Sarmenti Scurrae

The chiming of a great bell could be heard far off in the distance, but Sarmenti paid no heed to its intrusion. He continued to look longingly into the beautiful Elven maids eyes. She was a goddess, laying on the silken pillow hair cascading around her delicate face. Lowering his head slowly, she slightly parted her lips. Sarmenti saw a small flicker of her tongue, he lowered further lips preparing, nerves tingling in expectation. He woul…………………A calamitous chiming of a great bell crashed him out of his sleep, he jumped from his bed and stumbled, instinctively wiping his mouth as the dream faded. Half asleep, annoyed and wanting he stood dazed. Then reality crashed into him like an ice burg. Oh, Fuck.

Late, late, by Asmodeus’s whiskers, he was late again. Scampering around his room grabbing any clothes he could lay his hands on, bundled in his arms, bursting out of his door pausing only to reach back and pull a hat off the hat rack. Running down the long stone hallway, dressing as he went, performing a strange hopping dance like a drunken lima crossing a road. By the time he reached the end of the hallway he was, for a better word dressed. Careening off the wall he sprang up the steps two or three at a time, sometimes using the balustrade to swing him rapidly to the next level. At the 4th floor, he shot out of a doorway into another long hall. Running now like he was chased by hellhounds, flying passed other elves, dodging left and right, not touching a soul he held his momentum. Now, he could see his destination. A bright yellow door at the very end of the hallway, Tharivol the Opalescent, Archmage of The Court of Proper and Powerful Elven Wizards of the High Sun, read the blue glowing letters on it, underneath was a large piece of parchment, DO NOT ENTER SUMMONING IN PROGRESS. This was what he was late for.
He slammed on the brakes sliding along the polished floor, in one smooth motion he turned the handle and whispered “Toronium”. The door clicked and silently opened, still at speed and sliding he reached for his hat, which felt abnormally large, swung it to his side and bowed. Master Tharivol, I am here. A meticulously groomed High Elf of senior years, adorned in a brilliant robe of oscillating colours and an enormous hat with a sun at its point, turned to face him. Just as this was transpiring, a large figure was starting to emerge from a shimmering portal in front of the Mage.

Sarmenti’s hat flourish and travelling speed was a little more then he expected, he also had not considered flourishing a jesters cap. The cap clipped a set of scales on a nearby table knocking it on to a candle, the candle falling setting sheets of parchment with strange flowing script alight.

The figure now fully formed stepped out of the portal. It was a misshapen black skin demon, with glowing red eyes and gleaming talons, drool dripping from its mouth and splashing to the floor. Around the Demon and portal was an intricate white circle filled with arcane symbols and small red candles. The Demon reached for the beautifully dressed High Elf Mage, only to be met with a flash of blue light. It recoiled in pain. The elderly Elf now looking menacingly at Sarmenti, caught the flash in the corner of his eye. He spun back to the portal, and as he did his preposterously large sun tipped hat fell from his head. Toppling to the floor it bounced once flipped over and landed at the edge of the circle. The weight of the sun at its tip slowly pulling it down on its side. The demon watched, a wicked grin forming on its face, as the sun adorned hat flopped on to the outer line of the circle.

The parchments with weird writing were well alight now, and the words on them briefly flashed with light and exploded. The fireball engulfed the room shattering glass and setting fire to the numerous bookshelves. Sarmenti instinctively lifted his legs and still at speed slid forward on his back, under at table through the legs of a large chair heading straight toward the mage and the demon. The blast wave from the fireball picked up the mage in his now burning robes and threw him across a table and against the far wall. The demon stood still seemingly unaffected by the fire or blast and watched the mage and the careening Sarmenti with amusement.

Sarmenti finally stopped, staring straight at the swaying hairy stinking black balls of the demon inches from his face. The demon raised his foot, clearly wishing to squash the bug beneath him, he paused. A large glowing ball with a dishevelled singed half naked Elven mage inside rose to the ceiling from the far side of the room. Sarmenti, could make out the screamed words from the mage…”SARMENTI, I WILL PEEL OFF YOUR SKIN FOR MY NEW SPELL BOOK”. He panicked, jutted his head forward and bit down as hard as he could on the demons family jewels, he felt the spiky hair on his face and in his mouth, a putrid stench filled his nose, he ground his jaw and felt the rotten testicle in his mouth give way. Ichor flowed out of his mouth and down his chin…..and the Demon let out a very high pitched squeal. An arc of lightning lanced from the mage racing across the room. Sarmenti sprung to his heels and propelled himself through the portal, that was now rapidly changing colours.

After a brief moment, he was falling, hitting the ground hard. Raising his head he could see an old wood door. The door burst open and a halfing male wearing a dress looked down at him. “Oh, thanks to the one, you’re here, quickly get on stage the other jester is hopeless”. Bewildered Sarmenti stood dusted himself off, and only now realised he was wearing half a jesters costume, that he had worn at the masquerade ball last night. He touched his head, yep jesters cap. Ran his finger across his forehead and looked at it, yep still had the makeup on. he turned his head to look for the portal, just in time to see it wink out of existence.

He thought for a moment about his town, They had kicked him out, his family, House of Riardon, sent him away to the Wizard college and told him to never come back. Finally the Wizards college, Apprentice to Tharivol the Opulesant, Archmage of The Court of Proper and Powerful Elven Wizards of the High Sun. Hmm, didn’t think it would be a good idea to go back there. So he shrugged his shoulders and walked up the steps to the door. A Jester huh, well I could do worse.