To Meet the Jester

Oh to be entertained! His thoughts were just so as he listened to the horde below roar their support to their master. This was going to be great fun! The morning sun had danced upon the horizon for long enough and was jumping here and there higher into the clear blue sky. Lithe arms throwing themselves up to the wide open blue above his head he laughed as hard as he could, he laughed so hard he was soon wheezing. He fell to his knees, his arms wrapped around his aching middle. Taking deep, slow breathes, gave himself a moment’s rest before rising to his feet again.1

The roaring horde was still at it, their thunderous approval of the pointy toothed one’s display of power most enthusiastic…and also most ignorant. They had no idea. They knew less than nothing. And yet they would all willing die for it. Dying for a cause that you understood was admirable even to one such as himself, but to willingly die without knowing what for? This, now this was a great joke…perhaps one of the best he had come across in some time. But he felt something tugging at the back of his mind, something that itched and scratched and whispered to him that there was something more. His deep green eyes sparked with an epiphany…something gained from the actions he had born witness to in his comings and goings from this once quiet country manor in the last half of the this absolutely meaningless year. Time, what a jest, what a jest indeed.2

Still giggling absently, he clamored giddily across the elaborate roof of the manor house. Mischief seemed to drape itself about his narrow limbs and lively moves like a shroud, but a shroud that revealed instead of concealed. Had he thought of this himself he would have laughed again, there was always room for a good chuckle…and even more so for a belly laugh. Despite his quick and sprightly pace, he moved from peek to trough upon the red tiled roof with a patient leisure. Time was always on his side, whether time liked it or not. His laughter rang out anew, it was indeed a good day to jest.3

Daevon Faerth moved ably about the manor, mind preoccupied by the little things that still needed doing before he implemented the next step in his carefully laid plans. It felt wonderful to yet again be wearing his armor. Upon discovering the continued strength of one of his most prized possessions he had adopted an amused, almost mirthful mood. The game had indeed begun. Now it would be only a short time before the game would fall into full swing. Today was a good day to finally break away a little more of that bothersome sense of boredom that had not been fully banished by the events of the past months. Oh raising the army and cowing the lesser of his blood had been somewhat entertaining, but there were greater deeds to be done. He smiled a toothsome smile, the smile of a natural predator.4

“Congratulations oh he of the long tooth,” a smoothly spoken tenor spoke from somewhere behind the armored vampire,” wait, did I mean long toothed of age or fang?”5

Daevon spun to look behind him as raucous laughter sounded down the halls of the manor. There was no one there.6

“O today is the day! A day for jest indeed!” the voice called out with great mirth, like a river overflowing its meager banks.7

Daevon did not feel threatened, but it was odd that he had not noticed the approach of this strange entity, a spirit of some sorts perhaps. There was more laughter, as if the speaker was floating about.8

“Tell me my odd disembodied voice,” Daevon’s voice was as calm as a pond frozen in the height of winter, composure exquisitely distinguished,” what is it that brings you into my house uninvited this day of all days?”9

“Why ask of today…” the voice said again from behind and to the right of the composed vampire,”…when I have come and gone as I pleased since the beginning?”10

Daevon Faerth turned slowly to find his new visitor sitting in a chair that was placed against a wall, an unlit torch hanging over the marvelously crafted furniture. Granting himself a moment to take in the appearance of this stealthy newcomer, he could not help but raise an eyebrow at the man. His frame was strangely long and yet he was nothing if not at least three hands shorter than Daevon himself. There was something amiss about the man’s face. It was slender, high cheekbones casting faint shadows down to his jaw line. His face was young, and yet his eyes, a deeply unnatural green, hinted at a great deal more than the mere twenty odd seasons the man looked. Daevon gathered his thoughts quickly, glad he had always prided himself on retaining his composure unless he wished to fully embrace a rage or desire…only when he wished.11

“So you have made yourself at home?” Daevon asked glibly, raising an eyebrow at the simple forest green coat the man wore over a grey silk shirt,” this is considered overly rude in some households…”12

The menace in the comment was not lost on the disturbingly youthful man. In fact, he loved it so much it was all he could do to not collapse from the chair onto the floor.13

“Oh…he…he speaks of…of manners, of permission to enter a…a house he asked no permission…to…to enter,” the words were haltingly spoken around gasps of laughter,” rich, you who grasp so much power and power over those about us, you are rich indeed.”14

Daevon felt a sudden desire to devise for this man a painful demise, painful and long. The cold, stare that lay fixed upon the lithely proportioned, uninvited guest was murderous, and yet, controlled.15

“Who is it that I have the, honor, of speaking with?”16

“A name?” the man asked, rising from the chair and running a slender hand through his shoulder length, night fed locks,” a name, a name...wait is this a game? Aha! I rhymed!!!”17

Daevon felt his already dying patience throw itself from something very tall and plummet to its doom.18

“A name for me or a very painful death for you,” the vampire spoke in a nonchalant manner that belied the storm beneath the surface, he did not need this on this day of all days.19

“Some have called me Itazuramono. Others chose Kaosokynne, or even Iocus. But those are times come and gone. A joke is never the same when told twice. So I will perhaps come up with something new then…something new…”20

Daevon decided he did not know what to think of this strange man. Perhaps he was a servant of his grandfather’s? It was unlikely, but not an impossibility. Still, he would have known of most of the old one’s more powerful minions. And this one would have to be powerful to treat him in such a trivial manner. Powerful, or insane.21

“I have it!” the man said, taking a step towards the graceful vampire,” I am rosszban töri a fejét, so I must abide with the age. Aha! Otletes bemondás and egy kockavetés! You may call me Jakkus Pheric, or just Jakkus, or perhaps Pheric if you are of the persuasion to do so.”22

“Fine…Jakkus, what is it that brings you to this place, and has allegedly brought you to this place in the days and weeks past?” Daevon spoke calmly with a smile upon his face, a smile that quite clearly displayed his pointed wares.23

“Ah, now there is a question I myself speak best in…” the man shrugged his shoulders and straightened his jacket, fixing his trousers black trousers about his slim waist, bowing as he continued,” I have seen this yarn writhe and fester, and so upon this day of days I came to meet the jester…”24

Before the self appointed lord of manor could respond he saw the youngish looking man hold himself straight once again and cast a glance beyond his armored, vampiric conversational partner. Daevon turned to see what had caught the man’s attention and knew when he saw nothing that when he turned back the man would be gone. He was right. The doors at his back opened to admit a familiar presence.25

“I heard you speaking with someone brother,” Laertes said with a measure of perplexed hesitation,” is there someone about the house I have not seen?”26

Daevon turned to face his brother, his once amused, nearly mirthful mood turned thus to ash.