#arhriban

[jester4554warhammerfanfic]

Playing with Chaos - 20

Writer’s Note: Hey all, don’t forget to check the series out over on fan fiction for an easier read!

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8630257/20/Playing-with-Chaos

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None except for Arhriban moved after Dagga's fall, and he stomped over to Jester. "Attacking a fortified bunker with nothing but foot soldiers? Oh, and let's not forget the thing that was leading this mob." The high warlock motioned with a hand at the great metal mass lying just mere feet away. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Jester ignored Arhriban, and walked over to the Ork's fallen form instead, picking up one of his daggers while he did so. Without saying a word he grabbed Dagga by the top of his head with a single and, using his free hand, waved for the sword to pull itself from the Ork's skull. As the mime maneuvered the sword so that the point was held down and took the blade by its handle, dark-red blood dripped from the slick surfaced of the metal, appearing black as it fell upon the sunlit sand.

"Countess, come closer… I believe this blade is yours." He said.

As the death jester obeyed her friend's request he turned the sword over so that the handle was held toward Countess. While her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dark blade she looked at the sword that had ended the Ork chief's life, and a soft gasp escaped her lips. Staring at the reflection of sunlight off the metal it appeared that she held onto a piece of the evening sky in her very hands, as if the light bouncing back at her were coming from the stars far above.

Jester then stooped low and pulled his remaining dagger from the Ork's collarbone. It slid out from the body with utmost ease, as if the knife had been oiled while inside the wound.

This left only the high warlock's sword stuck in Dagga's body. The straight sword protruded from the middle of the Ork's back, sticking out right from where there spinal column should have been and looked to cut the bone in two. Jester marveled at how Dagga managed to continue standing with Arhriban's blade stuck in his back the way it was, but then he shook his head. Likely the motorized parts of his body were the only things that managed to prevent him from freezing up. It seemed that sometimes even the ingenuity of Ork technology proved itself useful in some circumstances.

Jester grabbed the sword by its hilt and pulled it from the Ork's body.

"Here Arhriban, catch." He said while tossing the blade over toward the one it was forged for.

While the sword sailed at him the high warlock brought a hand up, and deftly caught the immaculate weapon by its handle. With a huff, Arhriban sheathed the sword at his side.

"Do you think that changes the situation? You'll just walk over to that brute's corpse, unstick him with our weapons, return them, and nothing else will have mattered? Do you realize how many of our people died today because of you? And for what; all so you can lick the boots of some miserable monkai and beg that he gives you access to a ship off this miserable wasteland."

The high warlock pointed at the four others who'd come with him: the three warlocks and guard who remained of his original group. "Because of your antics the other day, and your insistence on attacking this place now, two of mine fell prey to a returning scouting party. In fact, one of the fallen was a warlock even! I'm not sure if you realize it or not, but, considering the place we're stuck in, we could really benefit from protecting those of us with magical talent!"

"Arhriban, shut up." Countess said, the coldness of her voice silencing the high warlock's complaints.

Jester slowly looked about at those who survived the attack, as well as those who didn't. There were more alive than dead, but their already small numbers had certainly taken a hit. Though he would never admit it, Arhriban was right, and he would have to be more careful with their future plans. Before now he was used to being on worlds where his group had access to whatever resources they needed, including new bodies, but such was no longer the case, and it was something he was still getting familiar with.

"That just means there'll be more room for the rest of us on that ship." The mime waved one of his hands in a circular motion toward where all the bodies lay. "A few of you get together and start stripping the bodies of anything useful; then gather them together so we can burn them all as one. The rest of you set out and make sure none of the Orks survived by hiding in some hole, then head to the town hall and patch up our wounded. The sun will have started setting by then, so we'll take refuge in the ruins this evening."

The mime clapped his hands together as the troupe started on their orders, thankfully with no protest, even after Arhriban's outspoken defiance.

"Arhriban…"

The high warlock crossed his arms, and waited a few seconds while trying to consider whether he wanted to bother responding. "What is it?"

"Haven't you ever heard the phrase, 'You have to break a few eggs to make an omelet?"

"Yes, I have. However, I see no reason why those eggs need to be our own people when there's no need for them to be broken any time soon."

Jester nodded. "Actually, I think I agree with you on this matter. That said, let's go set things in motion so that some other eggs get broken." The master mime chuckled while pointing at the barracks ahead of their position, of which three of their troupers were climbing over the rubble to start searching for survivors. "Looking at this guy, I'm sure the rest of these Orks were in contact with a larger group. After all, we did blow up several of their strongholds on the last planet we visited. Why don't you go in there and check for some sort of radio? I'm sure they would love to know our coordinates…"

At first the high warlock said nothing, but continued to stand there with his arms folded together. Then, after raising a hand to his perfectly smooth faceplate and shaking his head, he spoke in an amused voice. "It's about time someone let me handle the negotiations around here."

Countess and the mime watched as Arhriban trudged through the burning sands toward the barracks, then, once he had climbed over the rubble and disappeared into the building, they turned to face each other.

"Did you call out my name earlier?"

"I was worried that idiot had hurt you…"

"That's sweet."

"Do you have the artifact, Countess dear?"

"I do."

The death jester then reached into the satchel hanging from her side and produced a dark disk about as large as one of her hands. Set in the middle of that black disk was the face of a human skull, with eight steel arrow heads poking out all around the small object.

"Perfect… Put it back and take a walk with me. Oh, and keep an eye out for some sort of church. These settlers may live on a mere backwater planet, but even they're likely to follow the same customs as the Imperium Empire. And I really can't think of a more fitting place to activate a Chaos relic."

(-****-)

Arhriban grinned to himself beneath the bright orange faceplate, and walked with a more upbeat step than when he'd criticized Jester, while also rolling his shoulder for massage. Perhaps the months of sitting around with nothing to do but watch over the troupe had set him on edge, and the high warlock merely needed time to adjust back to into things. For, now that he was tasked to interact with the enemy, it felt to him that things were finally getting done again, and he was no longer greatly annoyed by the loss of their troupers in taking the barracks.

While he poked his head into the various rooms and walked down the multitude of hallways, Arhriban allowed himself to dwell on the idea.

His aggression toward Jester started to make more sense to him as he thought on it. In the three months that the mad mime's troupe had been on this backwater planet it always looked that Jester did nothing to secure them passage elsewhere. As far as anybody seemed to know their esteemed leader did nothing, while the rest of them were forced to remain stranded in an arid desert wasteland.

