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Down, down, deep down, under the kitchens full of terrified scullions scrubbing cauldrons, under the hurried footsteps of the castle guard, under the desk of the scribbling scribes and the pacing of Julian's hounds, who hadn't been out to hunt since their master's demise, under the feet of the Lady Mancini herself ... the dungeons were ready. Ready to contain the magical masses, yes, but also to house the extra rabble that the Lady had hired for her protection. The barracks was already brimming, as was every storage room and unused corridor. Though their cells were left open, they were otherwise indistinguishable from the prisoners' cells: tightly packed with cots, with the same dank and pervasive moldering smell. Hay had been thrown down to absorb some of the dank, but there was only so much that it could do.

The Hanged Man had missed a lot of what happened topside as he oversaw the final stages of the overhaul. The dungeon aisles were crowded with crates and barrels of everything from blotting sand to smoked kippers. He sat now on a partially-fluffed bale of hay, a lit pipe in one hand and a bottle of dark, unmarked liquid in the other. Around him the smell of acrid smoke helped to mask the mildewy odor of the dungeon, providing some modicum of relief. Torchlight flickered across his face, the shadows ever-fluctuating, making him look elderly one moment and boyish the next.

Footsteps. The Hanged Man looked up at Raen as she strode down the corridor, inspecting her. "Reporting for duty?" he asked, his voice hoarse from the pipe smoke.

((Hopefully I'm shoehorning myself back in acceptably! :B ))

Her nose wrinkled every time she came down here, but today the dank seemed particularly strong. Perhaps it had finally seeped into one of those crates of pickled things and that was amplifying the stink. Even the pipe smoke, whose owner Raed glanced at and gave a brief nod, couldn't cover it up.

His hoarse question drew the ghost of a smile from her and she paused just long enough to tease the man. "Not even a 'good evenin' for me? Ouch, Hang. Cuts me real deep..... But the answer is yes," she pitched her voice louder as she walked away. "What's the news?"

She continued down a ways, dodging the cargo and noting their uptick in density (after she'd bounced her knee off a new barrel). Then she ducked into one of the female-only cells (not that there was much use in that distinction when one could see through the bars and the doors were kept open) to fetch her gear. She stripped down to get in a cleaner set of clothes, put on her brigandine and padded greaves, and looped a borrowed sword's belt around her waist over top the earlier belt that her clubs dangled from. Then her favorite coat over top of everything else.

As she made her way back, she would sigh and rub her face. "You wouldn't happen t'have something strong in one of your hip flasks, would ya? I might need a sip b'fore this headache kills me."

The Hanged Man leaned back against the wall. He looked worn thin, almost as if one could almost see through him to the rough stone. "Is it a good evening?" he asked in a deadpan voice, lips curled into an ugly smirk at Raed's faux-hurt demeanor. "Not much to tell," he called down the hallway after her. "Damn castle feels like a t-tinderbox ready to blow up."

When she rejoined him and asked if he was packing, he scoffed. "Now you w-wound me." He pulled out a thin leather-and-beeswax bottle from behind his sash and offered it to her. Whatever was inside was foul-smelling with froth on the top and sediment on the bottom, but the fumes wafting from it were strong enough to burn off Raed's eyebrows.

"Wh-what's the mood on the streets?" the Hanged Man asked. "Feels like I haven't seen light of day in ... goddess, it's been a day or two, hasn't it? Lady Eileen has no use for me up there. Not like the Executioner." He didn't sound broken up about this, but he did take a long draw from his pipe, making him cough.

Strong enough that its smell cut through the mildew and the smoke, Raed gladly accepted the bottle and took a swig. It seared her mouth and throat nicely, and she wiped the foam from her lip when she was done. "Thanks. Tha's some good stuff." She handed it back.

"B'tween th' murders and their kingsmen, people 're trying to leave town in droves. Seems they don' trust their leaders to protect them. And rightly so, if y' ask me... 's why no one does." She'd laugh, mirthless but sincere.

