A life of slavery, and for what?
Jester, a frail human male around 25 years of age, sat on the bed made of hay in his tiny slave quarters. He thought this to himself as he gazed at the bare walls. Jester was a slave to the Winthrope family—he had been for as long as he could remember. He didn't know his parents, and he had no family.
Suddenly, the wooden door to his quarters swung open. A tall, burly man, wearing armor and a helmet that covered his entire face, stormed in and walked straight up to Jester. Jester immediately stood up, knowing exactly what was happening. The man was one of King Winthrope's enforcers, the one who carried out the king's orders.
"Get up," the man ordered. "The king has summoned you."
Jester nodded without a word.
He followed the enforcer out of his room. The man led him through the enormous castle, passing by many different rooms. As they walked, Jester noticed an unusual number of people moving through the castle—more than usual. Some were chefs, others maids, and a few appeared to be nobles.
Where are we going? Jester thought to himself. Though he didn't know the exact destination, he had a pretty good idea of what awaited him. As a slave, he didn't do regular work. In his youth, he had been tasked with various chores and menial tasks, but due to his clumsiness, he was eventually reduced to serving as the king's personal jester. For about the past 15 years, he had performed acrobatics, told stories, and entertained the king and his guests.
It was better than the alternative, though. Compared to being a regular slave, it was a much better life. The treatment was certainly better, and sometimes the king even rewarded him with extra food for doing a good job.
As they reached the massive gold-and-silver doors to the king's living quarters, the enforcer stopped. Jester, who had been following close behind, halted next to him. The enforcer shoved him hard into the cold, unforgiving doors, causing Jester's head to slam against the surface. He gritted his teeth from the pain, but also from the frustration. He couldn't say anything, of course—he had no power here.
"What are you waiting for? Go inside, Jester," the enforcer said coldly, turning his back to resume his task of guarding the king's quarters.
Jester took a deep breath, clearing his mind of the frustration. He prepared himself for the interaction ahead—mentally readying himself for the sucking up he would have to do with the king and the embarrassment he would face for the king's amusement.
Jester opened the doors and stepped through. As the doors closed behind him, he found himself in a massive room. The centerpiece of the room was a bed with ruby red coverings, and above it hung portraits of previous kings. The room was illuminated by large windows, some of which were covered by giant golden curtains. On one side of the room, there was a table with a cushioned chair, a single candle sitting atop the table.
King Winthrope stood looking out one of the windows, gazing down at his kingdom. King Winthrope ruled the entire country of Faygril, the Human Country. He was a middle-aged, round man with a long beard and mustache. The hair on his head had long since disappeared. His back was turned to Jester, but he knew Jester had entered. The king turned and faced him, his arms behind his back.
"Ah, Jester, I've been waiting," King Winthrope said as he approached Jester.
Jester immediately bowed but remained silent, as slaves were taught not to speak unless instructed.
"Head up, boy," the king's deep voice echoed through the wide room. Jester lifted his head.
King Winthrope began pacing the room, his hands clasped behind his back.
"We're hosting a celebration in the castle ballroom. You'll be the entertainment," he said, glancing over his shoulder.
Jester gave a slow nod in response to the king's command.
King Winthrope continued, "I've hired a dwarf and a human mage to create obstacles for you—rings of fire and the like."
Jester stared at King winthrope, his expression remained unreadable. He had no choice but to obey.
"Head to the ballroom and meet with the mages. The guests have already gathered and are waiting for your performance. I'll join shortly."
Jester bowed silently, then turned and made his way to the ballroom.
---
The ballroom was massive and elegant, filled with nobles seated at tables arranged around a wide, open space—about fifty feet across—reserved for entertainment.
In the center stood two figures: a dwarf and a human male. Jester moved toward them, knowing they were the mages the king mentioned.
As he approached, the two took one look at his tattered clothes and disheveled hair. It was clear he was the slave meant to perform.
"So, you're the jester, huh?" the dwarf grunted. "Took you long enough."
Jester said nothing. He met the dwarf's gaze with emotionless eyes.
The dwarf studied his expression for a moment, then shrugged.
"Whatever. I don't get paid to chat with slaves."
"Conjure the rings," the human mage said, his voice edged with impatience. "The sooner we start, the sooner we get paid."
The dwarf nodded and raised his hand in a scooping motion. Stone pillars erupted from the ground, followed by platforms rising at varying heights and distances. Between each stood stone rings, each one smaller than the last, forming a progressively tighter obstacle course.
As the course began to take shape, every guest in the ballroom fell silent, their conversations dying off as they turned to watch in awe. One by one, they gathered around the entertainment space, knowing the performance was about to begin.
When the mage finished, he stepped back and admired his conjuration with pride. Jester, however, remained unmoved.
After years serving as the king's personal jester, he had witnessed countless magical displays—each crafted solely to amuse the court. By now, the spectacle of magic no longer impressed him, even though he had never been allowed to study it himself. As a slave, such privileges were beyond his reach.
The human mage shook his head, finding the dwarf's proud expression mildly irritating. With a sigh, he waved his hand, setting the stone rings ablaze with fire.
The crowd gasped in awe, eagerly anticipating the performance. The two mages turned to Jester, but he remained unmoving, his eyes locked on the obstacle course.
Internally, Jester couldn't help but long for the end of the day. After all these years, he was growing weary of being nothing more than a spectacle for the royals—who he saw as nothing more than scum.
"Hurry up and get up there!" the human mage snapped at Jester.
With an annoyed sigh, Jester climbed up the ladder of the stone pillar in front of him. Once at the top, he surveyed the course. Two platforms sat at opposite ends, with five more arranged in between. Six rings hovered in the air, each progressively smaller than the last, placed between the platforms.
The nobles stared up at Jester, who now stood fifty feet in the air, waiting in eager anticipation.
Without hesitation, Jester leapt from the pillar, soaring through the first ring and landing on the first floating platform. The crowd's cheering grew louder, but Jester ignored it, focusing only on the next platform, which was a bit farther away. He took a deep breath and jumped again.
He passed through the second ring and landed on the second floating platform. As he did, his tattered shirt grazed the flames of the ring, causing a small fire to spread across his shoulder. The pain was sharp, but Jester barely flinched. His eyes widened as he looked at the small blaze, but he wasted no time—ripping off his shirt and tossing it down fifty feet below.
The crowd watched in tense silence as the flames licked at his skin, their cheers slowly dying down.
Taking another deep breath, Jester focused on the next ring, which was now even smaller and farther away. He crouched, preparing for a longer jump. With a swift motion, he launched himself into the air.
But his foot caught the bottom of the smaller flaming ring. He lost his balance mid-air, and before he could recover, he plummeted.
"Shit!" Jester shouted.
The crowd gasped in unison.
As he fell the fifty feet to the ground, the flames from his burning shirt spread from his shoulder to his body. The descent was fast, and Jester knew he was beyond saving. He didn't fear death. In fact, he welcomed it. At least it would free him from a life of slavery and humiliation.
When he hit the ground, his body was consumed by flames, but he felt nothing. As his world went dark, the only thought in his mind was that his life was a waste.
Jester was dead.