Composer and Maestro

[Dirge]

Vigo slunk through the darkness and the unheeding drizzle as he moved into the quite town of Underwood. Overhead the heavy clouds let their load fall, caring little for the comfort of traveler and denizen alike. The moon and stars were hidden from the world. A heavy breeze pushed forcefully through the area, forcing the rain to fall at a peculiar angle.

Everyone was inside already, leaving the weary traveler to find their own way to the popular promenade. All the houses were lit warmly. Behind most a warm and soft laughter was drifting lazily outwards, drowning out the drumming of the rain and the squelching of each step the sorcerer took. In his right hand he kept his cane-sword above the muddy roads. His other hand was in his pocket, turning a silver lighter over and over. If the night had been more welcoming he would have already been partaking in his newfound habit, lighting a small cigarette and letting the smoke drift languidly from his thin lips.

However, the weather did not always allow one to partake in what they willed. That night stopped the half-elf from more than one task. Smoking was only the first, the second was an easy travel from Radasanth to Akashima… to seek solace from the turmoil of Corone and continue doddling in the advancement of his magical prowess.

“I suppose I should get out of this fuckin’ rain,” Vigo thought as the warm lights and lilting voices of the promenade drew him closer. The sounds of merrymaking were foreign to him lately. In truth, they were nearly concerning and brought up a sense of disgust to the mind of the halfling. “I don’t have time to be sick.”

He moved to the door, placing a thin hand on the worn door. Overhead the swinging sign rocked contentedly and strained against its chains. Through the foggy windows nothing was truly discernable, but what Vigo could safely assume was that most of those not in their own houses were entertaining or being entertained by the random travelers. The sorcerer let the merriment carry on without him little further and pushed aside the door.

“Hail trav’ler!” a voice cried out as he entered. Around the room glazed eyes turned towards him. Some of them were teary with laughter, some were simply teary with the taint of alcohol. No matter the reason, he shook aside the warm welcome and opted to place himself at a bench along the wall… his back to no one. “What can I get for ya?”

Vigo allowed his jade eyes to rise and meet the honey brown of the waitress. On her rosy face was a wide smile, undoubtedly sincere. He set aside his cane, resting it against the wall, and pushed aside a soaked lock of hair. “Get me a hot tea, Raiaeran if you have it, Coronian’ll do if you don’t.”

“Not a worry,” she said as she nearly danced away, her knee length skirt waving behind her as she moved. Vigo closed his eyes and let his head drop against the wall behind him. Through it the coolness of the night was seeping through, conflicting with the warm blaze at the forefront of the bar room. It felt good. Slowly he removed a cigarette from his protected belt pouch and spun it end over end at the tips of his fingers.

[[Open, PM me to join. Darker in nature.]]

[The Writing Writer]

Jacob's eyes twinkled with delight as he gazed deep into the glass of red wine set before him. The wine was said to be ' the best in the house ' though Jacob doubted that meant very much. It was no bother to him though, he cared not for the taste, only the color. The Writing Writer found that the broken mirror that was his mind seemed at peace when his eyes were filled with the image of blood. Red wine was the next best thing. Though it was much more translucent than blood, the color was the same. The constant chatter in his mind quieted down as he stared deeper into the glass. His heart beat slowed, and he began to relax.

" You gonna drink that cutie or just stare at it all night? "

The voice of a young woman shattered Jacob's solace. His eyes darted immediately at the young woman. The rage in his eyes seemed to burn brighter than the sun. his first impulse was to leap upon the woman and rip her troublesome tongue straight from her mouth, but Jacob stopped. He fought hard to calm himself. If he attacked this woman now, he would surely give away his true identity. None could know that he was The Writing Writer.

Jacob closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He looked up warmly to the young woman, forcing a smile that could make an old woman squeal.

" I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was watching. It's a...habit of mine. " said Jacob with a chuckle. He took the glass in hand and gulped down every last drop at once. He set the glass gently back down on the table and turned his attention back to the young woman.

" See? All gone. " Jacob nearly choked on his words. Forcing that kind tone out day after day was growing very tiresome. If only there was an individual as twisted as he. One who's mind was also shattered.

