Post by wiseman on Oct 10, 2011 9:49:49 GMT -5
" Watch my children, see how they dance"
Dripping down on the floor. Dampness. A water droplet falls like so many things in this place of the dark. Times change but people do not, it was something that he had learned. Only the dead change, and even then. It is only skin deep. Something that is cosmetic. Barely worth noting. They say that events change people like it was some sort of excuse to behaviour. But truthfully, like a cloth wiping away layers of grime, events only move to reveal what’s already there, beneath the surface of dirt and dankness. Prison hadn’t changed him. Murder hadn’t changed him. Loss and blood had not changed him. It’d only washed away that false surface. And revealed what was truly underneath. There was a creek as he turned the wrench once again, tightening a bolt as was required on the female puppet.
His hand shaking moved up towards her face and touched down caressing the cheek. It was cold, cold but perfect. Skin that was soft. But bone that was hard. A heart that did not beat, a beauty that did not die. Soon the truth would be revealed and he would emerge in all his splendour. Revealing the glory that his works had wrought.
Wiseman placed down the wrench and took a step back, being careful that his cowl did not trip him on the floor. “ Perfect”. He whispered to himself. Staring at those lifeless eyes, ones that would all too soon be filled with the light of chaos. But there were still things that needed to be done before his true work would begin. Like in all things mistakes happened. Flaws, accidents that would need correcting. And with these dolls, these puppets he would need spare parts that were not too easily obtained. At least through legal practices. Before he had resorted to using the bodies of the dead, the first two had been fine robbing the graves of his two victims and using magic to restore their flesh to pristine pre death conditions.
But now it was different. Patch work repairs on his works of art, on his tools would not be tolerated, they needed to be real life like. Able to fool. If there was patchwork done on them it would be an easy give away. In short. He needed spare parts. And this would give him the perfect opportunity that was needed to test out the abilities of his puppets and his own resolve.
Wiseman took a seat next to his work table and removed the black book from under his cloak. The book placed carefully down upon the rough oak surface of the table. One hand trailing across the leather cover and the markings upon it. Reaching around the edges of the paper and then opening it. The origin point of his power. The beginning of his journey and the answer to many many questions. Whilst he did not require the book now for his puppetry. It made things all that much more comfortable. The Marionette master’s lips moved in time with the words, each single syllable filled to the brim with the dark power that granted him control over his works of art. His tools of bitter justice. With the final word his eyes beneath the cowl took upon a silvery film, and he saw himself sitting. It is a strange thing to describe, to look at once self through the eyes of another. Now his mind commanding the body of the puppet. The male. Staring forwards, eyes almost unblinking. He had to forcefully move his will for it to drop those eyelids. Not that it was needed. Just all part of the disguise. Part of the play. Hands on the table it would lift itself off. And walk out the door.
In the guise of the male puppet. Wiseman now walked the streets at night. Seeking his first new victim. Seeking his first harvesting piece of spare parts. First he would need some arms, then perhaps a few toes. Just those basic things that might be needed in case of combat. The skin was going to be the thing needed the most. But muscle might be needed as well, after all as good as it looked dead tissue did not regenerate.
As he walked down he street, the click click clicking of the cane by his side would be the only real indication that he was heading down. He couldn’t just kill anyone after all. He had to find himself someone who needed to die. Who justice hadn’t quite gotten a hold of yet, and who would likely be let off far too lightly. A woman who charges money for special services, a thief. Those types. Particularly for these bodies. For his creature of perfection a beautiful woman who charges money for special services would be nice. Hylian if he could find one. Those people always did have flawless skin. Smiling darkly under his hat. He pressed on into the night.
-----
Milky skin, almost looking good enough to et. He could see why these ones were popular. And my, such a choice such a choice. A gruff chortle emerged from the lips of the male puppet. Like a child in a candy store. He wished he could kill them all. Wished that he could put each of these bitches on the rack for their crimes. And yet he could only take one. Only carry off one without making it look suspicious. He approached one, moving down the cobble stone path, they all proposed to him. Wishing to sell their “ wares”. He found it amusing that as attractive as these women where they were using such things to their advantage in such a dirty trade. No doubt as beautiful as these maidens were on the outside. They were ugly and disease ridden on the inside. That’s when he spotted the one that he would like. Hylian. Chestnut hair. Petite. Similar frame and body to the female puppet. Her punishment would be bringing him much to work with including his own personal pleasure. He’d take his time with this one. He wouldn’t let her go so easily.
