The Court of Miracles. Yet another casino in Vegas, perhaps not quite as grandiose as some of the others; indeed, it could even be labelled as shabby in comparison. A simple, well-run establishment, where any honest man could walk away with a small fortune at the end of the day…provided that he entered with a larger one, naturally. Perhaps then, this was not the most appropriate name for a casino, the place where dreams were born and then promptly died, drowning in alcohol, narcotics of all sorts, and bad luck streaks that were born in their wake clinging to individuals with all the tenacity of the vomit stains that could be found on their clothing when they woke up the next morning remembering nothing: perhaps the only mercy granted them. But then, its owner had always had a rather ironic sense of humour, and was there any other kind of humour to be had in this world?
The Fool. As far as titles went, it was quite derogatory, although not entirely inaccurate, all things considered. Who could truly claim that they had never done anything foolish in their life, and who but a fool would make such a claim? Those assembled in front of him now had also acquired their own titles, monikers by which they led their lives. Little did they realise that each and every one of them could quite easily adopt one another’s titles, and life would continue for them as it had before.
Titles, labels, names…when it all came down to it, did they really have any use, any value? The Fool did not believe so, and it was with good nature and humour that he had accepted his wholeheartedly, chuckling at the confusion evident in the faces of those who had seen fit to give him such a grand title. That had been many years ago now, and time had shown but one thing: they had been the greater fools, for they were gone, and he remained. Now, a new generation sat before him, arrayed in his private office around a rather fine wooden table, a favourite piece of his; he had, after all, had it shipped in from England, carved from the largest tree he could find, polished to perfection, and quite immovable…unless one happened to have a crane, that is. Ah, but enough of the table. These new faces, then, arrayed before him: Kings, Queens, Knights, Pages, and others, seeking their fortune, whatever that may be. Would they prove to be yet another generation of fools? Or perhaps something greater? It was time, he believed, to find out precisely what destiny had in store for them. Fickle bitch that she was, he doubted that it would be anything promising…yet, no doubt, highly amusing. Such a small number, yet there would be others. The Fool ever attracted his own kind, after all.
He stood then, ascending to stand upon the stage behind him, the spotlight unable to find any purchase upon his black tuxedo, defying the light itself. My, but tonight was a night for poetry, and the best was yet to come! A sharp, staccato burst of sound as he clapped his gloved hands together, once, and the curtains parted, revealing the back wall. Chained to that wall, in the exact centre, was a woman. Naked and bloody – alas, she had refused to…what was that phrase? “Come quietly”? Yes, that sounded about right – and yet still ephemeral in her beauty. The perfect display, to illustrate his plans. He cleared his throat, inwardly pleased by the shock evident upon the faces of those arrayed before him, and began to speak into the silence:
“The World in chains.” He walked up to her, cupping her chin in one hand, to stare intently into her unconscious, battered (and yet, strangely symmetrical, even with the bruising) face for a moment, before letting her head drop once again, “Isn’t that a rather potent image? Yes, most potent indeed. The thing empires across the centuries of human history have coveted, poets have written of, and the delusional dreamed of. Again and again, throughout the centuries, destined to repeat itself until it either achieves its objectives or turns to impotent dust. So, here we have the image made a reality! Why, what happens now? Does humanity, suddenly sated, move forward, to the next conquest? ” He paused, clapping his gloved hands together softly once and then spreading his arms, as though to embrace them all, “Or does it simply…collapse? What happens once the heart’s desire is fulfilled? I wonder…”
He stepped off the stage then, out of the glaring spotlight, to walk around the table, studying each of them in turn. Kings, Queens, Knights, Pages. Why, it was almost like a fairy tale of old! Wasn’t that something? “Cardinal Virtues…and they have the audacity to label me as “The Fool”. Well, the Fool I may be, but I am not so conceited as to believe I am so immutable, so absolute. These virtues, these fools - if you will permit me such crass wordplay – they do not understand what it is to be powerful. They view it exclusively as a contest. This against that. Which is greater? Who stands, and who falls? Nonsense. Barbarism. Folly. Power, my friends, it is not about the conflict! It is not about the many futile battles they endure, or even what they choose to represent. No, power is about statements, it is about presence. How, I ask you, can ephemeral concepts such as Justice, Temperance and Strength, how can they have any true presence? How can they make any true statements? What is Justice? What is Strength? What is Temperance? What is the World?”