" Good job! He he. Well you aren't modest, that's for sure. Where in the world are your shoes, and your shirt? " asked the giggly young waitress.

Giggle while you can little girl. You've not much time left.

" Oh. well, I suppose I don't see any need for either. I get along just fine without them. "

The girl's cheeks grew rosy. She liked him...unfortunate for her. " He he, well isn't that just the cutest thing? I'll letcha alone for now. If you're still around when I get off, maybe we could talk? "

Jacob's heart filled with sick joy as her words rang in his ears. A menacing smirk crept across his face. One could almost see the hunger in his eyes.

" That would be...delightful. " said Jacob, licking his lips with anticipation.

" Well okay! I'll see you then. " said the waitress excitedly. She left Jacob, and went back to work.

" Her skin is very fair...it's perfect. " said Jacob to himself. He watched her for a moment as she went from table to table. He was already fantasizing the events to come. He even got chills as he imagined the horror that would be frozen on her face. Jacob grinded his teeth and smiled as the thoughts raced through his mind.

He continued watching her, until she came to a table in the corner. The man she was waiting on had only just walked in moments ago. Normally Jacob would disregard such a man when such a fine young piece of parchment had already presented herself as an easy target, but the man's eyes...Jacob knew those eyes. The eyes of hate, of vengeance, of evil.

" He is like me. " said Jacob to himself. He was almost in awe. It was such a rarity to see eyes like that. Jacob began to get excited, too excited. He was losing control of his mind. Jacob suddenly found himself walking ever so nervously towards the jade-eyed stranger. Jacob sat down clumsily at the man's table and began to speak before he could think.

" Did he scream? The man you killed, did he scream?! " said Jacob anxiously. His words were no longer his own. The Writing Writer was now in control.

[Dirge]

Salvaran Gray’s, ‘the finest in Althanas’, were the sorcerer’s current cancer of choice. The long cigarette was a bit thicker than the average, a bit harsher, but had a slightly larger filter to it too. Most would look down on him for his habit. Most would shun him, as they seemed to at the less than destitute taverns in Radasanth. Vigo took a second to look around the room, only a couple others were smoking. His eyes fell to the table before him; at its center was a tray for ashes nonetheless.

With a flick he brought out his lighter and spun the cigarette butt to be held precariously by the tip of his lips. No one moved to speak to him, no one moved to object. Few eyes had even bothered watching him since his less than glorious entrance. Another flick brought the head of the lighter open, revealing and intricately designed ignition system waiting to be wielded. That noise too revealed no eyes, so he continued on, concealing lit wick and cigarette behind a pair of cupped hands.

The first drag was always the harshest. It was the longest because it was necessary to get the tip lit so that the cigarette wouldn’t fade away. For Vigo, the first drag was always the best. It was the first hit that brought the most nicotine and started the almost dizzying sensation that would promise to continue till the last hit. He inhaled as he clenched his thin lips down on the end. The budding ember at the end flowed towards him, flaring brightly.

One more drag separated the time between the first and when his poor, young waitress returned. The woman’s expression was a cheery as ever, her eyes glinted like the stars and her cheeks were flush with excitement. In hand she held a large tray, atop it only a single mug. The half-elf could see steam rising from it even before she grew closer. Finally, he thought as he exhaled the thin smoke from his lungs, something warm.

“Deary me,” she said as she sidled up to the table. Her expression never changed, that wonderful smile and jolly exterior, but her eyes fell. Eyes were always the most telling, always giving away true emotions and what a person really felt. “That thing can’t be good for ya,” her eyes were cautious and almost hurt, “Here’s yer tea. The freshest leaves we had were from here, in Corone. Hope that suits ya. Oh,” she added as an afterthought, “we also had some of this.”

The woman placed a small, frosted shot glass on the table. In it was a cream colored liquid with a sweet aroma. “We seem to be out of cream or milk,” she continued as she stood. For some reason it had appeared as though she thought to sit, thought to comfort the ‘smoking man on the wall’. Vigo’s piercing eyes never left hers though, and as always he was a bit disconcerting. “Its harder liquor from northern Corone, imported from Scara Brae from what I’m told. It’s as sweet as cream, tastes the same, but has a sweet honey ting and a good deal of soft alcohol. You look like you could use a little relaxation.”