At mention of the Executioner, Raed shuddered. "I still don't know what that guy does; not sure I want to. Does he count as magic folk?" The thought of Lady Aileen or the king's men trying to wrestle that armored mass into a cell proved scarring and Raed shuddered again. It probably wouldn't work, anyway.

"I jus' hope this all blows over instead 'a blowing up. Would be real convenient if some folk suddenly dropped dead, y'know? If it meant not gettin' caught in th' middle of a civil war..." If it came to that, she'd have to cut her losses and skip town. Or play dead in a gutter somewhere, hope they left her or threw her in the river.

It was almost with a grovel that Executioner bowed in front of Aileen, his body hunched over and practically feral, all around the beast swirled tendrils of gore and blood, a larger and even more creature of hatred and death. It was with a longing, almost pleading voice he spoke next answering the questions. "I tracked them for a bit ... I still have my eyes searching the city for them ... however, there were others who got in my way, they clearly have allies on the streets."

He paused for a second before the armored helm turned its direction towards her, the eyeless mask gazing silently towards the noble. "As for this man Pentre, I know not. However, I am yours to command, if you wish this city torn apart then so be it. Just give me an order."

All he needed to do was obey the orders given to him until he was recalled. That was his ultimate command, the command that overrode his base instincts, he wanted, needed to fulfil it. Each moment of its completion bringing him one step closer to freedom with his beloved.

The Hanged Man pushed the cork back into the bottle with a shaky finger and stowed it once more under his sash. Regarding Executioner, he lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "He seems wholly loyal to the lady," he mused. "Maybe he'd lock himself up willingly." The grim-eyed knight swigged from his own bottle, which seemed to he a port he had nicked from the winecellar.

"Aye, 'some people,'" he said knowingly. Aileen wasn't going to relinquish her husband's holdings to Terrible Tron Pentre without some kind of fight, be it one with tariffs and coin or one with swords and blood. The first one he could abide; he had gone hungry before and could do so again. The second ... Aileen didn't stand much chance against Pentre. All the lord knight had to do was offer her mercenaries more coin than she did and the battle would be turned. And where Crow would be, he didn't know.

It all seemed like such a pointless endeavor. He closed his eyes, wheezing out another lungful of smoke. He offered Raedun the pipe. "All the action is on the street," he mused. "Down here ... feels like we're suits of armor w-waiting to be put on."

The mental image of that mountain of a knight going willingly into a cell left Raed torn between a whine and a giggle. Instead, she regarded the offered pipe a moment, before giving a shrug. She'd never been much one for smoking, but now seemed a fine time to take a drag. It left her eyes and throat burning - less pleasantly than the stiff drink - but she stifled the worst of the coughing that followed. "For now..." she choked out.

When she was able, she sighed. "Call me crazy, but I can't shake the feeling the action's coming to us. We won't miss a thing, even down here...."

A long pause while she closed her eyes and took in all the sensations around her. Every smell, sound, touch, taste seemed small and sharp, meaningless and worth everything all at once; like she'd be missing out if she left it.... She hated feeling like this.

At some point, she took her time stretching, opening her eyes when her face was pointed towards the ceiling. Some sort of wet chose that moment to drip right onto her forehead and between that and the feel of her muscle and bone moving under her own skin, she was grounded again.

"Y'know.... I told m'self I wasn't gonna do this man-at-arms thing ever again. This was s'posed t'be a short, simple job. Show up, stand around scowling at people, collect your pay and skedaddle when it turned out you weren't needed. Who'da thought all this would happen?"

Then she wandered out of the cells, up into the main halls of the manor, and back to looking busy while she killed time.

((Sorry, just want to get this in before I forget; Raed probably won't have much to say unless directly called to do something for a bit, but she'll be around the estate now.))