In that time, Jester made certain that the troupe was still combat ready. However, targets had always been rogue groups of humans; worthless criminal rabble that fell prey to their Eldar tactics. Maybe this too had become so familiar to the high warlock that he'd underestimated the Orks nearly as much as Jester. This he pondered, poking around the reasoning for his frustration toward the mime, while doing the same through the filth-strewn barracks.

It occurred to him that his anger was note entirely unfounded. Before, when they'd traveled together, the troupe was always busy carrying out some devastating plan, and this had kept the high warlock's attention focused on the business at hand. Yet, after lying around complacent for months on end, he'd been able to bear witness more-and-more to Jester's mannerisms, and his leader's callous disregard for organization started to get under his skin. It astounded Arhriban that only recently did he realize this, and the high warlock found himself shocked to have followed the psychopath around for so long. Thinking back on his history with the man, it had always been about being given a challenge to play with, but no longer did that keep him satisfied.

Perfection and success were what motivated him now.

Since Dagga had been so large, many sections of the roof for the multiple story building were torn asunder, and Arhriban used the rubble to navigate more quickly between the floors. However, shortly after he started to walk around the fourth floor, it occurred to the high warlock that the floor he was on had suffered minimal damage. It then occurred to him that the Ork leader must have stuck to the bottom two floors. Then Arhriban remembered that part of the destroyed ceiling for the third floor had trailed off to a side room, away from most of the other well used spaces throughout the building.

The high warlock turned and retreated down the short flight of steps, however, rather than continue to the second floor, he stayed on the third. Instead of following the broken roof all about, Arhriban figured that it to be faster if he merely searched for where the floor to down below opened up. It didn't take him long to locate it, for it was just a short ways down the hall, and there he found a door from the third floor hanging ajar over an opening in the floor.

Jumping down below, he faced the torn down wall and stared into a room lit up with a green tint. Unfortunately, it looked to be nothing more than the Ork leader's private sleeping quarters, as it was cleared of everything, save several mattresses from around the settlement no doubt.

"Damn it! Where could…"

The high warlock's voice trailed off as he suddenly remembered that he hadn't completely checked the first floor of the barracks. Instead, he immediately came to where most of the rubble was in the building and started jumping stories. Then, after realizing this fact, Arhriban cursed himself for a fool and flew back down to the lowest floor.

Then, following the trail of broken ceiling once again, from where Dagga had made his own set of stairs to the second floor out of a collapsed support beam, Arhriban found himself circling 'round to a room located in the far back of the building.

There, against the opposite wall, an assortment of electronic devices had been set up and, though they were crude in design, their use for communication was more than obvious.

Arhriban walked forward and, as the machine appeared to be off, flicked the first large switch he could find on the device. It hummed to life, and the crackle of static filled the room, but, after playing with a nearby knob, the noise soon died away and the faint sound of electricity powering the machine was all that could be heard.

Finally, after sitting in silence for several minutes, the warlock leaned forward and pressed on a large button in the middle of the dash.

"I wonder who else could be out there…"

Again, he sat in silence, but this time only for a little while as the device crackled slightly and a rough voice spoke back.

"Huh? Dis ain't no Ork voice… Who do ya think you are ta talk with us?"

Arhriban grinned and suppressed a chuckle before pressing on the button again. "You filthy animals attack one of our settlements and you don't think we'll come back to stamp you out? You must be dumber than the miserable chaps we put down to reclaim this place…"

"You killed Dagga?"

"Remember this for the future. If you fuck with the Imperium Empire, we'll fuck you back. Only we'll do it better."

"How dare you talk like dis to Mo'Grok, champion of god Gork! Me and da boys are gonna come kick all yer teef in and string 'em up for jewelry."

Arhriban laughed cruelly. "Well, Mo'Grok, if that's what you're really set on doing… You know where to come find us."

Then, while Mo'Grok continued to swear and make promises of butchering all of the humans he could get his hands on, the high warlock pulled out his pistol and fired three shots into the communication device, silencing it permanently.

"I should go see how the injured are holding up. I'm sure they'll be just as happy as I am once they hear how negotiations worked out.

(-****-)

"Well doesn't this place just look absolutely perfect?"

"I'll agree that it has a certain traditional charm about it."

"Oh my, just look at what the Orks did to this place! It's so trashed up! I love it!"

As expected, within fifteen minutes of walking among the settlement Countess and Jester came across a building with a single cross in the center of a circle atop the highest point of its roof. Probably the third largest building in the settlement – the first two being the barracks and town hall – the two Eldar weren't sure what to expect the place to look like after being in the care of Orks for so long.

Sure enough, though a sacred place among the humans – as well as a place of desecration for the Chaos – it appeared that the church had been used to house the Orks at their own discretion. Standing in the middle of what should have been the center aisle, it was impossible to count how many of the pews had been smashed and made into beds, or set up as posts and desks. Even the small statue of the God Emperor at the far end of the now filthy rug was now tarnished and stained, something that the Imperium would take great offense to…

Of course, only if they should they arrive to the settlement first.

"Oh Beloved, please give me the relic."

Without saying anything, Countess did as she was bid. Reaching into her satchel, the death jester once again pulled out the Chaos artifact and handed it over to the mime, being careful that she didn't prick him with one of the eight arrow heads.

Jester held the macabre relic in his left hand and walked down the length of the aisle toward where the speakers pedestal still stood. He then placed his right hand atop the skeletal face, and murmured something in another language, foreign even to Countess. Then the skull started to glow orange; at first it was dull, but then the glow brightened until it looked like heated metal, all while the rest of the disk only darkened and from the eyes a red gleam started to appear.

The mime then gently placed the Chaos artifact upon the podium, and returned to his friend's side, where they looked on in wonder.

"Why are you doing this?" Countess suddenly asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Not really, but I am curious. You know that I don't generally care for the reasons, but this plan of yours seems different. Why?"

Jester shrugged. "Maybe I just like to see people fight each other is all; perhaps I enjoy all the senseless killing."

"Yet that doesn't tell me why you enjoy it so much."

"Well, why not?"

Countess shook her head, unable to respond back, which caused Jester to burst out in laughter.

"Think about how long you've been around, dishing out death and trying to be faster with that trigger finger of yours. Amid all that, have you ever stopped to ask yourself this question: if these people are all so quick to resort to execution, should they deserve to live? It's dog-eat-dog out there dear, and someone has to be the master throwing the animals a platter of meat every now and then."

