Star Gazer
Well-Known Member
"We acquire the strength we have overcome." -Ralph Waldo Emerson
Chapter 11: Champion
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The orc charged, his unholy armor reflecting the sun. The Jester winked, expecting to become invisible, but found no luck as the spell failed and he was shoulder-bashed to the ground by the one-ton man. The Jester got to his feet, attempting the spell again, but again, nothing happened. "Magic doesn't work here fool. In the field, we don't fight like women. Use your blade like a man!" He shouted, pointing to the colorful weapon at his side. His new dagger, the one he got from the sanctuary, was now gone. He unsheathed the red and blue dagger, readying it in an offensive position. The orc swung, but The Jester dodged, slicing at his armor, but finding that it was too thick to penetrate with his dagger. "You are putty in my hands! Kneel before me, fool!" The Jester took his stance again, skimming across the large orc's body for a weak spot. There was a small gap in his armor where his plate-legs and chest-plate met. He charged, slicing The Jester's right arm above the elbow. "Alas, that was my arm, but I doubt you'll do any harm." He rhymed, attempting to anger the orc, but angered himself at his lack of words.
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Again, Death sliced with both of his swords, making an impenetrable bubble of swinging blades, that The Jester could not stab through. He charged, jabbing with his right arm. The Jester moved left, and under his left arm, slicing at the unprotected abdomen of the man. A slice was heard and the man's blood was seen, black. "You dare resist me?! You dare resist death?!" "Death, death, that you are, but you have not proven your name so far!" He sang. The orc took great offense to this, anger turned his face red as he attempted to kick at the clown, only to get his waist cut again. He was becoming clumsy. He cast a spell, ebony-flesh by the sound of it. He grew a few inches in size, stretching the armor out a bit. "Slicing and swinging, and jabbing galore! If only in combat, you trained more." He said, waving a disciplinary finger at the man. The Jester pulled out a needle and flung it at the orc, but he dodged it with cat-like reflexes. He was quite agile under all of his armor. This time The Jester charged, but got a well-armored boot thrust into his chest, sending him five feet backwards, and stumbling on his back.
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While falling, The Jester put a needle into his mouth. He lay on his back in the grass as Death kneeled over him. He pulled his helmet off, uncovering a face of darkness. His spell wore off, and left his face unarmored. "Nobody beats death. Any last requests?" The Jester moved the needle away from his tongue so he could speak. "Cicero, you'll let free, if you don't want to be killed by me." "How would you manage that, pipsqueak?" He asked angrily. The Jester looped his tongue around the needle, forming a blow-gun. He blew very hard, sending the needle into the orc's eye. He backed up, screaming. He fell to the grass, writhing in pain. The Jester stood, walking over to him and putting his colorful dagger to the man's dark neck. "You'd really kill death? How would souls reach their respectful afterlives?" "Would I kill death, that I would! No reason why I can't, but one reason why I should. You shall let Cicero go, or we will see your blood flow." "I ain't afraid of you." He said. The Jester stabbed his knife into his unprotected lower abdomen. He howled in pain. "Fine! Madman! You and your friend go free!" He said. "You are in debt of two souls to Molag-Bal!" He screamed in defeat. He cast a spell on The Jester, and cursed at him as he teleported away. The Jester awoke in a field with a good view of Dragonsreach. Cicero awoke next to him with a sputter.
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The two men stood, dancing and rejoicing that they had made it out of the daedric realm with their heads. They sung songs and danced elaborate jigs. They awoke clothed in ragged clothes, wondering what had happened to their actual garb. They headed towards Whiterun, trying to look serious, but Cicero couldn't stop laughing about The Jester's bald head. "When you're in a fight and your enemy pulls you to the ground by your hair, don't come crying to me!" "Oh no, I'm just worried your head will get cold!" They both laughed. The makeup on both of their faces was gone, and they barely recognized each-other. They made their way into Whiterun, posing as civilians from Riverwood who had lost their way. The guards let them in with a friendly wave and a "hello." Getting in was easy, but nothing prepared them for what they heard next. "The Jester! The Jester!" A woman cried. The Jester put a hand over his face to hide himself. "That madman is dead! Ulfric Stormcloak has killed The Jester!"