Talyndre Ama'thas

Always Keep 'em on a Leash

((****WARNING: Violence, torture, blood and gore. Sensitive themes as well!****))

Originally posted by trappixi

The slow patter of rain sounded hard against the brittle remains of the awnings, riding on every gust of wind.

Drip-drip, drip-drip.

Sheltered just barely within the skeletal remains of the ramshackle cottage, a lone silhouette moved in a slow, steady pace, loose-limbed and glinting metal each time he stepped through the lone light-source.

It wasn’t a typical place for him, though it had its own appeal. Situated far from Silvermoon, it lay off the few beaten paths that remained where the weathermancers’ magic no longer reached, in the charred heart of the Blackened Wood; a damp, dark space that only just supported the light of an old lantern, with one wall largely eaten away by time.

A pair of dogs, shaggy, lupine creatures that they were, hovered near the opening with gleaming white teeth bared amidst rumbled whines. Their anxious sounds and the click of their nails against worn, stone flooring drew the figure’s attention every so often, a soft, almost paternal smile directed their way. Save for his tools, which traveled with him, they were the sole, steady fixture in the handful of spaces he kept for this work. Everything else was different each time, arranged with care to suit each of his subjects to the letter. A work in progress, constantly perfecting itself, and always with room to grow.

This time, the location had suited for more reasons than simple seclusion. It wasn’t that far from where they stood, that the most recent of frail and broken, little bodies was found along the river, young ones lured from their homes to the horrific outskirts of a nightmare they would never leave. It wasn’t that far from where he’d lain in wait, watching closely as the monster returned to where he’d last been alive, as their kind always did. And it wasn’t far from where he’d sunk his poison-tipped ‘claw’ smoothly into aged, yielding flesh, one monster to another, when the moment was right. 

Pacing about the figure bound by more than just a simple length of rope, his quiet footfalls played in concert with the viscous, dark droplets rolling thickly down the legs of an old table, surely a work of art at one point in its miserable existence, and now again.  

Drip-drip drip-drip.

“How many were there, Nilash?” He smiled his secret smile, circling around again within the lantern’s glow, the silver edge of his knife catching its light each time it twirled and was caught between his fingers. 

“I mean, there were more than they found, right? There always are,” he paused, wetting his lips as he looked down at his captive, caught his reflection in the blood pooling on the floor, and tasted fear on the back of his tongue, like bitter sweat and ash. It wasn’t the first time it struck him, how this was so much more than real, in a world where little else came close. It was abhorrent; it was everything. 

“How did it feel?” the figure went on, twirling the knife again… and again, finally swinging it down into the man’s remaining hand, sinking easily into too-soft flesh at the cusp of his fingers. He looked on as Nilash yowled like a starving cat, pale and well beyond hoarse after the last couple hours, his own features shaded amber in the lamplight. 

“No? Oh, come on, Nilash. I know you’ve been aching to share,” he went on, leaning in on his knife as he listened, sharp, green eyes fixed on the man’s agonized face. It was real, all right. Everyone was at their most real in moments like these. 

Nilash sputtered, some manner of question in the guttural cry on his lips, his body continuing to fail him. As vulnerable as a child lost in the woods.

“Oh, I’m Talyn. Pleased to make your acquaintance, or whatever it is they say,” he smiled back with a pointed press of his weight on that blade, only to pull abruptly away, tearing the knife from the clean severing of those digits. The blood that spilled forth was rather slow, thanks in part to his own careful planning, though he had to admit Nilash was proving to be an exceptional monster. Thankfully, so was he.

Spattered red freckled Talyn’s face, while fresh, hot rivulets ran into colder, thicker pools, each growing wider in their own slow and steady pace. 

Drip-drip, drip-drip.

There once was a table not unlike this one, though it was stained red and smooth to the touch, where fat and sinew, and far too many vinegar washes, had worn it down to a crimson shine. A little boy, just a runt of a pup, sometimes used to sit beneath it, hidden in plain sight at the foot of one leg.

He couldn’t see much from where he sat, though nothing escaped him where he could. And the sounds- he never missed a one, from the heavy thock of a giant’s cleaver as it tore cleanly into fresh, dense meat, to the viscous spatter that dotted his apron, pat-a-pat-pat, pat-a-pat-pat. The thick juices rolled smoothly down the heavy canvas, where they pooled along its hem like raindrops on the windowsill. 

He was always caught, yanked by an arm through the narrow slats and out into a woman’s skirts. And he never understood why, when his face itched with clear-running wetness, he still struggled to look. Even as he clung to her faraway cooing (shh, shh) sounding over the booming voice from the next room. He needed to see them, those fat droplets dribbling down the smooth wood surface, falling from the apron’s edge.

Drip-drip, drip-drip.

“Did it feel good, satisfying that deep, dark place that you know you should ignore?” Talyn spoke smoothly, a mockery of sympathy in his secret smile. It was nothing to tear a dangling digit from that mangled hand and toss it, at last, towards the pair of dogs waiting so patiently in the corner. Their excited yelps as they fought for it were hastily drowned out by Nilash’s strangled groans.

“But you can’t ignore it, right?” he loomed once more, twirling his knife once, twice, its soiled blade catching less and less light, before simply plunging it deep into the man’s gut. “It’s like trying to ignore the sound of your own breathing. That’s just it, too. It feels like air.”

With a pointed twist, he yanked the blade free, as Nilash lay powerless to do anything more than twitch and roll his eyes. It was messy, as these things went, but he had been prepared for weeks. 

“I know what that’s like- shocking, I know~,” Talyn chuckled, waving the knife for emphasis at the monster bleeding out on his table. “But you see the difference is… what makes you you, and me… let’s call it your ‘caretaker’ at this late, late hour… is that I know myself. Can you say the same, Nilash?” He straightened a measure, just enough to watch as the wound in the man’s belly welled up with every sluggish breath he took.

“Well, you have to know you’re pretty sick, right? I mean, nobody goes around bragging about the things you’ve done. It’s almost as if… oh, right… like it’s one of the most evil things a man can be. And trust me, I know evil!”

Nilash shook, whether from fear or the last vestiges of life slipping from his grasp, throwing agonized tosses of his head along with it. Talyn carefully hovered over his victim anew, offering a reproachful click of his tongue as the back of his knife dragged almost delicately up the man’s sternum.

“Still with the ‘no’. You’re already one of the most reviled creatures ever to crawl out from between his mother’s legs, and you’re going to insist on being a liar on top of that. I mean- I know what you do.” 

The dogs yelped wildly behind him, pitched high and excited as they began pacing about the length of crumbled wall. Talyn sighed, sharp, green gaze lingering on the bloated agony he saw in Nilash’ face, the twisting of his bloodied mouth and mad whites of his eyes. He always hated this part, even when it had taken extra long to get there. It was always too quick.

“I guess we’re evenly matched there now. I know what you do, and now you get to know what I do,” his smile grew cold as he unceremoniously opened Nilash’ throat, ear to ear, in one practiced, fluid slice. 

Drip-drip, drip-drip.

Originally posted by won-der-land89

Outside the crumbling hovel gone quiet, the rain drizzled on.

(( Title is a reference to Arsonist’s Lullaby, by Hozier.