The van rolled down a winding country road lined with wooden signs advertising “Ye Olde Mead Tastings,” “Unicorn Petting Zoo,” and “Mutton on a Stick – $5.”

Thane blinked at the GPS, then at the sprawling encampment ahead, where tents and wooden stalls stood like a medieval-themed army preparing to invade the 21st century.

A massive hand-painted banner flapped in the breeze at the entrance:
“Oakenridge Renaissance Revelry – Featuring: Feral Eclipse (Saturday Only!)”

Cassie leaned forward in her seat, brow furrowed. “Wait… wait.”
She turned to Gabriel. “You told me this was a music festival.”

Gabriel grinned sheepishly. “It is a festival. With music. And turkey legs!”

Maya stared at the jousting arena forming in the distance. “Tell me we are not about to play a set between a falconry demonstration and a dude named Sir Fartsalot.”

Jonah opened the van door, looked out, and immediately slammed it shut.
“Nope. I saw a wizard. A real one. Not doing this sober.”

Backstage… or what passed for it

The “green room” was a canvas tent with hay bales and a single folding chair. A lute player was in the corner tuning strings with the solemnity of a monk preparing for war.

A Ren Faire coordinator in full armor clanked over. “Greetings, noble minstrels! You shall take the main stage anon—just after the Maypole dance and right before the leechcraft demonstration.”

Thane rubbed his temples. “We’re not minstrels. We’re a rock band.”

“Ah,” the knight nodded, “most excellent! Do ye require… amplification?”

Thane stared. “We require electricity.”

30 Minutes Later: Chaos Brews Like Mead in a Barrel

Mark had managed to scrounge together enough extension cords to power the sound rig from a nearby joust judge’s Winnebago. The stage itself? A hastily constructed platform of plywood and what might’ve been old ship parts.

Gabriel tuned his bass next to a man dressed as a bard playing a kazoo.

Maya glared at her guitar strap, now tangled with a string of medieval bunting. “I’m going to set something on fire.”

Cassie, now dressed in a borrowed corset she absolutely did not request, muttered, “They asked if I could sing ‘Greensleeves.’ I’m doing ‘Razor Vein Carousel’ or I riot.”

Rico re-strung his guitar while drinking a chalice of something purporting to be “ancient cranberry wine.” He squinted at the crowd of families in flower crowns and chainmail. “This is going to go terribly.”

Jonah, currently arguing with a pirate about stage time, shouted, “WE ARE LITERALLY ON THE POSTER.”

High Noon. Feral Eclipse Takes the Stage

The crowd quieted. Jugglers paused mid-throw. A guy on stilts stopped walking and nearly face-planted into the straw.

Then—Gabriel hit the first note. A deep, distorted bass line that shook the mead out of several flagons.

Maya came in like a thunderstorm. Rico followed with a solo that cleaved the air like an axe.

Cassie growled the first lyric with such intensity a flock of doves behind the Maypole fled.

The Ren Faire attendees were stunned. Half of them had no idea what was happening. The other half were rocking the hell out.

A group of teens in chainmail started moshing with a guy dressed as a druid.

Someone screamed, “IS THIS THE NEW LUTEWAVE?”

One enthusiastic bard threw his recorder into the air and started headbanging.

A knight yelled, “M’LADY, I HAVE SEEN THE GODS, AND THEY SHRED.”

Aftermath – The Stocks

The band was politely asked to leave after Jonah shattered a wooden ale barrel during a particularly aggressive drum solo.

Thane, still trying to roll up power cables, muttered, “I don’t even know what happened. Did I just mix sound for a goblin pit fight?”

Gabriel, now wearing a flower crown and dual-wielding turkey legs, beamed. “We made like forty new fans. I signed a baby.”

Cassie: “I sang about blood in front of a blacksmith. Who clapped.”

Maya: “I crowd-surfed on a wooden cart full of carrots.”

Mark, deadpan: “Never again.”