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The Hanged Man eased his weight off his bad ankle, watching Iskra swig from the flask. He couldn't help but respect her for her scars--it was like an immediate understanding between them, a shared experience, the way two battered women nod at each other behind their husbands' backs.

He tucked the flask away again when she passed it back to him. "His w-wife?" The grizzled knight rocked back onto his heels, his lips thinning into a grim line. He knew of Pentre's plan to rule Mancini holdings in Julius's stead, but wedding Aileen would make it a permanent arrangement. Iskra was right that the babe was in danger, though Pentre would at least have the shame to make it look like an accident. "I w-wish Julius was still alive," he said weakly. The name was bittersweet on his lips. For a moment the blond man looked like a kitten stuck in the rain. "He w-wasn't so bad ... was he ?..."

Taff looked on as the bard left the tavern in haste, his eyes able to see and sense the tinge of dark magic, the curse, that The Jester bore upon himself.

Until Taff stepped into such matter, the boy had traded himself and belonged to the seas, to Elektra. Such was an issue for another day, right now he had a damaged ankle and needed shelter and rest, without that he could pass away from using magic to heal placing himself in further danger

Now, if The Jester had taken shelter at the tavern... then there was no reason to assume that tavern was unsafe for rogues and magic wielders and... with that thought in mind... he limped further and quicker to the tavern, entering and slamming the door shut behind him as if he was being chased, only to find himself surrounded and cornered by Pentre's men ready for the capture and armed to the teeth, causing him to freeze still.

"Out of the pan and into the fire" thought Taff to himself as he winced

Pentre had barely finished addressing Zerald and giving him his orders when the tavern door was slammed shut loudly and harshly.

It didn't take but a moment for Taff and Pentre's eyes to cross one another and immediately recognize their opponent, a sly evil smile drawing upon Tron the Terrible's lips in contrast to Taff swallowing hard, well aware of the grave danger he found himself in

"Well, well, well, what have we got here... if it isn't The Jester himself in the flesh... how good of you to come and surrender... saving us the trouble of having to chase you further around the city..." greeted Zerald smiling sadistic, wildly and broadly

Upon that unflattering remark Taff paused stiff raising a confused and honestly puzzled eyebrow, though Pentre stared at him steadily as if daring Taff to reveal himself, his true identity as the royal manservant which would cause the rest to go out hunt for the prince, whilst Zerald continued to keep up the act.

"Men... seize the murderous sorcerer... and bring him to the lord of the city" barked Zerald watching the guards scramble and jump to the task and close in further on Taff

Taff's swollen ankle was too painful and swollen to stand and bear his weight longer causing him to collapse to the ground, hands raised behind the head in surrender

He let the angry enraged guards roughly manhandle him and drag him to the lord knight, looking up to address Pentre as he pleaded for some mercy in a low voice

"Lord knight, I am worn, weary and wounded... please have pity... grant me some rest...or make it a quick kill" admitted Taff not denying being the Jester, nor protesting his innocence over this confusion of identity

Pentre inclined closer to Taff.

"If you admit to being The Jester, to having and using magic, perhaps we need not look further for your prince... He will be safe as long as Merthyr returns home or stays hidden, but you will be put through public torture and death, without involving... others you care about...." bartered Tron Pentre going silent

Taff nodded in understanding and acceptance, yielding to the grim fate if his death and suffering spared the prince altogether, more so if it protected Romulus too

"Of course... lord knight sounds a most reasonable agreement" murmured Taff lowering the head

Without further ado, Taff was taken away, handed and forced into a ridiculous outfit clearly meant to make him resemble The Jester all the more so.

Taff knew better than to object, though, removing his attire and donning the red colourful outfit without an ounce of complaint or objection, well aware that the least rebellion would place the wounded prince in danger



The outfit had bells around the hem of the short cape, the hem of the blouse, some more strung along the belt and a few more sown on the end of his pointed curly shoes so that they would jingle at every step or move made, attracting more attention, much to Taff's discomfort who was known to be quiet and remain in the background

Once dressed, he was chained with the wrists behind him and taken to lady Aileen's grand manor, well paraded through all the streets in a loud procession of drums for all commoners to see Pentre's might and The Jester's downfall, before reaching the gates of the residence and waiting.

