p’Deehb’s Journey

By Jacob Harris

1.
Bells jingled merrily as a short green Grung skipped along the brick road, eyes
fixated on the castle that loomed ahead, its spires casting pointy shadows on the
ground that p’Deehb traveled. A brass horn was held tightly within smooth, bulbous
digits. The small creature, despite his happy demeanor, dreaded his destination; it was
inside the castle that he’d be ostracized and teased by the jeering remarks of the
O’Keeffes and their subjects. But they had books. p’Deehb loved books, loved them
more than anything. When he wasn’t eating, working, or sleeping, he had his nose
buried in a book, seeking all the information he could. He had a religious history, where
he held a good deal of power. However, that soon became past as the royal family took
over Unoniel, his home. Accepting the role of jester was the only way he kept his life.
Soon enough, he had reached the castle. His feet ached and his body was moist
with sticky sweat. The guards insulted him as he trudged through the doors, which was
so routine by now that he paid it no mind. Ahead of him the O’Keeffes, with noses
upturned and long, dramatic silks hanging over the armrests of their thrones, sat. In the
middle, King Morgan yelled with scorn at a woman in tattered clothes kneeled, pleading
for his forgiveness. It was obvious that she would not get her way, and once the king got
bored he waved a hand and, much to the woman’s opposition, two guards dragged her
away from the room by her hood. A sigh barely transpired from p’Deehb as he stepped
forwards, gazing upwards at the king. A sinister grin spread across the faces of all the
snobs glaring down as he stepped up, bells tinkling faintly. The king said only three
words: “Dance for me.”
The Grung’s head rang with anger, his fist clenching behind his back, but he
couldn’t rebel. All he could do was comply, performing a pathetic jig in front of his rulers
for an uncomfortable amount of time before, like the woman before, he was cut off by
the king. “My heart feels… heavy, boy. Tell me a joke.” p’Deehb then recited the joke
that always caused a laugh from the king, to which he, and only he, laughed. This
laughter went on for an uncomfortably long time, before he coughed, cleared his throat,
and sat up, shaking his head. “You can go.”

2.
That wasn’t too bad, he thought, turning around to face the many individuals
lined up behind him. He walked forwards toward the large doors, but before he was able
to escape, a beggar grasped his arm, dirty nails snagging on the violet fabric of his
costume. “Meet me. By the hanging grounds. I have a job for you,” the beggar said in a
harsh, raspy whisper. p’Deehb only gave a nod, shrugging off his hand and making his
way out of the castle. As he walked down the path, the warm sun beating down on his
head, his eyes wandered towards the hanging grounds, a simple wooden platform with
an arch from which multiple ropes hung.

3.
p’Deehb thought about the man’s words for a moment, chewed them, spat them
back out, and shook his head. No, he wouldn’t. The peasants were below him. They
smelled desperate, a condition the king had brought upon them. His lip quivered with
anger as he thought of the suffering his people went through under the O’Keeffes’ rule.
The jester stopped in his tracks, gazing at the nooses only a short walk away, and he
walked. There was barely a path to the hanging grounds, the grass damp and slippery
under his shoes. Not long after, he had arrived, glancing around for the individual that
had stopped him. He sighed as he ran a hand across the splintered wood, walking up
the steps and tugging lightly on one of the nooses with his hand.
His reminiscence was cut short as a voice spoke up behind him. “You came.” He
turned around, looking the decrepit man in the eyes. His hair was long and scraggly, a
hood thrown over it to combat the jungle of locs. He wore a shawl that covered only his
shoulders, his thin peasant clothes concealing the rest. There was a phantom of a smile
on his cracked lips. He stepped forward, pulling a parchment from his pocket and
placing it in p’Deehb’s hand.
4.
“I know what you think of the king. What he does to you is unjust.” The man
coughed, closing the jester’s fingers around the paper. “You want to do something. You
can. We need you to. Follow this map; there are people here,” the man said, nodding
towards the map in p’Deehb’s hand, which he had now unfurled, allowing the man to
poke with a trembling finger, “that will help bring you the justice you deserve.”
p’Deehb only gave a solemn nod, stepping away from the hanging grounds.
“Peace be with you,” shouted the beggar. The Grung gave a nod which caused his bells
to jingle again and stepped away, eyes now fixated on the map. The destination wasn’t
far, just a short journey in the direction he was already going. He looked up, scanning
the wall of trees for the sign that would point him in the right direction.
5.
Luckily, the man’s instructions were relatively simple. p’Deehb had already
wandered lightly through the woods, so he knew the place well, but as he looked around
he spotted something he hadn’t seen before: acorns strung from tree to tree, a subtle
cajole in the direction he needed to go. Those weren’t always there, he thought, raising
an eyebrow in suspicion. He concluded that they had only been put up recently, which
was enough for him. He continued walking, following the acorns above him.