Taff slammed into this crouching figure, his mind distracted long enough to stumble onto the cobbled ground too.

When he focused his sight, he smiled at the dark elf.

"You are a gifted one... I am the gift itself. Now take heed of my words, it is not safe to be out here, you must hide and sneak out of this human city into the forest as quickly as you can. Being with me will only worsen your danger" warned Taff quickly summoning a thick dense fog to give the boy a greater chance to move on freely.

Unfortunately, the trip had caused Taff a limp and he would have to slow down and seek shelter, the nearest one being a tavern that seemed crowded, warm and well lit. With that in mind he was making his way there, unaware that Pentre was also taking rest in it.

Lord knight Tron the Terrible, paced around the room listening to the newly arrived bard as she played her tunes and songs. Though he took great care to study her every feature, he did not interrupt her performance.



As Pentre walked about the dinning room, terrified gossipers and a new arrival joined in for a warm soup and a talk.

"Did you see that monstruous creature? It was screeching and flying and it had tendrils and floating eyes! It even destroyed a tower. It was the devil himself... I tell you" assured a gobsmacked horrified traveller who had, by chance, caught a glimpse of the Executioner.

"Perhaps a dragon... with this unusually thick fog, he may well be out there to stalk its prey" shrugged another, dipping bread into the broth.

Then came the turn of events, with the spy arriving hastily to Pentre's presence to deliver reports to the lord knight, talking at a low whisper, though it was likely The Jester might overhear them given how close Pentre was to her/him.

"My lord... the prince has yet again escaped from the castle despite the king's orders and defying his room arrest. He is travelling unguarded as we speak. Talking to the maids and drunken royal guards, it seems prince Merthyr left a few days ago in the company of his manservant Taff who was tasked to deliver a scroll to the lady Mancini." reported Albert

"I came as quick as I could to track them down and I even made my way to her mansion hoping to find and kill the pair of them. They were gone by the time I got there... but I overheard some of the brigands gossiping... for a few coin I was told that... two royal messengers arrived at the fortress to deliver a scroll which greatly upset lady Aileen Mancini. She ordered their arrest but the pair of them escaped from her grasp soon after. Given their escape path taken, she believes them to be The Jester and his accomplice." reported Albert trying to catch his breath



"Are you certain of this?" asked Pentre seeking reassurance

"Aye, I was assured that her guard wounded one of them during their hasty escapade. There is even a bounty for them and lady Aileen's men are seeking the two messengers as we speak..." revealed Albert further extending the palm to collect a pouch of silver coins in return for the priceless information.

No sooner Albert had been paid and turned to leave, Pentre gazed at Zerald who went over and killed the spy by stabbing him at the back after covering his mouth, taking the pouch of silver for himself. Tron was not known to leave loose ends and dead men tell no tales after all.

Then Tron looked at Zerald and Prodius talking loud to give out his orders

"Take all your men and search the city, leave no stone unturned or corner unchecked. You are looking for two messengers, one wounded, maybe both wounded. One has black hair and the other is blonde. Go out there and seek them out, do not rest until you have them in your grasp and... as soon as you do... cut off their tongues" ordered Tron Pentre knowing without tongues, Merthyr would not be able to declare his true status and identity

"They have offended and threatened the lady Mancini and such insult upon my betrothed will not go unpunished. Find them quickly and bring them bound and alive that I may deliver them to my bride to please her and earn her favour, that all citizens might learn there will be justice and peace in this region" declared Pentre

"They may well be The Jester and his accomplice, approach with care, do not address them and be armed and ready. The Jester is known to kill quickly...and we must find them, that our beloved lady Aileen may find justice for her murdered husband." added Tron further to spur the men into caution and hatred for the two fugitives.

Then he approached Zerald to talk to him in privacy, yet again.