The Fool paused then, glancing back, to consider the illuminated form of the World hanging before him once again. Or, rather, the vessel that housed her spirit. She would not even manifest herself before him. It was quite vexing…not to mention extremely rude. Such an audience she had! Why, it was most improper for the actors to not acknowledge their audience. The art of involvement, as though each and every one of them were important in some small, yet significant, manner; that was true acting. That she would abandon her host utterly, leaving her to whatever cruel fate the Fool had in store for her (assuming, of course, that the fate was cruel…he had planned no particular malice. She would hang there, but the chains would be comfortable, and she would be kept clean and fed…much like an animal, in fact.) whilst she cowered in the recesses of her soul…why, it simply proved that he had been right all along. But, ah, enough of that. Now, he must prove that he was indeed right to these simpletons arranged in front of him, the instruments of his will. Human souls, surrendered to the power of spirits who had lost their place in this world and sought to fashion a new one, and minor spirits that could not even exist outside of their chains without him there to hold their hands, who would not wield even a fraction of the power that he had were it not for him. Pitiful. Pathetic. Perfect.
“These are abstract, ideological concepts with absolutely no bearing upon this world or any other.” he resumed then, hands behind his back, fingers laced together. “Uncountable millions, billions of perspectives – where is the absolute within this? Why, what is the value in being an absolute at all? The shore ever retreats before the sea, the mountain is ever worn down by the wind. To place yourself above others, rigid and immutable, is only to invite one of those lowlifes beneath you to show you just how wrong you are, that you are just like everyone else. What are Justice, Strength and Temperance? Why, they are nothing more than concepts that you have invented yourself! There are no physical manifestations of these things, beyond what you yourself choose to create! Once you realise that, why, they have no power over at you. Making them just like every other poor spirit in this world. Cardinal Virtues, indeed! The World, my friends, is what you make it. See, then, what I have wrought.”
The Fool paused again, to take up a crystal glass from the table, taking a small sip of the pungent liquor contained within. No doubt they were all thinking the same thing: that includes you, as well. Yet who could deny their nature? If it was within their nature, could they be blamed for it? Certainly not! Each of them, be they a spirit of power or the lowest human, would act in accordance to their nature, and it was ever in the nature of sentient beings to scheme, to kill. Why, he would have to be quite the fool indeed to ignore such forces! See again, then, the irony in the title. It was in the Fool’s very nature to lead others into the fire…and it was in their nature to follow him, even as their flesh blackened and their bones were reduced to powder. The second they attempted to go against their nature…well, that would be quite a tragic day, for all concerned.
Yet such conflict truly was a waste of time, for all concerned. What did it accomplish? Yet one more death. Death was without meaning, without purpose. It was dull and dreary, and the Fool did not want it upon this stage…well, not yet, anyway. All things would come in time, for all things had both a beginning and an end, even Death itself. In fact, Death had perhaps the briefest span of all, for its beginning was also its end. Death’s presence on this stage would be very brief, and its departure would not be mourned. Well, perhaps one or two tears would be shed, for posterity. Such things must ever be observed. The Fool ascended the stage once more, the sound of his footsteps hard and cruel on the wooden steps, enough to make several of the audience flinch. Oh, what was going through their minds right now? Such imaginations!
“I believe, my friends, that they have placed their necks in the noose of conceit.” He raised his glass in the direction of the young man who held the spirit of the Hanged Man within him, and then drank deeply, “All that is necessary is for someone, anyone, to simply…kick the support out from under them, and watch that conceit snap their necks. Brutal metaphor, utterly barbaric…” a smile, hard and cruel, flickered across his face, “…but my, what a statement it would make, hmm?”
