Amity

By: Miss-DNL

Cracks and pops were heard as the campfire continued to burn through the tinder provided for it. The flame's glow, a warm orange, illuminated the small camp which was constructed by some of the loosely titled "heroes" of the town called Hamlet. They weren't really heroes as they were hired mercenaries to help deal with the corrupted lands. Bounty hunters, highwaymen, antiquarians, and grave robbers were just in it for the money. A big part of the job was bringing back riches and heirlooms to help the town. Though much of their heroes couldn't be considered just, the town's people hardly complained if they kept the wicked at bay.

The current group, gathered around the fire, was called the "Cirque des Damnés" by some of the towns folk or other heroes. The heroes that composed the Cirque des Damnés was the jester Thatch, occultist Rathbart, hellion Hella, and the abomination Earnest. The four had arrived at the Hamlet at different times and wound up on an expedition together by chance. The town's lead heroes were all indisposed, either by way of stress or illness, and the weald's foul beings needed to be weeded to lower numbers. The abomination's "condition" caused the devout to refuse travel with him, so the estate's heir gathered other outsiders to complete the task. The expedition surprisingly went well and since then the four often went on outings together.

The group got along decently enough. The occultist and hellion butted heads on occasion due to their differing view points brought on by their backgrounds. Thatch didn't help some of the time when he egged either side on for a quick laugh. Earnest could be the voice of reason, if need be, but more often kept to himself.

Such was a moment when Thatch, who'd been tuning his lute, spotted their deceptively strong friend heading off past the edge of their campsite. The jester glanced back towards his two other compatriots. Hella was busily sharpening her glaive while Rathbart was polishing the skull he used for his spells. Under his breath he was muttering something in eldritch tongue. The language unsettled Thatch and the others, but Rathbart insisted that the spell protected them from harm while they slept. It'd worked on their previous ventures, so none of them questioned its use further.

"Our quiet and solemn companion seems to seek to further his solidarity." Thatch noted with a nod of his head to where Earnest had slipped away to. Rathbart continued his chant while staring down at the flame that sat atop the candle, which rested on the skull itself. The bronze-skinned man seemed to be in a trance. This had been expected so the jester turned his eyes to the hellion. Hella looked to the woods briefly, before snorting and continuing to sharpen her blade.

"If you're so concerned about him, why not speak to him yourself?" Hella remarked, tiny sparks flying from her blade. The barbarian female continued while admiring her blade's edge, "You're always so keen on being his compatriot, I wouldn't want to interfere with your senselessness."

Thatch straightened himself at her insult, "Senselessness? Forgive me for being concerned about our companion's state of mind!"

"I'd not want you, of all men, watching after my state of mind." Hella retorted with smirk. Her shoulders bounced as she jeeringly scoffed, "Lest I find myself down not one but two rabbit holes."

Finger held up, the purple clad jester was about to remark when he realized the validity of the point made. Hella snickered to herself as the former court fool stiffly crossed his arms. His fingers danced on his arm irately as he vainly tried to find a counter point. When the lanky hero stood up and began to make his way after their companion, the hellion knew her point had won. By the time Thatch found his tongue again, Hella was pouring herself a jug of ale.

"Fine! Fine! You've won the skirmish of words. I'd doubt you'd be good at consoling anyhow, your shouting is meant for the battlefield." Thatch half muttered to himself as he stalked off into the woods. He waved an arm to their still chanting occultist and remarked, "Enjoy your company."

"I'll be fine idling my time with ale. Just try not to end up a bloated, lifeless, husk puppet." Hella jeered as she held high her ale filled jug.

"I'm apt at slicing and dicing thank you." Thatch called back, waving his dagger in one hand, much to the hellion's amusement.

While the jester had brushed off the warning, he did heed it and kept his wits about him as he searched for Earnest. Thatch doubted he'd have to go too far to find him, but the weald was not to be taken lightly. The oppressively dark woods was infested with accursed fungus just waiting to take root in a host. There were numerous mobile threats that stalked the woods but, thankfully, Thatch spotted his cursed companion without anything unsightly happening.

"Ah, so glad I've caught up to you." Thatch called as he spotted that Earnest slumped against a tree.