"If these two cannot talk, they will take their secret to the grave and I will chain and hand them over to the Mancini family and I will watch and let Aileen execute the prince unwittingly, earning her admiration, soothing her thirst for revenge and if the king were to complain... I have her word attesting to the prince being The Jester and thus worthy of execution per royal decree..." smirked Pentre having finally found the perfect plan.

"Now then send your men out... I want either or both found before noon tomorrow" ordered Tron Pentre loudly as if merely sending the captain of the guard and his men to the task, Pentre sitting back to finish his drink, more than pleased with the turn of events so far, unsuspecting that The Jester himself was the female bard, who was likely eavesdropping discreetly.

Merthyr had been sound asleep during most of the night and well into dawn, unaware that Taff Gelligen had left his services and company.

When Merthyr finally woke up and rose a little, he looked around to take in his surroundings.



He turned the head sideways, gobsmacked to find Duke Isidore Steraveste of all people standing right there by his bed, in his quarters, along with his manservant nowhere to be seen.

"Duke Steraveste! What on earth are you doing here?" asked if demanded Merthyr

"And where is my manservant?" asked further Merthyr

"Did my father send you? has he taken my servant captive?" asked hastily the thought causing him shivers already, though he still felt weak and frail from the wound and bloodloss of the last few days.

((Faceclaim for Duke Isidore ))

Stallion, or Isidore Steraveste as he was known as now, looked to Merthyr as he was waking. Strange. The manservant hadn't returned yet, and he couldn't help but absently wonder why. There had been something different about the servant as he'd left. How had the situation changed? There was some vital piece of information that he seemed to be missing here, and that irked him a little.

Nonetheless, he did his best to soothe the Prince of his alarm. "Please, remain calm, Your Majesty, you're injured," he murmured quietly. "Your father doesn't even know I'm here. I have port contacts in this city that I wished to visit when I saw you with your servant," he explained, weaving his story. "Who left in the night. I couldn't tell you where he is now."

The Duke looked at the quickly-wrapped cloth that was the makeshift bandage that covered Merthyr's wound. He made a welcoming and assuring gesture, opening up his arms. "Come sit up if you can, young Prince. Let us change that covering. How was it that you came to be wounded?"

Merthyr took a deep breath feeling relieved that the king had not yet been informed of his escape and whereabouts and the matter could rest between the both of them.

"Seems you find in me in a rather awkward position at present, lord Isidore. I must ensure that no one knows of this event, my identity or my presence here, so, given each man has a price for silence, I wonder what yours will be, lord Isidore..." mused Merthyr trying to make an effort but collapsing of weakness and pain unable to hold up.

"I was shot by a rather well aimed arrow..." muttered Merthyr vaguely reluctant to confess further unless the duke pressed on the matter.

The mask of blissful obliviousness never left her expression; the bard played on, letting her soft voice fill the space. She sang in Italian, the words most foreigners would fail to understand, but it was clearly romantic, a soft and sad ballad that told the story of two distant lovers. Though the woman was missing a pinky, she played as if she didn’t need it, her thin fingers moving easily across the strings.

But of course, inside, Romulus was thinking, and fast. This Prince Merthyr wasn’t a bad man, if his servant wasn’t lying. He’d need some sort of way to distinguish the two, to make it known they weren’t the same. And he of course had to move this nobleman from where he was hidden, in the safety of the old woman’s home. They’d find him eventually, so he had to make a scene....something more pressing than locating this runaway prince.The woman’s eyes opened slowly, her half lidded gaze distant and thoughtful. A pleased smile crossed her face, and as the song ended and she strummed her final chord, and her eyes moved to Pentre, as if seeking some kind of praise or approval for the song she had played. With the ending of her song, The Jester had formed a perfect plan in his mind.

The Mancini’s daughter, the baby who’s birthday had been the downfall of Lord Julius. This would be his next victim.

—————————

Down in the dungeons, Raed’s exit was the entrance of the rather angry bandit; the cut on Iskra’s cheek was patched up and cleaned, the nobleman’s coat she wore draped over her arm. And the woman was seething; she looked at Crow with a glare, though her anger wasn’t directed at him, “Lady Aileen is in nasty mood, I’d vatch out.”

