Court of Hearts Pt.1

The Jester

Year 399 Jester's day

A slim young man with the appearance of a human in his twenties had his head placed into his palms as he leaned against the wooden wall that was The Rhinestone Tavern, the second place to get drunk in Castle Rhinestone.

The night; dark and cold.

There was an alley and steps where many people walked down to get to the entrance of the pub. That's where the man stood. Rocking back and forth as he mumbled profanity over and over in repetition, his feet began to shake as he turned to the crowd of five.

The man who stood nearest was a burly human with pale skin, his head shaven and beard neatly kept into a braiding fashion commonly seen in the noble's district.

This wasn't the noble's district, this was the slums.

The crazed man leapt at the noble born man on one foot, in such a weird and creepy manner the four behind him began to shriek lowly as he hopped ever closely whispering a song to himself.

"The neatly grass is grain, on which we tear apart."

He hopped ever nearer to the man who now was stumbling back, near a torch that completely showed his appearance, he wore a vest of highbourne nature. The signature of the tailor sewn obviously to the upper right torso.

An amateur's mistake.

The man thought more and more about the other man's appearance, so obsessively until he began to sing again.

"The neatly wheat is grass on which we call our lives."

Now at this point he was uncomfortably near the drunken noble, well at least a noble that was so inclined to want a beverage as why else would he be outside the establishment

The crazed singer leapt off of his stationed foot, which was his right. Now his left caught him up off of the cold stone beneath his foot, his right soared upwards at the burly man. A blade extended(-ing) from the tip of his boot.

The man never knew what hit him as he grasped ahold of his throat, going to swallow only to meet cold steel from the man's hidden blade. His eyes darted around in panic only seeing the color of his assailants eyes.

Purple.

As he pulled his foot smoothly from the forsaken man's throat, he placed both feet onto the ground, as time seemed to slow. People ran and the crazed man began to have an inner battle as his eyes reverted from purple to yellow. Then his eyes froze a dim purple as he seized a Jester's cap that had been tucked between his belt and his chest piece. He brought it up to the color changing eyes he called his own.

Peering at the cap that seemed to hold significant value to the psychopath, he didn't notice the four making their escape. He quickly put the cap on, and his eyes were clear and white. No color phased the man. No morality. No consciousness. The man jolted at the woman who was nearest to him.

She was nearly at the stairs that would lead up to where Laristar guards were stationed, so he acted quickly getting near her in what seemed to be a simple bat of the eye.

She wore a white common folk dress, normally seen in Osagor for it's thin fabric in the humid swamps. Her visit to the grand capital of the west was cut short by the notorious Jester who built his reputation in the slums over the years. Only fitting to name the day after him.

Her end was with a sword the killer revealed from a sheathe that hid only in the dark, for it was a large sword not small enough for hiding in a well lit place.

The claymore cleaved her and the third victim down, all he could see of him is, he had already had a frosted mug from The Dragon's Poison. Their cups had very unique art painted onto them to indicate the whereabouts of the crafter.