Private The Madman's Library [TML]

--Olava the feeble's house, Whiterun 9:50 P.M


The plan had been to wait until the morning, however, speaking with the fortune-teller had become urgent and more important than trading hours.
Riz pounded on Olava the feeble’s door “pssst, Olava...psst open up”.

Olava roused from her slumber, grabbed the dagger from her bedside table and opened the door ajar, just enough to take in the presence of the creepy looking jester smiling at her. “Why trouble an old woman when the hour is late?” she asked in irritation, the dagger concealed behind her back.
Olava watched is that blood all over his face? as the jester, shuffled from foot to foot whilst rummaging in his satchel “Aha!”.
He removed a pale blue gemstone and handed it over for her examination “A token-“ Riz spun on his heels at the loud guttural scream coming from the drunken huntsman and raised an eyebrow.
“Did you hear THAT!?” he beamed, now clapping in amusement. Olava shushed the jester, ushered him inside and glanced in both directions before closing the door.

For Olava the feeble, fortune readings had become tedious, the jester’s included. His attention only held after she had offered him food and drink. As he ate and listened, Olava ‘the feeble’ shared her insights with growing concern.

Riz understood...and chewed...that is, until Olava had gone silent, staring into space. “What a weirdo” exclaimed Riz, spraying half chewed food from his mouth.
“GET OUT!!” shouted Olava “LEAVE! LEAVE NOW!!” Riz was pushed back into the night with the door slammed behind him, half a loaf in his hand and a combined look of stupidity and shock.
“YEAH? WELL...YOUR BREAD TASTES LIKE...OLD SHOE!!” he screamed at the closed door.

Riz looked into his hand whilst leaving Olava's “-IT IS A SHOE!!!”. He dropped the old shoe on the doorstep of the neighboring house, knocked on the door and giggled to himself as he fled.

Meanwhile in the Drunken Huntsmen....

Rarga still in the dark corner decided to speak up, "I'm Rarga," his accent was hard to understand when he spoke at such a low volume.
"I'm a traveller, I have no home," his eyes flickered towards the Khajiit, "Not anymore anyway."

Abraxas decided it was time for him to make a dramatic entrance. He quietly slipped away while everyone was paying attention to the Orc in the corner, delving into a more shadowy part of the Drunken Huntsman. When the Orc finished his little introduction, Abraxas spoke in the deepest voice he could muster, "I... am ABRAXAS! Renowned assassin from Morrowind." He took a step into the light and with a flourish of his cape, bowed before Farengar. "At your service." Farengar stared back indifferently and said in his lazy voice,
"Oh, hello Abraxas weren't you the one making a fuss about receiving too low a bounty at Dragonsreach?" Humiliated, the assassin hung his head and stepped back into the shadows, trying to avoid the amused stares of his peers.

Warmaiden's Whiterun 10:30 P.M

Gospel of the nay-sayer
“There’s a hole in my bucket, Eliza” – nothing more true was ever mentioned.

Surpressing all instinct to run for survival, Riz HAD to return to the drunken huntsman. Afterall, it was for-told by the fortune teller that there was no escaping the sequence of events that were destined to unfold.
He watched from beneath the shadow-clad awning of the blacksmith’s outlet as the guards scattered from the tavern.

Riz reached behind himself and slapped on the so-called ‘solution’ from the book.
He re-entered the huntsman as witness to a line-up of captives against a wall to the Whiterun guard. He tripped on the threshold, stumbling forward into the arms of the captain of the guard. Clearly noted by his regally decorated armour.

“It was that guy!” Riz pointed at the Orc examining his own boots. He burst into song “Bad boys, Bad boys...whatcha gonna dooooo?...”
Farengar thrust the jester against the wall, chest first, with his arms splayed behind him.
“Well now...it seems we-“ Farengar stopped in mid comment to speculate the note attached to the jester’s back.
“KICK ME” Farengar frowned at the page. There was an overwhelming urge to follow the instruction of the note, but NOT with so many witnesses...Farengar had not risen through the ranks of the guard by such mannerism.