[jester4554warhammerfanfic]

Playing with Chaos - 16

The thunderous crack of what seemed a hundred shots rang continuously through the air, and shouts of pain and bloodlust carried through the air. Yet, to the High Warlock and his crew, such sounds mattered little to their group. As support they were able to stay back from the brunt of the combat, a position on the battlefield that Arhriban was greatly fond of. Though, not for the reasons that Jester enjoyed poking fun at him; Arhriban scowled at the thought that he was a coward.

Standing atop one of the sand dunes overlooking the town, close to the pits that the Troupe had slept in the previous night, the High Warlock surveyed the settlement turned battlefield. During the initial moment prior to combat being joined, Arhriban and his warlock underlings performed as Jester suggested, and lulled the Ork patrols and watchmen into a false sense of security. Unless one of the Harlequins were to walk up to one of the greenskins outright, there was little chance that any of the Orks would have even noticed the Dark Eldar approaching. Arhriban had led the casting flawlessly, and, before the Troupe had even left their makeshift camp, those in the settlement were already under their spell. However, it wasn’t long before the first of the shots and shouts of surprise could be heard, and the warlocks quickly had more to do before the fighting would be over.

For the next stage of their psychic assault it was mandatory that none of the Warlocks lose any of their concentration, except for the High Warlock. Such a title was no small thing among the Dark Eldar. Arhriban had been a practitioner of his psychic powers for as long as he cared to remember, and he trained himself rigorously without end. He went through the years treating each day like a training exercise, and his strict routine eventually earned him a profound development of psychic might and turned him into an incredible tactician.

However, there weren’t many among the immortal Dark Eldar who stuck to such a tight doctrine, and others advanced slower than he did, such as the warlocks whom Arhriban currently overlooked in an attempt to whip them into shape. Fortunately, Jester saw fit to leave two shield guards with the five warlocks; each one wielded a large tower shield with a curved bottom ending in a spike, and a flat top; looking at the shield from the front would have shown a black metal surface, but on the holder’s side the shield was clear as glass. The High Warlock was admittedly thankful for their presence, not for himself, but rather the weaker warlocks, for the guards put their minds at ease.

Arhriban rolled his eyes in annoyance, glad for the blank orange faceplate that served as his mask, though it wasn’t as if the other warlocks or guardsmen would have noticed. The warlocks were busy channeling their power to blanket the settlement with feelings of doubt and weakness among the Ork ranks, a task which kept them far too busy to look elsewhere but the town. As for the shield guards, the one to Arhriban’s right was busy scanning the desert for threats, while his companion faced the settlement. The High Warlock could guess by the other Dark Eldar’s body tension that he greatly desired to join in the fighting, which wasn’t likely to happen.

Standing in the middle of the four warlocks in order to better direct their minds, Arhriban looked toward the center of the town. Much of the combat that he could hear seemed to be focused toward the town square, with even more shouts and shots adding to the noise with every passing minute.

The High Warlock was amazed that so many Orks were holed up this well inside the town. He was confident that their numbers weren’t too high, and most of the new shots sounded faintly of Eldar weaponry, but that the fighting was managing to last for so long surprised him. Depending on their fortifications, and even he had to admit that Orks were particularly adept at building makeshift forts, the greenskins could stay shut up for days taking pot shots at the Harlequins whenever they showed themselves. In an attempt to turn the tide of battle, the High Warlock started to shift the flow of his companions’ power toward the center.

Integrating himself into their spell, he imagined a great black cloud with bursts of purple lightning coursing through it form over ravaged settlement. There were none others who saw this, not even the warlocks making it, for they were too focused on merging their power to direct it themselves. It was the chaotic feelings of paranoia, fear, and doubt made manifest. When immersed in it, the targets of the warlocks would find themselves in the vice group of a terrible fear. It was certainly possible to work one’s way out of such a plague of doubts, but most fighters found themselves so caught up in the illusion of fear that they could no longer use rationality to free themselves, and certainly no Ork would be able to pull off such a feat.

Arhriban was on the cusp of blackening whatever hope the Orks’ might have possessed when he heard the shout from his guardsman.

“Ambush! They’re attacking from behind!”

As soon as he heard the word of warning, the High Warlock severed his link to the spell and disrupted the channel that the other warlocks were in. Reacting off instinct, Arhriban whirled to the right, moving quickly despite the robes and putting himself behind the shield guard who made the warning. However, two of the others weren’t so quick to respond to the alert.

Sure enough, a small scouting party of Orks – four by the looks of it – were quickly approaching from the wasteland. As they ran over the dunes, rapidly closing the distance between them and the Harlequins with every step, the mob of greenskins unleashed a hail of bullet-fire from their pistols and machine guns. The guard who had his back turned took several rounds that punctured through his purple and white body armor and caused blood pump from the holes left by the bullets, with only a couple of rounds actually puncturing all the way through. Without doubt, the warlock who was hit faired far worse than the guard did. Wearing ornamental robes much like Arhriban’s, though gar less gaudy and missing several more layers, there was little armor to protect the sorcerous Eldar. The Ork bullets bit into the warlock, tearing his body to shreds just as easily as it ripped through the cloth on his back. The Orks rained so much fire down on their position that a couple of the warlock’s limbs were sheared off completely; it looked to be both legs and an arm. Fortunately though, due to their position, the other warlocks were spared from sharing an equally gruesome fate.

“Fall down the dune, now!” Arhriban yelled at the warlocks, who quickly dropped and rolled down the small hill as far as they could. He could sense that they were close to panicking, and he got the impression that not a single one of them was used to personally dealing with a threat before. Wonderful, my luck would naturally make me into a babysitter for these idiots. At least they’re safe for now…

With the survivors of the initial assault now hidden away, Arhriban turned his attention on the encroaching party of Orks. His count from earlier had been correct, there were four of them approaching, and quickly. If something wasn’t done soon the mob would overtake their position within minutes and they’d all probably be killed on the spot. No matter his rank, the High Warlock could always count on the Ork shock troops being too stupid to recognize a high-profile target when they saw one. Fortunately, Arhriban had no intentions of allowing the Orks to capture him, let alone kill him.

He knew right away that none of the warlocks would have any serious firepower on their person; at the most they would carry a pistol, which would have lacked any true stopping power against even a single Ork, let alone four of them. Instead Arhriban put his head close to the remaining guard, who was dressed similarly to his fallen partner.

“What weapons do you have?”

“Only a pistol, machine gun, and grenade or two, High One.”