Bitch, he thought as he watched he sidle away just as she had come. Her step was a little less chipper, a little less enjoyable. She seemed to be walking away rather quickly instead of floating, perhaps uncomfortable with Vigo to her back. The sorcerer moved his jade eyes back to the two cups and took another drag. It was mere moments till the crazy kid appeared, his hands falling heavily and rattling the drinks.

“Quiet down drunkard,” Vigo responded without opening his eyes. He could sense the man all too well, feel his eyes, hear his heavy breath, and smell the time he had spent within the tavern. Without opening his eyes he assumed he was younger, just past the tipsy point, with a penchant for the grim. “You almost spilt my damned—“the halfling stopped as he opened his eyes and moved his hands to tap off the ash.

The ‘drunk’ did not have the glazed eyes or the thick ale breath. He was a young man, just past twenty. The lines on his face and his bloodshot eyes spoke of a troubled past and a hauntingly difficult future. Even leaning forward Vigo could tell he was malnourished and a gaunt figure, not unlike himself. “Please,” he said as he straightened up and tapped the ash into the tray, “have a seat. And don’t speak so damned loud, people in these small towns don’t take kindly to any talk that deals with the morbid or cruel.”

The sorcerer placed the tip of his finger in the cup, testing the tea’s heat. Still too hot, he thought. “The names Vigo Ruinn, what’s yours? Did you have anything to drink or eat yet?”

[The Writing Writer]

Jacob twitched and fidgeted as he fought off the chatter in his mind. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth and he struggled. He murmured softly to himself.

" Uhng....I don't.....wanna' kill him......he.....he's..like me.............uhng.....nnooo.... "

Jacob nearly wore his insanity on his sleeve. It seems his will was not yet strong enough to stifle the powerful bloodlust within. He could control his body, but not his mind. It spoke to him as if it were it's own being, with it's own will and desires. But Jacob would not kill this man, of that he was sure.

Jacob was still battling with his own mind, but had enough control to take a moments rest and look over his fellow murderer. The man was a half elf, that was for sure. He was considerably better dressed than Jacob was, and seemed to be very calm. He had certainly found ways to live in harmony with the beast within.

Shut up!! He can help us you fool!

If this man had control, maybe he could teach Jacob to control The Writing Writer. For the time being however, Jacob needed to calm down. He grabbed the small shot glass that had been given to the half elf and smashed it forcefully into the table with his bare hand. The glass shattered and the creamy liquid spilt everywhere. Jacob pulled the many shards of glass out of his hand and watched it bleed. He stared almost obsessively as the crimson liquid poured from his hand. He could feel his heart rate dropping. The Writing Writer no longer screamed at him within his mind.
Jacob slowly closed his eyes and, thinking of his past victims, he calmed himself.

Jacob opened his eyes and licked the blood from his hand. To the right of him, a drunk old man had passed out, no doubt from consuming too much alcohol. Jacob reached over and tore the sleeve off of his shirt. He used the off white cloth to wrap his hand. Tying it tightly around his hand, he turned once again to the half elf.

" Vigo Ruinn. It is an honor. My name is Jacob Buhrkheardt. I'm terribly sorry about my rather, inappropriate entrance. My mind is...restless as of late. "

Jacob glanced at the table and saw the creamy white puddle on the table, still decorated with glass.

" Terribly sorry about your drink...I suppose I saw an opportunity and seized it. " said Jacob with a smile.

[Dirge]

The sorcerer watched carefully, cautiously. The man before him was even less stable than he, a feat hardly matched. The boy’s bloodshot eyes darted around chaotically, fighting undoubtedly with thoughts that tore at his conscious. Vigo felt pity, an emotion rare to him. The boy was one of the forlorn, forgotten by society and cast to ruin by his own traitorous thoughts. Anger was fueled by a lust unknown, anger at anything, anger at everything. The halfling had once been at that point, had tossed care and peace to the wind and relished in rage.

As the boy’s eyes darted and he fought with words and thoughts alike, the sorcerer looked away. Steam from his mug was filling the air, dancing delicately before his face. Around him the roar of the drunks was slowly abating as the performers were exiting the stage. Now they would have to entertain themselves, a prospect that could turn dangerous very quickly.