The jester glanced over his shoulder trying to catch the expression of Farengar in his peripheral vision “There are two BUCKETS. One BUCKET holds five gallons...the other BUCKET holds three gallons...” Riz jest “how can you correctly hold four gallons...IN A BUCKET!!!” Riz spat at the decorated guard.

Farengar had to...he booted the jester, he booted him as hard as he could on the backside.
Farengar dropped dead, in mid-stride of another all-mighty boot.
Riz smirked at the onlookers “He kicked the bucket”..dusting the seat of his pants off Riz enquired to the collection of criminals “now what?”.

Abraxas raised his bowed head at the sound of a hard, fast moving object smashing into- What in the name of Azura? The sight that greeted him was one he never would've expected. Here, was Farengar, the calm, collect court wizard of Jarl Balgruuf driving his boot as hard as he could into the backside of what could only be described as a jester. In fact, THE jester from early that night. Opening his mouth to protest at Farengar's treatment of the Redguard, he stopped mid syllable when the mage dropped, apparently dead in mid stride.
Uh oh. Abraxas carefully approached the body, all prior embarrassment gone, and knelt, running his hands over the Farengar's robes. He turned his head to stare at his peers and said, "He's dead." All the while, he was pocketing the mage's gold and other valuables. Standing back up, he announced with obvious bravado, "We cannot stay here friends! Away we go off on some distant adventure where gold and glory await us!"

The Drunken Huntsman, 10:33 P.M.

Drokin spat out an exclamation. "What the hell?!"

The Captain of the Guard stood stunned.

Ka'Rzique cackled more madly than ever. He'd somehow come free of his bonds and now was pointing at the Jester. "I spy the book thief! A stolen magic Riz keeps, but his mind has taken leave. Such is thus when you read a leaf."

Drokin drew his sword ready to avenge Farengar's death. Just then, the captain drew a sword as well obviously thinking along the same lines. "Don't read anything the Jester produces!" Drokin advised.

It was then that the Khajiit took flight out the open door. Drokin cursed. "Damn. I'll go after him!" And Drokin took off in pursuit of the Khajiit.

***

Earlier at the Bannered Mare.

Two disguised wizards sat on a table on the second floor, overlooking the comparatively quiet scene.

Gregor asked Polian, "Doesn't something seem a little off to you."
"How do you mean?" asked the argonian.
"I mean, the Huntsman has more adventurers in it than was in the Master's predictions. I don't think those predictions can manifest the outcome the Master desires with so many new variables."
"Perhaps you're right. The predictions were made before the escape of the three Madmen. it's possible that the influence of the artifacts has changed the game, causing the unsavory characters to act in unpredictable fashions. Since there has been so much chaos here, it is possible that a different outcome may come about. However the master specifically said to watch and wait to see what happens. That means no interference until the Khajiit dies. Which is still in a hour or two." Polian took out his pocket watch as he finished speaking.
"I am aware that what is written in this journal is only the most likely outcome given the circumstances. But I believe that the time of waiting is over. I've prepared the bounty on the Khajiit, and the bounty on the thief."
"Shrewd. Get the adventurers to do the work for us."
"That is what the master had in mind. Death by guardsman for the khajiit. Live capture by adventurers for the book thief."
"Well then Gregor, take your bounty letters to the Barracks and the Huntsman. I suspect the local wizard is dead by this time and we can manipulate the vulnerable now vulnerable mind to the Master's benefit."
"I will do so." Said Gregor standing up to leave. He was now disguised as a messenger with parcels to deliver.

So he left the Bannered mare to approach the drunken Huntsman, just as a Khajiit fled the scene followed by a guardsman. "Too early." Gregor muttered. He silently cast a spell and the next minute The guardsman was swarmed by a flock of bats.

***

Drokin flailed at the flock of bats that suddenly assailed him as the Khajiit escaped around the Blacksmith's place. As suddenly as they had come, the bats vanished. Drokin cursed as the Khajiit was no longer in sight. "You there!" A voice called. "I have a message for you."

Drokin turned, now what? A messenger stood before him, with a letter in an outstretched hand. "Did you see that flock of bats attack me?"

"Flock of bats sir? I saw no such thing."