"I am lord Tron Pentre, lord knight of the realm, leader of the royal army. I demand to be granted immediate entrance and to be escorted to my betrothed, lady Aileen's presence, so that I may gift her a unique wedding gift, a captive known as The Jester, the assassin that murdered her husband in cold blood, so that she may avenge his death and find peace" announced and demanded Pentre waiting for the gates to open

Iskra’s eyes moved slightly to his expression, and the woman let out a short chuckle, a sound she didn’t often make as it lacked her usual contempt or malice, “Nyet, not bad man at all...zhat first daughter of his, her death changed him I zhink.” Most knowledge of the Mancini’s first child was hush-hush; the castle servants and guard knew to never mention it where the Lady and especially Lord Julius could hear, and by now the common folk would’ve forgot- it had been twenty years or so. It wasn’t surprising a bandit knew this, given Iskra’s tendency to dabble in nobleman’s gossip; and the birth of this new child was enough to reawaken knowledge of the first.

Iskra probably would’ve stayed down below, comfortably gossiping, had Aileen’s men not descended. She tensed up, eyes narrowing, but it was clear she was not their target, “Lord Knight Pentre has caught The Jester.”

Iskra stared, then practically jumped off the wall, pulling on her coat and whistling for her men as she ran up the stairs.

——————

Perhaps had Romulus had more time, he could’ve made it back to his home; but he had nearly been there when the drum procession started, and he turned off his path, following to the main roads and watching from the shadows as Taff was paraded around.

Really, he couldn’t help but grin; what a silly outfit. Did they really think he’d wear so many feathers? He’d have to remember that really, it was quite flashy, and he was sure using it again would enrage the Lord Knight. But then came the issue of saving Taff; if this Prince was as good of a man as this servant had claimed, he expected Merthyr would be desiring to save him quickly, and so Romulus slid into the shadows once more, running alongside the procession to the Mancini estate. He crossed the river slowly, looking across the water fondly and muttering a thanks to the siren who had gifted him these powers, emerging at the other side and gazing up the walls.

“I want a thank you after all of this.” The young man grumbled, beginning to strip out of his heavy, water-logged skirts now that he was hidden.

——————————

Of course, Pentre would be let in immediately; the Lady of the estate was woken from her sleep and while not exactly even close to being pleased, her opinion seemed to shift when it was said The Jester was caught.

She was dressed quickly and brought downstairs, down to the main ballroom where Lord Pentre and his men would be brought in; by then, she sat at the end of the room, in the seat made for her husband. She wore all black, mourning clothes, a veil over her face doing little to shield the clear murderous rage when her eyes landed on Taff.

“So, you caught The Jester, Lord Knight?” She glanced to Pentre, offering a small pleased smile, “Only one night in this city and you have done so much for us...I think no better man to take over in my husband’s stead, than the one who captured his killer.” She stood calmly, walking towards them; towards Taff, her eyes narrowed once more, until she stood directly in front of him, “...How does it feel, to be caught finally? After you had the audacity to enter my home not once but twice...”

"Thrice, Aileen, thrice" corrected Taff in a brief statement not denying nor acknowledging being The Jester though he knew Pentre expected him to play the part well enough.

"No need to give titles to commoners after all, now that the king callously stripped you of nobility, wealth, home and power... you're one of us until you're married to a lord again.

You should choose wiser next time, least your husband's unjust murders taint your hands in innocent blood too. Think of the people before you accept their new ruler or you may end up a widow yet again.

Julius had his days numbered, with more foes than friends. He was a tyrant and all those who rule by fear and cruelty... always meet an early death... even the lord knight will... sooner than later" assured Taff speaking as a matter of fact, getting struck into silence by Pentre.

