Chainmail link by chainmail link, something has been quietly growing in a small Eastern Utah town. What began as a modest gathering of medieval enthusiasts has transformed into an immersive experience that now draws thousands to Price, Utah each year.

Five years ago, the small Renaissance Fair launched with just 20 booths and around 800 attendees. Today, it fills both Washington Park and Pioneer Park, stretching across and closing city streets, welcoming more than 30,000 visitors annually. Along the way, it has become one of the most unique cultural gatherings in the state.

The festival’s founder laughs when recalling how it all started.

“It’s kind of a funny story,” Megan Marshall explained. “I met someone involved in armored combat, real swords, real axes, and I thought, ‘I’d love to watch that.’ But instead of finding an event, I decided to start one.”

That decision raised a few eyebrows, especially when presented to city officials. The pitch was ambitious, and it worked! And once the first crowds arrived, in full costume and with ready imaginations, the skepticism faded quickly.

What followed was rapid growth. By the second year, the festival had already outgrown its original footprint and expanded to a larger venue with more than 150 vendors. Today, it caps at around 200 booths, not by choice, but by space limitations.

Despite the crowds, one of the festival’s defining features is how comfortable it feels. The layout spreads across two parks and is thoughtfully organized, keeping it from ever feeling overwhelming. Visitors wander through a grid of artisan booths, shaded dining areas, and performance stages, often stumbling upon something unexpected — a juggler mid-act, a blacksmith hammering glowing, sparking metal, or a troupe of dancers weaving through the crowd.

There’s a deliberate philosophy behind that experience.

“We want it to feel immersive,” Megan says. “Not just like a market, but like stepping into another world.”

That commitment shows up most clearly in the vendor selection process. Unlike many festivals where repetition is common, this event carefully screens every applicant. Vendors must describe their products, demonstrate quality, and, perhaps most importantly, fit the theme.

Even food vendors aren’t exempt.

One participant, Angel’s Tacos, was initially turned away. “It just didn’t fit,” the organizer admits. “But he came back and asked what he needed to do.” The answer? Transform his modern setup into something medieval. With burlap draping and a rebranded “tavern” aesthetic, he earned his place and has been a staple ever since.

The result is a marketplace where nearly everything feels intentional. Handmade leather goods, jewelry, costumes and crafts fill the booths, with minimal duplication. For attendees, it creates a sense of discovery. For vendors, it improves sales and keeps them coming back, so much so that booth spaces now sell out quickly, with a growing waitlist each year.

Entertainment, too, has evolved organically.

What began with armored combat demonstrations has expanded into a diverse lineup of performers: fire dancers, stilt walkers, musicians, jesters, and even educational groups showcasing birds of prey. Many are connected through tight-knit festival networks, where word travels fast.

“You meet one person and they know ten more,” Megan explains.

Some of the most striking performances come after dark. The festival’s Saturday night finale features fire performers wielding flaming swords, breathing fire, and creating an unforgettable spectacle.

Yet the festival remains deeply rooted in the community.

It’s free to attend, aside from a single ticketed event — the King’s Feast — a four-course dining experience complete with live entertainment and VIP seating for the armored tournament. Beyond that, the focus is accessibility: families, newcomers, and longtime enthusiasts all share the same space.

And they come from far beyond Utah. Vendors and attendees travel from across the country — Texas, Florida, Michigan, Washington — all drawn by the festival’s reputation for organization and atmosphere.

But the most meaningful impact is local.

“It’s the memories,” Megan says. “That’s why we do it.”

Those memories take many forms; children seeing a fire breather for the first time; families returning year after year in evolving costumes, even couples finding each other in the crowd. This year, the festival will introduce a new feature, a dedicated stage for weddings and vow renewals. One couple has already signed up to be married on-site, officiated by a volunteer who embraces his role as a medieval friar, shaved head and all.

It’s a fitting addition for an event that has become more than just entertainment. It’s a place where imagination and community intersect. People step out of their everyday lives and into a whole other world of shared creativity.

Behind it all is a small army of volunteers, city staff, family members, and friends, many of whom are, as Megan jokes, “bribed with baked goods and hugs.” 

Planning begins almost as soon as the festival ends, with only a brief pause before ideas for the next year begin to take shape.

The momentum shows no sign of slowing.

With attendance climbing and new features added each year, the festival continues to evolve, including the possibility of a trebuchet this year (pending city approval). But its core remains the same — a passion project that grew because people believed in it.

Sometimes, the best way to attend something extraordinary is to build it yourself.

Photos courtesy of Megan Marshall.