"Why have you followed me Thatch?" Earnest questioned tiredly. He didn't bother to turn his head to him as he asked, he just wanted to be left to himself.

The jester rubbed his hands together as he answered, "Well, I saw you leave and thought that a late-night stroll through horror ridden woodlands was a refreshing idea. And so, decided to join you. Hope you don't mind."

The accursed hero gave a long sigh. Earnest could tell his companion wasn't going to leave. "I just wanted some peace to myself Thatch. I haven't wandered far, I'm still close enough that the others could hear if I called."

"Mn, yes, Rathbart is sure to hear you in his trance and, if you're lucky, Hella won't be too drowned silly in ale." Thatch criticized as he leaned against the mossy tree that Earnest was slumped against. He twirled a hand in a circle and pointed at the shorter hero, "I thought I was the fool here, don't go stealing my profession Earnest. I may take it as a challenge."

A faint laugh was managed from the dourer hero as he tugged on his shroud. To this the jester gave a loud, over-the-top gasp, and sprang from the tree, "He laughed!" The bells on his getup jingled as he quickly moved to stand in front of the tree. Thatch wildly gestured to Earnest, his tone a gasp, "Holy light witness me! For I have performed a miracle!"

"Thatch, quiet yourself before you have the whole forest descend upon us." Earnest warned, amusement still lingering in his voice despite himself. The jester straightened and put a finger to where his mouth would be, behind his white mask. He nodded jerkily to the suggestion, causing the bells on his hat to chime with each nod. Arms resting atop his knees, Earnest shook his head in further amusement, "I believe that was proof enough, that I am no competition in foolhardiness."

"True enough." Thatch admitted humbly as he sat down across from him. He tilted his head and eyed Earnest, "Answer me this, why do you still insist on distancing yourself?" When Earnest gave no answer Thatch persisted, "Have us three, have we not proven ourselves in being uncaring about your condition or no?"

Earnest was unable to answer for a moment. He shook his head, "It isn't that. I…" the cursed hero looked off to the shrouded woods around them, the light of the distant campfire unwilling to breach father into the darkness, "none could understand what torment I've gone through." Earnest was quick to add, "It isn't that I expect you or the others to either. I'd not wish that upon any of you." Earnest hung his head, his voice pitiable and frail, "Much as I long to enjoy the presence of others…I cannot bear moments of comradery after years of abuse, it has become a foreign feeling to me."

A long moment of silence hung between the abomination and jester. Earnest began to worry he'd insulted his companion. When he looked back to Thatch, he saw the jester pulled out his dagger and was staring down at it. This made the air between them become uneasy. Whether unaware or uncaring, Thatch paid no mind to the atmosphere as he traced the blade with his finger. He repeated the action as he, almost reminiscently, stated, "You aren't the only one who isn't a stranger to abuse."

Not only was the statement out of nowhere, but the tone the jester said it was unexpected. The typical jovial tone was gone and had been replaced with a straight-face serious one.

"I've never told anyone, not in our group nor the entirety of Hamlet, my past." Thatch lifted his head a touch. That was all the cue Earnest had to suggest he'd turn his eyes to him. He pointed his dagger to him, the gesture off handed, "Should I tell you, you must swear to tell no other."

Earnest nodded. The tension of moment itself compelling him to.

Thatch eyed him a moment before turning his gaze back to his dagger. He seemed to get lost in the shine of the blade. The succession of his words drifting between each, as he asked, "How long have you been free again…?"

"Barely a year, why?" Earnest answered slowly. The manner the jester was staring at his knife was beginning to be unsettling.

"Ah, so you wouldn't have heard." Thatch answered casually. Before Earnest could question what that meant, the jester continued speaking, "I was a young when I began my profession, making a fool of myself in the town square for coin. One day, someone from the court thought I'd be good entertainment for our lord. I was certainly a fool when I thought that was my trip out of squalor. Needless to say, I wasn't aware what hell I'd let myself be signed up for…"

"It's not so bad, it could be worse, it's just a part of the job." The jester's whined his voice full of bitter venom. The malice built up in his words as he rambled on, "Is what I often told myself, time and time again. Admittedly, it hadn't been so bad in the beginning but that only condition me to take worse abuse. You see, the lord didn't take me as a jester but rather as slave to dole out wicked desire to see someone suffer. Should I be lucky it was merely verbal abuse, other times he tried his hand a throwing knives. Being as he was typically drunk his aim wasn't the best, nor was it much better while he had his senses." The dagger began to tremble in his hand. "He delighted when I both yelped at fright when nearly being stuck and when he managed to stick it to me."

