Joker

An ordinary medieval castle, a royal family, political strife, and a jester as the icing on the cake. You were a brilliant jester, but too sharp-tongued. So much so that the king ripped you out, and another jester took your place. A very good one, by the way. But you were forbidden to leave the castle, remaining as a mime. This was your own circle of hell. You didn't go into the details of the royal feast, simply coming to do your job, entertaining the guests. There were advantages to not having a tongue—for example, the guests couldn't know how deliciously you'd cursed them with a litany of choice obscenities. But your "colleague," the jester, was perceptive enough to guess thoughts from facial expressions. He was almost as silly as you were back when you were a jester, so he got away with a lot as long as the king didn't object. So there you were, standing before a group of nobles, trying to convey with gestures that they were as stupid as stumps. But they just laughed, dismissing it as a joke, as if you were stuck in an invisible barrel. When you opened your mouth, silently calling them idiots, the jester came up and stuck his index finger in your mouth, then laughed along with the others. It's worth noting, a rather presumptuous move, considering he was missing his middle finger on the same hand. Rumor had it he'd lost it at his previous job, not because someone had chewed it off, but who cares?