Court Jester

Act 2 Part 1: Brothers in Arms.

Deep within the southern reaches of the Everfree, a minotaur task force had been sent. Their mission? Secret, safe, but ever important. For every minotaur in the world was holding onto their lives by a thread. A scourge had swept across the land, wiping out hundreds within the first hours. The plague wrought destruction, but these eight were the strongest of the land, swiftest of movement, and veterans of many wars. Given the last of their empire's resources and full support from the government, they had located the source of the dark scourge.

The eerie woods made the hardened veterans feel on edge, their blades, polearms, and other such weapons readied. They knew that vile necromancy or pandemancy could easily cause the plague that had crippled the empire in such a way. The brothers in arms, clad in their armor and decorated with their gilded armors and tassels of silky velvet, each had a way of knowing each other.

The leader of the group was Caesar, the tallest of the bunch. He rose over the others and carried a tower-shield, along with a spear with the blade of a gladius at the end. He was garbed in pock-marked bronze armor, with a closed face centurion helmet. His trim color was a dark blue. The second in command was Eridis, who carried a mace and shortsword. He was much like Caesar, except his helmet was open and his trim was black.

The third in command carried himself like a noble, armed with only a double-sided ruby-red glaive and light battle raiment. This was Magnus. His helmet was a classic knight helm, with a trim of red, much like his skin. His crimson eyes surveyed the area around them.

The fourth in command, a female minotaur wearing an armored cloak, wielded several tomes and a wicked-looking battle-axe. Hex, her name by birth, was a reminder of the vile curse that had given her control of magicks, and she took the curse in stride, naming it a gift. However, the price was that her body required a constant flow of magic to function, as her mouth was replaced by carved runes, her eyes made of glass. She was blind, deaf, and mute. She required magic to hear, speak, breath, and see.

The fifth member was a lithe, young minotaur with several daggers strapped to his cloak-wrapped body. He wore a face-mask and hood, and had a crazed look in his eye. His left was yellowed in sclera and red in iris. It seemed to stare off into nothingness, as if into a direction that did not exist in three dimensional space. His name was Bedlam, not his name by birth, but a name by choice.

The sixth carried an aura of raw strength and brutality. Scars marked the bare points on his chest, his dual scimitars sheathed at his hip. For armor, he wore a glorified loincloth, but had a small amount of protection from the leather raiment he wore. He was simply Brute, as he was completely and utterly mute and illiterate.

The seventh was an odd one. Rather than some kind of rogue or other, he wore gleaming silver plate armor. Holy symbols covered his armor, his gilded warhammer and shield stowed against his spine. His helm was shaped like a skull, the helm's visor was made of an enchanted glass. He was Judgement, again a name chosen, not given.

The last was the oddest of the group, as the others were not as dishonorable as he. He chose to fight from afar, using guns. His name was Bayonet, and he carried two pistols on his person. Both were revolvers, the newest in ranged technology. Each weapon had a defining feature, the pistol on the left hip was black, while the right one was white. The black one was a double-action eight-shot .357, while the white one was a double-action .44 six shot revolver. He also carried a rather large hunting knife. He was garbed in, oddly enough, advanced leather combat barding, typically used by infantry skirmishers.

The eight's trek into the dark forest had proven a waste, as each lead turned out to be nothing but superstition and myths about enchanted towers hiding dark covens of necromancers and their ilk, as well as dark legends of destructive creatures or beings who revel in suffering and pain. Most of these turned out to be just groups of vagrants or beggars living together, some turned out to be an incursion of spirits that were easily calmed by Hex, the group's mystic. Others were merely just inexperienced and easily dispatched necromancers that were trying to practice their craft.

However, this new lead held promise. Zebra witch-doctors had been spotted skulking around in Vallard, the southwestern section of the Everfree, after dusk. These vile warlocks could be seen raising the dead in broad daylight, mocking the holy light of the sun that the minotaurs once worshiped, centuries ago. Some still held to the old ways, such as Judgement. But, that was not too important. What was important was the heads on pikes that they now warily eyed, passing by totems and fetishes and the like. This meant that they were now in enemy territory.

Of course, this was really land owned by the Two Sisters, but the Goddesses didn't need to know about this little excursion. How little they knew...

Anyway, the group mystic began casting spells, little orbs flying over each minotaur's head and granting them vision into the depths of the brush. Each little orb glowed with incandescent sickly green light. A few voiced their thanks to the witch quietly, others remained silent, choosing to focus themselves elsewhere, or still slightly sore about the mystic's occasional prank sprees. The paladin was not on speaking terms with her, as he viewed her as a vile aberration.