6.
The going was good for a while, spare the occasional deer that charged at him,
swarms of bugs, and even the howling of wolves, all of which he evaded fortuitously. It
seemed to him that he was getting close, as he had just passed the tree with a hole all
the way through it. The trees got thicker as he moved onwards, the sun barely peeking
through the leaves. p’Deehb paused to take a break, sitting himself down on a fallen log
nearby. It was then that he heard a faint rustling across from him. His senses
heightened as from the bushes appeared a horrific figure a few feet taller, its skin gray
and hairy and a large bald spot shining on its head. “Grimlock,” said the jester faintly,
scrambling to his feet and slowly stepping away. Unlike the other trifles that p’Deehb
experienced on his journey, this enemy followed him, groaning lowly and lumbering with
ungainliness. It raised its bone club, roaring and beginning to rush towards the Grung.
He turned tail and ran, jumping over rocks and dodging around trees to obstruct the
Grimlock. However, the monster’s pure rage caused him to push faster than p’Deehb,
stumbling through the obstacles placed about its path. His legs ached but he continued
to run, scouring his brain for a way to overcome the creature.
It didn’t take him long; he had read any journal on monsters he could find, cover
to cover, twice. As the monster still trudged on, p’Deehb stopped, turning around and
fumbling to grasp a rock from the ground. Holding the stone up, he felt warmth course
through his arms, sending a shiver down his spine before the rock turned into a beam of
blinding light. He covered his eyes with his free arm, looking away as the light flared.
The jester took a dare to peek from between his fingers, catching the Grimlock
scampering away with its eyes covered with its hands, wailing with pain. The stone’s
light faded and he let it fall to the ground, watching as the monster faded into the
darkness of the forest. A grin spread across his face as he reveled momentarily in his
success. However, he didn’t have long to celebrate, as again he was startled by a
sound near him; this time it sounded like footsteps. The footsteps then multiplied, but
there wasn’t enough energy in his body to fight another enemy, let alone multiple at
once. The footsteps grew closer and closer as p’Deehb sat with his eyes closed,
accepting whatever his fate would be.
A voice spoke up, a hand shaking his shoulder. “Did that light… come from you?”
they said, to which the Grung lifted his head, gazing up into the eyes of a human.
“There was a Grimlock. I scared it away with that light.” He looked around him, into the
eyes of several people gazing at him in wonder. “Wow…” said one of them in wonder as
the one who had approached him stepped back. In front of him there were four
individuals, each stunningly different from each other. There was a Dragonborn with
green, scaly skin and a thick leather coat. He wondered how that was comfortable in
this environment. Next to the Dragonborn was a human, his brown hair long and falling
around his shoulders. He wore a long, buttoned-up jacket and his gloved hands sat
neatly clasped in front of him, a long and thin sword sheathed on his side. On his left
there was another human, this one tall with shoulders covered in intricate tattoos. He
was bald and held a heavy greatsword.. Lastly, there was a Kenku, his posture clearly
the worst out of the group and a hood thrown over his bird head. In both hands he held
two kris daggers that glinted in the light of the midday sun. “You talked to Brody, didn’t
you? He organized us to kill King Morgan. You wanna come with?” The jester’s head
whirled as he tried to take in all of the events he had just witnessed, so all he could do
was give a sheepish nod. “Cool. Are you hungry? I’ve got food.”

7.
The group went on their way. p’Deehb would learn that the long-haired human
was Welles, the bald one Rodell, the dragonborn was Ulric, although she usually went
by Seeker, and the Kenku was Bookslam. At first he was confused by the last one’s
name, but he then remembered that the crow-like creatures were often named by others
based on the sound they made. “So, what’d the king do to you, hm?” asked Bookslam,
wringing his hands. “Oh, um, I’m his jester. Pretty self-explanatory,” p’Deehb
responded, to which the crow squawked humorously. “I see! Most of us are doing this
because of how much he taxed us.”
The conversation went on, jumping from topic to topic on their way back to the
castle. Somehow the journey back seemed shorter than the journey there. Soon they
were facing the castle’s right side. Rodell shuddered, shifting the weight of his weapon
on his shoulder. “Here we are…” said Ulric, looking around at the faces of the others.
“Let’s go,” Welles said, pushing ahead of the others and walking straight to the castle.