It wasn’t much, but since they couldn’t be picky about resources Arhriban settled with what he had. Turning so that he could look over his shoulder, the High Warlock called to his subordinates. “One of you hand me your hallucinogen grenade.”

The warlock lying closest to him erect along the dune side fiddled around at his belt for a small ball that, once unchained from its clip, he tossed toward Arhriban’s outstretched hand. The toss would have fallen short, but the High Warlock seized it with his psychosis and brought it the rest of the way to him.

“Plant your shield in the ground and get your grenades ready, then hold for my mark.” The guard did as ordered. As he moved to follow the High Warlock’s command, the Orks thought that their target might have been prepared to move and unleashed another hail of fire that was repelled by the Eldar shield. Arhriban eyed the approaching Orks with disdain, growing angry by the mere expression of bloodlust that was so typical of the brutes. “Hand me a grenade…”

The guard nodded and held one of his explosives out for Arhriban to take, and the Warlock did so. A few seconds after he did so, the Orks ran within throwing distance. “On three throw your grenade to the left while I throw to the right.” The High Warlock primed the explosive given to him as he spoke and the guard did the same. “One… Two… Three!”

They threw their grenades in unison; two black spheres against the bright blue sky sailing through the air toward their marks. The Orks recognized the threats and bunched closer together toward the middle of where the explosions would be, running faster in an attempt to get away from the blasting site. However, they realized too late that this was exactly what their foe was looking forward to.

As the mob rushed forward, eager to get away from the grenades off to their sides, Arhriban primed the hallucinogen grenade that all Warlocks carried on their person and threw it into their path. The greenskins were so focused on escaping the blast radius of the first set of explosions that they failed to notice the third grenade until they were almost on top of it. The Orks seemed like they were about to split apart in an attempt to escape from this new threat when the first round of grenades detonated and kicked up a storm of sand that caused the brutes to press together. A few moments later the hallucinogen grenade detonated as well while the Orks were standing right over it.

Dark smoke mingled with the sandstorm raised by the first grenades to create phantom figures that quickly surrounded the group. These shadowy entities took on the appearance of Eldar warriors who brandished their weapons threateningly and seemed to dance in circles around and between the Orks. To their credit, the greenskinned brutes fell into a panic as they breathed in the odorless fumes from the grenade and yelled out in terror. It wasn’t long before the lot of them turned their weapons on the phantom dancers surrounding them.

However, before the greenskins could run out of ammo shooting at ghosts and visions, Arhriban took advantage of the situation. Holding his hand out like a cupped claw before him, the High Warlock glared at an Ork who was off to the side fighting with a pistol and assailed his mind with visions of horror and dread, and, to a degree, he took control of the Ork.

Arhriban forced the Ork to see his allies as ravenous, bloodthirsty monsters. The Ork tried to stumble back and collapse in fright, but the High Warlock issued orders for the vermin to kill the demons before they got to him first. Rabid with fear, the greenskin still managed to respond like an automaton and raised his weapon against his own companions. Initially unprepared to be attacked by one of their own, an Ork went down almost immediately to a shot in his back and head.

The other two turned, but one received a bullet in his eye for all the trouble it caused him. The final Ork raised his own gun to defend himself, but Arhriban’s puppet moved faster. The mind controlled Ork squeezed a round off in his partner’s knee, causing the greenskin to drop to the ground and clutching his wound, but the shooter didn’t relent. The puppet popped off two more rounds in his foe’s chest and then fired off another between the Ork’s eyes. As he fell back dead, the lone surviving Ork approached his fallen comrade and started to shoot more rounds into the dead body.

He fired round after round without stopping and laughed as he did so. It was a mad laugh; a sound that was almost disturbing to hear coming from such a guttural creatures. The Ork continued to pull the trigger of his gun long after the crude device ran out of ammo, and even after the phantoms around him had dissipated. What finally caused him to snap out of his delusional rampage was the soft sound of cloth scraping against the ground.

The Ork turned around in shock, only to be disoriented by the swirling purple and green of Arhriban’s robes; even the black metal outfitting the High Warlock’s body seemed to stab at the greenskin’s eyes. The Ork let out an unintelligible bark of surprise and pointed his gun at the Eldar’s head, only to hear nothing more than a faint click and realize that the chamber of the gun was empty. The bewildered Ork froze and, to his credit, Arhriban reacted swiftly.

Whipping his arm out to the side, a small black pommel etched with thin silver lines fell into his hand from within the folds of his robes, which he deftly caught. Less than a second later, a thin, shimmering blade of silver extended from the black pommel. Sharp on both sides, the blade almost appeared triangular at the base, but quickly narrowed before slightly widening against into a diamond at the tip. Arhriban lashed at the Ork’s neck with a single swift movement, and the greenskin’s head fell from his shoulders, a clean cut scoring the wound as blood streamed out from the bloody stump of the collapsed body.

The guard approached Arhriban with his shield at the ready, though it was clear that the threat was gone.

“How are the other warlocks?”

“They appear a bit shaken, but they’re in good health nonetheless.” The guard planted his shield in the ground and looked at Arhriban with amazement. “You were spectacular High One! You fought so flawlessly!”

Instead of accepting the compliment, Arhriban brushed it aside. “Two of our men died; we reacted too slowly. Hmm…” The High Warlock turned and looked past the guard to the settlement. “Go and collect the survivors. We’re moving into the town to support the others.”

“Sire?”

“The spell matrix was broken when we took cover – setting it up again would take too much time. If we’re going to be of any help to the assault force then we’ll need to head in there ourselves.”

The guard nodded his understanding of the situation and moved out to do as he was bid. Instead of waiting for the others to assemble, Arhriban continued on by himself, his gaze unwavering as he marched toward the settlement.

[jester4554warhammerfanfic]

Playing with Chaos - 13

Though the sun would soon be rising it was dark when Jester opened his eyes. Stars dotted  the sky and the mime imagined that he was looking at a great dark blanket covering the planet that had been stabbed countless times, and that each glowing dot was actually light from the other side. He knew that such wasn't the case; hell, he'd flown among the stars even as some were in the midst of exploding. Still, he liked to imagine other possibilities when he was alone with his thoughts. He lied still for several moments after he awoke, just as he always did, but there was business to attend to this day and the thrilling prospect of battle filled him with such excitement that he was on his feet much more quickly than most other mornings.