Thatch lifted a hand to the bone-white mask he wore, the heat of his words disappeared with the motion, "This mask was a gift from my abuser." The jester pulled the mask and his hat off. Earnest was left aghast, not only had he never seen Thatch without the mask before, but the scars adorning his face were painfully familiar. Thatch pointed to one going from his ear to just before the end of his lip. "It'd been right after this one. Apparently, I wouldn't be as amusing should he see it while it healed. That'd been far too disturbing…"

"Thatch…I…" The jester held a hand up to silence Earnest before he could apologize.

"No, none of that. I didn't come here to force pity from you." Thatch corrected. He dismissively waved a hand, "No doubt your torment was worse, but suffering is relative. Is it not? I'm merely trying to say, while my understanding is not perfect: I do understand to a better degree than you give credit for."

"Yes, I see that now." Earnest's answer got a small smile from the scarred jester and one from himself. After the mood lightened the cursed hero laughed, "Is that why you were warm in greeting me when we were first tossed out into these corrupted lands together?"

"Partly yes, but it is my job to right frowns into smiles. Though you've proven a challenge." Thatch said while waving a finger disapprovingly.

"You don't enjoy a challenge?" The abomination questioned with a quirk of his brow.

"Le gasp, he can joke as well!" Thatch leaned forward and eyed his pale companion suspiciously, "Are you certain your not moving in on my profession?"

"I cannot juggle nor play a lute, so I do not believe so." Earnest answered amusedly. "Trust me when I say that I'll stick to my chains and the beast within me."

"Good, good, sticking to what we know would be best…as I don't think I can spit up bile that is acid…" Thatch agreed in a sage manner.

Earnest shook head still amused by his companion's antics. While he'd come to ruminate on his past the jester was certainly doing his job in lifting his spirits. As he caught sight of the purple clad hero's dagger again, he was prompted to get the conversation back on track, "How did you escape from your torment, Thatch?"

Thatch blinked, he hadn't realized how off the trail their conversation had gotten, "Ah, yes, that. Well…" His voice trailed off for a moment as his finger played with the tip of the danger. "On the twentieth celebration of his rule, the lord held a big party. After being tormented by him and his guests, I was finally pushed to my edge. So," He pulled out his sickle and, almost normally, wrapped up his tale, "I lost it and slaughtered the whole lot of them."

Earnest stared at him. He'd been aware of Thatch's off kilter nature but assumed his occasional murderous remarks were just part of the act. He shook his head as he responded, "Thatch, I may have killed some while escaping…but I don't think I massacred an entire court party's worth."

"Doubtful, it was packed." The jester stated with a flick of his risk. He put away his weapons before adding, "Afterwards, I took what valuables I could and was on the run. Still am technically. That's why I asked how long you've been free. The grand finale I gave my lord and his party was news for a good while."

"I'm surprised none of the bounty hunters are after you." Earnest commented. He wasn't sure how Thatch could be so casual about this, he'd been so grim in the beginning of his tale. Although, comedy did come from tragedy.

The jester shrugged it off. "That was a couple kingdoms away. The ones here are too busy with the wide variety to pick from. Also I didn't exactly leave any alive. There is a chance they don't know I did it, but I wasn't fool enough to linger."

"Regardless, beast I may be, but I'm a man of my word." Earnest vowed. His jester compatriot smiled before he covered his face back up with his mask and returned his hat to his head. The two remained where they were, Thatch beginning to play a soothing song with his lute, before Earnest offhandedly asked, "You know, I didn't pin you to be a red head?"

"Would you believe that's not the first time I've heard that?"

Author's Note:

I recently got into playing Darkest Dungeon and noticed that the jester and abomination classes's backgrounds have a similar theme. That being them escaping from a bad past, by way of killing their abusers, which spawned this. I have a couple other ideas that I may write as other one-shots, in concerning this group or other things with the game. Maybe maybe not. Sadly though, Rathbart died while fighting the hag. R.I.P Rathbart.