The Fiddler

Re: The Fiddler

Postby Waldemar » Thu May 23, 2013 11:40 am

The boy is hasty. The boy is rash, hand full of knife and heart full of outrage. At his shoulder the older man shares his glimpse into the cave, into a hellmouth of bloodshed and innocence devoured. Plenty of good men would have wept at the sight, would have fled the ghastly scene in horror. This one staggers a reflexive pace back, features ashen, fixed in a mask of revulsion and shock.

It is a matter of a moment, a few hurried breaths to reclaim as much composure as he needs; a step aside, glancing over his shoulder in case the other pair - very well, the other man - might wish to follow the youth's example. Marek Waldemar, student of history, miller of excellent flour, is not so reckless, or perhaps not so bold; he stands instead, a handkerchief pressed to his lips as if fearful of retching, murmuring with the cadence of feverish prayer, as the fingertips of his left hand dance in palsied curls and twitches at his side.

The music falters, stumbles, and he must move quickly before its echoes fade entirely. A swift step into the cave mouth, hand thrown forward over the heads of the enraptured children as if casting a net; teeth gritted, fingers closing on the air and pulling sharply back; a final syllable growled, strained -

- summer lightning; it must be, for the cave is briefly frozen in green-violet afterimages, a nightmarish tableau -

- crashing thunder; it must be, for the air is solid with a sudden clap of noise, a rushing cacophony of merry strings and young voices raised in pain and despair, pressed into the span between one heartbeat and the next -

- and immediately these things pass there is a gaping void, a smothering absence where before had been fey music and childish cries of dismay and foul liquid noises from the creature that squatted at its centre. No sound at all, save perhaps one's own racing pulse and sobbing breath. Silence, save for a stifled cough, and a man's voice calling to the back of the charnel-pit in a voice like scraping fiddle-strings. Where the fiddler's tune had beguiled and entranced the miller's voice commands, compels with stolen power. Walking stick lifted in summons, an impatient flick of fingers while his other hand clenches tight upon a crumpled linen handkerchief.

"Children. Come with me."
Nothing so bold as a miller's shirt, that every morning collars a thief.
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Re: The Fiddler

Postby Rance » Thu May 23, 2013 2:20 pm

Children. Come with me.

A new kind of song. Strings on instruments made of sinew and the little ribbons of skin that remained. The torn petals of newly-grown flowers fluttered to the blood on the floor like shards of lightweight glass.

The socket of his right leg was nothing more than a black eye with a snarltooth of brown, rotten thigh-bone jutting from it.

"I am the Wormgirl!" he cried out, a wild, gargled cheer, a boyish symphony of horror and delight.

The wet rim where a left arm had once been was a sloppy blossom of torn skin, cleaved at the shoulder by the Fiddler's devouring maw. The skin hung from it like flaps of mud-drenched confetti left behind after a night at the carnival. He did not balance. He could only teeter, a top-heavy plaything of a child that splashed into the mire of blood and limbs. His mouth filled with the memories of other children pooling in the ruts of the cavern floor.

He was no danger. He had never been a danger. He had only wanted to discover what was within, to know what it could Do. And while the music stopped momentarily, the advantage, the falling of the musical din, may have been moot--

--for the Fiddler's expulsion of his leathery pieces of skin yielded one threat: five stalactite-like fingers, foot-long skewers of claw that were like fleshy icicles. The boything's severed talons. They snarled through the air like arrows shot, propelled from the force of the Fiddler's rejection.

They had scarred countless trees. They had torn holes in creatures and men. Were any of those who came to save the children not wary, were any of the children in the wrong place, those flying needlefingers would not discriminate.

"I am the Wormgirl," the half-limbed boy belched into the muck, squealing with laughter, crawling -- the forgotten half of a bisected maggot -- toward the miller.
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Re: The Fiddler

Postby Suede » Fri May 24, 2013 1:49 pm

Suede had seen a lot of things in his life. This is not one he'd had the good fortune to see before now. A slaughterhouse for children quite so gruesome as this is something he'd only expect to see at an Underdark carnival, not a Myrken one. He never realized quite how strange these farmers could be. There was a wretching, a vomiting, and the tailor was careful to position himself so Waldemar would take the brunt of anything projectile and slimy that made it to where they were.