Crasshh…

Glass shattered directly before the man, pulling his attention back to the boy. Deranged and worn, he had broken the frosted shot. His hands were soaked in a mixture of fresh blood and cool alcohol. The shabby table was covered in glass and rich chestnut liquor, pooling it in a wide area that spread like tributaries through the cracks. Vigo released another drag of his cigarette. The thick, acrid smoke held its consistency till just before the boy’s face, where it broke and dissipated.

He did not care who was looking at the pair of them, or who cared about the miniscule shot glass. Many were more than likely staring, especially without the backdrop of the jovial uproar. Many more were probably watching the deranged kid alone, watching him lap at his own blood. But the tension broke like a wave on the shore as quickly as it had come. Behind it left a wake of questions, curiosities, and a tinge of confusion.

Perhaps he was calming himself, Vigo thought. Perhaps he was trying to focus on something other than whatever torment tears through his mind. Whatever the case was, he was seemingly better for he responded after a moment more.

“No worries,” the halfling responded as he tapped his mug and raised a hand for another. The maiden from earlier, who he caught eyes with, was far from happy about being summoned. She turned away from the racket and towards the barkeep, who was reaching under his bar for something. Since the fire and the madman, the promenade was always ready for anything major. “Though it seems restless is an understatement, by any means.”

Without his cream, Vigo took a quick sip of his lukewarm tea. It was soothing, relaxing, and took the bitter edge off the taste of nicotine that lingered in his mouth. He took another drag before continuing on. “Jacob,” he rolled the name over his tongue, wondering if that was even his real name, “why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself while we wait for another shot of whatever it was you just smashed. But I must admit, my patience is wearing thin, so make it a bit quieter and less noticeable.”

[The Writing Writer]

A loud screech pierced Jacob's ears, or so he thought. He winced lightly and pressed his good palm against his forehead, trying to fight the pain. The Writing Writer was trying to take over, but if Jacob let that happen, everyone in the tavern would soon meet a very grim death. Jacob did not need that kind of attention. He grunted slightly, struggling as he eventually drowned out the uncomfortable noise. He looked back up to Vigo, who was less than amused by Jacob's behavior.

" Once again I must appologize. I fear what little sanity I have left is weary from battle. " Jacob cleared his throat and sat up right in his chair. He rested his palms on the table and stared at them, eyes wide as saucers.

" As you may have already assumed, I wasn't always like this. I was once an acclaimed poet, and was to be married to an angel of a woman. But, as fate would have it, I learned quickly that angels soar on selfish wings. My fiance...she betrayed me. What was worse...she blamed my poems. In a pathetic attempt to excuse her own whorish behavior, she lashed out at my writing, saying that I favored the quill over my own fiance. Perhaps there was some truth in her words, but that did not make up for what she had done to me. And so, I returned the favor ten fold...I murdered her...with a smile. "

The chatter in Jacob's mind suddenly silenced. Everything was quiet, he heard only one thing. Over and over in his mind, the voices chanted. Jacob began to whisper the chant aloud, wide eyed and grinning, he stared blankly into space.

" Dearest Jennet, where lay you now?
Covered in maggots, deep underground.
Your body in pieces, please scream if you can.
I want to hear you, please scream again. "

Jacob rocked ever so gently back and forth as he repeated the words over and over. He was lost in his own mind, lost, and liking it.

" Here ya go! " said the waitress as she set down another steamy mug for Vigo. It was accompanied by another shot glass filled with the same creamy liquid. Jacob looked up to her, his eyes had returned to their normal state, she had once again brought him out of a trance. Her actions were growing tiresome.

Jacob turned once again to Vigo, looking into his eyes, he spoke calmly.

" So what about you? What's your story? "

[Dirge]

On the contrary, Vigo was not only amused he was enthralled. What could take the man and warp him? What could be so powerful as to break down the defenses of a person so completely that they went insane? Was emotional destruction so powerful a tool? The answers came soon enough, the deranged boy began his sad lament and finished with a blank stare and broken lyrics.

