[b][center]Torbil[/b][/center]

The jester pranced down the moldy streets in an outfit reminiscent of the rainbow vomit of drunken wyldlings. Armed with nothing but the bells on his shoes and his atrocious color scheme, the man none the less elicited terror in the small denizens of the Blight. Ceilicans vanished at his approach leaving only floating fangs to hiss at the jester while pixies flew to the safety of open windows and exposed rafters. Some feared the jester, it is true, for Torbil was a wyldling and wyldings were a danger to anyone, themselves included, but what they feared more was the Prince. Zemum Donovon, the self proclaimed Prince of the Unseelie Court, most feared of all the Blight's crimelords. In this sense (along with many others), Torbil was unique for the Prince's gang appealed mainly to faery criminals and freedom fighters yet in the crazed wyldling's distorted mind Donovon was a royal lord and he a humble, loyal servant. Streetwise inhabitants of the Blight knew that Donovon used his human jester primarily for two purposes, one to entertain his 'court' such as it was and two to act as his eyes both within and outside the slums. Freed by his humanity to leave the Blight boundaries, Torbil offered the Prince a priceless view on the affairs of the city proper and its human rulers.

Torbil, though always pleased with himself, was particularly exuberant today. He'd found that changeling bitch and he knew where she was headed... or he would know. Still grinning madly over his success, Lucius bent over and picked up a child's ball. Likely the casualty of a game cut short from by his approach. He tossed the ball into the air and soon others, coming perhaps from the jester's sleeves joined it. He juggled them for a few moments in a flawless arc until the yap of a stray startled him. He dropped all three to the ground where they cracked releasing yellow oozing yoke onto the stones, all except the last one which produced a fluffy live chick instead. Lucius laughed at his unintentional wyld magic and scampered toward the city proper. Iron police guarding a checkpoint that bristled with spears and rifle barrels reluctantly let him pass. They knew who he was and some even knew who he worked for, but what choice did they have? He was human... after a fact anyway.

Torbil's wild eyes and bright clothes kept him from blending into the orderly streets of the Commons, but none dwelt on the presence of a simple street performer. Instead most looked the other way lest they be guilt tripped into giving a coin for a moment's unsolicited entertainment. The jester on the other hand watched everyone and his mad eyes saw what others overlooked, like the foreign girl hiding her hair beneath a hood, hair that moved... Torbil followed it until he was sure. He clapped giddily at his discovery and considered putting his stiletto to its back, taking her as a prize to his beloved Prince. Even a madman knew caution, however, and this thing was new... new and strange. Instead, he opted for the same strategy he'd used with the changeling, 'accidentally' bumping into her and smearing a finger's worth of alchemical resin onto her clothes. A signal, a scent to be followed later by the trackers. "Oh we'll find you, my slithery little pretty," the madman spoke to himself after she'd passed, "just like the dreamborn, we'll find you both. Hooohooo! and you'll make our Prince so happy, so very very happeee."