He'd not the gall of Elliot to simply charge into the gore, nor a magical talent to compel children that the miller had. Suede could only stand there at the flash of light and barrage of sound until it passed enough for him to focus on crawling half-devoured children and jerkily moving remainders. None of them appeared to be his, nor did any of the splatter have that certain shade of ash or white hair. Suede gave the occupied others a furtive look and would move towards one of Waldemar's compelled kids. "I think I know of a way to handle it quickly."

If it's as ravenous as it appears, and one child can make it vomit, maybe he can season one just right for the thing. Suede wasn't really hiding that he was drawing out a vial of something as he looked for a likely kid. A little splash of this, some salt, throw the kid right in the things mouth.
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Re: The Fiddler

Postby Glenn » Fri May 24, 2013 3:15 pm

It is a very rare thing for Elliot Brown to learn a lesson but this is an extremely unique situation and for once something might stick. To point, do not charge into a situation against a monster with highly unreliable and unpredictable allies. Jirai was simply gone. Waldemar displayed all sorts of impressive looking power and used it to shepherd the children (probably right off to work at the mill) instead of attacking the threat. Suede was doing SOMETHING at least. Unfortunately, Elliot wasn't sure what. He was charging headlong, Galacia's cursed talon in his hand.

It was a limb that struck him, not one of Phlynn's own talons. It was the better part of a leg and it hit him, despite all of his skill and agility, right in the stomach. Considering the speed he was rushing in at and the sheer force of the unlikely projectile, the teenage rogue flipped backwards, head over heels, rolling four times before he landed, upside down and with the wind knocked out of him. Beside him was one of those aforementioned talons, sharp, deadly, and just inches from his head. It was a close thing indeed. He dazedly reached for it, even if he couldn't exactly breathe.

From his skewed and backwards supine vantage point he saw the strangest thing. One of the remaining children was heading for the beast's mouth... as if thrown.
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Re: The Fiddler

Postby breeevil » Fri May 24, 2013 3:46 pm

...Treadwell. "Aloisius." Nothing.
Clayton knelt there by him for a long moment.. there was not much to do in terms of moving this man when he really thoguht about it. No one was rushign at them, which meant no one was close or if they were they did not care.
A cart was not an option, neither was a horse because either would involve leaving his friend on the road.. Clayton's steed alone could not move the Glutton.
f course, Treadwell had to have brought a buggy or something with him.. but no where to be seen.
There is a sigh from Pride. This wont be fun.. things had been tiring enough the last few days and it was about to get worse. With both hands still on Treadwell's fat face, Clayton frowns.. and closes his eyes. And the two of them simply *poof*.. one second there, and gone the next.. leaving nothing but a big black horse standing there to stare at the blood and fat pooled on the ground where they'd been.
They would land just inside the Rememdium, Clayton releasing his friend as soon as they were solid again.. looking for help.
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Re: The Fiddler

Postby Treadwell » Fri May 24, 2013 4:09 pm

From the dusty, bloody ground to the not as dusty, clean floor of the hospital go Aloisius and Clayton. Swimming lazily in and out of wakefulness, Treadwell really doesn't know much about where he is at the moment; at least he's on his back, which helps a little with the bleeding, perhaps, by not letting his innards spill out too terribly much (compared to the shape he's currently in, at least!), but the sudden appearance of the badly injured Councilor should, perhaps, get some folks' attentions!
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Re: The Fiddler

Postby Jirai » Sat May 25, 2013 5:35 am

Cat

The music stopped.

There was a horror in front, the blood and gore from that already covering the waif. There had been another horror behind, but now what stood in the cave entrance was old man Waldy, the stuff of certain terrifying stories told to the blonde child by one Elliot Brown. And beside him, yet another man featuring in all sorts of awful stories. No, that direction was not good either. So, when the music stopped, the urchin was darting towards the safest person present, tiny knife at the ready - Elliot.

Lightning flashed. Thunder crashed. Children. Come with me.

Words took the place of the fiddle's tune, and, nearly at the young rogue's side, the child snapped back, stiff movements marching tiny body towards Waldemar.

