The Mad Jester

Well, this certainly isn’t what he was expecting to happen tonight… but it isn’t unwelcome, either, he supposes. As much as he doesn’t like the idea of someone who openly admits to their potential, future treachery, far before they’ve committed any treason, who would he be to say no to such an eager offer of servitude? The Masks could all use a good laugh now and again, anyway… that’s what jesters do, right?

He spends a moment sizing the man up, eye squinted in judgment. Hmm. He reeks of duplicity, but perhaps that’s just the fun of it. “A jester, thou sayeth? How peculiar… but certainly an ilk welcome here. Suppose now and then we could all use some, ah…” — wait, wait for it… smirk — “good cheer.”

“There’s a fellow I met with a smile like my own! He offered me fingers and made the unknown known!” Tom paused a moment to recall what happened before passing out, rocking back to a sitting position, better to think. “I arrived... after indulging in some merry bloodletting! Though, the method through which I arrived was slightly upsetting. But I headed Varre’s words and, well, here I am! And might I just say you’ve made quite the impression on this lamb!” The jester giggled again, this time at the nickname given to him by the smiling surgeon. 

“There’s much I can do to entertain and delight. I’ve quite the repertoire of fiery might!” The jester sprung to his feet with fire lighting in both hands. “I can juggle!” From his left hand, the jester tosses a ball of flame into the air. “I can prance!” Then he cartwheels to the left. “I can make fire dance!” Then, catches the flame in his right and tosses it back into the air.