Origin and History

The origin of Harbingers is largely unknown, like Omens. However, in this modern age, their presence has increased, with various stories and folk tales recounting meetings with these devilish beasts.

Treatment in Ringling society

In many past documents and retellings, their presence is treated as a sign of ill things to come. These old stories are held onto even in modern times, and it is said that inviting one to be near you is to invite death and misfortune.

"They trail darkness in their wake, minds swirling with an uneasy tempest. Their whispers are laced with venom, and malice seeps from their jaws. Heed not their words, for if you comply, it will mean ruin for yourself and all that you love..."

Yet others almost find some form of reverence in these monstrous Ringlings. Some Ringlings, especially the young and flighty, see them as a representation of rebellion and opposition. For those who were told by their parents or elders to never stray to the earth, the more grounded and free nature of these Ringlings provides them a sort of comfort.  Though seen as outrageous in some spaces, and outright blasphemous in others, many Ringlings have adopted a form of "Harbinger-punk" attitude to their lives, and fashion clothing and accessories that resemble the parts or iconography of the Harbingers.

Appearance and anatomy

Harbinger Ringlings possess grotesque and bizarre features.

The unique anatomy of this subtype is their gnarled, pointed jaws. These are required and cannot be substituted.

The day years ago where I suffered under the reign of a particularly abrasive Harbinger still rests heavily in the back of my head. I woke up that morning and rubbed my eyes of sleep, only to discover that the smell of smoke was wafting through my window and clogging my nostrils. On a heap of burning rubble in the center of town stood a sharp-winged Ringling with a swishing forked tail, cackling as my fellow villagers rushed over buckets of water.

The fire they had started, unfortunately, was only one they could put out. For days we dreaded waking up, fearing that the devilish tyrant who seemed to stick around exclusively to torment us would take things a step further and create a serious problem. What we got, mostly, were twisted pranks. Our crops grew quicker, but sprouted into malformed shapes– some even began moving by themselves and destroying their unripe neighbors. The local well which we depended on for our drinking water turned a bright shade of red much like that of a tomato, and yet the Ringling insisted that it was safe to drink. A particularly gutsy villager confirmed that to be true, but we still warily drew our supply from that body of deceitful liquid.

On the last day that they were here, the rubble pile ceased its burning, though mini fires sprinkled around every corner took their place. It was only later that an Omen passed by with a frown and relayed to us that a message had been scorched into the ground.

I ponder it now, those words.

Trust not those with many eyes, rebellion is the real guiding light.