~*~

Jirai

She had vanished, but she had not left. None of the children now marching towards Waldemar were her own and that left two possibilities. Three, actually, but Jirai and thinking did not go well together after what had been in the flask. Fortunately, the effect did not extend itself to her hand-eye coordination. There was a child being thrown at the creature from the front - three guesses as to whose idea that was and the first two don't count - and from behind, where the dark elf now lurked, a pair of daggers spinning at the creature's bulk, a peal of wild laughter.

This was fun.
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Re: The Fiddler

Postby Waldemar » Sat May 25, 2013 5:49 am

Matters are moving quickly, too quickly for finesse, for delicacy; he'd've preferred a moment to consider the problem, to take it apart and formulate a solution that was effective and also discreet. Time, alas, was precisely what the unlikely group lacked - each moment passing marked by the champing of terrible jaws and the tearing of young flesh - and so the miller was forced to improvise, resorting brute strength of will where he might have favoured the application of subtler, more carefully-directed effort.

The fiddler's tune is seized and wrenched, torn from the air and ether; stripped of its masking music as one might strip leaves from a slender branch, only the core of it remaining, bare and cruel as a willow switch, applied with force enough to compel obedience.

At his summons the children march stiff-legged from the cave, tear-streaked puppets, as quickly as they might; the miller offers only terse commands - "Walk." - "Get up." - "Faster." - "Go." - "There." - with a nudge to a back or shoulder to keep them in line, to hurry them in their escape, directing them to gather some yards away from the cavern mouth. Some limp or stumble, young limbs weak with exhaustion or terror or bone-sliver wounds, but they will march on. They must march on. Brown has fallen despite his wicked blade, and must lie there for now; Waldemar has his priorities, and Elliot Brown's wellbeing does not reside near the top.

Face after face pass by, variously locked in fear or horror or blank stupefaction, and yet none of them are the one he seeks. The other man - Roschen, the youth had named him - moves towards the straggling line, and it's a sign of the miller's unfamiliarity that he assumes the man has a similar idea of ushering the children clear while finding his own.

He's stooping, distracted, to drag a maimed form clear of the cavern when the madman makes his move; he is only beginning to note the black sludge that oozes instead of blood, the rotten flesh that yet twitches and moves, the handful of bone-blades in place of childish fingers, when a scream of alarm lifts his gaze in time to see Roschen struggling with a child - lifting, heaving to throw a shrieking girl in a filth-spattered frock into the creature's maw.

It is a moment that ices his blood in shock and disbelief, followed by a rush of incandescent outrage.

The miller's walking-stick slashes between him and the tailor, carving aching afterimages into the air with swift and furious strokes while snarled syllables tear from his throat. A crude and hasty application of power - one that will cost, but he will bear that price later; in this moment he snaps a final gesture towards the child-slayer, the lunatic, and lets slip the gathered strands.

The power is released in an abrupt gust, a wall of unseen force that tears leaves and sticks from the ground as it rushes into the cave mouth through the spot in which Suede Roschen stands; a slap, a shove meant to sweep him bodily into the monster's maw, and may the horror choke on his bones.
Nothing so bold as a miller's shirt, that every morning collars a thief.
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Re: The Fiddler

Postby Dulcie » Sat May 25, 2013 5:59 am

It was a horrible scuffle of blood, vomit, the movement of men and beast alike, and then of course there were those needle fingers expelled from the monster's mouth. Unfortunately there was one child who happened to be in the way as he had tried to escape, that sharp finger sinking itself perfectly into his eye. He cried out in fear and pain, though it was swallowed up by whatever had eaten the other sounds, his mouth hanging open in a soundless call.

The Fiddler tried to pull the magic at the air, managing to steal back only a few notes from the song that Waldemar was weaving. She wasn't about to give up now however, and she strained and strained to pull more of that sound away from him. All she needed was a little more power, and then there was someone kind enough to throw her some!

The child was vaulted towards her mouth and greedily gobbled down, there was the taste of it's poison on her tongue, but it was nothing in comparison to the taste of that dirty rotten blood of the child she had tried to eat earlier. As the child was consumed her power would increase, and an arm began to form from that gelatinous mess, reaching for her fiddle that still rested nearby. Another oozing arm would form and she would begin her song once more.