The sorcerer nearly broke into laughter at the sight. What power, what control he could have if he could harness the emotions of others! He watched with a blank expression, but behind his deep green eyes a flash of glee was glinting. It was not a task that would be unattainable, not a spell that would be impossible to grasp. He would simply have to figure out the mechanics of the human mind, figure out the limits of a person’s subliminal will power… and learn to break it.

Silently he began to ponder as he watched his first instrument of experimentation rock back and forth in an almost meditative state. The boy would be perfect, he thought to himself as he sipped his tea and smoked. He was oblivious to the world around him, oblivious to the guffaw of laughter that ripped through the tavern. Even when a drunk brushed by and nearly fell into him he was absent minded.

“Oh my,” the halfling said as he continued to ponder over the inevitable. His careful study of the boy was only shaken when the wench from before brought another tray of tea and another shot. He had not wanted another tea, his was just fine, but the boy looked as though it would do him some good. Her voice was what broke the boy’s trance, shattered his semblance of peace. “Thanks,” he said as he turned to look at the shaken woman, who was obviously unwilling to walk around the table. “I’ll make sure to tip you well,” bitch, he thought again as she shook her head and walked away.

Before he answered Jacob, Vigo dumped the small shot in the fresh tea and stirred it with the tip of his finger. It was near scalding, but he ignored the slight pain and sucked the lingering drop from his finger. “Here,” he pushed the tea towards the boy, “I think your in need of this a bit more than me.”

Vigo laughed, despite himself, and sat back. Behind him the drumming of the rain had slowed, but he had not quite dried from the steady drizzle. He pushed aside the same wayward lock of hair from before and took another drag of his cigarette before attempting to tell his story.

“My story is not so easy to tell,” he said as he tapped his thin fingers against the side of his mug. “I was born a half-elf, my mother died at childbirth as a lot of women seem to do, and I was raised by my father. The man, not a dad by any means, beat me daily to remind me that I was weaker than he was, to remind me that I was nothing but an unwanted child.”

Vigo choked a bit, his own emotions slowly rising. Anger, rage even, and depression budded in his chest. He continued on anyway. “Eventually he grew weak, while I grew stronger… learning to wield the spells that I know have. As he got older, I hardly ever aged, thanks to my elven heritage. When the time came, I killed him… with my bare hands… breaking him mind and body. When he died I tied his horrid soul to the mug that he loved so much, letting his spirit rot and writhe in terror forevermore.”

“Your and interesting kid,” he said, changing the subject slightly. “You interest me a lot, and I’d like for you to come with me. Though my path is not currently interesting, you will love what comes much later. What do you think? Interested?”

[The Writing Writer]

Jacob stared at the steamy mug Vigo had given him for a moment. Jacob couldn't even remember the last time he had anything to drink that wasn't red. He stared into the dark liquid, seeing his own reflection. It was then Jacob realized, he hadn't seen himself since the incident with Jennet. He hadn't once looked into a mirror since that day. it wasn't that he was afraid or ashamed, he had simply stopped caring about his appearance. Who he saw, however, was a stranger to him. He used to be so calm, so kind, so poised, and now...now he was unsure what he saw. It wasn't a man...it was a monster.

Jacob picked up the mug with both hands. It was hot to the touch, no doubt the liquid was even hotter, but Jacob paid no mind. He had long since forgotten what pain felt like, or what anything felt like. He was hollow.

Jacob gullped down the steaming hot tea. It burnt a bit as it went down, both from the temperature and from the hint of alcohol he tasted. Jacob slammed the mug down onto the table and gasped for air. He panted lightly, catching his breath as he listened to Vigo tell his story.

It seemed that killing someone with your bare hands changed you. At least, it had changed Vigo, much as it had changed Jacob. Though, as one could plainly tell, Vigo had a stronger will than Jacob. Vigo did not fight a constant battle within his own mind. his actions were his own. Jacob was envious of Vigo, and yet he admired him. To have gone through such a trial and come out sane as he was, was commendable to say the least.

Once Vigo finished his story, he gave Jacob a very generous offer. Vigo invited Jacob to join him on his journey. For the first time in so very long, Jacob smiled...really smiled. He had not met anyone who would except his condition, let alone find it ' interesting '.

Jacob stood up rather abruptly, clenching his hands with excitement.

