Smoketail has been a regular at The Happy Lizard for years. Every time he stopped by after a delivery, Smoketail would tell his friends and anyone present tales that he had acquired on his route. Sometimes it was just gossip or rumors, but Smoketail was determined to find the most interesting topics in order to entertain his audience. Last time he was here, we heard about a Scale Skinner hunt along the Luc-Luc border. The time before that, it was about a Siren who had sung in a festival and was met with overwhelming applause. Before that, it was the Hurpiti’s annual competitions. Whatever it was, Smoketail had a crowd around him that waited with anxious ears to hear him recount these stories.

Now that the first round of stomps had subsided, Smoketail continued on with minimal noise drowning him out. “I was just as pleased to hear they had put that crook away. Jumper the Sly is finally off the streets.”

“Did they find his stash?” One of Smoketail’s buddies, a stout Dragonic with a stain on his tunic, asked with a slight snarl.

“Yes they did, my friend,” Smoketail boomed. “What a trove it was! Buried under a fallen tree in Hurpiti territory. Jewelry and treasures all in a pile large enough to bury a man! I have to admit, Jumper had a knack for getting what he wanted.”

“Thankfully he’s gone,” The stout Dragonic addressed the assembled group, earning a mixed grumble of approval. “I’d heard enough of him stealing from homes of good Dragonics and the like!”

A charcoal-colored female blew a puff of smoke out of her nostrils. “At least that’s the worst that he did. Some have done much worse than that.” Her remark was also meet with agreements.

“Right you are!” Smoketail exclaimed. “I remember the crimes of Boa and Kelp from years back. Vile little mongrels!” More cheers. “And who could forget about Aurum and his reign!”

The charcoal Dragonic wiggled her wings, apparently in annoyance. “They were the worst. Thieves, murderers, liars! Any crook under the sun! Every village was shaking when he was around and rightfully so!”

“But he’s been quiet for years now,” A third Dragonic with small scars on his palms added. “There hasn’t been a word about him.”

“But he’s still out there,” the female Dragonic growled. “He was never caught; the best they could do was scare Aurum off. He’s quiet, but he’s just waiting, I’m sure.

Smoketail nodded along as they chatted. Then, with a flap of his wings, he continued. “Yes, old Aurum is a menace that is roaming free. That part is terribly true. Like all crooks and thieves, there is a story to tell, each of them with their own excitement and intrigue and cruelty. But they don’t have the showmanship of the Jester!”

“The Jester?” A Dragonic male with scars on his hands asked puzzled. “Isn’t that just some wannabe that failed to break into a Luc-Luc trade house a short stretch back?”

Smoketail’s body started jittering at the evident desire to tell his story. “That’s how they began, but the Jester has made strides! Just last month, they managed to slip into a Dragonic stronghold!”

Roars sprang up from several of the assembled. The stout male slammed his mug on the tabletop. The one with the scarred hands was making a hissing noise as if he were about to spew flames. The charcoal female had sparks springing from her fingertips as she grunted, “Impossible! Simply ludicrous! There is no way some lowly thief could break into one of our strongholds!”

“Oh, but it is, dear Ashcloud, it is. Not just any stronghold; they broke into none other than Lavapatch.”

More protests broke out as I drew a breath. Lavapatch is one of the Dragonics most heavily guarded strongholds, second only to the top level of Hearth. Some of the tribe’s most important leaders call the Lavapatch a temporary home. It is also where we hold meetings with other tribes and store some of the most important information that we’ve gathered. Lavapatch has lasted longer than any living Dragonic and had never been captured in times of conflict. Most intruders hardly get a foot past the gate, the luckiest halfway across the courtyard. If it wasn’t a well-known stronghold, the Lavapatch’s reputation would have made it seem like an impenetrable prison.

Ashcloud was still spilling some dimming sparks on to the tabletop. “Even so, it wouldn’t matter. The guards probably caught him within minutes, if not seconds. How far did the Jester get, Smoketail? The front gate? The courtyard? Or did they actually manage to reach the door?”

Smoketail scanned the faces of the gathered Dragonics before saying, “The Jester was found inside the Lavapatch’s vault.”

A collective gasp leads into a startled silence. Beryll threw me a surprised look before returning his attention to Smoketail. The Lavapatch’s vault… in the fortress’s very core… Who is this guy?

Smoketail nodded slowly, letting his revelation sink in before continuing. “The Jester had been standing shamelessly in the middle of the vault when it was opened. I was told they announced themselves and made some kind of joke, and then they attacked.” Smoketail lapsed back into silence as the gathered Dragonics looked at one another. Even Ashcloud was left speechless. Smoketail went on. “Four guards tried to apprehend the thief. The Jester left all of them in pools of their own blood, on the doorstep of death. Yet the Jester left them alive, leaving them to bleed as the thief left, a mad cackle following him. They disappeared into broad daylight, leaving no trace behind except for the mortally wounded guards.”

No one spoke for several long minutes. Beryll and I kept glancing at each other, trying to wrap our heads around what we had just heard. Not only did they break into Lavapatch, but the Jester nearly killed four of the tribe’s most notable soldiers? If this had come from anyone except Smoketail, I wouldn’t believe a word; however, Smoketail’s stories were always accurate.

Finally, the stout Dragonic cleared his throat. “How did you hear about this?” He asked.

Smoketail shook his head sadly. “I was assigned to stop over to deliver a message from the Naiads. When I arrived, the whole place was wrapped in tension and worry. I was told what happened from a servant, but I managed to find my way into the infirmary. Once there, one of the guards recounted the events, fear clear in his eyes. And that, I’m afraid, is only the first of the Joker’s recent actions.”

The scars on the large male Dragonic trembled as he flinched. “One of? What else has he done?”

Smoketail let out a long sigh before progressing. “My recent assignment kept me flying back and forth for a couple of weeks. One time, during a stop in Wake, I lost my messenger scarf at a tavern.” He gestured to the blue cloth wrapped around his arm. “It was lucky that I’m a familiar face because I wasn’t able to retrieve it for about a month. When I did, the bartender, a lad named Snapper, was quite frazzled. When I asked him what was troubling him, Snapper recounted the Jester’s actions of the night before: the Jester had attacked a group of kids out of the blue. As I can gather, one of them put up a valiant fight. Even so, the Jester was within seconds of killing them when one of the Naiad soldiers intervened. They drove the Jester away but weren’t able to capture the thief. The Jester vanished as they laughed, just like they did in Lavapatch.”

A couple of Dragonics took deep swigs from their mugs. Others rubbed their eyes with their fingers. Some just stared at a random spot in the room. Ashcloud said in the silence, “Children. What a terrible thing to do.” A few nodded as the silence continued.