It was nightfall when Gentanbenne decided to set out towards the Stone Towns market place. Knowing that it would be a long trip and that the best goods are quickly taken, our hero decided to set out late at night in order to reach the market before dawn break. Assigned by his master to acquire a grape tree, wine making has proven to be rather profitable in the southern lands. He fed his horse with hay, and quenched its thirst with water, giving it strength for the long night ahead. Exchanged farewells with his cat and mutt, whom he cared for as if his own blood. Shortly after he departed on his way. Many secrets the night contained, it was magical, eerily beautiful, the silence so serene.
Gentanbenne preferred to travel at night, he cherished the ever so rare moments of silence and the sounds of night. He knew though, that the night was alive, held together by the moving parts of nature, every sound accompanied by a presence. He adored listening to nature’s music. Fortune followed, a full moon accompanied him on his travels, lighting the path beyond. To the whistling of the southern winds, his mind wandered to the grape trees at the keep. He loved them, the pay was ill, however, he was happy to be alive and busy.
An unknown whisper of the night drew our hero’s attention. Unfamiliar yet known, a vibrating echo passed through his spine and up to his mind. Upon turning his head back towards the now distant keep, a beating wind greeted his face, and then a light drawing closer. “Someone else traveling, maybe a night fly”? Gentanbenne steered his steed off the path and unmounted, “I'll wait, if it's good company, welcome may they be, a lonely road is a long road”. Anxious he walked towards the light. The sound that he previously heard was growing louder, more powerful, almost a sinister tune. “Is that a Harpy's pipe, I hear”? Clumsily he stepped forth and snapped a dry, fallen branch.
Fear, everything around him seemed to freeze in tandem, even the unknown sound ceased. The wind, the steed’s breath, his heart. His sight could only be fixated on the light drawing closer. This was no night fly, no man, no horse, it was… A sphere, a sphere of light. But, there was something dark lurking about here. Magic is not uncanny in our world. However, this sphere was rather unusual, a unique essence was present around it. Gentanbenne could not understand what it was that was dancing in front of him. More confused and curious than afraid, he reached for his sword, but there was no sword to reach for. “What”! Attempting to glance down to where his blade was sheathed, Gentanbenne was stricken with paralysis. Robbed of his ability to move, scream or breathe. His only option was to succumb to fear and watch as the burning sphere roared towards him. “Shit”!
The sphere echoed over the night path and mesmerizingly split into five smaller levitating orbs in front of our hero. The force of light with which the spheres glowed had grown stronger in an instant, the light now overpoweringly bright blinded our hero. Sinking into the darkness he stood there now, robbed of all his senses. “Is that a laugh, am I asleep, no, that is no human laugh”. The laugh was growing closer, he heard the sound of a knife being pulled from its sheath. “Gyauhh”! His eyes sprung open and he leaped three feet back! And what he saw, was never seen before by any lord, soldier, mage or slave.
A Harlequin, no ordinary one. Royal garments, lined with bright gold, red shades running on every inch, orange hair, erratically smeared white powder covered the clowns face, small bells tied to the dangling strands of hair, and most important of all, his neck was cut and still bleeding fresh. The Jester opened his eyes, they were blue like the day’s sky. His laughter did not cease. ”What are you? Who are you! What are you laughing at”!
The laughter did not stop.
“Answer me bastard”! The hollering laughter did not stop. “At me is it! Stop or I will…”.
“You will what”?
For a brief second, Gentanbenne felt the absence of heart in his body. Never in his thirty years of life has he seen anything comparable to this. Their eyes met one another. The clown burst into a vile, disgusting laugh. The laughter was flooding our heroes mind with anger. “Are you just going to stand there laughing those bells off, spewing blood everywhere until the morning or are you going to tell me what the hell is so funny”?
The Harlequin raised his left hand passed his cut neck, bringing a finger to his mouth. “Shhhhh”. The world plunged into muteness.
“Men are funny, do you believe in magic, son of man”?
“Yes, I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and what are you if not magic”!
“I’m no magic, aye, I am as real as the wine you make at your masters keep, but I do know magic”.
“What are you then, a demon? No man of flesh and bone can stand and talk with a cut throat”.
“I am no man, no demon, can’t you see I’m just a laughing clown”? The Harlequin sneered.
“If your job was to frighten me, you did your job”.
“A thousand blessings friend, but my job was not to frighten you”.
“Then what! What the fuck do you want”!
“I’ll tell you son of man, but first, let me show you…
"A magic trick”.