"But you won't live to see that day, Jester" assured Pentre

He came forth, leaning forward to greet the lady formally and courteous, taking her hand to kiss it lightly.

"My dearest, here it is... if the dowry pleases you... by our marriage this very noon, within the hour, I will gift you nobility, your lands and title back and this wretched prisoner too, that you may deal with him as you see fit and exact your revenge as you please.

There is a royal decree of execution already signed by the king against The Jester and I have no inconvenience in allowing you to choose his manner of death to your liking, when and how and where you feel appropriate..." Offered Pentre taking his lordly ring and placing it into her hand

"Following our wedding, we shall have a fine dine and hopefully dispose of this unwanted one, if you feel ready for it. If not, you can take him to the dungeons for later. But I must inform you that by sunset I must depart again to be with my men.

You know my duty to the crown, within the royal army, demands my fullest attention and dedication, it demands that I travel often and spend large periods of time away from your most enjoyable company, but I am certain that you will make a fine ruler of the Mancini estate in your own right, during my absences, my lady.

You have but to send a messenger and you will be given funds to hire men to protect yourself and the dominions. If you need my presence or services, you have but to write a message and I will do my earnest to attend" assured Pentre already planning to make himself scarce even before the wedding night took place far preferring to share his nights with men rather than his wife but not about to admit to that openly so as to not cause her offence, resorting to military duty as a perfectly acceptable excuse.

He was quite content with spending his nights at that tavern, gambling and drinking away with his rowdy men, and the tavern wenches than be forced to stay at the grand manor, under scrutiny and the refined burden of protocol and lordly lifestyle, more so when the prince was out there in the city, perhaps homeless or wounded or alone, like a ripe fruit ready for the picking.

"I will see you again to ensure all is well, hopefully in the morning, when I am less burdened. Nightwatch duties are of the utmost importance to ensure your safety and that of our son... and the city and most profitable for capturing rogues" muttered Pentre the tongue almost stuck at the throat as he had to spit the word our concerning the little brat, though it came out smoothly enough that none could tell of his dislike for children, more so than for women, were it not for Taff who grinned at the known struggle

The Hanged Man furrowed his brow and nodded at Iskra's take. He had joined Julius's service twenty years ago as well, and had met the girl before her untimely demise. That had changed Julius--and Aileen too. He was about to say something in return when the guards came down to inform them of the Jester's capture. Crow exchanged glances with Iskra, then took off to his own cell to don the cape of his office. Once it was in place, he made his way upstairs to the throne room.

And there was Terrible Tron Pentre. The Hanged Man's step slowed as he approached, his intense green eyes picking at the lord knight relentlessly. Even Taff went ignored for the moment, despite his flagrant attire, while the grizzled knight scrutinized every inch of Pentre's face and body.

When Crow reached Aileen's side, he bowed, first to her and then to him, though kept his eyes on the man during it. Only then did he finally look to Taff. Surprise rounded his eyes somewhat. "The prince's manservant?" he asked, recalling the boy's face from the other day.

Having meandered through the gardens, the kitchens, and a number of other (completely legitimate) spaces, Raed found herself down a side-hall when the word went out. Jester. Caught. Which sounded fake, but she wasn't one to ignore that kind of news. So off to the grand ballroom she went, approaching from a servant's entrance with a discretion surprising for a woman her size.

When she arrived, she sidled up to the door, pressing close enough to eavesdrop a bit without entering. Which really only helped for... certain voices. Lady Aileen's for one, snippets of this "Jester" for another, but not enough to really know what was going on out there. Damn.

So Raed pushed the door open and, on seeing the spectacle unfolding before her, froze. One eye might have even twitched a little.... She could almost taste the 'bad' concentrating in this room. Beautiful lies and murderous intent typical to politics, and she knew she didn't want to be present when the mess blew up. Thus, she did what any sane rogue might.

She smiled, stepped back into the servant's passage (closing the door behind her), and trotted elsewhere. Anywhere but there sounded like a pretty good idea.

