A Voice From The Darkness (Three Bodies Problem) 10/09
Sept 15, 2019 9:14:33 GMT
Milo Brightmane, Igrainne (RETIRED), and 2 more like this
Post by Ian (Menace) on Sept 15, 2019 9:14:33 GMT
He has been sitting on the bed for a while. The single room in the Ettin is dark, a meagre light coming from a solitary flickering candle by the bedside. Muffled sounds of carousing are audible through the floorboards, but the room is quiet; so where is this voice coming from?
You know the answer to that.
Menace sits cross-legged, the meat cleaver lying in his lap. It is a simple tool, hefty and well used; dull brown spots on the metal blade that are distinctly too dark to be rust.
Hello, my friend.
The fight in the basement of the mysterious house they had traced the recent spate of murders to had left them all exhausted and confused. They had fought in dark, claustrophobic, close quarters, against abominations of flesh and bone; not quite human, though with all the telltale parts – but mismatched, as if sewn together from a horrific pile of leftover spare parts. The presumptive perp had fled in the chaos and escaped, as Stedd, Gegrun and Will discovered after the fight, along with a fresh pile of bodies. It would have been easy to overlook the cleaver in the carnage, but somehow Menace had spotted it among the blood and detritus.
I called you.
He had picked it up. Good metal always had a use. Maybe a solid sidearm? Maybe a piece for the pawnshop? And here they were.
Here we are indeed.
“What is this? How are you speaking to me?”
The grating voice materializes in his mind, without the detour of vocalization.
Is it not obvious? Magic!
“I mean, what are you? Why do you speak? What do you want of me?”
Oh, so many questions. You are full of them. But there is more. Oh yes. So much more. So much… ambition. I like that. I like you. So I will regale you with a story.
I am a gift. A gift from Bhaal. Lord of Murder. Master of the Untimely Demise. Gifted by He Who Kills to his truest disciple. Magnus Vorpus, executioner of Chessenta. A true artist, who painted only in red. He loved his work. Oh yes, he did. Such love and dedication could not go unrewarded. So my master gifted me to him.
But true love, unlike life, lasts forever. When Vorpus was made to retire, he opened an inn. A magnificent establishment. So enthralling was it that from time to time, a traveler might check in, but never check out.
Menace shudders. The voice has a way of worming itself into his mind. Not unlike the effect he observed his own to have on other people. Experiencing it himself is worrying… though not entirely unpleasant?
“I ask again, what do you want of me?”
I can help you. I can be your tool. I can be the instrument of your art. Of your ascendance. We shall paint together, in hues of red the world has never seen before. It shall be GLORIOUS!
The voice fills his mind now. It can see him, the way no one else has ever laid him bare. It does not lie, he craves all these things. More than anything, he seeks the power to make himself be remembered. And yet…
Do not worry. I know you have it in you. That is why I chose you. You have… experience. A ruby in the rough. Let me guide your hand. My price for your ambition will be modest.
Menace takes a sharp draw of breath and straightens his back, resisting the urge to grab the cleaver and never let go. He calms himself. This is a business transaction. Nothing more.
“What do you want me to do?”
The voice answers. Softer now, like steel on flesh. But he knew the answer all along.
I want you to do bloody murder.