The tune was certainly nothing recognizable, a constant push and pull between silence and her song, the rhythm constantly interrupted, jerking the children between following her and Waldemar.

Suddenly there was another body vaulted her way, and she'd open her mouth to receive it, right up until she realized that it was the body of a man. The beast snapped her mouth shut, refusing to gobble the adult, even trying to turn that horrible mouth in another direction, only to turn herself into Jirai's blades.

Those big white eyes blinked with surprise as the first dagger cut into her, leaving a thin cut line within the darkness where the blood of the children and a dark ooze seemed to start spilling from the wound. The creature opened it's mouth in what seemed to be a howl and tried to slink further back away from Jirai. These were not the helpless people that Grawnya had led her to believe existed in this town.
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Re: The Fiddler

Postby Suede » Sat May 25, 2013 6:14 am

Success! See really all the hullabaloo and all you really need to do is just give them what they want with a little surprise. And look, Jirai was tossing daggers at the thing as well. Things were going wonderfully. Suede was just in the middle of patting himself on the back for avoiding getting himself dirty when Waldemar started acting like a complete madman.

What sort of fool swings sticks around near children and starts hurling magical energies around so. Commanding them like puppets, and now tossing poor people around just like it didn't matter. He'd have to have a word with the man, but first he'd need to deal with the fact his legs suddenly weren't under him and he was sailing towards the... oozy, black mass he'd been avoiding till now. He shouts something suspiciously like "Oh my!" before simply vanishing a moment before striking the recoiling mass.
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Re: The Fiddler

Postby Glenn » Sat May 25, 2013 6:32 am

"Cat?" He'd have seen the kid briefly and that was a relief, but is a minute or two ago and all quite the blur. Elliot had been charging in, horrified and desperate, as Cat had marched back away to some horrible fate in the mill. He had been knocked back away by the limb a moment later.

Then he had seen the child flying (though how the child had ended up that way was missed) and even as he recovered, there was Suede Roschen tumbling through the air as well, only to ... It was one thing for the tailor to disappear when you looked away. Elliot had been staring right at him when he just seemed to pop out of existence. It was offputting but he had his breath again and something seemed to be driving the creature towards him. He had no idea Jirai was on the other side, but something had to be done.

Galacia's talon was in one hand, and, though it surprised him to find it there, one of Phlynn's razor sharp talons was in his other. He was silent as he pushed to his feet and forward, slashing at the monster with the two twisted weapons using tight, trained motions that were meant to allow him to dart back with is weapons at a second's notice.
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Re: The Fiddler

Postby Jirai » Sat May 25, 2013 8:55 am

Cat

"Elliot!"

There was an invisible tug of war going on here, obvious in the form of the gore-covered urchin. First jerked one way by the fiddler's song, then the other by Waldemar's commands. By now, Cat has absolutely no idea what is happening. All the child knows is terror and all the child wants is to reach Elliot Brown.

Waldemar seems to be winning this tug of war, though, as the children begin to file out of the cave, some more easily than others. Roschen's approach is hardly noticed by the child whose body was under the control of another, so focused was Cat on Elliot. Until, that was, the former councilor grabbed the next child in line, the one right next to Cat and... Cat screamed as he threw the child right at the monster. Now the only thing that mattered was getting away from Roschen. Cat gave into the miller's compulsion completely, trying to flee the cavern.

Of course, if the monster was trying to back away from Jirai, that meant it was doing the same.

~*~

Jirai

It is a fortunate thing that the bulk of the fiddler blocks - mostly - the dark elf's view of what was happening on the other side. The daggers had found their mark and had clearly injured the whatever-it-was, which just had the slender female laughing harder. Even better, it was backing away, which made it child's play to fling another pair of blades at the beast. Then she rolled her shoulders, shrugging the odd crossbow off her back and into ebon-skinned hands.

"Let's make this more fun, shall we?" Giggling, she gave the crystal dial mounted on the weapon a spin.
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Re: The Fiddler

Postby Waldemar » Sat May 25, 2013 12:09 pm

The madman is gone - not devoured, as would be just, but... gone. Vanished.