Not surprising there were a few other Harlequins who awoke early as well. They mostly sat in place and fooled around with their weapons and other trinkets while the others slept, but a couple were walking around; no doubt they were trying not to fall back asleep. Since their group had been inactive for so long, most of the Eldar there were used to getting up whenever they wanted or something needed doing, which wasn't very often in the desert.

Naturally Arhriban was already awake, and with him the rest of the warlocks. Since their power was pivotal to the initial combat Jester knew he could count on the High Warlock to be up early in preparation for the battle. As much as he enjoyed to give the other Eldar hell for being cautious, even he had to admit that Arhriban was incredibly practiced, and he was very precise in making sure a plan went off without any problems.

The master mime noticed that Countess too was among those who got up early. Jester spotted her sitting off to the side and had both of her pistols lying beside her completely dismantled; even the bullets were lying strewn around all the tiny parts. She seemed to be in the middle of cleaning them, which was somewhat of a ritual she had before fighting with them. The death jester liked to go into battle safe with the knowledge that her weapons were at the peak of their condition. Since she seemed busy, Jester didn't bother to approach, not that he had a mind to do so anyway. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

Jester climbed the dune overlooking the sacked settlement. He brazenly stood atop the mound as his gaze fell over the town.

****

Though it was close, not even an hour had passed before the sun finally revealed itself. Once it began to rise over the horizon it didn't take long for the sun to start climbing more quickly until it was holding dominion in the sky. Despite the suddenness with which the sun rose, the temperature still had some catching up to do, for which the Harlequin Troupe was most thankful for.

Jester looked over the assembled group before they headed out to engage the brutal greenskins. Many of the Harlequins were holding elegant curved sword, or vicious wrist blades; as for the mime, he was more content to keep his daggers in hand. Some of the others had pistols similar to Countess', though they certainly lacked the same quality, and there were a few who wielded massive rifles fitted with a grim blade at their tip that made them look like scythes. It was these figures that Jester currently had his eye on, even as Countess stepped to his side.

"Think you'll be able to hear them shrieking from way over here?" He said wryly.

Due to the mask he wore, the other death jester's chuckle came out raspy and coarse. "I'm sure their screams will be heard for miles around in this desert master! I would honestly be more worried about whether or not you'll leave this battle with your own hearing intact."

"Oh? I might be too busy stabbing the hell out of them to realize you're even picking them off from way over here."

The death jester laughed as he hefted the cannon to his shoulders. At that moment, Countess prodded the master mime in his side as Arhriban approached the duo.

"Do you think you're about ready to get in there and tear into the Orks? You do realize that my warlocks and I can't keep the illusion spell up that long you know, yes? The greenskins will eventually begin to see through it at some point, and when that happens they'll see a large mess of us standing on this hill."

Jester looked past the High Warlock toward the dune he'd just walked down from. There were four others standing atop the small hill, which meant that he'd left the other two warlocks in his group to get their new camp set up. Sure enough, each of them seemed unnaturally fixated on the settlement, and, as Jester stared at the small group, he felt a swell of power coming from them.

"Oh alright, alright, I get your point. I'll give the order for the Troupe to move out. Try not to pass out while we're moving into position."

****

"Ey Grock, come wif me on patrol."

"No, Dagga tol' me ta stay righ' 'ere an' watch da walk in. Go patrol yo'self." Grock calmly replied.

His friend was persistent though, and continued to plead. "But patrol so borin' alone!"

"No Brog, Dagga not in good mood since desert make booming sounds."

"E neva even leaves 'is buildin'. 'E wo-"

"No!"

Grock glared at his friend Brog - who's girth was so great he almost filled the town's entrance stand, and nearly came up to the overhanging greeting sign. With rippling muscles tightly packed beneath a stretch of thick heavy skin as tough as hide, and wearing armor that seemed to be nothing more than random pieces of metal, cloth, and whatever else the Brog could find, he stood as a fine specimen to the Ork kind. Often headstrong and belligerent, Brog didn't always think things through and often lived in the moment, but he was a good Ork and didn't raise too much trouble against the boss. He was one of the younger mob boys, and still looked up to the older shooters like Dagga, or Grock.

He carelessly allowed his chain rifle to dangle from his listless hand as he gave his friend a beseeching look. "Why Dagga so worried over exploding?"

"Me don't know..." Grock took a moment to think. "We in new land, maybe he make sure it not a enemy. Don't forget dat Dagga sent some o' the boys out there ta scout the sands."

"Really? And dey're lookin' for a enemy out dere?" Brog lifted his rifle and held it in with both hands, his stance much more imposing. "What you think? Explosion come from a enemy, or it just sound in da desert?"

"Don' know, it pretty quiet usually. May-"

Grock was suddenly cut off by a piercing shriek from above. He and Brog looked around wildly before the younger Ork grabbed his friend by the shoulder and turned him to stare at where he was pointing. One of the watchers standing atop the ruins of a watch tower was looking into the sky and screaming at the top of his lungs. 

"Grock, what happening?"

Brog was scared senseless, but before Grock could try and calm him down, the Ork watcher's body swelled before their eyes and burst as if a grenade went off inside him.

[jester4554warhammerfanfic]

Playing with Chaos - 12

When the Harlequin Troupe reached the human settlement - or what remained of it - night had fallen. The Eldar group camped on the outskirts of the small town, where they were able to remain hidden from the Orks among the hills. In order to protect themselves from the cold night air, small groups of troupers sat huddled close together for warmth. Jester had forbidden any of them to light a fire, or let alone use anything that might give off any heat for fear that it would alert the Orks, and so they miserably passed the time until the sun would return. Fortunately, their place in the hills kept them shielded from the desert breeze, and so the troupe was able to tolerate their conditions for the time being.

While most of the troupers tried to get some rest a few of the Harlequins had other matters that needed attending. Jester, Countess, and even Arhriban snaked their way to the top of one desert dune and peered over it. They stared at the wreckage of the human settlement in an attempt to scout their enemies positions, and the best way to take advantage of them.

Though it was no fortified city, the settlement was walled in, at least for the most part; several locations had been blasted and broken into rubble since the Ork attack, and it appeared that some spots had even been lit aflame, for parts of the metal were scorched black. Despite a fair bit of damage, the buildings making up the settlement appeared to have taken more of a beating. Wishing to take a closer look - all of them - the three Harlequins tweaked the optics of their masks and zoomed in on the human town. Most of the structures were put together with stone and sheets of metal that were pockmarked with a multitude of bullet holes. Any wood that may have been in the town was likely burnt or being stored away to be fed to the flames, with the exception of a single post in the center of town. Several of the buildings that did remain were in varying states of disrepair or had already been stripped for resources, particularly the smaller structures that likely belonged to shops or homes. Even the barracks and town hall had suffered the Orks rabid search for goods, though the hall looked to be in the greatest shape, likely because it featured a spike coming from the roof from which a body had been impaled and many more were hung.

