Perhaps Fletcher was in the most unusual predicament of them all;  he was incarcerated in a small jail in Hommlet, the setting of our story within the realms.  How had he gotten to be there?  Well, I shall tell you presently!  Our roguish, raven-haired binder had been experimenting with his demonic bindings, and was brought to the attention of the city guard.  First, he had attempted to bind an oceanic God lost to time immemorial, and the result was a successful binding with a rather comedic side-effect.  No matter what poor Fletcher did, he couldn't stop sobbing.  This, to the guardianship of that small village, possessed in itself something outrageously peculiar.<br/><br/>The next day, Fletcher decided to bind the Swashbuckler, a tremendously difficult bind, if I may say so myself.  However, he had managed it, but barely.  Now half of Fletcher's face drooped as if he had had a stroke, and his large feet plodded joyfully whenever he was in the presence of a harmony.  He couldn't stop himself from dancing, too, and he couldn't stop the errant slobber that edged its way across his chin, despite how badly he wanted to stop it.<br/><br/>"Can't help myself!" he slurred to a passing guard.<br/><br/>But that was enough.  Fletcher was snatched by the elbows and dragged to a jail cell.  It wasn't a very bad jail cell, and Fletcher would know.  He had seen a great many of them in his short lifespan, but not because he had ever done anything bad.  No, binding demonic presences wasn't altogether bad, especially when you knew how to do it.  And Fletcher knew how to do it.  But there was a stigma, wasn't there?  One shouldn't defy the principles of the Gods.  But they were all wrong.  Yes, the guards, the townspeople, all of them.  He wasn't binding himself to evil.  Some of the creatures that partly inhabited him, empowered him, were good.  Some were mad.  Some were neutral.  And some hated one another.  One always had to be careful of the sequence in which each vestige joined.<br/><br/>The man was dancing to the beat of a jar rattling against a bar when a man in black appeared to him out of nowhere.  I wish I could say that Fletcher was unafraid, but even though he had steeled his heart against mysteries, a man appearing to him out of nowhere was very untoward!<br/><br/>"Ahh!?" cried Fletcher, half afraid, half shocked.<br/><br/>The figure spoke not, and so Fletcher eased visibly.  Then the letter was passed between hands, one still, the other one shaking.  And just as he had appeared, the man in black had departed, leaving a mystified Fletcher in his wake.<br/><br/>"I wonder who would know that I'm here?"  Fletcher opened the letter, sat down on his bunk, and surveyed the contents.<br/><br/>OOC:  Fletcher has made his way to Hommlet because a vestige has led him there for an unknown reason.  Fletcher doesn't know why he's there, he just feels compelled to.