The jester majestically walked along the training grounds as his shining costume glistened in the sun's light as he moved about. Reality was, the court bored him to death. All those stuffy nobles, high headed mannerisms, all of it. Well, he was far accustomed to such mediocrity, but the jester himself found himself performing for them to no end. Though today he decided to set a difference pace for himself, a change of scenery one might call it. Walking out into the training grounds, perhaps getting some odd looks from the fellow soldiers as he strolled about confidently, his head high in the air as a smile tinged his face. Gleefully glad to be merry, Pierre was content in this change of view. Out in the fresh air, he could hear the birds chirping and feel the breeze blow his dangling hat gently. What better day than today for a nice training. Perhaps the assassin within him beckoned him here, his true calling beyond the darkness. He was a deadly killer after all. A heartless murderer who left his victims wallowing in the dead of night. Or perhaps that's just how the rumors so went as the jester fumbled and bumbled about, leaving no trace of his schemes.

Making his way through the grounds, watching all the soldiers train and practice entertained, he looked at them curiously as they all collided swords against each other, their footsteps moving as if they were dancing. But Pierre knew that he was a better dancer. Feeling ashamed and disgusted by his fellow immortals, he walked away. Soon, he came across the dummies, looking at their faces carefully as he inspected the hay. Even he could draw better faces than that! What outrageousness. You call that art? But nevertheless, he saw another soldier come up next to him, practicing by using his spear against the dummy. Pierre's chocolate eyes watched, studied him from the side as he stood there waiting. Mimicking the man's movements, Pierre himself began to punch the face of the dummy lightly. Perhaps he was getting better at fighting he hoped. But the dummy just sat there smiling at him. He made a grimacing face, upset by the fact that this was getting him nowhere. His shoulders slouched as he walked on, onto the better training grounds where it was more empty. There he decided that perhaps an opponent worthy of battle would face him with honor.

He stepped into the ring with the grace of a clumsy man. However he stood tall, proud to be an immortal fighter. Or at least in his mind he was. But not many knew of his secret talents. His status of a jester was just a show. In reality he was a deadly assassin, one capable of more than just funny tricks. Or was that merely the case? As he stood there, he knew that it was time to put his battling capability to the test. His mind harkened back to the times of old, using the ancient arts similar to that of kung fu or tai chi as some might call it. Pierre breathed the fresh air, closing his eyes as he gathered his strength. His aura swirled within him, using all forces of his spirit to collide into one as he imagined the great strength being unraveled. The force of the lion, the speed of a cheetah, the grace of a swan, the ferocity of a mule... or was it a panda? No... wait... a squirrel. He took a moment to think about it but then he thought that it wasn't too important. His eyes opening as he then got into a pose, looking like a crane as his arms held high in midair, hands facing downwards. His leg also lifted into the air, and his bushy dark eyebrows narrowed over his eyes. Emitting a strange noise like the call of some foreign animal he yelled his war cry to his next opponent. Which he didn't expect to see but a woman with red hair stood a distance away. His eyebrows then waggled before he gave a mighty and powerful kick, as if to show off to the lady before him.

The fiery-haired beauty answered his call, as he still stood there with one leg hanging in the air, she asked him a question. Soon enough, Pierre dropped his other leg to the ground, standing straight as he looked at her with more of a normal look. "A drink," he said, because he was thirsty. To be an expert in the ancient arts of immortal warfare, one's thirst must always be quenched. (And have a good diet too.) Pulling off his hat conveniently there was a flask sitting in there almost waiting for him. Delighted he pulled it out from his hat, looking up at the captain as if he were showing her a magic trick. Of course, maybe it was seeing her own flask that made him thirsty... but he would never steal such a thing. He was too kind of a gentleman. Anyway, he then took the flask of water, guzzling it down before wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Looking back at her with an, exhausted, yet quenched look on his face, he then dramatically placed it back into his hat before fitting it back onto his head again, two hands moving the top around as he adjusted it. Well, that's what he needed right? What was he doing again? Oh, that's right, training. He had to get back into his groove. Placing two hands onto his knees as he bent over, Pierre then lifted one leg high into the sky sideways, very much like as if he was doing sumo, before promptly slamming it onto the ground again. The floor must be shaking from his powerful impact, he thought, but in fact it was his leg stinging.

