Holdeng
10-20-2006, 12:44 AM
Scritch, scritch
What was once a man sits alone at a desk, the instruments of his trade neatly ordered around him. A knife here, a vial of glowing liquid there, an inkwell near at hand. The room is scrubbed clean, the stone clean and polished.
Scritch, scritch
He studiously, though impatiently, wrote in his journal, having replaced it since Sulajin vaporized his last one in a typical attempt to prove his own superiority by antagonizing him. It had, annoyingly, worked, and he had paid the price. He smirked. A potion to heal his wounds, and an understanding of how Bloodbreaze fought.
The pen stopped.
That brought him back to his other battles. Many, many battles. Every one a learning experience. Every one he had survived. He had names for them. Arriandria, the little fool who thought herself his superior. Okhu, the orc so wrapped up in her own power that she forgot the basics of combat. Zusteakai, whom he was convinced would simply deflate into nothingness if he managed to prick him with a dagger. And then there was Niethan. The subject that Villinger's mental experiments were the basis for. That one never went quietly, but he always went.
The pen started again.
Scritch, scritch
Blast all this WRITING! They had just managed to capture a species he had never seen before, and he wanted to play! He wanted to see how long it could scream, what its blood tasted like, how long it could go without passing out. It was chained up in an extremely secure location, seeming in a catotonic state for now, as though it could ignore its harsh reality. However, it did mouth words at him from time to time.
Defiler. Corruptor. Destroyer.
He had no idea what these meant, at least to the creature. He put in some minor speculations, knowing Villinger would ignore them, as he always did, or take them for his own ideas. That didn't bother him. Villinger let him play, and that was good enough for him.
Speaking of playing... he realized he was finished. He ended his speculations, dated and signed the notes, then picked up a few tools and headed into the dungeons, his fingers curling in anticipation. He would have his fun, but soon he needed to get back to his other experiments. Niethan needed checking up on, if nothing else...
What was once a man sits alone at a desk, the instruments of his trade neatly ordered around him. A knife here, a vial of glowing liquid there, an inkwell near at hand. The room is scrubbed clean, the stone clean and polished.
Scritch, scritch
He studiously, though impatiently, wrote in his journal, having replaced it since Sulajin vaporized his last one in a typical attempt to prove his own superiority by antagonizing him. It had, annoyingly, worked, and he had paid the price. He smirked. A potion to heal his wounds, and an understanding of how Bloodbreaze fought.
The pen stopped.
That brought him back to his other battles. Many, many battles. Every one a learning experience. Every one he had survived. He had names for them. Arriandria, the little fool who thought herself his superior. Okhu, the orc so wrapped up in her own power that she forgot the basics of combat. Zusteakai, whom he was convinced would simply deflate into nothingness if he managed to prick him with a dagger. And then there was Niethan. The subject that Villinger's mental experiments were the basis for. That one never went quietly, but he always went.
The pen started again.
Scritch, scritch
Blast all this WRITING! They had just managed to capture a species he had never seen before, and he wanted to play! He wanted to see how long it could scream, what its blood tasted like, how long it could go without passing out. It was chained up in an extremely secure location, seeming in a catotonic state for now, as though it could ignore its harsh reality. However, it did mouth words at him from time to time.
Defiler. Corruptor. Destroyer.
He had no idea what these meant, at least to the creature. He put in some minor speculations, knowing Villinger would ignore them, as he always did, or take them for his own ideas. That didn't bother him. Villinger let him play, and that was good enough for him.
Speaking of playing... he realized he was finished. He ended his speculations, dated and signed the notes, then picked up a few tools and headed into the dungeons, his fingers curling in anticipation. He would have his fun, but soon he needed to get back to his other experiments. Niethan needed checking up on, if nothing else...