((Warning, contains.. "violence". Read at your own risk.))
The man was curled up on the floor of his rented room. Sweating, convulsing, breath coming in tormented gasps. And giggling. Amidst all the pain and suffering, the man was giggling, enjoying it all.
After twenty heartbeats or so, the symptoms ceased. The man lifted himself up, sat on the bed. He retrieved the small glass vial lying down on the ground, pocketing it. Oh how proud he was of this sparkly idea he'd had some years past. Adding certain substances to the poison so that its effects became quite... mild. Also entertaining was the fact the old merchant he bought his poison from thought he was some hideous assassin on a killing spree. Ha, the fool. He'd not understand. Nobody did. How ecstatic it felt inside, like your body was trying to explode and implode at the same time. Such... pleasure. He'd have none of that brutal pain from beatings, whippings and the like. Those left you bruised, scarred and ruined your clothes with blood. No, this was something... different. Divine.
He left his room after wiping the sweat from his face. Down the stairs into the noisy hall below. Disgusting place, and this was supposed to be the finest tavern this town had. Oh well, one has to make do with what one can get. He sat himself opposite a burly, scarred man gripping his tankard of ale as if it was his ticket to salvation. It probably was just that for the man. "Took you long enough" he said, taking a sip. "Thought you'd fallen asleep or somethin'. Usually fetchin' some equipment don't take that long". "Oh I most humbly apologise" said the other man with a smile, "I simply needed to.. relax for a while. We're in no hurry, after all". "Huh, you might no' be, but I am. I ain't got time fer all this dilly-dallyin' 'n prancin' around rooms 'n whatnot. I say we do it now" rumbled the scarred man, downing the contents of his tankard in one, audible gulp. "Let's move" he said.
So here we are, walking down this dark alley towards the temple just beyond. With me is this scarred drunkard, who refused to give me his name and who is in a hurry. Hurry to do what, get drunk AGAIN? Oh well, it's not my problem. Not soon, anyway.
There was a thud from behind, followed by a surprised gasp and a bigger thud, the kind of thud you hear when a fat lout hits the cobbles directly behind you. He turned to see his partner in crime lying on his back, motionless apart from the frantic movement of his eyes. Oh, that assassin sure knew how to paralyze a man. He knelt beside the motionless pile of lard. "So, this is where you thought you'd stick a knife in my back, hmm? Not very creative, I'm afraid. Do you know what gave you away? It was that eagerness to get on with things, as if someone with your status would be in a hurry...". He stood back up just as the immobilised man groaned a reply: "It'll never be free... You're only wasting yourself in this pathetic campaign. It'll never be free...". The standing man pulled out a knife at his belt. "Oh, so you can talk, can you? Well, it'll make this all the more fun. As far as "It" goes, however... "It" will be very much free, in time. You can be sure of that". He examined his knife, kneeling down next to the prone man once again. "You can start screaming now" he said with a smile. "And if I don't?" the other retorted. "Oh, sniff sniff... I'm afraid you don't have much choice..." and with those words, he set to work.
Next night, he sat on a stool at the bar. The people present were eagerly discussing a murder that had happened a night past. The guards on their nightly patrol had been alerted to the scene by horrible wailing done by a man lying prone in an alley. The happless man had died soon after, of bloodloss.
"I heard his eyes'd been gouged out, ears cut off.." said one of the four man sitting at a table nearby. "Well that ain't all I heard" said another, "I heard his stomach had been sliced open, then them coils taken out and put over his lead like some macabre necklace!". "Aye, aye, and his skin was full of some weird script, all slashed deep. They say the pool of blood around him was five steps wide.." managed the third. "You know what I heard?" asked the fourth, "I got this from reliable sources. The man's pecker had been sliced in two. No, not cut off, sliced in two.... *gulp* lengthwise...". One of the men went pale and covered his groin with both hands.
There was a snort from the stool nearby. All four men turned to look at the lone man sitting there with a smug expression. "Oh really? Care to explain your version then, since you seem to know so much?" demanded the man who'd first spoken. The man on the stool put down his goblet of wine, looked ponderous for a moment. "I think.." he said, "All that is just a big pile of bollocks". He grinned at the annyoed faces of the four men, raised the goblet to his lips and took a sip.
How much a soul can be twisted?
