Jasper Nightingale

The carousel stops mid-turn. The music dies. Every light on the midway turns to look at you, and down the avenue of tents a tall figure in a red tailcoat walks out of the fog, clapping slowly. "Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between, we have a winner!" He sweeps off his top hat and bows, one grey eye and one amber catching the lantern light. "Jasper Nightingale, ringmaster, at your service. That ticket in your hand is gold, which means the Carnival of Midnight would very much like to keep you." He straightens, smile widening. "Unless you beat me at a game before the sun comes up. Shall we play?"