8.
They were at the castle’s entrance in what felt like seconds due to the excitement
coursing through p’Deehb’s veins. “I can get us in,” he whispered, ushering the others to
hide by the stairs. They weren’t greatly concealed, but he didn’t expect the guards to
look very hard. He approached the large doors, looking up at the two men whose faces
were concealed behind metal helmets. He already knew they were grinning, but he
didn’t care. Once the doors were open, he flinched as he heard one of the guards groan
and fall to the ground, the other following soon after. Bookslam snickered as he
pocketed the men’s belongings and the others made their way up the stairs.
The royal family didn’t notice the guards falling as they were too engrossed in
their midday feast, so the posse was able to slip inside. They hid behind a large pillar as
they conspired a plan. The jester would distract them as Bookslam climbed up to the
ceiling and Seeker would take out any other guards before they launched their attack.
p’Deehb took out his horn for one last performance, playing it loudly as to grasp
the attention of those dining. Bookslam then crawled up the wall, whispering a quick
“good luck” before he disappeared. Seeker began to patrol the perimeter, and Welles
and Rodell barely concealed their weapons. “Your Highness,” said the jester, “I have
taken it upon myself to put together a small band for your enjoyment. Consider it dinner
and a show.” Welles smiled down at him, watching the once-taciturn Grung get into his
true element. It would seem that even during the short travel from the woods to the
castle, he had been empowered by the others. Some of the royals clapped, but the king
eyed him suspiciously. He considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Then play, boy!”
said King Morgan impatiently.
The jester rose his horn, pressing his lips to it and blowing strongly and evenly.
The note rang out and, while everyone had their heads turned towards the group, a
flash of black flew down behind the king, and in the blink of an eye the large man was
sputtering in pain, blood pooling inside his mouth. Ulris reappeared beside the two
humans and the Grung, fresh blood spilt on her clothes. The three grinned at her before
Welles unsheathed and brandished his sword, and Rodell readied his greatsword. By
now the royal family’s suspicions had grown and some had made their way for an exit,
but Bookslam was quicker, cornering them and swiftly taking them out. Panic set in the
room as the rest of the O’Keeffes and their subjects realized what was going on. “The
king… is dead!” screamed the queen, whose chair screeched in retaliation as she stood
up. The two humans rushed forward, charging towards their nearest targets. Welles was
able to impale one on his blade, while Rodell had targeted the tallest and strongest of
the group. He struggled slightly against the opponent, which p’Deehb noticed and
played stronger to aide him. Soon enough the large man was on the floor with a large
gash in his chest, and Rodell was advancing on the next individual. The jester heard
heavy footsteps behind him, and Ulris was charging forwards, pulling out a sword of her
own from within her coat, releasing a war cry and slashing wildly at the king’s son, who
cried out below her blade, hands up in pathetic protest. Soon enough his screaming
was cut short as carmine blood spilled onto the floor. The posse continued their
massacre until nobody was left, leaving the floor littered with bodies, blood painting the
table and the floor. “Where’s the queen?” Ulris remarked, which nobody heard.
9.
p’Deehb climbed upon the table as the others looted the corpses. He crawled up
to the king’s unconscious, bloodied figure and carefully took the glimmering crown off of
his head, placing it on his own instead. He grinned as he stared at King Morgan’s
lifeless body, and before he turned back around he also snagged the rings from his
fingers. Bookslam sneered as he pocketed the shiniest things he could find, and by the
time they left his pockets jingled and clanged as metal collided with metal. The group all
patted each other on the shoulder and grinned as they recounted their specific
experiences during the fight. “It wasn’t really a fight. None of them fought back,” said
Ulris, elbowing Rodell playfully. “Yeah, ‘cause they were all to big, dumb, and lazy to
defend themselves.” Everyone laughed at that, p’Deehb’s laughter noticeably fainter
than the rest of the group’s. Bookslam nudged him, adjusting the crown atop his head.
“Hey, if it weren’t for you we would’ve probably failed. That one song you played ‘bout
halfway through really got my blood pumping, you know?” The jester smiled faintly,
looking up at the crow. “Thank you.” It was an unfamiliar but not unwelcome change, as
when he was just a jester he never saw praise.
10.
Behind them there was a scream, and they turned around to see the queen
pointing at them like a child tattling on another. Around them there appeared over a
dozen guards, all preparing spears and shields. “Those are the ones that killed the
king!” cried the queen. The group looked all around them, looking through the slits in the
guards’ helmets into their eyes. They compressed themselves, assuming a defensive
position.

