? Well, mind you! I've taken as many stabs as praise unto myself in these dreary little monologues. But to an inquiry--I'm called many things. King of Weavers, Word-Waster, failed Jester, bard. Today, it is after the literal meaning of carnival --Farewell - Flesh.' Tomorrow, I'll be something else. Perhaps my name is changed, even today! Already. And you'd never notice!

The greatest power of my name is its ever-changing owner. With each new name, I can become someone new. Someone different entirely. One day, I am a storyteller. Next, I am a listener. Proud, and then humbled. The vast roles within the universe have yet to be explored. I dare you to try this, one day--be someone different. Someone you hate. Someone you admire. Among these strangers, you will find yourself.

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Slight insight might give you the upperhand, so I'll clue you in on a few things. My name, as I mentioned before, is the literal translation of the word, 'carnival.' Carnivals occur before the Roman Catholic tradition of Lent, as a final farewell to their earthly wants. However, they are likely a modification of the pagan holiday, Saturnalia, practiced by the Romans (don't let them hear that!).

Loves: +The smell of cinnamon. +Yarns and their Spinners. (no matter the tapestry they weave)

Likes: +Storms. +Getting lost. +Watching night and day arrive.

Dislikes: -Isolation. -Hatred.

http://img368.imageshack.us/img368/6978/farewellfles -disallowed_word- j6.jpg

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One might guess a story lies in me. Well--I suppose, 'lies,' is the correct word. A child doesn't typically come from the womb with such decorated vocabulary, ne? Indeed, you might have guessed: my name, at least, did not come about in a light-hearted array of events.

My own story is not a story at all, but a long, rambling, drawn-out question. It is mine all the same, and it starts with the cold, white flames snow brings, and a small human child among them.

He was picked up by no less than a moving Carnival--on their way to some foriegn destination they knew not of. Being particularily generous people, they adopted the child among them, and being particularily fun people, they found no end of amusement just for him. They did not pry at his past, or anything of that sort, nor even ask the name befitting his head. No--they gave him a new nickname, everyday, one that described his personality, or maybe teased him a bit. All in good sport, of course.

They eventually arrived at a city, and each set up their own camp. The boy didn't have to work, though he helped out with the small stuff here and there. Eventually, the fair was set up, and the boy wandered through it looking at all the different stands and attractions. Lions, clowns, amusement rides, fire breathing, trains, bungees, corn and turkey and desserts, shoot-the-target, merry-go-rounds--all these things were at his disposal, and he delighted each time he saw something new.

And-there was no end of new people to meet, in this great and crowded affair. It was tied to no celebration but its own arrival, but certainly, this was indeed an occasion to the many bright and shining faces the boy passed.

He went to see the Fortune Teller in this kind of mood--bright and celebratory. The ruckus seemed like another world within the dim, rose-scented tent. "Ah! You're that kid the Ringleader picked up, ah?" The Fortune Teller's voice was old and hoarse, but held a friendly tone. "I'm the Fortune Teller here. But I expect you've read the sign.

The boy nodded, "Yeah! Today my name's Jester! Can I watch what you do?

Oh, silly boy, I don't do much of anything. Unless rambling and lying is something enjoyable to you?" The boy shook his head firmly. "Yeah, well, we all do it occasionally, Jester. But your real name...wouldn't it be --" The old man whispered it quietly to the boy. His eyes widened, and he got a little nervous. The old Fortune Teller just grinned. "Yeah! I knew as much. And that's why you were left out in the snow, right? With those weird horns, and a prophecy attached to your real name! Not a good one, either!" He fumbled around in his desk, and Jester continued to be nervous. "Well, I wouldn't worry about me. I'm a lying, rambling old man, remember?" He pulled out two little gold bells, which jingled orange in the soft light. "Here, these are for you. They used to belong to a grandchild of mine, but...well...people grow! Now you can have 'em." He put them firmly into Jester's hands. "I think what you have is a blessing, not a curse. So live like it!

The Fortune Teller was indeed Jester's favorite person at the Carnival.

Farewell-Flesh's story evolves as he does. I don't know if I'll involve other people in it, but Role-Play is open nonetheless, just for good times! c:

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Convincing Replicas!

Incredible art from Natalie!
My Treasures