He looked at her with seriousness as he then bent his arms upwards, toward his chest as he then began the similar praying mantis like look from before. His "claws" facing outward, then he punched them in the air one by one, slowly, deadly, precise. Of course they were slow, then quick, but not effective since there wasn't anyone on the other side. However it was more of a show than actual fighting as he did not aim at anything in particular. Then he lifted his legs one by one, lunging in her direction as he continued to punch at the air. Standing a short distance away, he then landed in a half-kneeling pose, his arms still raised in the air as his torso turned sideways. One hand faced in her direction, all of his fingers pointing toward her before he then turned it around so the back of it faced her. Then it gestured for her to come to him. To fight him. Beckoning a challenge. Indeed, it would be a worthy battle.

The woman had repeated herself once again. Had she not known the devastatingly dangerous man that was Pierre? No, she had not heard of his reputation, of course. So innocent in the sunlight, the jester of the court, within the darkness, not only of the night, but within his heart, was a man that was so mysteriously dangerous. And handsome. But mostly dangerous as any assassin could be. Well, for Pierre that was anyway. She did not accept his challenge, taking him seriously, as anyone most likely would but Pierre kept his stance, shifting only slightly but his brown eyes like chocolate continued to gaze in her direction. He was ready to fight even if she was not. "Fight me," he said, in a somewhat lower tone than usual. But the silly grin was still on his face as he smiled at her, waiting for the captain to approach him in battle. Either that or, she would most likely protest in foolishly attacking the court jester. But she had a chance of defeating the mysterious assassin of the night, even if she didn't know it yet. He probably didn't know himself of what she was going to do, nor what to expect from himself. He was confident in his own fighting ability, but could it really match that of a trained knight? In his head he did. But that didn't matter now as he challenged her. Well, a wise old man once said that in order to become better at fighting one must fight someone better than himself. And that Pierre was doing.

He didn't move, awaiting for her to come toward him. A true master of martial arts would not attack directly, that would give too much away at first glance. Instead, he would have to surprise her... Well he didn't know what he was going to do if she did attack him first... He continued to think upon that as he waited.

She was no match for his extreme fighting prowess, Pierre thought. His eyes, dark as night stared his opponent down as she accepted his challenge. Finally, there shall be some excitement in his life. He braced himself as she came forward. Of course, the jester that he was he was also a skilled assassin. He knew all the tricks of the trade, all the secrets of battle and the arts of which best suited him. Where did he wish to start? A flurry of fast fists? Perhaps even a high kick? Or maybe even, better, a roundhouse to knock her straight out of the park. But as the old, ancient, immortal was debating his next set of movements, he stood there rather dumbly as she grabbed his head and shoulder, causing him to already stumble forward. His arms circled in the air wildly as to regain his balance, but before he knew it his step tripped over hers. Pierre looked at the ground as he continued to stumble about, his legs tossing and turning every which way before he found himself practically tripping over his own feet as well as he clumsily fell forward.

His face planted into the dirt of the ground, his rear high in the air as he was completely fallen.

His face lifted from the dirt, spitting out a few grains as his big brown eyes peered up at her as she asked him if he was ok and offered a hand to help him up. Slowly rising from the ground, he didn't even notice he lost the battle. Well, if one could call it a battle. The jester got whooped by the captain, but that was to be expected when such silliness occurred. Right now he focused on the little hurts, bruises here and there, perhaps a cut on his knee maybe? He couldn't tell but perhaps the jester would be alright. Alright to perform in the court when he arrived back there, at least. "I'm fine," he said, but desperately looked up at her as he reached to take her hand to stand. Once he stood he looked back down at himself. His beautiful jester outfit! Ruined! It was only dirty in a few places, but as he then dusted himself off as he tried to get his clothes clean the best he could. Then he spotted his hat laying on the ground. Pierre walked over to go pick it up, but as he walked over his legs twisted around each other and he stumbled. He kept tripping over his own step, and this was made even worse by the hat as he stumbled about. He tripped over one of the balls on the ends of his hat as he continued to fall forward, but it was even worse as he made a crash landing into one of the barrels before him.

His arms waved about as he fell forward onto the barrel. Unfortunately the barrel he fell head first into was one that held the spare spears. As he collided and his whole body fell inward, the barrel tipped over, sending the man onto his side and the spears fell about. They clanged against the floor and his legs kicked as he was still within the barrel. "Help! A healer!" he called. Some of the spear's sharp edges cut into his legs. It hurt. "Bring me to a healer!" he pleaded. This man was in pain like no other. No such battle could wound him as bad as this! Perhaps what the books said were true. A man's greatest enemy was himself.