Despite being night time, the three Eldar found it strange that so few Orks patrolled the walls and streets. An Ork's hide was so thick they would have paid the cold hardly any heed at all, thus, whatever figure was in command would have been likely to order more of the greenskins to keep an eye on things. Giving the town a closer inspection, Jester's eyes looked everything over once more, though he eventually set his sights on the wooden post. Stuck to the wooden post was a single sheet of paper, which had on it a very crude and sloppily drawn image of a smiling man with shoulder length hair.

"Hey, I think they tried to draw me!"

"It would appear so; seems like you're a wanted man even by Ork standards."

"Why are there so few Orks on patrol?" Arhriban asked.

"I must be. It feels good knowing that my life has inspired the lesser creatures to pick up on some lessons in civility."

"It's a drawing, and a shit on at that. It's not as though they've written a book and become literate. Actually, that looks as if it belongs on the wall of one of the caves we've been staying in."

"Don't put them down my dear! I'm sure the brutes are doing their best to express their admiration for me."

"Will the two of you stop dawdling and focus on the matter at hand?"

"Lighten up Arhriban, I'm sure they're hiding in the buildings." Jester said in an attempt to reassure the warlock.

"Why would they be doing that? It's not in an Ork's nature to cower behind walls."

"Most likely for the very reason you approached me earlier. They're probably nervous about the explosions and crashes from the other day." said Countess.

"So they may be in there plotting an ambush as we speak then, is that it?"

"Are you scared for the lives of the Troupe or yourself?" The mime started chuckling himself.

"Pardon me for preferring to keep my presence hidden from those who want us dead, Jester." Arhriban quickly snapped back.

Before either one could continue to argue, the death jester cut in. "The two of you are beginning to sound a lot like little boys. Should we spend time debating over past actions, or set ourselves to figuring out a plan for tomorrow mornings attack?"

"What's to figure out?" Jester tapped the side of his mask and returned his sight back to normal. "It's a single outpost taken from the humans, so it's not as though the Orks have much firepower other than what they brought. Let's keep this simple. We'll be in and out; long enough to butcher the mongrels and hightail it out of there." He then turned to regard Arhriban. "Just in case they are preparing an ambush, I'll need you and your warlocks to play with their minds a bit tomorrow."

The high warlock's interest was now piqued. "Oh, and what is it you intend?"

"Come the morning I want you to start messing with their senses. I'd like the Troupe to be at the wall before they even realize there are any enemies nearby. After that... Oooh, feel free to get creative."

[jester4554warhammerfanfic]

Playing with Chaos - 9

Arhriban sat cross-legged atop one of the the pinnacles that naturally spiraled up from the set of caves the Harlequin Troupe was using as their temporary headquarters. Though only given a two day advance before they would be moving out, the high warlock didn't possess very many belongings that couldn't be carried on his person, and so packing for their travels was of his least concerns. For now, the sorcerous Eldar simply wished to be left alone.

Before Jester's assembly could even come to an end, Arhriban retreated back to the den he was currently using as his private chambers. He attempted to meditate inside the secluded alcove, but found it difficult to concentrate. The warlock went pacing about the dark cavern, his steps echoing with every fall, when it finally occurred to him that he was restless because of the cave itself. Being cooped up inside the same glorified hole for nearly three months had nearly driven him insane, and Arhriban worried that he may eventually become as mad as Jester. Furthermore, it seemed as though he couldn't get a moment to himself no matter how hard he tried. With Jester running off somewhere - as was his usual routine - as well as his chief officer, Countess nowhere to be found, most of the troupers came to Arhriban's cave to pester him with their questions.

The high warlock's eyebrow twitched in agitation beneath the mask. This was what really frustrated him the most about traveling with the Troupe's enigmatic leader. He would convince dozens of Harlequins to follow him at any one time, but he was hardly ever around to actually lead them anywhere in the first place; that he left to those who had been around the longest, as well as his officers. The only time Jester ever came forth to lead the troupers anywhere, was when they were heading into battle, and that was only because he wanted to rack up the highest amount of kills.

When he finally had enough of being cooped up inside his cave, as well as dealing with whiny pests, Arhriban made for the upper levels of the pillar he and the other warlocks and seers were using. Looking out over the entire desert, the high warlock was pleased with the amount of sight this new elevation afforded him, and being surrounded by nothing but the open air was refreshing for his mind.

Arhriban took the mask off and put it down at his side. The features of his face were sharp - much like a bird of prey - and his eyes were narrowed into a dark stare. Just as was the case with Jester and Countess, his skin was flawless and his tone jaw hinted at a strong physique as well; unlike them however, he was a darker shade of grey, with purple eye and smooth white hair that was drawn back into a tight ponytail. With a miserable groan the warlock put his hands over his face and lightly fell onto his back to stare at the empty sapphire sky above.

He lied there for some time, allowing the gentle breeze to caress him as though it were a tender lover. His own breathing was slowed, for fear that he may break the fragile moment of tranquility that he finally managed to find in the desert wasteland. Meanwhile, Arhriban's thoughts were turned toward his time on the planet.

Three months, three whole months and this fool hasn't done a damn thing to secure us a passage off of this miserable planet; all he's done is kiss up to that pathetic Mon'Kai. I swear, if I didn't need to eat as well, I'd have stopped organizing the hunting parties weeks ago! And it's not just Jester either! These mindless imbeciles are just like children, it's as though they need their hand held for every little thing they do. No wonder Jester takes off without warning; all his troupes are good for is soaking up bullets while we do all the real work... What happened to the days when we could take pride in being an Eldar? I dare say that the Imperium has finally achieved a level of greatness our people could never strive for. At least they've formed a successful empire, and their people are loyal to their emperor.

I was hoping Jester would have been more eager to come into a position true power - he certainly has the aptitude for planning that would allow him to obtain such goals. I thought he was simply playing the part of the fool for appearances sake, but the idiot truly seems fixated on destroying everything! The Harlequins following him are lame-brained and can't think for themselves; they may as well be the living dead. Countess is the only other Eldar here who's shown an aptitude for being useful, but she's only interested in helping our leader...but what's the alternative?