She stomped her way to the small cell she had been assigned, and two of her bandits followed in tow, mumbling to each-other in their mother tongue.

————————

Aileen stared at The Executioner with a pleased smile, “Id rather you not destroy anything more. It’s quite troublesome to explain to the people what happened, let alone repairing the damage you’ve caused. Your orders for now, are to wait. I will have use for you soon.”

The woman rested herself in her seat, sighing gently and drumming her fingers on her cheek. “...Now we all must wait...”

The Duke watched Merthyr, his firm gaze unwavering before it softened a little. It was not every day that an opportunity this interesting had availed itself to him so easily. Romulus had left Merthyr here in the cottage, and now the servant had suddenly left. And then there had been that hideous creature. By the sounds of the night, it seemed to have gone now, but if that thing was pursuing the Prince, he had no doubt that it would come back eventually. Or was it after Romulus himself? Either way, he didn't want to find out.

Should the opportunity be pounced upon to shift location? The illusionist pondered this. He wasn't simply going to leave the Prince by himself, so he may as well take him with him.

Isidore smiled at Merthyr, a warm and almost doting smile like that of a father, and assisted him in sitting up, supporting him into a sitting position before drawing a roll of gauze and beginning to untie the makeshift bandage.

"My price for silence is silence," he hummed. "I have never contacted you. However, my additional price is...trust," he said simply. "Events have occurred whist you have slept, and," he slowly began to peel off the bandage, "I imagine you aren't safe here any longer. We must go, and soon."

"Events have happened since I last saw my father, your lordship. I was there when the death of the lord Mancini was reported to the king.

Lord Pentre took the opportunity and twisted my father's mind by blaming all magic and magic folk for these deaths. He claimed that The Jester is one of the sorcerers and... least magic be banished along with all its wielders... the murders will continue.

He fails to see that those fallen lords were cruel, greedy, ruthless men, with the hands stained in innocent blood and abuses and with more rightful enemies than loyal followers... you can buy a man's service but you can never buy a man's loyalty" explained Merthyr sitting up and letting Isidore replace the bandages, surprised at how quickly it had healed in such short hours.

"Rest assured that my lips are sealed concerning our encounter if it is in my hand to deny this or remain silent on the matter" assured Merthyr with an occasional wince.

"I was delivering a scroll to the widow, the lady Mancini, my father has stripped Aileen and her family of all wealth, noble titles and property, granting them a modest and disused manor in the middle of the countryside. She is now a vassal to a cruel lord, where she used to be ruling consort over the same lands..." sighed Merthyr

"Aileen was rightfully furious and quite literally tried to kill the messenger. Taff managed to leave unscathed but I took an arrow on our way out. We... left by jumping through the balcony, taking the same path that The Jester took following the murder and now she thinks us to be the rascal, understandably so. We are wanted men, Taff and I, hence my worry at his prolonged absence.

Furthermore, when I offered my father to escort Taff on the delivery of this foul message, to ensure his safety and survival, the king warned me that if I were to consider leaving my quarters he would have my manservant hunted, tortured and executed on account of my rebellion. That I was forfeiting his safety and life altogether" sighed Merthyr coming clean on the events as he knew them to be

"Tell me, duke Isidore, how long has been Taff absent for?" quizzed Merthyr concerned at the rising sun, whose rays already illuminated the modest room

"A few hours, as I have said before," the Duke murmured evenly, keeping his expression passive and deferential as he listened to the Prince's story, gleaning much from it. "Long enough that I too have begun to worry. I will leave a message to the lady of the house to instruct him should he return." However, in the illusionist's mind, he knew that his message would be intended for Romulus and not Taff. The Jester was more than aware of Stallion's penchants as a showman, and would probably be able to decipher the hint that would be entirely ambiguous to most.

