A Jester Gone Mad
RhyDin is a scary place when you’re lost, alone, poor, and homeless. Doubly so when you’re mad.
***
Somewhere between here and there, not quite east or west, not too far north from south, there are villages and towns and people. No one looks out for these people except themselves. They live humble lives, in homes they’ve built themselves, subsistence farmers, for the most part. An occasional inn with decent rooms, if one could afford them. Nothing like the palaces or mansions so many in Rhydin live in.
Taille Jester awoke, in a field, in the middle of nowhere. He didn’t know why he was there or how he had gotten there. In fact, he didn’t really know who he was. He was wearing motley, crazy, flamboyant colors, a pouch with juggling balls and some handkerchiefs, a pack with a dozen juggling clubs, face paint, and extra bells for his shoes. He did a quick check for money; he had none of that. It felt odd, for he had reason to think he never had need of it before. There was no food in his bag. He had no horse or clothes. He had no idea where he was going. And he had no idea where he could go to find out.
And so he went.
| to other tales | main | previous | next |
Important: If you've enjoyed this, please read this--Copyright: 1997