"An artist and his art" by John Hollands

                                         An artist and his art

Demise, a nightmare to some, a gift to others, however to one individual it was far more.., more than business, more than pleasure, it was the very breath of life, the thing which drove him, the delicious sounds of bodies gaping despairingly garnished in numerous wounds, riddled with agony, yet this was not what thrust him into ecstasy, nay, it was the inbred sadistic tendency’s of his deranged psyche being fulfilled.

The malicious beast in question was named in the tongue of painted elves, the darkest of their kin, a name which struck fear into the hearts of young infants at night or was whispered as a folk tale by travellers huddling together for shelter, B’esctra, its very pronunciation hurled weak willed people unto the bitter thrall of insanity itself.

Reported to have been raised and trained as a finely honed killing machine his agility and skill alone were truly astounding, material perhaps for some song of epic proportions yet to be sung, Dark elven by nature B’esctra’s various escapades caused him to explore the surface world he had read about long, long ago, and so that is where we find our villain nestled comfortably within the confines of a tavern upon that same sun scarred land.

Sitting upon a stool beside the bar of the ‘shattered dawn’ he lurked his ears poised for mentions of a challenge for him or perhaps merely something of interest to sate his thirst for bloodshed, not the tallest of creatures within the establishment B’esctra came to a respectable five foot six, rather large for a member of his race. Ordinary was about as far as one could get from his perplexing self, clad in what appeared to be blackened splint mail armour which fitted snugly over his lithe torso encrusted with intricate runes that wriggled restlessly about the charred surface that supported them.

As fragile as B’esctra appeared one would be foolish to underestimate him, many a soul had assumed that their opponent was some frail little insect moments before their head’s toppled mournfully off their bodies. At the moment B’esctra was eaves dropping on a curious conversation between a poorly dressed dwarf and strangely enough a seasoned human fighter.

What was strange about this you ask? Well for one the dwarf was talking in B’esctra’s own tongue very rarely used on the surface world , and secondly the human apparently was far from what he appeared several arrogant boasts being voiced by him regarding his place within his Doppleganger sect. Most unwise considering the destructive force sitting mere feet away from them, B’esctra rose noiselessly his boots sweeping gracefully across the oaken floorboards below as he stealthily sneaked up behind the self proclaimed Doppleganger preparing to strike.

Carefully observing them both B’esctra noticed the dwarf furrow his brow as he suddenly noticed B’esctra lurking dangerously behind his comrade, the next few seconds were a literal blur, one moment the dwarf was desperately signalling to his companion and the next B’esctra had leapt over the table with evident ease, landed behind the dwarf and rendered his head from his body drops of blood glistening viciously upon the edges of his metallic talons.

To his surprise the human did not immediately react, he merely remained in his seat gazing absently into thin air, at a quick glance about the establishment however B’esctra noticed that everyone now appeared to be staring at him, normally a mere death would not attract attention at all, but this was no normal tavern.

Heads turned, joints splintered noisily cracking as gradually everyone seemed to rise as one alike a precise surgical instrument piercing a piece of flesh their movements in unison, almost mechanically so, hungered zombies lumbering forward for a newly discovered morsel to sink their teeth into. B’esctra swiftly got the distinct impression something was amiss here almost as if he was some arcane marionette being manipulated by puppet masters toying with him, his lurid complexion screamed of a tortured being imprisoned within a hollow shell yet he was far more calculated than that.

Suddenly skins dribbled downward lapsing from the skeletal forms the average human has yet a sever difference remained as the masters of deceit shed their guises, B’esctra spoke with poisoned lips as this new scene unfolded before his crimson orbs “ Doppleganger scum”. Quickly his feet crossed and danced in the horde’s wake running circles around their languid forms his own agility far surpassing their own, blows thudded all around him smashing into vulnerable tables and an unprotected wall but seemed to be unable to land even a scratch upon B’esctra’s.

One of the rules he had learned when he was younger was don’t play with your food, but he did so enjoy weaving his vicious web of death before ensnaring and entangling his victims within its icy coils. Elongation swathed unto the length’s of forged metal grafted into the living gauntlet which encased his right hand its hue mirroring that of his actual armour, blemished black.

Summoning forth his favoured short sword entitled ‘whisper’ for its noiseless movements B’esctra whirled upon his intended prey, his motions swift and decisive cleaving bloody arcs through all whom crossed his path whilst miraculously managing to evade any retaliation from the remaining members of the Doppleganger brood. The Dopplegangers realising they were fighting a hopeless battle decided to flee in terror from this painted elf, one of them produced a five sided object intertwined in golden metal which upon command spurted forth a large distortion which expanded into a circular indentation positioning singular points within one reality with another.

B’esctra’s brow uplifted in obvious surprise as this protrusion appeared and prepared to hurl his foe’s onto another plain entirely, his tongue flickered venomously as he swiftly concocted a plan, he would pursue these beasts to the ends of the war revenged universe if he had to, for not only had he been deceived, but he had also been injured, granted not in the physical sense, but perhaps in a way far more painful, his pride.