The Imperium despise our kind just as much as the Orks and Chaos, and the rest of my people are utterly senseless! The Harlequins are fixated on just surviving and doing their damn plays, the corrupt are too busy fucking their own brains out and pleasuring that whore goddess Slaanesh, and the rest of the Eldar are obsessed with tradition and terrified that they wouldn't be able to control their own temptations - cowards, of course I couldn't stay there. We were, and still are, the rightful rulers of this universe, but nobody has any ambition to reach out and claim that which belongs to us!

The Orks, Chaos, Imperium, Slaanesh and the other fallen gods...all of them should be bowing down to us! It's a disgrace that we've fallen so far that I need to scavenge around with these aimless wretches!

A loud boom of thunder rumbled from somewhere in the distance. As Arhriban sat back up, the pillar beneath him started to lightly shake as what sounded like a dull and constant grumble caused him to perk up. No, not thunder, it was an explosion, and a powerful one at that.

The high warlock looked off into the distance where he presumed the noise to have been. Several miles away was a mess of ravines and stalagmites, which, from a distance, almost resembled a dried out thorn bush. One of the great stone pillars sticking out from the midst of the ravines was presently collapsing onto its side, which explained what as causing the slow rumble. Even from this great distance, Arhriban could spot plumes of dust and dirt flying into the air, and pouring into the desert wastes surrounding the massive rock formation. The warlock rose to his feet and placed both of his hands around his eyes as though he were looking at the ravine from one end of a stretching tunnel.

His vision suddenly shifted closer to the area, and he was able to move about more freely as if he were a bird. Arhriban was initially worried that the explosion may have been caused by some military attack, but quickly tossed that idea out the window since the Troupe had done nothing that would have warranted the Imperium's attention - for the settlers on this planet possessed no artillery that he was aware of. He strained his mind to pick up the presence of life, and quickly caught on to the energy signature of two Eldar he was greatly familiar with.

So that's where those two went... Great, I hope they realize that I'll have to settle things down over here now thanks to their games.

The high warlock returned his free conscious to the confines of his body. He walked to the edge of the pinnacle he'd been lying on for the last several hours in bliss, and jumped off; however, rather than fall, he gently floated down to one of the lower levels where the other warlocks would be. Once he touched down it didn't take long for one of the seers under his command to seek him out.

"High Warlock Arhriban, we heard the explosion. Was it an enemy attack?"

"No, it was only Jester and our leading officer. They've holed themselves up in some ravines several miles away from our position."

"Why would they have done that?"

"So am I to understand that you'd prefer they held their combat practice in the place that we're staying? If so, I can tell them your wishes upon their return..." Arhriban shook his head at the lesser sorcerer as the man stammered to recover from the idiotic question. "Now, if you're finished asking me senseless questions, feel free to tell the others that there's nothing to worry about, and to continue packing up so we can move out on schedule."

Before making his way back into the miserable confines of his den for the evening, the high warlock looked out past the ridge. The setting sun cast an orange glow over the desert, and the sand glistened as if it were a sea of gold. Admittedly, he was almost touched by how beautiful the sight of it was...but not enough for his mood to be lifted.

****

While Jester awaited the return of Countess with his hat, he had taken to spinning about in circles on one foot and then the other. He was particularly enjoying his efforts to balance on the very edge of the ridge that he'd taken his officer by surprise on when she finally did return, her manner of entrance most unpleasant. Grabbing him by the cuff of his collar, the Eldar woman tugged hard on his coat and brought the master mime falling flat on his back.

"Damn it! What makes you thi-" He was cut off as Countess dropped the hat atop his face and he let out a high-pitched squeak of joy. "My hat! You actually found my hat!"

Jester plucked it from his face as he sat up and turned it over in his hands. While brushing off specks of dirt he came across the bullet hole, and gently rubbed his fingers over the frayed opening. "A little worse for wear, but nonetheless still part of my ensemble! Was it difficult to locate?"

Countess crossed her arms before shaking her head. "Not particularly. I remembered where I first shot at you, and, luckily for me, most of the upturned rock and dirt fell in the same direction that the pillar new lays. Still, I am more or less shocked that you actually sent me to go fetch that hideous thing."

"Ah, ah, ah," he said while wiggling a finger from side to side. "Let's not go name calling now. Sleeping together tonight would be much more of a hassle if we were at each other's throat - actually, that sounds like a bit of fun."

"Who says we're sleeping in the same cave?"

"Ooooh, Hide and Go Seek?"

"I need to get a better jump on you..." She said in an irate tone.

"Hey, we weren't going to do another ambush scenario, that's not what we agreed upon! You need to get better and hand to hand combat, so that's what we'll be doing tomorrow."

"I personally think you just want to do something you know you'll win at."

"Perhaps, it would certainly be easier, but we're going to have a huge party soon and it would be in our best interest if you brushed up on your close quarters combat ability."

"Is fighting the only thing you take serious?"

"Who says I take it serious?"

Countess sighed as she unsheathed the sword on her back. It was a dark and curved blade with several additional points extending close to the pommel of the handle. Initially the blades design made little sense to her - and it still didn't - for she wondered what such teeth would be doing on a sword meant for slashing and cutting. That's exactly why I think it suits you, because it isn't traditional. The mime's words that he spoke upon presenting the sword to Countess rang through her head as she held it up in the dying sunlight. She found the sleekness of the metal almost mesmerizing, a pool of perfect black ink; as dark as tar, yet capable of reflecting the gleam of the orange sun...like oil dumped into the and set ablaze.

She spent so long musing over how best to use such a blade that she didn't even realize that Jester had abandoned her. She walked over to the edge and peered over, where, sure enough, the mime was already down at the bottom levels looking back at her with that smiling mask.

She shook her head and holstered the weapon before beginning her descent into the ravines.

[jester4554warhammerfanfic]

Playing with Chaos - 5

Lining up the Pawns

----

Though Jester's troupe still had three days to go before they could move into the area besieged by Orks - at least according to the time frame provided by Commander Malverick - the master mime wanted to make that all the units working under him knew what they would be doing. Besides, the sooner his troops knew where the stage was the quicker they could begin prepping for their roles. Since Jester never bothered to rework his plans unless adapting for some previously unknown variable, the Athistaur went about giving orders in his usual manner. He met with no strategists nor captains but with all the Harlequin members of his troupe, for he greatly preferred when the actors were present for his breakdown of the script as a whole.