" Really?! You really want me to go with you?! Uh-of course I'll go! Lead the way! "

[Dirge]

Vigo sat back and watched the man as he looked at himself in the reflection of the steaming tea. What did he see? What did he think of what he saw? The questions were raging uncontrollably in the sorcerers oh so curious mind. The boy would be an intricate knot to be unraveled. His mind had already unwound, like a ball of yarn dropped and fallen away. First, the sorcerer knew more than anything, he would need to stabilize the boy through force or persuasion. Little could be done without the boy being able to keep at bay those horrid thoughts and wicked voices.

It appeared as though his will was the point at which he was weakest. His body was frail, but sturdy. His spirit was fresh and vibrant, pushing and spurring him forward despite his perverse past. His eyes were a vision of his soul, blood shot and a hue of light pink as they were, Vigo still saw strength and resolution. He would be a perfect tool, a perfect instrument to practice on. He was raw, unfettered, and unkempt… only the beginning.

Others would come later, that the halfling promised himself. Others, stronger and more powerful people would come after he had learned and practiced. Till then, till he could unravel the wills and mind of those who were not already on their way or already insane, the young Jacob would be just what he needed.

“Wonderful,” Vigo responded with a smile, the first flash of true emotion since he had entered the warm tavern. He took the final drag of his cigarette, just in time, and pushed the still smoking tip into the tray. It sizzled slightly, but went dead just as quickly. “First we must flirt with disaster and attempt to turn your will into something stronger, something that you can wield against what taunts you.”

Vigo dug out four gold coins, more than enough for the drinks, compensation for the broken glass, and a tip. He dropped them in his mug. The first plopped contentedly at the bottom, just below the surface of the now cold tea. The smile turned to a dark smirk, let the bitch dig for her coin if she really wanted it.

“Did you have anything else to do before we left? We have time; the rain is only just not beginning to fade.” Vigo let a single eyes squint, a knowing and brazen look. As if on queue the wench sauntered over and picked up the cups with a blank expression. She made eye contact with the man just for half a second, just long enough for him to look from her back to the boy. “I doubt we will be in Underwood again for a good, long time. This petty civil war is going to spread here next, especially with its proximity to Radasanth and its position at the center of Concordia.”

As the woman walked away, glancing over her shoulder numerous times on the way to the bar, Vigo carried on. “Believe me, next time you come, you will not only be powerful enough to toy with the pathetic people that live here… but you will not be recognized in any way. If you have anything to do, we should handle it now and be on our way…”

((PM’ing you!))

[The Writing Writer]

Jacob thought back to the waitress from before. Oh how he desired to feel her heart beat slowly fade in his hands, but there were more pressing matters at hand. He would have to come back for her later.

" No, there is nothing else I need to do more than to learn to control the monster inside me. I-"

Jacob stopped, he couldn't speak. He couldn't move either. His eyes were wide and his muscles were tense. He tried to move, but it was futile.

" Hear me wizard, and head my words well.
Two reside within, as you can already tell.
The boy may be willing, even excited to change.
But I am not, and won't be easy to break.

We will go with you, if only to see
What deadly new powers you can offer me.
But I pray to the gods, that you're a good fighter.
For soon you'll face me, The Writing Writer. "

Jacob batted his eyes and looked around the room. He acted as if he had just been abruptly awakened from a short nap.

"Uh...anyway, let's get outta here. I'm anxious to get started. "

Jacob scooted back his wooden chair and stood to his feet. He stretched out his arms and began walking towards the door. As he exited the tavern, he looked up to the sky. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle now, and the bright full moon shined it's silver light through an opening in the grey clouds. The cobblestones were still damp and glistened like a candy wrapper in the moon light.

It was a beautiful night, a perfect night, for a new beginning. No longer would he have to live like an animal, fighting with his own thoughts. Life as a serial killer was hard enough without having to worry about your own mind putting you into unnecessary danger.

Jacob took in a breath of the cold air. He spoke quietly to himself.

" Your time is at an end Writer. From this night on, we do things my way. "

sorry for shortness :P

[Taskmienster]

This thread has been siting for over a month and a half. Since no response has been made to create activity I am going to be moving this. If you would like it to be reopened please feel free to PM myself or another admin and they will be able to move it for you back to the Peaceful Promenade.