He clapped his hands sharply, prompting the red velvet curtains to slowly close, on the motionless form of the World, and the smiling, masked face of the Fool himself. No clearer message could be delivered than that. One show had ended, yet another was about to begin.
So, my friends. Let the show begin.
The Fool. As far as titles went, it was quite derogatory, although not entirely inaccurate, all things considered. Who could truly claim that they had never done anything foolish in their life, and who but a fool would make such a claim? Those assembled in front of him now had also acquired their own titles, monikers by which they led their lives. Little did they realise that each and every one of them could quite easily adopt one another’s titles, and life would continue for them as it had before.
Titles, labels, names…when it all came down to it, did they really have any use, any value? The Fool did not believe so, and it was with good nature and humour that he had accepted his wholeheartedly, chuckling at the confusion evident in the faces of those who had seen fit to give him such a grand title. That had been many years ago now, and time had shown but one thing: they had been the greater fools, for they were gone, and he remained. Now, a new generation sat before him, arrayed in his private office around a rather fine wooden table, a favourite piece of his; he had, after all, had it shipped in from England, carved from the largest tree he could find, polished to perfection, and quite immovable…unless one happened to have a crane, that is. Ah, but enough of the table. These new faces, then, arrayed before him: Kings, Queens, Knights, Pages, and others, seeking their fortune, whatever that may be. Would they prove to be yet another generation of fools? Or perhaps something greater? It was time, he believed, to find out precisely what destiny had in store for them. Fickle bitch that she was, he doubted that it would be anything promising…yet, no doubt, highly amusing. Such a small number, yet there would be others. The Fool ever attracted his own kind, after all.
He stood then, ascending to stand upon the stage behind him, the spotlight unable to find any purchase upon his black tuxedo, defying the light itself. My, but tonight was a night for poetry, and the best was yet to come! A sharp, staccato burst of sound as he clapped his gloved hands together, once, and the curtains parted, revealing the back wall. Chained to that wall, in the exact centre, was a woman. Naked and bloody – alas, she had refused to…what was that phrase? “Come quietly”? Yes, that sounded about right – and yet still ephemeral in her beauty. The perfect display, to illustrate his plans. He cleared his throat, inwardly pleased by the shock evident upon the faces of those arrayed before him, and began to speak into the silence:
“The World in chains.” He walked up to her, cupping her chin in one hand, to stare intently into her unconscious, battered (and yet, strangely symmetrical, even with the bruising) face for a moment, before letting her head drop once again, “Isn’t that a rather potent image? Yes, most potent indeed. The thing empires across the centuries of human history have coveted, poets have written of, and the delusional dreamed of. Again and again, throughout the centuries, destined to repeat itself until it either achieves its objectives or turns to impotent dust. So, here we have the image made a reality! Why, what happens now? Does humanity, suddenly sated, move forward, to the next conquest? ” He paused, clapping his gloved hands together softly once and then spreading his arms, as though to embrace them all, “Or does it simply…collapse? What happens once the heart’s desire is fulfilled? I wonder…”
He stepped off the stage then, out of the glaring spotlight, to walk around the table, studying each of them in turn. Kings, Queens, Knights, Pages. Why, it was almost like a fairy tale of old! Wasn’t that something? “Cardinal Virtues…and they have the audacity to label me as “The Fool”. Well, the Fool I may be, but I am not so conceited as to believe I am so immutable, so absolute. These virtues, these fools - if you will permit me such crass wordplay – they do not understand what it is to be powerful. They view it exclusively as a contest. This against that. Which is greater? Who stands, and who falls? Nonsense. Barbarism. Folly. Power, my friends, it is not about the conflict! It is not about the many futile battles they endure, or even what they choose to represent. No, power is about statements, it is about presence. How, I ask you, can ephemeral concepts such as Justice, Temperance and Strength, how can they have any true presence? How can they make any true statements? What is Justice? What is Strength? What is Temperance? What is the World?”
