Re: Pauric's List.
Posted: Tue Jul 06, 2010 1:34 pm
At the moment, the only sound in the upper floor of the shadow-covered penthouse was the slight tinkling of chains.
That was what awoke Reginald Tiefson before anything else, even before the dull ache in his neck. He’d kill the person responsible, surely, with his own hands at that, but...he couldn’t move.
Why couldn’t he move?
A precursory inspection revealed the truth - he was suspended in midair, bound with chains, his arms and legs spread about, nearly in an odd crucifix, if it wasn’t for his legs splayed about like that...whoever did this would pay in triplicate, he decided, and so would his family. No one robbed *him*.
The tinkling of the chains that bound him was interrupted by another sound, one he hadn’t anticipated.
It sounded as if someone were...sipping something.
“Oh, you’re awake. That’s lucky.” Behind him! He struggled to turn, but...couldn’t, the chains bound too tightly. Fortunately, he didn’t have to turn for very much longer - a figure strode in front of him. A man! He was dressed in all leathers, like some kind of rogue - obviously - with a red bandana tied to his forearm, displayed rather prominently. The Defias? That was odd - they’d never resorted to outright robbing inside Stormwind before. This sort of insolence could hardly be tolerated...
The captive made to speak, but found he was also tightly gagged. The rag was slightly bloodied, but he couldn’t taste it. The captor simply sipped his single cup of coffee, patiently admiring his work. “Do you know,” he began with a vibrant, very *happy* tone in his voice, “that it took me no less than 10, 15 minutes to subdue, relocate and secure you?” He spread his arms, gesturing about the penthouse’s interior. “And you already lived in such a...fitting place, too. Really, you can’t write this sort of thing. We’re lucky, you and I.” Only two windows were present, moonlight streaming in. There was only the barest amount of light to really see with, but neither man seemed to have much issue with this limitation; only one man seemed to really have any issues at all, rage barely contained with those damned chains.
The man brushed his shoulder-length long, jet black hair out of his eyes; even in the dark, his eyes seemed to outclass the shadows, so brown they were nearly black. “But that’s hardly here nor there, old boy. Reginald Tiefson, known - well known among the whoring circle, I daresay - for beating men and women to death with your bare hands?” At this, the man cocked an eyebrow, leaning in a bit to inspect his prey. Reginald - that was, in fact, his name, and he didn’t care who bloody knew it - kicked and swayed against the chains, muffled screams of rage held fast in the gag. The captor nodded, leaning back with some sense of satisfaction. “Right, right.”
He reached off to the side, bringing back an unusual weapon Reginald had never seen before. It was a...sledgehammer, it seemed, save for...fists? Two oddly shaped fists where the actual mallet head should be. They seemed painstakingly carved out. “It’s poetic, don’t you think? I mean, shit. You get to die with a message; how many people can say that, hmm, old boy? Don’t you think all those people that die from horse accidents, maybe trampled by a kodo, don’t you bet they wish they could have made a *statement*?” He hefted the sledgehammer up over his shoulder. Reginald continued to kick, scream, struggle, but it was no use. The chains only tinkled in reply.
“No worries, mate; I’m an artist.” With his free hand, the assailant gestured, first to the walls, then to the floor. “Do you know that not a single drop of your blood will get to the floor? That’s lucky, isn’t it? As you’ve probably guessed, I’m going for the ‘reap what you’ve sown’ bit here; you’ve beaten men to death with your own hands, so a death via having every one of your bones crushed into dust in your very body suits, doesn’t it?” He grinned, teeth like a row of brand new tombstones. “But you won’t really BLEED. Not externally, anyway, until I get to your head. Interestingly, you’ll likely drop off the old mortal coil from the internal bleeding and sheer pain before I get to your neck, but at least if you aren’t dead by the neck, you’ll be spared the skullcracking. It’s why I’m starting at your feet, you know.”
More kicking. Muffled screaming.
“Oh, don’t be like that, man - have some dignity!” He just kept *grinning*, that was the unnerving thing. Reginald had seen people kill before,and he was...vaguely detached from the realization that he *could* die here, but he’d never seen a man grin like that while he was just getting *ready*. “I mean, you lived a good life, right? Took what you wanted, lived like a king. No one told you to do, and shit. You had a good run. You just got careless, in my book.”
Galvan Swiftblade hefted the double-fisted sledgehammer up into a swing.
“There’s about 206 bones in the human skeleton; so pardon the wait, hmm?”
WHDDDD.
Muffled screaming.
“Ahaaaa, there’s the spot...”
WHDDDD.
Muffled screaming. Jerking.
WHDDDD.
Muffled screaming. Less jerking.
“Oop, a little too high. Sorry, mate; I’m not much of a sledge user.”
WHDDDD.
Muffled screaming. Slight crying.
WHDDDD.
“You know...I didn’t think I could get used to this again.”
WHDDDD.
Less screaming.
“But we’ll keep that between you and me, mmm?”
WHDDDD.
Silence.
“Attaboy.”
WHDDDD.
WHDDDD.
WHDDDD.
...the slurp of coffee.
WHDDDD.
WHDDDD.
WHDDDD.
WHDDDD.
That was what awoke Reginald Tiefson before anything else, even before the dull ache in his neck. He’d kill the person responsible, surely, with his own hands at that, but...he couldn’t move.
Why couldn’t he move?
A precursory inspection revealed the truth - he was suspended in midair, bound with chains, his arms and legs spread about, nearly in an odd crucifix, if it wasn’t for his legs splayed about like that...whoever did this would pay in triplicate, he decided, and so would his family. No one robbed *him*.