He stood there and watched out over the city, the people, the lights, all of it was so unreal, so distant and yet so close. If he wanted to he could reach out and touch it, feel their skin on his own, feel the sights and smells of a place so different from home, yet he never could. Never could find a way to lift the mask that clung to his face, remove the plate armour that clung to his limbs, see through his own eyes anymore.

He so desperately wanted to, didn't he?

To refute the being he had become, to deny all that he had done, reset the clock and start again. They'd promised all of him this the second he finished his forty years. A new life, he could be free, he'd have his will back to do everything he always wanted to do. See the sights that he'd always wanted to witness. They'd remove the armour for him, they were after all the only ones that could.

You always have the choice, why don't you leave?

That was easy, he was doing it for his lover, to lift the bloodless curse that hung upon the man, slowly draining away his soul, a true empty husk inside a shell made of spikes and vines. That was why he now sat here on the roof of the castle like the spectre in the night that he really was. Waiting for new orders. Always waiting for new orders. They'd been together before and once the forty years were up they could serve together once more, experience the world together.

Executioner drew his legs up a little closer to his chest, as he felt a shiver run down the back of his spine, dancing on each vertebra as it went. It wasn't that he was cold, that feeling had died a long time ago, one of the many that had slowly vanished with the passing of time. His eyes refused any contact with the silent bulk of his partner standing not too far away, executioner did all of this for him and yet ...

The night seemed so much blacker now, so much emptier than it had done moments before. Stars which had glowed so brightly, dancing and shimmering in the sky now seemed eerily muted and dead, it all seemed fake. Unlike the tower. The ruined tower that he had burst forth from hours previously seemed the only real building in this city, he'd been there ... he'd felt the stone with his own ... powers.

The curse isn't killing him, why don't you walk away?

That form wasn't right for his love, they both wanted to be able to feel each others touch, to be able to snuggle up for warmth on a night, didn't they?

A single eye whipped around quickly to give a furtive glance at the silent bulk that already seemed so far away despite the physical distance not having changed at all. Was that really what both of them wanted?

You trained to be a soldier, you always wanted to be able to fight better than others, isn't this your wish?

He couldn't answer that question and for a being that didn't fear many things, he felt afraid. Each arm curling up tighter around the already bunched up legs, the cloud of gore drawing in tighter around his body as if the mere act could keep out all the fear and insecurities. That nagging idea that maybe he wanted this, that this path was the one he was destined to take.

But if he really did hate it that much, why didn't he quit? Refuse to take anymore lives...?

Don't you feel the thrill of victory? The satisfaction of a job well done?

It should have rained, or thundered, or done anything dramatic, but instead, the night went on doing nothing. Offering no solace or comfort to the creature curled up on the castle roof. Instead, the being simply sat there and shivered in the face of the unknowable evil it had become.

And yet you don't stop do you?

Time passed, people moved, arrived at the castle and left, yet still, the monster on the roof didn't move. The sky outside hadn't changed but the weather inside had, it had begun to rain.

No tears rolled down his armoured head or fell from the dismal eyes, they couldn't, not anymore. He'd changed too much for his body to allow that, it was all disappearing from him, but it was only physical changes, he was still the same person.

...

Wasn't he?

Aileen had gritted her teeth when Taff spoke back to her, her hand balling into a fist. But Pentre was enough to distract her for now, and she accepted the ring, sliding it onto her own hand. She flexed her fingers as he spoke, only partially paying attention, and when Taff had smiled, something in her expression snapped, and with the new ring on her fingers she backhanded the manservant across his face, her emerald eyes wild with rage.

The anger passed as quickly as it came; she cleared her throat, pulling the ring off of her finger, “It’s loose. I’ll have a chain prepared and wear it around my neck.” She spoke calmly as Crow arrived, and thought on Pentre’s words- until Crow spoke up. Her eyes snapped to Taff’s face again, and she grabbed him by his chin, inspecting his face, “Yes...besides for this horrendous outfit, he does look like that young man, who came for my boy’s birthday...”