The Fool paused then, glancing back, to consider the illuminated form of the World hanging before him once again. Or, rather, the vessel that housed her spirit. She would not even manifest herself before him. It was quite vexing…not to mention extremely rude. Such an audience she had! Why, it was most improper for the actors to not acknowledge their audience. The art of involvement, as though each and every one of them were important in some small, yet significant, manner; that was true acting. That she would abandon her host utterly, leaving her to whatever cruel fate the Fool had in store for her (assuming, of course, that the fate was cruel…he had planned no particular malice. She would hang there, but the chains would be comfortable, and she would be kept clean and fed…much like an animal, in fact.) whilst she cowered in the recesses of her soul…why, it simply proved that he had been right all along. But, ah, enough of that. Now, he must prove that he was indeed right to these simpletons arranged in front of him, the instruments of his will. Human souls, surrendered to the power of spirits who had lost their place in this world and sought to fashion a new one, and minor spirits that could not even exist outside of their chains without him there to hold their hands, who would not wield even a fraction of the power that he had were it not for him. Pitiful. Pathetic. Perfect.
“These are abstract, ideological concepts with absolutely no bearing upon this world or any other.” he resumed then, hands behind his back, fingers laced together. “Uncountable millions, billions of perspectives – where is the absolute within this? Why, what is the value in being an absolute at all? The shore ever retreats before the sea, the mountain is ever worn down by the wind. To place yourself above others, rigid and immutable, is only to invite one of those lowlifes beneath you to show you just how wrong you are, that you are just like everyone else. What are Justice, Strength and Temperance? Why, they are nothing more than concepts that you have invented yourself! There are no physical manifestations of these things, beyond what you yourself choose to create! Once you realise that, why, they have no power over at you. Making them just like every other poor spirit in this world. Cardinal Virtues, indeed! The World, my friends, is what you make it. See, then, what I have wrought.”
The Fool paused again, to take up a crystal glass from the table, taking a small sip of the pungent liquor contained within. No doubt they were all thinking the same thing: that includes you, as well. Yet who could deny their nature? If it was within their nature, could they be blamed for it? Certainly not! Each of them, be they a spirit of power or the lowest human, would act in accordance to their nature, and it was ever in the nature of sentient beings to scheme, to kill. Why, he would have to be quite the fool indeed to ignore such forces! See again, then, the irony in the title. It was in the Fool’s very nature to lead others into the fire…and it was in their nature to follow him, even as their flesh blackened and their bones were reduced to powder. The second they attempted to go against their nature…well, that would be quite a tragic day, for all concerned.
Yet such conflict truly was a waste of time, for all concerned. What did it accomplish? Yet one more death. Death was without meaning, without purpose. It was dull and dreary, and the Fool did not want it upon this stage…well, not yet, anyway. All things would come in time, for all things had both a beginning and an end, even Death itself. In fact, Death had perhaps the briefest span of all, for its beginning was also its end. Death’s presence on this stage would be very brief, and its departure would not be mourned. Well, perhaps one or two tears would be shed, for posterity. Such things must ever be observed. The Fool ascended the stage once more, the sound of his footsteps hard and cruel on the wooden steps, enough to make several of the audience flinch. Oh, what was going through their minds right now? Such imaginations!
“I believe, my friends, that they have placed their necks in the noose of conceit.” He raised his glass in the direction of the young man who held the spirit of the Hanged Man within him, and then drank deeply, “All that is necessary is for someone, anyone, to simply…kick the support out from under them, and watch that conceit snap their necks. Brutal metaphor, utterly barbaric…” a smile, hard and cruel, flickered across his face, “…but my, what a statement it would make, hmm?”
He clapped his hands sharply, prompting the red velvet curtains to slowly close, on the motionless form of the World, and the smiling, masked face of the Fool himself. No clearer message could be delivered than that. One show had ended, yet another was about to begin.
So, my friends. Let the show begin.
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