With the Countess organizing the troupe for their meet, Jester went down to the lowest of the middle pinnacles. He would be setting out again after this so that he could become better accustomed to the terrain. In truth, he had no idea how long his stay would be on the desert planet, and the master mime wanted to take this opportunity head-on so that hey may study the environment, no matter how he detested it.

Besides, Jester was more than certain that his lovely companion would make the stay more than worthwhile.

Since the Harlequin mime first encountered Countess several years back, she had failed to disappoint him yet. In fact - dare he think it - he almost considered the woman to be a friend, rather than just another tool of the trade. Still, this didn't stop him from pushing the death jester to her limits, and he often assigned her with the most difficult of tasks; however, they were also the most important, which he usually reserved for himself. Admittedly, Jester was incredibly pleased to have encountered another Harlequin who proved herself just as capable as him. Now they would be able to get double the work done than when he worked on his past plays.

Furthermore, just as the master mime liked putting the pressure on his companion's skills, Countess had shown that she wasn't afraid to push back. Whereas most of the trouper's under his command would never question his decisions, this woman enjoyed nit-picking at his choices and rebuking Jester whenever he "slipped up" as she liked to put it. The two seemed destined to butt heads against each other, as both demanded more-and-more improvement from their friend, feeding from the success in turn. This was the closest that either of the Eldar had ever been to another being.

The idea of such companionship with another was almost enough to make the Jester tingly inside, and he skirted around the rocky pinnacle to keep from growing too bubbly.

He continued pacing that same rise for well over three hours as the troupe assembled itself, and small groups trickled over from the ridges below and above his own to come before him. As the master mime walked around with his hands folded behind him, which served to suppress the tails of his coat from flickering about in the ever-present breeze blowing through the rocky ravine.

Many members of the troupe had learned to bide their time where their Athistaur was concerned; particularly newer members who, while holding the Jester in great reverence for his past orchestrations, also clung to the rumors of his viciousness toward any who disturbed him heedlessly. Still, some of the veteran members who were around long enough to observe their leader had learned the proper way to go about speaking with the masked mime. Still, the senior Harlequin of Jester's troupe rarely bothered to speak with their leader, having learned to trust place trust in his judgement, but now was one of those occasions where an older member now confronted him.

Despite calling themselves Harlequins, Jester and Countess were simply stage names that the two had taken on in place of their own; most Eldar, even those who operated outside of the society, commonly possessed an actual name befitting of their kind. Arhriban, one such figure, now approached Jester.

One of the Esdainn, Arhriban was a powerful warlock among the troupe, even by Jester's reckoning; and more so because he still managed to live through the demand's the master mime made of his troupe. The warlock wore exquisitely overlapping robes - a particular piece being his elegantly pointed spaulders - which possessed a flowing nature and caused the deep shades of purple and green to meld together. Armor of jet-black metal was placed strategically over Arhriban's form in a design to grant both protection and beauty. In contrast to the dark hue of his robe, and over-the-top design, the warlock's mask was bright orange, perfectly smooth, and utterly blank.

Immaculately calm, Arhriban seemed to glide next to Jester who he then matched paces with, for he continued to walk the breath of the ringed ridge. "A word regarding our movements, master Jester." he said, his voice calculating and seductive.

"What worries do you have now Arhriban?"

The Esdainn straightened noiselessly as Jester snapped at him; he already knew to expect such a response from the master mime, for he often withheld thoughts of doubt regarding his leader. Though his leader had proven highly tactful in the past countless times, things always seemed to pull through by a narrow margin that often left a calculating figure such as Arhriban on edge. It was to the warlock's chagrin though when, during his fourth operation with the brilliantly mad Eldar, he finally voiced his concern only to find out that Jester had been reading his mind since first joining the troupe. Ever since then, the mime never failed to make a point of the perceived coward he believed Arhriban to be at heart.

However, as always, he ignored the jibes made by his superior. "Do you truly think it wise to host a battle on this planet as well? We have several sects among the Eldar seeking us out, and the Imperium would have us routed the moment they discover an Eldar group is in their territory. Should we really be drawing attention to ourselves by engaging in bloodshed?"

"Really now, you're worried that I'll bring the hounds chasing after us if we fight anything. However, if we fight unseen against nothing but the brain-dead Orks, what do we have to worry about?" Jester asked.

"With respect sir, we Harlequins do not fight in the same way as the filthy Mon'Kai. If we stir up trouble on this planet our enemies will be able to put two-and-two together; if the Eldar don't take notice of how these Orks were dispatched, eventually the Imperium will. This is a planet of farmers and herdsmen, not warriors! You've said yourself that their commander has already spoken with his own superiors of the Ork problem, eventually they will come here and wonder who took out the enemy for them." The warlock's retort was sharp.

"In which case we will be long-gone." His tone was matter-of-fact, as though the conversation were over, but Jester stopped pacing in order to look at his subordinate.

Eldar of the same height, both stood roughly seven and a half feet tall, but they could not have appeared more contrasted. Where Arhriban dressed more elegantly and patterned with a strong preference toward order, his leader appeared much more chaotic and clashing. Not a single thing about Jester looked as though it were meant to make sense, and with even the mask so warped that the face upon it seemed to cause one to lose their focus. Still, the master mime clasped Arhriban's upper arms firmly and gave them a reassuring squeeze, which caused the warlock's face to flash with irritation beneath the mask.

"Arhriban, you've followed me around for more decades than I could bother to keep track of, and, though we've certainly been in some tight places before, look at where we're at now!" He released the Esdainn and threw his arms into the air. "We've dazzled dozens of worlds in the past before now, so I don't see why we need to go and break our perfect track record now! This place is just one more stage for us to wow the competitors!" Jester reached forward and put his index finger on his counterpart's mask where the forehead would be. "Now stop acting like you don't know me, and sit back quietly while you go with the flow like usual, hmm?"

The warlock clicked his tongue, but didn't say a word. As was suggested, Arhriban stepped away from the mime's finger to shrink away to the shadows, where he would stand quietly to ready for whatever last minute preparations were demanded of the troupe.

----

Not half an hour since Jester finished speaking with the warlock, Countess appeared by his side. She brushed away the hair hiding his pointed ear and leaned in close to him.

"The troupers have assembled together Jester; we're ready to hear how we're going to escape from this planet." She whispered before disappearing quickly disappearing as he clapped his hands together and turned around.

"Wonderful, now thy will be known!"