She let go of his face, taking his left hand into her own- yep, a pinky was there, for sure. She let go of him, folding her hands behind her back, and Aileen’s eyes slid to Pentre, “Lord Knight, I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. I’m sure the news must’ve missed you...traveling as you do hinders communication. The Jester is known to be missing a pinky, on his left hand. He’s also never been seen with such dark hair..” Which, of course, sounded an awful lot like the young lady who had been playing in the tavern only a short while ago.

She turned away from Pentre, her lips pulled into a tight frown, her eyes moving to Taff. “Well, tell me your name and who you serve, boy.”

“Come now, Lord Knight Pentre,” Came Iskra’s mocking tone as she moved to stand beside Crow and Aileen, the woman offered a bow but her wicked grin was far from respectful, “Shouldn’t you have recognized Manservant of zhe belovedPrince? Despite zhat mess he’s dressed up...he sure looks like Taff.” She offered a friendly wave to Taff, “I vould recognize skinny rat anyvhere. And, Lady Aileen, I’m sure zhis boy could rattle off my various offenses if you need him prove his identity.” The statement was met with a pointed glare, and the bandit only shrugged in response.

——————

“Damn it all.”

There was Romulus, scaling up the wall to the manor, clinging to the uneven bricks and holding on for dear life. He didn’t intend to look down, nope, his eyes instead stayed focused on the opening above him, the window to a small room he had observed to be the nursery. Right now the child must’ve been playing; he could hear babbling and the laughter of his maid as she played with him, and he gripped the wall tighter and climbed up.

Just at the edge of the wall, he began to hum softly, a quiet tune. Sad, mournful; the loving nature of his last song was gone, and this one was a heavy, swaying feeling. Within a few moments, the maid slumped over where she sat, and Romulus jumped the ledge, sliding into the room.

The child was awake. He froze as he looked at the boy, the toddler watching this odd pale man who had climbed into his room; and then, the child laughed, slowly and unsteadily getting to his feet. While Romulus copied the Maid’s appearance, he glanced around the room, spotting a small piece of wood, carved beautifully with a name- “Carlisle”

“Hey there, Carlisle.” He mimicked the woman’s high pitched, slightly annoying voice; the child only laughed more, and Romulus grinned, “That maid placed a ward on you, didn’t she? What a nice woman. Come on, let’s go.”

After stealing the woman’s clothes, Romulus picked the child up in his arms, smiling and walking out of the room; with this disguise, the guards at the door hardly batted an eyelash as they watched the disguised assassin walk down the hall with the child.

————————

“It’s raining, isn’t it.”

The approach of this stranger was silent; his appearance on the rooftop without detection was concerning, but no threat would so openly expose their self...right? But there a man sat, a few feet away to give Exe some room (he was wary of attack himself), “I never liked rain myself. I’m much more fond of nights like this...rain is for cleansing. Purifying. The moon and stars tonight are far too silent for that.”

The stranger’s face was hidden by his heavy hood, but his breath came out in puffs of chilly air, and when he turned, the light of the moon caught on white, glittering scales across his obsidian cheeks. Certainly no human, his eyes were jet black and only a slit of deep turquoise signaled any kind of pupil, “But you didn’t ask my opinion, did you? No, I fear I’ve inserted myself into your night, but the Mancini estate has always been my favorite place to come, when I’m anxious.”

In her haste to escape the ballroom, Raed barely registered the unlikelihood that she'd find herself in close proximity to the Mancini's child. Before, she had seen the little tyke - always at a distance - but there were usually watchful guards keeping the mercs back with practiced scowls. Raed was certain she didn't need to question what they'd do if she ignored those silent warnings.

Yet here she was, and there was the maid and the little bundle of joy, passing one another in what Raed figured for another servants' hall.

She only looked at the two long enough to blink, offer a bemused smile to the maid, then make a silly face and wave to the child in passing. Poor kid, growing up in a place like this...

The thought went unremarked and Raed scurried back out to the gardens without a second glance.