Al-men

 

 

You never forget the sights and sounds of a fair.  They’re so unique, so individual that they seem forever burned into your brain.

The white nose in the background from the hundreds if not thousands of people having a conversation at once.

The smells of fried foods and other things that were no good for you heath but tasted amazing.

All the stalls, booths and tables that sold trinkets and knickknacks and other colorful objects. 

But nothing could compete with the feeling of walking down the dirt paths that made up the lanes between booths with your best friend and a shared drink.

I and my best friend Benjamin were at the Trojan fair in Minotian territory.  Our school, the only one in Sporophite territory, had been extended an invitation to attend the AutumnFestival—under a truce of course.  The Festival was a bomb shell of cultures, technology and talent.  People from all over traveled, some for months, to attend the five day Festival.

The Minotian’s, a war based culture, was currently engaged in a War with the Armonites.  For the Sphorophite’s, that meant only the upper classmen and most competent students could attend in case something went wrong.

And as it happened, things went wrong fast.