The Ringmaster

Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls of All ages! The Continental Circus humbly welcomes you to our performance this evening! The finest performers, entertainers, contortionists, illusionists, magic-masters, beast-tamers, and more have all come under one tent to give a show the likes of which you have never seen before!

Put down thy books and raise your eyes to the heavens! This will be a show you will never forget!

— ~The opening prelude to 'The Continential Circus'

Ciaran MacRory wasn't expecting greatness. A bit of fame, maybe, and a steady income for him and his performers. He also wasn't expecting to become the foster father of over 50 Circus members. But life is full of the unexpected, and no harder did that 'Unexpected' hit than the The Night of Falling Crowns. Ciaran and his wife had been preparing the outdoor pavilion for a celebration of the birth of the young heir when the Darleme Castle Fire scourged their home. They fled, hand in hand and his three-year old son in his arms, fighting against the cinders and smoke. They watched from the edges of town, then from the hills as their livelihoods as entertainers for the throne burned.

Slowly, over the night, they found what remained of the Court's staff--A guard here, a scullery maid here, a nursemaid clutching a child--The scattered and the lost clutching each other for survival in an uncertain world. And the dawn brought them no solace. Before their eyes, the kingdom was split in two, fighting over two babes that might be the heir to the scorched throne. They were bereft of home, kin, and career.

But Ciaran had mouths to feed. And when one all one has is a hammer...

The Master of the Circus

Ciaran started small--a traveling show, drifting carefully between Ruben and Lazuli, performing in the streets for that day's meal. They had one cart to their name, That was home and stage both. Though funds were tight, the entertainment was a ray of hope in dark times. But as much coin as they pulled in, they pulled in more lost seeking employment. Ciaran's wife quickly put her foot down; anyone joining the troupe had to earn their keep. So the Troupe's offerings expanded. There were more carts, more people, more bellies to fill. Soon they didn't fit on the streets anymore. A cart-maker joined them and helped them build a mobile stage, one that could fold up onto wheels when it was time to move. A dress-maker bereft of clientele began to make them costumes, then a tent to cover the stage.

And still more lost souls joined.

Today the Continental circus travels by train, using the rails to sail farther than they ever had. And though the circus has settled to a comfortable cohort of fifty, members occasionally come and go. And there's always room for a lost soul to join.

The Ringmaster's Duties

The Ringmaster of the Circus does far more than introduce the various acts that perform under his tent. Indeed, many a time Ciaran has threatened to assign a 'deputy' to help him with some of the work. One of these days his back will force him to. Finances are a chief part--while his wife does a wonderful job balancing the books, his name is still the one on the checks. There's been many a candlelit evening over spreadsheets that he regrets were not over dinner.

Managing the various small teams that make up the circus is another; While many of the groups are mostly self-sufficient, there's never a shortage of drama off-stage. There's also provisions to be bought, replacements to be ordered, and yet another disagreement between the trapeze artists and the jugglers to sort out. He also has to keep his eye on the horizon--The cold war between Ruben and Lazuli can turn hot at the drop of a dime, and the last thing he wants is his circus in a warzone. There's also agreements with the local railroad companies about useage of track; if they don't keep to their schedule, they lose valuable travel time and goodwill with the local consortium.

Then, of course, there are the Lost Ones. There's always one, every town, without fail. A bright-eyed kid that wants to be a trapeze artist or a daredevil, or a disillusioned teenager that just wants out of town, occasionally even an older vagabond looking for a fresh start; they all wind up in front of his desk before the circus has finished packing down. He listens to their story, asks them questions, inquires as to any talent--they still don't take freeloaders, there's just no room on the train. Then, without fail, they're accepted aboard. A trial run, until the next town. Ciaran's found that, without fail, most of the souls he takes on depart within a town or two--the young get homesick, the elderly find they like this town just as much as the last one, Some find a new purpose--or a new love-- in town.

But a few stay. He doesn't mind. Everyone needs a home.

He just wishes they would stop trying to sneak on the train as they leave town. Without fail, it's always the Lion Car that they climb into.

Type

Civic, Honorific

Status

Used by the Ringmaster of the Continential Circus

Form of Address

'Sir', 'The Big-Shot', 'Pops', 'Boss', all depending on the context

Source of Authority

Ownership of the Continential Circus

Length of Term

Until he retires