The tinkling of the chains that bound him was interrupted by another sound, one he hadn’t anticipated.
It sounded as if someone were...sipping something.
“Oh, you’re awake. That’s lucky.” Behind him! He struggled to turn, but...couldn’t, the chains bound too tightly. Fortunately, he didn’t have to turn for very much longer - a figure strode in front of him. A man! He was dressed in all leathers, like some kind of rogue - obviously - with a red bandana tied to his forearm, displayed rather prominently. The Defias? That was odd - they’d never resorted to outright robbing inside Stormwind before. This sort of insolence could hardly be tolerated...
The captive made to speak, but found he was also tightly gagged. The rag was slightly bloodied, but he couldn’t taste it. The captor simply sipped his single cup of coffee, patiently admiring his work. “Do you know,” he began with a vibrant, very *happy* tone in his voice, “that it took me no less than 10, 15 minutes to subdue, relocate and secure you?” He spread his arms, gesturing about the penthouse’s interior. “And you already lived in such a...fitting place, too. Really, you can’t write this sort of thing. We’re lucky, you and I.” Only two windows were present, moonlight streaming in. There was only the barest amount of light to really see with, but neither man seemed to have much issue with this limitation; only one man seemed to really have any issues at all, rage barely contained with those damned chains.
The man brushed his shoulder-length long, jet black hair out of his eyes; even in the dark, his eyes seemed to outclass the shadows, so brown they were nearly black. “But that’s hardly here nor there, old boy. Reginald Tiefson, known - well known among the whoring circle, I daresay - for beating men and women to death with your bare hands?” At this, the man cocked an eyebrow, leaning in a bit to inspect his prey. Reginald - that was, in fact, his name, and he didn’t care who bloody knew it - kicked and swayed against the chains, muffled screams of rage held fast in the gag. The captor nodded, leaning back with some sense of satisfaction. “Right, right.”
He reached off to the side, bringing back an unusual weapon Reginald had never seen before. It was a...sledgehammer, it seemed, save for...fists? Two oddly shaped fists where the actual mallet head should be. They seemed painstakingly carved out. “It’s poetic, don’t you think? I mean, shit. You get to die with a message; how many people can say that, hmm, old boy? Don’t you think all those people that die from horse accidents, maybe trampled by a kodo, don’t you bet they wish they could have made a *statement*?” He hefted the sledgehammer up over his shoulder. Reginald continued to kick, scream, struggle, but it was no use. The chains only tinkled in reply.
“No worries, mate; I’m an artist.” With his free hand, the assailant gestured, first to the walls, then to the floor. “Do you know that not a single drop of your blood will get to the floor? That’s lucky, isn’t it? As you’ve probably guessed, I’m going for the ‘reap what you’ve sown’ bit here; you’ve beaten men to death with your own hands, so a death via having every one of your bones crushed into dust in your very body suits, doesn’t it?” He grinned, teeth like a row of brand new tombstones. “But you won’t really BLEED. Not externally, anyway, until I get to your head. Interestingly, you’ll likely drop off the old mortal coil from the internal bleeding and sheer pain before I get to your neck, but at least if you aren’t dead by the neck, you’ll be spared the skullcracking. It’s why I’m starting at your feet, you know.”
More kicking. Muffled screaming.
“Oh, don’t be like that, man - have some dignity!” He just kept *grinning*, that was the unnerving thing. Reginald had seen people kill before,and he was...vaguely detached from the realization that he *could* die here, but he’d never seen a man grin like that while he was just getting *ready*. “I mean, you lived a good life, right? Took what you wanted, lived like a king. No one told you to do, and shit. You had a good run. You just got careless, in my book.”
Galvan Swiftblade hefted the double-fisted sledgehammer up into a swing.
“There’s about 206 bones in the human skeleton; so pardon the wait, hmm?”
WHDDDD.
Muffled screaming.
“Ahaaaa, there’s the spot...”
WHDDDD.
Muffled screaming. Jerking.
WHDDDD.
Muffled screaming. Less jerking.
“Oop, a little too high. Sorry, mate; I’m not much of a sledge user.”
WHDDDD.
Muffled screaming. Slight crying.
WHDDDD.
“You know...I didn’t think I could get used to this again.”
WHDDDD.
Less screaming.
“But we’ll keep that between you and me, mmm?”
WHDDDD.
Silence.
“Attaboy.”
WHDDDD.
WHDDDD.
WHDDDD.
...the slurp of coffee.
WHDDDD.
WHDDDD.
WHDDDD.
WHDDDD.
Stormwind Gazette, July 6
Guildsman Beaten To Death
City Watch officials have confirmed the death of Reginald Tiefson, age 36, marking a new body in what is largely becoming a bloody swath across Old Town as of late. Tiefson, a prominent guildsman and well-known across many a pub in Goldshire, was found in his penthouse suite, suspended and fastened in the air by way of several dozen chains, strapped to his very limbs. Cause of death seems to be simply blunt force trauma to every area of his body. Medical examiners have yet to find an actual, unbroken bone in Tiefson after the brutal, inhuman assault. No murder weapon or any traces of the murderer were immediately found on the scene, but primary investigations have begun.
"This is the work of a professional," remarked an investigator who wished to remain anonymous. "This is a man who clearly knows how to kill and likes doing it, and that will not stand in the borders of Stormwind. Rest assured that the full focus of the Watch is on this fellow; this, this is unlike any work we've seen for some time. Not like *this*. Whatever this sick fellow is trying to say, rest assured we're tracking his voice."