It's enough for now.

Ashen-faced, the miller hobbles further from the cave mouth, urging the children on, away from the slavering death that calls to them from within. The fiddler's tune begins again, a desperate sawing of strings, and he reaches to drag hooked fingers through the air, grasping and tugging on the insidious threads of influence; weaving them into his own voice to strengthen his hold upon the children, wielding the stolen enchantment like a lash to drive them on.

"Carry." He gestures to the little bodies sprawled where they'd fallen, and their playmates bend to grasp them with stiff fingers, to drag them clear with lurching steps.

"Run." He calls to those ahead, gaze casting about between the trees until he finds what he seeks.

"There." A slender rowan tree growing where a greater trunk has fallen, boughs bedecked with dense clusters of pale blossom. A last push of effort sends the children scampering, stumbling, scrambling into the tree's shade with the miller close behind. It's not ideal, but he can pray that it's enough.

"Hold hands - hold hands, blast you, and I'll thrash the child who first lets go!" Limping as he herds the children into a panicked knot around the tree, their numbers woefully thinned; his hold on the fiddler's tune is weakening, more effort than he can spare, and rough shoves and thwacks of his cane reinforce his words. Some of these children he knows, or has seen in the company of their parents, scrubbed and combed and dressed in their best clothes for chapel. Some of them he can even name, and hope that they've been paying attention on Sundays.

"You, girl, Aldridge! Rose, yes; you, D... Darren Chandler; you, Malton's son, Henry, yes? We are going to sing, and I know you've the words." Less power by the minute, less influence, and he must act fast lest all is lost.

His voice is not melodious by any means, but he can make a decent attempt at the tune. Familiar to those who attend chapel, particularly in Myrken Wood, and as he belts out the words he is joined by thin and hesitant voices; a fierce glare for a few who prefer to sob or weep, and his impromptu choir gradually gains in strength, ragged and faltering though it may be.

...In God our faith a stalwart shield,
Stout ward against all earthly fright...


He works feverishly as he sings, limping around the tree and its huddled ring of children, features pale and slick with chill perspiration; his walking-stick drags through the leaf mould, inscribing a broad and unbroken circle about them, harsh syllables hissing past his teeth between bellowed lines of chapel hymn.

...In God our faith shall ever yield
A brand to blaze against the night...
Nothing so bold as a miller's shirt, that every morning collars a thief.
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Re: The Fiddler

Postby Dulcie » Sun May 26, 2013 6:34 am

The creature drew away from those that were attacking her, those grotesque arms continueing to fiddle and ooze. Waldemar was losing his hold on the children, but then again so was she. At times the music would falter altogether as she turned to address whatever threat came next. It was apparent that the beast was moving to a more defensive stance, trying to find a way out of the situation it had found itself in.

Blood and bone chips oozed from the wounds that Jirai had created, and the monster had to turn to attend to Elliot next. Phylnn's needle finger did nothing, piercing the dark mass and coming clean just as easily as if he had been stabbing a christmas pudding, but the other weapon drew thin lines that oozed and then closed again, though from the way the creature shuddered and shifted it was clear that it was causing it some degree of pain.

She continued to retreat, slinking further back into the deep mouth of the cave, hoping for a hiding place or an exit. As Waldemar and the children began to sing the creature would add it's own voice into the mix, shrieking a shrill high pitched shriek, intended to damage the ears of her attackers.
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Re: The Fiddler

Postby Suede » Sun May 26, 2013 6:56 am

There had been a moment's consideration to go poke Waldemar in the eye. He'd only been trying to help, and in thanks he was tossed around like a leaf in a hurricane. But priorities were priorities, at the first least this thing had attempted to devour his son, according to Elliot Brown. And quite honestly the disgusting cacophony of children singing horribly, old man grumps being even worse, and the monster being confusingly melodic he just couldn't handle it anymore.

When next he'd appear it would as if he were still twirling through the air from Waldemar's magic, just in a new place with a new direction, and the spin was intent to take him where the blade now in his hand could sever the strings of the Fiddler's fiddle.
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