Showtyme hadn’t always been like this, and the place he haunted hadn’t either. He examined the tattered ringmaster coat, ticking sadly. Nobody wanted to stick around these days, and he was lonely. He had been put in this world for one reason, as a deterrent, then came the divine revelation “don’t worry about it..”

Being laid off was bad, being laid off by The Gods? Even worse. After all that time alone doing nothing but scaring mortals away came another revelation. This one more personal, than divine, he really, really liked company, to the point where even the occasional visit from mortals had helped.

Sadly upon encountering him, most mortals had one of four responses. 1. scream, he hated that one, it was loud, and annoying. 2. Faint, in this case he calmly made them a cup of tea, after carrying them outside. Theoretically, he was supposed to stick around to check the unconscious mortal safely recovered. That response wasn’t really an option though, as that way lay the mortal waking up, seeing him again, fainting again. Then when they woke up again came the screaming, and the laughing, and the gibbering. Apparently his undisguised form had an impact on something called a SAN rating, whatever that is.

Then there was 3. The individuals who took it into their heads to try to worship him. They really sucked, because they kept turning up at all hours, caterwauling outside, and leaving sacrifices on his doorstep. That really annoyed him, for a start, nobody ever asked him if he even wanted sacrifices, or the nature of the offerings. What was he supposed to do with animal bodies, or worse, that got dropped by the cultist infestation. Couldn’t they give him biccies, or crumpets? Or a nice book and a cuppa? He’d tried stacking their "offerings," neatly off to one side, and the mortals only got worse, treating it as some kind of altar. He had enough of his own mess to clean up without inconvenient mortals leaving their leftovers for him to deal with..

That’s not to mention that as a creation of The Gods, he felt really weird and icky about them giving him credit for actions of his creators. It was like being given credit for your parents actions, but without any of the positive aspects. Really annoying.

Then, worst of all, there was category 4. These people were the worst, they took the offerings he’d never asked for under the assumption he had, and took that as a reason to try to stick a sword in him. (RUDE.) That one really sucked, imagine if uninvited guests kept showing up at your front door leaving hideous vases, then others deciding that horrid vases were the one thing you really liked. Resulting in nothing but those, then somebody else coming along, criticising your tastes, and acting like you chose them. Except their critique comes with a foot and a bit of steel.

Not that it was particularly effective mind you, when The Gods create something with the intent of keeping mortals away they don’t muck about. Void is really bad for steel, and seeing your sword eaten? Tends to be a pretty good deterrent from a second strike. But does reinforce your reputation as a monster. (Honestly you devour two legendary weapons, and drive a few so called “heroes” off their trolley, and you’re a monster. He didn’t ask them to come round and try using him as a novelty knife block, did he? Was it his fault that his voice wasn’t quite passing for mortal back then? Or that they weren’t quite ready to hear upper order celestial? If you can’t stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen.)

After that he’d cooked up a decent plan, to the envy of sulky kids everywhere he’d run away and joined the circus. Carefully selecting one without any animals, after the time a tiger lunged at him, suddenly figured out what he was, and ran back into their cage and cowered. That had taken some explaining, and at the next town he’d swapped to a non animal centric circus.

That had been a happy time for him, the circus had been very kind, more used to encountering unique individuals, they had furnished him with his current outfit. Disguising his unique form, from then on he’d roamed around the country for a few years. (Or decades, mortal time is tricky.) Before one day the ringmaster, (great great great great grandpa of the one who had first hired him,) had announced they were retiring. Without an heir the circus would be no more. But by that point that was the only life he knew. So he’d taken all the money they had given him in wages. (He hadn’t required food, and that wage had quickly mounted up once Astoundo the first had managed to convince him that eating it, while one hell of a show, wasn’t what you did with money, and didn’t help his mortal disguise. He’d tried giving it away too whenever a performer had been struggling, or retired. But five generations of a family is apparently a long time for mortals, and none would let him perform unpaid, so it had just, kind of, piled up.)

He didn’t have much else to do with all that money, so he’d bought the whole circus, except the performers, who were mostly getting a bit long in the tooth themselves, and looking for a leisurely old age. Some though realised what he was scheming (or at least that he was scheming something.) They had elected to go with him when he headed out. Handso, The amazing Flexina, Chomps, the man who could bite through anything. He really missed them all now. Carefully they kept collecting together the oddities, he knew mortals would come to see them, and his anomaly had long since collapsed. So armed with everything he knew would catch the mortal eye, he’d headed back to the valley, with his dearest friends. and started to prepare the greatest show in the world.