Drokin mentally cursed the khajiit again and then took the letter. He read it. A Bounty for Ka'Rzique's head? Drokin's heart leapt darkly. Well that simplifies things. 'Bring head along with all of his possessions to this location:...' A map was drawn of a path from Whiterun to a location near Riften. Who the hell...? It then struck Drokin. The wizards must be in town. "Who sent this?" he demanded as he looked up. But the messenger had vanished. Drokin wanted nothing more to do with this whole affair. But he also wanted to get even with the Khajiit. Perhaps if he collected the bounty, which was a considerable sum, he'd be rid of all this madness.

As if on cue, Drokin heard a disturbance toward the cloud quarter. Some guards were yelling, and a khajiit was cackling. All doubts were wiped from his mind as Drokin ran toward where his foe was. Things are just a little bit simpler, he mused.

***

10:35 P.M.

Gregor, the messenger entered and saw the captain of the guard fall dead, next to the the body of Farengar the wizard, at the feet of the red guard jester. Gregor stood there for a moment, genuine worry on his face. He wasn't supposed to die... Gregor knew suddenly that the Master's plan was going awry.

The drunken huntsman 10:35 P.M

The jester nodded frantically at the words of the man in the dress. “Yes yes...distant...” Riz had noticed the courier’s suspicious arrival. “A messenger does not message his messages in the middle of the night” He professed in all seriousness as he scanned across the faces of the gathered adventurers “Get the message?”. He reached behind his back and pulled the page free, brandishing it at arms length in front of him at the courier with a look of disgust "Perhaps you'd like to read my message?, messenger-man". Riz gestured with his free hand, motioning for the adventurers to exit through the side-door whilst he kept the intruder at bay.

It was difficult to track the movements of both the courier, who fortunately had remained still so far, along with the handful of adventurers...so Riz crossed his eyes and bulged them at the courier instead.

Rarga stood up and sprinted out of the Drunken Huntsmen, glad to get out he breathed a sigh of relief.
'Wait....,' He thought, 'Where am i going to go?". He stood outside the Drunken Huntsmen for several minutes and still with absolutely no idea of where to go, he plonked himself on the ground and sat there looking at his swords whilst muttering, "Ohh, bother".

OOC: Um Rarga I noticed something disturbing. You were Rping in a different RP at the same time as this one... Isn't that a bit... Unhealthy for the lore?

(OOC: Huh? Your saying you don't want me rp-ing in other threads?

OOC: No it's just a little strange because your character is in two places at once is all.

(OCC: Lol, that's okay. I'm getting out of one of the other threads anyway.

10:38 P.M...FOREVER THE MINUTE OF THE JESTER

There had always been adverse effects to meddling with the troublesome, yet compelling books. The jester had known this, but to a limited extent.
He stood there in pose of perhaps the bravest gesture he could recall as the growing horror dawned upon him.
...there was no movement from anybody...and there hadn't been at all for a while which Riz had originally mistaken for awkwardness..."awkward" he whispered.
He chanced a look behind him, only to witness the frozen expressions of stupour on the faces of the adventurers.
The note fell to the floor, already forgotten...Riz removed the once cherished books from his satchel and frowned at the covers of each of the three in turn.
It was with some reluctance that the jester placed a book in each of the adventurer's carry bags, one for the man in a dress and also one for the Orc.
Riz departed the Drunken Huntsman...but not before tying the laces of all the statue's boots together.
He'd hoped the other Orc hadn't fled too far, and was relieved to see him sitting outside, this Orc, recieved Riz's final book.

Perhaps there'd be a means to kick-start time again for the jester out there, but it did not lie within the pages of THOSE books. Riz now destined to wander Skyrim trapped in a moment, searching for another book...and pausing to tie bootlaces together.

For the adventurers...in fact, for everybody else, time continues...unaware that the jester lives out the remainder of his life entombed within this moment...aside from the empty space where there once was a fool.


(OOC : I've joined a more active RP as this one has become too slow for the involvement I'd like to contribute...good luck with the story guys and hopefully the way I've left has opened some possibilities for your characters...it's been fun)