And so the trickster did what he does best and fooled his way to the border.

The stench of blood and murder was sucked into his nostrils where it sat for a moment, his mind marinating in its glory. The Jester had never been a fan of life; it was death that intrigued him. Thus, it only made sense that he would find himself on the borders of leaders with obviously similar tastes. He licked his chops as he stepped slowly to this side and that, putting on a sort of show for his coming audience. His audience; of course! The Jester lifted his head and called for a crowd, hoping that they might be entertained by his light prance and intriguingly frank candor. 

There had been many days preceding this in which he had gone without eating, having had to survive on the only skill he had ever learned while growing up: comedy. He would charm young wolves into fetching him food from their caches, or scavenging from what he could before the rightful owners of the prey came and left their marks. Yes; The Jester learned quickly that when one was in need, hilarity seemed to lose its worth. Still, he continued with his song, looking onward with a devilish grin as he awaited company.

The Jester stopped his pacing with an immediate jolt as a young woman floated in from the shadows. She was a peculiar thing with eyes that managed to entrance her guest, if even for a moment. His devilish smile fell giving his face a flat expression, before slowly finding its way back onto his maw. The Jester did a small two-step, gallantly exposing the sickly nature of his frame as he examined the dark woman before him. I am The Jester, he announced, voice harsh and yet just feminine enough, Your borders called me, I'm afraid.

He dipped his head low and lowered what was left of his clipped ears, finding his tail naturally tucking between his hindlegs, both out of respect and embarassment. The other obviously thought herself to be in a position of power which The Jester found to give him quite the tickle, but he figured that if she wished to play princess, he had no reason not to go along. I do apologize for my evening garments, he said with a short gaze down his own torso, I didn't have much time to prepare.

The words were cold and stung plainly against The Jester's cloak, though he kept his face straight during such crucial moments. He had always been this way; thin, sickly, little to no muscle to speak of. It was both a blessing and a curse in the grand scheme of things; his health sometimes suffered, but his missions always succeeded. The young femme asked of his talents, to which he responded with a slight jig and enveloping grin, only the tips of his teeth visible against the black of his lips. I can be silent when you need; I have a knack for finding my way into places other wolves cannot.

It was his trifling appearance that gave him such leeway. The most ignorant leaders often took pity on him, allowing him into their ranks, where he would use his charisma to find what he needed and escpae before he was missed. Espionage, if you will, though I have found that to be a rather harsh term, don't you agree? The Jester sighed and returned to his submissive stance, though his eyes never fell from the deeply scored pair of his judge.

First impressions were most important! It was the first lesson that The Jester had been taught; when meeting new faces, always look your best. He opened his eyes and gave a toothy grin, exposing the poor, rotting state of his teeth. The constant bile had turned his teeth yellow and weak, though there was little that could be done against it, as most meals left his poor, starving body writhing in pain. As The Jester was suddenly much more concious of himself than he had been only moments before, he closed his mouth and bowed his head. Lovely, he said, seeing as he had already been able to agree with the she-wolf on something. 

I must admit, he cooed, taking a small side step and looking back at the raven-winged femme for approval, I don't have much hunting experience. However, I am an expert thief. His tail curled slowly between his legs and his ears lowered once again as he became concious of himself and his rude behavior. Forgive me, he pleaded with a light sigh, I sometimes forget who I am speaking to. 

But yes, I'm a scavenger. Most of the meals I manage are taken from caches or from kills left in the open. It isn't the most glamorous skill I have, but it has proven to be useful on more than one occasion. That being said, I wouldn't mind learning a new trade, if that's what it takes. In truth, The Jester hated hunting and hoped to whatever gods were listening that he wouldn't have to try his luck at it anytime soon. But he played along, nonetheless, for what was a play without a plot?

The Night, The Jester repeated, Like a nightingale, one thinks. Though, you resemble the Euphagus more closely. He looked her over once, then twice, before giving a sly smile, However, your voice is melodic like that of a songbird. Yes, yes, that will do just fine. He gave another weak attempt at a bow (no matter how hard he tried, the poor thing could never quite master the dapper demeanor he so longed for) and nodded to Nyx with the thought that a hunt would do no harm to either of them. No, no harm at all. 

It would be my pleasure, but I do think it would benefit us both if I could freshen up before our next outing. There was something mad about The Jester's appearance; his nose and ears twitched with every change in scenery, and his eyes were never quite in sync with one another, but despite this, Nyx had managed to tolerate him and even invite him into her land. Maybe she was just being nice, he thought, and with a suddenly sullen expression, The Jester lowered his head and began to walk beyond the border.