Interesting. Only by the purest of chance and the most rudimentary of logic had placed Merthyr in a position of peril. And the further irony being that the Prince was unaware that another magical being stood before him this very moment. It was better for it to remain that way.

Isidore finished wrapping the final length of the bandage and tied the end. "Sit up now, Your Majesty," he gently implored as he assised Merthyr in sitting up. "I've taken the liberty to acquire a crutch." He held a crude, wooden support crutch out, holding it steady for whenever the younger man would decide to lean upon it. "We must away, and with haste. Keep your hood on."

Merthyr looked up at the noble man, feeling reassured at his presence and complicity

"Isidore, given the circumstances, you are dispensed from all protocol, royal titles will only make our presence all the more noticeable" murmured Merthyr raising to his feet and accepting the support.

"If we were to be stopped, found, and questioned I will declare myself a servant of yours... and act the part accordingly. You are right, we best leave promptly." mused Merthyr, accepting the proposal and tugging the hood forward, following Isidore out of the building.

Isidore nodded, remaining close enough to reassure that Merthyr was able to gather his feet and walk. Although the wound would slow their speed of their flight considerably, it would be fine. He knew how to disguise the Prince's face to all others so they would not know him. However, before he left the cottage, he approached the woman who owned it.

"Miss, should the pale gentleman ever return, please give him this." Isidore handed the woman a small black and red card. On the underside of it was his own silver handwriting and Romulus would know where the clue would lead. Merthyr would not be able to see what was on the card but would see that it was a simple piece of paper.

The Duke then moved outside to go with Merthyr. The morning was new and the sun was gentle, not yet harsh as it usually became by midday. "Come, then," he mused quietly, his eyes darting about quietly to search for any possible watchers before heading southward along the stone lanes. He knew where he would go, and with a powerful piece such as the Prince in his hands, deep within he was excited to find out how moving such a major piece would change the game in its entirety.

The Hanged Man continued to keep his vigilant post, sitting on the crate while indulging his vices. He rarely smoked, but he needed something to help cut the thick tension in the air. As Iskra stormed past, his brows shot up nearly into his hairline. That news couldn't be good.

He eased himself up onto his feet and followed her. "Wh-what do you mean?" he asked her, offering her the same flask he had offered Raed. "Wh-what happened?" Well, her husband was murdered, he thought. But she has been so cool and collected ...

When her song had ended, the bard got up from her spot on the bartop, whispering into the bartenders ear; he nodded to her and walked her into the back, where the young lady slid out of the back door.

Romulus couldn't risk changing forms now- if that Lord Knight, or any of his men, had followed, they would certainly be surprised to see someone wearing the exact same clothes and carrying the same lute as this 'Alice' had; so begrudingly, the disguised assassin made his way down the foggy cobblestone street, mind occupied with his new plot.

Merthyr. He perked up suddenly as the name sprung into his mind; he had to find that servant and the prince, before the guard got to them first. Tugging his cloak around his head and lifting his skirts just the slightest, Romulus went jogging down the roads this time, headed back towards home.

---

She glared back at him as he followed, but clearly the event had worn the bandit thin- she sighed a bit and just took the flask, waving her men away as she stood against the wall.

"Had me on knees...zhought she vas going to cut head off vhere i knelt." She grumbled, taking a swig from the flask. Iskra hissed lightly, passing it back to him before she let out a deep exhale, "Zhat damned Lord Pentre...and zhe King too. Seized zhe land...Pentre vill take control of zhem. He intends to make her his vife." Iskra grumbled, "She has no choice. Voman is having everyzhing she's known taken from her. Knowing zhat Pentre...not even her child is safe."

Iskra rubbed at her temples, staring down the hallway as if watching for Aileen's guards. Her hand moved to her bandaged cheek, the concern in her expression turning to contempt, "I hope zhis is all vorth it."