THE BALLAD OF JAKE AND JOBE           
---------------------------           
It was three days before Winternight  
in Elmora fields. A special night.    
Every year a festival would be held,  
not just any festival, the Winternight
Celebration. Townsfolk, Villagers and 
City people from the highlands, the   
rivers even the black hills gathered  
together in Elmora fields for a       
celebration so grand it would be      
talked about almost until the next    
one. Storytellers, Gleemen, Jugglers, 
Jesters and performers would travel   
from as far as the audiences          
themselves to entertain on            
Winternight. It was probably the      
highest honour an artist could        
receive, certainly the high point of  
their lives.                          
Before a performer was allowed to     
participate he had to be vetted by    
King Elyas. Elyas was only 12, he     
gained the throne from his father,    
killed tragically in the lowland wars.
Elyas was a stubborn child and threw  
more people into the dungeons than    
they could hold; so the dungeons were 
expanded at the Kings order, to       
twenty-five in all. The daunting      
possibility of being thrown into the  
deepest pit the King could find didn't
outweigh the wonderous chance to      
perform on Winternight though, and the
performers amassed regardless.        
                                      
Jake sat in the corner of the cell.   
His eyes fixed on a stone a few feet  
in front of him. His brother, Jobe,   
watched him and sighed an             
unnecessarily loud sigh.              
                                      
"Are you going to sit there until     
Winternight or are we going to get out
of here?" he demanded.                
"Get out of here! We can't get out of 
here, no one can."                    
"So you are just going to sit here    
are you?"                             
Jake flicked at a bit of imaginary    
dust on his sleeve.                   
"Sit here and rot are you?"           
Jake hummed a few notes of a song he  
always got wrong which earned him a   
sharp clip on the ear from the other. 
"Oww!", he squealed and glowered at   
Jobe who was now pacing up and down.  
"It's your fault you know!" Jobe      
muttered half to himself.             
"It's always my fault, so you say."   
Jake bleated.                         
"Well it is!" Jobe had stopped pacing 
and spun to face his brother, the     
bells on his Jesters' uniform jingled 
loudly and made him wince.            
"This silly costume cost me my last   
few marks and now I'm going to die    
down here in this dungeon looking like
a fool!"                              
Jake sniggered "You are a fool."      
The other eyed him and tried to look  
as menacing as a man can wearing      
bright green and red spandex tights   
and pointy shoes.                     
"I'm not a fool, I am a Performing    
artist" he sucked in his chest and    
tried to look grand. Jake sniggered   
again, earning himself another clip on
the ear.                              
                                      
"He's too young, you know." he said,  
rubbing his ear and grimacing.        
"Who's too young for what" Jobe       
started pacing again.                 
"His Royal Highness, King bloody      
Elyas! That's who!" Jake's voice      
echoed down the corridor. "Shades! I  
heard that when he was eleven he      
decided he was too old for most of his
toys so, you know what he did?"       
Jobe ignored him.                     
"Instead of just chucking them away,  
he chucked them down here. Threw his  
own toys into the dungeon!..."        
"Look!" Jobe burst in, wheeling on his
brother once more accompanied by      
the ringing of his ten little bells,  
he waited until they stopped.         
"This isn't getting us out of here,   
and it's still your fault"            
"What did I do to make the King throw 
us in here?" he squealed.             
"Your bloody 'sure-fire' bomb juggling
act, that's what."                    
"I did it really well" Jake retorted. 
"You blew a hole in the throne room   
wall!" Jobe's voice shot up an octave.
"Well you got us thrown out of the    
Jesters Guild" Jake smiled            
triumphantly.                         
Jobe's face was turning red. "Fire    
juggling as an act is always a        
calculated risk..."                   
"Especially in a room with a straw    
roof!" the other cackled and rolled   
onto his side holding his stomach.    
"Okay, that one was my fault but      
remember if we can get out of his     
dungeons the King said he would let us
perform at Winternight. And the first 
prize is to be the Royal Court        
Appointed Jester! Just think of it!   
we've always wanted to be Jesters, all
our lives."                           
"Only because father wanted us to be."
"Well yes, he had us wearing make-up  
and tights even when we were little." 
"I told you, I don't like being       
reminded of that!" Jake scowled.      
Jobe stormed off, shouting back that  
he hoped that he rotted, as he turned 
a corner and disappeared into the     
gloom of the dungeon, a precession of 
tiny bells following.                 
"He's right... we have always wanted  
to be Jesters. And we could get out of
here if we put our heads together.    
Its not as if we're stupid, we just   
don't seem to have much luck."        
                                      
From early years Jake and Jobe's 'bad 
luck' branded them with the name 'the 
Jinxes'. Everyone called them it, but 
they soon turned it around by making  
it their performing name. Jake and    
Jobe - the Spectacular Jinxes.        
                                      
Just then Jobe came flailing up the   
corridor his gawky frame casting      
absurd shadows on the walls. He       
stopped short of his brother opened   
his cupped hands. Jake leaned forward.
A huge diamond sat in Jobe's hands    
glistening seemingly from within, a   
cool white glow. Jobe looked up from  
his find smiling. "I think I know how 
we can get out of here!" he said,     
excitement whelling up in his voice.  
He bit his lip hard to calm himself   
down.