Under the shade of darkness the flaws of this puppet weren’t so easy to see. A mark here, an smudged piece of eye shadow there. Nothing far too obvious unless you were looking. But in the dark of tonight all this woman who charges money for special services would see would be a fancily dressed handsome man leading her away by the hand. The jealousy of the others. The bitches would get their turn though. They would all get their turn eventually. He led her back down the street to which he had walked. Wiseman however was no fool. He wasn’t going to bring this one back to his hide away. He was going to do the killing somewhere separate so that the guards could no tie the locations or the people together. There was a place that he planned to do it. It was an abandoned building that his parents had once owned a long time ago. Although this wouldn’t be enough to link them. He had after all disappeared, selling off most of his parents properties including this one. It had been left as a vacant. Yet he had made sure that it had been kept in good condition so that no one could recognise it as vacant. That would look mightily suspicious to his victims if they wandered into a clearly abandoned property. Remaining anonymous whilst he kept this place up kept though was the tricky part. Going through various liaisons to keep everything running smoothly. She wandered in and he opened the door for her. That smile ever plastered to his face as he watched her move in. Closed the door behind him. Creaking slowly shut, and banging behind them. He didn’t want to harm that lovely skin of hers. At least. Too much.
So the slide of his blade was a mare nip on her back, the poison numbing her body. Barely able to scream as he came behind her. And dragged her down into the basement.
The first part of ensuring good puppet pieces was removing the blood from the body. Now there was always the quick method of doing this. Draining her by slicing open one of the arteries, but in retrospect that would be very little fun, and very little good. For it would mar the skin far too much. Damage to the body under the clothes wasn’t so bad. But in the places where the vital were, they were far too obvious and exposed, he could not allow such markings. So he would make it easier on himself. He placed her down on a table, slightly numbed. Concussed but still conscious. He strapped her down. And then pulled a lever next to the table. Several spikes punched up from within the table. Pushing slowly, painfully through her clothes. Two on the joints between her forearm and elbow, severing veins there. And two on her upper thigh to sever the arteries. There. Though. The straps would slow down the bleed out. Giving him enough time to have some fun.
She made a move to scream again, but a dirty rage stuffed into her numbed mouth solved that all in one. He was meticulous in removing the clothing of her upper body to progress to stage two. Organ removal. Puppets didn’t require organs. They just needed the muscles and skin. The rest was all really just an after thought and would begin to smell if left to rot. Taking the dagger from within his belt, he hovered it over the pale milky skin of this little woman, and plunged it in. The music of chaos and blood a crescendo of muffled screams that brought joy to his face as he tore them out one by one by one. Cutting away with his dagger. A ragged surgeon. Soon. The screams began to stop. And he moved over to watch the light fade from her eyes. A gentle sadness in the silence.
With it done, he released the straps. Allowing the trickle of blood to turn into a torrent. Before he was satisfied that the job had been done to the best of his ability here. Limbs sawn off. He piled the rest into a sack. The organs he placed in another bag. Ready for disposal. He moved through back allies, keeping to the dark and being careful that no one saw the male puppet before slipping into his own hideaway. The puppet bringing the bags downstairs. At this stage he released the puppet. It stood there silently. The red cloaked figure standing. The puppet lifeless as Wiseman walked over to the bags and looked inside. Perfect. Just the first night of many. And now a few spare items. As for the organs. They were all useless. Well aside from one. He had to announce himself to the world. And he had the perfect way to do it.
----
In the park, under a tree. A little girl and her mother would scream, bringing the guards. There below the tree, lay a perfectly crafted angel faced puppet. This one bore of wood, not of flesh. Cradled within its hands, lay the heart of the woman who charges money for special services. Carved into the tree above its head. An ominous message.
” I am made of heartwood”
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