The light allowed them to see the clearing up ahead, which was milling with zebra witch-doctors. Some stood around runed circles, chanting, others were sitting near incense, eyes closed, vile dark energies floating around them. Some were dancing around varying fires, each a different color, while some decided to raise the dead by performing rituals and such. The whole affair seemed very disorganized, but Caesar could see organization where others could not. Each were performing a task part of a larger goal.

At the center-back of the clearing was a runed throne, upon which sat the skeleton of a long-dead orc king. For, you see, the orcs were an advanced race of magically attuned necromancers. They did not believe strength provided answers, and therefore tested the worthiness of a king based on his intelligence, wisdom, and magical prowess. Zebra witch-doctors often took after these green-skinned bipedal creatures. Of course, only few in the group knew of this long-dead race, but the others who didn't clearly understood whatever this skeleton they were trying to revive was was a king of some sort.

However, this was not the pressing issue. The most pressing issue was the thundering of paws on the ground, as several wolf-like creatures trampled down a path near the clearing's left side, breaking off and crashing through the thick brush, bursting into the clearing. A crack went off, as a zebra started channeling power it was easily cut down by the harsh bark of a rifle.

A strange creature similar to an orc was mounted upon one of the wargs, black wolf-like creatures that were ride-able. Any bipedal creature could ride upon one of these beasts, but they were hell to tame in the first place. The creature rose his rifle, another shot loaded, and the gun cracked, felling another one of the vile necromancers. The minotaurs took their chances, and with a war-cry charged into the fray, only Bayonet and Hex hanging back to support from above. The creature rallied the wargs back to him as they did, then sent them back into the fray from a different angle, to confuse and trap the enemy.

As the enemy separated into two groups, the minotaurs focused on one, leaving the wargs to hound (no pun intended,) at the other group, easily cutting them down without much of a hassle. However, while this was happening, a small group of witch-doctors snuck off, beginning a ritual in front of the throne. The creature was too focused on cutting down the small fry to notice the big threat, as were the minotaurs.

Just as both let out their respective form of a victory cry, they heard malicious laughing from the throne.

A green-skinned, armored figure stood up, raising a runed glaive into the air, power gathering on its blade. However, a shot cracked out and it soon put its hand to its chest, crying out in pain. The wound healed, but it was now focused on the other creature.

"What is this?! A crude mockery of my kind has come before me, ready to lay down its life to end mine! And these beasts of burden here! They are a disgusting mishmash created by intimacy between orc and beast!" The king cried out, disgusted.

"I, God-King Erihlus, will destroy you vile, disgusting mutants and revive my kind, then rule over this pitiful world!"

"Then you will have to face me, and I would've very much have liked to be at home right now, sipping coffee. But, no, I have to get called out here to deal with some idiocy. Alright, orc, here's the deal. You kill yourself now, or I come over there and shove this rifle right up your ass and fire it into your brain. Either way, I get to go home and get paid." The creature deadpanned.

The king looked offended, but that was soon replaced by a sneaky warg gnawing on his face. He screeched in agony, but soon the whole pack converged on him and began eating him, tearing away plates of armor.

The creature on the warg hung back, then took out a cigarette and began smoking it. He hopped off the warg, hit it on the flank, and let it run over to eat its fill. He began approaching the blood-covered minotaur party, sans two members who were being tended by Hex.

"So, who are you assholes loitering around in my forest?" He asked rudely, taking a drag off the cancerstick.

Caesar spoke up, "This land is property of King Yaernos III, and you're trespassing."

"Actually, old Celly up in Canterlot owns this entire forest. Recent royal decree, something about a process of reverting it back to its natural state. Anyway, I'm pretty sure I don't give a shit who says what, and I live where I please. 'Specially since that bitch tries to kill me everyday now..." He added the last part under his breath, his other hand rising to his face to scratch at the bandages that covered it.

Hex decided to enter the conversation, "Why do you wear those bandages, Warg-Tamer?"

"Botched operation. Doctors said the burns would itch for the rest of my life." He said stiffly, trying not to get too mad and trying not to remember.

"Anyway, I've got things to do and places to be. You guys can have sex with the dead bodies and I really wouldn't give a shit, because I'm really tired right now because I haven't had my goddamn morning coffee." He said, slightly stumbling as he walked off, then mounted onto the warg. He rallied the beasts to him, then charged off onto the path, and away.

"Your highness! We've found him!" A guard galloped into the throne room, prostrating himself in front of her throne.

"Rise. Tell me, where is he?"

"We have no exact location, but we know he was recently spotted in the southwestern section of the forest, commonly referred to as Vallard."

"Immediately dispatch several capture teams, lethal force is only authorized if you lose a team." She said grimly, watching as the guard saluted and ran off to carry out her orders...