A Ceremony Often Practiced but Never Rehearsed

When people groaned the deepest at their subjection to Tyrant Winter, then arrived resplendent Youthful Spring who with one blow from his gleaming brand laid low the dreadful season.
"Rejoice, for again the time—"
"Watch out," the trembling people warned, and with reason. Tyrant Winter rose and shook himself as if checking for thorns stuck in his clothing.
"This sometimes happens," Youthful Spring assured them. He turned and with one smack from the ivy-wrapped hilt dropped the stubborn foe. "Now rejoice, for again—"
Again indeed, as screams from the people alerted him, but a roundhouse solved the problem, once. Then a knee to the stomach, and a throw, and soon Spring and Winter were locked in a grapple, the former demanding that the latter give up already, had he looked at a calendar? The people marveled to see the contest. From that they invented the sport of wrestling and the art of professional wrestling.
Finis

The Future of Theater

Little robot fellas performing plays on your dinner table while you eat. They get the scripts from the cloud, which is a very futuristic place, and they provide their own music and sound effects on separate channels from that which their voices use.

Addendum

A few people, however, should insist that other city stinks and that home city is much better.

Scene Dressing

The easiest way to make your world feel real is for everyone to think some other city is way cooler. We will call this the Paris Method.

Fantasy Edutainment

"Seems like an easy case, Stovak."
"Are you kidding? I've never seen a more puzzling mystery in all my career. We've got a long road ahead of us, Drupil, and there's no doubt about that."
Knight-Detective Drupil looked around the scene. The victim, the signs of a struggle with blood and broken pottery all over, the open window, the zombie standing next to the victim. "Uh, how so? The zombie killed him."
"Impossible." Knight-Detective Stovak raised three fingers. "Remember the three laws of zombonics. One! A zombie never kills anyone onscreen. Two! A zombie will chew nearby corpses for dramatic effect. Three! A zombe will attack all living things it sees slowly and ineffectually."
"Right, right. Wait. It's just standing there. Does that mean it isn't a zombie?"
"Yeah. And maybe . . ." Stovak kicked the victim, who grunted. "Maybe this isn't a corpse."
"That just makes it a simple case in a different way." Drupil reached down and helped up the ersatz corpse. "It's great to find out you're alive, God-Steward Tuild. Wait. You aren't Tuild!"
"No," the zombie said. "I am." Dun dun dun!

"I can't believe God-Steward Wregil knocked out Baron Edrak, who was threatening him over his relationship with his daughter, and used Count-Magician Brunuil's experimental transformation magic to turn his rival, God-Steward Tuild, into a zombie so he would eat the evidence," Drupil marveled.
"Too bad for him that there's one thing he forgot," Stovak said.
"The three laws of zombonics."
"That's right, partner."
THE END
Next time, a professor of lichology is found dead after a ritual gone wrong . . . and Knight-Detective Stovak's old squire is accused of murder.

"I hate this theatrical series. You can always tell who did it because it's the most famous actor in the cast that week. Besides, only Itrenorn zombies act that way."
"You say that every week, Trumarl, but every week we end up back here."
"Yeah, but you know why."
"Sure. Who'd your brother-in-law play this time? The temple custodian?"
"Right. Hey Criuak, you were great today, and so on, and my sister asked me to bring you this . . . Criuak? Criuak!"
"I can't believe it! He's been murdered!" Dun dun dun!
Finis

But Who Invented Puppetry?

"I never had the chance to visit Altitharma Shrine before, so I decided this was the time. I walked the road for miles until it came to Hersa Bridge, which is where I am right now."
"Traveler, the story of the bridge is this, and I was there when all this happened, in those days when . . . when . . . Oh come on!" The puppeteer seized his creation and hurled it to the ground, then scurried over and checked for damage. "Don't break! I don't have time for you to break!"
"Trying to establish an image as a temperamental artist, huh?"
"Oh, uh, I, no, it's because . . ." Fargen straightened up when he realized Otor and Skjord had seen his embarrassing performance. "It's all the headman's fault anyway. He told me to perform 'The Apparition on Hersa Bridge' at the next festival. It has too many parts! I can't memorize all the lines, and actions, and touch up enough puppets beforehand."
"Sounds terrible. Almost as hard as real work." Skjord flexed his arms built by real work.
"Does the headman look over your shoulder while you're really working? It would be one thing if you were like the lumberjack character, who . . . wait." Fargen looked at Skjord, and Otor again, and then Skjord, then Otor.
"Yes?"
"What if . . . you two took the place of two of my puppets? Then I wouldn't have to learn as many parts."
"Huh?"
And that was how plays were invented. Good luck proving that story false.
Finis