11.
p’Deehb nervously moved into the tight circle the posse had formed. An idea
struck him soon enough, and he brandished his horn. In a hurry he played a few notes,
though his tone was off due to his urgent demeanor. He took a deep breath in before
playing again, this time crisp and causing the guards to do a double-take. Around them
there was suddenly a wall of guards similar to those surrounding them. Metal shifted as
the guards prepared to attack. They charged forwards. Rodell swung his large blade in
an arc in front of himself, sending a few of the guards flying back. Those unaffected by
the attack continued to charge forwards, expecting to collide head-on with the heroes’
guards. Instead, they passed through them. Upon this realization, they realized that the
guards were simply illusions, but by the time they’d regained their bearings the group
was already exiting through the opening caused by Rodell’’s swing. The guards chased
them, shouting angrily. The group turned around to face them, preparing their weapons.
p’Deehb fumbled with a potion on his side before finally pulling it off of his belt and
throwing it at the approaching enemies. As soon as it hit the ground before them, the
guards’ feet flew out from under them, causing them to squirm in attempt to get back to
their feet. Welles, Rodell, and Ulris all took this as a chance to strike, which they did
efficiently. First, Ulris bellowed heavily and an onslaught of green smog advanced
quickly towards the guards. Some began to choke while others turned their faces away.
Rodell took this as a chance to strike, again swinging in a wide arc in front of him. Many
of the guards flew back, blood seeping through their chainmail. Welles came soon after,
slicing up any opponents that had managed to get to their feet. The group continued to
strike, p’Deehb playing his horn at a quicker tempo than ever before and rapidly healing
his allies. Soon enough the area looked similar to the castle’s dining room, bodies
strewn across the terrain with the dirt around them becoming crimson. The only person
remaining was the queen, who stood paralyzed staring at the posse. She then turned
tail and ran, nearly tripping over her dress. The heroes paid her no mind, instead turning
around as Bookslam took the opportunity to, again, loot the victims’ bodies. By now his
pockets were brimming with loot.

12.
The group made their way down to the sad village, striding confidently through
the streets as the peasants looked on. Rodell now carried p’Deehb on his shoulders,
and when a crowd had formed around them the Grung held up the king’s crown.
“People of Unoniel,” announced Welles, “The monarch King Morgan has been slain.
You are now free from his reign.” The crowd was quiet for a moment besides the faint
murmurings. Within moments, however, a cheer rose up within the town, many throwing
their hands up in the air. The crowd moved in on the heroes to give their thanks. A few
people picked up p’Deehb and gave him a firm hug without mind to the blood on his
outfit. He would grin into their shoulders, overwhelmed by the joy of having his
achievements recognized.
Once the crowd had calmed down, the Grung played a merry tune on his horn.
Any trace of the O’Keeffeses reign was removed, including the glorifying statue of King
Morgan which was defaced and soon pulled down with ropes. The people flooded out
into the streets, all spaced out, and danced happily to the music that p’Deehb
orchestrated, now aided by the few bards that occupied the town as well. A sense of
peace sprawled out over the town as the people celebrated late into the night. Ulris,
Bookslam and p’Deehb all ventured back to the castle to raid their food supply, soon
returning to the town with sacks full of bread and other food. Ulris carried the wine kegs,
which they set up in the square. The people ate and drank, cheering for the posse until
they stumbled back into their homes to get a good night’s rest. The children had
collected fireflies in jars, which were now strung between buildings. p’Deehb, Welles,
Rodell, Ulris, and Bookslam all looked at the peaceful town with pride. Even though it
was now far into the night and it was dark and cold, the town seemed brighter than it
had ever been in a long time. The heroes set up a temporary home in one of the many
abandoned buildings throughout the village and slept there for the night. “Get some rest,
everyone. We have a long day ahead of us,” said Welles as they laid down to sleep. By
then the sky was already beginning to become just the slightest bit pink, but even then
the town and the posse all slept peacefully, all just looking towards the days they had
ahead of them.